I have a good friend who is a pastor in Iowa City. He and I became friends in college, and our careers have run somewhat in parallel ever since. We were exchanging some messages recently, and I noted that it would soon be 100 days since I started here at Emmanuel. He said, “You should celebrate.” I may open a bottle of Champagne later this week and smoke a cigar. But I thought it might be nice to mark this milestone in some way here today, as well as talk about the future. Because it has been a full and exciting 100 days here with you, and we are just getting started. 

Let me lay out a few things I may not have said here in church, but I have articulated in the past to the search committee and vestry. First, I think the best days of our parish may lie ahead of us. We live in a time when it is common to lament the decline of the church and sigh wistfully for the glory days. I don’t accept that God is done with us; there is more that lies ahead. We worship the God who spoke through the prophets, through Isaiah, promising a bright future: 

If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The Lord will guide you continually … you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in. 

Across time, every community goes through ups and downs, but the Lord who is present with us is faithful, good, and kind. And he promises great things. We should cherish our past; we must also look to the future with expectation.

A second thought: God is not interested in building up this or any church just for their own sake. Of course, it’s nice to have more people here. But we must take an interest in our neighbors. I mean that expansively. I’d invite you to ponder some questions in the coming weeks. How can Emmanuel and its people bless Champaign and Urbana? How can we make this county a place where God’s light shines? 

How do we help our brothers and sisters in the Diocese of Springfield, the wider Episcopal Church, the Anglican Communion? How can we be a blessing to this nation and the world? 

These things are not beyond the scope of a congregation like ours. Our church may take a central place in God’s purposes for the world, and his blessing upon us should inspire us to do more for one another and for those around us. The promises of God in our reading from Isaiah are promises of health, life, wholeness, and honor – but they are rewards promised to those who repair, who restore, who seek justice and the common good, who honor God and the freedom of his sabbaths, not in word only, but in deed and in truth.

Let us open our eyes wide and pray that God  shows us how he may use this congregation and all its members to bless and to serve. Renewal in church and society is always possible. And for this reason:

We are not working alone. God issues promises, God call us to labor, God also empowers us and animates us by a vision of his glory and kingdom. He promises to be near us. 

“Bless the Lord, O my soul,” say the Psalmist, “and forget not all his benefits.”

He forgives all your sins,
and heals all your infirmities.
He redeems your life from the grave
and crowns you with mercy and loving-kindness.
He satisfies you with good things,
and your youth is renewed like an eagle’s.

It is the Lord who helps us. 

It is easy to look at the future and be daunted. After all, what do we have to do here? 

Well, we need volunteers in essentially all our ministries: to take two examples, to help with hospitality; or to help with the nursery and children’s church, to raise up another generation. Were you to volunteer for that once a month, it would help immensely, and there are other ways, too. 

We have practical building works ahead. We need to engage in a program of improvements in the Great Hall, the kitchen, our children’s chapel, and essentially the whole Mowry Education Building. It will take intention, planning, and money. 

We need to do things to respond to the needs in our cities; we should do our part in healing our civic wounds and the lack of trust that characterize our politics. 

We are part of a shrinking diocese and denomination, both with their fair share of challenges, in a country where organized religion is failing. We live in an uncertain world, too. Everyday brings new surprises: some delightful, some deeply worrying. 

We could think about that list (or several others) and start to feel like it would be easiest to give up. And, I have to say, were it not for the promise of God I might counsel us to do so. But the Lord Jesus is present in our midst, with the same power, the same calling, the same summons as ever. 

Let me remind you of the true context, the true environment you are in when you enter the church, and when we consider what God call us to do. We have this day come, "to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel."

We are surrounded by innumerable helpers; we have drawn near to God himself; we are promised a kingdom that cannot be shaken. How can we refuse to answer God’s call?

The past 100 days have gone quickly. There’s been a lot of work behind the scenes. We are, Lord willing, laying the foundations for a wonderful and inspiring future. I give thanks to God for you, and I pray earnestly every day for the health and growth of this place. I hope you do the same; I urge you to do the same, and think how you may take a part in building our future together.

May the Lord grant us his blessing, guide us into the future he has promised, and help us to show forth his power and glory. In the name of the Father and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Reading before bed is a habit my mother instilled in me. It’s almost impossible for me to go to sleep without reading at least a few pages. So I keep a small stack of books by my bed: my prayer book and Bible, so I can read Compline or the Psalms; a book of poetry; a light novel; even some comic books or manga. But sometimes I want some serious non-fiction before bed, and a member of this congregation recently dropped off Christian Smith’s new book, Why Religion Went Obsolete: The Demise of Traditional Faith in America. It’s deeply insightful, and I have been recommending it to many people, though its contents cost me a sleepless night or two. 

It’s hard to think your way of life is obsolete.

The book traces a series of cultural changes that have taken place over the past two generations. One chapter called “Perfect Storms Converging” offers a whole series of explanations for why many people no longer attend religious services or affiliate with religions. There’s not just one reason; there are many.

Another chapter that really caught my eye was titled “Religion is Good When…” In it, Smith outlines the series of assumptions or expectations that most Americans have about religion, what they think religion is good for. This chapter should be required reading. 

Smith raises six general themes. On the basis of  survey data, Americans say believe religion is good when it teaches people morals (44-47), that “religion is good when it helps people cope with life, sustain a positive outlook, and feel calm, happy, affirmed, and encouraged” (48). “Religion is good when it fosters community, social cooperation, peace, and harmony” (50). “Religion is good when it provides societal models for basic moral integrity, decency, and honesty—” especially when religious leaders are themselves providing such good models (52). “Religion is good when it is moderate, not too weird, and certainly not fanatical or extremist” (54). Finally, “Religion is good when it strengthens America as a nation” (55). 

Now, as I read that chapter and considered that list, I saw a lot to agree with. The Christian faith does teach morals. It should help people cope. We do aim for peace, and think religious leaders should be models of integrity (though the way we pray constantly for that to be true suggests we think Episcopal leaders may need some special help).  Anglicans and Episcopalians have also generally thought religion should promote a degree of moderation and help bind together civil society. 

But three things struck me about this chapter: 

First, as Smith notes, there are crucial things missing in these expectations: like eternal salvation, union with God, fidelity to the Scriptures – actually most of things you might hear about at church.

Second, American expectations often make religion instrumental, as if people come to church to become good citizens or for the sake of family life or psychological wellness or to be successful. Our faith can often help with all of these things, but it’s not clear to me that they are the purpose of religion or even necessarily the sign of a religion’s goodness. Fidelity to God is more important than allegiance to any nation (our government could, after all, become corrupt: hard to believe, I know in this era in which Americans constantly accuse one another of epic betrayals of fundamental democratic principles). 

There are also times when our faith might call us to make choices that really don’t promote career success. And, then, there are aspects of our faith that just aren’t there to make us feel good or affirm our pre-existing beliefs and psychology or strengthen our family’s cohesion. 

The most serious thing I thought about this list of American expectations was that they fail the Jesus test. Jesus Christ himself might be screened out by what we want from religion. Because, just to take a few examples, Jesus was not moderate in his thinking. He could be weird. He seemed like a fanatic. And he did not always promote peace and harmony. We all heard his words in the Gospel today:

I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! … Do you think I came to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division. From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son, and son against father, mother against daughter, and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law. 

Not peace, but division. How can this be?

Let us return to three things in our readings: justice, truth, and faithfulness. We can see how a focus on such things might be divisive. 

Take Psalm 82. In it, God appears as a just ruler, rendering judgment against other gods and, by extension, against the injustice of human life. He takes his stand in the council of heaven; he accuses; he demands an account:

How long will you judge unjustly, 
and show favor to the wicked?

Save the weak and the orphan; 
defend the humble and needy. 

Rescue the weak and the poor; 
deliver them from the power of the wicked.

God “takes his stand.” He has a position on matters of justice, right and wrong. Indeed, throughout the Old Testament, God continually takes a stand, and he has his prophets take a stand, calling out continually the sins of his people, particularly when they favor the powerful and rich over the weak and poor. This is hard; it can be divisive. No one wants their sins pointed out; no society enjoys having its hypocrisies named. But everyone and every society must hear God’s animating voice, even if shakes them. 

Similarly, fidelity or faithfulness might require looking weird, seeming extreme or fanatical. In our reading from the Hebrews, the author retells the story of faith. It is not a story of moderation. 

Time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched raging fire… They were stoned to death, they were sawn in two, they were killed by the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, persecuted, tormented – of whom the world was not worthy. 

Fidelity required a harder road. It would have been easier -- it might even have promoted community cohesion -- for these religious heroes, these saints, to be a little more moderate, and less fanatical. 

I can hear the voices now: “Why get thrown into the lions’ den, Daniel? Just stop praying to your god.” 

“Why accept death at the hands of a tyrant? Who needs to be sawn in two?” Anyone of the early Christian martyrs could have been told; indeed, they were told to compromise: “Just burn a little incense to the emperor. It doesn’t mean anything.” 

Closer to our own time, I think of Jonathan Myrick Daniels, an Episcopal seminarian and civil rights activist, who was killed on August 20, 1965. You may know the story. He went down to Alabama as a non-violent protestor against Jim Crow policies. He was arrested at a protest in Fort Deposit, imprisoned, stranded in another town without transport. 

And when the group he was with was going into a convenience store to buy a cold drink -- so simple -- he had to step in front of a racist’s shotgun to save the life of Ruby Sales, a nineteen-year-old black student. 

Obviously Daniels made a series of choices to end up dead in Alabama. He could have stayed home. Why disturb the South’s peace? Daniels went down to Alabama because he believed in the justice of God; he believed that the truth of God demanded an end to segregation. Daniels went down and died to be faithful. He served a higher purpose, he sought a greater unity, a unity in the truth that all are created in God’s image. He burned with zeal for justice, burned with that fire Jesus came to bring. “How I wish it were already kindled!” 

The Word of God, the truth of God burns within all the saints. For, as the Lord said through the prophet Jeremiah, “Is not my word like fire, and like a hammer that breaks the rock in pieces?” 

“Let the one who has my word speak my word faithfully.”

Our faith has something to say about morals, about integrity. We aim for a peaceful society; we want all people to be well. Religion is often good for all these things, but it offers more than what the average American imagines. 
Our heavenly Father summons us to powerful acts of faithfulness, to deeds of justice. The Lord Jesus calls us to embody his truth in faithful lives. The Holy Spirit sets us ablaze with the fire of God.

That may sometimes require us to be uncomfortable; it may at times divide before it unites. It may cost us as individuals or even as a community. But it is a cost worth paying, if we are to come into the fullness of God’s kingdom. 

“We are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses,” those who went before us in faith. Inspired by them,

Let us also lay aside very weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. 

“When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the Law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children.” Galatians 4:4 

St Paul, in his unmatched style, sums up the Christian message. This verse marks the moment of Christ’s appearing: at the right time, in the fullness of time. It denotes his lineage as a Jewish man “born under the Law.” And it states briefly his purpose: to “redeem.” Christ came that we might become God’s children; he came that we might be free.
And we should remember: all of this was impossible without the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

“God sent his Son, born of a woman…” If we were the Lord God, we might have imagined another way of saving the world: Maybe the Son of God could have come without any earthly parents! You know, it’s not a difficult idea. He could have just made a body for himself and skipped conception, birth, infancy, and childhood. It would have saved a lot of trouble: to just show up as an adult, descending from heaven on a cloud. It would have been very impressive. But then that wouldn’t have made for a human Savior, in the way we ordinarily use the term. No human life develops independently; we all have parents who bore us, and those who raised us.

In any case, whether or not we think God might have picked another way of saving humanity, the Christian faith celebrates the fact that he chose this one. The eternal Son of God was formed in the womb of Mary; he took his flesh (his human nature) from her. He was born of God before the ages; he was born of Mary in the fulness of time. Like us, he had a mother who carried him in her own body, delivered him. She nursed him, cared for him, raised him. And she remained near him through his ministry.

There is no coming to Jesus apart from Mary. We would hardly know anything about him without her. She was one of the only witnesses of his death on the cross. 

How else would we know the words he spoke as he suffered? About the crowd: “Father, forgive them, for they know now what they do.” To the repentant thief: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” To Mary and to John: “Woman, behold your Son.” and “Behold, your Mother.” Mary heard those words, Mary passed them on. 

Of course, too, how else would we know how Jesus was born, how he was conceived and announced to the world, adored by angels, worshipped by Magi – it was Mary who treasured up these things in her heart, until she passed them on to Christ’s disciples, and especially, it seems, to St Luke the evangelist.

“God sent his Son, born of a woman…” 

This is a profound truth. Let me name three more ways Mary is important for us and for our salvation.

Mary is a model to us in the way she heard the God; she is a model as a worshipper of God; and she is a model of our ultimate destiny with God. Let’s take those one at a time. 

Mary is a model disciple. She heard the Word of God and treasured it. In the first two chapters of Luke’s Gospel, she is often hearing God’s Word through others: from an angel, through the shepherds, on the lips of her cousin Elizabeth. Sometimes she understands; at others, she is perplexed. She asks questions, like “How can this be?” But she always treasures the Word, turns it over in her mind, keeps it in her heart. Just as she bore Jesus, the Word incarnate, so did she keep God’s written and spoken Word in her mind and heart. 

We often think the Scriptures present to us things to know or instructions for living; and surely they do. But the Word of God also presents to us mysteries surpassing human understanding, baffling and lofty truths, which we must ponder. Mary is our guide, our model, in learning how to receive these gifts from God, how to treasure them.

Mary is also our companion in praise. Every day in the Church’s prayer we utter her Song, the Magnificat, the Song she uttered when she met her cousin Elizabeth and the two women rejoiced over the coming of God’s Messiah. 

As Luke 1:41-45 records, Mary went to the hill country of Judea to visit her cousin, and:

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, her child, John, leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”

Mary responded to this moment with those immortal words which have been recited and chanted and set to music again and again:

My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
For he hath regarded the lowliness of his handmaiden. 
For behold from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. 
For he that is mighty hath magnified me and holy is his name. 
And his mercy is on them that fear him through all generations. 
He hath showed strength with his arm.
He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts
He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek. 
He hath filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he hath sent empty away. 
He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel, as he promised to our forefathers, Abraham and his seed, forever. 

When we sing our praises to the Lord, it is as if we are standing there beside Mary, beside the blessed mother of our Lord. We hear her music, we are inspired by her devotion, we take upon us the invitation of all the psalms and songs of holy Scripture: “Proclaim with me the greatness of the Lord; let us exalt his name together” (Ps 34:3). Mary is our model in praise. 

And she is the picture of our destiny. She embodies the Christian hope to be with Christ. She was with him on earth, as she bore him, cared for him, wept for him, rejoiced over him. She with him now in heaven. She is united to him in his triumph, and shares in the glory of his eternal kingdom. She assures us; she goes before us, happy, holy, blessed.

​“When the fulness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the Law…” God’s Son was born of Mary; in this way, he saved us and set us free. Let us rejoice in her example; let us join her in offering praises; and let us look forward to that day, when we shall see her in the clear heaven, accompanied by the saints and angels, as she sings her Magnificat.

When I was about 20 years old, I began doing a dangerous thing. I started attending Mass. I was not an Episcopalian then. I was a student at a Pentecostal university, but wasn’t sure how to identify my faith. I found myself visiting a wide range of churches on Sundays, as I tried to figure out my life and discern what God was calling me to be and do. Those Sunday morning visits to churches were often disappointing and weird. But Saturday night Mass at the Roman Catholic Cathedral of St. Agnes the Martyr in Springfield, MO, was good. It was consistent.  It was challenging. 

The first time I attended St. Agnes, the psalm was number 49, which we’ve just recited together, and the antiphon was the one we’ve just sung, a verse that hits hard, while it set to a charming snippet of traditional American folk: We can never ransom ourselves, or deliver to God the price of our life.

Singing that over and over again is a distinct experience: such a gentle tune, such a hard lesson. It slaps; it slaps like an iron fist hiding inside a velvet glove, looking so soft, but full of weight and power. We can never ransom ourselves, or deliver to God the price of our life. I remember sitting in the pew at St. Agnes, and looking around in amazement at how we were all singing together this mind-blowing phrase.

It reminded me that the Bible has some harsh things to say about money and about those who have it and how they use it. At times, it has dismal things to say about work. For example, our first reading:, “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity…” Everything  is emptiness and “a chasing after wind.” Because everything we work for, everything we pile up, everything we’d like to pass on, can disappear in an instant. It only takes one tornado, one illness, one financial crisis. Of course, if somehow we do live long, and manage to keep most of our goods all the way to the end of our lives, who knows what will come of them? As Ecclesiastes suggests, we might pass them on to a fool or a layabout. The author speaks with frustration:

Sometimes one who has toiled with wisdom and knowledge and skill must leave all to be enjoyed by another who did not toil for it. This also is vanity and a great evil. 

[I feel like the author of this text had a high view of themselves but didn’t like their kids. Who knows?]

What do mortals get from all the toil and strain with which they toil under the sun? 

Nothing, the question implies. “For all their days are full of pain, and their work is a vexation; even at night their minds do not rest.”  

Some of us acquire goods by care and hard work with much anxiety and many sleepless nights; some of us come into wealth – maybe we inherit it and happily waste away the diligent labors of another; of course, some of us don’t acquire much at all. We may live in the wealthiest country on earth, but most Americans have minimal savings and no plan.

Whatever our individual levels of prosperity, let me suggest that all need to be careful with our attitude toward money. Life requires wisdom, no matter our means. As the Psalm says:

Hear this, all you peoples: hearken all you who dwell in the world, you of high degree and low, rich and poor together. 

My heart shall speak of wisdom, and my heart shall meditate on understanding.

I will incline mine ear to a proverb, and set for my riddle upon the harp. (49:1-3)  

It would be too easy to tune out during this sermon, and say to your soul: “I’m not wealthy, so I’m spared. I don’t have any ‘rich lands producing abundantly’. I’m not like the man in the parable, pulling down my barns and building larger ones. I’m barely hanging on here!”

There is something to that; the wealthy and the powerful have distinct temptations, and the Bible admonishes the wealthy in particular: consistently and directly, saying don’t store up your treasures here on earth when they might do good for others. Don’t be rich toward yourselves and miserly toward others and toward God. It is only by generosity that you can store up treasure in heaven.

But let’s not let ourselves off the hook if we feel poor. Examine your inner attitude, and consider that little sentence in Colossians chapter 3: “Put to death whatever in you is earthly: fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed (which is idolatry).”

In Greek, the word for greed is philargyria (“Love of silver” or “love of money”). It’s not just the desire for more money, though that’s part of it; it’s not just loving what money can do, which is a lot, let’s admit. The problem is thinking money can give us what God alone can give; and the problem is loving money the way we ought to love God and our neighbor. 

We often think money will satisfy our desires: we think of all that we could buy, all that we could do, all that we could make others do for us. We think money will bring us happiness or security, remembrance or even immortality. 

These are really things only God can grant. Traditionally, in the Christian faith, we would say that there is no complete satisfaction of our desires in this world; we await that promise in the life of the world to come; at God’s right hand “there are pleasures forevermore” and they surpass all the base desires and satisfactions we have in this time. 

And we would say that no one should have the power to do anything they want; no one should be able to compel others to do anything they want simply by having of money. That is a fantasy of omnipotence, of being in the place of God. 

Meanwhile, total happiness, security, stability, lasting memory, and eternal life: these are not things naturally within our grasp as mortal creatures. We live in a world of constant change, ups and downs, risks, dangers. There is no hiding from these things; money is a flimsy shield against them. And we cannot ensure we are remembered; we cannot make ourselves immortal. “The ransom of our life is so great,” says the Psalm, “that we should never have enough to pay it, in order to live for ever and ever and never see the grave.” 

We can never ransom ourselves, or deliver to God the price of our lives. Immortality is the gift of God. Eternal bliss, happiness without end, is the gift of God. Security, stability, lasting memory: these are the gifts of God in Christ. 

Do not let a golden idol reign in your heart, where the love of Christ should be. Follow his more excellent way. Be rich toward your neighbor, be rich toward God. As Jesus says, “Be on guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” 

Put to death whatever in you is earthly, and turn your sight to things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.