September 25, 2011
St. Benedict’s, Los Osos CA
The Rev. Brian H. O. A. McHugh
Ex 17: 1-7; Ps 78: 1-4,12-16; Phil 2: 1-13; Matthew 21: 23-32
In 1972, my mother came to my Life Profession in the Order of the Holy Cross. She was going through “the Change”, cried a lot, and carried the Eucharistic elements down the aisle wearing very dark glasses. In 1973, she came to my ordination to the priesthood, and again carried down the Eucharistic elements, no sunglasses, smiling, cool as a cucumber. At the reception afterwards, I recalled the first event, and complimented her on how well she had done. “Well”, she said, “I should have ….. after two Valium!”
I’ve had a hell of a month since my surgery. The worst has been the lingering shock to my system - like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. My whole system wound tighter than a clock spring. My body was saying loud and clear - this being the 4th time my gut has been ripped open - “Enough is enough, OK?!” I am grateful for your love and prayers – and for the Ativan that is unwinding me a bit! I’m still a little shaky ….. but I’m here.
Many clergy often tell jokes in their sermons. I’ve always thought it generally a very bad idea. The joke is often all anyone remembers. But, I’m going to begin with a funny and – at least to me - relevant story, in the sure and certain hope that you St. Benedictites will rise above the temptation.
A drunk man who smelled like beer sat down on a subway next to a priest. The man's tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick, and a half-empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading. After a few minutes the man turned to the priest and asked, 'Say Father, what causes arthritis?' The priest replied, 'My Son, it's caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol, contempt for your fellow man, sleeping around with prostitutes, and lack of a bath.'
The drunk muttered in response, 'Well, I'll be damned,' then returned to his paper. The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man and apologized. 'I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis? 'The drunk answered, 'I don't have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does.'
And there we have it: a modern day version of the “chief priests and the elders, tax collectors and prostitutes” in the Gospel reading today. Except that the priest in the joke exhibits something that the “chief priests and elders” don’t have, but which the tax collectors and the prostitutes do: they are dying to the old life and rising to the new. Almost everything in the Gospel of Jesus has to do with entering the Kingdom of God: "Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and prostitutes are going into the Kingdom of God ahead of you." And of course, in you and in me at various times is found them all: the power and status-clinging chief priest or elder, the greedy tax collector or the self-demeaning prostitute, the judgmental priest and the addicted drunken man. They each dwell in some dimension in our inner psyche.
After nearly forty years in the priesthood, it’s pretty clear to me what lies at the heart of entering Kingdom Life - that Kingdom which Jesus tells us has come near to us now in Him. It shines forth from the cross, far outshining the horror and the suffering. It is the outpouring of Love - Life pouring Itself out to give Life to the World, so powerfully voiced in the great hymn from Philippians. Love flowing down from the person of Jesus to engulf us all. We can only be filled with awe and perhaps holy fear when we hear Him calling us to take up His cross - to give ourselves as completely to Love as Jesus did so that the Kingdom of God may manifest itself in the Earth.
The Kingdom of God and the Way of the Cross and the Way of Discipleship and the Way of Baptism are the same thing: a life in which we accept and welcome death to everything that is not Love (or, as Paul puts it, we are buried with Christ) and become a new person in the risen Christ. To put it even more simply: what is not of Love is death, and what is of Love is resurrection. Right here, right now.
I came to two moments of deep knowing while meditating on this Gospel this week. The first was about the nature of one of Christianity’s core symbols: Jesus dying on the cross. What I saw Him doing, through the pain, was marshalling Love in the midst of the suffering. Bonding his mother Mary and John to each other. Freeing the repentant thief. Struggling through a sense of abandonment to a renewed trust in His loving Heavenly Father. As I pictured this scene, I became aware that Jesus’ deepest pain came from His acute awareness of the failure of Love. I felt the fear and hate of the rich and powerful. I was grateful for Joseph of Arimathea’s loving care, adding a touch of love at the end, and Mary of Magdala and the women. I literally felt overshadowed by the deep sorrow and disappointment that Life/God must feel when we reject It’s gift and choose Death.
My second moment was a dream I had after a restless night of not being able to turn over or sleep comfortably. Sometime after 3am, I fell asleep. I dreamt that I was tied to a cross in the middle of the United Nations Plaza. In front of me was a semicircle of huge TV screens, which kept changing. Right in front of me was one that didn’t change. It was a picture of the Republican candidate debate, where all the people were clapping in support that a person without health insurance should be left to die. On others I saw governments mowing down their citizens - Libya, Syria, Egypt, Bahrain, Somalia, Yemen, Jews on the borders of Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Burma - behind many of whom loomed American soldiers. I saw people dying everywhere of hunger and neglect, Darfur, Pakistan, Sudan, Kenya, China, 46 million American children holding up begging bowls. Then a voice came from my right. I turned. Jesus was on a cross beside me. He said, “Follow me, and you will live”.
No one can enter the Kingdom of God except through death. . … Our false self must die, so that we can find our true self, the self which God meant us to be and which he created in his image and likeness.
Our government, like many others, seems to have lost its moral compass. This week, a possibly innocent Troy Davis died as if before a modern Pontius Pilate concerned only with securing revenge for 150 years of humiliation. In my dream, the faces of human leaders melted into mindless metal, devoid of compassion, pity, brotherhood, injecting needles replacing arms and hands.
What a time to live! The World, the whole human community, is dying for lack of Love. The signs tell me that it will get a lot worse before it gets better. We Americans are more vulnerable than ever before, as structures we thought firm are collapsing around us. But the plan has not changed for those of us gathered here to share in the Body and Blood of Christ: “Love one another.” Shine from the hill that others may find Life. We will be there waiting with Love when we pass through the next great transition.
The Rev. Brian H. O. A. McHugh
Ex 17: 1-7; Ps 78: 1-4,12-16; Phil 2: 1-13; Matthew 21: 23-32
In 1972, my mother came to my Life Profession in the Order of the Holy Cross. She was going through “the Change”, cried a lot, and carried the Eucharistic elements down the aisle wearing very dark glasses. In 1973, she came to my ordination to the priesthood, and again carried down the Eucharistic elements, no sunglasses, smiling, cool as a cucumber. At the reception afterwards, I recalled the first event, and complimented her on how well she had done. “Well”, she said, “I should have ….. after two Valium!”
I’ve had a hell of a month since my surgery. The worst has been the lingering shock to my system - like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. My whole system wound tighter than a clock spring. My body was saying loud and clear - this being the 4th time my gut has been ripped open - “Enough is enough, OK?!” I am grateful for your love and prayers – and for the Ativan that is unwinding me a bit! I’m still a little shaky ….. but I’m here.
Many clergy often tell jokes in their sermons. I’ve always thought it generally a very bad idea. The joke is often all anyone remembers. But, I’m going to begin with a funny and – at least to me - relevant story, in the sure and certain hope that you St. Benedictites will rise above the temptation.
A drunk man who smelled like beer sat down on a subway next to a priest. The man's tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick, and a half-empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading. After a few minutes the man turned to the priest and asked, 'Say Father, what causes arthritis?' The priest replied, 'My Son, it's caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol, contempt for your fellow man, sleeping around with prostitutes, and lack of a bath.'
The drunk muttered in response, 'Well, I'll be damned,' then returned to his paper. The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man and apologized. 'I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis? 'The drunk answered, 'I don't have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does.'
And there we have it: a modern day version of the “chief priests and the elders, tax collectors and prostitutes” in the Gospel reading today. Except that the priest in the joke exhibits something that the “chief priests and elders” don’t have, but which the tax collectors and the prostitutes do: they are dying to the old life and rising to the new. Almost everything in the Gospel of Jesus has to do with entering the Kingdom of God: "Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and prostitutes are going into the Kingdom of God ahead of you." And of course, in you and in me at various times is found them all: the power and status-clinging chief priest or elder, the greedy tax collector or the self-demeaning prostitute, the judgmental priest and the addicted drunken man. They each dwell in some dimension in our inner psyche.
After nearly forty years in the priesthood, it’s pretty clear to me what lies at the heart of entering Kingdom Life - that Kingdom which Jesus tells us has come near to us now in Him. It shines forth from the cross, far outshining the horror and the suffering. It is the outpouring of Love - Life pouring Itself out to give Life to the World, so powerfully voiced in the great hymn from Philippians. Love flowing down from the person of Jesus to engulf us all. We can only be filled with awe and perhaps holy fear when we hear Him calling us to take up His cross - to give ourselves as completely to Love as Jesus did so that the Kingdom of God may manifest itself in the Earth.
The Kingdom of God and the Way of the Cross and the Way of Discipleship and the Way of Baptism are the same thing: a life in which we accept and welcome death to everything that is not Love (or, as Paul puts it, we are buried with Christ) and become a new person in the risen Christ. To put it even more simply: what is not of Love is death, and what is of Love is resurrection. Right here, right now.
I came to two moments of deep knowing while meditating on this Gospel this week. The first was about the nature of one of Christianity’s core symbols: Jesus dying on the cross. What I saw Him doing, through the pain, was marshalling Love in the midst of the suffering. Bonding his mother Mary and John to each other. Freeing the repentant thief. Struggling through a sense of abandonment to a renewed trust in His loving Heavenly Father. As I pictured this scene, I became aware that Jesus’ deepest pain came from His acute awareness of the failure of Love. I felt the fear and hate of the rich and powerful. I was grateful for Joseph of Arimathea’s loving care, adding a touch of love at the end, and Mary of Magdala and the women. I literally felt overshadowed by the deep sorrow and disappointment that Life/God must feel when we reject It’s gift and choose Death.
My second moment was a dream I had after a restless night of not being able to turn over or sleep comfortably. Sometime after 3am, I fell asleep. I dreamt that I was tied to a cross in the middle of the United Nations Plaza. In front of me was a semicircle of huge TV screens, which kept changing. Right in front of me was one that didn’t change. It was a picture of the Republican candidate debate, where all the people were clapping in support that a person without health insurance should be left to die. On others I saw governments mowing down their citizens - Libya, Syria, Egypt, Bahrain, Somalia, Yemen, Jews on the borders of Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Burma - behind many of whom loomed American soldiers. I saw people dying everywhere of hunger and neglect, Darfur, Pakistan, Sudan, Kenya, China, 46 million American children holding up begging bowls. Then a voice came from my right. I turned. Jesus was on a cross beside me. He said, “Follow me, and you will live”.
No one can enter the Kingdom of God except through death. . … Our false self must die, so that we can find our true self, the self which God meant us to be and which he created in his image and likeness.
Our government, like many others, seems to have lost its moral compass. This week, a possibly innocent Troy Davis died as if before a modern Pontius Pilate concerned only with securing revenge for 150 years of humiliation. In my dream, the faces of human leaders melted into mindless metal, devoid of compassion, pity, brotherhood, injecting needles replacing arms and hands.
What a time to live! The World, the whole human community, is dying for lack of Love. The signs tell me that it will get a lot worse before it gets better. We Americans are more vulnerable than ever before, as structures we thought firm are collapsing around us. But the plan has not changed for those of us gathered here to share in the Body and Blood of Christ: “Love one another.” Shine from the hill that others may find Life. We will be there waiting with Love when we pass through the next great transition.
