Sermon last

I can't believe I haven't shared this, but I searched the over 2200 posts as best I could and couldn't find it. It is my last sermon after 21 years at St. John's in Waterbury, CT. I love it.

THE LAST DANCE/DEEP IN THE OLD MAN’S PUZZLE

          In one of Robertson Davies’ novels, someone asks an aging priest how, professing to be a holy man, he could devour a whole chicken and a bottle of wine at dinner. The priest answers:

          “I am quite a wise old bird, but I am no desert hermit who can only prophesy when his guts are knotted in hunger. I am deep in the Old Man’s Puzzle, trying to link the wisdom of the body with the wisdom of the spirit until the two are one.

          In my two decades in your midst, I have feasted on Joy and Sorrow, on the Wondrous and the Mundane, trying always to link the wisdom of the body to the wisdom of the Spirit…Deep in the Old Man’s Puzzle….

                                      ****

          A few years ago, for our anniversary I gave Bern a drawing by an artist named Heather Handler. It has a weird looking tree on it and these words:

                   “Sit with me on hilltops, under trees and beneath the skies.

                   Then speak softly and tell me the story, once again,

                   About why we met, and how someday we’ll fly….”

          That sentiment was about our relationship—Bern’s and mine—and it also speaks to me and you and our shared ministry and our relationship in this place for over twenty years.

          Today—this day—is our ‘last dance’. Friday we will part. I will go my way and you will go your way. And both ways are full of hope and joy and not a little anxiety and unknown wonders. Both ways lead to this: they lead us deeper into the Old Man’s Puzzle and they lead us to flying….

          There is no doubt in my mind that “why we met” was because of the will and the heart of God. But when I came here, I could not have ever imagined staying so long. And now that I am leaving, I cannot imagine leaving so soon.

          Yet I know this—we, you and I, will soon learn how to fly.

          Today we sit on the hilltop, beneath the sky and speak softly.

          And then we part, you and I. The last dance always ends. And the future lies ahead, beckoning, inviting, always to be created….

          I cannot thank you enough. I cannot thank you completely. There are not enough words—though I am a man of many words—to give that thanks in a way that matters.

          Instead, I will bless you.

          And these are my words of blessing: VOCATUS ATQUE NON VOCATUS, DEUS ADERIT….That means this: “Bidden or unbidden, God is present….”

          Whether we call upon God or not—God is always there…profoundly there…totally there…here…and now….

          I leave you, as I found you, with God in your midst and deep in the Old Man’s Puzzle.

          You have let me be a part of that for these years. God was here when I arrived and God guided us—you and me—on our journey together…and God waits, ready and glorious, to lead you on as I leave and to lead me on as you stay here.

          And there is this: God will teach us how to fly….And puzzle us more and more.

          I love you. I adore you. I will miss you more than you imagine…more than you CAN imagine. And I bless you and thank you.

          Keep trying, in every way possible, to link the wisdom of the body—WHAT YOU DO—to the wisdom of the Spirit—WHO YOU ARE.

And start trying out your wings……

 

I warned you....

I told you I would break my silence about President He Who Not Be Named and it wouldn't be pretty.

My friend, Charles, handed me this post when he told me someone had told him there is a Psalm for every moment and he had found the Psalm for our President.

It's Psalm 52 and it goes like this, in part....

You tyrant, why do you boast of wickedness*
 against the godly all day long?

You plot ruin; your tongue is like a sharpened razor*
 O worker of decedption.

You love evil more than good*
 and lying more than speaking the truth.

You love all words that hurt,*
 O you deceitful tongue.

Oh, that God would demolish you utterly,*
 topple you and snatch you from your dwelling,
 and root you out of the land of the living!

The righteous shall see and tremble,*
 and they shall laugh at him, saying,

"This is the one who did not take God for a refuge,*
 but trusted in great wealth
 and relied upon wickedness."

Good job, Charles, you and the Psalmist nailed it.

Every word rings true about this President....



  

not a bad law

One of the Scandinavian countries (where most of the wisdom in the world--it seems to me--resides) has passed a law requiring me to 'sit' to pee in public toilets.

As one who uses public restrooms (which is what we mild-mannered Americans call a place to leave bodily waste) I applaud Norway (I think it was) for this law.

How they will enforce it is a reasonable question, but I just think people up there in those cold, dark countries (these days by any rate) understand that 'obeying the law' is what good people do. So, I bet there is next to no pee on the floor of those bathrooms.

I may even start doing it at home. My aim isn't what it used to be and it might be better to never have to wipe stray urine up....

(I've given you about two weeks of Trump-free posts. So. I'm working up to coming back about the President by talking about "obeying the law" and human waste.

The President will be back under the castor oil tree next post. Get ready for it! There will be stuff to wipe  up when I'm through....)

Funny thing about the cold

I took Brigit out the other night after 3 or 4 glasses of wine. It was 18 degrees and by the time we walked and she did her business and we came back, I felt pretty drunk.

It reminded me of our time in college at the Red Cellar, drinking beer in the winter and then walking home to Boreman Hall or 69 Richwood Avenue (what an address). It would be one of the Mike;s--Lawless or Miano--and Malcolm Alt and sometimes someone else.

We'd feel fine until we stepped out in the freezing temperature.

How we made it home at all is a wonder to me!

A little drunk became staggering, almost falling over drunk.

When I graduated from High School I'd never tasted alcohol. Hard to believe, I know, but I was a 'good boy' and my mother's family were tee-totalers and so, I never drank.

The summer between high school and college I visited my favorite cousin, Mejol, in New Orleans, of all places and she took me to Al Hirt's club and got me throwing up drunk.

I thank her for that. I needed to learn.

I drink only white wine now and sometimes red wine if there is no white.

I drink beer only when either Tim or Josh, beer drinkers both. But I'm a wineo, not a beer drinker or anything 'hard'.

But beware of drinking much of anything and going out into the cold.

Take it from me.

I know a thing or two about that.

An 'old' Advent II sermon

I preached this, as you can see, 17 years ago. The Gospel was Matthew 3.1-12. I preached Sunday without notes and forgot to try to capture it that evening and it is now in the ether....

Advent II—December 9, 2001

          Suddenly, without warning, the Baptist appears from the wilderness.

          BAM! HERE COMES JOHN!

          Out of the desert, out of the smoldering embers of the Hope of the people of Israel, out of the fading memory of prophets long dead…suddenly, without warning—there is John….

          There was nothing new or unusual about baptism in Jewish practice. In fact, “ritual washing” was a part of every Jew’s daily life. Each time a devout Jew came in contact with any unclean thing, ritual washing was necessary. And since first century Israel was occupied by the foreign, Gentile Roman army the Jews could not avoid “unclean things”.  “Baptism” was necessary to wash away that uncleanness—that  external and ritual stain of the Gentile world.

          BAM! John turned the washing inside out. His washing—his baptism—was for the forgiveness of sin. His water wasn’t to wash away the outer contamination—John came to wash away  the inner darkness and death from the mind and heart and soul.

          And he came just as people were losing hope. It had been 400 years since a prophet had been heard in Israel. For four centuries there had been no VOICE heard in the land and none to answer the Prophet’s call.

          BAM!  After generations of emptiness, a Prophet came to Israel. After centuries of silence, a Prophet’s Voice was heard in the Land. He was Isaiah. He was Ezekiel. He was Elijah.

          Suddenly, without warning, John Baptist appears.

                                                *

          The common people streamed out to meet him. All those in Jerusalem and Judea who had longed for the Voice of a Prophet rushed to him to be baptized in the River Jordan. He was irresistible to them. He spoke powerfully into their listening. He called them to bare their souls and unburden their hearts. He called them to Forgiveness, to Grace, to the Love and Healing of God. The holy river’s waters flowed over them—restoring them, renewing them, giving them vitality and Life.

          So far, so good. But then some Pharisees and Sadducees showed up and things got ugly.

          “You brood of Vipers!” John raged at the Pharisees and Sadducees. “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”

          This is what we must remember about the Pharisees and Sadducees—they weren’t bad people. In fact, the conventional wisdom of the Jewish world in the first century considered the Pharisees and Sadducees to be “good people.” The Pharisees and Sadducees devoutly studied the Torah, scrupulously obeyed the Laws of Moses and faithfully performed the rituals of their faith. The Pharisees and Sadducees talked the talk and walked the walk of Judaism. In ways too uncomfortable to reflect on deeply, the Pharisees and Sadducees were “the good Episcopalians”  of their day and time.

          They said their prayers, kept their pledge up to date, helped with parish functions and came regularly to services. Good “church folks”, as my Grandmother would have said—that’s what the Pharisees and Sadducees were. So what was it about them that so profoundly angered John the Baptist?

          This is what he said to them: Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children for Abraham. 

          Here’s what I think John’s anger is all about….The Pharisees and Sadducees had decided that the “outward” and “visible” aspects of being faithful and following God were enough.  So, they said their prayers, kept their pledge up to date, helped with parish functions and came regularly to services—and they believed that was ENOUGH.

          John Baptist had other ideas.

          John came out of the wilderness to talk about the hearts and souls and minds of God’s people. John appeared, suddenly and without warning, to call us to more than “outward show”.  John came to suggest something audacious and astonishing.  John came to tell us WE NEED TO FALL IN LOVE WITH GOD.

                                                *

          Advent, it seems to me, is the season of romance between our souls and the Heart of God.  In the Christian year, it is Advent and not Spring that is the season of “falling in love”.

         

 

How to stay Married

Bern and I have been married for 48 years and 4 months now. Sometimes people ask me, "how do you stay married that long?"

I'm going to give you two unconventional answers to that question.

1. Marry someone who is very different from you.

Bern is the daughter of an immigrant Italian father and a first generation Hungarian mother. Roman Catholicism runs deep on both sides. I  am the only non-Roman Catholic, to my knowledge, to marry into her extended family.

My family, on both sides, came from the British Isles. My great-grandfather Jones came from Ireland and took that Welsh name at Ellis Island because he had gotten into a fight on the boat with his O'Connor brothers and wanted to get lost in this new land. (That's the family tale, at any rate.) The Bradley's have been here for at least 6 or 7 generations--8 or 9 for my grandchildren and I have no idea where they came from, but Bradley ("broad-lee") is certainly a British name. Great--grandfather Jones left his name and Catholicism behind. My mother's family were Nazarene and Pilgrim Holiness. My father's family, if they went to church, which they often didn't, was some ilk of Baptist. I grew up Methodist and found the Episcopal Church in college. I had an older cousin who married a Catholic and the marriage ended on the way to the reception (another family legend). Only I married a Catholic and survived.

The only way we could be more different if we were from different races.

Being different is great. Always something new to learn about each other.

2. Don't do things together.

I know, I know, people say a married couple should 'share' things. Bern and I don't. We don't do much of anything together except watch TV and go to movies (I go alone a lot) and read the same books---but not at the same time.

Because we are so different we have different ways of doing things and doing things together doesn't work. Household tasks are clearly divided. We take turn cooking dinner, but never together. She drives a stick shift truck and I drive an automatic car. We never drive the others' vehicle. I shop for my cooking and she shops for hers. I haven't been to a super market with her since the mid-70's. I'm not sure we've ever been to any other kind of store together.

So, never doing things together keeps us out of each others' way.

Be very different and don't do things together are the two keys to a long and happy marriage.

That's just me talkin'....Or, in this case, typin'.....

poem I wrote

I wrote this for Bern on our 40th anniversary. Next September will be--gasp!!!--49!!!

A POEM FOR ALL THE YEARS

For most of my memory (albeit random now): you were there.

Over rocky times and wondrous times and times in between,

Riding the roller coaster of my life,

Touching miracles and lost in pain, there is this:

You were there, riding with me.

Years following years, decades piling up like train cars,

Even in the darkness,

Always there was a familiar light.

Rounding every turn, in every nook and cranny, every cul de sac,

Some times even when the wheels left the road or jumped the track,

Whenever, wherever in this journey of so long,

I was never alone.

Through thick and thin, the saying goes, in ebb and flow,

High tides and low tides, ups/downs/inside outs....

Year after year, deserve it or not, fair or foul, brilliant or bitter,

Over 73% of all the days I've lived (I did the math!) whatever else

Under heaven occurred, there is this: the one I love best of all was there.

You were there....