Some Personal Reflections Proper 17A
Our story from the third chapter of Exodus, Moses before the Burning Bush, always reminds me of my ordination to the priesthood, forty years ago this coming December. When one is ordained a deacon, one of the things presented to you is a Bible “as a sign of your authority to proclaim God’s Word…” Someone had forgotten to get Bibles for us, so they looked into a Sunday School Closet and found illustrated Bibles. Bishop George Nelson Hunt gave me a Bible that had photos of the Holy Land. At the beginning of the New Testament was a page of three photos. The first one was of a bush – a random bush somewhere in Israel. The caption read, “The Burning Bush!”
Six months later, when I was to be ordained a priest, The Reverend Canon Chester LaRue asked if I wanted a new Bible, or would I like them to use the one I received as a Deacon. I said, “Oh, the one I have because it has a photo of The Burning Bush!” In the Diocese of Chicago, the ordinations are quite elaborate. You are on your knees in front of the bishop who is seated. He makes the sign of the cross with Holy Oil on the palms of both hands, wraps your hands in a linen cloth called a manutergium made by nuns, a chalice is then balanced on your bound hands, steadied by one’s thumbs, a stole is placed around your shoulders, and then the bishop ordains you. After all of that, my hands were unbound, but still kneeling, Bishop James Winchester Montgomery hands me my Bible, says the appropriate words, and then leans over and says in a hushed tone, “Here it is, Kirk, Burning Bush and all!” It was that moment when, like Moses, I knew I was on Holy Ground, and, like Moses before the Burning Bush, wondered exactly just what had just happened to me, and what was I meant to do next! How can I possibly proclaim the Word of God? And then I remembered, as Moses questioned the very same thing, the Lord, identified only as “I Am,” reassures him saying, “I shall be with you.” And that has been a certainty upon which I have relied from that day forward.
In our ongoing episode in Matthew (16:21-28) near Caesarea Philippi, after asking the disciples who people are saying Jesus is, and Peter blurts out, “You are the Christos! The Son of the living God!” Jesus congratulates Peter, which must make him feel pretty good. Jesus then goes on to tell the twelve, in no uncertain terms, that he is going to Jerusalem, where he will undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed by the Roman Empire, and on the third day be raised. Peter, apparently not listening to the last part of being raised again, now takes Jesus aside and rebukes him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” Jesus says to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan!” Which does not mean a guy with horns, a tail and pitchfork in his hand. In those days it simply meant “accuser.” And the word for “get behind” is also translated later as “come after me,” a variation on the familiar, “Follow me,” which is what Jesus calls us all to do. We are Peter. Peter is us.
Then Jesus, to all the disciples, and from Matthew’s
perspective, to all future persons who choose to follow Jesus, lays out what
our job description is to be: “If any want to become my followers, let them
deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to
save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will
find it.” Try to imagine how Peter now feels. One minute he seems to see who
Jesus really is. The next, he learns he is really off-base. There is nothing
about belief. Nothing about a creed. A simple commitment to follow Jesus, which
means to take up our own cross. We often speak of this, that or the other cross
we have to bear. It seems like the cross is whatever bad things happen to us in
this life. We say things like, “She has had this cross to bear for so many
years.”
My first year as a priest, however, I was soon to learn another way of seeing this story. It was my first baptism, and this was the gospel that day. She was a little girl, about five years old named Eleanor. And her mother, Frances, was being baptized as well. It was a special morning for the entire congregation. Afterwards, as we were having brunch at Eleanor’s grandmother’s house, I was talking with someone while enjoying a piece of quiche and a glass of wine, when all of a sudden there was a tug on the back of my trousers. I turned, and there was Eleanor asking me, “Can you still see the cross on my forehead?” That is the cross, traced with oil that had been blessed by Bishop Montgomery, signing and sealing Eleanor as Christ’s own forever. That cross that represents all the promises she made, as a five-year-old, such as to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to love your neighbor as yourself, to strive for justice and peace for all people, and respect the dignity of every human being, and that all that we say and all that we do will proclaim the Good News of Jesus. Eleanor was old enough to say, “I will with God’s help.” As I looked into her inquiring eyes and her expression of expectation, I said, “Yes, Eleanor, I can still see the cross on your forehead!” That is a great question, I thought to myself. Then I went back to eating quiche, drinking wine, and continued the conversation. By the time I got home that afternoon I had entirely forgotten our little encounter.
Fortunately, God was with me, and God was not through with me yet. One week later, as I was vesting for church, there was a tug on the back of my alb. Eleanor had come to find me in the Vesting Room, and looked up at me, and once again asked, “Can you still see the cross on my forehead. I was as surprised as Peter. She had remembered that moment for eight days! Simply for asking such a provocative and important question I of course said, “Yes, Eleanor, I can still see the cross on your forehead.” At that moment, Eleanor’s question forever changed my understanding just what Jesus was talking about that day outside Caesarea Philippi. Of, course, I thought to myself. It’s this cross, traced with oil on our foreheads, marking us as Christ’s own forever. People are meant to see this cross in how we live into promises we make in our baptism. Jesus is not asking us to believe anything. He wants us to live in a way that reflects our commitment to him. Like the single “t” in the middle of the word “commitment,” there is only one cross that Jesus carries for us all. He carries all our troubles and failures so that we can let the cross on our foreheads lead us into the life of his kingdom. Then people will know we are those people who follow Jesus; we are those people who proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ in everything we say and everything we do. They will see the cross on our foreheads!
This would be a heavy load, to be sure, for any one of us.
But Jesus promises that where two or three of us are gathered, he is in our
midst. As God promised to Moses, Jesus promises to be with us - Emanuel, “God
with us.” He means for us to live this life, not on our own, but together with
others. Being Christian is not a “me” thing, it is a “we” thing. We do this by
giving up the ways of this world, and by living the life of the kingdom Jesus is
always talking about: seeking and serving Christ in others, all others; loving those
who hate us; continuing his work of healing and reconciliation in the world. Perhaps
we can make a beginning of living in a way that people can see the cross on our
foreheads if each day we pray for just one person. Or, perhaps reach out to
someone in need: someone hungry, thirsty, or a total stranger seeking a new
life, a better life. Or, by giving up one thing, one habit, one opinion about
others. By giving up a little of our lives, and living into the life of Christ.
It may even mean letting go of how we see Jesus, and like Peter, get behind
him, and begin to see him in a whole new way. We are on Holy Ground. We can
live kingdom lives here and now, if only we will let the cross we already carry
lead the way!
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