Some parishes like to do Reformation Day on October 31 or the nearly day to the exact day, the day when over four hundred years ago Martin Luther posted his 95 Theses on the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg, Germany. Daniel B. Clendenin in his weekly posting of The Journey with Jesus writes a Reformation Day essay for the Lutheran end-of-October festival. Clendenin’s essays are always insightful, readable, and provocative. His essay on the Reformation and on ecclesia reformata sed semper reformanda, “the church reformed, but always needing to be reformed.” is especially good, reminding us that there have been many notable reformers in the life of the Church–Luther, Calvin, and John Wesley, among many others. May the Church always be formed and reformed in Christ.
Archive for October, 2009
The Journey with Jesus – Novemmber 1, Another Reformation Day
Tuesday, October 27th, 2009Reformation Day: A Sermon
Tuesday, October 27th, 2009
Last week June and I drove down to Georgia from Kentucky, and right now I’m posting from the lake house, away from my home parish, Faith Lutheran Church, in Lexington, Kentucky. It came as a surprise this week when I found out by email that last Sunday, known as “Reformation Sunday” among us Lutherans that my pastor had taken a breather from his pulpit duties and turned the sermon over to someone else. Though absent from the pulpit, he was, however, gracious enough to send me one of his older homilies, one he preached on October 29, 2006. Although it was delivered three years ago, it is as good as yesterday. Based loosely on Romans 3.19-28 and St. John 8.31-36, the message of this sermon Pastor Luckey surely needs annual repeating, especially on what we Lutherans call “Reformation Sunday.”
+ + +
There was a time when Reformation Day was a very big deal in the Lutheran Church. Once upon a time, normally mild mannered, shy Lutherans went a little crazy and put a liturgical lamp shade on their heads and had a party once a year.
It was a custom back then typically for all the Lutheran churches in town or in the surrounding towns to get together for one big combined service on the Sunday evening closest to October 31st. All the choirs would get together and practice ahead of time and sing a big song. All the pastors in the area would process down the aisle in those black cassocks we used to wear with the million buttons down the front and the white flowing things that came down to your knees—surplices they were called. Black and white—looked like the march of the penguins! The altar was draped in red, and the pastors wore red stoles around their necks.
The preacher for the evening—usually the most eloquent of the bunch or some hired gun from out of town—would stand in the pulpit and preach his best sermon on salvation by grace through faith alone.
Nobody said it out loud, of course, but in those days, as much as anything, Reformation Day was the day set aside to celebrate that we were not Roman Catholics. We stood off by ourselves in those days, like the Pharisee in Jesus’ story, and prayed: “Lord, we thank you we are not like others—like those Catholics down the street—who don’t read the Bible, and who worship Mary.
In all too many cases once upon a time, the preacher in his sermon would take a jab at the Roman Catholic Church on Reformation Day. I remember John Brokhoff preaching a sermon one Reformation Day entitled: “We Listen Only To a Paper Pope.” Everybody nodded. We got the message. We read the Bible. They don’t. We don’t listen to some little old man in Rome. We get it straight from the horse’s mouth. Reformation Day sermons back then sometimes spoke in hushed tones about whiskey priests and lusty nuns and secret tunnels that connected convents to monasteries. (more…)
A Prayer by the Lake
Saturday, October 24th, 2009June and I drove down to our lakehouse in Georgia on Thursday, and yesterday she, along with twenty or so of her Bible-class friends, headed up to the mountains of northern Georgia, for a weekend retreat. That leaves me here by myself. After a somewhat sleepless night, I awoke this morning, did Prayers, and have since decided that I would do 
the day with a fast. Quite frankly, I’m not very good at fasting, and so it was with some considerable welcome that, when listening to Ancient Faith Radio, I heard a prayer by 
St. Nikolai Velimirovich. It was from a collection of his prayers published in Prayers by the Lake, available online. Unacquainted with St. Nikolai Velimirovich, I began rummaging around his prayers and found this one, designed providentailly for me on this Saturday:
Prayers by the Lake – XLI
With fasting I gladden my hope in You, my Lord, Who are to come again.
Fasting hastens my preparation for Your coming, the sole expectation of my days and nights.
Fasting makes my body thinner, so that what remains can more easily shine with the spirit.
While waiting for You, I wish neither to nourish myself with blood nor to take life–so that the animals may sense the joy of my expectation.
But truly, abstaining from food will not save me. Even if I were to eat only the sand from the lake, You would not come to me, unless the fasting penetrated deeper into my soul.
I have come to know through my prayer, that bodily fasting is more a symbol of true fasting, very beneficial for someone who has only just begun to hope in You, and nevertheless very difficult for someone who merely practices it.
Therefore I have brought fasting into my soul to purge her of many impudent fiancé’s and to prepare her for You like a virgin.
And I have brought fasting into my mind, to expel from it all daydreams about worldly matters and to demolish all the air castles, fabricated from those daydreams.
I have brought fasting into my mind, so that it might jettison the world and prepare to receive Your Wisdom.
And I have brought fasting into my heart, so that by means of it my heart might quell all passions and worldly selfishness.
I have brought fasting into my heart, so that heavenly peace might ineffably reign over my heart, when Your stormy Spirit encounters it.
I prescribe fasting for my tongue, to break itself of the habit of idle chatter and to speak reservedly only those words that clear the way for You to come.
And I have imposed fasting on my worries so that it may blow them all away before itself like the wind that blows away the mist, lest they stand like dense fog between me and You, and lest they turn my gaze back to the world.
And fasting has brought into my soul tranquility in the face of uncreated and created realms, and humility towards men and creatures. And it has instilled in me courage, the likes of which I never knew when I was armed with every sort of worldly weapon.
What was my hope before I began to fast except merely another story told by others, which passed from mouth to mouth?
The story told by others about salvation through prayer and fasting became my own.
False fasting accompanies false hope, just as no fasting accompanies hopelessness.
But just as a wheel follows behind a wheel, so true fasting follows true hope.
Help me to fast joyfully and to hope joyously, for You, my Most Joyful Feast, are drawing near to me with Your radiant smile.
While I realize that Jesus tells us not to announce our fastings with fanfare (we should rather put some oil on our faces and avoid sanctimoneous self-attention), I think it’s okay in this posting to talk about fasting generally and use whatever resources the Church gives us to take seriously our Lord’s injunction that we ought fast a fairly regular habit, a habit to be practiced as regularly as prayer (Matthew 6.5-18). Certainly Christians in previous generations have found fasting helpful in the formation of their interior lives. Francis of Assisi was a faster, as was Luther, Calvin, and Knox. John Wesley followed the example of the disciples in fasting twice a week. In Haiti my friend Honore Roger fasts twice a week so that he can give some of his food to his more poor neighbors. Roger understands the saying: “If you have a full stomach, it is not likely that you think of those who are hungry.”
So why do I want to fast on this Saturday while my wife is on a retreat with her friends? Mostly it’s so I c
an spiritually be a friend with Honore Roger, so that in some small way I can understand what it’s like to be hungry, so that God can bend my thinking and spirit toward those who live in poverty. Such poverty may express itself in many ways: many simply live in a country like Haiti and are poor by default; some are poor because they have no friends, others are poor and live without a love for life, still others are financially impoverished, perhaps in overwhelming debt, living without employment, or sick and without health insurance. It may be that today that God will introduce me to some of these people. It may be that a day of not eating as usual will help me, as a disciple of Jesus, to help those who are poor as they come to me or as I happen to meet them.
For more information about Christian fasting, visit the following:
Your Personal Guide to Fasting and Prayer
Global Fast / Food for the Poor
Christian Fasting: A Theological Approach
Pastor Luckey’s Pentecost 20 Sermon
Tuesday, October 20th, 2009
Last Sunday, 18 October 2009, was the Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, and the Gospel proclamation for the day was read from St. Mark 10:35-45. It’s quite a story, and Pastor Luckey, having given it his best lectio divina–the practice of “sacred reading”–throughout the preceding week, gave all of us at Faith Lutheran Church the Good News as taught and lived by Our Lord Jesus. During the sermon Pastor Luckey refers to Marie, a woman from Haiti. She was our parish’s guest on Sunday morning. I’m enclosing a photograph of her at the end of the sermon. First, the Gospel, Mark 10:35-45:
35 Then James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came to him. “Teacher,” they said, “we want you to do for us whatever we ask.” 3 6“What do you want me to do for you?” he asked. 37They replied, “Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory.” 38“You don’t know what you are asking,” Jesus said. “Can you drink the cup I drink or be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with?” 39“We can,” they answered. Jesus said to them, “You will drink the cup I drink and be baptized with the baptism I am baptized with, 40but to sit at my right or left is not for me to grant. These places belong to those for whom they have been prepared.”
41When the ten heard about this, they became indignant with James and John. 42Jesus called them together and said, “You know that those who are regarded as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. 43Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, 44and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all. 45For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”
Now the sermon:
I have a big, fat book sitting on the shelf next to my desk entitled “The Synonym Finder.” You know what a synonym is. A synonym is a word that means the same thing as another word. Take, for instance, the word, “congregation.” You look the word “congregation” up in my big, fat book and you find words like “gathering,” “assembly,” “parish.” This week, the word “glory” popped up in the gospel reading for today. And since the word “glory” only appears three times in the entire gospel of Mark, I knew it played a big part in today’s gospel reading.
So I decided to look up the word “glory.” I found words like “majesty,” “splendor, “honor,” “recognition.” That’s what “glory” is. That’s what we’ve been taught glory is. Glory is something that shines. That’s what James and John were after when they “came forward to Jesus and said to him: ‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you . . . . Grant us the right to sit one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.’ ”
James and John wanted glory. They wanted recognition. They wanted to be honored. And they figured a little splendor on the side wouldn’t hurt either. You have to hand it to them. They knew what they wanted, and they went after it. “Teacher,” they said. “We’ll cut to the chase. We want the seat down front. We want glory.”
You know folks like that. You remember that kid on the playground who used to hog the ball at recess and shoot every time he got it. Nobody liked that kid in school. After all these years, I still resent that kid. I can tell you his name. His name was John. Or was it James?
The disciples didn’t like James and John for the same reason. They were always hogging the ball. Always wanting to be at the microphone. They never wanted to be secretary of the committee. There was no glory in that. “Make us chairmen.” Mark says: “When the ten heard (this request), they began to be angry with James and John.”
I can understand that. I never liked that kid on the playground. But to be honest, as much as we pick on James and John for shooting every time they got the basketball, down deep we all wish we got a chance to score. We all want recognition for something we’ve done. We’d love to be honored. Isn’t it true?
Why do you think the other disciples got mad at James and John? Because James and John were stealing their glory. The fact is, I don’t know anybody who doesn’t want their moment in the sun. There’s no better feeling than to be at the back of the room all humble and quiet, and the guy at the podium suddenly points you out to the crowd for something you’ve done. It’s glory. And it feels good.
Yeah, we say: “Aw, shucks. It was nothing.” Nothing, my foot! There are few things more satisfying than glory. We’ll go to war for glory. We’ll die for glory. Glory shines.
That’s the reason Mark included this story in his gospel. Because he knows that deep down we all want glory. This story is not about James and John. Mark didn’t tell this story to tell us about two historical characters named James and John. He told this story, because it’s about us. It’s about the James and John in all of us just below the surface.
Glory shines. At least, that’s what we’ve been taught. That glory shines.
But then, along comes Jesus—whom we call “Lord”—who has a whole different take on the subject of glory. His book of synonyms is different from ours. When he looks up the word “glory,” he doesn’t find the same words we do—recognition, majesty, splendor. It’s obvious that Jesus didn’t care one bit for glory that shines. Read the gospels. He never flexed his muscles. Never showed off his medals. Never got mad when people didn’t notice him. Never pushed his way to the front of the line. Even at his baptism, he waited in line. He didn’t cut in line: “Pardon me, I’m the Messiah. Let me go first.” He was a strange man. He wasn’t interested in recognition or being honored. He just did his thing. Went about the business of giving his life away on behalf of others.
Majesty and splendor were the last things on his mind. In fact, as we saw last week, when somebody even called him “good,” he immediately batted the compliment away and said: “Don’t call me good. Only God is good.”
This is a strange master we follow, you know that? What makes this request by James and John so pitiful—so comical—is that right before they ask for glory, Jesus just told his disciples for the third time that he is on his way to suffer and die. He and his disciples were on the road to Jerusalem, and he stops and turns around and says: “I want to give you a heads up. Where we’re headed I’m going to be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they are going to condemn me to death. They will hand me over to the Gentiles. They will mock me and spit on me, and flog me and kill me.” Jesus is very specific. It’s unmistakable. And right after that.
I’m telling you the truth. The words have hardly gotten out of Jesus’ mouth when James and John say: “Well, that’s interesting and all, but if you don’t mind us changing the subject, give us the ball so we can shoot.” They just didn’t get it, you see? They didn’t understand this strange kind of glory that Jesus seeks.
I can’t blame them. Crucifixion was an outrageous path to glory. When we think of crucifixion we think of the Romans just taking the prisoner outside and nailing him to a cross, and that was that. But crucifixion was one long drawn out process of public humiliation—not glory. The prisoner had all his clothes removed and paraded through the streets for everybody to point and laugh and mock. The prisoner was beaten like a dog within an inch of his life. The prisoner was hung out on a billboard like dirty laundry to bleed to death and suffocate while the crowds spit and jeered and booed. This is glory? That’s not what we’ve been taught. But for Jesus, you can’t have any greater glory than to suffer and die for somebody else. It’s a strange kind of glory Jesus calls us to.
![Marie_JK_IMG_6336_copya[1]](http://andrewharnack.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/Marie_JK_IMG_6336_copya1-150x150.jpg "Marie_JK_IMG_6336_copya[1]")
I have a dear friend named Marie. She was born and raised in Haiti and lived her early life there. Then she went to the United States to live. She had a pretty easy life in “the States” nursing rich folks and being a housekeeper for them. She did such a good job that one of those rich folks left her a house and a fine car when he and his wife died. Marie was set for life. But then one day, as she was praying Jesus offered her glory. In her prayers she heard Jesus say: “Marie, I want you to go back to Haiti and serve me there.” And she said: “But Jesus, I have glory here.” And Jesus said: “No, no, no. No, you don’t. I’ll show you glory. Go back to Haiti. And drink the cup I drink.” So, Marie left everything—the house, the car—everything—the full grocery stores, the nice restaurants, a safe, clean neighborhood—she left it all behind and moved back to Haiti.
And today, she lives in Port au Prince. Dangerous, dusty, poor Port au Prince. And she runs an orphanage and a school for 200 little kids who would not last two weeks without Marie. Like Jesus said: “Whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” That’s the glory of God. Because you see? Glory doesn’t shine. It bleeds.
Reading Pennington about Merton
Tuesday, October 20th, 2009For the past two days I’ve been reading Basil Pennington’s On Retreat with Thomas Merton. It’s a slight book, easily read in one day (even though I gave it two). I became interested in it for several reasons: first, I knew Fr. Basil personally and have always been interested in his publications; and two, two days ago I found out that his book has a floorplan of Merton’s hermitage. Having always been interested in the future possibility of a hermitage for myself, I was delight to discover a simple true-to-scale floor plan of Merton’s famous hermitage in this book. As I read the book, however, I discovered something more important: how it is that I might improve this blog by writing more personally about my experiences as a Christian who wishes to live a more contemplative life.
In the past I’ve been largely satisfied to share my readings and then somehow comment on a paragraph or observation that someone else has made. While my comments have been genuinely mine, I’ve been aware that it’s time for me, not only to continue the practice of quoting others with my comments, but also now to share my own life more openly, maybe without using someone else’s thought as a springboard to my own. I do this unmediated writiing in a personal journal, and now it seems that with discernment I might also begin to open myself up to others as I struggle to become more contemplative in my daily life.
On Retreat with Thomas Merton lets us read Pennington’s personal journal as he spends a week by himself living in Merton’s hermitage. His week begins on a December 1, the First Sunday in Advent in an undisclosed year, sometime after Merton’s death; it ends a week later on December 8. Alone, Pennington records his thinking and musings as the days pass. He tells us how he fasted and what he ate, what he saw as he looked out the hermitage’s window, what happened to him when he took walks, what he remembers about Merton (whom he nearly always calls “Tom”), and how he opens himself up to the promptings of the Holy Spirit. His journal entires are rhetorically unadorned, straight-forward, and preceptive.
Might I also be somewhat like Fr. Basil in my owning more public writing?
October 6: Remembering William Tyndale
Tuesday, October 6th, 2009Three years ago, on another blog
(no longer used for posting), Mason Smith posted this announcement:
Today (Oct. 6) many Christians will pause to remember English reformer and Bible translator William Tyndale (c. 1494-1536). He is perhaps best known for an early translation of the Bible into English–well before the Authorized (King James) Version of the Bible of 1611. In fact, he was finally executed for his work in translating and making the Scriptures available to the people.
Historian David Daniel, in his introduction of a modern edition of Tyndale’s New Testament has this to say:
William Tyndale’s Bible translations have been the best-kept secrets in English Bible history. Many people have heard of Tyndale: very few have read him. Yet no Englishman–not even Shakespeare–has reached so many.
Tyndale translated the New Testament twice, and continually revised. His 1534 New Testament was his greatest work. . . . [We now know that ] much of the New Testament in the 1611 Authorized Version came directly from Tyndale, as a glance at Luke 2 or most of Colossians or Revelation 21 will show. [In many cases] the rest was [only] subtly changed (vii).
Christians in the English-speaking world owe this 16th century scholar a massive debt of thanks. We might pray a short prayer for him as follows:
Almighty God, thank you for the life and work of your servant William Tyndale, who labored and died that we might have your Holy Word in English. Thank you for this priceless gift, which has comforted and inspired countless millions of English-speaking people around the globe. Please, Lord, bless today the men and women who continue to work to translate and make available the Scriptures to native peoples who have no other avenue to your Gospel. Grant them stength and wisdom in their work, and grant them protection from those who would have this work stopped. We ask this in Jesus’ name, Amen.
A Sermon about Divorce
Monday, October 5th, 2009Dear friends and family,
This posting gives you a sermon I heard at my parish’s Contemplative Eucharist last Sunday evening. The sermon was preached by Pastor Ron Luckey on October 4, 2009, the Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, at Faith Lutheran Church, Lexington Kentucky. The appointed Gospel reading for the day was St. Mark 10.2-16.
As Pastor Luckey indicates early in his sermon, in his previous sermons he had done his best not to preach on Jesus’ words about divorce. In the sermon, however, he admits that while preparing for a sermon, he found himself “thinking a lot” about that avoidance; eventually he became convinced that he should honestly tell us how Jesus’s hard sayings about divorce ought to get themselves worked into our lives. If you are a divorced person, you may want to read this sermon carefully. And if you’re married, engaged, separated from your spouse, single, or whatever, read it too. Everybody should read this sermon.
An important note. In the past I have blogged almost always at www.prayingdailyblog.blogspot.com. I have migrated all postings on that blog to this one, and from now on I will place all my blog postings that have to do with prayer in its many forms, assorted theological musings, observations about the Church’s calendar, and future sermons on this blog. Please feel free to comment on any posting. If you have any questions on how to improve this blogsite, let me know. And if there is any way I can help you, answer questions, or share my thoughts and life with you, feel free to write to me .
Pastor Luckey’s Sermon
+ + +
I don’t know any preacher who likes to preach on this gospel reading about divorce and re-marriage. Pray tell me, where is the good news in these words? “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her. And if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.” There’s no preacher I know who sits down at the desk on Monday and reads that text and says: “Oh, goody!” (more…)
October 4: The Feast of St. Francis
Sunday, October 4th, 2009
The Blessing of Animals at St. John Lutheran Church, Highland Heights, Ohio
Although I suspect that Faith Lutheran Church will observe today as The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, the bulletins of many parishes throughout the world will announce today as The Feast of St. Francis. In some ways I wish the parish at Faith would do the same, but I also suspect that Pastor Luckey will stick with “The 18th” because the Gospel reading will once again be from St. Mark, his favorite Gospel. If your parish is something akin to mine and not remembering St. Francis (with the Blessing of Animals), perhaps you might do as I did this morning. While I was outside doing Morning Prayer, I paused for a few moments and asked God to bless all the animals in and around my neighborhood (I don’t have a animal companion right now): the birds, turtles, opposums, night-digging moles, the bats, cats, dogs, the fish in the nearby pond, the crickets, and all whom I know and don’t know who are crawling around, flying, hiding, and waking up as I. It will be St. Francis Day all day long, and perhaps you’d like to do something of the same. Anytime you ask God to bless his creatures, great and small, is a good time. And any day too.
Living in the "Not-So-Quite-Right" Church
Thursday, October 1st, 2009
Many of us are members of churches wherein at times we feel uncomfortable for one reason or another. Perhaps it’s as small an item as the choice of hymns that don’t seem to fit our needs. For some it may be that the Liturgy seems too traditional; others may believe their Sunday worship lacks any real memory of the church’s historical identity. For others the infiltration of “entertainment worship” is disconcerting. Maybe you feel that the pastor doesn’t get out and visit folks as he should (or you think he should). Worse yet, according to your lights, something is askew with the theology of your pastor, your denomination, your church. Whatever the reason, you squirm in your pew. You think about going elsewhere. If so, listen closely to what William J. Abraham in “Staying the Course: On Unity, Division and Renewal in The United Methodist Church” (Ancient and Postmodern Christianity: Paleo-Orthodoxy in the 21st Century, ed. Kenneth Tanner and Christopher Hall: InterVarity, 2002) suggests:
We need to beware [of] a naive utopianism in our thinking about the church. Even with complete success in the work of renewal, the church will be a fragile and
mixed vessel. Jesus warned us that even the kingdom will have wheat and tares which can only be sorted out at the end of the age. Hence we should be prepared to live with all sorts of difficulties, setbacks, strategic retreats and challenges. If any are discouraged, I urge them to read the writings of the fourth-century leaders. Athanasius complained that when the Arians took over his church in Alexandria, folks were frolicking naked in the baptismal fonts. Yet Athanasius stayed the course, organized the faithful in exile, suffered banishment at least five times and eventually won the day for the gospel and the faith.
