The Eighth Day - from Gordon Lathrop

I was getting ready for Easter Sunday, preaching on ''The Eighth Day,'' and re-reading from my seminary professor, Gordon Lathrop's book, Holy Things. I always end up with the Beetle's song, ''Eight Days a Week,'' running through my head when I use this idea:

    ''The [Church] meeting is called a meeting on the eighth day because it opens toward what cannot be reached simply by more days like those of the seven-day weeks... There is an opening toward the day beyond days, toward the last day of God. It is the eighth day because Christians have met 'eight days later' (John 20:26, RSV) down through the ages. That meeting has always meant for them an encounter with the risen one and so with the end of death and the endless cycles of loss...things that have been promised for the last day when God's dwelling is to be with humankind and tears are to be wiped away. Christians believe the eighth-day meeting is already the dawning of that day. The eighth day is the beginning of a new creation'' [pages 39-40]. 

Betrayed by Your Accent

'Foreign Towns - Loneliness' -Sergei Chepik;
'He went outside and wept bitterly.' -Mt. 26.75

Reflection on Matthew 26:69-75, Peter's Denial

Homily for an Ecumenical Good Friday Service - 
St. Andrew's Episcopal Church, Tacoma

 - April 18, 2014

I'm meeting most of you for the first time, so this is probably TMI, too much information, so I will refrain from saying exactly why. I will tell you, however, that this Holy Week, more than any other before, I can relate to Peter and his divided loyalty. And I am depending on the grace of God that loved and claimed Peter in spite of his denials.

Has anyone ever confronted you with the question, "What would you do if claiming to be a Christian would endanger your life? Would you deny your faith at the point of a gun?"

Well, look here at Peter, our beloved St. Peter, the Rock upon whom Jesus built the church! This was the same Peter who only days before had boldly stated "You are the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of the Living God!"

This was the same Peter who only hours before had said to Jesus, "Even if all others deny you, I will never... never, never, ...never    ....deny you!"
But when he's asked:You're one of them, aren't you?
"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know the man."

Here's the thing that has been echoing for me: when they responded to Peter with "Yes you are. Your accent betrays you." Your accent betrays you.
The double irony: Here Peter was, in the midst of betraying his faith, betraying his Savior, and his very heart, but no one was convinced. They refused his denial: "No matter what you say, your accent betrays you. Surely you are one of them, one of his followers."

Even in his most grievous sin, in spite of his attempt to distance himself with his denials and to hide his identity with his false and foul language, God--through those people--would not let him go... The cock finally crowed, and Peter was at once convicted and reclaimed. "Oh Peter, stop distancing and doubting... You are his. Your accent betrays you."

As we gather this noon at the very middle hour of Jesus' crucifixion the question is often raised, "Where are you; where do you find yourself in that crowd?" Are you one of the women standing nearby in grief beside Mary? Are you the disciple whom he loved offering presence and compassion? Have you ever been one of the disciples who abandoned, ran off, denied, ...or betrayed?

Surely not I? I'm here aren't I? Tho' all others might run and hide, I would never... never.

"Well, are you one of them, Greg?"
Well, yes, but I'm not religious, you see. I'm more spiritual. Loosely connected.

"But aren't you a pastor, Greg? You're a Christian."
Well, yes, but I'm a Lutheran Christian. I'm not like those others you see. I'm not like them. I even drink beer and listen to rock music! I swear once in awhile...when it's appropriate.

Ah, we still try to divide ourselves, even from each other, for fear of rejection or of being labeled.
But truthfully, the question of where or who we are in that beautifully diverse and deeply divided crowd is not nearly as important as whose we are. And at the foot of the cross--in spite of my distancing, in spite of my personal struggles--I am at once convicted, brought up short and reclaimed. The cock crows, and I am united with all of you, and united with everyone who needs him, especially when he looks over all of us and says, "Father, forgive them. They know not."

We are the Body. Different parts. Spread out. But pulled together, not by our doctrines or our pedigree, but only by the sinews of grace, forgiveness, and love that put Jesus on the cross. We belong to him. And He will work through us. May his accent always betray us. Amen.

Buridan's Ass

   ''I am coming to believe that laws are the prime cause of unhappiness. It is not merely a case of born under one law, required another to obey...No sir, it is born under half a dozen, required another fifty to obey. There are parallel sets of laws in different keys that have nothing to do with one another and that are even downright contradictory. You, now - you wish to do something that the Articles of War and (as you explained to me) the rules of generosity forbid, but that your present notion of the moral law and your present notion of the point of honour require...Buridan's ass died of misery between equidistant mangers, drawn first by one then by the other...
   
   ''So much pain; and the more honest the man the worse the pain. But there at least the conflict is direct; it seems to me that the greater mass of confusion and distress must arise from these less evident divergencies -- the moral law, the civil, military, common laws, the code of honour, custom, the rules of practical life, of civility, of amorous conversation, gallantry, to say nothing of Christianity for those that practise it. All sometimes, indeed generally, at variance...It is as though our strings were each tuned according to a completely separate system - it is as though the poor ass were surrounded by four and twenty mangers.''
   
   ''You are an antinomian,'' said Jack.

   ''I am a pragmatist,'' said Stephen. ''Come, let us drink up our wine.''

(Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian, 1970, pp.354-6.)