Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Sixth Sunday after Pentecost


The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
St. Augustine’s Episcopal Church
Tempe, Arizona
The Rev. Albert P. Krueger

You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. 
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it. 
Psalm 139:5-6

The creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God.
Romans 8:19

The Bible is full of things remembered and things to be remembered.  There is no culture without the remembrance of events which made the culture what it is.  Things remembered come to mind after they have had their effect on the human soul and spirit.  They aren’t remembered because somebody thought they were important at the time they occurred.  They are remembered, because it is impossible for people to forget them.
The story of Jacob’s Ladder is a remembrance.  Who remembered what, exactly, is not the defining question.  What we have is what was remembered.  The angels went up and down the ladder, and so it was a holy place.  Bethel became one of the early pilgrimage sights for the House of Jacob.  They knew they could find God there.
Also remembered was Bethel’s decommissioning.  The first literary prophet, Amos, had harsh things to say about Bethel, “On the day I punish Israel for her sins, I will destroy the altars of Bethel; the horns of the altar will be cut off and fall to the ground.” (Amos 3:14)  The story of Israel, the Northern Kingdom, was coming to an end. 
Abram had pitched his tent at Bethel hundreds of years earlier.  Bethel, as a location was a defining place for the Israelites.  To remove Bethel would be, for us, like removing Faneuil Hall in Boston.  For Roman Catholics and Western Christians in general, it would be like destroying Vatican City in Rome.  The foundations of culture were shaken when Bethel came down.  The shaking started long before the Assyrian Army overran the Northern Kingdom and took the Ten Tribes into permanent exile.

We watched “Saving Private Ryan” over the sixth of June weekend.  Americans remember the beaches of Normandy.  That location is a type of Bethel for us.  To desecrate an American grave in Normandy would be to desecrate America.  Normandy is one of our holy places.  This year, our nation commemorated the 70th anniversary of the landings at Utah and Omaha Beaches.  The events of June 6, 1944, are worth remembering and to forget them, as a nation, would be a tragedy.
It is difficult not to get caught up in the cultural remembrance of heroic events.  Just as Bethel was a defining place and moment for the Northern Kingdom, Normandy on the morning of June 6, 1944, is a defining place and moment for the United States of America.  When that date appears on the calendar each year, everything that being an American means to its citizens is brought to mind.  We use remembrances and commemorations such as this to find our focus as a nation in the present and to clear a path of expectation for the future.
It is so difficult not to take part in the spirit of cultural self-esteem and self-assurance that it becomes easy for the Church to forget other moments which are equally, if not more, defining for the world and for the Kingdom of Heaven.  One of those moments we might commemorate today, July 20.  This is the day, 70 years ago, that conspirators in Nazi Germany made a belated and stillborn attempt to assassinate their Fuhrer, Adolf Hitler.

‘Seventy’ is one of those significant Biblical numbers.  Like the other sacred numbers, three, four, seven and twelve. It is not a quantifier but a qualifier.  These numbers have mnemonic value, and they are an aid to remembering the memorable and forgetting the forgettable.  Seventy, the heavenly number seven times the ‘earthly’ number ‘ten,’ indicates a time for remembering and forgetting, because that which was will be no longer, but that which is to come is already here.
When Terah was seventy, he fathered Abram.  Abram was the tenth in the line of Shem.  Everything that we refer to as “Semitic,” today, was present in Abram.  The other nine descendants are forgotten, except in a list in an ancient text we call “The Bible.”  When the seventy years were over, the remnant of Judah left Persia and returned to Judaea.  The entire history contained in what we call the “Old Testament” was complete, and the Jewish Commonweal to come was present in the building of the Second Temple.  When Jesus sent out seventy disciples, the chasm between the “Old” and the “New” was a finality.
And so we celebrated the landings at Normandy, this year, counting out seventy years.  Next year, we will remember, I trust, another seventieth anniversary, this one involving a bomb called “Little Boy” and the instantaneous vaporizing of around 150,000 human souls accompanied by a life sentence of hideous sickness to many more.  We are living in propitious times.  Between 20 July and 6 August, 2015, a host of seventieths will happen, then culminating in the Great Seventieth on September 2, VJ Day, 2015.

The assassination attempt involved two kinds of people, disgruntled army officers and devoted Christians, Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer among them.  The officers hoped to restore lost honor; the Christians knew they had already lost more than that.  The German Confessing Church, formed by Bonhoeffer and others in 1934, was a direct challenge to Hitler’s claim of absolute authority over the moral, spiritual and physical lives of all Germans.  The famous Barmen Declaration was their declaration of war before the War.  Barmen’s battle-shout was Luke 10:18, “Behold, I saw Satan fall like lightning from Heaven.”
Bonhoeffer, already imprisoned by the Nazis, chose to support the assassination plot after years of grappling with the classic moral theology he had been taught.  His decision was that, for the Christian, the likes of Hitler must not be allowed to live.  The evils of which he was the earthly source had to be stopped by killing the source.  This is the moral theology which July 20 represents.  The tidy distinctions between Church and State had already been obscured by the descent of spiritual powers to earth, unseen and unrecognized for a thousand years, the pagan precedents of Western Civilization.
 In popular national mythology, World War II was the Good War won by the Greatest Generation.  Those titles obscure two important realities - that subsequent generations, no less great than those drafted in the 1940’s, are still picking up the pieces from that conflict and that the Nazi ideal was defeated on earth but not in heaven.  The reverse Lord’s Prayer,
that what happens in heaven might follow suit with what happens on earth, does not hold.  Nazi armies in German uniform were overwhelmed:  The Nazi Spirit lives on.  Satan did fall like lightning from Heaven in the form of pre-cultural spiritual authorities spearheaded by the dancing Valkyries of Der Ring.

In his epic work, The War of the World, 20th Century Conflict and the Descent of the West, the historian Niall Ferguson comes to this conclusion:  “This was no simple war of evil against good.  It was a war of evil against lesser evil.  For the Axis powers did not collapse spontaneously under the weight of their own depravity.  They could be vanquished only by the application of immense and contrary force.  But this in turn required terrible moral compromises on the part of the Western powers.  It seemed as if the Axis could be defeated only by turning their own inhuman methods against them.”
The earthly armies were defeated only with the help of the fallen heavenly army.
If Hitler was the conception of Realized Evil, World War II was birth-pangs and Little Boy was its birth.  150 years of Romantic exaggeration changed the concept of war from Clausewitz’ “total defeat of the enemies forces on the field of battle” to “total defeat of everything that constitutes the enemy, mind, body, and soul.”  This country’s rightly esteemed “Marshall Plan” resurrected new versions of old nations, but the Valkyries maintained their appeal in all the political maneuvering that followed.
In the last seventy years, “Little Boy” has reproduced like a Mother of Thousands, and Hitlers regularly pop up like Whack-a-Moles.  As Ira Chernus, author of Mythic America and Apocalypse Management, remarks, “Finding another Hitler is an old habit.”  Slobodan Milosevec, Saddam Hussein, Ali Husseini Khamenei, Osama bin Laden and Bashar al-Assad, even George W. Bush, Binyamin Netanyahu and Barrack Obama, have all been honored with the title “Another Hitler.”  The Holocaust that World War II was for everybody is now a slow-cooking fiery furnace in which the Nebuchadnezzars of the contemporary world simmer the Shadrachs, Meshachs, and Abedniggos.

 The idea of total annihilation as punishment for any perceived offense saturates our emerging cultural instincts.  A fleeting traffic glitch leads to fatal road rage; teenage angst morphs quickly into random slaughter in school halls; politics tends toward a “win at any cost” agenda.   It isn’t Global Warming that we need to fear as much as it is the fiery furnace heating up within us.  Trying to pull out the weeds won’t do, as Jesus has advised.  The roots of these issues go deep, and they are intimately entwined one with another as our own emotional and intellectual patterns.  The violence involved in our misguided attempts to root out evil can only lead to an end in which there is no harvest at all.
Some years ago, our Episcopal House of Bishops issued a pastoral letter in which it was declared, “We live in apocalyptic times.”  Adolf Hitler is our Avatar of the End.  Like Shredder, the Joker, or Kirk’s Khan, he keeps showing up with ever more destructive intent, and we revel in Masters of the Universe cartoons, because we can see no other way out.  A choice between speeding up the End and delaying the End is no choice at all.  The greatest Post-Modern irony is that we are still, metaphorically, trying to keep Hitler from developing the atomic bomb.  Jesus doesn’t return to this world:  Godzilla does. 

A Biblical Seventy Years has passed since that moribund attempt to kill Adolf Hitler took place.  Since then, the powers that be have still been trying to assassinate Hitler day in and day out, with no more success than that enjoyed by the Plan Valkyrie conspirators, Stauffenberg, Rommel, and Bonhoeffer.  Hitler may be a matter of perception, these days, but we look for him everywhere.  Like Tinkerbell, we keep him alive by clapping for the myth.  The perceiving is guaranteed, and the weeds continue to grow.  It seems that Mick Jagger’s voice was prophetic when he sang, “All the cops are criminals and all the sinners saints.”
In the midst of a similar apocalyptic moment, a young man ran up to Jesus and fell on his knees.  “Good teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”  “Why do you call me good?”  Jesus answered.  “No one is good – except God alone.  You know the commandments: “Do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not give false testimony, do not defraud, honor your father and mother.”  “Teacher,” the man declared, “all these I have kept since I was a boy.”  Jesus looked at him and loved him.  “One thing you lack,” he said.  “Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven.”    At this, the man’s face fell.  He went away sad, because he had great wealth.
The cultural commandments we have all kept since we were boys and girls won’t get us into the Kingdom of Heaven.  We will not inherit eternal life, the abundant life that Jesus promises, by trying harder and harder to make the old rules work better and better.  The dominance of nation over nation is a matter for God to decide, not the citizens of the nations of the world or any particular nation.  This isn’t fatalism, it is wisdom.  The Southern Kingdom, Judah, was transformed, and its value as a stake-holder in the community of nations changed.  Byzantium held on to the last, long enough to provide the Renaissance with the fuel which was needed for cultural revival in the West.  The last vestige of Western hegemony, the British Empire, the United States of America, is morphing into something new right before our eyes.

It is the Church’s job neither to force these inevitabilities nor to try to delay them.  The End of the World is God’s prerogative.  Jesus is saying to you and me, “Why do you call yourselves good?  No one is good – except God alone.”  We have our national Shechems and Shilohs, our Abrams who have pitched their tents between Bethel on the East and Ai on the West, our Normandies, Ardennes Forests, and Pearl Harbors.  These we can remember and commemorate with honor, but the future cannot be constructed by their endless repetition.  God is changing things, and whatever God does is good.
Throughout my lifetime, the doomsayers have used the classic example of the so-called Fall of Rome to decry the state of the union.  Edward Gibbons is as ubiquitous as the Adolf Hitler.  Every moral and spiritual glitch is seen as another sure sign of decay pointing to the urgent need for reformation.  We are deceived by our own myths of victory to believe that civilizations come and go as quickly and as suddenly as Nazi Germany did.  As happened to Rome, as happened to Germany, so will happen with us.
Nazi Germany was not a civilization:  It was a blip on the timeline of a declining civilization.  Edward Gibbon aside, Rome did not “fall”:  it changed gradually over centuries into an entirely different world.  The so-called “barbarians” didn’t invade so much as they arrived and built suburbs.  The transition from what we call the “classic world” to what we call “Western Civilization” happened over time too slowly for anyone to perceive without foreknowledge and faith.  Hadrian’s Wall was built and disintegrated in a moment of history; the Maginot Line was bypassed.  So, too, no wall around any nation will hinder the changes that God has in mind.

So, that seventy-years’ mark is today.  Whether or not you believe in the truths of apocalyptic theology or the significance of Biblical quantities, any responsible analysis of the last seventy years of history, such as Mr. Ferguson’s, will point to the same conclusion.  Apocalypse is an extended period of time when Chronos, the numbering of days and years, merges with Kairos, the time of God’s purposes.  The task of the Church, of those who believe in Jesus, is to pay attention, to stay awake, to be alert, as it says so many times in our New Testament. 
The Biblical Seventy indicates that that which was will be no longer, but that which is to come is already here.  The real greatest generation is growing up all around us.  There is no time to lose and no time to gain, and the words of the Apostle Paul in Second Corinthians, written in the greatest time of cultural upheaval and transformation, are as true today as they were two thousand years ago, “At an acceptable time I have listened to you, and on a day of salvation I have helped you.  See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!”

You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. 
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it. 
Psalm 139:5-6

The creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God.
Romans 8:19

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Blog migration

Friends,

This blog is migrating to the new website for the Community of St. Mary of the Annunciation, which you can find at stmarycanons.org.  If you would like to subscribe to receive an email version of this blog each day (promptly at 7am!), you can enter your email address at the website to do so.

Please contact us by commenting on this post or through the contact page on the website with any questions.

Thank you all for reading!

Pax,
Br. Chad-Joseph

Monday, May 5, 2014

May 5

The Rule of St. Benedict: Prologue pt. 4


Our Father Benedict continues here to demonstrate from Holy Scripture the conditions in which God is at home, both in the human soul and within a community.  But, he instructs, it is vitally important that neither the soul nor the community develop pride as a result of its purity.  Yes, we must cast temptations from the sight of our hearts and dash them against Christ before they gain a foothold within us, but it is imperative that we simultaneously cultivate the humility that attributes no glory to ourselves, but to the Name of God alone.

Heartfelt good intentions are not enough, if we hope to dwell within God's tent.  Without faith, relational trust in the presence and work of God, our efforts become the tools of our pride.  Our "goodness" becomes the property of our self-interest.  Truly good works flow from a life surrendered to the order of God's household.

Our Father Benedict seeks to establish such an order in our daily lives.  By it, through the grace of God, we are slowly formed into people who dwell in God's tent, who are fully at home where God is at home.

Br. Chad

Sunday, May 4, 2014

May 4

The Third Sunday of Easter

The Rule of St. Benedict: Prologue pt. 3


To God's call for a worker among the multitude who desires true life that lasts forever I have answered, "I am he."

This true life is the Resurrection here and now in my life.  But if I am to walk on the path of life, I must experience the death of my old ways of being and know the power of God who raises to new life.  I must give myself over to Christ's own difficult, painful, life-giving cycle.  

There is, indeed, nothing sweeter than the compassionate voice of our Lord calling us, hand outstretched, inviting us to place our feet on his path of life by way of death.

I will have life.  I desire to see good days.  I will keep my tongue from evil and my lips from speaking guile.  I will turn away from evil and do good.  I will seek after peace and pursue it.

Your eyes are upon me.  Your ears are open to my prayer.  Thank you for whispering your "Behold, here I am" within me before I could so much as open myself to call upon you.

Br. Chad

Saturday, May 3, 2014

May 3

The Rule of St. Benedict: Prologue pt. 2

Let us open our eyes to the deifying light,
let us hear with attentive ears the warning which the divine voice cries daily to us,
"Today if you hear His voice, harden not your hearts."

Our Father Benedict seeks here to inspire in us a disposition of urgent attention so that we may perceive our true selves, deified in God's own light.  This urgency is set against our own lethargy and tendency to harden our hearts to the light and voice of God.  It is set against procrastination and ambivalence--the thought that we can fulfill our calling without giving our all.

St. Benedict strikes this tone at the outset of the Rule because one's disposition at the beginning of a journey sets one's course.  As we begin again, let us do so with earnest, eager, urgent attention to what the Spirit is saying in the actual circumstances of our real lives, the circumstances where God is waiting to be revealed.

Br. Chad

Friday, May 2, 2014

May 2

Feast of Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria

The Rule of St. Benedict: Prologue pt. 1


Listen carefully, my child,
to your master’s precepts,
and incline the ear of your heart.
Receive willingly and carry out effectively
your loving father's advice,

that by the labor of obedience

you may return to God
 
from whom you had departed by the sloth of disobedience.

Thus begins the Rule of St. Benedict, one of the most influential documents in the history of Western Civilization.  These words have been read aloud in countless languages, in empires long passed and in nations young and old, among humble wood and towering stone, for fifteen centuries.

To you, therefore, my words are now addressed,

whoever you may be,

who are renouncing your own will


to do battle under the Lord Christ, the true King,

and are taking up the strong, bright weapons of obedience.

Imagine yourself, somewhere along that winding trail of history, hearing as one that has come from the fields as a peasant, or as a noble from the manor on a hill, to the gate of a Benedictine monastery.  You’ve been given food and lodging in the guest quarters, and you’ve been received among the novices where you have studied, eaten, slept, and been instructed for several weeks.  When the time arrives that you have shown yourself ready, you are brought into a common room, you sit down, and the Rule is read aloud to you by your Novice Master.  There is no doubt that it is “you” to whom St. Benedict’s “words are now addressed.” 

What might you have heard that first time?  What would have captured your imagination or cut you to the quick?  What would have scared you?  What would have offered comfort?

As you sit in that room, you hear that your first priority along the Benedictine way is to develop the capacity to listen with the ear of your heart to the Voice of God in your every given circumstance.  Your second priority is to learn to obey that Voice rather than your own.  

You hear that this capacity is to be developed and obedience is to be learned through receiving the loving advice of your Holy Father Benedict.  This advice calls you into an ordered life that holds a gentle balance between prayer, work, and study that will slowly and persistently shape you into a new person, a fully realized being who dwells in the very Presence of God.

Br. Chad

Thursday, May 1, 2014

May 1

Feast of Sts. Philip and James, Apostles

The Rule of St. Benedict: Chapter 73


Here at the conclusion of his Rule, St. Benedict models remarkable humility with regard to his own work.  From his example we can learn to hold gently the good that comes from our lives, recognizing that it is by God's love and grace that we have been brought to the place we inhabit.

This final chapter is a helpful reminder that means to do not equal ends, and that it is the end, the goal, the telos of our life that matters.  We are formed by our Benedictine practices to find our true self at home with God, and to find God at home in our lives.  We are all beginners, and we will always need to begin again.

Let us adopt our Father Benedict's humility, then.  Let us seek to learn from other masters of the spiritual life and welcome the company of those on parallel journeys of spiritual formation.  We do not own the pathway along which we hasten "to the heavenly homeland."  St. Benedict would have us, here at the end, to open ourselves to whatever comes next.  We are not to be proud of our identity and closed off to all that is not Benedictine.  Built into our Benedictine spirituality is an understanding that it is not the be all and end all of human striving toward God.  It is but one means to the end, but one for which we can be deeply grateful.

Br. Chad

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

April 30

The Rule of St. Benedict: Chapter 72


I read a book a while back that I've talked about often called Wisdom of the Benedictine Elders.  In it are profiles of and interviews with the oldest living Benedictines in the United States.  One of the questions put to each elder was "What is your favorite chapter in the Rule of Benedict?"  More than any other chapter, Chapter 72, On the Good Zeal Which They Ought to Have, was said to be the favorite.

I find much resonance within this chapter as a lifelong church goer and as a vowed member of a religious community.  The first sentence rings true as a statement about every community I've ever spent time in.  There is something tangible about the zeal of a group, and the difference between evil and good zeal is as apparent as the difference between a touch of blessing and a slap in the face.  The evil zeal is bitterness, and it separates from God.  If our life's journey was represented on a map, the zeal of bitterness would point us in the direction opposite of where God is at home.  The good zeal consists of mutual honor, patience, and charity and points us precisely in the direction of God's household and our true home.

The source of these two zeals is found in the depths of our inner life, at the intersection of our emotions, desires, and will.  Good zeal must be cultivated and grown within by our clear intentions, consistent effort, and by Divine Grace.  Good zeal is a purse that will not wear out, our treasure stored up in heaven.  Evil zeal is a storehouse in which the possessions of our false self slowly disintegrate, eaten by rust and moth (Luke 12: 33,34).  We embody one zeal or the other in our lives and in our communities, and those with ears to hear, eyes to see, and hearts to feel will perceive it clearly.

Br. Chad

Tuesday, April 29, 2014

April 29

Feast of St. Catherine of Siena

The Rule of St. Benedict: Chapter 71


In Gethsemane we witness Jesus fully owning his emotions and desires, bringing them before his Abba whom he trusts, and fully releasing them with the words, "yet, not what I want, but what you want."

Our Father Benedict teaches us in this chapter that the road of obedience brings us to God, and I perceive that the road of obedience Jesus walked in Gethsemane is the same road we all must walk among our own emotions and desires.  It is a road from total ownership to complete release.

Benedictine obedience comes down the point at which we, in the thick of our emotions and desires submit to another.  It is a painfully difficult practice.  It requires the laying down of whatever story I tell myself that justifies my self-interested feelings and behavior.  And at no time are my self-interested feelings more intense than when I am in conflict.  Yet it is precisely at this point that our Father Benedict instructs us to face the matter head on, putting aside excuses or blame.  He would have us to own and release our feelings of self-interest.

The next time you find yourself being offended, imagine extending a blessing rather than a rebuttal or a curse.  Seek the place within yourself from which you can own your feelings, release them to God, and genuinely offer a blessing to the one who has offended you.  And the next time you find yourself having given offense, imagine setting aside explanations and asking for unqualified forgiveness.  Seek the place within yourself that you do not need to defend, that is safe enough with God that you are able to be wrong.  This is the inner freedom that St. Benedict seeks to cultivate within us.

Br. Chad

Monday, April 28, 2014

April 28

Feast of St. Mark the Evangelist (transferred)

The Rule of St. Benedict: Chapter 72


I have often found it easy to set myself up as judge and executer.  From my perspective trapped behind my two small eyes, I succumb to the temptation to act as though I see the world as it is, unadorned and objective.  My angry reactions are then justified as acts of defense in the service of Truth and Justice.  Our Father Benedict seeks to uproot this disposition here in Chapter 70.  Sr. Joan comments,
Benedictine spirituality depended on personal commitment and community support, not on intimidation and brutality.  Benedict makes it clear that the desire for good is no excuse for the exercise of evil on its behalf. . . . To become what we hate--as mean as the killers, as obsessed as the haters--is neither the goal nor the greatness of the spiritual life.
As Benedictines, let us consider carefully the posture we assume toward each other, with those we encounter in our daily lives, and with our ideological adversaries.  As much as it might appear at times to be the case, we have not been set up as vigilantes for God's own Truth.

Br. Chad

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Faithfulness

Sermon given on the Second Sunday of Easter, April 27, 2014 
St. Augustine's Episcopal Parish, Tempe, Arizona 
Br. Chad-Joseph, OSBCn


Faithfulness

Can I just say that I’ve had a heck of a couple weeks?  I’m a full-time student in a Master of Divinity program at a Christian institution that doesn’t take a break for Holy Week.  So in between the four extra services of Holy Week for which I had significant responsibilities, I was busy reading, writing about, and discussing process theology, mission and evangelism, and Sufi mysticism . . . not to mention that the week ended with THE BIGGEST single service of the year that requires significantly more work to pull off than a typical Sunday.  By the end of the Easter Day Mass I hardly had a voice, and I wanted, after breaking my Lenten fast with a couple good beers, to crawl into my nice warm bed and sleep for two days.  But then came LAST week, which entailed a whirlwind trip to Denver for school on Wednesday and Thursday, making Monday and Tuesday anything but restful as I completed mid-term projects and tried to get a leg up on preparing for today.  Oh, and did I say I have a young family and my wife works full-time? And hey, look, Fr. Gil’s gone, and I’m preaching today!

Sometimes it’s really hard to be a white, middle class, straight, American male, I’ve gotta say.  Life can really take its toll.  Yeah, I’m never truly hungry, and I don’t fear for my bodily safety or fear discrimination or that I won’t have a place for my family to sleep tonight, but sometimes I don’t have time to relax in front of my favorite episodes.  Yeah, I don’t actually work 80+ hours per week cleaning houses during the day and office buildings at night so that I can send most of my earnings to my family in Guatemala, but I haven’t had a proper vacation since last June, and I’m itching to see the beach or hike in the mountains.



The Gospel reading for today features the story of “doubting Thomas,” the apostle whom John the Evangelist throws under the bus while building his case against those who require proof in order to believe in the Resurrection. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe,” declares Jesus at the end of a quite dramatic exchange between himself and the no-longer-doubting Thomas.  I think poor Thomas gets a bad rap, however, not because I find skepticism virtuous or laudable in and of itself, but because he’s no worse than the rest of the male apostles, at least according to Luke’s Gospel.  After Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James returned from the tomb where they had encountered the two men in dazzling clothes and told the remaining eleven male apostles that Jesus had risen, Luke writes about the eleven that “these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them.”  Yeah, it’s doubting Thomas, right, John?  Nice try.

Most of the preaching I’ve heard about today’s Gospel follows the line of St. John’s thought about the nature of faith, about the role of doubt, and about the place of belief even when we haven’t seen for ourselves the marks of the nails on the risen body of Jesus.  Some say we should be the blessed ones who have come to believe even though we have not seen.  Some say that mature faith embraces doubt rather than forbidding it.  This line of thinking is important, and there is much to be learned from the contrast between seeing and not seeing in matters of belief.  But by considering these issues only from the perspective of the male apostles, regarding only their choices and their actions, it seems to me that our view of the human experience is distorted by the same lens of privilege through which I just presented my experience of being overwhelmed over the last couple weeks.  While looking through that lens, I fail to see the untiring network of relational support that makes my life possible, and, in my case, it is a network of brilliant, kind, generous, faithful women.  I would like for us to attempt to move out from behind that lens this morning.  So, let’s back up a little in the Gospel narrative and ask the question of belief from a different angle.  The question I would like to consider is this:

What does faithfulness look like when you have nothing left to believe in?

To find an answer to this question, we can’t look to any of the men in the story.  According to our Gospel today, when they thought all hope was lost in the wake of Jesus’ execution, they locked themselves behind strong doors for fear of the authorities.  But one detail on which all four of the canonical Gospels agree in their accounts of the Resurrection, and there are not many details on which they all agree, is that the women did not do the same.  Listen to the account found in the Gospel of Mark.

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, ‘Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?’

I ask again, what does faithfulness look like when you have nothing left to believe in?  It looks like Mary Magdalene.  It looks like Mary the mother of James.  It looks like the other women, Salome, Joanna, and those left unnamed who didn’t cower behind a locked door, but who spent their money on spices and awoke early to prepare the body of a failed Messiah for a proper Jewish burial . . . a failed Messiah whose crucifixion two days earlier shattered their every hope for the future . . . a failed Messiah whose death indicated that the beliefs he had nurtured within them about themselves, about each other, about the world, about God were wrong.  And yet still they faithfully observed the Sabbath, they purchased expensive spices, and, as the sun came up on the third day, they walked towards what they thought was a dead body on the other side of an immovable stone.  St. Mark continues:

When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.  He has been raised; he is not here.  Look, there is the place they laid him.

This is what faithfulness looks like.  This is the place where the very power of the living God to re-create and to transform intersects with the human experience.  We can talk about the eleven and about Thomas and about how they encountered Jesus or the news about Jesus and how they believed or didn’t believe, just like I can talk about my crazy couple weeks and how hard it is to be me right now and all that it’s teaching me about patience and endurance.  But if we want to see the places where God shows up in true brilliance and surprise, we need to remove the lens that privileges the perspective of men and look to the margins where faithfulness endures in the face of heartache and brokenness and exhaustion and hope-shattering failure.

That’s where the real apostles live. 

That’s the place where the first “Alleluia” enters the world.

Amen.