Joshua 3:7-17
The Lord said to
Joshua, “This day I will begin to exalt you in the sight of all Israel, so that
they may know that I will be with you as I was with Moses. You are the
one who shall command the priests who bear the ark of the covenant, ‘When you
come to the edge of the waters of the Jordan, you shall stand still in the
Jordan.’”
Joshua then
said to the Israelites, “Draw near and hear the words of the Lord your God.” Joshua
said, “By this you shall know that among you is the living God who without fail
will drive out from before you the Canaanites, Hittites, Hivites, Perizzites,
Girgashites, Amorites, and Jebusites: the ark of
the covenant of the Lord of all the earth is going to pass before you into the
Jordan. So now
select twelve men from the tribes of Israel, one from each tribe. When the
soles of the feet of the priests who bear the ark of the Lord, the Lord
of all the earth, rest in the waters of the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan
flowing from above shall be cut off; they shall stand in a single heap.”
When the
people set out from their tents to cross over the Jordan, the priests bearing
the ark of the covenant were in front of the people. Now the
Jordan overflows all its banks throughout the time of harvest. So when those
who bore the ark had come to the Jordan, and the feet of the priests bearing
the ark were dipped in the edge of the water, the waters
flowing from above stood still, rising up in a single heap far off at Adam, the
city that is beside Zarethan, while those flowing toward the sea of the Arabah,
the Dead Sea [Salt Sea], were
wholly cut off. Then the people crossed over opposite Jericho. While all
Israel were crossing over on dry ground, the priests who bore the ark of the
covenant of the Lord stood on
dry ground in the middle of the Jordan, until the entire nation finished
crossing over the Jordan.
Reflections: Clearly, the crossing took place at
harvest time; the river was swollen.
I remember
the first time I saw the Cauvery River, which ran by the Christian community where
I lived some months in India (long, long ago). It was carrying the rains from
upstream! Not inviting! The waters ran dirty and deep, carrying detritus from upstream;
within the banks, the eddies were swift and treacherous. Elsewhere, the waters threatened
villages along the river’s edge.
The Jordan too stood as a dangerous barrier
to the promised land. It was in flood—spreading out of its banks, which means deep.
Yet God gives a safe crossing. In a miraculous event that echoes to that at the
Red Sea, the waters are stopped, and the people cross in safety.
God’s presence is carried into the
midst of the threat. Is it because the priests
carry the arc into the waters? Is it because the people themselves are selected to play some role (that isn’t
clarified for us in the text)? Is it because in the midst of the swirling waters
they must stop and be still? Or is it
perhaps because of all of these things that we all make a safe crossing, that
we all move from our wandering into the destiny to which God invites us?Psalm 107:1-7, 33-37
Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good, * and his mercy endures for
ever.
Let all those whom the LORD has redeemed proclaim *
that he redeemed them from
the hand of the foe.
He gathered them out of the lands; *
from the east and from the
west, from the north and from the south.
Some wandered in desert wastes; * they found no way to a city where they
might dwell.
The LORD changed rivers into deserts, * and water-springs into thirsty
ground,
A fruitful land into salt flats, * because of the wickedness of
those who dwell there.
He changed deserts into pools of water * and dry land into
water-springs.
He settled the hungry there, * and they founded a city to dwell in.
They sowed fields, and planted vineyards, * and brought in a
fruitful harvest.
Reflections: The psalm seems to attribute changing fortunes to the virtue of the
peoples. Indeed, when we look at the whole of the psalm, we see that most of it
is devoted to punishment for infidelity to God. Today, some Christians believe
that the good are rewarded, and that those who are suffering do so because they
are guilty or unworthy. But that is not an Episcopal position; indeed that
notion is not a majority Christian position at all. The fact is, there are
welcome events and terrible events, short range and long, and it is very
difficult to determine what is truly good or bad. We tend to evaluate things by
how they make us feel, or how fair or unfair they seem, or how easy or
difficult they make our lives.
But the fact remains that, regardless of our experiences of life, God is a
constant, redeeming presence—rejoicing with us, weeping with us, and continually
wooing us with divine love.
Epistle: 1 Thessalonians 2:9-13
You
remember our labor and toil, brothers and sisters; we worked
night and day, so that we might not burden any of you while we proclaimed to
you the gospel of God. You are
witnesses, and God also, how pure, upright, and blameless our conduct was
toward you believers. As you
know, we dealt with each one of you like a father with his children, urging
and encouraging you and pleading that you lead a life worthy of God, who calls
you into his own kingdom and glory.
We also
constantly give thanks to God for this, that when you received the word of God
that you heard from us, you accepted it not as a human word but as what it
really is, God’s word, which is also at work in you believers.
Reflections: St. Paul
continues to appeal to the Thessalonians to stand firm in what they had
received from God through his preaching. He reinforces the message by reminding
them that even while they were preaching and teaching, he, Sylvanus, and
Timothy had supported themselves financially by working (rather than taking
advantage of the good will of the community). Moreover, the Thessalonians had
not been convinced by clever argument (contrast that to the critics currently
disrupting the community of Thessalonica), but because of God’s inspiration.
That, for St. Paul, is a critical demonstration that his message is authentic.
Gospel: Matthew 23:1-12
Then Jesus said to the crowds and to
his disciples, “The
scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat; therefore,
do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do
not practice what they teach. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to
bear, and lay them on the shoulders of
others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them. They do
all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their phylacteries broad
and their fringes long. They love
to have the place of honor at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, and to be
greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi. But you
are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students
[brothers]. And call
no one your father on earth, for you have one Father—the one in heaven. Nor are
you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah [the
Christ]. The greatest among you will be your
servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble
themselves will be exalted.
Reflections: The second part of this reading is sometimes cited
as a criticism of the practice in sacramental churches of calling a priest
“father” or “mother.” I’m sure you’ve heard the argument. It seems like a
slam-dunk; as some people say, “the Bible says it, and I believe it.”
Indeed, Jesus makes the point here that
we are all equally brothers and sisters, students of the one teacher,
disciples of the one Christ, children of the one God. Even our clergy (ideally,
especially our clergy) know themselves as primarily as children,
students, disciples.
So how is it we can justify calling our
priests “mother” or “father”? I think the answer lies precisely in the fact
that we are a sacramental church. We encounter the Divine Presence
concretely through the sacraments of the church—Baptism and Eucharist, as well
as other key points of our lives. But the whole point of sacrament is that God
is not just “out there somewhere” (or not only out there somewhere J),
but radically present to us. Take this wonderful poem by 15th
century Anglican priest and poet George Herbert, for example:
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THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
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It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
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It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
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Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
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Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
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And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
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And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
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Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
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And for all this, nature is never spent;
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There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
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And though the last lights off the black West went
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Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
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Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
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World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
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Christ’s Incarnation tells us that God is born into the world. Christ is
present in the Eucharist; Christ is borne into the world through us; Christ is
present in the concrete circumstances of our lives.
That we call the priest “father” or “mother” is a recognition—not that a
particular person in leadership is perfect, or more spiritual, or more
beloved by God—but of the mystical reality that God is Emmanuel, truly present
to, with, and in us. The priest stands at the altar as ourselves—human—and as
Christ, making present to us the eternal sacrifice once offered in time and
space. As the disciples who gather around that table, we receive him from his
own hands.
The titles, “father” and “mother” are not about what sets them apart from
ourselves. They are signs for us of the central, and ultimately
incomprehensible truth of our lives, to which they have dedicated theirs.
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