Names

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Church Episcopal
January 1, 2023

Holy Name

          In my office, I have a photograph that I call the “Three Charlottes.”  The elderly woman in the photo is my great-grandmother, whose given name was Charlotte but who was called “Lottie.”  She died at the age of 91 when I was in 7^th grade, so I had the good fortune of knowing her for a large portion of my youth.  She was a dignified but stern looking woman, born in 1881, whose favorite activity in her golden years was to go shopping one day and return everything the next.  The woman in the middle of the photo is Lottie’s granddaughter, Charlotte.  Charlotte is my first cousin once removed and my godmother.  Even though we rarely see each other, we have a shared family story that binds us together despite the passage of time.  The third Charlotte in the photo is myself.  I am about two years old in the picture and I obviously just want the photography session to end.   I was oblivious to the fact that 6 decades later I would treasure this photo that ties me to a story beyond myself. 

          Today is the Feast of Holy Name.  Holy Name is always January 1, 8 days after Christmas because, as we are told in the gospel reading, 8 days after Jesus’ birth, he was named Jesus as the angel had instructed.  Holy Name, however, does not always fall on a Sunday, which is why many of us have never heard of this particular feast day.

          In a way similar to the way my name connects me with a story that precedes me by at least two generations, we are reminded this morning that Jesus’ name connects him to the larger story of God’s work in the world.  The shepherds have left Mary and Joseph and returned home.  Eight days later, we are told, “it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.” We are reminded that the angel appeared to Mary to tell her of the child that would be conceived in her womb.  The angel said ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.’

          The name Jesus is the Hebrew name Joshua, which means “Yahweh is salvation.”  “Yahweh” is the Hebrew name for God, so Jesus’ name itself connects Jesus with the larger story of God’s people.  The angel also connects Jesus with the larger story when Mary is told that Jesus will receive the throne of his ancestor David. David was the great king of Israel, when Israel was a united monarchy and a military power.  David’s son Solomon managed to keep the monarchy united for another generation, but when Solomon died, the kingdom divided into two kingdoms: Israel in the north and Judah in the south.  The power and prestige of both declined rapidly as they became subject to foreign powers and occupation.  Kings put their trust in alliances with foreign powers and their gods rather than trust the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob for their safety and security.  Those alliances might have brought temporary security, but eventually both Israel and Judah fell to foreign powers.    Even though Judah would eventually  be rebuilt, the country was a shadow of its former self. 

Hundreds of years later, there was a great longing for the glory days of David when Israel was independent and powerful.  But they also longed for the relationship with God they had once known, when they knew who they were as God’s chosen people, and the people of the promised land.  The people longed for the messiah described in the words of the Christmas Eve reading from Isaiah “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom.  He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time onward and forevermore.”

          Jesus’ very name connects him with that story and the longing for a deeper relationship with God.  Yahweh is salvation.  The story of God’s people is the story of our constant need to be reminded that Yahweh is salvation, not any earthly power, possession, or accomplishment.  Over and over again, we learn from Scripture and from our own lives, that when we put our trust in anything other than Yahweh, we are disappointed.  Today, on the Feast of Holy Name, we are reminded that the power of God, in which we put our trust, is different from the world’s power.  Today, the power of God is on display in an 8 day old baby, whose very name connects us to a story that spans the generations and reminds us that God, and God alone, is salvation.

                                                                   Amen.

God's Journey

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Church Episcopal
December 24, 2022
 

                                          The Feast of the Nativity

At last, we come to the manger.  If we have kept an Advent calendar, we have opened the last door, or had the last cup of tea, or eaten the last bit of chocolate, and Christmas has arrived.  And so we gather this day to hear the story of our Savior's birth, to hear some Christmas music, and to feast at God's table.  The story is a familiar one.  Just last Sunday at the Children’s Christmas pageant the congregation watched as Mary and Joseph made their way to Bethlehem only to find no room in the Inn, so they delivered their firstborn child amidst the barn animals.  We heard the angels sing "Glory to God in the highest," and watched as the Magi arrived to deliver their gifts some time later.  The story is almost like a fairy tale; an incredible story of an event that occurred 2000 years ago in a far away place with a spectacular light show and a cast of unlikely characters.

What brings you to Bethlehem to greet the Christ child this Christmas morning?  Like Mary, are you full to bursting with the anticipation and wonder?  Or, like Joseph, are you not quite sure how you got involved with this baby and have come to Bethlehem for purely practical reasons?  Or perhaps you feel a bit like the Inn keeper, who had no room for Mary and Joseph, and no clue real clue what was happening but felt obligated to put them up somewhere.  Then there are the shepherds, who were minding their own business, tending their flocks, when all of a sudden they are faced with a divine interruption that sends them packing to Bethlehem.  Or the angels, who knew all along that the Christ child was coming and even so, they are so overcome with joy and gratitude at his arrival that all they can do is sing God's praise from the bottom of their hearts and at the tops of their lungs.

Whatever has brought you here, all that matters is that we are here.  We have come to see the Christ child with our own eyes, to hear his cry, to feel the softness of his skin, to experience Emmanuel, God with us.  The reality is that while there are many things that have brought us here this morning, God is the One who has really made the journey.  Whatever brought us here, it is really God who has come to us, to tell us in the most profound way possible that God loves us, no exceptions.  The story we hear on Christmas morning is not just a fairy tale, a brief escape from the real world we face that will wear off as soon as the last bit of wrapping paper is gone, the last bit Christmas dinner is devoured, and we go back to life as usual.  This story is our story, the story of God's love for us, the story of God's gift to us in the person of Jesus, and God's presence among us now.  The Christmas story is the assurance of God's presence among us, not as an escape from reality, but as that presence which gives us the strength, the courage, and the love to live our lives fully, and be the people God intends us to be.

In the end, the real question is not "What brings us here this Christmas morning?" or "What did we come to see this day?" but "Where will we go from here?"  Will we, like Mary, allow ourselves to grow in knowledge and love of this child, treasuring this night, pondering it in our hearts always, and allowing ourselves to be shaped by a deepening relationship with this child?  Or, despite the practical reasons for which we have come to Bethlehem, will we, like Joseph, commit our whole selves to this child.  Or like the inn keeper, will we make room for this child, despite the fact that our lives are already packed quite full.  Or perhaps, like the angels, we will sing God's praise so that some unsuspecting shepherds, out tending their sheep and minding their own business will hear the good news, be transformed, and journey to Bethlehem themselves.  Or, like the shepherds, will we allow ourselves to be transformed by the angels' singing, open our hearts to this child, and go into the world, into our ordinary, everyday lives, and tell everyone we meet what we have seen and heard this night?

The Christmas Story is a fairy tale only if we leave it here when we depart.  Regardless of whether we are Mary, Joseph, the Inn Keeper, the shepherds or the angels, regardless of where we are on our life’s journey, the promise of Christmas is that God is with us here and now and forever and that God loves us, no exceptions. 

Amen. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patience

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 11, 2022

3 Advent A

Don and I spent part of this weekend in Cincinnati having late Thanksgiving with our 3 ½ year old granddaughter Evelyn, her two-month-old sister, Sabrina, and their parents Slocomb and Leslie.  Apparently, I am being called to reckon with my attitude toward Advent calendars this year, because not only do I now have one of my own that Leslie sent me, Evelyn has two Advent calendars.  One is chocolate, of course, with a tiny piece of chocolate behind each door.  The other is made of fabric and has a little pocket with a number on it for each day of Advent.  Time is marked by moving a yellow star from one pocket to the next each day.  The way Leslie explained it to Evelyn is that when the star has finally been moved to the last pocket, Christmas is here.  Evelyn, ever the entrepreneur like her father, immediately took the star, moved it to the last pocket, and was convinced that Christmas had arrived.  That’s what her mother said, right? 

Patience is not the star quality of a three-year-old, and patience is not the star quality of John the Baptist either.  Last week, John the Baptist was calling the religious authorities a brood of vipers and telling them that every tree that does not bear good fruit will feel the blade of the ax. The One who is coming will separate the wheat from the chaff and burn the latter with unquenchable fire.  John’s message was an urgent one of judgement and fear, not patience.

Today, John is sitting in prison for the crime of telling King Herod that it is not lawful for him to have his brother’s wife.  Given John’s comment last Sunday about the brood of vipers, I think we can assume that John’s conversation with Herod was a little short on tact and did not go very well.  But John did have a very clear idea of what the Messiah was to be and do, and while unquenchable fire was part of that picture, his imprisonment and impending death was not.  Sitting in prison, John has an urgent question of Jesus “Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?” Since we last heard from John the Baptist, Jesus has called disciples, preached the Sermon on the Mount, made it clear that he has not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it, given the Lord’s prayer, and done many healing miracles.  John has not heard one word about vipers, wheat and chaff, or unquenchable fire.  John expected a little more hell fire and damnation out of Jesus, and there has been nary a lightening bolt.  John will soon have given his life to prepare the way for the One who is coming.  He needs to know and he needs to know now: “Are you the one who is to come, Jesus, or shall we wait for another?”

This week, we will mark the 10th anniversary of the Sandy Hook shooting, and we have stood in horror at the great loss of life to gun violence over and over again.  We have wrestled with illness, loss, and challenge that three years ago we could not have imagined thanks to a pandemic that continues to disrupt our lives.   We have seen natural disasters ravage parts of the country.  And we have had our own personal challenges and losses.  With John, we can easily find ourselves impatiently saying to Jesus “Are you the one to come or shall we wait for another?”  

Jesus’ response to John the Baptist and Jesus’ response to us is to quote from the very passage we heard from Isaiah this morning.  “Go and tell John what you see and hear: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”  My guess is that John, like most of us, wanted a nice clear answer: “Yes, I am the one who is to come,” or “No, we must wait for another.”  Instead, as is often the case, Jesus’ answer to an either/or question is “Yes.”

The reading from James counsels patience. “Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord.”  James does not counsel passive waiting, however.  James compares the waiting we are called to do with the farmer who waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient until the crops receive the early and late rains.  The farmer worked the ground and planted the crops, doing the work of a farmer, before waiting for the crop to appear.  The farmer does not know when, exactly, the crop will appear or what condition of the crop will be.  But the farmer waits patiently, trusting that what has been planted will bear fruit.  The patience we are called to is expectant waiting, doing the work God has called us to do, preparing ourselves and the world around us for the arrival of the Messiah, and watching for what God is doing with the fruit of our efforts. 

The answer to John’s impatient question “Are you the one who is to come or shall we wait for another?” and to whatever our own impatient version of that question might be is “Yes.”  Yes, Jesus is the one foretold by the prophets and longed for by the Hebrew people and Jesus is at work in the world now.  We are called to open our eyes to all the incredible work God is doing in our midst.  And yes, we are to wait with patience and expectation for the Kingdom of God to arrive in all its fullness.  And yes, as the farmer prepares the ground, plants the crop, and waits patiently to see what happens, we are called to wait by preparing the ground and planting the seeds of the gospel of God’s great love, and watching to see what God will do next.                                          Amen.

Tea

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Church Episcopal
December 4, 2022

2 Advent A 

Ironically, last Sunday afternoon I opened a package from Leslie, my daughter-in-law, to find nothing other than an Advent calendar with a tea bag behind each little door.  If you were not here last Sunday, I talked about Advent calendars and my two problems with them.  One: they all start on December 1 and Advent rarely starts on that day.  Leslie, good Episcopalian that she is, acknowledged this in the card.  And two: Advent calendars turn Advent into a countdown season for Christmas rather than recognizing Advent as a season of expectation and preparation.

Much to my surprise, I find myself rather excited by my Advent calendar.  Rather than just being a countdown calendar, each morning brings something new on this journey to the manger.  Granted, that new thing is a tea bag, but it starts each day of December off with the reminder to look for what is new, for what new thing God might be doing.  Practicing that every day just might help me see what new thing God is doing in the Christ child on Christmas Eve!

With my Advent calendar in mind, rather than approach John the Baptist the way I usually do on the second Sunday of Advent, which is to get around him as quickly as possible and back on the road to the Christ Child, I find myself wondering what new thing God might be doing through this odd man with the strange clothing and the challenging diet.  Because as much as I prefer not to be called a brood of vipers and be threatened with unquenchable fire, the faithful people of Jerusalem and all Judea flocked to the wilderness to be baptized by John.  So there must be more to John than clothing of camel’s hair, a meal plan of locust and wild honey, and a doomsday message.

          In his own strange way, John the Baptist offers the people of Jerusalem and all Judea, and us, a message of hope.  The difference between hope and wishful thinking is that hope is based in reality.  The reality of the people is that they are oppressed by the secular kingdom.  The words “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven has come near” are a promise that the longed-for Kingdom of God is so close that the people can almost touch it.  While we are not an oppressed people, we, too, long for peace, an end to the constant strife in our country, a solution to gun violence, a cure for so many illnesses and diseases.  We, too, long for a world that sounds a bit more like the world Isaiah describes, where the wolf shall live with the lamb, and no one will hurt or destroy in all God’s creation.  We, too, can rejoice in John’s promise that the Kingdom of heaven has drawn near.  The appropriate preparation for that Kingdom is to repent; to turn from those things that draw us away from God so that we can see the Kingdom in our midst now and when it arrives in all its fullness.  The Kingdom of Heaven has come near.  This is good news.

Secondly, while “brood of vipers” is hardly a compliment, John the Baptist tells the religious leaders of the day to bear fruit worthy of repentance.  Repentance is apparently possible, even for vipers, and, apparently, even vipers can bear fruit.  John the Baptist starts where the Pharisees and Sadducees are, resting in their status as children of Abraham, tells them that this status won’t save them, and points them to the path that will.  John meets us where we are and reminds us that we have some real responsibility in the emerging Kingdom of Heaven.  We are to bear fruit.  Paul shows us in the letter to the Romans what some of that fruit looks like.  Live in harmony with each other.  Welcome one another as Christ welcomed you.  Abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.  If a brood of vipers can repent and bear good fruit, so can we.  This is good news.

Lastly, John the Baptist tells the crowds and us that he doesn’t have the final word.  He baptizes with water for repentance in preparation for the one who is coming after him.  The one coming after him will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire.  John doesn’t say who will be baptized with the Holy Spirit and with fire, or who is wheat and who is chaff.  Perhaps that is because there is wheat and chaff within each of us.   Jesus will gather the wheat and burn away the chaff to make each of us whole, doing for us the work we cannot do for ourselves.  That is good news.

          John the Baptist might not make the top of our guest list for Christmas dinner.  But if we stop and hear what new thing God might be doing through this character of God, if we stop on our journey to the manger and listen to what he has to say, we will arrive at Christmas more ready to see Jesus and hear what he has to say.  We will have done the work of preparation, turning from those things which draw us from God.  We will have heard that such repentance is possible and bear fruit that is both evidence of that repentance and brings the Kingdom of Heaven closer.  And we will have heard the promise once again that the One who is coming can make us whole. 

Amen.

 

Prepare

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Church Episcopal
November 27, 2022

1 Advent A

          Now that two of our granddaughters are old enough to know their numbers and count a bit, I have been on the hunt for age appropriate Advent calendars.  I have found chocolate Advent calendars, of course, but also Advent calendars with socks, little toys, holiday critters, legos, and of course the not age appropriate adult beverages like coffee and tea.  I have two peevish priest problems with these calendars.  First, they all assume that Advent begins on December 1.  Advent rarely begins on December 1.  Secondly, these are really count down calendars as if Advent is a season of simply marking time. How many days left until Christmas? The theology here is simple: when the chocolate is gone, Jesus is here.

          And while that theology of Advent is perhaps a bit shallow, I have to say that I like that version of Advent better than anything I hear in the gospel lesson this morning. On this first Sunday of Advent, when we might hope to hear something inspiring about the coming birth of the Christ child, instead we hear Jesus compare his return with high level security, the preparation, or lack thereof, for the Great Flood, and a woman being taken up from her work grinding wheat. Where is that Advent calendar with those little Legos?  Aren’t we supposed to welcome Jesus rather than lock him out or prepare for disaster? I much prefer Isaiah’s vision of people beating their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks, and nations not lifting up sword against nation, and no one learning war anymore. Isaiah calls us to wait for this day by walking in the light of the Lord. Jesus calls us to prepare for his return as if we were expecting a thief to break into our home.

          Whose image of the coming of the Messiah is correct? Isaiah’s or Jesus’? In true Anglican fashion, the answer is, of course, "yes." While Isaiah gives us a vision of the world coming together in peaceful unity, Jesus reminds us that there is no calendar of any kind that will give us the date of the Messiah’s arrival. Jesus’ message is not that his return will be a flood, a kidnaping or a theft, but that God will break in among us while we are going about our everyday work, living our everyday lives, with no advance notice, so we need to be prepared.  There will be no 4 weeks of Advent to prepare, no little calendar with a pair of socks behind each door to tell us when to be ready. We will have to be ready because the call to the holy mountain, to gather in peace as God’s people, will come without warning.

How are we to be ready? I am reminded of the way that people and whole cities, states, and countries for that matter, prepare for hurricane season. Tremendous energy and resources are used to board up houses, fill sandbags, stock groceries, water and other necessities, and move to higher ground, because the people’s lives depend on being ready for the wind and rains to come. But is disaster preparedness really the metaphor we want when we think about being prepared for Jesus?

          Preparation for anything involves practice. If we want to be prepared for a recital, we practice. If we want to be prepared to host a dinner party, we practice our recipes on our family. If we want to be prepared for the test, we practice. And, because Jesus himself talks about floods and kidnappings, if we want to be prepared for disaster, we practice. So, if we want to recognize the Christ child when he is born, we practice recognizing those places where he is born among us now. How do we practice that? The apostle Paul gives us some idea of how we practice in the letter to the Romans. In the passage just before our reading from Romans this morning, Paul tells us to love one another, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. This morning we hear Paul tell us to lay aside works of darkness and put on the armor of light. Practice being people of light. We are to practice living fully, fulfilling all the law simply by loving one another and living honorably, and doing this with all the intensity and energy we would put into preparing for a flood, kidnaping, or a theft.

          Advent calls us to a season of intentional practice by calling us to live as if the Christ child will be born in our midst this very minute to usher in the Reign of God. The irony is that, if we live as Paul and Jesus call us to, we will be doing our part to make the future peaceful kingdom that Isaiah describes a more present reality in this world now. Jesus told us that no one knows the hour, the place, or the manner in which he will return, this is true. But Jesus also proclaimed that the Kingdom of God has arrived, and told us that the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, growing among us until sometime in the future when the Kingdom will appear in all its fullness. Jesus calls us to prepare for his coming by living as if that for which we wait has already arrived.

          So we wait and we practice. Advent is so much more than just counting down the days until Christmas. Advent is the call to be prepared, not by stockpiling necessities or by locking all our doors, but by living in the light, looking for those places where the Christ Child is born in our midst now. And when we live into Advent, Isaiah’s vision of the peaceful city will come just a little bit closer.   

Amen.

Work

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Church Episcopal
November 13, 2022

28 Proper C 

          Sometime in the summer of 2018, Rabbi Michael Ross from Temple Beth Shalom, Pastor Peter Wiley from First Congregational next door, and I began talking about hosting an Interfaith Thanksgiving Service.  Our congregations are a three-minute walk from each other, at most.  We share a rootedness in gratitude, and Thanksgiving is a holiday we all hold in common.  We talked over coffee several times and decided to wait until 2019 rather than rush things in 2018.  We really wanted to get the Interfaith Thanksgiving service right.

          But then, on October 27 of 2018, a gunman entered the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh, killing 11 congregants who were at prayer.  This was the deadliest antisemitic attack in American history and shock and fear rippled through the Jewish community in this country.  Peter and I reached out to Rabbi Michael immediately to offer our support, then quickly decided that this was not the year to delay an Interfaith Thanksgiving Service.  We put together a service quickly, letting go of any notion of perfection, and members of the three congregations gathered at Temple Beth Sholom on the Sunday before Thanksgiving to worship, sing, and give thanks together.  We have gathered every year since then, even when we had to be totally online, convinced that not only are we are better together than we are apart, we also need each other. 

          I thought about the Tree of Life shooting, other school and faith community shootings, the war in Ukraine, the pandemic, hurricanes Ian and Nicole, the conflict in our country, and so many other disasters as I read our gospel lesson this morning.  Jesus is speaking to people who will endure everything he describes, and Luke is writing to an audience currently experiencing those events.  Jesus tells the people that all of these things will come to pass before he returns and that his followers are to endure.  But here we are, two thousands of years later and acts of hatred, natural disaster, and plagues are still among us and Jesus has not returned.  What do we do with Jesus words?

          The answer to the question about Jesus’ return is a mystery I cannot solve.  But our other readings this morning do guide us in how we are to live while we wait.  The prophet Isaiah is writing to people who are trying to rebuild their lives in the Promised Land after their exile in Babylon.  The work is difficult and there is no clear path forward, much less agreement on that path.  The temple has been destroyed, the land burned out, and most of the people who once lived there have died.  Isaiah writes to encourage the people and call them to watch for the new thing God is doing in their midst.  God is not going to repeat what God has already done, but God will create Jerusalem as a joy and her people as a delight, a place where there will be no more weeping or cries of distress, and even the animals will get along.  In the midst of all that plagues and horrifies us, whether as individuals, as an institution, or as a country, God promises that God is about to do something new and God calls us to open our eyes and watch for God’s new action. 

          But this watching is not to be passive waiting.  The reading from I Thessalonians reminds us that the Christian life requires work. The specific work that is being commended to the Thessalonians is the work of earning their keep.  As Christians, the Thessalonians cannot expect others to do their work.  Likewise, as Christians we are called to model the work to which Jesus calls us, the work of tending the sick, caring for those affected by disaster or tragedy, working for justice and peace in cases of conflict.  That work is not easy, but that work is holy.  Our work is to point to and actually be part of the new thing God is doing in our midst despite any and all evidence that wars, plagues, violence, and conflict are winning. 

          In 2018, in the face of devastating violence, the Interfaith Thanksgiving Service was our attempt to bring people together across differences and to see what new thing God might be doing in our midst in the face of tragedy.  The work to which I Thessalonians calls us is the work of actually being that new thing Isaiah writes about, working across differences to usher in a new day in which faithful people across faith traditions can gather, give thanks, and build relationships that will make the world look a little less like what Jesus predicts and a little more like what Isaiah foretells.  When we practice that work in something so easy and simple as an Interfaith Thanksgiving Service, we are better prepared to practice that work in the rest of our lives.

                                                                   Amen.

         

Present Tense

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Church Episcopal
November 6, 2022

All Saints Day

One afternoon many years ago, I received a call from the husband of my close friend and mentor of about 35 years. His wife, my beloved friend, had been sick for a year. I had been to Arkansas to visit her twice during that year and both visits were deep and rich. We had the kind of friendship where we could be apart for several years and then pick up right where we left off, like no time had elapsed at all.

When her husband called that afternoon, the situation was deteriorating rapidly and my friend was only expected to live a few more hours, or a day at best. While the news was not unexpected, I was crushed nonetheless. I knew I could not get to Arkansas in time, and really did not feel called to be there. So I asked her husband "What can I do?" Of course, I thought he would say "Keep us in your prayers." Instead, he said "Just get out there and be the best priest you know how to be."

On All Saints Sunday, we remember those who have gone before us and their impact on our lives. The music, the candles, and the names evoke powerful emotions within us as we remember those who, in the words of the Burial service, "we love but see no longer." We remember those whose lives touched our own, as well as the people the church has named the "official" saints, like St. Peter or St. Mary. All Saints Sunday evokes tears of both joy and sadness as we celebrate these lives that are now lived in the nearer presence of God, and we pause for a moment to simply dwell in those memories.

On All Saints Sunday, while we remember the past and dream of a future in which God will reunite us with our loved ones, Jesus grounds us firmly in the present with the present tense words of the beatitudes. The reassuring words "Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God" quickly become "Woe to you who are rich for you have received your consolation." The comforting words "Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh" become "Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep." Jesus begins the beatitudes with words of comfort which quickly turn to words of challenge and judgement.  These are not the words I want to hear on All Saints Sunday.

What are we to make of Jesus’ words this morning?  Jesus fed thousands of hungry people with a few fish and loaves of bread. Jesus had mercy on tears of grief and raised the dead. Jesus befriended the poor and the outcast, healing the lepers and the blind so they could rejoin society and be productive. Jesus certainly did not glorify hungry, sorrow and poverty with his actions. If Jesus worked so hard with his actions to feed the hungry, comfort the sorrowful, and lift people out of poverty, what could his words this morning possibly mean?

On All Saints Sunday, Jesus does not tell us that hunger, poverty, and misery are good things. What Jesus does is invite us into the Kingdom of God where those who have food share with those who are hungry, and those who are joyful comfort those who mourn, and those who are blessed with material resources share with those in need.  Then the hungry will be fed, and those who weep will laugh again.  When Jesus tells us to love our enemies, do good to those who hate us, and give to everyone who begs from us, Jesus is inviting us to make the Kingdom of God a present reality in our midst now.  The Kingdom of God is not a magical place where all of the problems of the world are suddenly solved.  The Kingdom of God is a real place that is brought into existence in our midst when everyone does to others as they would have them to themselves, everyone is loving their enemies, doing good to those who hate them, and on and on.  On All Saints Sunday, Jesus calls us to remember those who worked to make the Kingdom of God a present reality in the world and to commit ourselves to that same work.

          This morning, we baptize Anna Longenecker into the body of Christ.  In baptism, she joins the communion of saints we celebrate this day.  In baptism, her parents and godparents promise to help her grow into the full stature of Christ and to work to bring the Kingdom of God near.  With Anna, we all promise to seek and serve Christ in all people, respect the dignity of every human being, and work for justice and peace.  When we do that work, the hungry are fed, the sorrowful are comforted, the poor are blessed, and the Kingdom of God is in our midst.

On All Saints Sunday, we remember those who have gone before us because their lives showed us how to bring the Kingdom of God near. We sing the great hymns, light the candles, read the names, and say the prayers, not just because they comfort us, but because they remind us that we, like all the saints, are called to live into our baptism and be a gospel witness in the world. When I asked my friend’s husband what I could do in the face of her death, he did not say to me "light a candle, say a prayer, or sing a really great hymn.” He said "Get out there and be the best priest you can be." The saints in our lives are the ones who call us, who challenge us, to trust in Jesus and get out there and live our lives such that the world around us will experience the Kingdom of God in their midst.

Amen