January 14, 2023
Epiphany 2
Friends,
We are, in theory, in the early days of Mark’s Gospel. This is the year of Mark. Just as last year was the year of Matthew, and we read through Matthew from Sunday to Sunday, this year, we read through Mark. Except that we don’t. Not exactly. Because Mark is so short, the lectionary is backfilled with bits and pieces of John’s Gospel to make it all work out over 52 weeks. The year of Mark is padded with the words of John.
So, no sooner is Jesus baptized, than we cut to today’s call of Phillip and Nathaniel, in the Gospel of John and then next Sunday, we’ll cut back to the Gospel of Mark and the call of Andrew. So, part of me resents today’s Gospel.
You see, growing up, there was an ikon of St. Andrew in our dining room. I have no idea why it was there; we didn’t have any other ikons — no ikons of Saints Christian, Charles or Martin, my three brothers. But I am an Andrew (André in French; Andreas in Greek), and the legend on the Greek ikon was “Andrew, the First-Called”. Me. Moi. And I lorded it over my brothers. And so, it bothers me that by the insinuation of the story from the Gospel of John into the arc of the Gospel of Mark, the order of things –God’s intended order of things– has been disturbed. Philip gets the nod; Andrew has to wait until next week!
But the preacher –and this is the discipline of the Lectionary—the preacher confronts the arc of readings, as it is, and imports readings to the present moment and our present moment to the readings. That’s the ritual contract of an agreed schedule of readings –in this case agreed among most of the Christians you could name. So, today, to my mind, there are three important links between word and people, one for each reading. Three different lenses through which to bring God’s word to life and life to God’s word.
Today, I want to say something about the call of Samuel; something about our bodies being temples; and something about “Come and see!” This morning, it’s easy to see why the first reading was chosen to match this Gospel. Someone is called in the Gospel. Someone is called in the First Reading. That’s how the lectionary works. The First Reading is always somehow related to the Gospel. The Gospel leads. In this case, call of Phillip & Nathanael and the call of Samuel.
Samuel hears a voice in the night. “Was that you, boss?” “No. Go back to bed.” Again, it happens. Again, he asks, “Was that you?” “No, it wasn’t. Go to sleep.” And a third time. Finally, Eli tells Samuel, “That voice you hear, disturbing your sleep, hauling your wonderful dreams up short, that’s God’s voice.” Someone had to help Samuel to recognize God’s voice. I like that … and it’s my takeaway for you. Often-times, it seems, people must tell you that that still, small voice interrupting your wildest dreams is God wanting to set you on some new adventure. But it takes a friend to point it out. Someone to tell you that the Holy One, blessed be, is calling you; is calling you.
By now, most of you have figured out that while I am a priest the same as Preston and Eileen and the rest, I don’t function in quite the same way. That’s because, at my station in life, I see my role principally as an enabler, an encourager of the laity. I’m a bit of an Eli to your Samuel. Sometimes you have an inkling that something holy might be going on. Or maybe not. Either way, you might need someone to tell you that they think you could do that churchly job, that Christian work, with a word of encouragement, or a bit of enabling or accommodation or blessing.
Now, I’m not the only Eli around here. In fact, we’ve got a real one who hangs around the narthex greeting worshippers with more cheerfulness than we sometimes deserve. But we all need to see ourselves as encouragers in Christian life. “I hear you sing. Have you thought of the choir?” “You’re so focused and attentive. Do you think you could serve at the table?” And we are all stewards of the work of St. John’s downtown. We all do well to encourage one another to use ourselves to further the health and wellbeing of our community. To serve in St. John’s, Kitchen, next door. To volunteer in a food programme. To serve where God is nudging us often via the word of a friend.
Now, to the Second reading. It’s very easy to get bogged down in something about sexual morality. A little bit of context. Paul’s writing to the fledgeling Christian community in the port of Corinth. This was a bustling city, the port city of Corinth. Along the water there were shipbuilders and chandlers (the people who provisioned the ships), and there were bars and there were brothels. Lots of bars. Lots of brothels. And Paul, Paul knew his flock. You have to remember, he was writing to real people busy about the living of real lives. In Corinth. So, he edges into sexual morality –likely for good reason– but that’s not why he was writing. It’s a bit of an aside. He’s saying something about how we embody the Holy Spirit of God, how we embody our faith, and stretches a somewhat in-their-face illustration –just a bit. An illustration, though, that they would get.
We embody our faith. That’s what he’s saying. And for my part, to stay in the track that Preston began back on Advent 1, we embody kindness. As imitators of Christ, infused with the Holy Spirit, we embody kindness. (And if you wish, to Paul’s illustration, there is no kindness in using someone for sex. No kindness to anyone. But that’s not our world, here.)
And “Temple of the Holy Spirit”? That language has a kind of illusive quality. We don’t use the word “temple” much. Still, the thing of it is that the Holy Spirit urges us in the direction of kindness. Kindness is the transaction of loving a neighbour. You can love your neighbour in the Christian sense only if your love is translated into action. And the label for that action is kindness. We can love our neighbour from afar, but to embody kindness, requires interaction. Love is not necessarily interactive. Kindness has to be interactive.
Come and see. Today’s third reading; today’s Gospel reading. I want you to hear, it’s not Jesus who calls Nathaniel but Phillip. In fact, Jesus says so. I observed you, even before Phillip called you, sitting under the fig tree.
I was a church mouse when I was a kid. I got my hands Gestetner-ink dirty from cranking out the bulletins each week for my pastor. And I read at worship and assisted. And one day, before I was to follow my prospective Doctor Father to the United States, my pastor invited me on a day trip from Montreal to Waterloo Lutheran Seminary. 1,300 km here and back. In one day. Squinched into a Volkswagen Beetle. I’d never heard of the place. But I was intrigued. I came. It was a Saturay. I met the dean, a couple of the profs and a couple of students. And the place was churchy and churchly, and somehow familiar. And someone was playing the new organ in the chapel. The place was beckoning me. So, I signed on. My girlfriend wasn’t too surprised. Neither was my mom. My father was disappointed. A story for another day. But here I am. (And my pastor was thrilled.) But it took an invitation to come and see or I’d be a mathematician of sorts. But I’ve had a great run in the church. And I’ve had a lot of fun. And I think I’ve made a difference, in those places where I was called, and a difference in the real world of lived diversity, which is the Canadian Lutheran Church today. But I suppose that’s for others to say.
Sometimes, it takes your Eli to someone else’s Samuel to let someone know that God’s calling and there’s work to be done. That call includes an invitation to embody, to incarnate + (in Latin) the kindness of him who was Incarnate Kindness. And we do well to invite others to come and see. There is so much good here. So much kindness.
Silence
May the words of my lips and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable in God’s sight. And may the church say “Amen.” R/ Amen.
André Lavergne CWA (The Rev.)
Honourary Assistant,
Church of St. John the Evangelist, Kitchener