Thursday, April 26, 2018

The Fifth Sunday of Easter

Almighty God, whom truly to know is everlasting life: Grant us so perfectly to know your Son Jesus Christ to be the way, the truth, and the life, that we may steadfastly follow his steps in the way that leads to eternal life; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

-- BCP, page 225


Acts 8:26-40; Psalm 22:24-30;
1 John 4:7-21; John 15:1-8
This may be the boldest collect yet for Eastertide. Grant us so perfectly to know your Son Jesus, the Christ, ...that we may steadfastly follow his steps. Wow. It asks not that we may believe things about Jesus but that we may so perfectly know him as to be able to follow him.

And how may we do that? How can we know Jesus like that?

In Luke 24:13-35, Jesus, disguised as a stranger, meets two unnamed disciples on the road to Emmaus on the evening of Easter Day and speaks to them as they walk. In the story, Jesus opened the Scriptures to them, so they could begin to appreciate the pattern central to true life-suffering, death, and resurrection-that the Messiah would reveal.

(Messiah, by the way, is the Hebrew word that means "anointed." Its Greek counterpart is the word Christ.)

We are told that though their hearts were burning inside them, they did not know that it was Jesus. The story goes on to tell us that when they reached Emmaus the disciples insisted that the stranger stay the night with them, even though he looked like he was going to keep on walking.  It was while he broke the bread at table with them that their eyes were opened, and they recognized him. 

He then vanished from their sight and they rushed back to Jerusalem that very hour to tell all the others.

Here is the thing: None of this would have happened had they not insisted that the stranger stay with them.

Our own Carol Sethman pointed this out to me in a conversation a couple of years ago: it was their compassionate action, it was their hospitality to the stranger, it was their insistence that he not spend the night walking in the dark, that gave those disciples the opportunity to know Jesus in the opening of Scriptures and the breaking of the Bread.

How do we know Jesus? By doing acts of compassion.

Compassion is the gate to perfect knowledge of Jesus as the way, the truth, and the life. Compassion is not a sequel to knowing Jesus; it is the entryway. Orthodoxy follows Orthopraxis. Right believing follows from right doing. Ours is a hands-on faith, not a set of statements tucked away in a dusty book. Begin by loving the neighbor and you and I will come to the perfect knowledge of the Christ.

Begin by doing that which upholds the dignity and worth of the person in front of you.

Compassion is concrete, not abstract.

Direct and immediate, not postponed to a better time or more appropriate moment. Compassion is embodied behavior, not pure thought.

Knowing by doing. Embodied knowledge.

Rolling up our sleeves and engaging in acts of compassion: This also is, as Eugene Peterson would say, to practice resurrection.

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

The Fourth Sunday of Easter: Jesus, The Good Shepherd

O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people: Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads; who, with you and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

-- BCP, page 225


Acts 4:5-12; Psalm 23;
1 John 3:16-24; John 10:11-18

Jesus calls himself The Good Shepherd, in this week's Gospel. This title, if you will, is claimed in the context of a conflict with the religious authorities of his day, whom he bluntly calls hired hands -- earlier in the passage, he calls them thieves and bandits..

Let's back up a minute. One of my earliest book memories comes from an illustrated children's Bible. It is a picture of a contented ewe lamb, cute as a button, held in a sweet, all-encompassing embrace by a rather Scandinavian-looking Jesus. A man and his pet, it would seem. It stayed with me. As a young child, being cuddled like that was the warmest and most wonderful of feelings, and I readily identified with the ewe lamb.

Most shepherds, in any age, would be unlikely to look at their animals as pets, to be sure. Whether for their wool or their meat, sheep are a highly valued commodity. At the same time, shepherds are fiercely protective of their sheep because they are their livelihood. Against predators of any kind, four-legged as well as two-legged, they stand willing to do anything for the protection and well-being of their flock.

Jesus, in a long line of prophetic tradition, calls out the religious leaders of his day as shepherds who have deserted their duties. His critique is that the people in their care were to them little more than sources of power, prestige, and revenue. They cared more about protecting their place under occupying Rome, preserving their position, and lining their pockets with the business of the temple while promulgating a burdensome piety they were themselves unwilling to maintain. Therefore, Jesus calls them hired hands who flee in the face of trouble rather than protecting the sheepfold, as proper shepherds would do.

It would be tempting to turn Jesus into a belief system about who is in and who is out of the sheepfold. But if we turn the things we believe about Jesus into Shibboleths that determine belonging, we miss the point of the parable of Jesus, The Good Shepherd. To Jesus, the sheep are elevated from mere commodities to the proper position of beloved creatures to whom he gives life, and for whom he desires and provides abundant life.

The Good Shepherd gives his life to empower the safety and wellbeing of the sheep. Whether we are in his sheepfold is not determined by what we say or believe about Jesus --important as that is. Rather the decisive issue is how we relate to other sheep, both in and beyond Emmanuel. Do we see people as commodities, as so much of the world does in our day? Are we interested in people as ends in themselves or as means to our own ends? Do we treat people as persons to be met, cherished, and loved or as objects to be used and discarded when not useful?

We are all part of God's sheepfold to the degree that we seek to love and serve one another, nay, the entire creation and all its creatures, which is indeed God's sheepfold. This is our motivation to invite other people to come to Emmanuel. In a world bent on commoditizing human beings, we want everyone to know that they are cherished and beloved, that their very existence is a sign of God's delight in them.

At Emmanuel, the lower-cap shepherds, under the Good Shepherd, are your rector and vestry. We are committed and strive to do everything in our power, by God's grace and with God's help, for your well-being.

All of us are here on God's green earth to help one another grow more and more into the likeness of Jesus.

You are not the commodities of any institution or enterprise. You are not objects to be used and disposed of; you are God's own beloved creation, souls embodying God, holy sacraments of the living God.

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+

The Third Sunday of Easter

O God, whose blessed Son made himself known to his disciples in the breaking of bread: Open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in all his redeeming work; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

-- BCP, page 224


Acts 3:12-19; Psalm 4 or 116:1-3, 10-17;
1 John 3:1-7; Luke 24:36b-48

In his daily meditation for Easter Monday, Fr. Richard Rohr, OSF, writes:

When God gives of Godself, one of two things happens: either flesh is inspirited or spirit is enfleshed. It is really very clear. I am somewhat amazed that more have not recognized this simple pattern: God's will is incarnation. And against all our expectations of divinity, it appears that for God, matter really matters.

This Creator of ours is patiently determined to put matter and spirit together, almost as if the one were not complete without the other. This Lord of life seems to desire a perfect but free unification between body and soul. So much so, in fact, that God appears to be willing to wait for the creatures to will and choose this unity themselves-or it remains unrealized. But if God did it any other way, the medium would not be the message: God never enforces or dominates, but only allures and seduces.

God apparently loves freedom as much as incarnation. This is the rub of time and history and our interminable groanings (see Romans 8:18-25). Jesus trusted God's slow process of incarnation instead of demanding an immediate conclusion. The result was resurrection and the realization of eternal union between body and spirit, human and divine.
Resurrection tells us that "matter really matters." A spirituality that does not concern itself with the material -- this world, this place, these creatures, these humans -- cannot be Godly. Unfortunately, it is quite prevalent in our language (including in the Book of Common Prayer) to speak of "the salvation of our souls." This could make us think, with Manicheans and all dualists of ages past, that God only cares about the spiritual realm and considers only the soul to be worth the hassle. Thanks, Plato.

But the story of our faith in the Scriptures, culminating with the death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus, very clearly asserts that the material world, including our very bodies, matter greatly to God as a primary concern.

William Temple, Archbishop of Canterbury during World War Two, said that "Christianity is the most materialistic of the world religions." I don't wish to get into invidious comparisons, but you get the point. God is concerned with the whole person. God cares about the well-being of all created things. After all, God made the world with bursts of delight that culminated in: "God saw everything that [God] had made, and, indeed, it was very good" (Genesis 1:31).

That "either flesh is inspirited or spirit is enfleshed" is the consistent insight in the Scriptures. Incarnation and Resurrection are not freakish exceptions to the rules but rather revelation of the true pattern of the Divine activity in creation. Incarnation matters. Resurrection matters.

I close with a brief poem I wrote a long time ago, paraphrasing my friend and poet Carl Johnson, of blessed memory:




, a flaming bird

against the


This blood of


(I can love

my toes

I dream,

indeed, I dream

-- DDRH, 1976

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+

The Second Sunday of Easter and Commemoration of The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Almighty and everlasting God, who in the Paschal mystery established the new covenant of reconciliation: Grant that all who have been reborn into the fellowship of Christ's Body may show forth in their lives what they profess by their faith; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

-- BCP, page 224

 Easter II Texts

Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133;
1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31

Almighty God, by the hand of Moses your servant you led your people out of slavery, and made them free at last: Grant that your Church, following the example of your prophet Martin Luther King, may resist oppression in the name of your love, and may secure for all your children the blessed liberty of the Gospel of Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

-- Lesser Feasts and Fasts, page 227

 Dr. King's Texts

Genesis 3:17b-20; Psalm 77:11-20;
Ephesians 6:10-20; Luke 6:27-36

In an eloquent letter to the clergy of the diocese, our Bishop, The Rt. Rev. Shannon S. Johnston, recently wrote:

The 50th anniversary of the martyrdom of The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. will occur on April 4 of this year. Of course, Dr. King's story is now deeply woven into our hearts and minds. The pre-eminent leader of the Civil Rights movement, he was awarded a Nobel Prize for his prophetic and courageous ministry. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated April 4, 1968, at age 39 in Memphis, Tenn., where he had gone to support striking sanitation workers in their struggle for better wages.

Dr. King's life was devoted to encouraging all in America to stand up for equality, justice, and peace. He wielded those tenets of the Gospel to lead a nonviolent movement in the late 1950s and 60s that sought to end racism and provide for legal equality for African-Americans, to end economic injustices, and to oppose international conflict. He is enshrined as a "Modern Martyr" in England's Canterbury Cathedral, one of only two Americans so honored, the other being Jonathan Daniels, the Episcopal seminarian who died protecting a young African-American girl from a shotgun blast (you may remember that the Diocese of Virginia commemorated the 50th anniversary of Daniels' martyrdom in 2015). Dr. King's words inspired Jonathan Daniels, and they continue to inspire those who seek justice and an end to inequality around the world.

Therefore, I am permitting, and indeed strongly encouraging, churches across our diocese to designate Sunday, April 8, being the Sunday closest to Dr. King's day on our Church calendar, as our diocesan-wide commemoration of the life and legacy of one of our nation's most inspiring witnesses to the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Fifty years later, we know that Dr. King's dream of equality and opportunity for men and women everywhere, regardless of color or creed, is rooted in the knowledge that we are all God's children. We also know the dream is not yet realized for all. So, let us reflect upon, honor, and, with courage, follow the example of a man who showed us how to live into our Baptismal Covenant. May doing so help us grow in love and become the "beloved community" he hoped would be achieved.
Following our Bishop's encouragement, we will commemorate Dr. King this Sunday.

I rang the church bells 39 times on Wednesday evening, as did many churches throughout the country. No, he was not perfect; none of God's people ever have been nor will be on this side of the Communion of Saints. But God used him; and he still speaks to us today with words that convict and convert us. May we consecrate our lives to love God and love our neighbor with all our hearts, our minds, and all our strength.

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+

Triduum: 'Stay awake with me'

Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
-- BCP, page 220


Acts 10:34-43; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11;
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24; Mark 16:1-8

"Triduum," a Latin word that means three days, refers to the holiest days in the Christian family's memory. From the time of the Last Supper and First Eucharist through the Empty Tomb, the story of the Passion and Resurrection of our Lord is the central narrative that shapes our own story of faith.

[How do we get three days from Thursday night to Sunday? Liturgical calendars, following Jewish calendars, mark sundown rather than midnight as the beginning of a day. So, Thursday night is the beginning of Friday. Thus, the Eve of a feast, like Christmas Eve and Easter Eve, can be celebrated as part of the following day.]

The three days belong together. Consequently, we have a single word, Triduum, to refer to them as a unit. We rob ourselves of a great blessing if we simply skip to Easter Sunday. Yes, it is very difficult to keep them together and to observe them. I wonder if there are deeper reasons for our difficulty than the practical ones of attending worship for the long stretch of Thursday through Sunday.

The story of the three days shows us why. After supper and while Judas was gathering a rabble to arrest Jesus, Jesus went to the garden of Gethsemane in the Mount of Olives to pray, taking Peter and James and John with him. He asked them, "stay awake with me."

Which they could not do. Twice he found them asleep. "Could you not stay awake with me an hour?" The question rings through the centuries and resonates in our ears.

In the face of deep suffering, it is hard to stay awake, to remain present.

Compassion, which often gets reduced to feelings of pity, is in fact a difficult deed that requires both an open heart and a resilient will. You must be there to be compassionate. Jesus was in dire need of compassion --people who stayed present with him in his anguish and, yes, fear. But his most trusted friends had a very hard time doing that. In fact, they failed miserably.

As do we. It is very difficult to be in the room with someone who is suffering, when all we can offer is the seemingly scant comfort of our presence. Compassion means to suffer with the sufferer. To allow the pain of someone else enter you and change you. Being there with one who suffers also most peculiarly puts us in touch with our own vulnerabilities, our own pain, our own suffering. And this is very hard to do.

The Three Days are an opportunity to train our souls in compassion. To attempt to stay awake with Jesus in the Triduum is to work on opening our hearts and strengthening our wills to sufferings -- in others as well as in ourselves. The great mystery is that the path of suffering leads to the empty tomb and the promise of resurrection, of new and transformed lives.

We are invited to keep the Triduum. May we stay awake.

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+

Palm Sunday: Mighty Acts

Assist us mercifully with your help, O Lord God of our salvation, that we may enter with joy upon the contemplation of those mighty acts, whereby you have given us life and immortality; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
-- BCP, page 270

This Sunday's Texts

Liturgy of the Palms
Liturgy of the Word
Mark 11:1-11
Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm 31:9-16
Philippians 2:5-11
Mark 14:1-15:47

The Collect for the Liturgy of the Palms, at the beginning of the celebration of Palm Sunday, sets the tone as well as reflects the spirit of this part of the service. We are a happy and expectant bunch, clutching our palm branches, ready to sing "Hosanna!" "Praise the Lord!" We enter with joy indeed, as we hear the narrative of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem. We are ready for good things to happen.

That's how it looks at first. Psalm 118, which we recite, looks for the opening of doors, for the establishment of righteousness, for the celebration of God's doings. We sing "All glory, laud, and honor" and remember that God is in charge.

We are ready, are we not, to contemplate God's mighty acts.

But things do not turn out quite as we thought. Gradually the readings take us down the path of conflict and turmoil-Isaiah shows God contending with a people unsure of trusting that goodness and grace dwell in God. The Epistle tells us that Jesus willingly entered suffering and even crucifixion in a total self-emptying of the need to be exalted and adored. By the time that we reach the story of the Passion in Mark, we are in total darkness. Betrayed by one of his intimates, his basic humanity trampled by those who were the best that religion had to offer and his life taken by the raw power of human empire, Jesus dies on Good Friday. And with him seem to die all the hopes and dreams of those who only five days before had been bold enough to call him the one who comes in the name of the Lord.

These are the mighty acts that we are invited to contemplate.

Stop right there. Let the story sink in. The mighty acts whereby life and immortality are given to us? A surface reading would tell us that Jesus accomplished nothing, that he was dragged to his death, and that the religious leaders who called him an impostor were right on target.

Oh, but there is so much more to the story! We really need, you and I, not only this Palm Sunday but the entire Holy Week to walk in the Way of the Cross. We need to contemplate the whole story in all its horrifying detail so that we might begin to glimpse what God is doing with all the nastiness that we are capable on inflicting one another.

Even though filled with pathos and ambiguity, the Passion challenges all our notions of how good conquers evil: not by brute force but in the paradox of a willing agent who freely gives his life, allowing all the terrors that we might most fear do their worst, thereby unmasking their ultimate powerlessness because Love, however much trampled, will rise from the dust.

The grace of Holy Week is this opportunity to contemplate the might acts of God. Where betrayal and subterfuge would try to force Jesus to die, he surrenders his life. May we not cling to our life even as we gratefully live it each day. Open hands, not closed fists, are the path of freedom and real living. Fear not!

May we embrace the grace of Holy Week.

The Tomb shall not have the last word.

Love wins. By losing. Let's ponder that.

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+

The Fifth Sunday in Lent

Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners: Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise; that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

-- BCP, page 219


Jeremiah 31:31-34, Psalm 51:1-13,
Hebrews 5:5-10, John 12:20-33

In our Lenten study group, "Luke for Lent," we have spent quite a bit of time reviewing a special section unique to St. Luke's gospel called the Travel Narrative.

All the gospels tell us that Jesus travelled south to Jerusalem from Galilee after announcing that we would die there. But only St. Luke takes almost ten chapters to tell us what happened along the way, providing us with the stories and events that we have come to love, like the so-called parables of the Prodigal son, Dives and Lazarus, and the story of Zacchaeus. You may follow the Travel Narrative in Luke 9:51-19:28.

Travel plays an important role in human formation and development. One thing we know from our evolutionary history is that from the start, homo sapiens has been on the move.

Biblical history, properly speaking, begins with God inviting Abraham and Sarah to travel "to the land that I will show you" (Genesis 12:1). For them, the journey was as much spiritual as it was a physical movement from today's northern Iraq to the Holy Land. The process of going from place to place parallels Abraham and Sarah's growing understanding. Who is this strange God who goes by the generic name of Elohim?

God is revealed in the experience of the liberated Hebrew slaves as God-on-the-move. God travels with the Israelites out of Egypt, going before and behind them as a Cloud and a Pillar of Fire. In the words of Walter Brueggemann, to experience the Divine is to meet an unsettling God.

The entire Biblical narrative deals with the shifting, changing, growing, evolving and even at times devolving understanding of God. The Scriptures contain the record of human experience of God and our reflection on that experience. The marvelous grace is that God uses that medium -- human words -- so that we may meet the Eternal Word, the Logos made flesh of whom St. John's Prologue sings in the first chapter of his gospel.

Whether we have been born here and lived here our entire lives or have come to live here in this gorgeous valley of the Daughter of the Stars, your spiritual life and mine are in motion, called by a God who calls us in the deepest recesses of our soul, inviting us into a living relationship that is redemptive and transformative. As I have said before, God loves us just as we are and meets us where we are; God also loves us too much to leave us where we are.

Our Lenten journey is part of the ongoing movement of God in our souls. Spiritually speaking, we are always in a state of wanderlust, seeking, longing, asking, and inquiring about who God is, why are we here, and where/to whom do we belong -- the fundamental questions of existence that are embedded in all of us and which are not the exclusive concern of astrophysicists, philosophers, and theologians.

St. Luke's Travel Narrative has me thinking that our most important learnings occur when we are consciously aware of the movement of God in our lives. You and I are invited to pay attention. The call of Lent to prayer and study, fasting, and renewal is yet another gracious gift of God's steadfast and unconditional love.

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+

The Fourth Sunday in Lent

Gracious Father, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ came down from heaven to be the true bread which gives life to the world: Evermore give us this bread, that he may live in us, and we in him; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

-- BCP, page 219


Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22;
Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21

I am pleased to introduce our guest columnist, The Rev. Tom Ehrich, an Episcopal priest who has served parishes in Indianapolis, Missouri, North Carolina, and New York. He is also a writer and publisher. Click here. to view his website. This column first appeared on January 13, 2018, in his blog "On The Road" and is reprinted here with permission.

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+
"Abide with Me"
by Tom Ehrich

In the year 1847, the Great Famine was decimating Ireland, causing many impoverished Irish families to migrate to the United States and Canada. In all, by 1930, more than half the population of Ireland had fled deplorable conditions.

In April of that year, more than 250 Irish emigrants set sail from Derry, most of them women and children joining their men on farms in Canada. In a terrible storm, the Exmuth wrecked, drowning all but three passengers.

In that same year, a coal mine explosion in Yorkshire killed 77 men and boys. The Bronte sisters published novels under male names in order to avoid rejection.

In November 1847 -- and the reason for mentioning this at all -- a Scottish clergyman named Henry Francis Lyle wrote a poem entitled "Abide with me," about enduring the deepening "darkness" in his life. His plea:

When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Three weeks later he died from tuberculosis.
Paired with William Henry Monk's tune "Eventide," "Abide with me" became one of Christianity's favorite hymns, sung often at funerals and state events. It touched the entire world in 2012 when Scottish singer Emeli Sande performed it at the London Olympics in a commemoration of the 2005 subway bombing in London.
At the moment when Sande sang the hymn's final words --
Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.
-- a young boy was held aloft by dancers representing survivors of terrorism. The message was clear: There is a future worth straining toward, because "in life, in death" our Lord abides with us.
Nihilists wanting only to destroy cannot kill hope. Despots wanting power in order to fill their empty souls cannot prevent God's light from shining "through the gloom." Though tragic bullies and cowards bellow their hatred, God's grace will "spoil the tempter's power," drain the "bitterness" and take away "death's sting."
We can endure. We can survive even the worst of men and women who seem to have us in their gunsights. We can survive the hysteria and terror of our neighbors. We can seek new life even when custodians of old hatreds ascend our thrones.
Evil cannot withstand the good. Death cannot prevent life. We might think this moment in world history the collapse of everything that has kept us sane and moving forward, but God's "truth abideth still." We have not been left comfortless. The darkness that captures human souls cannot defeat the light of Christ.
We can speak our truth to power, and, in God, that truth will push through liars and pretenders. We can love our children, and, in God, that love will change tomorrow. We can embrace our neighbors, and that welcome will till the soil of justice in a springtime not yet seen.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

The Third Sunday in Lent

Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

-- BCP, page 218


Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19;
1 Corinthians 1:18-25; John 2:13-22

Back in my days in Luray before I was called to Emmanuel, my Lutheran colleague and I became good friends who frequently met to chat, going across the street to each other's home -- the St. Mark Lutheran's parsonage and Christ Church's rectory. We backed each other up pastorally when either one had to be out of town, we assisted at each other's Good Friday liturgies, took turns hosting the Easter Vigil, and we traded altars and pulpits at least twice a year. He had an edge on me, however -- he had previously spent time in Anglican worship and was familiar with the BCP, while I needed to learn how to celebrate in his church using the Lutheran Book of Worship. I still count the Rev. Nicholas (Nick) Eichelberger a good friend. I am very grateful that Episcopalians and Lutherans can share ordained ministry this way.

(This past Sunday we were blessed to have as our guest preacher The Rev. Dr. Phil Kniss, senior pastor of Park View Mennonite. I had also had the great privilege of preaching in his church between our two English-language services. Our weekly ecumenical Text Study Group led to a number of these pulpit exchanges. The group is organized by my good friend Patty Huffman, retired Lay Pastoral Associate of Blessed Sacrament Roman Catholic Church.)

At a conference at Shrine Mont shortly after I came to Emmanuel, I once quipped to the ecumenical officers of both the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) and the Episcopal Church (TEC) that, thanks to my experience at St. Mark Lutheran in Luray, I could tell the difference between Lutherans and Episcopalians. Tongue firmly planted in cheek, I said something like this:

Lutherans know right off the bat that they are sinners. When they get in the church, they can never start worship until the Pastor, from the back of the church or at the baptismal font, calls them to Confession. After the Absolution, they are ready to enter into the Presence, and the choir and clergy process into the church singing.
We Episcopalians need a little convincing. We have to sing a few things, hear three readings and a sermon, say the creed and make our prayers before we are ready to allow that we could use some improvement. Then we make our Confession.
We had a good laugh. Nobody disagreed with me.

The truth, of course, is that whatever the order of worship, we Christians are grounded in the reality that (1) God made us as beautiful reflections of the Divine Image and (2) even though our sins of omission and commission have marred the Image, (3) the grace of God made present to us in Christ sets us free from the bondage of sin and restores our relationship with God so that we may leave worship ready to love and serve the Lord.

You'll notice that, in Lent at least, we seem to resemble Lutherans. We start with the Penitential Order (BCP, page 319 at 8 a.m. or page 351 at 10:30 a.m.), which calls us to Confession before the Proper of the Day starts. This is a good practice. We are always in need of renewing our repentance and faith, as the liturgy of Ash Wednesday reminds us (BCP, page 265). I pray that this practice may make us mindful of our need for continuous renewal as well as grateful for the grace of God by which we stand in God's Presence wherever we may go.

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+

The Second Sunday in Lent

O God, whose glory it is always to have mercy: Be gracious to all who have gone astray from your ways, and bring them again with penitent hearts and steadfast faith to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word, Jesus Christ your Son; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
-- BCP, page 218


Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16; Psalm 22:22-30;
Romans 4:13-25; Mark 8:31-38

The forty days of Lent are counted from Ash Wednesday to Holy Saturday, exclusive of Sundays. This is why we have Sundays in Lent, as opposed to, say, Sundays of Advent.

We observe Lent as a Fast -- a time of "self-examination and repentance; [...] prayer, fasting, and self-denial [...] and [...] reading and meditating on God's Holy Word," as the liturgy of Ash Wednesday bids us all (BCP, page 265).

All Sundays, however, celebrate the Resurrection. Sundays are always feast days, even if during Lent give up alleluias. Sundays are not part of Lent. It is always Easter on Sunday because we enter into the sacred space of remembering and proclaiming that "Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again." (BCP, page 363)

You might have seen "Church Leaders Reflect on Lent as Spiritual Renewal," in last Saturday's Daily News- Record. I thought the writer, Shelby Mertens, supplied a pretty good picture of the meaning of Lent as understood in liturgical churches -- and not because I'm quoted in it! (Ha-ha!)

Fr. Miguel Melendez, who serves at Blessed Sacrament Roman Catholic Church, said that, "Lent is about being holistic in life. Renewing your spiritual life is really the biggest thing that's going on, and spiritual life being communication or relationship with God."

Lent is not a downer; it's an opportunity to revitalize our relationship with God. That said, Lent does require intentionality and discipline. Intentionality is about making the decision to de-clutter our hearts from the sins that weigh us down by giving up the ways that are harmful to ourselves and others and filling our hearts with the love and grace of God.

Discipline is the habit-forming practice of repeatedly doing these things throughout the Lenten season. That's the whole journey from self-examination and repentance through prayer, fasting, and self-denial to reading and meditating on the Bible. Lent requires rolling up our sleeves and going to work.

The first part of Lenten intentionality and discipline -- self-examination, repentance, prayer, fasting, and self-denial -- is something that we each make choices about in the privacy of our conversations with our "Father who sees in secret," as Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6: 1-6,16-18).

I should also mention that I am available for private and confidential conversation with anyone feels the need to review his or her choices. The sacrament of Reconciliation of a Penitent (also known as "Confession") is always available on request. And remember the Anglican dictum about private confession: All may. None must. Some should. We must each make our own choices.

The second part -- reading and meditating on the Bible -- is something we can do both privately and in community. I invite you to join the Tuesday evening group that will focus on the Bible this season. Participants read the entire Gospel of Luke in small daily portions, and then we share our learnings and questions on Tuesdays. We are calling it "Luke for Lent." (Yes, I'm an incorrigible punster -- your groans only encourage me!) The Rev. Dr. Donna Scott and I will co-lead the conversations.

We would love to have a very large group. We start this Tuesday, Feb. 27, at 6:30 with a soup-supper. I hope many choose to come.

May God bless us all with a rich, life-giving Lent.

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+

The First Sunday in Lent

Almighty God, whose blessed Son was led by the Spirit to be tempted by Satan: Come quickly to help us who are assaulted by many temptations; and, as you know the weaknesses of each of us, let each one find you mighty to save; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

-- BCP, page 217


Genesis 9:8-17; Psalm 25:1-9;
1 Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:9-15

He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him (verse 12). St. Mark's gospel, unlike Matthew and Luke, gives no details about the temptations themselves. We are not told what Satan said to entice Jesus to break his trust with the Father. Nothing about stones into bread, nothing about high leaps to safety, much less a word about worshipping Satan in exchange for worldly power.

And yet, Mark adds these two fascinating details: Jesus was with the wild beasts and the angels waited on him.

I wonder if Mark is making the point that the time that Jesus spent in the wilderness was not about self-doubting and second-guessing himself. Maybe Mark leaves out the conversation with Satan because God's words in the preceding verse are still ringing in his ears: "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." While still in the grip of the Father's declaration of love, the Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness. Jesus doesn't decide to go camping; he is not drawn to the dessert. Rather, the Spirit picks him up, carries him, and finally puts him down in the middle of nowhere. The strength of the verb that Mark chooses tells us that, for Jesus, going into the dessert was inescapable. The Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. It is the same verb that Mark uses when Jesus throws demons out of people. The wilderness is not a place of self-doubt for Jesus because he knows, in every cell of his body, that he is the Beloved in whom the Father delights. The power of love sustains him; love alone drives him.

A few Sundays ago, in a sermon addressing the beginning section of this first chapter of Mark, I talked about the perspective of this gospel of a cosmic contest between God and Satan. In St. Mark, the coming of the Son of Man is an invasion of enemy-controlled territory. This gospel sees our world as captured by evil forces that oppose God. To use Jesus' own terms, he is here to tie up the strong man and plunder his property (Mk. 3:27). The wilderness then turns out to be not a place of trial and temptation but rather a launching pad for the work of freeing the world from the grasp of evil.

But what about the beasts and the angels?

I wonder if Jesus being with the wild beasts is a foreshadowing of the peaceable kingdom that Isaiah says we will have when God's reign is firmly established, in which no one, beast or human, harms any living thing. The coming of Christ promises a complete reversal of Hume's "nature red in tooth and claw" that transforms the world into a place where all living things honor each other.

I wonder if the presence of angels waiting on Jesus shows us that Jesus was not a lone ranger all on his own. He was accompanied by the hosts of heaven, who waited on him, strengthening him for his mission. Mark's gospel, for all of its jumping from one action to another ("immediately" is Mark's favorite word), shows us Jesus making time to be alone with the Father in prayer.

I wonder if we can choose this Lenten season to focus on the strength of love to drive us, on the grace of God that transforms us, not merely into people who harm no one, but beloved children who seek the wellbeing of all living things, and to make time to receive sustenance and comfort in our needs through regular prayer.

Under the Mercy,

Fr. Daniel+