Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Sermon
EASTER VII — May 28, 2006
Grace Church, Utica
Life is busy with entrances and exits. People come go; they arrive and they depart; people are born and people die. In most societies both the time of birth as well as the time of death are marked with rites and ceremonies. Births and deaths are registered because they affect other people and have public importance. New arrivals are greeted and fussed over; new departures are prayed for and mourned.
When people depart this life, we no longer have direct contact with them. If they were close friends or loved ones, we mourn their loss. This was where the disciples found themselves following the crucifixion of Jesus; it’s why they felt so shattered and forsaken. His death was a literal hell for them because it seemed to give them a future without hope. But then death did not have the final word. Their faith was renewed and their hope reborn when they experienced the Lord’s resurrected presence. That renewal was important because those appearances would last only a short time. Eventually Jesus would return to the Father, the God from whom he had come. Ascension Day marks that time of the Lord’s return.
When we consider the Lord’s Ascension, the first thing we need to be clear about is that this is something that has to do with God. It is not about gravity, or the physical location of heaven, or any of that. It is about God. In fact, even though it comes toward the end of the Easter season, the meaning and significance of the Ascension is more closely aligned with Christmas. At Christmas we celebrate the Incarnation--- the Christian belief that in the person of Jesus, God assumed human flesh and lived among us. At the Ascension it all comes full circle. To use the words of the Creed, the one who ‘for us and our salvation came down from heaven,’ now returns to his place of honor with the Father.
At Christmas everything that is divine became fully human in the person of Jesus. At the Ascension, everything that is human, became, for all eternity, a part of the divine--- a part of who God is. You see, it was not the spirit of Jesus, or the essence of Jesus, it wasn’t the invisible part or the idea of Jesus, that ascended to the Father. It was the resurrected body of Jesus: a body that the disciples had touched, a body that ate and drank with them, a real, physical, but gloriously restored body, bearing the marks of nails and a spear. This is what ascended, and what is, now and forever, a living, participating part of God. In fact, we can say as a matter of faith that the Ascension changed who God is.
It is important to really take to heart what the Ascension says about being human. Sometimes we’re uncertain about the value of our humanity and what it means to be human. We’re sometimes unsure about our bodies, about our human passions and inclinations. We don’t like to accept our limitations, or the fact that someday we’re going to die. We don’t know what to make of the pain we go through in our interpersonal relationships, or the struggles, joys, and setbacks that always seem to be a part of our search for God. We are often baffled by the power that our feelings and emotions seem to have over us. All of these parts of being human, and so many others, we frequently treat as less than holy, as somehow separated from our spiritual and religious lives.
Taken together, the Incarnation and the Ascension remind us that being human is a good thing. It is an important thing, a wonderful and yes, even a holy thing to be a human being. It’s so important and wonderful and holy that God did it. Even more, the fullness of God now includes that humanity. The experience, the reality, and the stuff of being a person is so valuable that it became a permanent part of God's life.
This is not to say that everything about us or everything we human beings do is wonderful and holy. But it is very clear that in the eyes of God it is a wonderful and holy thing to be a human being. This is one reason we should treat ourselves, and each other, with care and with respect. The Ascension, the fact that God has brought into himself one who is fully human, stands as a reminder that human beings are sacred, and must not be taken lightly or abused.
The Ascension also means that God knows what it’s like to be a person in a very different way than God knows what it’s like to be anything else in creation. God knows what it is like to be a human being because God remembers--- and I don’t know any better way to express it. God remembers.
When we approach God, when we try to share our lives with God, it is important for us to know that we are dealing with one who knows and who remembers what human life is like, one who knows and remembers in a very personal way. God remembers what it’s like to hurt and to laugh, to pray and to hunger, to be lost and afraid, to celebrate and to mourn; God remembers what it’s like to live and what it’s like to die. God knows this in the only way that really matters as far as relationship is concerned. God knows because God has been there.
So we can approach God with both confidence and joy. When we turn toward God, we are not only dealing with the Creator of the universe and the ruler of all time and of eternity; we are also drawing near to the one who lived our life and shared our fate. We are coming near to one who knows us and who cares.
There’s an ancient story about God’s original problem: where to place his most precious possession--- his own image. He called three wise counselors, to listen to their suggestions. The first advised God to put his image on the top of the highest mountain on earth; but God declined. The second proposed that God should put his image in the depths of the deepest sea; but again God declined. The third suggested the far side of the moon; but God smiled to himself and said that even there human beings could reach it. Then God came to his own idea: “I will place my image where people will never think of
looking. I will put it into their hearts. There, it will never be discovered.”
The image of God, the light of God, is in the place where we rarely look: in our own heart. God’s presence is within us, not as a hiding place, but that we might discover him in the closest possible place. And so it was that St. Augustine wrote in his Confessions, “He withdrew from our eyes that we might return to our own heart to find him.”
You don’t need to search the heavens to find God. God’s presence and God’s kingdom are as close as your own breath. Indeed as Jesus told us himself, God’s presence and God’s kingdom are within you.
© James M. Jensen
Grace Church, Utica
Life is busy with entrances and exits. People come go; they arrive and they depart; people are born and people die. In most societies both the time of birth as well as the time of death are marked with rites and ceremonies. Births and deaths are registered because they affect other people and have public importance. New arrivals are greeted and fussed over; new departures are prayed for and mourned.
When people depart this life, we no longer have direct contact with them. If they were close friends or loved ones, we mourn their loss. This was where the disciples found themselves following the crucifixion of Jesus; it’s why they felt so shattered and forsaken. His death was a literal hell for them because it seemed to give them a future without hope. But then death did not have the final word. Their faith was renewed and their hope reborn when they experienced the Lord’s resurrected presence. That renewal was important because those appearances would last only a short time. Eventually Jesus would return to the Father, the God from whom he had come. Ascension Day marks that time of the Lord’s return.
When we consider the Lord’s Ascension, the first thing we need to be clear about is that this is something that has to do with God. It is not about gravity, or the physical location of heaven, or any of that. It is about God. In fact, even though it comes toward the end of the Easter season, the meaning and significance of the Ascension is more closely aligned with Christmas. At Christmas we celebrate the Incarnation--- the Christian belief that in the person of Jesus, God assumed human flesh and lived among us. At the Ascension it all comes full circle. To use the words of the Creed, the one who ‘for us and our salvation came down from heaven,’ now returns to his place of honor with the Father.
At Christmas everything that is divine became fully human in the person of Jesus. At the Ascension, everything that is human, became, for all eternity, a part of the divine--- a part of who God is. You see, it was not the spirit of Jesus, or the essence of Jesus, it wasn’t the invisible part or the idea of Jesus, that ascended to the Father. It was the resurrected body of Jesus: a body that the disciples had touched, a body that ate and drank with them, a real, physical, but gloriously restored body, bearing the marks of nails and a spear. This is what ascended, and what is, now and forever, a living, participating part of God. In fact, we can say as a matter of faith that the Ascension changed who God is.
It is important to really take to heart what the Ascension says about being human. Sometimes we’re uncertain about the value of our humanity and what it means to be human. We’re sometimes unsure about our bodies, about our human passions and inclinations. We don’t like to accept our limitations, or the fact that someday we’re going to die. We don’t know what to make of the pain we go through in our interpersonal relationships, or the struggles, joys, and setbacks that always seem to be a part of our search for God. We are often baffled by the power that our feelings and emotions seem to have over us. All of these parts of being human, and so many others, we frequently treat as less than holy, as somehow separated from our spiritual and religious lives.
Taken together, the Incarnation and the Ascension remind us that being human is a good thing. It is an important thing, a wonderful and yes, even a holy thing to be a human being. It’s so important and wonderful and holy that God did it. Even more, the fullness of God now includes that humanity. The experience, the reality, and the stuff of being a person is so valuable that it became a permanent part of God's life.
This is not to say that everything about us or everything we human beings do is wonderful and holy. But it is very clear that in the eyes of God it is a wonderful and holy thing to be a human being. This is one reason we should treat ourselves, and each other, with care and with respect. The Ascension, the fact that God has brought into himself one who is fully human, stands as a reminder that human beings are sacred, and must not be taken lightly or abused.
The Ascension also means that God knows what it’s like to be a person in a very different way than God knows what it’s like to be anything else in creation. God knows what it is like to be a human being because God remembers--- and I don’t know any better way to express it. God remembers.
When we approach God, when we try to share our lives with God, it is important for us to know that we are dealing with one who knows and who remembers what human life is like, one who knows and remembers in a very personal way. God remembers what it’s like to hurt and to laugh, to pray and to hunger, to be lost and afraid, to celebrate and to mourn; God remembers what it’s like to live and what it’s like to die. God knows this in the only way that really matters as far as relationship is concerned. God knows because God has been there.
So we can approach God with both confidence and joy. When we turn toward God, we are not only dealing with the Creator of the universe and the ruler of all time and of eternity; we are also drawing near to the one who lived our life and shared our fate. We are coming near to one who knows us and who cares.
There’s an ancient story about God’s original problem: where to place his most precious possession--- his own image. He called three wise counselors, to listen to their suggestions. The first advised God to put his image on the top of the highest mountain on earth; but God declined. The second proposed that God should put his image in the depths of the deepest sea; but again God declined. The third suggested the far side of the moon; but God smiled to himself and said that even there human beings could reach it. Then God came to his own idea: “I will place my image where people will never think of
looking. I will put it into their hearts. There, it will never be discovered.”
The image of God, the light of God, is in the place where we rarely look: in our own heart. God’s presence is within us, not as a hiding place, but that we might discover him in the closest possible place. And so it was that St. Augustine wrote in his Confessions, “He withdrew from our eyes that we might return to our own heart to find him.”
You don’t need to search the heavens to find God. God’s presence and God’s kingdom are as close as your own breath. Indeed as Jesus told us himself, God’s presence and God’s kingdom are within you.
© James M. Jensen
Sermon
CHRIST THE KING - November 25, 2007
Grace Church, Utica
Among the ways that people try to understand life and the world, and their own place in it, some have occasionally seen it as a continuing series of actions and reactions. For example, a young man asks a young woman for a date. Then he waits for her response: will she say “yes” or “no?” A politician campaigns for public office. How will the voters respond? Will he win or lose?
In reading the Gospels, we find that the reaction to Jesus, the response of people to his preaching and teaching, was always mixed: some positive, and some negative. On the positive side were the crowds, the common folk who were inspired by his words and often spellbound by his miracles. On the negative side were many of the religious leaders who saw Jesus as a threat to their own prestige and authority. They tried to publicly discredit Jesus with trick questions about the scriptures. Failing in that effort, they turned to a level of hatred and violence that resulted in the Lord’s crucifixion.
Right up to the very end, even in the Passion narratives, we have a story of mixed reaction. Pilate’s wife is apprehensive and fearful. She has a dream about Jesus and urges her husband to have nothing to do with these efforts to have him executed. Pilate’s own reaction is that of a coward. He listens to all the evidence and then washes his hands of the whole thing in an effort to absolved himself of any guilt. He believes that Jesus is the victim of jealousy and trumped-up charges, but he’s afraid of the Temple leaders and their ability to cause him trouble.
On that hill called Golgotha, the reaction continues to be mixed. Some people are just curious— they’ve come to watch what’s going on. Others make fun of Jesus and mock him. According to his followers he’s supposed to be a king. But what kind of king looks like such a failure? And if he really is a king, then why doesn’t he use some of his royal power? If he’s God’s son, then why doesn’t God do something?
One of the two thieves crucified along with Jesus is just plain angry. If Jesus is the Savior, then why doesn’t he save all three of them from this inhumane death? It’s quite different with the second thief; he responds with that plea of faith: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
Times really haven’t changed very much. Human responses to the life and ministry of Jesus are still mixed. Some respond with fear and apprehension, some with cowardice, and some with anger and cynicism. Some people say that it doesn’t really matter what you believe about Jesus— or if you believe anything at all.
There are still those who mock, because they think faith in anything or anyone is silly. And the anger can be very real too. If Jesus is the Savior he claims to be, then why doesn’t he save us— save us from cancer and heart attacks, from poverty and prejudice? Why doesn’t Jesus do something about the mess that the world is in? How can he be aware of it and not act?
At the beginning of his ministry Jesus was confronted with temptation. Following his baptism he went off alone, into the wilderness, to grapple with the temptation to use his power and authority in ways that would give him huge crowds and notoriety, but which did not represent the Father’s plan or will for his life. That temptation returns, with the force of a thousand demons, in those taunts from soldiers, echoed by that first thief: “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself [and us as well]”
But the kingship of Jesus is not reflected in grandstand plays and the flexing of muscle. It is reflected in his willingness to share and experience human life in all its fullness— the good, the bad and the ugly. Jesus’ kingship is shown in taking upon himself all the evil, humiliation and suffering of this world, and then, by his resurrection, destroying their power. In the end his regal pronouncements are words of mercy and compassion: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
It was this compassion that was seen and felt by the repentant thief. There was no jeering or railing from this man, only a simple request: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
Think about that request: Jesus, remember me. If Jesus's death was to be just that— his death, the end of everything— then it would have been pointless to ask him to remember anything. Dead men have short memories. But the repentant thief caught a glimpse of this king. He could see the divine nature of Jesus reflected in those words of mercy and compassion— a prayer uttered on behalf of all those responsible for his agony. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” And that same divine love and mercy are extended to this repentant thief, as Jesus says to him: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
“You will be with me”— words spoken originally to a condemned man minutes before his death, but words that convey the promise intended for all who would become Jesus’ followers. It’s a promise that can bring hope to situations in our own lives that might otherwise seem hopeless. “You will be with me.” How can Jesus make such a promise?
In this morning’s second lesson from the letter to the Colossians, St. Paul wrote:
Leave your uncertainties and suspicions behind, and come to the King’s table. Receive in your hands the Bread of Life; and touch the Cup of Salvation to your lips. Live in confidence and in peace, knowing that his reign has only just begun, and that we will be with him and he with us— today, tomorrow, and for ever.
© James M. Jensen
Grace Church, Utica
Among the ways that people try to understand life and the world, and their own place in it, some have occasionally seen it as a continuing series of actions and reactions. For example, a young man asks a young woman for a date. Then he waits for her response: will she say “yes” or “no?” A politician campaigns for public office. How will the voters respond? Will he win or lose?
In reading the Gospels, we find that the reaction to Jesus, the response of people to his preaching and teaching, was always mixed: some positive, and some negative. On the positive side were the crowds, the common folk who were inspired by his words and often spellbound by his miracles. On the negative side were many of the religious leaders who saw Jesus as a threat to their own prestige and authority. They tried to publicly discredit Jesus with trick questions about the scriptures. Failing in that effort, they turned to a level of hatred and violence that resulted in the Lord’s crucifixion.
Right up to the very end, even in the Passion narratives, we have a story of mixed reaction. Pilate’s wife is apprehensive and fearful. She has a dream about Jesus and urges her husband to have nothing to do with these efforts to have him executed. Pilate’s own reaction is that of a coward. He listens to all the evidence and then washes his hands of the whole thing in an effort to absolved himself of any guilt. He believes that Jesus is the victim of jealousy and trumped-up charges, but he’s afraid of the Temple leaders and their ability to cause him trouble.
On that hill called Golgotha, the reaction continues to be mixed. Some people are just curious— they’ve come to watch what’s going on. Others make fun of Jesus and mock him. According to his followers he’s supposed to be a king. But what kind of king looks like such a failure? And if he really is a king, then why doesn’t he use some of his royal power? If he’s God’s son, then why doesn’t God do something?
One of the two thieves crucified along with Jesus is just plain angry. If Jesus is the Savior, then why doesn’t he save all three of them from this inhumane death? It’s quite different with the second thief; he responds with that plea of faith: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
Times really haven’t changed very much. Human responses to the life and ministry of Jesus are still mixed. Some respond with fear and apprehension, some with cowardice, and some with anger and cynicism. Some people say that it doesn’t really matter what you believe about Jesus— or if you believe anything at all.
There are still those who mock, because they think faith in anything or anyone is silly. And the anger can be very real too. If Jesus is the Savior he claims to be, then why doesn’t he save us— save us from cancer and heart attacks, from poverty and prejudice? Why doesn’t Jesus do something about the mess that the world is in? How can he be aware of it and not act?
At the beginning of his ministry Jesus was confronted with temptation. Following his baptism he went off alone, into the wilderness, to grapple with the temptation to use his power and authority in ways that would give him huge crowds and notoriety, but which did not represent the Father’s plan or will for his life. That temptation returns, with the force of a thousand demons, in those taunts from soldiers, echoed by that first thief: “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself [and us as well]”
But the kingship of Jesus is not reflected in grandstand plays and the flexing of muscle. It is reflected in his willingness to share and experience human life in all its fullness— the good, the bad and the ugly. Jesus’ kingship is shown in taking upon himself all the evil, humiliation and suffering of this world, and then, by his resurrection, destroying their power. In the end his regal pronouncements are words of mercy and compassion: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
It was this compassion that was seen and felt by the repentant thief. There was no jeering or railing from this man, only a simple request: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
Think about that request: Jesus, remember me. If Jesus's death was to be just that— his death, the end of everything— then it would have been pointless to ask him to remember anything. Dead men have short memories. But the repentant thief caught a glimpse of this king. He could see the divine nature of Jesus reflected in those words of mercy and compassion— a prayer uttered on behalf of all those responsible for his agony. “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” And that same divine love and mercy are extended to this repentant thief, as Jesus says to him: “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
“You will be with me”— words spoken originally to a condemned man minutes before his death, but words that convey the promise intended for all who would become Jesus’ followers. It’s a promise that can bring hope to situations in our own lives that might otherwise seem hopeless. “You will be with me.” How can Jesus make such a promise?
In this morning’s second lesson from the letter to the Colossians, St. Paul wrote:
[Christ] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation; for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created.... He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven....Jesus is not just a good man and a great teacher. He is the Christ, the Messiah, the one who can save because he is the embodiment of God’s very being. And that means he is both Lord and King. He guarantees that no evil can have any ultimate power over us; his promise is that we will always be with him— today, tomorrow, and for eternity. That promise is renewed each and every time we come to this altar to receive him under the sacramental forms of Bread and Wine.
Leave your uncertainties and suspicions behind, and come to the King’s table. Receive in your hands the Bread of Life; and touch the Cup of Salvation to your lips. Live in confidence and in peace, knowing that his reign has only just begun, and that we will be with him and he with us— today, tomorrow, and for ever.
© James M. Jensen
Monday, January 4, 2010
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Grace Church Wedding
Thanks to Jean and Tom Morris, who shared these photos of Jim celebrating the wedding of their son Adam and bride Katie this past year.
This, of course, is our favorite, at the reception before saying grace - Fr. Jim as only he could be, master of ceremonies and sometimes stand-up comic.
More reception photos in black and white:
(ok, the dress did not fit anymore - why didn't he tell me???? - but never mind, someone actually captured on film how I felt about da guy)
This, of course, is our favorite, at the reception before saying grace - Fr. Jim as only he could be, master of ceremonies and sometimes stand-up comic.
More reception photos in black and white:
(ok, the dress did not fit anymore - why didn't he tell me???? - but never mind, someone actually captured on film how I felt about da guy)
Thursday, December 10, 2009
The Offering of the Priesthood
Sermon given by Fr. Jim Jensen for the ordination of Fr. Jim Heidt (December 2007):
If ever there was a day for which fervent prayers of petition and intercession had been offered, certainly it’s today. And if perseverance is any measure of vocation, then there should be no doubt about the vocation of Jim Heidt.
The journey to this day took a few detours. Those detours stand as a cogent reminder of one of the reasons that discerning God’s will can be difficult. It’s because God often shapes and molds us in ways we would avoid, if given a choice.
But, here we are. We have come together in joy and thanksgiving, to join with our Bishop as he ordains Jim a priest in Christ’s Holy Catholic Church. As we prepare to do that, I believe it’s wise for us to pause for a moment to consider just what that priesthood is about.
The Catechism of the Book of Common Prayer tells us that the ministry of a priest is...
...to represent Christ and his Church, particularly as pastor to the people; to share with the bishop in the overseeing of the Church; to proclaim the Gospel; to administer the sacraments; and to bless and declare pardon in the name of God.
In the ordination liturgy, following the laying-on-of hands, the Prayer Book directs that the ordinand be presented with a Bible, “...as a sign of the authority given... to preach the Word of God....” Thirty-five years ago when I was ordained in the Diocese of Milwaukee, it was customary for the Bishop to present, along with the Bible, a chalice and paten as a sign of the priest’s authority to administer the sacraments, and, in particular, to celebrate the Holy Eucharist. This was referred to as the “delivery of the instruments’--- the instruments of priestly ministry. We used to joke about it, observing that if you considered the daily life of
most parish priests, it would be more fitting for the bishop to present a toilet plunger and a broom. Which is simply to say that ministry is one of those areas of life where there is often some incongruity between theory and practice. It’s just a plain fact of life that parish priests spend an inordinate amount of time dealing with matters that have nothing to do with priesthood.
But we come here today in the midst of Advent— a season of hope and expectation— so let us pray that the ideal is still something for which we can strive, and that it can, by God’s grace inspire Jim’s commitment, and ours as well, to the Church’s mission: to restore all people to God and to each other in Jesus Christ.
As I was thinking and praying about this sermon, there were two passages of scripture that came to mind. The first is found in the 20th chapter of Luke’s Gospel. It is the Lord’s admonition to: “Beware of [those] who like to walk around in long robes....” Clergy can be prone both to vanity and over-sized egos. The fact that we get to wear the fancy clothes and occupy the most prominent seats in the house doesn’t help in that regard. It’s but one of the reasons we need to remember that it is baptismal ministry that is primary and basic to the life of the Church, and it is only when and where clergy and laity both believe and embrace that truth that the mission of the Church can be advanced. Those of us who are ordained, while exercising ministries that are essential to the Church’s life, do so to support and empower the ministry of the all the baptized, the vast majority of whom are lay people. Without them, our ministries have neither context nor purpose.
The other passage, found in the 21st chapter of Luke, centers on the Lord’s description of a poor widow who comes to make her offering at the Temple. It’s a small offering— we usually call it the widow’s mite— and Jesus’ observes that while others had given out of their abundance, this widow gave out of her poverty. I believe there is truth here that has everything to do with ministry and priesthood.
Priesthood is about the offering of sacrifice. In the Old Testament it was the priesthood of the Temple, and it offered animal sacrifice. Keep in mind, however, that it was not the slaying of the animal that was at the heart of the sacrifice, but rather the offering of life to God; the slaughter was simply a necessary prerequisite. It was the offering of life, represented in the animal’s blood, that constituted the sacrifice.
For Christians, Jesus made a monumental and crucial change in all that. He offered himself. As the letter to the Hebrews reminds us:
But when Christ came as high priest of the good things that have come to be, passing through the greater and more perfect tabernacle not made by hands, that is, not belonging to this creation, he entered once for all into the sanctuary, not with the blood of goats and calves but with his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption. (Heb. 9:11ff NAB)
Priesthood has to do with the offering of sacrifice; but what we are called to offer is not the life of an animal. As disciples of Jesus, we are called to offer ourselves. Jesus did it perfectly and completely; that is why he is our Great High Priest.
The Christian priest stands before the gathered community to be an icon of the priesthood of Christ. So it is the priest who is given the privilege of presiding at the celebration of the Eucharist, offering the Bread and Wine to God that will become the Body and Blood of Christ, both to re-present the Lord’s sacrifice on the Cross, and to feed the People of God for their ministry in his name.
But the priesthood is given not only, and perhaps not even primarily, to those who are ordained; it is a gift given to the Church, to the whole Body of Christ. So the person ordained also stands before the community as an icon of its corporate priesthood. And priesthood has to do with offering, the offering of life, the living of life, to the glory of God. Life is offered and lived to the glory of God when it is lived fully, and when it is offered and available to God to be used as a vehicle of divine love and grace. Christian priesthood involves speaking the words and doing the deeds of divine compassion and forgiveness. In doing so we enable others to see in and through us the face of Christ, because we have become the hands and feet and lips of Christ in this world. This priesthood belongs to the whole Body of the Faithful; it is the priesthood shared by all the baptized.
And what do we have to offer? In and of ourselves, both lay and ordained, all that we have is the widow’s mite. What we have is our own limited and fallible humanity— imperfect and broken, flawed in so many ways, prone to making stupid and idiotic mistakes, seemingly unable to offer the perfection that God has the right to expect. But the incredibly Good News of the Gospel is that this is precisely what God wants. God wants the imperfect, broken and flawed human beings that we are, to reach out to the world, because each and every human being on the face of the earth is made of the same stuff, experiences the same challenges, and must deal with the same flaws.
It’s all symbolized in the widow’s mite— it seems like so little. But it’s not the amount that’s important, it is our willingness to offer who and what we are and have. That is our call; and that is how we exercise our priesthood.
James, my brother, today apostolic hands will be laid upon you for the office and work of a priest, to serve the Good Shepherd, the one who lays down his life for the sheep. Remember as you minister in his name, that there is only one Good Shepherd, and it is not you! You are called to serve him, you are not called to be him. Neither are you called to lay down your life for the sheep. Jesus did that, and he’s the only one who can. What we as priests are called to do is to lay our lives at the feet of Jesus, and to do what it is that he calls us to do.
Some might say that this is a bit of semantics, but I don’t believe so. The Church can be a bottomless pit of needs and wants, of people pulling at us from every side. And it can all look urgent. It can all look worthwhile. It can all look like ministry. We could give a thousand lives to it, and it wouldn’t be enough.
Priests are not called to save the world. That, too, has already been done. Our job is to lead people to the Good Shepherd, because that is where they will find green pastures and still waters. And he is the one, the only one, who can restore their souls.
The Lord asks you today, “James, my brother, do you love me?” And as you respond, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you,” he gives you your ministry: “Feed my sheep.” May the Lord bless, guide and strengthen you, today and always.
© James M. Jensen
Friday, December 4, 2009
Last glimpse
Last photo of Jim, taken at St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Chenango Bridge, Saturday, November 14, 2009, shortly before he was stricken with chest pains and died approximately two hours later.
(Sent by Lynda Helmer, who wrote: "This attachment is a photo of Jim. My brother was the photographer for Dorothy Pierce's ordination and, by the grace of God, happened to snap this photo. It was taken of Jim literally moments before he became symptomatic. I love the photo because it really shows him doing something he really loved to do....celebrate a new ministry.")
Rejoice in the Lord alway - Looking ahead to Gaudete Sunday
Advent III-B — December 14, 2008
Grace Church, Utica
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing,If we were to take our cue from the angels, then the closer we come to Christmas, the more our hearts will be filled with joy. The news the angels brought to those unsuspecting shepherds keeping watch over their flocks, was a message overflowing with joy. I think it’s fair to say that the heavens had not had as festive a celebration since the time of Creation.
give thanks in all circumstances;
for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.
C. S. Lewis once wrote that “Joy is the serious business of heaven.” The song of the angels testifies to that truth. But what about things here on earth? Joy may be fine in heaven, but there are a lot of circumstances and realities in this life that seem to place angelic joy above our reach. Beyond the light of Christmas lies the shadow of Good Friday. The baby born in Bethlehem, will become the man who will die in agony on Golgotha. Yes, God comes into our world on Christmas, but what kind of a world is it? Finding joy is not always an easy task. Some people do it by escaping into Santa-land fantasy. For others, however, it’s a depressing time— depression often brought on because of the contradiction they experience between the joy they hear about and the real world in which they live.
The Third Sunday of Advent has traditionally been known as “Gaudete”— a day to rejoice. That word, “gaudete” is a Latin word, the first word in the traditional introit or entrance hymn for today’s liturgy. On this Sunday we’re just past the mid-point of Advent, and we’re invited to anticipate the joy of Christmas. This mood is reflected in the lessons that are read, in the rose-colored vestments that are used, the flowers, and in the rose or pink candle on the Advent wreath. The more popular designation of this day, of course, is “Rose Sunday.”
In the second lesson St. Paul urges us to rejoice, always. We might well wonder how that is possible. If we’re among those who find it difficult to muster up some joy for a day or two at Christmas, how can we even think about rejoicing always?
Paul is speaking here not of a superficial kind of happiness, but of a quality of joy that is much deeper and more profound— an enduring joy more lasting than contrived ‘holiday cheer.’ He’s referring to the kind of joy that can be ours when we know in the depths of our souls that God is here and at work among us. It’s a joy that springs from the hope which is ours, a hope rooted in the certain faith that God’s purposes are being worked out in this world, and that God’s will will not be thwarted.
When you read about the early Church, it’s impossible to miss the joy that rings throughout every aspect of its life. In its liturgy, in its theology, and in its ongoing life even in the midst of persecution, the keynote is joy— the joy that comes from knowing Jesus as Savior and Lord. We’re told that the early Christian martyrs even faced death with joy— offering thanks that they were given the privilege of dying for the faith. They knew, not only in their minds but more importantly in their hearts and souls, that they were on the winning side. The battle had been fought, and in the resurrection of Jesus it had been won. They knew in their hearts that victory was theirs.
Today I fear that our religion often comes across to the world as gloomy and somber, because the world often hears Christians speaking more of sin than of redemption. Let’s admit that it’s tempting to spend our time wringing our hands over the darkness in the world and keeping ourselves in a perpetual state of despair over the state of the human race. But that temptation is a manifestation of our pride— the pride that continually tempts us to take sin more seriously than we take God’s forgiveness, to be overly impressed with our limitations to the extent that we virtually overlook the greatness of what God has done and is doing among us. That’s the reason we often miss the joy of the Christian life--- because our vision gets foggy and we lose sight of the fact that God is here and continues to work out his purposes.
Of course it’s true that God’s Son came into the world because of our sin. But that wasn’t the only reason. Christmas means more than simply the first tragic step to the Cross. For God to assume our flesh and share in human life was an essential component of the world as God envisioned it. In sharing our flesh Jesus drew all of humanity to himself. The early Fathers, the theologians of the Church, used to speak of Christ being made human so that we might share in his divinity. We might think of our spiritual growth in terms of allowing the divine spark in us to shine more brightly so that it can radiate more of the life and love of God.
The source of Christian joy is the mystery of God’s active, searching and creating love. If that’s true, then when God comes to us in the birth of Jesus, how else can we respond but with joy and thanksgiving? Paul can call us to rejoice always because he has known and experienced God’s liberating and transforming power in his own life. Paul had spent a number of years trying his best to rid the world of every vestige of Christianity; but his life was changed and he was transformed into an apostle and evangelist for the cause of Christ.
There is a painting by a Dutch artist, entitled The Numbering at Bethlehem. It depicts a typical mid-winter scene in a Flemish town. The streets are covered with snow; a wreath hangs over the door of one of the shops where a merchant and a buyer are haggling over prices. A young man flirts with a girl out on an errand. A farmer and his wife butcher a pig for someone’s dinner. A laborer struggles with an overloaded cart of firewood. In the background children are skating on a pond. A crowd of people are standing in front of the local tax office to be counted for the census and to pay their taxes. It’s a typical, everyday scene of mid-winter life in the village.
Pieter Bruegel the Elder. The Numbering at Bethlehem. 1566.
Oil on panel. Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp, Belgium, www.abcgallery.com.
But if you look closer, you see down toward the bottom of the canvas, in the middle of the street, unnoticed by everyone, a humble man carrying a bag of tools, and leading a small donkey who is trudging through the snow. Sitting on the donkey, shivering from the cold with an old blanket thrown over her shoulders, is an unassuming young woman. It’s Joseph the carpenter and his young wife Mary, come from Nazareth to pay taxes. Emmanuel— God with us.
And isn’t this the way that God usually comes, not only on Christmas, but each and every day, moving in silently, without fanfare, coming into the midst of life in all of its ordinary and everyday events. Here is God— in the love and friendship that people give to each other, in the strong hands and hearts that hold us up when we’re about to fall, and yes, in the birth of a baby— here is God touching us and loving us and bringing us the joy of salvation.
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing,
give thanks in all circumstances;
for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.
© James M. Jensen
Saturday, November 21, 2009
And I Saw a New Heaven
"And I Saw a New Heaven" is being rehearsed by the Kingston men and boys choir in this excerpt from a documentary about the parish's efforts to raise funds for a new organ. Grace Church Utica people will know why this is particularly apt for giving you a flavor of what the music was like at the Requiem Eucharist. This was the main anthem sung at the Offertory.
The Eucharist of Christian Burial
In Thanksgiving for the Life of
The Very Reverend James M. Jensen
November 28, 1946 - November 14, 2009
7:00 P.M. November 19, 2009
Grace Church
Utica, NY
Prelude
Sonata in g (Opus 1, No.3) John Loeillet (1680-1730)
Adagio J.M. Molter (1696-1763)
Ave Maria Bach/Gounod (1818-1893)
Fanfare J. Cook (1918-1984)
Entrance Hymn 379 'God Is Love, Let Heaven Adore Him' Abbots Leigh
Entrance Hymn 208 'The Strife Is Oer' Victory
Psalm 46 Anglican Chant sung by the choir M. Luther (1483-1546)
Gospel Acclamation Gelobt sei Gott
'Be faithful until death, says the Lord,'
'And I will give you the crown of life.' (Rev. 2:10)
Offertory Anthem 'And I Saw a New Heaven' E. Bainton (1880-1956)
Offertory Hymn 625 'Ye Holy Angels Bright' Darwall's 148th
Eucharistic Prayer B
Sanctus (S 128) W. Mathias (1934-1992)
Memorial Acclamation (S 138) M. Robinson (b. 1943)
Great Amen (S 146) M. Robinson
Christ Our Passover (S 154) D. Hurd (1950)
Lamb of God (S 158) H. Willan (1880-1968)
Communion Anthems 'The Lord Is my Shepherd' T. Matthews (1915-1999)
'E'en So, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come' P. Manz (1919-2009)
He that shall Endure to the End F. Mendelssohn (1809-1847)
'Rejoice in the Lord Alway' Anon
Communion Hymn 516 'Come Down, O Love Divine' Down Ampney
Recessional Hymn 207 'Jesus Christ Is Risen Today' Easter Hymn
Postlude 'Fantasy in G Major' J. S. Bach (1685-1750)
Musicians
Bruce G. Smith, Organist and Choirmaster
Choir of Grace Church
Bertram Bookhout, trumpet; Janelle Bookhout, oboe; Sarah Hoffman, bassoon; Timothy Davis, organ; Elinor Hadity, soprano soloist; T. J. McAvaney, violin; Susan Sady, organ.
See also the Utica Observer Dispatch coverage of the funeral. (Don't miss the line from the homily about the "chicadee rector"!)
The Eucharist of Christian Burial
In Thanksgiving for the Life of
The Very Reverend James M. Jensen
November 28, 1946 - November 14, 2009
7:00 P.M. November 19, 2009
Grace Church
Utica, NY
Prelude
Sonata in g (Opus 1, No.3) John Loeillet (1680-1730)
Adagio J.M. Molter (1696-1763)
Ave Maria Bach/Gounod (1818-1893)
Fanfare J. Cook (1918-1984)
Entrance Hymn 379 'God Is Love, Let Heaven Adore Him' Abbots Leigh
Entrance Hymn 208 'The Strife Is Oer' Victory
Psalm 46 Anglican Chant sung by the choir M. Luther (1483-1546)
Gospel Acclamation Gelobt sei Gott
'Be faithful until death, says the Lord,'
'And I will give you the crown of life.' (Rev. 2:10)
Offertory Anthem 'And I Saw a New Heaven' E. Bainton (1880-1956)
Offertory Hymn 625 'Ye Holy Angels Bright' Darwall's 148th
Eucharistic Prayer B
Sanctus (S 128) W. Mathias (1934-1992)
Memorial Acclamation (S 138) M. Robinson (b. 1943)
Great Amen (S 146) M. Robinson
Christ Our Passover (S 154) D. Hurd (1950)
Lamb of God (S 158) H. Willan (1880-1968)
Communion Anthems 'The Lord Is my Shepherd' T. Matthews (1915-1999)
'E'en So, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come' P. Manz (1919-2009)
He that shall Endure to the End F. Mendelssohn (1809-1847)
'Rejoice in the Lord Alway' Anon
Communion Hymn 516 'Come Down, O Love Divine' Down Ampney
Recessional Hymn 207 'Jesus Christ Is Risen Today' Easter Hymn
Postlude 'Fantasy in G Major' J. S. Bach (1685-1750)
Musicians
Bruce G. Smith, Organist and Choirmaster
Choir of Grace Church
Bertram Bookhout, trumpet; Janelle Bookhout, oboe; Sarah Hoffman, bassoon; Timothy Davis, organ; Elinor Hadity, soprano soloist; T. J. McAvaney, violin; Susan Sady, organ.
See also the Utica Observer Dispatch coverage of the funeral. (Don't miss the line from the homily about the "chicadee rector"!)
Friday, November 20, 2009
A long but wonderful day
Yesterday was a very long but strangely wonderful day. I tried not to think about it beforehand - just kept pushing myself to try to get ready in time because there was a good chance (as Jim often half-joked about) I'd be late to his funeral, punctuality not being my strong suit. I also pushed out of my mind any thought of how I would get through the long hours from noon to 7:00, first at the funeral home and then at the visitation and reception at church. Although I can write up a storm and talk your ear off one on one, I'm truly an introvert. Put me in a crowd (more than three people), and I clam up, panic, or just get overly anxious. I know I can "handle" just about anything I put my mind to, but getting through most social occasions, especially involving people I don't know well or not at all, is quite a chore. Needless to say, I was not born to be a rector's wife.
All I wanted out of Thursday was for people to gather and make their peace with Jim's departure. For me, I was just going to plod through, be a trooper, and then let my emotions swell with the glorious music and, I hoped, cry my eyes out.
It didn't work out that way - not at all. For days now (and again today) I've had this big knot and deep ache in my gut. I have difficulty sleeping, especially from about 1 to 4 a.m. And at times I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone. But yesterday afternoon and evening suddenly a great calm settled inside. I don't know that I did a great "job" greeting and meeting people at the church, but I was relaxed and truly enjoyed it -- looking into each person's eyes, reading their pain and concern, listening to their words, and marveling at some who told stories of their times with Jim. There were people from downtown restaurants and diners, waitresses and owners, who told me how much they enjoyed his good humor and cheer. There were children, young choristers and teens, both the boys and girls high school varsity soccer teams and their coaches, local Roman Catholic clergy, and those from various denominations who had been recently working with Jim in a series of community organizing meetings under the auspices of PICO. Parishioners came, not just from Grace but from area churches, whom Jim had listened to and supported in many ways, and there were all the Episcopal clergy and staff, with whom he had shared his wisdom and counsel and given much care. There were tears and many, many hugs. No one told me anything I did not know already about Jim and how he affected people, but it was as if the whole of his life outside of me and our family appeared in the flesh before me.
At the core of Jim's convictions was the Incarnation. He once explained Anglo-Catholicism to me as deeply rooted in the notion that we could see, touch, and taste God. The mystery of the Real Presence in the Eucharist was one and the same as the face of God we see in each and every one of us and in the greater Creation that surrounds us. Worship and prayer that involves kneeling, standing, crossing and genuflecting, songs and music, candles and incense are a physical expression of our faith, as is feeding the hungry, clothing the poor, and caring for those who are abandoned. All that somehow came together for me Thursday afternoon, in the vast expanse of sanctuary, with the votive candles and Sr. Mary Gabriel's icon, where Jim's body lay in the nave, as people came one after one to kneel beside him and say their goodbyes.
This was so unexpected. In the past, to the little extent I ever contemplated Jim predeceasing me, I was ambivalent about the role the church would have to play in his funeral arrangements and what I formerly thought would be the focus on his personhood as priest, which might well eclipse the man who was and is my love, my life, and husband. But what I experienced on Thursday was not an "either / or" but a richness of "and"s. Each person reflected a layer of who and what Jim was in life, and the glorious celebration that followed was for the man and priest who was one and the same.
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