Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Epiphany VI, Year A
February 16, 2020
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
Can you believe they did it?  I mean, they have no regard for history.  They went about it unilaterally too.  They just abused their power and authority and did it.  Never mind that it has international ramifications.  The rest of the world looks to us for guidance and stability – for standards of fairness and due process.  They know that fully half of us cannot abide by their actions, but they went and did it anyway.  Can you believe they did it?
 
They did.  In 1973, Major League baseball allowed for the American league to apply the designated hitter rule whereby one player from the field can substitute a batter, making it possible for pitchers, in most cases, never to have to step up to the plate and bat.  Can you believe they did it?
 
And then, they did it again, with no respect for history.  This time, they were more clever and more devious, trotting out a bait and switch kind of trial period.  But there were international ramifications.  Others look to us for good order and continuity.  When they did it, they risked scrutiny and scorn and deep division.  Never mind all of that.  In 1979, they changed the Book of Common Prayer in the Episcopal Church.  Can you believe they did it?
 
Of course, I am exaggerating outrage to make a point and sometimes a story is the best vehicle to soften the blow of truth when it lands in the room.  And I could go on to minimize the upset and acknowledge that baseball has continued in all of its peculiar glory with a compromise of the designated hitter rule.  I could also point out that the old chestnut of the 1928 Book of Common Prayer in the Episcopal Church was preceded but the first in 1552, with substantial revisions in 1559, 1604, and 1662.  And, somehow, the Church has managed worship, grow, and weather all kinds of changes.  My father likes to say that nostalgia is not what it used to be.
 
Nevertheless, the hard truth has landed on us in the exclamation point of our lessons for the day.  To deny their heft or skirt their direct application to our common circumstances would be safer, but doing so would miss the point entirely.  We continue to have a serious problem with them.
 
In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus goes straight at them: murderers, arguers, adulterers, divorced people, false witnesses, and those who swear profanely.  St. Paul goes after them: the jealous, the judgmental, the quarrelsome and those who are smug and self-satisfied.  Even Moses goes after them: the hard of heart, the hard of hearing, and those who serve the myriad of false gods the world sets up as superior to the One God.  Clearly, they are lost.  Clearly, they do not know what is right and what is wrong.  Clearly, they are headed for deep trouble – unless they amend their ways.
 
For those who are paying attention, it is painfully clear that our nation, our culture, and our whole system of public discourse is fragile and fractured.  They have substituted labels, soundbites, and tweets for face to face collaboration.  They have given into division, fear, and hatred as tools for building support and rallying their followers.  They have sidestepped all of the traditional and normative habits of respect and decorum, sinking to defiance and derision to signify their power and influence.
 
The problem of today’s texts is that we have to read them whole.  We have to listen to what else is said and what else is implied in them.  For sure, murders are wrong, but Jesus reminds us that we have murderous rage at times.  For sure adultery is sinful, but we have unruly wills and affections, even if they do not come to action.  For sure, we can bend the truth toward our own liking.  We love to pass judgment to make ourselves feel better than others, and let’s be honest about the false gods of beauty, wealth, power, and status that we chase like my dogs chase squirrels.
 
We have a problem alright.  And it is this: they are us.  They. are. us. 
 
Somewhere in our souls, we have allowed our vision, our understanding, and our feelings to become bifurcated.  It is not new, but it has become more strident as problems to be solved, and issues to be debated are more and more complicated and nuanced. 
 
So, it goes this way.  We identify with a tribe.  We champion loyalty to the tribe.  We dismiss all those who are not in the tribe.  We allow a double standard that makes it ok for the leaders and the voices of the tribe to say and do things we would find unconscionable if those outside the tribe do or say such things.  And then, we insulate ourselves from the others, seeking comfort in echo chambers of information and like-minded indignation.  If we get to thinking yeah, they do that.  If we are thinking yeah, that is their problem, we are, suddenly, part of the problem.
 
There is a solution.  It is really difficult.  But it is not out of reach.  Moses puts it this way: “Choose life.”  St. Paul puts it this way: “you are God’s field, God’s building” in this world.  Jesus makes it personal: “first, be reconciled with your brother or sister and come to terms with him or her before you get to the place of judgement.”
 
The way of Christ is the way of love, and love overcomes division every day of the week.  We do not have to play by tribal rules.  In Christ, there is only one family and nation: that of God.  They are us and we are them.  As David Zahl says in his book, Seculosity:
 
"We always lose when we keep score. No one wins when we play the blame game.  Whatever cliché you prefer, the truth is plain: self-justification and love don’t mix, not over the long haul. Love, at its core, transcends emotional bartering. It cannot flourish when one or both parties feel like they’re always playing catch-up or in danger of  getting fired."
 
When I consider the value and witness of Jesus people in this time and place in our world, I believe with all of my heart that we are the people with the language of love, the heart for reconciliation, and the umbrella of grace to counter the current tide of anger and division.  It may be true that some will continue shouting, but they will lose their voice if we do not respond.  It may be that others continue in tribal warfare, but we can opt out of that worldview and render it inert.  We can come side by side and should to shoulder in confessing that we are not perfect or purely righteous, but we have a clue as to how to love even when it is hard.  What the Church offers the world is this: our witness to the Truth.  The Truth is love in action, and in that action, nobody loses.  Wouldn’t it be great if the world would look upon the Church and say: Can you believe they did it?  They showed us the way of love, and it saved us.  All of us.  Can you believe it?

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Epiphany V, Year A
February 9, 2020
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
Upon deep reflection and with the benefit of hindsight, it was not a really good decision for me.  At the ripe old age of eight, I wanted to head way up North, to the mountains of North Georgia, and spend a whole month at Y camp.  My older brother had gone and reported it to be alright; better than staying home, cutting the grass, weeding the tomato garden, and sweating out the summer heat in a home where my father did not really believe in air conditioning.  Nobody made me go.  I asked to go, and my best friend, Cole Barks, wanted to go with me.  So, with all of my belongings neatly packed in an old army trunk, and my name sewn into the back of every stitch of clothing, I joined the pioneers of Cabin 2 for great summer camp adventure.
 
Soon after arrival, I learned that the brochure was not completely accurate.  Yes, we did sleep in cabins with mountain breezes wafting about, but really, they were just screen porches stacked floor to ceiling with triple decker bunk beds.  18 little smelly boys were stacked into Cabin 2 like cord wood.  Yes, we did have campfires and sing songs.  Some were about Jesus.  Most were about the size of the mosquitoes and other camp miseries.  Yes, we did eat family style in a big dining hall, but we had to try and eat everything, including cream chipped beef on toast and piles of mealy and tasteless black-eyed peas.
 
As it turned out, Y Camp was not one of those tony resort kind of camps.  It was more like boot camp as we woke to a clanging bell at sunrise, reported for calisthenics, cleaned the cabins for inspection, and engaged in athletic competition all afternoon with other cabins for the privilege of having a scoop of ice cream for desert.  Losers got nothing.  What was purported to be a community rooted in the Lord of Life was more like Lord of the Flies, at least for me.  We were there to get tough and become men.  What I became was more spiritual.  I prayed often and earnestly – for deliverance.
 
In the family archives, my letters home have been preserved.  There is one in particular that stands out, not doubt because of my tidy eight-year-old handwriting and my eloquent prose.  It reads: Dear Mom and Dad. They made me write this postcard before they would let me eat supper.  Love, John.  P.S. I hate camp. 
 
I had a few good times and made some friends at Y camp, but mostly, I remember the scourge of homesickness.  Perhaps I learned some resilience, and clearly, I did not starve to death.  But when I did come home, I never ever not once ever complained about cutting the grass, weeding the tomato garden, or the anything about the sweltering heat.  I learned that home was good and boredom could be cured more easily than homesickness.
 
Fast forward five years and I was becoming a dorky teenager.  I had joined the boy scouts and gone on some campouts, and I was part of the church youth group, where the fellowship was loving and helpful in navigating the vicissitudes my adolescent quest for identity.  I did go to camp again in North Georgia, only this one was kinder, gentler, and coed.  The camp I attended was my diocesan church camp, Camp Mikell.  It changed my life.  It was grounded in a life of Grace where the worth and dignity of each child was celebrated.  We called the place one step closer to heaven.  Even the food was good.  I went on to work there as a volunteer counselor for several sessions.  I spent two summers working at another diocesan camp in West Virginia.  The summer before I went to seminary, I worked for Shrine Mont here in Virginia and found other members of the same loving family.  To this day, many of my best and most enduring friendships trace back to camp friends.  Upon deep reflection and the benefit of hindsight, it was a really good decision for me to give camp another chance. 
 
We celebrate Shrine Mont Sunday here and all over our diocese today to support and encourage its critical ministry.  While some see it as a retreat to a place apart, I believe time spent there is a journey into being exactly who we are, and a space to delight being together.  With a mix of praising God, playing for the joy of it, and reveling in creation, camp gives balance to being, and helps us learn to see God at work in the world.
 
As soon as Jesus had gathered his disciples, mostly fishermen and other earthy folks, he sat them down and told them how God sees them.  “You are salt,” he says, given for the world to bring life flavor and zest.  “You are light,” he says, to reflect the light of God even in the dark places.  Jesus’ followers are not to be sniveling and groveling sycophants, they are empowered immediately to be bold and belonging in God outright.
 
Notice that Jesus does not say “You could be salt if you were just a little better person.”  Or, “you might be light if you get your act together be more missional.”  The lesson is a declaration.   The disciples are already beloved, chosen, and sent, just because they are children of God.  Imagine, knowing all of our preexisting conditions in being human, God choses to love us and calls us to be our deepest and most authentic selves for the sake of the world.  What Jesus says is that God uses you you and will use you as you are, for the sake of the kingdom  You are more than enough.
 
In a world that holds up all kinds of false idols of beauty, status, and power, it is essential that we claim and own Jesus’ counter cultural voice, seeing every human as beloved, worthy, and precious.  And because there persist voices of shame, fear, blame, and because messages of our inadequacy and not enoughness are so prevalent, we need spaces and places where we and our children can be and become where all of those worldly lies are pushed to the side in favor of grace.  If we are serious about formation in faith, we need to provide home base, a touchstone for what is really real, and promote community that walks the way of love intentionally.
 
I love that the Church holds up camp as it does.  It is one of the most authentic things we do and for sure, it has lasting and powerful impact in shaping lives.  It is salt.  It is light.  It is God’s grace packed into powerful experience.   And in a twist of really great timing, today, we do one of the other things we do that have lasting impact.  Today, we baptize Florence Margaret Oborne, holding her up as beloved.  Claiming the Church as her home base as well as ours, and we remind ourselves of the basics of seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving her, loving ourselves, and loving one another, just as God does.
 
So, to get us ready, we pray the Shrine Mont camp prayer.  They shout it in call and response.  I invite us to give it a go.
 
God loves the world! (God loves the world!)
God loves us! (God loves us!)
God loves you! (God loves you!)
I love you! (I love you!)
God loves me! (God loves me!)
I love me! (I love me!)
Thanks be to God!  (Thanks be to God!)
Amen! (Amen!)
Aaaamen! (Aaaamen!)
​

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
The Presentation of Jesus in the Temple
February 2, 2020
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
Last Sunday was big.  It was big because Steve Bragaw brought us the Word from the pulpit, big because it was the annual meeting and we were able to report some pretty good news, and big because we had two hundred pieces of chicken they were either devoured or sent home in baggies to make for the second best meal of the week.  Last Sunday was really big because we welcomed John Savage home again from an extended set of surgeries and recovery that kept him from his beloved role as verger.  In talking about his recovery, John said that he loved being at Emmanuel Church so much, that things did not seem really right until he could get back here – his spiritual home.  I treasured John’s love for us and for the Church.  I treasured his advice and encouragement.  When we faced a challenge or need, John always said: “Just ask for help.  We are here for you.”
 
With all the talk of shrinking mainline congregations and the erosion of Sunday morning as a sacrosanct time slot in busy lives, it is important to remember the particularity of the gift we have in being here – in belonging here.  All week, Emmanuel did the work of the Church at its best in palpable prayers, and an outpouring of love and support.  People checked on Doris, on one another, and, even, on me as we began to internalize the rough news of John’s passing.  “Just ask for help.  We are here for you.”  I could not get that out of my mind, even, as the long tentacles of connection reached back from former clergy, diocesan leaders, and other friends from far away.
 
I am not sure how people handle the big challenges in life without church.  It is not that church provides all the answers, just that we have the capacity and inclination to sit with each other in challenging times.  As my first clinical chaplaincy mentor said “don’t just do something, stand there.”  Sometimes we are bound together through scriptures, and in the sacraments, and other times we do it with coffee and casseroles.  An old Lutheran pastor friend calls Campbell’s cream of chicken soup the pastoral glue of Church.  When things get tough, belonging to this rag tag assembly of good folks is pure healing balm.
 
Perhaps it is not coincidental that the gospel for today is about Jesus’ family showing up at the Temple: their Church.  It was the Jewish custom that 40 days after birth, the mother and child turned up for ritual prayers: the presentation of the child, and the mother’s rejoining of the faith community, having been at home with her newborn for that set period.  For all kinds of reasons, that made sense for them.  Mother and child were stronger and more healthy, ready to show off the child to the wider community, and give thanks for a safe delivery. 
 
Sometimes we forget that Jesus belonged to his own version of church – the local synagogue.  There, he engaged in rites of passage, celebrated holy days, and went to Torah school to learn of God and God’s story with his people.  That was his first community.  He did not conjure images of a loving, Creator God out of nothing.  He came from a lived tradition of faith.  And this passage is the pretty much all we hear of Jesus until he is fully adult, about 30 years old.  Somewhere in there he came to know his saving role in being one with God.  What we do know is that right out of the chute, he was recognized as one set apart: fully human and fully God all in one.
 
When Jesus was presented, old man Simeon was hanging around the Temple with a particular eye toward the full union of God and humanity.  The long-held belief that the Messiah, the Savior God, would come was lodged deep in Simeon’s heart.  Likewise, 84 year-old Anna was there too, perhaps she was the original church lady, never leaving the temple, but praying constantly for God to come to her people.  We do not know what they saw or what God revealed in the child, but they were convinced immediately that this Jesus was the One for whom they waited, and change was coming for sure.
 
Luke tells this story because he knows that it is prudent to listen to the wise and faith-filled elders, because they have enough history and closeness to God to call things like they see them.  Mary and Joseph knew Jesus’ identity in God.  The Wise men saw it too.  Now, Simeon and Anna join the list.  Their realization is enough mystical and spontaneous and intuitive to have the ring of a holy happening.
 
We come to Church to discover and rediscover that the ancients saw and knew: that God is near and never stagnant.  God’s love affair with the world is always unfolding.  The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus was not a one and done event in a faraway place.  The dynamic continues as Jesus life infuses ours.   The tragedy of his death is played out as we subvert anything that is good and of God, and the resurrection, that is an ongoing thing too, as God redeems what is broken, and gives us loving companionship and help in finding our home base.
 
Sometimes it is not easy to see God at work, or make sense of what befalls us in this life.  Other times we receive a holy happening, an “aha,” an epiphany, where loose ends connect and, like Simeon and Anna, we get it, even if only in a brief moment of clarity.
 
At the moment Simeon saw Jesus for the first time, Luke records his song.
 
            Lord, you now have set your servant free
            to go in peace as you have promised;
            For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior,
            whom you have prepared for all the world to see:
            A Light to enlighten the nations,
            and the glory of your people Israel.
 
It is a song that has been set to music.  It is a prayer we use in Evening Prayer and Compline services.  It is sourced in deep faith and hopeful revelation, comforting to us who can weary of the chances and changes of this life, helping us see over the horizon of now and into the eternal life of God.
 
You all knew John.  You know, without a doubt, that he loves us and loves the Church, even now.  Can’t you see him joining the communion of saints, singing Simeon’s song as he goes to the light, only looking back to remind us: “Just ask for help.  We are here for you.”   Amen.

​Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Second Sunday after Epiphany (Year A)
January 19, 2020
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
Do not worry.  I do not have plans to install an electronic scrolling message board out on Rockfish Gap Turnpike, neither do I have plans for one of those old school signs with the slide on letters to change your message every so often, but I do love a good church sign.  And when you are me, you collect examples of the best ones.  Here are a few of my latest favorites: “Tweet others as you would like to be tweeted.”  “Seven days without prayer makes one weak.”  “Honk if you love Jesus. Text while driving if you want to meet him.”  And this week: “Had a clever sign planned for this space, but the Astros stole it.” (a reference to the latest baseball cheating scandal). 
 
These kinds of signs are a helpful antidote to some of then hellfire and brimstone messages I have also seen, like the one on I 65 in Alabama: “Go to Church or the devil will get you.”  You know, those sort of turn or burn threats made as if fear was going to bring us to the loving body of the faithful.  More contemporary church signs may be a bit like dad jokes, as in they are probably only funny to us.  Committed Christ followers do have encouraging words to offer.  If some may help us get the message out that we are welcoming and loving and that we are not a glum, guilt and fear wielding lot, so much the better.  A number of years ago, the Episcopal Church embarked on an advertising project and came up with some clever posters, one of which hangs in the Parish Hall kitchen right here at Emmanuel.  None of them tell the whole story.  At best, they are a reminder of who we hope to be.
 
If you are of a certain age, you may remember the old Campus Crusade for Christ marketing strategy.  For months, they put up billboards, printed t-shirts, and passed out buttons saying “I found it.”  There was no explanation, just a carpet bombing effort to get it out there and get people asking what in the world “it” was.  A few months later, they revealed that the “it” was salvation in Jesus Christ.  Later, they claimed to have brought more than 3 million people to Christ with a four-point plan conveniently fit into simple pamphlet.  I am not sure how one measures being brought to Christ completely, or its staying power.  For most of us, it is process requiring a constant reupping as we grow.
 
You cannot blame folks for trying, but I am always suspicious of secular sloganizing when it comes to engaging people fully and authentically in a life of Christian faith.  Living a life with and for God is not like buying a t-shirt, a soft drink, or a Tempur-pedic mattress.  The whole binary way of believing that one is either in our out, one of us or one of them, saved or depraved, presents a false dichotomy and seems to be part of what is driving the kind of divisiveness that plagues our culture and conversation of late.
 
When if comes to matters of faith, bumper stickers, pithy slogans, and, even, four-point pamphlets carry us only so far. Being Church goes beyond ascent to a single proposition as it offers the life-changing model of Jesus’ life and ministry, a community of love and care, and an insistent redemption narrative that upends division and despair. 
 
When we read the lessons each Sunday, we cover a number of bases in our narrative.  We harken back to the Hebrew traditions of poetics and prophecy.  We incorporate the Epistles, mostly letters from St. Paul to young churches, as a way of creating language to talk about matters of belief, and finally, we excerpt a piece of Gospel writing to go straight into the life and work of Jesus as then core source for meeting God in person.  Matthew, Mark, and Luke tell the story in order, but when we get to John, we get a much more symbolic telling, filled with nuance and loaded words and phrases.  If we are looking for slogans, John is our man.  He uses terms like “Lamb of God,” “Rabbi” and “Messiah” in reference to Jesus.  John assumes his hearers already know the story, so his words contain inference, layering, and foreshadowing.  The players on his stage are already well known characters.  Andrew was one of the first disciples.  Peter is known as the rock, as much because he is dense as he is solid.
 
To illuminate this one text alone would require hours of annotation and more sermon than you want to hear or I could ever preach, but suffice it to say John floods us with images and ideas of God that both fill our imaginations and stretch them to see deeper into eternity.  Toward the end of this passage, even John realizes that what drew people to Jesus, what caused them to drop everything and follow him, what led them to give their lives to the way of love is, ultimately, impossible to explain in clever prose or loaded slogans.  When he is out of language to express that experience, he has Jesus issue a simple invitation:  “Come and see.”  It is that simple and that complicated all at once.
 
Last week, we confirmed 12 and had one received one from another branch of the Christian faith.  For a number of weeks, on the door of the room where the confirmands met and prepared for that day was a simple sign that read “Confirmation is not a drive by event.”  I loved seeing that sign because, like any good sign, it pointed to a reality beyond itself.  Getting hands laid on your head, prayers from a bishop, and a lovely reception celebrating the occasion is not a one and done happening.  Confirmation and reception is a grown up redo of baptism.  It takes some courage and conviction to take the wheel and commit to driving one’s own part in following Jesus, and it is not over once the programs have all been recycled and the relatives have gone home.  This baptized life requires care and feeding.  That is what Church does. 
 
What we are, and what we do as Christian people is an abiding thing, an ongoing choice, and a lifelong wrestling match with self and ego and service and sacrifice.  It is about telling our story, living God’s story, and being in history.  Long after fads and fashions fade, clever slogans and marketing schemes come and go, the signs we follow open our lives to being made new again and again. 
 
I still see those bracelets and t-shirts from emblazoned with WWJD: “What Would Jesus Do?”  I like that because it is a question and not a declaration.  And honestly, a lively faith comes with lots more question marks than it does periods.  If we are to reach the world for God and welcome others into the faith, we do can go to school on WJD, What Jesus Did, and say “Come and see.”  When we do that, we are not about telling people what to believe or how to fit in, we are inviting others to join in helping God’s story live in this world.  Our world really needs this story: a story that turns on experience, a story that summons us to be the wild and wonderful people God has created us to be, a story that saves us from despair, and even, death.
 
Of course, we will not be installing an electronic scrolling message board out on Rockfish Gap Turnpike.  We would never have enough space or sufficient language to express what has to be experienced.  So it is on us to invite the world to see God’s abundant life in person here or wherever we are.  To help people to come to Jesus, how we live our lives is the best and most effective sign to point the way.  Amen.   

Look
Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
The Feast of the Epiphany
January 5, 2020
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
My daughter called a few days ago and asked what my word is.  She has this thing about New Year’s and the incipient tradition of making resolutions.  She has a better way to look forward, which is nice because the whole resolution thing is based on a reasonable urge to be more: healthier, kinder, structured, organized, or disciplined.  If we watch whatever is being advertised, we can use that as a bellwether for what the vast swath of humanity seeks.  This time of year, it is diet and exercise.  Somebody somewhere told me that 98 percent of all resolutions relate to that.  That sounds about right when I see Weight Watchers, Whole 30, Keto, Noom, Peleton, and gym membership promotion dominate the mass of marketing.  Does anyone else find that exercise mirror that sees into your home workout to be a little creepy?  The irony, of course, is that to be less, we are supposed to get and do more to be more.
 
Rather than all of that, my daughter asks me what my word is.  Just come up with one word, she urges, that encapsulates a need, a quest, and longing as reminder.  Write it down.  Post it at home to see daily.  Use it to frame prayers, thoughts, actions, and intentions.  Brilliant.  Simple.  Free. And freeing.
 
We begin the season of Epiphany today.  There’s a word.  It is a word of new light and new revelation.  An epiphany is an “aha” moment.  It is a sudden understanding brought on through an everyday observation, that somehow made makes deep truth clearer and more poignant.  This is completely apt and appropriate for a new year and all that is to come.  The Church’s observation of the season begins with the old story of the wise men, the magi, strangers from the far east, arriving at the court of King Herod.  They have seen a star rising and interpreted it as a sign for them to seek the child king who is to save the world. 
 
So, there they are, in front of the literal King of the Jews, Herod, interpreting his own tradition for him, and telling him that there is one greater than he now born into the world.  This does not go well for the political King’s ego and aspirations.  Herod sends for the traveling party and asks them when exactly this sign appeared and tells them to go on a mission for him and send word when they find this child, so he may also go and pay him homage.  Of course, he does not want to do that.  He wants to root out any threat to his power and authority.  He tries to co-opt the wise men as stooges for his scheme.  Such is the way in the nefarious world of pretense and posturing.
 
Nevertheless, off they go, and when they find the child, they worship, celebrate, and give symbolic gifts:  Gold for kingship, frankincense for prayer and worship to God, and myrrh as an embalming spice to cover the stench of the death he will die.  That is a lot for a little kid, and hardly practical, but these guys are in the foreshadowing business as seers and seekers.
 
All of this is part the holy “aha” of Jesus’ birth.  Mary found out when Gabriel told her about her expectant condition.  Joseph found out in a dream.  The shepherds found out when the angels came to them in the fields.  And now, those who were nowhere near the same zip code at the time of the birth, those who are not of the Hebrew faith or tradition, those who do not have a stake in the politics of Herodian succession arrive and see for themselves.  And their delight and amazement come through this new look at power and authority.  Love in person is made personal.  This Jesus is not a local phenom, particular to one religious tradition.  He is the cosmic force of God.
 
Their story is a powerful nudge for us to look at our story.  We come to Church for all kinds of reasons.  We come here to anchor our lives in prayer and praise.  We come here to be together and life one another up to light and life.  We come to eat breakfast and/or nosh at coffee hour.  In all of this we touch something far greater and far more crucial.  We come to accept the power of a living Christ in our lives.  And as we do so, there are epiphanies aplenty to be found in living our lives differently. 
 
About now, we have looked back over a year of many challenges and changes.  We have contemplated the transition from one decade to the next, or for some, argued about whether the decade really changes this year or next.  No matter, the world has changed, is changing, and will continue to spin on its uneven axis of malformed priorities, outsized expectations, and false fronts of power and success.  And at this moment, this Epiphany, we have the opportunity to throw all of the useless calls for more on the trash heap of idolatry, and claim the One, the Source, the Christ as the center and ground of all our being and becoming.  God does not love if because we of what we do.  God loves us because that is what God does.
 
To get hung up on the world and its weary ways is to join in old Herod’s mania of scarcity, threats, and self-serving manipulation.  But in the words of a great James Taylor song:
 
Those magic men the Magi, some people call them wise or Oriental, even kings.
Well anyway, those guys, they visited with Jesus, they sure enjoyed their stay.
Then warned in a dream of King Herod's scheme, they went home by another way…
Maybe me and you can be wise guys too and go home by another way.
We can make it another way, safe home as they used to say.
Keep a weather eye to the chart on high and go home another way.
 
A word of encouragement I received this season really stuck with me through much of other noise of retrospectives and resolutions.  It is this: “Remember that you once dreamed of being where you are now.”  Certainly, my life and none of our lives are not perfect, but the life we have is what we have been given as gift, sign, and opportunity.  To be here among you is a gift.  Look at this place and at you all.  The sign of hope is our common and growing life as Jesus people.  Look at our mission and ministry, growing in joy.  The opportunity is to live that out with fierce love, dogged acceptance, and deep peace.  Look how different we can be without acquiring or doing more.

I have really thought about my word.  My word is look.  I have written it down.  It is on the bulletin board with the pictures of family and friends, the calendar, and the save the date cards for family weddings.  It is a good word that I need to see every day for faith, wellbeing, and wonder. There is much to see, and I will to look up, look out, and look alive in Christ.  My word is look.  What is yours?  

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Christmas Eve, 9:00PM
December 24, 2019
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
It was a large and diverse parish church with many, many children from overachieving families.  Long before I served there, the leadership had made the decision to have a no rehearsal, high participation pageant on Christmas Eve.  It was a brilliant theological happening.  We had a new, young family who had had an October baby play Mary, Joseph, and Jesus.  They took their places and as we told the story, we invited anyone who wanted to participate to come forward.  We advertised ahead of time for children to come as whoever they wanted to be in the Christmas story.  We had a big trash can full of shepherd’s staffs, boxes of halo head pieces, and, lots of glittery stars on long sticks to hold up and twinkle.  We had the acolytes prepared and placed strategically to heard and help as necessary.
 
As the whole thing unfolded, we had numbers of young people in bathrobes, some with painted on sheep noses, and some good cow costumes complete with utters.  But because we invited all comers, we had many princesses, three Power Rangers, one Spiderman, two Supermen, a Ninja Turtle, and a lobster.  That night stands out as unforgettable for this veteran priest and pageant director.  And in the end, I do not believe that experience was as far from the heart of the Christmas story as we might think.
 
Our pictures of the manger scene are particular, traditional, and artfully arranged.  Renaissance artists depict a decidedly European looking holy family, a fat cherubic Christ Child, and a cleaned up bunch of shepherds.  Our crèche scenes depict a lonely and isolated couple in the manger, with reclining bovines and a few fluffy white sheep.  For sure, Joseph and Mary bore the hardship of traveling just before the delivery, and they were far from home when the time came.  Adding to that, their encounters with dreams and angels, telling them of the miracle of this child’s conception left them amazed and wondering, while their friends and relatives were, more likely, skeptical.  So their solitude in carrying this part of the story is poignant for sure.
 
There is another line of sight into the crèche, though.  In first century Bethlehem, homes were two to three rooms at most.  There was the family room where everyone sheltered and slept.  And there was the other room, where the animals were housed and fed.  If there was a third room, it was a luxury for visitors and extended family that did not fit in the main lodging.  Some homes had that additional space on the roof.  The inns of the day were more like air b and bs. For travelers in a culture noted for its hospitality, a few spare rooms were let out, but mostly, there were just provided gratis for guests or travelers.
 
As the story goes, Joseph and Mary went down to Bethlehem to be enrolled.  We know they were not orphans, and as they made the trip to be counted with their family, it is likely that they had a large and extended one, as almost all people did back in their day.  Quirinius’ census was really just a big, bureaucratic invite to a family reunion.  No wonder there were no rooms in the inn, or the guest room, or spare room or wherever.  The stable where Joseph and Mary lodged was overflow shelter before the days of air mattresses.  And it makes sense that this stable where Jesus was born was part of the extended family’s home.  And if Jesus birth was like any other first century birth there would have been village midwives helping out, uncles and aunties listening from the other room, and lots of squealing children awaiting an new cousin.
 
While the script focuses on the main characters, the part we might consider here is that there were lots of extras on the scene.  Births were then as they are now, occasions for concern and celebration all at once.  The addition to new life in a family is always life changing and more than a little miraculous.  And birth is one of the most faith-affirming moments, assuring us that our Creator God is not done with humanity, but still working miracles among us.
 
This birth of Jesus, the child of the Holy Spirit, God made human, Emmanuel, God with us, is a particular and unique event that changes human and history so much -- that we mark all of time around its happening.  Jesus’ otherness is what we will see and experience as we tell and live with the rest of his story.  It is a matter of theological mystery a lifetime of faithful wonderment.  The greatness of Jesus is also his us-ness: his birth and belonging in an extended family, his vulnerability in being delivered through skilled and compassionate hands, and the fact that from day one, he is surrounded by those who help him thrive and care for him as one of us.
 
So this Christmas, why not add to the crèche scene. Add an extended family, a few health care providers, and excited children, dressed as whoever they want to be.  And while we are at it, we might include our own likeness in there was well.  For this child Jesus to grow and thrive in this world, God needs us too.
 
If you come this evening as a regular or a guest, welcome to your family of God.  We all play a part in this pageant.  No role in bringing Jesus to life in this world is ever insignificant.  And if we ever think that God has given up on the world, we tell God’s birth story and affirm that hope is still being born, awe and wonder are very much alive, and God is still delivering love in person.  Amen.

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Advent IV, Year A
December 22, 2019
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
This is the only time of year that I really look forward to going to the mailbox.  During the rest of the year, the box is filled with waxy advertisements, bills, and things pretending to be personal letters that are trying to sell me insurance or a reverse mortgage.  But this time of year, we receive missives from the far reaches of the many places we have lived, from dear friends, and family we do not see as much as we would like.  It is good time to catch up and correct our address list.  It is a good time to remember good times and important connections through the years.  And of course, we love to see the family photos.  Aside from big funerals and weddings, this is our most connective time of year.
 
Inevitably, we receive a number of Christmas letters: you know, those narrative annual family biographies that catalog fabulous trips, successful children, and over achieving grandchildren.  My dear friend, first boss, and mentor, The Rev. Dr. Matt Currin used to write his unabashedly proud letter about his life, ministry, and family, until the year he died.  He devoted a paragraph to his dear wife, and one for each of his three sons and their families.  All of them received completely glowing accolades.  The final paragraph, he wrote about himself, but he maintained the third person voice as if some outside reporter had crafted the letter.  It would go something like this:  “This year, Matt has finished a new book on the history of the parish, exceeded all stewardship goals, quit smoking (again), and lost over three inches on his waist.  He continues to be a leader as the senior clergy person and longest serving rector in the diocese.”  Of course, I teased him unmercifully, about his style and revisionist perspective.  I called it ‘the epistle from the holy family of Pensacola.’
 
I should not cast too many stones here.  I have written such letters and attempted to hit the high points of our family life.  At Thanksgiving for many years, we have shined up the kids, brushed up the dogs, and made ourselves look merry and bright for the annual Christmas card shoot.  Many of you have done the same, as you should, for we have much to celebrate in gratitude.
 
But let’s not fool ourselves.  We all know that just before that tie got tied or that hair was perfectly arranged, there were threats, arguments about wardrobe, and endless retakes while the turkey and stuffing got cold.  He pinched her, she punched him, the dog had just thrown up a piece of a deer carcass, and we could not figure out how to work that ten second camera delay so that last person to make it into the picture.  And if we wrote the letter, in first second, or third person, we left out personal and professional disappointments, lackluster grades, theater parts not received, and the inevitable college rejection letters that go along with the acceptances.
 
Added to the normal pressures of life, we find ourselves in a driving narrative of curated perfection and achievement.  Tools that used to be reserved for glossy airbrushing magazine photographers are now simple apps, wherein glow can be enhanced and wrinkles can be faded through a simple filtered setting.
 
As we approach the beauty and grandeur of Christmas, we do find a whole tradition of art and imagery that is also glorified and scrubbed clean.  The Christmas card that we sent all of you depicts a perfectly pudgy Christ child, swaddled in bright white, and clean, full, and lively adoring faces.  We send and receive serene images of winter scenes and good wishes for peace on earth and good will to all absent any sense of rancor, division, or stress.  Such images transmit the beauty and calm we seek and that for which we hope and long.
 
And yet, our gospel story for today, reminds us that all was not calm, all was not bright, all was not neat, tidy, and perfect, at least not in the process of bringing God to earth in person.  As the story goes, Mary and Joseph were engaged, but not cohabiting.  Mary was found to be with child.  Scandal, impropriety, and shame generally followed such a discovery.  Ordinarily, Mary brought to account and, potentially, stoned publicly.  But Joseph was a good guy.  He conceived of a subtle and gentle separation.  But then, he had a dream, not a burning bush, a whirlwind, or a thunder from heaven, but a dream, telling them this child was of the Holy Spirit, fulfilling an ancient prophecy predicting the birth of God among all humanity.
 
We are so used to that part of the pageant that we underestimate how much of a load both Mary and Joseph had to bear publicly and privately.  They had plenty of friends and lots of extended family, as all people did, and they were not learning of this from annual letters or curated photos, they were all around them.  Can you imagine Joseph telling his buddies at the carpenter shop that Mary’s baby was of the Holy Spirit?  Yeah, right, tell us another one Joseph.
 
Matthew starts this telling with the heads up “Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way.”  And Matthew is particular about the no marital relations business right there in the Bible. And this getting married anyway, is what we would call a shotgun wedding.  This is not all beatific looking, is all really messy.  That’s right, the way Jesus the Messiah, that glowing little Christ cherub came to be in the world was and is a matter of biological impossibility, even for the first century folk who definitely knew where babies came from.  It took a leap of faith, hard questioning, and deeply embarrassing appearances that had to be maintained and sustained against all standard and acceptable practices and norms.  Our Holy Family was stuck together with bailing twine and duct tape on the hope of a dream and a revelation to Mary that no one else saw or understood.  And that is where God is, right there in the messiness of unknowing and questionable provenance.
 
We are right there with them too.  We are not Hallmark people and our homes are not those of Martha Stewart or Real Simple design.  The God of all creation -- the God who sees us, seeks us, and saves us -- comes to us and lives among us in the context of all kinds of crazy circumstances.  We are not perfect, and we are not called to be perfect, rather we are being brought to perfection because God loves us enough to meet us where we are.
 
On Advent IV, the Sunday before Christmas, we might as well go ahead and curate imperfection as much as we seek to look good on the outside.  It is not only ok to embrace the messiness of life, it is right in line with the story we so revere.  As we gaze on those beautiful families who send us greetings, as we hear of fabulous vacations, and milestones attained, we do well to remember that we are all a mixed bag of holiness and humanity.  There is always a backstory that is more complicated than we see.  It was true for Mary and Joseph.  It is embedded in the one called Emmanuel – God with us.  It is our story too. 

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Advent 2, Year A
December 8, 2019
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
As the sunlight faded on the Friday after Thanksgiving, a few of us were here preparing for a David and Arline’s wedding.  As we discussed details, four young people came in the front door of the church.  I assumed that they were coming for the wedding, but they were not dressed for it.  As they entered, I greeted them and introduced myself. 
 
One of them said “We saw the lights on, and this beautiful church, and decided to stop.  Is it ok if we come in and look around?”
 
“Of course,” I said, and then asked them about themselves.  It turns out they had met up in Charlottesville to carpool back to college at American University in DC.  What struck me was how at ease they were together and in talking with me, a perfect stranger, in a collar.  Not only that, they looked like a poster for the United Nations.  One was white and blonde, another was black, another was Asian, and another was Hispanic.  I inquired further and they said they were all friends from school and of different faiths.  And finally, I asked, “What made you stop here?”
 
“Well,” one of them said, “we were are headed back to school to take exams, we have been with our families for several days, and we all agreed that we needed to seek a little peace.” 
 
At that, I told them to seek away and left them to wander.  They came up front and looked back at the organ.  They walked up to the altar and looked up, wide eyed, and out the window.  They stood silently for a time and then talked quietly among themselves, and after a few minutes they thanked me for the welcome.  I walked them outside and paused with them to ask a prayer for God’s peace and blessing on their journey and they headed back to college.
 
Now, I am not much of a magical thinker, but I am just mystic enough to believe God sends us messengers on our journey of faith.  After I had spent the week before reading somewhat dismal Pew Research statistics on young people and their relative disaffiliation with faith, in come these really diverse young people seeking peace – in church!  Reflecting back, I was reminded that Church really does have something crucial to offer our fragmented culture.  We make spaces for reflection, reconnection, and aspiration.  We offer a message of love, reconciliation, healing, and helping in a far too callous and sound bit pattern of public discourse.  For some good reason, the Spirit intervened in these young people’s lives and brought them here -- to receive a message of peace, but also to remind me of its sticking power and importance.
 
In making this journey through Advent, we hover in the already but not yet-ness of God’s interaction with the world.  The reason we slow it down is to listen.  And this week’s lessons are all about listening to some of God’s messengers.  Isaiah talks about a shoot or sprout coming out of the long left for dead legacy of the great King David.  St. Paul echoes the Isaiah text and gives the persecuted church in Rome a pep talk on believing in the future even if things seem dark and difficult.  And then we get to John the Baptist crying out in the wilderness.  He is not the kind of guy you want at your family dinner party as lays waste to anyone who believes their family, tribe, nation, or particularized theology guarantees them a spot on God’s good side, automatically.   John’s rant sets up a future where the world to come is turned inside out and upside down.  He is right about the radical thing God will do in sending Jesus.  But the Holy One he predicts we will come to know is not exactly what he portends.   John is a little harsh about that God’s judgment and notably short of God’s grace, but hey, he is on a roll, and he gets everyone’s attention.  He is a messenger, but he is not the message.
 
When I was an undergraduate college student at the University of the South, we had this crusty old athletic trainer that had been there for at least 60 years.  He was not of the modern sports medicine ilk of athletic trainer, he was of the rub your ankle, tape you up tight, and put you back in the fight kind of athletic trainer.  He was more like a combat medic than anything.  Nevertheless, he was legendary.  He had recalled when our little division three college was a football powerhouse in the South (In 1899, Sewanee went 12 and 0, beating Texas A&M, Texas, Tulane, LSU, and Ole Miss in the span of six days… and as the story goes, on the seventh day, they rested).  As much as our trainer took care of athletes, he was also a teller of stories and a keeper of history.
 
Inevitably, sportswriters and students would ask the trainer about the most important game the University ever played.  With an encyclopedic knowledge of the past, eyewitness experience, and generations of contests he had seen, without hesitation he would say;  “The most important game for the University is the one coming up.”  He may have been nostalgic, but he was also practical.  Every season, on just about every team, that message was delivered like a mantra.  The most important challenge we face is the one coming up.
 
It is not a long leap to apply this to the messengers of Advent.  While they are rooted in a rich and deep tradition of covenant worship of the living God, they tell us that God is about to do a new thing.  In the person and work of Jesus, God grabs hold of us, showing us different ways to think about power, different ways to live in faith, and challenging ways to be people of love.
 
We worship in a parish that began meeting in 1860.  The buildings were built over time, and renovated over more time.  There have been 19 rectors.  Some stayed only a few years because the money was not there.  Others stayed for many years and ministered through generations of people.  Even though they have long since moved on Marston and LaRue and are folks many of our people remember.  I feel a kinship with them already as I have read their stores and memoirs.  Together with Mulally and Garcia, they are part of our story and part of our history. And that is just the clergy.  George Ellinger is 106 years old and living in Waynesboro.  He was a local realtor and Senior Warden in 1942… and about 30 years after that!  This was before term limits.
 
The messengers of Advent: the young people who came here seeking peace last weekend, the prophets of old, the gospel of now – all of them urge us to a deeper and most important purpose.  Our mission is to seek, serve, and glorify God in Christ in the world that is now and the world that is to come.  With past as prologue, we are the people God has at Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Greenwood, Virginia.  Our message is that of peace, healing, and help for a broken world so desperately in need of God’s grace.  It is good work.  It is God’s work.  It is our work too.  Amen.

Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Greenwood, Virginia
Advent 1, Year A
December 1, 2019
The Rev. John Taliaferro Thomas
 
For a number of years, we lived in Sewanee, Tennessee.  Sewanee is an interesting place.  It is a mix of Appalachia and academia with an Episcopal boarding school, an Episcopal liberal arts college, and an Episcopal seminary, all on top of a plateau in an impressive collection of gothic sandstone buildings.  The “Chapel” there rivals most cathedrals in its beauty.  The whole rhythm of the place flows the church year as much as the academic calendar.  I refer to it as the nations only Episcopal theme park.  It is almost too much at times.
 
While I was head of the prep school, we lived in this tight little community among undergraduates, professors, seminarians, and a reputable group of biblical and theological scholars.  Among them was the legendary The Rev. Dr. Robert Hughes, an immensely tall man with an Abe Lincoln beard and a stern visage.  Hughes taught New testament Bible and Preaching, but everyone there knew him as the chief of the Advent police force.
 
A little background:  Advent is our season before Christmas wherein we light candles and hear lessons of waiting and anticipation.  Unlike much of the culture, we do not do Christmas before Christmas.  We do simple greenery.  We keep it quiet and reflective. 
 
Dr. Hughes, the chief of the Advent police in Sewanee was deadly serious about observing Advent.  Our gospel lesson for today, Jesus warns “you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”  If you were an unsuspecting seminarian in Sewanee, you may be waiting for Jesus, but you would also be watching for Dr. Hughes.  That’s right, he drove around in seminary housing village, and if he saw the slightest little twinkly light, a red bow, or, God forbid, a Christmas tree, he would knock on the door and shout “Advent before Christmas.  ABC.”  Sometimes the second and third years would hide that fact from first year seminarians just to witness the spectacle.  I guess that is what passes for hazing in a seminary.
 
On this first Sunday of Advent, I am sure that many disciples of Dr. Hughes inhabit pulpits all across the Church, insisting that their congregations remember that Advent is a season of preparation and that Christmas is a 12 day season beginning on December 25 at the stroke of midnight.  I have colleagues who will not be putting up a tree until Christmas eve, and who will lambast those who do as cultural sell outs, claiming some Anglican high ground of liturgical and theological purity.
 
The basic point is a good one.  Advent is a reminder for us not to buy in, literally, to the hype, the noise, and all of the glittery sentimentality Hallmark has to sell us.  The way we observe the season is to slow it down, light a candle, pray expectant prayers, and make room in our lives for Jesus to be born anew.
 
That being the case, the Church’s voice should not be one of shame and rebuke.  We observe Advent with all due respect, anticipation, watching and waiting, but this is a great moment for us, Church folks, to welcome the culture that yearns for what we have to offer not just in this season, but for the whole year.  If the wider world recognizes that selfless giving is a virtue, this is a good thing.  If people want to crowd into our pews and take our usual places on Christmas Eve, it stands as our opportunity to be welcoming and loving and encouraging.
 
A recent Pew Research study finds that more people than ever do not identify themselves as Christian.  Given the way some Christians judge, exclude, and act hypocritically, this is understandable.  I suspect that this survey reveals that more loosely affiliated folks are willing to admit their skepticism where they might not have before, and that is not such a bad thing.  As a thinking person’s Church, we have an amazing opportunity in this season.  With the searching, serving, and saving life and work of Jesus to proclaim and emulate, we have a great gift to offer a self-centered, callous, and cynical culture.  Wielding all manner of technology that is supposed to bring us together, we are more and more isolated and anonymous feeling than ever.  But what we do here is a profoundly low-tech antidote as we gather, love, pray, and care for one another.
 
In our inaugural Advent collect today we prayed:  “Almighty God give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light.”  Those are powerful words that stand the test of time and stand out as a clarion call for us.  In this season where the physical darkness is longer and darker, in a time when dark deeds and motives are as part of the daily news cycle, and in a season where the darkness of depression and anxiety is most prevalent, twinkly lights are a nice reminder that all of the darkness there ever was cannot stand against the light of God’s grace.
 
If you are of the purist Episcopractice and hold fast to a strict Advent observance, go ahead and you be you.  But for God’s sake, let our message to the world not be one of scorn or indifference to those who seek to come in from the cold.  Because Jesus birth brings us joy, we will tell that story.  Because God chooses to come among us a human, we can know God and live closer and closer to God’s will for our lives.
 
As a young man, I was a Boy Scout.  And one of the adventures my troop made was to spend two days caving in the Cumberland Mountains of Tennessee.  For two whole days, we were enveloped in total darkness, squeezing through caverns and listening to the dripping sounds of water as the only background noise.  As an anxious and somewhat paranoid youth, I was deathly afraid of the dark and of cramped spaces, but part of being a scout was making tackling such fears in the company of others.  I will never forget waking up in the middle of the night, unable to see anything with my eyes wide open.  But when I switched on my tiny penlight, it pierced the darkness and chased away most of my fears.
 
Light has that power.  And we are sent to be light and life for the world in the name of Jesus.  And so we begin our Advent again.  Don’t tell Dr. Hughes and the Advent Police on this priest, but as for me and my house, we are putting up some twinkly lights this afternoon – casting away the works of darkness and putting on the armor of light.  Amen.