today was Emmaus...

I don't have the sermon I preached today written down, not even notes. But the gospel was the journey to Emmaus and when I got home I found a sermon on my computer that I preached on April 14 some twelve years ago. Because I love the Emmaus story so, I thought I'd share this sermon, written 7 months after 9/11.

APRIL 14, 2002

We don’t know why they’re going to Emmaus, we are told only of the journey, not the reason for it.

Maybe they lived near Emmaus and were simply headed home after spending Passover in Jerusalem.

Maybe they had business there—business so vital that it had to be handled even though their hearts were broken and their minds confused.

Or maybe they felt they had to “get out of town”, had to escape the hysteria that had gripped the disciples since Jesus’ crucifixion. So maybe they just needed to get away and sort out their feelings and thoughts at a distance.

We don’t know why they’re going to Emmaus, we only know they are.

And we don’t know exactly who they are. We only know one of their names: Cleopas and his name appears nowhere else in the gospels. John’s gospel tells us one of the women who stayed near the cross was “Mary, the wife of Clopas.” The names are similar and if Cleopas and Clopas were the same person, we might speculate that his companion is his wife, Mary. But all that is conjecture. We don’t really know who they are.

We know this: they were not members of Jesus’ inner circle. But they must have been followers of his because they knew the details of the women who went to the tomb at dawn and came back to tell “the apostles.” Cleopas and his traveling companion had been with the Eleven before they sat out for Emmaus. More than that, we do not know.

Truth be told, we don’t even know where Emmaus was! There were two villages called “Emmaus”—one some seven miles from Jerusalem and the other nearly 20 miles away. Both are a long walk, even for people used to walking, so scholars have tried to locate some place closer to the Holy City. But, in the end, we don’t know where Emmaus was.

This is what we do know: two travelers set out on a journey and encountered a stranger on their way.

A friend of mine says there are really only two ways to start a story. Either “someone begins a journey” or “a stranger arrives.” This story is so rich and rare that both those things happen at the beginning.

And this is what else we know: the two travelers tell the Stranger their tale of pain and confusion and he teaches them what the story means.

And we know this, as well: as they arrived at their journey’s end, they “urged him strongly” to stay with them. The Stranger became their “host” at dinner and when he took, blessed, broke and gave them bread and in those actions, in that moment, they knew the Stranger wasn’t a Stranger at all. They had shared the road with Jesus.

Finally, we know this: after Jesus disappeared, Cleopas and his companion remembered how their hearts “had burned within them” as they journeyed on the road and they left immediately to go back to their community in Jerusalem, to share their news. And when they arrived, the mood of fear and confusion had been changed to rejoicing because Jesus was risen from the dead, Simon Peter has seen the Lord. And they shared their story too, the story of the breaking of the bread.

This is my favorite passage from the gospels—it is so rich and full that I wish we could spend hours just being with the Emmaus story.

I want to spend the rest of our time this morning looking at encountering Strangers and welcoming them into our lives and to our table.

I always tell the seminarians who minister with us at St. John’s that the best way to preach is to always “preach to yourself.” Preach to yourself, I tell them, and let the people in the congregation eve’s drop.

I’ve seldom preached a sermon so much to myself as this one. But you can listen in.

Of all the negative effects of September 11 and the events since, the one that pains me most is the new-found fear of the Stranger. It began with the irrational, but understandable, fear and distrust of anyone who seems to resemble an Arab or a Muslim. But it seems to me that it has mushroomed far beyond that. In many ways, it seems to me, we have “circled the wagons” as a culture. Our society has taken on a “siege mentality”—a distrust of whatever and whoever is not familiar and immediate to us.

I notice it in myself—and what I should talk about is ME, and let you see if you recognize yourselves in it.

I have a low-level anxiety that I didn’t have seven months ago. I notice that I don’t smile and greet people on the street the way I used to. I notice that I avoid crowded places—which I never much liked—even more than before. I haven’t had to be on an airplane and I’ve noticed I’m relieved that I haven’t needed to fly. Someone I care for deeply told me last week that I seemed “paranoid”. And since she said it, I’ve been wondering if there isn’t some truth in that. I know that I’ve been more self-absorbed—I find myself “complaining” more and being more skeptical and cynical and negative about world events and daily events than I’ve been before. My life-long tendency toward being a hypochondriac—something I’ve dealt with well for a decade—is creeping back into my day-to-day experiences. I sleep well, but I haven’t been dreaming much and my dreams have long been a way for me to sort though what’s going on in my inner life. I feel cut off from my inner life. I don’t pray as much. I feel lonely sometimes, something I almost never feel.

All little things—things that taken one by one might be explained by indigestion or too little sleep—but taken as a whole, I can see a shift in my life that matches our culture’s mood. This is just about me, but you can listen in….

At least I’m beginning to notice these things. I think they’ve all been true for months now and I’m only beginning to notice. But noticing is good: being present to the darkness is the first step toward embracing the Light.

And that’s what we’re called to do as Christians—face the Darkness and embrace the Light. Find new life in the midst of death. Cling to hope and live out of hope in the midst of despair. Remember how our hearts burned within us when all occasion spoke of chill and loss. Invite the Stranger into our hearts and lives and to our Table.

But all that is part of “the next steps.” The first step is to “notice” the darkness and pain and death and hopelessness—not flee from it, not deny it, not avoid it, but recognize and acknowledge all that.

The beginning of healing, for me (since this is about me) is to “notice” and recognize and acknowledge how broken and incomplete and dis-eased I am.

The first stranger I must welcome is the Stranger within me—the one who “always” journeys with me, the one I cannot leave behind, the one I cannot avoid except at my own souls peril.

How can I pray for the terrorists as well as their victims—and I know, deep down, I am called to pray for the terrorists—until I can embrace the revenge and anger in my own heart.?

How can I pray for my brother priests in the Roman Catholic Church, as well as for their victims—and I know, deep down, I am called to pray for those priests—until I can embrace the abuse and misuse of power in my own heart?.

How can I pray for the Israeli’s and the Palestinians—who seem literally “hell bent” on destroying each other—and I know, deep down, I am called to pray for both sides in that war—until I can embrace the resentment and jealousy in my own heart?

How can I pray for those who, in the name of SECURITY, would take away my rights and liberties—rights and liberties secured by heroism and sacrifice—until I can embrace the fear and distrust within me?

How can I pray for and support those more courageous than me who stand up and seek to make peace and find justice until I can embrace the cowardice and selfishness within me?

It is only when we can 'embrace' the Stranger within us that we are freed to 'embace' the Stranger beside us, sharing our road, opening our minds to 'the other', making our hearts burn within us....

Where are you Spring?

It's 40 degrees and raining right now. I have stubbornly worn sandals for the past two week, urging Spring to come in glory, to no avail.

It's 40 degrees and a cold rain is falling on the evening of May 3rd.

I often tell people about the seasons in Anawalt, WV where I grew up. In my childhood, even though we were south of Richmond, Virginia, we were far enough up in the mountains that the seasons looked like this:

Winter didn't really begin until after Christmas and only lasted until the end of February. We had lots of snow but seldom had a 'snow day' since we were far enough south that the snow tended to fall and melt over and over for about two months.

Spring came with a vengeance in early March and lasted through April, May and June. Verdant doesn't begin to describe how the mountains were for those four months. It was abundance multiplied by abundance. Abundance squared.

July and August were summer--dry and hot because of the latitude--but short because of being at 1800 feet or so above sea level. The altitude brought autumn in early September--and like spring--it lasted around 4 months...well into December because of how far south we were. It almost never snowed before Christmas.

Now, for my money, that 2/4/2/4 ratio of winter/spring/summer/fall is about as perfect as you could desire. All the seasons, but in a more pleasing balance.

Too bad that to live in Anawalt would be to live in an area where run-off from strip mines and mountain top mining has damaged the water, where the average age is the highest in any US county and the age of death is lowest, where 100,000 people lived when I was a child and now 27,000 live, where your kids ride an hour on a bus to high school and Oxycontin addition is higher than almost anywhere.

What a waste of a wondrous and gentle temperate climate....

Right now--on May 3--it is raining and 40 degrees in Cheshire....In a couple of weeks, I predict, it will be 85 and we'll all be complaining about the heat the same way we've been complaining about the cold since November. Connecticut is the Land of No Spring--straight from sleet to blistering heat most of the time.....Fall is nice here though. One out of 4 doesn't seem quite fair, though....

God Bless (truly) Janice Hahn

I have never been one for ecumenical worship and prayer. I am an Anglican for a lot of reasons that make worshipping with other Christians problematic.

Ecumenical worship is where nobody gets what they want from worship.

At a Prayer Breakfast in California this week, James Dobson, who is the head of a leaning-toward-
fundamentalist 'family' group, interjected his opinion that President Obama is 'the abortion President' into what was to be a 'religious' gathering, not a political one.

Janice Hahn, who is a member of California's congress, walked out and later said "James Dobson highjacked what was supposed to be a religious gathering and made it political.

Religion and Politics have, over the last couple of decades, become one in the same. Folks hold political views for what they see as 'religious' reasons and in an area where never the twain should meet, the two categories--religion and politics--collapse into each other.

If I wanted to make a political statement about my 'religion' I would have to say that Jesus taught an ethic of love for the outcast and condemned, at every opportunity, wealth.

That would not make me very good 'ecumenical' fodder.

That's why I'm not big on ecumenical things. I am an Anglican and a Liberal for lots of reasons.

Reading the Gospels side by side

I'm teaching a course at The Osher Life-long Learning Institute at UConn in Waterbury called "Reading the Gospels Side-by-Side".

The point to the course is to make distinctions between the 4 different stories the 4 gospels tell. Matthew, Mark and Luke are quite similar because both Matthew and Luke had a copy of Mark to work from Over 50% of Matthew and Luke are plagiarised from Mark though altered in some ways--Matthew to make his story more "Jewish" and Luke to make his story more "compassionate". Matthew and Luke also share a source--"Quella" in German and therefore referred to by scholars as "Q". And their are exclusive Luke and exclusive Matthew stories--Luke tells the birth narrative from the point of view of Mary, for example, and Matthew tells the story from Joseph's perspective. Neither Mark or John tell the birth narrative at all: Mark begins with Jesus being baptized by John and John--remarkably--begins his story "In the beginning" where "there was the Word".

In the 'synoptic' gospels (Matthew, Mark and Luke--syn in Greek means roughly "the same place" as in "synonymous" and optic, of course, means "to see"--so those three 'see from roughly the same place") Jesus is constantly struggling to understand his identity--who he is and what he is meant to do. John has no such struggle. John's Jesus knows exactly who he is. The synoptic gospels tell us of Jesus' teaching (in parables for the most part) and his healing ministry (one out of five verses are about healing...which the church doesn't seem to take very seriously....)

John, on the other hand, is about Jesus' Identity--'who he is' rather than 'what he does'.

My favorite Gospel has always been Luke--the gospel of compassion. But this Lent and Easter were the year to read John and I must admit, several times during the Lenten and Holy Week and Easter Gospel reading, I found myself near tears. John is so beautifully written and so mystical that I was profoundly moved by his words almost every Sunday.

I think I may offer a class at OLLI in John's gospel--just reading it from beginning to end and noticing how wildly different it is from the other three. If  we only had John, Christianity would be quite different: more contemplative, more mystical, more sure of itself.

Every time I do this course on the gospels side-by-side, I am more appreciative of their differences and the difference their differences makes to the reader....

What happens when money earns more than working does...

I'd be surprised if this is the first time you've heard the name Thomas Piketty. He is the rage because of his book Capital in the 21st Century, already #1 on Amazon. 700 pages of super-logical argument about economics.

Mike Carroll was talking about him today at our Clericus Group and when David and I got in the car, he was being interviewed on NPR.

The essence of his thesis is this: capitalism is, by default, weighted toward the upper, upper people of wealth and unfair to the working class. What he shows, in great detail, is that 'capital' makes more money than working folks do and so the wealthy will be wealthier and wealthier and those of us who 'work' for a living will have less and less access to economic mobility. Money earns more money than working does, in understandable language.

What is needed, according to Piketty, for democracy to remain viable is to redistribute the wealth through taxes/

Not surprisingly, the folks on the Right have started calling him a Marxist. But the interesting thing is, he has a harsh critique of liberals and progressives because he sees that they have no answers to the inevitable path of democratic capitalism either.

I consider myself an ultra-liberal Democrat. Truth is, after hearing and reading about Piketty, a French economist, (I've not read his book and may not!) I know that deep down, I am a socialist.

My entire life has been spent in economic comfort. My father was a manual laborer most of his life who veered off into being an insurance salesman later in his life. My mother was a school teacher before there were teaching unions. Both of them grew up on the economic edge but became a part of the 'American Dream' and lived comfortably without extravagance for most of their lives.

Bern and I were on food stamps for a short time back in the 70's, but, for the most part, even as students together, we have live a comfortable, but not extravagant life. Now, in retirement, we're really better off than we've ever been: my Church Pension Fund check, our two early social security payments and my little part time job support us better than we've ever lived--without extravagance....

And I don't see why, in the richest country ever on this earth, everyone can't live in comfort without extravagance. There is nothing special about Bern and me. Everyone should live as we do.

The problem is this:the ultra-rich have crippled the unions, taken most of the wealth and left most of us unable to 'move up' the way the American Dream meant us to be.

Work should make money--not money. It isn't right that more and more wealth is being absorbed by fewer and fewer people in our society while tax levels on the rich are the lowest they've ever been. Something is simply wrong and unfair about that.

Under FDR, not surprisingly, and Ike as well, the tax levels on the rich were at least 5 times what they are now. And the working class is making less, given inflation, than they did in 1950.

There's something wrong when money earns more than working does. Just wrong. Dead wrong.

Hopefully, Piketty will bring income inequality into even more light than President Obama has sought to do.

People should 'make money'--'money' shouldn't make more money than working does....

The Voice

OK, I love "The Voice" on TV. Blake and Usher and Shikeria and Adam are some of my favorite people. And the talent is so superior to what's on other talent shows--especially "American Idol".

Last Tuesday I was away after watching the talent on Monday. I had Bern call me to tell me which two had been voted out of the competition.

My popularity and respect will probably fall. I know all that. But, the truth is, I love the Voice....

Something I found that I didn't know I had...

Looking through a file of old stuff, I found the sermon I preached on the first anniversary of my priesthood. I didn't know I had it. I preached it at St. James Church in Charleston. West Virginia on May 15, 1977,exactly a year after my ordination to the priesthood. Frankly, I don't remember it at all. It is typed (yes, typed!) on the back of bulletin covers that say, "you are my disciples if you have love for one another". I tore the 8 1/2 x 11 covers in two and the pages of the sermon are 8 1/2 inches by 5 1/2 inches, double spaced.

I've been a priest for 38 years since then, come May 15. And though I'd edit a few things about this sermon, by in large, I'd stand by it all these years later.

I thought I'd share it with you tonight.


May 15, 1977

What is a Priest?

     Woe is me! I am lost.
     For I am a man of unclean lips.
     And I dwell among a people of unclean lips.
     Yet, with these eyes, I have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts.

With those words, the prophet Isaiah proclaimed the irony of his call from God. He is not worthy to serve the Lord. He is a man on unclean lips. And yet with his eyes, he has seen God--he has been called.

Today is the anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood. I have been a priest one year.

A year ago today I stood before the bishop as he asked the question of you, the congregation: "IS HE WORTHY?"

You responded, loudly as I remember, it pleases me to say, "HE IS WORTHY! HE IS WORTHY!"

Today I remember your words and I must echo Isaiah's lament: "Woe is me! I am lost. For I am a man of unclean lips."

I want to share my thoughts and feelings with you about priesthood. I want to share what and who I think a priest must be. I want to say something about miy role in your midst.

There is no better place to begin than with Isaiah: I am a man of unclean lips and I dwell among a people of unclean lips.

As your priest, I am no better and no worse than the best and the worst in you. A priest is one of the people--a member of the community. There's nothing 'special' about a priest--nothing 'special' at all.

Although we are all to be priests and servants of God. Although, as priest, I am merely one of t he people, my ordination does 'set me apart'.

A priest is 'set apart'--not by virtue of goodness, not to be an example, not as someone admired--a priest is set apart to serve--to fill needs and fulfill roles for the community, the people of God.

In that sense, I am set apart in your midst--I must be a story teller, an enchanter, a dreamer and a lover.

A priest must be a story-teller, a teller of tales.

I must tell you tales as we sit by the fire, our eyes glowing. I must weave for you the fabric of a story.

I must tell my tale, to those who care to hear.

I am a madman in the market place, telling stories.

And always the story is the same. Always.

The words are different each time. I change the details, the embellishments, the subtleties...but never mind, the story is the same.

I tell it over and over and over again.

This is my story, simply put: Once upon a time, we dwelled with God --and now, though we are far from God, God comes to us--God dwells with us, we are God's own.

Over and over I must tell that story to those who care to hear.


A priest must also be an enchanter, a magician of sorts, an illusionist.

I must grab reality and turn it over in my hand and show it to you all new, changed, altered, transformed--somehow enchanted.

I must tale the craziness and sickness and pain of your life and hold them mean...so near that they become a part of me, so when I let them go, they are transformed. Oh, craziness is still crazy and sick is still sick and pain still hurts, be they are different--enchanted, bearable.

I must pick up dead things along our road and carry them in my pocket and pull them out, alive again.

You say that's madness?

It may well be.

It may be mad to take bread and wine--such common things--and hold them out as Christ's Body and his Blood.

I must take a life--a life like yours or mine--a life of unclean lips and unclean hearts and show how that life belongs to God. How you and I are children of the Lord.

You and I--flesh and blood and bone--you and I are priceless, eternal, loved by God.

It is all true--but our eyes must be enchanted if we would see the King.

A priest must be a dreamer.

I must dream dreams for you. I must dream dreams you dare not dream. Dreams bigger than you believe in.'

I must dream for you...not because I know more about dreaming than you do,but because I know more about you than you know.

As your priest I know you belong to God. I know you are truly beautiful. I know you are priceless and eternal. I know no dream, no matter how large, can be too large for you.

So I dream your dreams...drams of growth and hope and wonder, dreams worthy of you. Dreams fit for the Children of the King.

I dream dreams you may not want dreamed--dreams that may frighten you, or threaten you, or bring you pain. I dream dreams that may never come true--because I've learned something saddens and liberates me--I can only dream for you. You must chose to make them true or let them die.

I must dream them. As your priest, I must dream for you because I know who you are.

Finally, and most importantly: a priest must be a Lover.

I must love you. I must love you, no matter what. No matter how petty or mean or unlovable I think you are, I must love you.

And that doesn't mean I will protect and shield you. That doesn't mean I won't let you fail and fall. Some would have me be more directive, more controlling, sterner--some would have me make demands I won't make.

And I won't do that. My love isn't like that. The love of a priest, when it is at it's best--let's go...my love let's you go and lets you be yourself--free to fail and free to soar.

But then, I know who you are: Children of the King. I know you are eagles, you can soar. You are beautiful, priceless, eternal, God's own.

Woe is me! I am lost.

It sounds so much--too much to ask of anyone. Too much, certainly, for a man of unclean lips in the midst of a people of unclean lips. It is too much. To be a priest is too much to ask.

And yet, it is asked. It is required by God.

These eyes have seen the King.

Today is the anniversary of my ordination. I have made it one year--not because of my skills or my gifts (thought I am aware that I am blessed with skill and talent). I have made it this far because God has brought me to this place and you have given me your trust, your prayers, your kindness, your understanding and your love.

You have been patient with me. And kind. And gentle.

I do not live up to my own expectations. It is too much to ask.

And yet, with your help--together , we people of unclean lips can lift our eyes...and our hopes...and our hearts...and our priceless, eternal souls higher...for we have seen the King, you and I.

We are children of God.

Knowing that, nothing is too much to ask.

God can use us, unclean lips and all.

"See, this has touched your lips; your iniquity is removed and your sin is wiped away."

"Then I heard the Lord saying: who shall I send, who will go for me?"

God calls us all. God needs us as God's people, a nation of priests.

God calls us all. My prayer, my hope, my dream, is that with Isaiah we can answer:

"Here am I, send me.

Here am I, send ME."