The expression, “Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us; therefore, let us keep the feast” stems from a passage of Scripture that may well be an ancient Easter homily. In the First Letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul writes, “Clear out the old yeast, so that you may become a fresh batch of dough, inasmuch as you are unleavened. For our paschal lamb, Christ, has been sacrificed for us. Therefore let us celebrate the feast, not with the old yeast, the yeast of malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth.” (1 Corinthians 5:7-8).

In First Century Palestine, and still today among some believers, Jewish people undergo a ritual cleaning of the home, removing any and all traces leavened bread or food containing yeast. This is to purify the home, be done with the old and welcome the new, so that at Passover time, the first meal eaten is of the new unleavened bread and the paschal lamb, symbolizing a new beginning and rededication to follow the covenant and the Torah (law).

St. Paul, a Pharisee by training, would have been intimately aware of this tradition and its meaning. When he urges the Corinthian community to “clear out the old yeast” and become a “fresh batch of dough”, he is urging them, in Christ, to let go of their old lives and to take on their new life and identity in the Lord. By calling Christ “our Paschal lamb” he is reminding the Corinthians that through his cross and resurrection, Jesus has set us free and given us new life. By urging them to “keep the feast” with the new “unleavened bread of sincerity and truth”, Paul is reminding the faithful that partaking in Holy Communion means that we are called to, in essence, become what we eat and therefore be ourselves transformed into the image of Christ.

So, the next time the priest invites us to Holy Communion by saying, “Alleluia! Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us!” and you respond, “Therefore let us keep the feast, Alleluia!”, keep in mind that part of what we are saying is, “Lord, help us let go of what has been and be transformed and made anew in your image.”

This past December, when Santa Claus, who has a striking resemblance on the phone to Gina’s Dad, called her and asked her what she wanted for Christmas, she said, “Anything you want to bring me will be nice…and I’d also like a horse.”

Kind and generous-hearted people Sandie and Bob offered to give our little one a chance to meet a real horse -up close and personal. We have learned that with her, it’s best to give such information rather close to the event, so during lunch we discussed what we were doing to do with the rest of our day off. Then we told her. She would soon be meeting, face to face, Rosie, a gentle and well-mannnered horse. He (yes, Rosie is a he) was looking forward to meeting her, we told her, and so as soon as we finished lunch… she ran to her room and hid under the covers.

Daughter: “I’m not going. I don’t want to meet that dumb horse.”

Me: “Yes we are going. You can go to the car yourself or I can carry you – it’s your choice.”

Daughter: (being carried in my arms): “I’m not going and you can’t make me.”

Me: “We’re going to go. Some really nice people invited us and I’d like to meet the horse. You don’t have to meet the horse, but you can come along.”

40 minutes later, she was in the barn asking Sandie lots of questions about the horse, feeding him carrots, and petting his soft, velvety nose. Wihtout hesitation she got on his back and while Sandie led Rosie and Bob and I walked, then jogged, then walked, then jogged, then ran, then walked, alongside to provide some additional spotting, she sat atop of Rosie grinning from ear to ear. She put her arms high in the air, she turned around in the saddle, she petted Rosie several times, and she was a real natural. After the ride, she helped Sandie to bandage his sensitive ankle, brush him, give him a few more carrots, and asked lots of questions. The barn cats provided momentary entertainment but the horse was the focus. Rosie was walked to his staff where our little girl said goodbye to him and thanked him for letting her ride him. It was very sweet.

Later, as we were leaving, she said, “I love Rosie.” I asked her why, earlier in the day, she was hiding under her covers and didn’t want to come out. She concluded that it was due to her feeling afraid and nervous about trying something new.

Hopefully as grown-ups we no longer literally cover ourselves with a blanket and refuse to be open to some new experience… but maybe there are some folks out there who still try that mode of avoidance! There are a lot of ways, however, to refuse to allow fear and anxiety to rule our decisions and therefore prevent us from being open to a new experiience, relationship or moment of grace. In those moments when we are faced with something that may seem too wonderful, exciting, frightening, colossal, overwhelming or just plan too much, we may want to stop and ask ourselves, “Am I hiding under the covers right now because I am afraid? What new lesson may be waiting for me in this moment, in this event the outcome of which I have no clue?”

Do not look forward in fear to the changes in life; rather, look to them with full hope that as they arise, God, whose very own you are, will lead you safely through all things; and when you cannot stand it, God will carry you in His arms.

Do not fear what may happen tomorrow; the same understanding Father who cares for you today will take care of you then and every day.

He will either shield you from suffering or will give you unfailing strength to bear it.

Be at peace, and put aside all anxious thoughts and imaginations.

Now there’s something to pray about, reflect on and seek to live into… Amen!

P.S. How blessed am I that the one I am married to would share such a beautiful (and true) reflection with me!

I can recall several times in my life when I thought, beyond a doubt, that I knew something. I can think of examples growing up, in school, while involved in a give ministry and in relationships when I was certain I had come to clear, concrete and definite conclusions about the matter at hand. In fact, I can recall times I was so sure of what I knew that I judged others with contrary opinions to be lacking in some fundamental way. Those who had a different ‘take’ than I did, I reasoned, just hadn’t been shown the true or right way. In fact, my line of thinking continued, if they would just ask me, or listen to me (since I frequently volunteered my special insights without invitation), they would come to the correct understanding that I had reached before them.

Over times, I came to realize that I know less and less. The refrain written by folk singer Bob Dylan rings true: “I was so much older then. I’m younger than that now.”

This has been on my mind as of late because I’ve been meeting with a number of parishioners and going through a small book entitled, The Episcopal Handbook. It’s a wonderful sometimes humorous and most times very insightful book that describes many of the great facets of our Episcopal life and faith. One of the hallmarks of our faith tradition is a pretty staunch refusal to define for people in some sort of exhaustive way what they must believe or adhere to in order to be part of the Episcopal Church, or a member of this parish.

Does this mean that “anything goes”? Not at all. Rather, it means that we remain rooted in and committed to a faith based in ancient Christianity, the Creeds and the Scriptures. At the same time, it means we seek to keep “the main thing the main thing” as we search for the truth and a closer walk with Christ. It also necessarily means that we admit in all humility that we do not have all the answers, as individuals or as a Church. We seek to recognize and affirm that people of good will, even fellow believers in Christ, may come to significant disagreement about some very important issues. However, we also have profound agreement when it comes to seeking, knowing, loving and sharing faith in Jesus Christ.

Yes, I am not as sure now as I used to be – about many things. However, with that sense of being certain of less, I find that I am also growing stronger in faith, hope and love. I don’t need as many black-and-white answers as I once did – I entrust a good deal of that to our loving God and His care. I seek to do His will by doing the next right thing. I seek to praise Him and follow Him. I try to love Him by loving others and I try and remember that when I care for the least among us – the most broken, vulnerable and marginalized, He has promised me that I will find Him there, too.

Somehow, what I know “for sure” is becoming less important to me. I hope that what I know and what I believe may be evident in how I live. I’m nowhere near that point of synthesis, but with God’s grace I remain hopeful!

Part of being ‘home’ for our little one is that she is gaining the sense of place and security that allows her to begin to express some of the hurt, pain, sadness and turmoil that stem from experiences of trauma. Somehow, it’s a compliment, we are told, that she is able to act out/vent/cathart in this way with us – like her five year old way of saying, “You guys are safe, and OK, and so let me share with you a little of what’s happening inside of me.” Let me be clear that there is nothing romantic about this – it’s tough at times. Gina is amazing in caring for this little person. I am doing my best.

Makes me hope that we all have someone we can be “at home” with – scars and all.

She and Gina watched “The Wizard of Oz” together a couple of days ago. This morning, before school, the three of us played “Wizard of Oz”. Although in high school I played the Lion (my theatrical highpoint), this morning I was the wizard. Our little girl was Dorothy. After the wizard gets carried away in the balloon, Dorothy is left on her own. Our little girl, as Dorothy, lamented, “Now I’ll never get home!” Gina, as Glenda, the good witch, reminded her, “To get home, just click your heels together and say, ‘There’s no place like home.’”

So she stood in our living room, clicked her little heels together, and said, “There’s no place like home.” For her, this is true in a pretty real way. I’ve been thinking about her saying those words all day long.

In different ways, many of us are seeking “home”. It can be hard to pin down what “home” may mean for us, but I think we tend to know it when we’re there.

Thou didst come to make thy dwelling

Here within our world of sight.

Lord, in pity and in power,

Thou didst in our darkest hour

Rend the clouds and show thy might.

Praise to Thee in earth and heaven

Now and evermore be given,

Christ, who art our sun and shield.

Lord, for us thy life thou gavest,

Those who trust in thee thou savest,

All thy mercy stands revealed.

-St. Thomas Aquinas

It’s interesting, Karl Rahner and others have noted, that our chief prayer during Advent is a variation on, “Come Lord Jesus!”. It is a good idea to consider what we are asking when we pray these words.

Advent looks forward to the coming of Christ in two ways. First of all, we await/look forward to his birth in human history. We anticipate and look forward to the event of the Incarnation – the simple but profound truth of our faith that in Christ, God has taken on flesh to share fully in our humanity. Second, we look for him to come again in glory and establish God’s reign of justice and peace on the earth. Every time we profess our faith in the words of the Nicene Creed, we proclaim that we wait for him to come in glory, “and his kingdom will have no end.”

So when we pray, “Come Lord Jesus!”, we can look to that first sense of Advent expectation – the coming of Christ in history, and we can answer that, pretty definitively, this has happened. He has come into history in an unrepeatable, unique and very human way. When we think about the second meaning of Advent preparation and longing, what we are saying is that we want him to return in glory, to establish his reign on earth. That glorious end-time, while many have tried to predict it throughout history, is way beyond being knowable by the likes of us. Jesus tells us that the Father alone knows when this is going to take place (see Mark 13:32 for example) and so it’s not our job to worry about when it will take place. We are assured that we’ll know about it as it’s unfolding.

In the meantime, praying “Come Lord Jesus!” means that we want Him here now, in the midst of us. Here’s the thing: he is here. He has given us the gift of the Holy Spirit and has promised us that when we gather in His name, proclaim the good news of Christ in His name, seek to serve Him by serving the hungry, thirsty, the outcast, the orphan, the stranger and the prisoner… we shall encounter Him. Every time.

Maybe, then, a better prayer would be, “Lord Jesus, help us come to you!”. Let’s make that our Advent expression of longing, waiting, joyful hope and expectation – may we at last come to the One who was, who is, and who is to come.

Gratitude is also a decision or fundamental way of trying to live life: The recovering alcoholic and addict who discovers gratitude in the painful aftermath of ‘hitting bottom’, the man diagnosed with a progressive disease who begins to take stock of his life and works on healing broken relationships, the spouse who allows him- or herself to be loved and accepted and cared for when it’s hard to love him- or herself…

This kind of gratitude, the kind borne of struggle, pain, hardship and even death, offers us a glimpse of the redemptive love of God.

Martin Rinkhart was a Lutheran Pastor. He lived in Eilenberg in Saxony during the Thirty Years War. Eilenberg was a walled city, and it was surrounded by enemy forces. During the siege, people were dying of disease and

starvation; over 800 homes were burned. As things became more and more dire, Rinkhart was conducting 50 funerals per day. That year (c. 1647), he would conduct 5,000 funerals, including one for his own wife. When the war

ended a year later in 1648, he took some time to reflect on his relationship with God and his faith after that harrowing experience, and he discovered at the root of that experience,

was, somehow, gratitude! He wrote the words to a hymn that continues to express thankfulness to this day:

Now thank we all our God,

with heart and hands and voices

Who wondrous things hath done,

in whom this world rejoices;

Who from our mothers’ arms,

hath blessed us on our way,

With countless gifts of love,

and still is ours today.

To be grateful in experiences of pain, suffering, and loss, is to recognize the love and compassion of the God who comes to us in order to walk with us in all that is a part of the human experience. As Advent and Christmas approach,

we await the coming of Emmanuel, God-with-us. In God’s decision to share our lives in and through the humanity of His Son Jesus Christ, and to embrace even the absurdity and emptiness of the cross, we find the source for a

gratitude that rejoices in redemptive love, even in the face of devastation and tragedy. We rejoice that nothing is

beyond redemption.

May God bless us with the gift of gratitude for the obvious and especially the not-so-obvious moments of grace in our lives.

Richard Rohr, Falling Upward, p. 6

It seems that too often in trying to answer “Who am I?” we resort to discussions of what we do, or what we hope to do. How often were we asked as we were growing up, “So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” This question is really a variation on the “What do you want to do ?” question. It’s not a bad question in and of itself, but it’s certainly not the only question.

Join a group of adults in conversation and often they’ll introduce themselves in terms of what they do – their occupation, business, etc. Get to know a person better and, hopefully, you’ll get past “What do you do?” and enter the realm of “Who are you?”

I wonder how our children would answer if they were asked, “So, what kind of person do you hope to be when you grow up?” In my experience, the answer to this second question is far more important than the answer to the first one.

Gina and I are blessed to have a little girl living with us. She’s a foster child who will very likely become our adopted daugther down the road. She is five. Hers has not been an easy path. My hope, should I be privileged and challenged to walk with her for the rest of my life, is that I will spend far more time on the “What sort of person do you hope to be?” question than the “What do you want to do?” question.

“I am the way, the truth and the life…”  (John 14:6)

I have been thinking about death lately. Two members of our parish have died in recent days. Rose was 92. She and her husband Clair shared 68 years of marriage before his death two years ago. Rose was blessed by being cared for and watched over by family during the final stages of her life. She was gracious, kind and so classy right up to the end. During the last week or so of her life, she moved in and out of responsiveness. Mostly I prayed with her, read Scriptures and spoke words of faith and assurance into her ear as she lay in bed. On my second-last visit, she did open her eyes and registered that I was there. She said, “Thank you” to me as I was leaving. The last words I heard her say. I pray that I, too, may know and be immersed in gratitude as I come to the end of my journey. Her funeral was beautiful. Her children witnessed to the beauty of her life, marriage to Clair, the way she exercised the sacred vocation of being a Mom, and the power of her simple, accepting, all-embracing love.

Beth had lived courageously with cancer for four years before her death on the fifth of October. During those four years, she experienced a multitude of treatments to try and stop the spread of the cancerous cells in her body. While being treated, she continued to spend time and enjoy life with Jim, her husband of 41 years. She rode her horses, delighted in God’s creation, prayed, and served as, among other things, President of the Elmbrook Humane Society. Through it all she lived a life of faithfulness to her God, spending time in prayer and reflection, occasionally asking me for a Scripture verse or share with me what was happening in her body, mind and heart. Finally on September 22, after a very recently approved experimental drug was not effective, Beth decided to stop aggressive treatment. She decided, rather, to go home, and to focus on being comfortable and living the rest of her life as fully as possible. Jim agreed with this decision and the focus became one of letting go, trusting, and believing. Hospice care-takers arrived at the house to keep vigil with Beth and to provide caring support to her and Jim. Beth was helped with care and medicine to be as comfortable as possible. She died peacefully in her house after days of visits from dear friends, much prayer, and the constant loving presence of Jim.

May Rose and Beth rest in peace. Like them, may we come to see and maybe even embrace death as part of our life journey. So much in contemporary culture seems to be about staving off old age, disease, or sickness. These, too, are part of life and God can be found in the midst of these experiences, sometimes in powerful and transforming ways.

Beth and Rose – rest always in the peace of Christ. Where Lazarus is poor no longer and where angels and saints praise the living God, may our Savior meet you , welcome you as one of His flock and welcome you to the heavenly Jerusalem. Let light perpetual shine upon them…