Exodus 17: 1-7
Colossians 1: 15-23

This morning’s lectionary readings have to do with a mystery—not a theological mystery, but a mystery in the sense of a detective novel. In a mystery, there are a number of clues, but how they tie together, and how they provide the solution to the problem is not given until everything is wrapped up at the very end of the story. Our Old Testament reading sets the stage for the mystery, by providing us the clues. The epistle reading takes the very same clues and ties them all together to answer the question raised by the Old Testament reading.

If we compare the Exodus reading with the epistle reading from Colossians this morning we will find that both touch on a similar theme, identified by the question the people of Israel ask in the last verse of this morning’s reading: “Is the Lord among us or not?” The question raised has to do with the presence of God, and how we know whether or not God really is present with us. This, then, is the mystery: how is God present with his people? Or is he? (more…)

1 Kings 17: 8-16
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44

When I was a child I already showed signs that I was going to be a theologian when I grew up. I used to wonder about things like this: If Jesus is everywhere, then is Jesus sitting in this chair? If I sit down in the chair, will I sit on Jesus? If Jesus is in my heart, how did he get small enough to fit there? If Jesus is in other people’s hearts too, does that mean that there are lots of little Jesus’s, with each person having their own Jesus living in their heart?

Of course, such speculation is nothing new. The Medieval theologian William of Ockham (not one of my favorites by the way) once speculated that in God’s absolute power God could make it possible for the eye of Christ in one part of the eucharistic host to see another part of the body of Christ in another part of the host. And, of course, those who have taken my Anglican way of theology class or other courses at Trinity in church history or sacramental theology should know that a central cause of disagreement at the time of the Reformation had to do with the problem of how we relate the risen body of Christ to the consecrated elements of bread and wine in the Eucharist, with the Lutherans insisting that because Christ’s body is everywhere, there is no problem with him also being present in the bread and wine, while the Reformed insisted that, since Christ’s body is at the right hand of God the Father, he cannot be physically present in the bread and wine, so he must be spiritually present—whatever that means.

As I read the epistle for this morning, I could not help but be reminded of my old childhood questions, and of all these controversies in church history. There is a sense in which the writer of Hebrews is addressing the central issue that lay behind my childhood questions, and behind the Reformation controversies about Eucharistic theology. He situates the issue by laying out a timeline with a beginning point and an end point. The beginning point is the earthly mission of Jesus, in which through his incarnation, life, death, and resurrection Jesus has, says the author, “appeared once for all, at the end of the ages to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself.” The end point will be Jesus’ return: “So Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly awaiting him.” (Heb. 9:28). If the beginning point of the timeline is Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection in which he put away sin, and the end point is his returning to bring salvation to those whose sins he has put away, the question that comes to mind is: “Where is Jesus now, and what is he up to?” The writer of the epistle to the Hebrews answers the question this way: “For Christ has entered not into holy places made with hands, which are copies of of the true things, but into heaven itself, now to appear in the presence of God on our behalf.” (Heb. 9:24.) (more…)

We find something rather odd when we look at the passage from Joshua in this morning’s lectionary readings. In this passage, Joshua has gathered all the tribes together at a place called Shechem, and Joshua is renewing the covenant that God made with Israel at Mount Sinai, when Moses had led Israel out of Egypt into the desert. At the beginning of the passage (much of which we did not read this morning), Joshua recounts the story of God’s dealings with Israel’s ancestors—Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He tells of Moses and the deliverance from slavery in Egypt, and he tells of how God has given Israel a new land to dwell in. Joshua then commands the people: “Now therefore fear the Lord and serve him in sincerity and in faithfulness. Put away the gods that your fathers served beyond the River and in Egypt, and serve the Lord.” (Joshua 24:14)

Now here comes the strange part. Joshua gives the people a choice. “And if it is evil in your eyes to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your fathers served in the region beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you dwell. But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” (v. 15) Israel is given a choice between serving the gods of the land in which they used to live or the gods of the new land in which they now live. Or they can serve the Lord.

In ancient societies, gods tended to be attached to the land in which they were worshiped. So the gods worshiped in Egypt are the gods of Egypt. The gods of the Amorites are the gods of the new land in which Israel dwells. But the biblical God is not a God bound to a particular place or land. He gives Israel a land, but he is not a God associated with a land, but with a history. He is the God who made a covenant with Israel’s ancestors, and who delivered Israel from slavery before they had a land. This is a God who makes covenants with his people, and a covenant involves a choice. One actually has to make a decision to worship such a God. And so, here is the odd part. Israel’s God is a God who can be rejected.

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Psalm 31: 9-16
Philippians 2:5-11
Mark 15: 1-47

Exactly ten years ago I was visiting an Episcopal Church on Palm Sunday. The service had begun with the Procession of the Palms and the readings of Jesus’ triumphal procession into Jerusalem, and the readings had concluded with a reading of the Passion Account of Jesus’ crucifixion. The priest then went to the pulpit and began his sermon with these words: “The idea that Jesus died for our sins has caused more suffering and evil than any other idea in the history of the world!” He then proceeded to preach a sermon in which he outlined every horrible event in the history of the church—I think he talked about the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the religious wars between Catholics and Protestants, Antisemitism; I’m fairly certain he mentioned the Nazi holocaust—and he stated repeatedly throughout the sermon that all these horrible events could be traced to a single idea—that Jesus had died for the sins of the world. We then stood and said the Creed.

Without commenting on this priest’s orthodoxy—which was certainly lacking—one might ask what could possibly motivate someone to make such an outrageous claim? From the pulpit no less? Well, if the priest was intending not to comment on the church’s teaching but on its practice, he might well have had a point. We need to be honest that there have been plenty of times in church history when Christians have just got it wrong. (more…)

I was privileged to preach the eulogy at my father’s funeral on January 29, 2007. I needed to take some time before I could share this.

What can I say about my father, Leon Witt?

First, my father was a fighter.

They say that into every life a little rain must fall, and Dad certainly had his share of hard times. He was born in 1930, one year after the stock market crashed. His mother, his father, and his three brothers lived as migrant farmers in the Dust Bowl years of the Great Depression. I have heard him describe being in a tent with the wind blowing, and the dust so thick that during the middle of the day you needed a Coleman lantern to see to the other side of the tent. His father died of a heart attack by the side of the road next to the family Model A when my father was only ten. From then on, Dad’s mother raised four boys by herself in New Mexico, and Dad became the family cook at ten years old. (more…)

With Holy Week soon upon us, I thought this an appropriate sermon to repost.

In the epistle which we read this morning, St. Paul introduces the metaphor or image of “justification” to describe what God has done for us in Jesus Christ. “Since we are justified by faith,” he says, “we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Rom. 5:1). The doctrine of “justification by faith” utilizes legal language and draws upon the metaphor of God as our “Judge.” This language appears throughout Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, which is in many respects one long meditation on the meaning of the justice of God and of God’s role as Judge of sinful humanity.

This metaphor of God as Judge is perhaps one that has left an unfortunate legacy to the Western church. (The Eastern churches have largely focused on other metaphors, like that of re-creation.) This juridical language, combined with the Western heritage of Roman law, has left us with an overly legal understanding of what it means to say that God has saved us in Jesus Christ. We Western Christians have too often interpreted God’s work in Jesus Christ as a juridical process in which we sinners deserved the punishment of eternal damnation, but God let us off by punishing his innocent Son Jesus instead. I remember that as a child I liked Jesus very much, but I wasn’t too sure about God the Father. He was a bit too rigid, I thought.

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I preached this sermon a few years ago, and it was on my old website. With Lent upon us, I thought people might find it helpful again.

Lent is a time of the Church year that is dedicated to repentance, to dying to self. During these six weeks, we enter a period of self-examination, of humility, of repentance, of “acknowledg[ing] and bewail[ing] our manifold sins and wickedness.” Rather than affirming out choices, Lent seems to be about denying our choices. You do not have to be a genius to realize that this message of self-denial is out of touch with the values of our society. The message of the beer commercials and of most of the television shows on my television set is not one of self-denial, but of self-affirmation. The “swimsuit” edition of Sports Illustrated, which I did not notice in the grocery aisle last week, was not telling me to hold back. Even within the Christian churches, the message of self-affirmation has (broadly speaking) replaced the message of self-denial. More than ten years after Jim Baker and Jimmy Swaggart, there are still some TV evangelists who preach that God wants you to be rich or healthy or successful. If you’re not, it must be because you don’t have enough faith. On a less crass level, there are theologians, bishops and pastors within the Episcopal Church, the Roman Catholic Church, and the mainline Protestant churches who affirm that the self should be valued, not denied.

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