"Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living one. I was dead, and see, I am alive forever and ever; and I have the keys of Death and of Hades. Now write what you have seen, what is, and what is to take place after this." Rev. 1:17-19.

Thursday, June 28, 2018

Say Yes to the Dress


This is a sermon for Epiphany 2C, prepared for a class. Hopefully I'll get to preach it someday!
Isaiah 62:1-5
For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, until her vindication shines out like the dawn, and her salvation like a burning torch. 2The nations shall see your vindication, and all the kings your glory; and you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will give. 3You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. 4You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate; but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her, and your land Married; for the Lord delights in you, and your land shall be married. 5For as a young man marries a young woman, so shall your builder marry you, and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you.


          For a young bride, it's all about the dress. I know, since my teenage daughter used to make me watch hours of the TLC reality show, "Say Yes to the Dress." Now in its eighteenth season, the show follows the ups and downs of a bride choosing her wedding dress. As friends cheer her on, the bride works with a consultant from the store to select THE perfect dress for her big day. It's a dress that will make her feel beautiful, a dress that will make her parents weep to see their baby all grown up. Most of all, it's a dress that will soon make the waiting groom swoon with desire as his beloved walks down the aisle.  Only when she finds the perfect dress will the bride exult, "Yes!" and hand over her credit card. Some of these dresses can cost as much as $10,000.[1]
Why is the dress such a big deal? Why is this show so popular? As one TV critic points out, "it's one of the only programs whose premise centers around a woman feeling pleasure in her body, in her choices."[2] You see, in the "right" dress, the bride feels good about herself. For a little while, she feels utterly desirable.
In the Bible, too, there is just something about the dress. The Psalmist sings of the regal bride "decked in her chamber with gold-woven robes; in many-colored robes she is led to the king."[3] In the Book of Revelation, the Church-as-bride has also "made herself ready; to her it has been granted to be clothed with fine linen, bright and pure— for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints."[4] In today's reading from the prophet Isaiah, war-scarred Jerusalem is to be adorned for the delight of her Bridegroom. She will become a jeweled crown, "a royal diadem" in God's hand. No longer undesirable and unwanted, she will become the recipient of God's delight. No longer barren and abandoned, she will be the joy of her Bridegroom.[5] Even our liturgy wants to dress up the bride. The proper preface for marriage in our Prayer Book offers thanksgiving to God, "because in the love of wife and husband, you have given us an image of the heavenly Jerusalem, adorned as a bride for her bridegroom, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord."[6]
There are definitely gender expectations at play here. We have no TV series about a groom saying "Right-o" to the tuxedo. Neither do descriptions of weddings in the Bible center on what the groom is wearing. In the biblical bride and groom metaphor, God is always the desiring groom, and we human beings are the female bride, our beauty and adornment seen through the bridegroom's eyes.
Even more shocking, the word for "groom" in the Hebrew Scriptures is often associated with violence. Bridegrooms can be portrayed either as victims or as perpetrators. Moreover, most are eventually separated from or abandon their brides![7] Even Jesus, when comparing himself to a bridegroom, points out in Matthew that one day the bridegroom will be taken from the wedding guests, and their joy will turn to fasting.[8]
Continuing in that vein, we Christians tend to see the divine bridegroom through the lens of the violence and sacrifice of the Cross. In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, Christians spend each day of Holy Week immersed in the liturgy of the Bridegroom Matins, preparing themselves for the crucifixion of their groom. The medieval mystic Catherine of Siena imagines herself betrothed to Christ with a wedding ring of his bloody foreskin. Her crucified bridegroom clothes her not in beauty, but in the raiment of suffering. Her new bridal gown allows her to join the Crucified Groom in his sacrifice, for the sake of the world.[9] If the men among us are feeling left out, you might want to look at some Northern Renaissance art.[10] In these paintings, St. John is portrayed as Jesus' bride. And in one painting of St. Bernard, we see Jesus perched on the Cross. He gazes with love down upon St. Bernard, who rests his head contentedly on his crucified bridegroom's outstretched arm.[11] Here, the bride is male, but still submissive in posture and held in the dying bridegroom's loving gaze.
Hmmm … we have a bridegroom condemned to death by the state, a wedding under threat of violence, a submissive bride cloaked in her bridegroom's gaze … I see some similar patterns in a strange and disturbing modern phenomenon: women who marry death-row inmates. This happens more often than you might think! White, lonely, often well-to-do women begin corresponding with violent offenders on death row. They hope to do a good deed by providing these men with a friendly pen pal. But they fall in love! They marry, but by proxy. The women indulge in the purchase of a gorgeous white wedding gown and, with a stand-in for the incarcerated groom, they are wed. They then stick by their man until his execution, continuing their romance mainly through letters and photos. For love of these men, the new brides are willing to risk ostracism, loss of custody of their children, and even possible harm at the hands of their new husband. Psychologists point out that these women suffer from low self-esteem and a sense of powerlessness in their lives. In death row marriages, they find new and intoxicating power as the "savior" of their imprisoned spouse.[12] And their self-image is boosted through the elaborate letters of their bridegroom. The men's letters are typically filled with "over-the-top schmaltz and declarations of undying love."[13] As one woman bubbles with new-found confidence: “When I see [my husband at the prison] he always says I look beautiful. I am the love of his life."[14]
I am not saying that our God is a charmingly manipulative serial killer. But I do believe that this phenomenon shows how desperate we human beings are to be upheld in a loving gaze, how desperate we are for the affirmation of a Bridegroom. Like the awkward teens binge-watching, "Say Yes to the Dress," we are all frantic to be seen in our true beauty—yet we doubt that we are worthy of being named with delight. We are like the battered woman in a church-run shelter who looks around at the richly "dressed" sanctuary after Eucharist. Taking in the adornments of silver, stained-glass, candles, hymns, and rich liturgy, she gasps in almost disbelieving amazement, "Oh, it's so pretty. All these pretty things—and they're here for me!"[15] Can it be that all of the extravagant love that adorns us in the eyes of our Bridegroom is real? It is so hard for us to believe.
My friend Judy believed it, though, and she was buried in her wedding dress. Judy was never a bride, as society would conceive it. She never had a church wedding, and her bridegroom was also a proxy. But Judy, like many born with Down Syndrome, had been given the gift of seeing the love and beauty in all of our souls, even her own. She watched her siblings get married, one by one, and she knew that the joy of the wedding feast belonged to her, too. She talked with delight about her invisible bridegroom Jim, and she planned her wedding often. Her parents bought her a beautiful white gown and veil, and her pastor brother would recite the words of the ceremony and sing the "Wedding Song" to her. Other siblings would stand in for Jim, and they would celebrate afterwards with sparkling apple "champagne." Her family remembers those oft repeated weddings with awe: Judy sparkled with love in her wedding dress, a sign of our Beloved's delight. I didn't meet Judy until a form of Alzheimer's had robbed her of her memory and of her ability to speak. But it had not robbed her of the crown of beauty that Love bestowed on her at their marriage. Dressed one last time in her wedding gown, she went to meet the Bridegroom in his chamber, firm in the faith that he is waiting with anticipation for her arrival.
The Bridegroom sings to us, his Church, in Bach's Advent Cantata, "Forget … now the fear, the pain which you have had to suffer; upon My left hand you shall rest, and My right hand shall kiss you."[16] Join the Bridegroom in saying, "Yes" to the dress of his delight. Come to the wedding feast, prepared for you—for you—from the foundation of the world.


[1] Allie Volpe, "The Radical Way 'Yes to the Dress' Speaks to Women," April 16, 2018, accessed June 25, 2018, https://www.thrillist.com/entertainment/nation/say-yes-to-the-dress-kleinfeld-bridals-empowering.
[2]Ibid.
[3] Psalm 45, All citations are from the NRSV.
[4] Revelation 19:7-8.
[5] In the Hebrew Scriptures, this word "forsaken" usually refers to a woman forsaken by her husband. "Desolate" refers to a childless woman. See John D. Watts, "Isaiah 34-66,"The Word Biblical Commentary, (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2005), 882.
[6] The Book of Common Prayer (New York: Church Publishing, 1986), 381.
[7] Marianne Blickenstaff, "Bridegroom," The New Interpreter's Dictionary of the Bible, ed. Katharine Doob Sakenfeld (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2006), 503.
                [8] Matthew 9:14-15.                                              
[9] Catherine of Siena, Saint Catherine of Siena as Seen in Her Letters, ed. and trans. Vida D. Scudder (New York: E.P. Dutton, 1905), 160. https://play.google.com/books/reader?id=LWNjf0Z4lyQC&printsec=frontcover&output=reader&hl=en&pg=GBS.PR1.
[10] Kathleen Kamerick, review of Saintly Brides and Bridegrooms: The Mystic Marriage in Northern Renaissance Art, by Diskant Muir, Renaissance Quarterly 67, no. 1 (Spring 2014): 216, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/676177.
[12] Julie Bindel, "In Love with a Death Row  Dandy," New Statesman, 29 November 2012, https://www.newstatesman.com/lifestyle/lifestyle/2012/11/love-death-row-dandy.
[13] Ibid.
[14] Ibid.
[15] Jay Emerson Johnson, Divine Communion: A Eucharistic Theology of Sexual Intimacy (New York: Seabury Books, 2013), 111.
[16] JS Bach, "Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme," BWV 140, http://www.emmanuelmusic.org/notes_translations/translations_cantata/t_bwv140.htm, accessed June 17, 2018.

Saturday, May 12, 2018

Here on Earth, A Footprint of the Christian Life


Easter 7, Year B


          This past Thursday was Ascension Day. In the Book of Acts, we see Jesus mounting up to heaven, leaving his astounded disciples behind in order to return to the Father. The Ascension is often portrayed awkwardly in paintings, where artists show Jesus rising up head first into the clouds. This week, though, I saw an Ascension photo on Facebook that has stuck with me … And not in a good way. Someone had made a huge inflatable Jesus torso, with a big fluffy balloon cloud at his waist. Holding a bunch of balloons, and fired from below like a hot air balloon, this giant Jesus was indeed floating up into the sky. The worst part, for me, was that he had a goofy smile on his cartoon-like face and a dopey look in his heavy-lidded eyes. I was not amused.
          Children, you know that I usually like a good joke—and that's what this balloon Jesus might have been. But this cartoon figure reminded me of the "cartoon Christianity" that we sometimes carve out of today's lessons from John and I John. "Eternal life" becomes a heavenly prize that we win by following the rules here on earth. The "truth" belongs to Christians alone. "Believing" becomes proclaiming a bunch of statements about Jesus and the bible. When the cartoon Jesus and the cartoon Christianity fill the airwaves in such a way that everyone thinks that is what all Christians think, I want to take a stick to those claims, poking holes in the plastic and letting out all of the hot air!
          For today, then, instead of standing on the ground and watching Jesus zoom up to heaven in some silly way, let's take a different look at Jesus' Ascension.
          I think that Jesus must have been plagued with longing as he was pulled away from the earth. A few years ago I was flying back home after visiting two of my adult children in New York City where they were grad students. As the plane took off, and I watched the gray tangle of buildings grow smaller, my heart started to ache. I thought about my "babies" moving around in that labyrinth below, now mere invisible specks of fragile humanity, lost in a vast and complex city. How strange it was to feel the distance narrowing my ability to guide and protect them. There is something about being pulled away from a beloved place by powerful jet engines that has always tugged at my heart. Something about breaking through the gravity of attachment to the dear people who remain in that place always sets me to longing. I wonder: Perhaps those feelings of forced separation and loss, of worry and loss of ability to walk alongside us, might have tugged at Jesus' heart, too, as he returned to his Father at the Ascension.
          This is certainly an image that fits with today’s Gospel lesson, which takes place at the Last Supper. Before he leaves his disciples to face death and the Cross, Jesus is praying for them, and then for us, "those who will believe … through [the disciples.]" Just as I prayed for my children as they wandered the dangerous streets of New York, Jesus asks God to protect his friends on earth and to knit them together into one body. Like any worried parent, he wishes his beloved friends both joy and wisdom. He knows that we, his followers, are remaining behind in a dangerous world, a world where temptation and suffering lurk around every corner. As he is pulled away, he asks God to keep us safely in relationship with him.
 [Right now, I invite the children to think about the friends that they have made this past school year, for the classrooms and teachers that they will soon leave behind for the summer. Some of you may be changing schools in the fall, or even moving up into middle or high school. In your head, or on the paper in your worship bag, pray for your friends this morning, like Jesus prays for us. You can draw a picture of each of your friends, and as you draw, thank God for their friendship and ask Jesus to be with them this summer. Or write a prayer for them and for your favorite teachers. You can put your prayers in the offering plate later, if you'd like, and we will offer them up to God as we bring up the bread and wine and money at the Eucharist.][1]
I like the idea of Jesus praying for me always, holding onto me across the distance, blessing my daily comings and goings in this complex world. I like the idea of him praying constantly for the Church, too, for our communities and our unity with God and one another. Jesus' prayer for us is not just a comfort, however. It has transforming power. When my children went off to college, I gave each of them a framed family picture to take with them, hoping that they would look at it from time to time. I hoped that the picture would help them to remember who they are, where they come from, and most of all, that they will always be my beloved children, even as they began to make their own way in the world. In a similar way, in his prayer for us today, Jesus covers us lovingly with a cloak of identity. John writes in chapter 10 that Jesus is “the one whom the Father has sanctified and sent into the world.” In our lesson, Jesus prays that we, whom he has sent into the world, may be sanctified, as he is. Jesus names us with the same names that God has given him: the names “sanctified” and “sent.”
To be "sanctified" is to be made holy. Cartoon Christianity makes holiness into a kind of phony piety. Instead, when Jesus says here that he's going to "make himself holy," he's actually talking about stepping forward into his death on the cross. Instead of his holiness setting him apart from us human beings, his holiness thrusts him down into the messiest part of being human—into a criminal's death.
For us to be holy like Jesus is holy, then, is no easy matter. It is a call for us to go where life is most difficult, where there is risk and messiness and pain.[2] We don't just set off alone into random danger, however. We go into the winding alleyways of life in Jesus' name. We are "sent" by Jesus who is our pattern and our strength. Jesus sends us into all of the places where he went: to people who are bound in darkness, to people who long for God and don't know it, to people who are oppressed, or ill, or full of evil. In these treacherous places, we shine the gift of God's light. Have you ever met someone who says or writes something that challenges you deep inside, that helps you to see yourself in a new way? Have you ever met someone whose life casts a new light on the world, so that you can't look at life in the same way again? That's what a truly holy person does, one whose very being testifies to the light and freedom that Jesus brings into the world.[3] In his prayer, Jesus shows us the path that we must take through the losses, perils, and pitfalls of the world. It is walking this path that brings "eternal life," a life lived in God and in God's love, a life of eternal depth and the joy of God's boundless presence.
If you go to the Chapel of the Ascension in Jerusalem, you will find there a faint indentation on the large, cracked stone at the center. Tour guides will tell you that this mark is supposed to be the right footprint of Jesus. Legend has it that the mark was emblazoned on the stone by whatever divine energy propelled Jesus up into heaven. I see this footprint as a counter to the cartoon Jesus and the cartoon Christianity. With Jesus’ prayer ringing in our ears, we can see this footprint as an invitation to place our feet there where Jesus once stood. Jesus’ print becomes the starting point on our mission to walk in his way, to be one with God in Christ Jesus, to put our communal feet courageously into the huge prints that Jesus’ feet have made in the world. We have a choice: we can stand on the sidelines and stare slack-jawed into the clouds, searching for the cartoon Jesus. Or we can take the risk of living the life that Jesus prays so longingly for us to have, and we can put our footprint on the stone, in his.


[2] Rowan Williams, Being Disciples: Essentials of the Christian Life, (Grand Rapids: Eerdman's, 2016), 50.

[3]Ibid., 53.