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Psalm 19:7-14

If I were to stand in Harvard Square and conduct a survey on the subject of “sin” – asking people, “What comes to mind when you hear the word ‘sin’”? – I would hear quite a variety of answers, from apathy and indifference to strong-held convictions. To hear the word, “sin,” a good many people would probably roll their eyes and talk about the things that you’re not supposed to do or say (things which one is perhaps prone to do or say). Some people would immediately talk about guilt, real or imagined. Some might say that the concept of sin is too over laden with psychological baggage, or with radio preachers’ histrionic rhetoric, or with naïve or impossible standards. Even among Christians there is quite a diversity of opinion on the notion of “sin”: sins of commission and omission, what they are, why they matter, how they get done and how they get undone, that is, forgiven. For a Christian, one’s convictions about “sin” is informed by their interpretation of the Scriptures. (Virtually every page of the Bible has some reference to sin, in one form or another.) In the early 1970s, the great psychologist and clinician Karl Menninger wrote a book entitled, “Whatever Became of Sin,” acknowledging that this notion of sin is as old-fashioned sounding as it is pervasive.

There is a qualifying adjective for sin in the psalm appointed for today, Psalm 19. The psalmist prays, “Keep your servant from presumptuous sins” , also translated, “keep your servant from being insolent.” The word insolent comes from the Latin, īnsolentem, meaning “arrogant,” which is an unwarranted pride or self-importance; a haughtiness. This “presumptuous” qualifier brings some clarity to this subject of sin: arrogance, unwarranted pride or self-importance, haughtiness, a “presumptuous sin.” Now I’ll mention here, as an aside, that the great Boston preacher, Phillips Brooks, said that “all sermons are autobiographical.” For the sake of full disclosure, I want you to know that I can speak with some expertise about “presumptuous sins.” Continue Reading »

 

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This evening we continue our Lenten preaching series, Breaking the Word: Feeding on the Language of Faith, in which we consider key words from the church’s vocabulary that are commonly consumed but perhaps not so well digested. Tonight we’re serving up forgiveness.

One of my favorite poets, the late Vassar Miller observed that death breaks “the habit such as binds a life to one unlovely spot” in time.[i]

She’s certainly right, death does indeed break the habit that binds our lives to unlovely spots in space and time, but I wonder if there isn’t something even more fundamental to which this poem points. With all due respect to a great poet, I want to suggest that it is not death but rather, forgiveness, that truly breaks the habit that binds our lives to some unlovely spot in time and space, or maybe many unlovely spots.

Think about this in your own life. Is it not usually the case that where there is a lack of forgiveness, we are bound, chained as it were to some unfortunate event or offense or person? Is it not usually the case that we are tortured, as Jesus says we will be, by rehearsing the grievance of petty debts that are owed us? Do we not suffer the lack of freedom and the burden of bondage when we harbor resentments? I know I do. And I know that I am not unique in this.

Continue Reading »

When I first started high school my two elder brothers, Christopher and Michael, were already there.  It was a rather old-fashioned school, and we were called by our surname.  “Come in Tristram,” the teachers would say.  With three Tristrams in the school that could sometimes be confusing.  So to distinguish us, rather light-heartedly, Christopher was referred to as Tristram.  He was the oldest.  Michael was known as Tristram Minor.  Then I arrived.  I was to be Tristram Minimus – which I didn’t much like!

That stayed with me over the years at school.  I think it so often happens – in a family or a community – that although you have grown and changed, others still see you as you were, or remember something you once did, and still define you in those terms.  And we want to say, “I’m not that anymore – I’ve changed.  Haven’t you noticed?”

It was quite a liberation to leave school and go to university where no one had met Tristram Minimus – but only Geoffrey.  Like the lobster which grows and changes and needs to burst out of its old shell, it felt wonderful to make a new beginning, changed from a school boy into an undergraduate.

“To live is to change.  And to be perfect is to have changed often.”  Famous words of John Henry Newman.  They reflect one of the great inner dynamics of the Gospels, which is Christ’s call to each one of us to change.  It is not always welcome; it’s not always comfortable; it’s not always easy, but like it or not, if we refuse to change we will die.  That goes for us as individuals, and for us as Christian communities.  “To live is to change.  To be perfect is to have changed often.” Continue Reading »

 

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Micah 6:6-8; Luke 19:1-10

This evening we begin a five-part preaching series entitled, “Breaking the Word.”  Each Tuesday in Lent we’ll be considering a different word.  The words we’ve chosen – conversion, forgiveness, grace, redemption and passion – are words that we Christians use frequently but which we may not fully understand.  We seldom take time to explore their meaning or to reflect on their significance for us.  That’s the purpose of this series.

Tonight’s word is “conversion.”  It’s a word that, for some of us, might have some mixed, or even negative, associations:

• It may elicit unpleasant memories of encounters with religious groups or individuals that make it their chief aim to convert others to their point of view.
• It may bring to mind a certain style of evangelism that strikes us as manipulative or intrusive.
• It may conjure up images of “hell-fire and brimstone” sermons, or of massive crusades in which charismatic preachers try to whip up the emotion of the crowd to affect a response to their message.
• It may remind us of people we have know who have been “converted,” but who bore witness to their conversion in remarkably unattractive ways.

As our bulletin notes, the word itself simply means “to turn around.”

Continue Reading »

 

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A few years ago, after I’d visited the Holy Land for the first time, a friend gave me a copy of Jim Crace’s little novel, Quarantine.  Set in the first century, it’s a highly fictionalized account of a disparate group of pilgrims who for various reasons find themselves thrown together in a cave riddled canyon of the Judean desert, several miles out from Jerusalem.  Each of the pilgrims is on a quest to find God, whatever that means for them, and in order to do so, they make their way through the rugged terrain where both the body and spirit will be tested to the uttermost as they are deprived first by choice and then by circumstance of the usual distraction and comforts and sources of relief that would ordinarily make life bearable, which is saying a lot in that time and place, when daily life for most people, even in cities and villages, revolved around survival.

Retreating to the desert, in the first century and today, offers an opportunity for a kind perspective which is uncluttered by the claims of so-called ordinary life.  And whether you are just passing through on a morning’s outing as a tourist or spending forty days quarantined for some spiritual purpose, the desert demands respect—and it repays what it is given, with a kind of clarity that is usually not possible in our day to day dealings.  Our Rule of Life makes note of this phenomenon in the chapter on retreat where we read:

…we must expect retreats to expose us to spiritual trial… we may be tempted to tire our­selves or waste the time in busy work…. We may find ourselves staying on the surface to avoid an authentic meeting with the living God. And the emptiness of retreat time may compel us to face the painful signs of our need for healing that it was easier to overlook during our usual routines. So our retreat times will be opportunities to strive against everything that would discourage us from radical dependence on the love of God.

We could easily substitute the word Lent for retreat in that passage I think. Continue Reading »

 

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I wonder how the other disciples felt when Jesus called Levi, a tax collector, to become one of the twelve.  I can imagine them rolling their eyes and shaking their heads and thinking, “What is he doing?  If he wants this movement to go anywhere, why would he choose someone who will be distrusted and even hated by the people because of his association with Roman oppression?  This is not going to make our life any easier!”  Some of them – maybe all of them – must have questioned Jesus’ judgment.  I doubt that Levi was a popular choice.

Maybe you can think of someone in your life that you would just as soon not have in your life: an obnoxious co-worker, perhaps, or a constantly complaining neighbor, or an impossible boss, or a disreputable or embarrassing relative.  Maybe you’ve found yourself wanting to distance yourself from them.  Perhaps you find yourself thinking, “My life would be so much easier if he didn’t work here, or if she wasn’t part of this committee, or if I didn’t have to deal with them.” Continue Reading »

 

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In his Ash Wednesday sermon, Br. Geoffrey Tristram invites us to practices of asceticism, not as a distortion or denial of the human spirit, but as a form of training, spiritual exercise, to prepare us to encounter—like a rustling wind—the searching love of God.

This sermon is available only in audio format.

 

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Br. Curtis Almquist

Today has traditionally been called “Shrove Tuesday.”  The word “shrove” is derived from an Old English verb “to shrive,” which means “to hear confession,” or “to grant absolution.”  To shrive is about cleaning out the cobwebs in the closets of your soul – things done and left undone, things said and left unsaid – which may clutter or weigh heavily on your conscience.  And so this word “shrive,” from which we get the traditional name for today, Shrove Tuesday, is buttressed right next to Ash Wednesday, which marks the beginning of season of Lent, a season of penitence and abstinence.

Some of you may have grown up with the custom of a pancake supper on Shrove Tuesday, which is no accident.  Going back to the Middle Ages, the custom of eating pancakes and sausages had a practical purpose, since eggs and fat were used, and eggs and fat were forbidden during the fasting of Lent.  In one fell swoop, the larder is cleared out and you have one last blowout meal before you face (tomorrow) Ash Wednesday.  In Germany, today is traditionally called Fetter Dienstag (fat Tuesday).  Likewise in France and here in the States in New Orleans, this is traditionally called Mardi gras (fat Tuesday), which is a day of feasting and merrymaking marking the climax of the carnival season.  Play hard today because tomorrow’s down to serious business: Lent. Continue Reading »

Br. Mark Brown

Exodus 34:29-35; Psalm 99; 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2; Luke 9:28-36

There’s a well-known mountain in the Holy Land.  Ask a kindergartner to draw a hill, and that’s about what it looks like: improbably rounded and just sitting there, seemingly removed from its geological context.  Mt. Tabor, the traditional sight of the Transfiguration story we’ve just heard. What’s most stunning about Mt. Tabor is the view from the top.  It has to be one of the most beautiful anywhere, a grand, panoramic sweep.

If you’re standing facing east, the hills around Nazareth are back over your left shoulder, the hills around the Sea of Galilee at about 10:00, with Mt. Hermon, snowcapped in winter, beyond that to the north.  The distant mountains across the Jordan River straight ahead.  The hills of Gilboa, where King Saul was killed, at about 2:00.  The rich, fertile plain of Jezreel at the foot of the mountain stretching from about 12:30 all the way to 5:00. The Carmel range stretching from about 3:30 back to 5:30 in the distance—Haifa, the Mediterranean port, is just out of sight almost behind us.

The Transfiguration story is mainly about Jesus, of course, and a vision of the fullness of his divine life.  It’s about us as well, and a vision of the fullness of the Resurrection life we await. O wondrous type, O vision fair, of glory that the church may share. [Hymnal 1982, #137]

Although we anticipate this greater and more glorious life even now, the life we have is the one we have: the life of flesh and blood. A life of flesh and blood created of the dust of the earth, given to us and redeemed by God.  A life of flesh and blood taken on by God: …and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Our ultimate transfiguration, for the time being, belongs to the religious and poetic imagination. Continue Reading »

 

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This sermon is available only in audio format.