The Holy Space In Between

These are the other Beatitudes, from the Sermon on the Plain, not Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount, because in today’s Gospel from Luke we’re told that Jesus “looked up at his disciples,” as opposed to Matthew’s version, where Jesus went up a mountain and his disciples came up to him. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus’s beatitudes are more spiritualized — Blessed are the poor in spirit, for the kingdom of Heaven is theirs — in contrast to Luke’s — Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God — And if that isn’t enough — Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.

In Matthew, Jesus looks down from his high and holy place to dispense divine wisdom. In Luke, Jesus looks up, not just at his disciples, but at “a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon,” Gentile territory. Here, Jesus is within the people, including the poor and hungry. And he doesn’t just assure them of a heavenly reward, but that their empty stomachs will be filled, as Mary praised God in her song — He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.

That’s another contrast with Matthew — But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. I’m pretty sure that at least some in that “great multitude of people” might have been made to feel uncomfortable. This is a Jesus who seems fully aware that some people need to be filled with justice now, not at the end of this life.

But there do still seem to be some caveats — Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets — That seems pretty directed at his disciples, then and now. Most of us modern western Christians have not suffered anything of real consequence for following Jesus. Most of the claims of persecution I’ve heard are more resentment that we now have to share the public square rather then dominating it. Perhaps this will change as those who worship power seek to co-opt the name of Jesus to favor wealth and power against the Gospel.

So, somewhere between — Blessed are you who are poor — and — for surely your reward is great in heaven — that’s where we disciples are. And somewhere in that between, there will be weeping and there will be defamation, and somewhere in that between there will be leaping and there will be rejoicing. But where exactly is that somewhere in between?

One place might be pages 585–808 in the Book of Common Prayer, the Psalter, the entire Book of Psalms, the largest single section of our Prayer Book by far. Before the 1979 American Prayer Book, there were lectionaries that prescribed psalms to be read in Holy Communion or the Daily Offices of Morning and Evening Prayer, but you needed a separate book to find those psalms. What was included in previous prayer books, English and American, were the readings (Epistle and Gospel) from a one year cycle only. Well now we have a three year cycle of Bible readings, far too much to publish in one Book of Common Prayer. So instead we have the entire book of Psalms, or Songs to God as close to us as our prayer book.

It’s not every Sunday that the Old Testament writer is so obviously cribbing the psalm that we sing in response to the Old Testament reading that’s cribbing the psalm that we sing in response to … The prophet Jeremiah had to have known this particular psalm of David, in which both prophet and psalmist speak of those who trust God as well rooted plants who will be given the rain and soil they need to flourish, while those who scorn their Creator will find themselves no more than chaff blowing in the wind.

It was some inspired editors who later made this psalm number one in the Book of Songs to God, reminding us to start our spiritual life with learning God’s revelation of how to live with each other in justice, peace, and love. And those same inspired editors closed out the Book of Songs to God with number 150 — Hallelujah! Praise God in his holy Temple; praise him in the firmament of his power … Let everything that has breath praise the LORD, Hallelujah — Cerebral study and unrestrained praise are the bookends of our life with God. And in between are all the emotional ups and downs in that relationship with God and each other.

It’s all in a book that we call the Word of God. So, we have divine permission to give voice to all of those up and down emotions: sadness, even despair, righteous anger, conviction and resolve, joy, peace, contentment, trust. And we are reminded also to “listen to what the LORD God is saying, for he is speaking peace to his faithful people and to those who turn their hearts to him,” as we recited last Thursday in our Evening Prayer service from Psalm 85. As you return to that place between pages 585 and 808, the more you will find certain verses just coming to you when you most need to remember them.

In this time and place in between weeping and defamation, leaping and joy, find your place in the psalms, where you will find the holy space to weep, to plead, to protest, to rejoice, to celebrate, and sometimes to wait and trust.

The reason that priests bow at the Sanctus is what you’ve heard from Isaiah this morning. When we sing, we sing the song of the angels: “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts...” So as Isaiah confessed his unworthiness before the divine presence, so we priests bow as sign of our unworthiness. Then, like Isaiah, we are quick to say, “Here am I; send me!” Perhaps too quick. Wait, what should I say — Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand? “Then I said, ‘How long, O Lord?’ And he said: ‘Until cities lie waste without inhabitant, and houses without people, and the land is utterly desolate...The holy seed is its stump.’”

Simeon was "looking forward to the consolation of Israel,” and so he had, for a long, long time. Anna, along with the other pilgrims to Jerusalem, was “looking for the redemption of Jerusalem,” and so she had, for a long, long time. Israel was God's chosen people, but they had known little besides conquest and exile and strife and occupation. God's people needed consolation. Simeon needed consolation. And so he had come to the Temple of God's presence, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, to pray for that consolation. Anna had done the same for so many years, praying for the redemption of Jerusalem, the rescue of Jerusalem from her oppressors. How often had Simeon and Anna run into each other in this most holy place, spoke of their hopes, and waited together for God to answer their prayers?

Jesus has indeed fulfilled the purpose of God first spoken by the prophet Isaiah. So all these things are perfectly possible: the inclusion of those who are poor or otherwise outcast; vision for those who can only see what is in front of them; relief from whatever weighs down the body and the soul; forgiveness or release from the claims we hold against each other; and this is the year acceptable to God for that fulfillment of God’s purpose for all of us. And so it has been every day that the Word who was with God, and was God, and who became flesh, has spoken through this Gospel; because every day is an opportunity for those hearing this text to fulfill it.

We always thank God for making us “living members” of the Body of Christ, as in the old meaning of “member,” an arm, leg, hand, finger, organ. If we each become limbs and organs of Christ’s Body in this world, we are also limbs and organs of each other in this “Holy Communion,” as much communion with each other in Christ as communion with Christ: Which makes every Holy Eucharist a kind of marriage renewal with Jesus and each other, bread and wine, limbs and organs. And that communion of food and drink, limbs and organs, continues in our Fellowship Hall named for Frances Perkins with “fellowship” being a frequent translation of the Greek koinonia the root of “communion.” Our fellowship in Perkins Hall is a celebration of the communion and wedding renewal we celebrate in this church.

Unlike Matthew and Mark, Luke reports what they didn’t think important enough. Jesus’ Baptism wasn’t private between him and John — Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized — Luke doesn’t even bother to narrate the actual baptism, just that it had happened in the past tense. John was a lot like a revival preacher setting up a tent in the country and calling people to come hear the Word of God that had come to him, and then repent of their sins by being baptized in the nearest body of water. Matthew and Mark would have known this too, but only Luke thought it a detail worth mentioning. I believe that Luke wants us to understand Jesus’ Baptism as an act of solidarity with his fellow Jews and Israelites. Baptism as an act of solidarity is essential to the Baptism rite in our current prayer book.

“For me, Christmas starts in earnest on Boxing Day,” Jessica Furseth wrote for The Guardian newspaper in a 2023 article headlined, “Boxing week, that blissful period when nothing happens, is the real gift of Christmas.” For those who aren’t aware, in Britian, Canada, and others in the British Commonwealth, Boxing Day is on December 26th, and is traditionally for gift-giving beyond one’s family, for instance your local proprieter or employees. Boxing Day itself is a holiday in those countries, but Furseth expands it to a week, “the only time of year when we can legitimately forget what day it is…The real joy of Boxing week is a feeling that no one is doing anything ‘important’, creating a break from a relentless push for productivity that dominates pretty much every other time of year.”

Fr. David writes, “On the one hand, this is a very human story that all of us can identify with. What parents or other caregivers of children cannot identify with the shock, anguish, and confusion of Mary and Joseph. Who hasn’t felt the adolescent tension between respect owed to parents, and the assertion of newly discovered independence?….”

It was about 2,500 years ago that the Word of God inspired the prophet to speak the words of vindication that we hear in today's reading from Isaiah. It had been in 586 BC that the Babylonians had burned down Jerusalem, burned down that Temple that King David’s son Solomon had built some 500 years earlier. But in 538, the Persian King Cyrus conquered Babylon, and allowed all the peoples conquered by the Babylonians, including the Jews, to return to their homelands. It was actually during that exile that they took the many scriptures they had collected of their history and edited them into what we Christians call today the Old Testament. When the Jewish people returned to Jerusalem, there was no longer a king, for there was only one King in the Persian Empire. Their authority was not a king, but the Torah, the five books of the Law of Moses.

Fr. David writes, “Once, the true Light became concentrated into a point of energy.

Then it exploded into smaller points, all with a trace of the true Light.

In time, creatures evolved to the point of recognizing that trace of light, but still fail to trust the warmth of that light.

So, the Light began to shine like a lighthouse beam, shooting through the darkness to one man and one woman, then to a tribe of outcasts, liberated by the heat of that Light, and initiated into a covenant with the Source of that Light, and called to share that light with all the tribes of Earth…”

Fr. David writes, “But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see — I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” (Luke 2:10-11)

Ask yourselves this night which of these active characters in this familiar story you are. Are you shepherds first filled with fear, then with joy, leaving here and going back to your regular lives praising God but doubting if any of it means something for the rest of your life? Are you Mary, searing all these words and images in your mind, and trying to make sense of it all and fit them into your little life? Are you Jospeh, perhaps a bit concerned about what happens if the shepherds go telling everybody about a Messiah being born? Or, are you the apostles on a mission who first read this Good News according to Luke, who got the message and understood their marching orders?….”

Fr. David writes, “So, if I read Micah literally, God will abandon Israel until she has finished giving birth. I don’t know how the ladies in the audience feel about labor pangs becoming a metaphor for national greatness. In the Talmud, this passage was interpreted as a metaphor for Rome being allowed to “enfold Israel for nine months,” or however long it would take before the Messiah appeared; who would be a descendant of King David, which explains Micah’s reference to “Bethlehem of Ephrathah, the least of the clans of Judah,” but also David’s birthplace.”

So last Sunday I talked about my friend from seminary and her John the Baptist nutcracker. Well he sure seems to earn that rap today — Brood of vipers, who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? And yet, he is surprisingly pastoral, meeting people halfway. And he has the passion of a man who deliberately chose not to follow in his daddy’s footsteps. In this slightly penitential season of Advent, a season of preparation for Jesus’s first and second coming, the Good News we hear from John the Baptist is that God will meet us halfway.

On this second Sunday of Advent in Luke’s year, we get as much of the soft cop side of John the Baptist as there is to get, and we get the hard cop side as well. “Look, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and suddenly the Lord whom you seek come to his temple…But who can endure the day of his coming…For he is like a refiner's fire, like fullers’ alkali…he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver.” That sounds painful. But in our Gospel, John is like the prophet Isaiah preparing the exiles of Judah to actually “see the salvation of God.”

When I hit adolescence, I found myself getting depressed, and the more I tried to analyze my way out of it, the deeper the hole in my heart got. No doubt some of it had to do with my increasing adult awareness that all was not well in my family. My father and mother couldn't agree on whether my drug-using brother needed tough love or not. In my 16th year, my father had a nervous breakdown four days before Christmas; and only then was it agreed that my brother had to move out of our home. Perhaps because, as the “baby” of the family, my early childhood was very sheltered, it was much harder to come to grips with the harder things of life. And in that new awareness, all the happy faces and tons of toys and tinkling bells around me didn't reflect how I felt as December 25th loomed larger and larger, and the pressure to feel happy got harder and harder to bear.

  As an adult Episcopalian, Advent was a divine gift. I wasn't obligated to put up the largest possible Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving. I could wait until the day before Christmas Eve. I didn't have to sing all the Christmas songs until Christmas Day. Unlike much of the world that is exhausted on December 26th, my celebration of the Twelve Days of Christmas is just beginning.  Unlike much of the world that drags their tree to the curb on January 2nd, Laura and I can keep ours up until the visit of the Wise Men on the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6th.  Advent has been the cure for my Christmas blues.

It is from today’s reading in Daniel that Jesus claimed the title “Son of Man” for himself. The most literal translation of the Hebrew is “son of a human,” not son of a male, thus the NRSV’s “human being.” It is a human being that Daniel saw being brought to the “Ancient One,” who we rightly see as God. And it is to that human being that God gives authority over all peoples, nations and languages.

“What I say to you, I say to all, stay focused.” (Mark 13:37)

My Bible verse for today comes at the end of the chapter that today’s Gospel reading begins. We need the end of the chapter to understand what Jesus means at the beginning, “And when you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must happen, but the end is not yet...This is the beginning of the birth pangs…you will be brought before governors and kings because of me, as evidence to them.”

Jesus’s Bible was what we call the Old Testament (Tanakh in Hebrew). Before Paul started writing his letters and the Gospels got written, the Church’s Bible was the Old Testament. Jesus’s God is Yahweh, for which the LORD (all caps) is usually substituted for the name revealed to Moses — I AM. And the Gospel, the Good News of Jesus Christ lurks in the story of God’s relationship with God’s chosen people of the Old Testament, as it does in today’s Old Testament reading.

To be a saint is to be made new or in the process of being made new. To be a saint is to be hallowed, holy, set apart from those on the earth that don’t want to be made new, but want only survival and self-maintenance at all costs. To be a saint is to recognize that to become the person God made us to be, we must pass away, not to nothingness, but to the new person who is the same as the first but infinitely better. T

“What do you want me to do for you?” Twice we have heard Jesus ask that question. Last week, he asked James and John, “What do you want me to do for you?” Basically they answered by asking: When you inherit the kingdom we know that’s coming to you, we want the most direct access to your power. Today, Jesus asks that question again, “What do you want me to do for you?”