Remembering Francis

Reprinted with permission of author, Jim Thebarge, from Facebook:

A Letter to the World: On the Passing of Our Holy Father

Last night (April 21), as the Easter moon hung like a silver tear in the sky, the soul of our beloved Pope slipped gently from this world into the arms of eternity. The bells tolled softly in the Vatican, yet the sound echoed across the world like a collective heartbeat breaking. A shepherd has left his flock. A voice has gone silent in a world that needs it more than ever.

And yet, what a voice it was.

He spoke not only from the balcony of Saint Peter’s, but from the margins of our world, from refugee camps and prison chapels, from broken pews in bombed out sanctuaries, and through the whispered prayers of those who had been told they did not belong. His voice was a bridge across rivers of division. He spoke of a God who makes no distinctions, of a Christ who dined with outcasts, touched lepers, and made a tax collector a disciple.

He envisioned a Church without walls. A sanctuary that echoed with the songs of many tongues. A table where all had a place, regardless of race, class, gender, love, or creed. He called us not just to worship but to welcome. Not merely to pray, but to embrace.

And now, during this sacred season when we celebrate resurrection and new life, we are met with loss. The tomb is empty, but so is the chair. Easter morning rose with a quiet vacancy. The man who knelt to wash the feet of the forgotten has returned to the One whose feet were once pierced for us all.

He did not fear death. He had long made peace with its shadows. In his final homilies, he spoke of the afterlife as a reunion, a great homecoming. “Heaven,” he said, “is where no one asks why you are there, only Who you are there to love.”

But we, those left behind, must now wrestle with the silence. His absence is not just ecclesiastical, it is existential. A world fraying at the edges needed his stitching words. A polarized humanity needed his grace. And yet perhaps, like Christ, his true ministry begins now, in us.

He planted seeds in soil we did not know could grow. It is now our sacred charge to water them. To embody the gospel of gentleness, the gospel of courage, the gospel of all are welcome. His death at Easter is no coincidence, it is a divine echo. It is God reminding us that every ending is the threshold of a rising.

Let us rise in his memory.

Let us carry his light into the cathedrals and the streets, into the silent corners of loneliness, and into the loud debates of our time. Let our actions speak where his voice no longer can.

And as we whisper prayers into the night sky, may we find comfort in imagining him at last sitting at a heavenly table, shoulder to shoulder with saints and sinners, smiling gently, saying:

“Yes, all are welcome here.”

Amen.

With reverence, grief, and enduring hope, One of the many who still hears his voice.

John 12:20-26 (NRSV)

Pecking order

A few decades back you could go into a store where someone would greet you in a timely manner, and ask if you needed help. Even more miraculous, that same someone could take you all the way from question to sale.

But those days are pretty much gone, with a few exceptions, like Ace Hardware.

Nowadays, it’s not uncommon to wander unsuspectingly into a pecking order problem. You get passed around until (maybe) you la nd on someone who knows the answer. Or at least, you hope you do.

In today’s reading from Saint John, “some Greeks” got a bit tangled in a pecking order.

The Greeks were among those headed to Jerusalem for the Festival of Passover. The Festival was an annual celebration for Jews, not Gentiles like the Greeks. And this would be Jesus’ last attendance.

The Greeks approached Philip with a request to see Jesus. He asked Andrew, and together they would ask Jesus. Seems a lot of rigamarole for such a simple request.

Jesus began to answer the question in a way no one there and then, or even most of us here and now, would call an answer.

Except. Except the presence of the Greeks signals a major plot shift. Everyone is welcome where Jesus is, down to this very day.

In time this would become known throughout the world.

But then, on the road to Jerusalem for Passover, we catch a first glint of that amazing truth.

It makes me wonder how often the radical nature of God’s intentions are right in front of us, but like those Greeks, we still want to check it out.

John 9:18-41

The only thing worse than being blind is to have sight but no vision.  -Helen Keller

Today’s scripture is familiar to many. The story of Jesus granting sight to a man born blind. Much ado is made over this by Jesus’ enemies. How? Why?

Blind since birth. Surely things had been tried. Things that did not work. Now, this Jesus, this interloper, fixes him immediately, No gimmicks. The bottom line? “I was blind and now I see,” the once-blind man said.

Some people resist seeing, a different sort of blindness. Where there could be joy and dancing in the streets, they back away, shun, question, worry, suspect wrongdoing.

If you ever quit smoking, drinking, drug use,  or lost some pounds. Maybe left a dangerous relationship. I can guarantee you had some naysayers. Oh, maybe you never heard them, but they’re always around. Doubting, offering to bet against your success.

Because? Because, unless you fail, some coming to terms with themselves might like some company as they sneak out the door.

They would be like those Helen Keller described as having sight but no vision. 

Pay them no mind. Instead, follow the light your newfound “sight” has brought you. You have much for which to thank God.

John 6:16-27

“Do not be afraid.”

Those words, or words to that effect, are attributed to Jesus some 365 times in the four Gospels.

Do not be afraid. Much easier to say than to accomplish.

In today’s selection from the Gospel of Saint John, Jesus speaks this message to his disciples when their boat is endangered by a fierce storm. Many of us may face death-dealing storms, and I am sure that most of us, if not all of us, know what it is like to be afraid.

We’re living in a world very different from the one of my childhood. I grew up in post-World War II U.S. America. Southern California, at that.

We lived in the suburban sprawl of Los Angeles. We were considered middle class. Home of our own. Stay-at-home Mom, Dad worked. As children, my brother and I were free to be the imaginative little beings that we were. Free of fear.

Except. No matter how sweet the life, there are always things to fear.

One night, tossing and turning while trying to fall asleep, I saw a monster. At the foot of my bed.

My shrieking awakened the household.

Mother entered the room to calm my fears. But I was in no mood for a “do not be afraid” while an agent of Satan was perched on my bed post.

Mother flipped the switch, bathing the room in light that showed the “monster” to be nothing more than a coat hung on the post.

It’s human to be afraid, but it is reassuring to know that once in a while someone can flip a switch and banish our fears.

Sometimes the switch-flipper is God.

John 1:9-14

Wonder, wonder, everywhere.

I love the first chapter of the Gospel of Saint John.

It is an evocative, poetic piece of story-telling that never fails to enlarge the spirit within me.

It is what I call “wonder writing.” With repetition for emphasis, it describes the coming to earth of the Son of Man.

With “wonder writing,” there is a sweet ache within me as I navigate its words: true light; the Word became flesh and lived among us, the world did not know him, we have seen his glory, as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

As awe-inspiring as the annunciation is in the other three Gospels, it does not compare to John’s explanation of Jesus’ arrival among the people. John implants mystery and wonder into this narrative, appropriate I believe for a story such as this. About a father and son uniting to save the world.

For reference, I’m including AI search results for which of the four Gospels include annunciation:

Summary:

Only Matthew and Luke contain accounts of the Annunciation and Nativity:

 Matthew: Angel appears to Joseph

Luke: Angel Gabriel appears to Mary

Mark and John: Neither contains the Annunciation or the Nativity.

Money and religion

John 2:13-22

https://bible.oremus.org/?ql=100889582

Dear friend,

Today’s Gospel offers the dramatic account of Jesus clearing the temple of sacrificial animals and money changers.

These activities, he says, profane God’s house, and must go.

Whip of cords. Pouring out money. Overturning tables. This scene always makes me wonder: What’s going on today in houses of worship that would displease Jesus?

Coffee hour? Collection plates? Stewardship campaigns?

Maybe. Maybe our comfortable practices have become more comfortable than they should. Maybe they warrant periodic scrutiny?

What do you think?

Luke 1:26-38
Let it be with me, according to your word.

Dear friend,

Today is often celebrated as Shrove Tuesday. Tradition notes that this day was a good time to clear out the larder in preparation for Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the
penitential season of Lent.

Scripturally, it makes sense to me that we begin with the beginning, the annunciation to Mary of her role in salvation history. A role she so beautifully accepted.

March is deemed as Women’s History Month, and I can think of no better woman to write about today than Mary, the biological mother of Jesus of Nazareth. In the scripture selected for today, we encounter the angel Gabriel announcing to this unmarried girl
that she will become pregnant.

Mary’s response? “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” Gabriel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.”

The cost could be high for this girl, who became pregnant out of wedlock. She could have been beaten for this development. But she landed on the side of faith, and told Gabriel she was all in:
Let it be with me, according to your word.

I believe that being a person of faith should put us in danger at times. Sometimes I wonder if I take that seriously enough. Maybe you wonder something similar.

Here is a list of things that might happen if I insist on putting myself on the Lord’s side:
Embarrassment
Inconvenience
What will people think?
I might get hurt
I might be rejected
I might be ridiculed
Am I crazy?
Do others have this call, too?
Is this really necessary?

Jesus’ journey ended on a cross of torture. He said those who follow him also will have a cross to bear, a price to pay for living into our faith in him.

May Mary’s response be my very own: Let it be with me, according to your word.

Ev’rywhere I go, I’m goin’ let it shine
Ev’rywhere I go, I’m goin’ let it shine,
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine *

Dear reader—

What is sacred text?

I believe most people can agree that religious canon—for example. the Holy Bible, the Torah, the Koran—are most obviously sacred text. Taking it further, we can say that well established pieces—including hymnody—also may serve the purpose of canon to teach, inspire, guide us in a life of faith.

In the Episcopal Church tradition, our faith is facilitated by The Book of Common Prayer, especially by what it calls the three-legged stool: Scripture, tradition, reason.**

Today—among other clergy, undoubtedly—I have in mind a well-known hymn inspired by Christian canon: This Little Light of Mine.

Its idea is prompted directly from Matthew’s Gospel for today, in which Jesus says, “You are the light of the world.”

Ev’rywhere I go, I’m goin’ let it shine
Ev’rywhere I go, I’m goin’ let it shine
Everywhere I go, I’m goin’ let it shine
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

Similarly, a bit later, he says, “let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works…”

This Little Light of Mine has enjoyed broad usage,  as a children’s song, or as a song of political resistance as when it was used at the 1964 Democratic National Convention.

I don’t know how it touches you, but for me, I hear this message: Whatever talent, whatever gift, you’ve been given, use it. And it with all of your heart. It isn’t ours to measure and to dismiss, but rather to use for the good God’s people.

Listen to NPR audio (click here)

This idea shapes what belief looks like, what ministry looks like. Never mind the bigness and littleness of our gifts. Put it out there. Go all in. Let God sort it out.

In my neighbor’s home, I’m goin’ let it shine
In my neighbor’s home, I’m goin’ let it shine
In my neighbor’s home, I’m goin’ let it shine.
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.

*This Little Light of Mine, African American spiritual, 19th century. Number 221 in Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing, a hymnal of The Episcopal Church.

A reflection on Mark 11:12-26

The lectionary for today offers up a selection from the eleventh chapter of the Gospel of Saint Mark. It is rich with opportunities of connecting with our lives.

I’m only going to take on one of the offerings, that of the fig tree. Jesus and his entourage are hungry. He spots a fig tree. As it was not fruit-bearing season for figs, this tree had no fruit for Jesus to eat.

He read it the riot act: “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” And no one ever did. When the group passed the tree again, they pointed out to Jesus its withered form.

Everything Jesus tells us offers a lesson. But what is the lesson here? How can a tree bear fruit out of its season.

Each human being, some believe, are to bear fruit worthy of the Creator. What we say and what we do should reflect the hands that made us. A food-bearing tree offers God’s love through being a source of strength and stamina. Endurance. Perseverance for the faith cannot hold if the physical body is weak.

The lesson for me? For you? I find it helpful to offer some space to the fig tree lesson. Each of us, definitely me, maybe you, has times of great fruitfulness over a lifetime. Sometimes, though, God needs us “out of season.” Or maybe it’s I’m too busy, I’m too distracted, I’m too tired.

But I think excuses do not get me off the hook. As with the little fig tree, Jesus may have need of me just when I think I have nothing else to offer. And so I must try. Because it’s Jesus asking.