50th Anniversary Message

I always give thanks to God when He gets ahead of my work. I know my proofreaders at church don’t always share the same enthusiasm, as they know I tend to get long-winded. Whenever they see a title in the sermon line, there’s a bit of an “uh, oh.” But I promised Michelle and George I would be quick this week, knowing that most of you present would rather talk and reminisce with one another than listen to me ramble on.

As the current members know, I play an on-line game. Several around here even play it themselves. Over the course of the last few years, though, current members have heard stories of players dying in real life, of players experiencing marital or relationship problems, teens seeking a way out of destructive situations, and people who simply have questions about God. In a real sense, the game has become a virtual church. What started out as a way for me to blow off some steam (let me tell you, I wish I had the power of Holy Fire in real life), God began using as a way to reach others. And for some time, several parishioners have been asking if there was a way that the church could better support this “virtual church” in which I find myself serving. This last month, I finally caved. I allowed them to help us go verbal. You see, up until last month, everyone had to type everything to me. I learned quickly that typing often shielded me from a lot of distractions, as now everyone can ask what is on their minds. It had to be important to get people to type me.

To honor St. Alban’s and those who had been persistent in their efforts to support this ministry, I named the channel where we gather after St. Alban’s. Little did I know that such an act would, in itself, cause lots of questions and even feed us today.

One day, after I had logged on, several people were on-line. “Father,” one of them asked, “who was St. Alban’s?” And so I told them his story. For those of you who have been away and forgotten, Alban was a Roman soldier, a commander of some sort, who lived in the town of Verulamium (outside London) some 1800 years ago. One day, an itinerant monk happened upon Alban, and Alban invited the monk into his tent. There, the monk was given an opportunity to teach the Roman soldier about the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Alban was so moved by the monk’s teaching that he converted on the spot.

Unfortunately, as was so often the case in those days, there was an organized Persecution of Christians happening. Rome was trying to destroy Christianity. Apparently, some of the governor’s soldiers learned that the monk was in the area and were doing a thorough search. Alban quickly traded clothes with the monk and sent him on his way. Eventually, the soldiers entered Alban’s tent, found him in the priest’s garb, arrested him, and dragged him before the governor.

Incensed that Alban would not tell where the priest went nor what family he belonged to (they could be tortured to make Alban recant and give up any information), the governor had Alban tortured. Eventually, the governor decided that Alban could not be forced to give over any useful information and ordered him to be executed.

Now, remember the power of Rome in these days. You can imagine how the locals responded. . . Why would he protect a priest? Why not recant and confess and keep serving the emperor? Word spread and the crowds grew. B y the time the governor ordered Alban executed, the crowd was simply too big. The streets of the town and even the bridge over the river was packed with on-lookers, all wondering why Alban would act thusly. Seeing the bridge packed, Alban prayed to God to stop the river Ver in its courses, as He did the Jordan, so that they could cross over on dry land. To everyone’s astonishment, the river ceased flowing for a few minutes. Upon reach the hill overlooking the town where he was to be beheaded, Alban asked for a moment, prayed to God for water in which to wash himself to make himself more presentable to his Lord. Sure enough, a spring started flowing that very moment!

Well, the first executioner had seen enough. He told the governor that God was with Alban and he would not be the instrument of the man’s execution. The governor reminded him that he was signing his own death warrant. The executioner replied that it was better to face the governor’s wrath than the wrath of Alban’s God. So another executioner was found. Alban knelt at the block. The axe fell. Christianity had its first martyr in Britain. The story, unfortunately, does not end there. Locals who watched the killing claimed that the second executioner was dead before Alban’s head hit the ground (though some said only his eyes hit the ground first). To make matters worse, the itinerant monk with whom Alban had traded places, had heard of the torture and impending death of his recent convert. He scrambled to get to the governor to turn himself in and thus save his sheep. Though he reportedly made it to the governor before Alban’s execution, Alban was still killed. Worse, the governor had the monk put to death and even the first executioner!

By now, those on the other end of my teaching had had enough. “What kind of a fairy tale is this, Father!?” “Who makes up these terrible stories?” “What do you mean,” I asked. “Nobody in their right mind should ever be drawn to Christianity by stories like this. There is no happy ending. Alban should have been spared. The first executioner should have been spared. The monk should have been spared. The governor should have been killed. If you want a good story, that’s how it should have ended.” And I was reminded immediately of an off-hand comment made by Richard Hays at Wheaton a couple months ago. “Saint’s lives,” he instructed, “remind us that common sense is not a good rule for life.”

When I parroted that answer, those in the channel asked what I meant, just as maybe you are wondering now as well. The lives of the saints and the deaths of the martyrs serve to teach us that common sense cannot, in the end, instruct us in the way to live in right relationship with God. Each one of those objections raised by those listening to me that day were understandable. Heroes should not die. Those who aid them should not die. And when one tries to protect others, it might be unfortunate that he or she dies, but the protected ones should be allowed to live. Besides, if God was already at work, stopping the river, raising a spring, converting Alban’s heart, converting the first executioner, why not stop the deaths entirely? Why not convert the governor? We rail a bit at God and say “Why not keep on working Your powerful miracles?”
And yet, through the story of Alban, as with most other saints and martyrs, you and I are reminded that God’s purposes are sometimes at odds with our own. You and I are sometimes taught that He has a plan, and that He is really in control, often when things seem like He is not but even when we think that we are in control. You and I are taught that we are asked only to be faithful to Him, and He will take care of us for all eternity. And He will do this no matter the odds, no matter the forces arrayed against Him and us, no matter what we think the likelihood of His success will be!

How does the story of Alban remind us of this truth? How does this poorly crafted, by human standards, story teach us of God’s mercy and power? Today, you and I sit in a church some few thousand miles away nearly 18 centuries after its occurrence, reminding ourselves of the story of our patron saint. We do not know the governor’s name. The executioner’s name is lost to history. Heck, we do not know the monk’s name nor the first executioner’s name. Common sense tells us the story should have been lost to history. But we do know Alban’s name, and we celebrate his witness and testimony to those in his midst. We know even that the whole town was taken apart brick by brick to build a shrine to Alban. You see, because of his willingness to lay down his life for a priest of God, because of his willingness to be tormented in this world to protect others, because of his willingness to show hospitality to the wandering stranger, because of his willingness to throw away the trappings of this life and exchange them for God’s promise, countless seeds were sown! The story became so engrained into the British society that a Roman soldier, who may or may not have been baptized by a nameless priest, became The martyr and The saint for a culture and country that would have rather rejected him. When Augustine arrived on the shores some two or three centuries later, he found a culture ready to embrace the Gospel, for it knew the story of Alban and knew the cross and knew that God had been and was at work in their midst!

What better example can you and I have of one who did not trust in common sense? What more do we need to understand? The choice of Alban 50 years ago was prophetic for our lives together. St. Alban’s ministry has been far beyond its means. 43 years ago three ladies noticed the hungry in our community. Two of them went to church here. Common sense told them that women could not lead ministries like that, this was the 60’s after all. Common sense told them that the need was too great for us to be able to provide. Common sense taught them that ladies would never be able to fight City Hall and the “Good Ole Boys” network. But, trusting in God, those ladies founded the feeding at the Worker House, which became the Community Meal, which has nearly 160 churches in our community working it each year. One church might not have been much. But it was enough. God rewarded their faithfulness with provision. And how many hungry in our midst have been reminded that God truly loves them? How many Christians have been taught about true need and true servant ministry?

Common sense wanted to teach us that no men beat their wives and girlfriends in this day and age, at least here in the Midwest. That was a problem up until twenty years ago, we like to tell ourselves. Rednecks might still do it, but we are more civilized and know better. And yet, thanks again to the leadership of some women and Kathleen, St. Alban’s chipped in where it could as another lady was inspired to try and make a home of safety for those abused. What conventional wisdom said would take 18-24 months before it was filled to capacity, we saw filled in a few short months. And all those needs, which we thought would be down the road, were needed far sooner. How much food have we given? How many clothes? TV’s? Bus Passes? Toys? Counseling? How many women have been reminded that they were created in His image and reminded that their men were called to love them just as Christ did His Church? We even dare to hope that we have had a small hand in breaking the cycle of violence that plagues so many families.

Now, we have begun together in the last year this ministry attacking human slavery in our midst. This little, rinky dink church, by human standards, is daring once again to live into its calling. We might not have much money, but He can provide all that we will ever need. We might not have clout and power by worldly standards, but we are adopted sons and daughters of the Living God who has promised that we will accomplish any number of wondrous things in His name! We might not even know all the resources that we will need, but we trust that He will give us eyes and ears to see the need. Why? Because we are called to live a life as He calls us, not as we think makes the most sense. In fact, we plunge boldly into those callings which sometimes make the least sense, trusting that He will redeem us and keep His promises.

Brothers and sisters, I could go on and on about the various ministries over the years at St. Alban’s. Underwear and pants for youngster’s at school, scholarships for African orphans, underwear washing for the homeless, AFM, WoW, malaria shots, water purificators – the list goes on and on and on. I encourage you to talk about your favorites as we get ready to eat. At times, many of us here present have likely wondered whether St. Alban’s Davenport would be able to continue. Our budget has always forced us to our knees to ask for His guidance. Yet here we stand, fully wrapped in His promises, celebrating an anniversary that the world would doubt could be achieved. And I stand before you this day reminding you of His promises, reminding you of His calling in each one of your lives, and the absolute certainty with which we can face life, we can face death, and live into our eternal futures. Brothers and sisters, we do not live in a fairy tale, we do not even live a life guided by common sense—you and I live in a dark world seeking answers to its various problems, cognizant that God has acted to save all humanity through the death and resurrection of His Son. And armed with that knowledge, and empowered through His Spirit, you and I are sent to the edges of our community, our state, our country and the world to remind others of that love! In short, we are called like Alban to live lives reflective of His promise and certain of our inheritance, no matter what the world thinks!
Peace,
Brian†

Agapas me? . . .

Peter, do you love me? Have any kinder and more emphatic words ever been spoken? Perhaps you have forgotten the context; after all, we are on Easter 3 and our Lord’s question is partially a response to Peter's actions of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. You remember, of course: Jesus prophesied that Peter would deny Him three times before the cock crowed. Though Peter denied it, and though he stood ready to fight for Jesus' freedom in the garden of Gesthemene, Peter does in fact deny that he is a friend, companion, or knowledgeable at all of Jesus of Nazareth. Can you imagine the guilt? Can you imagine the personal sense of failure experienced by St. Peter? Given some of your questions on Low Sunday, and given that this exchange between Peter and Jesus is preserved by Scripture, I am certain that you do. I know I do. We are, after all, human beings. We are full of sin, not the least of which is that longing desire to be among those humans who did not need a lot of God's grace from just a few weeks ago. We want to believe that we are, basically, good people. The scourging, the mocking, the punching, and much of the ridicule were for the really bad people in the world. You know them: the murderers, the thieves, the abusers -- those that really hurt others. The bad people who do not gather in worship with us. And yet, here we are, discussing St. Peter and his failure before Christ. Why?

I can think of at least two reasons why this exchange between the Risen Lord and Peter takes place. On the one hand, Peter is restored by the very One whom he betrayed. Can you imagine Peter's personal sense of failure in light of the Resurrection. The shoulda/coulda/woulda's have to weigh heavily on him. "Gosh, He really was the Christ. He really was the Son of God. Man, I should never have slept in the garden. I should never have doubted in the storm. I should never have denied him before His death." You and I might experience those same feelings of unworth. Perhaps you have found yourself at work, listening to a care or concern of coworkers. You felt the compulsion to speak His truth into the situation, and His Gospel, or perhaps a prayer, and you chickened out. Who wants to be known among friends as a Jesus freak? Who wants to be known as the religious guy or gal who prayers about everything down the hall? We want desperately to be normal and to fit in. Yet we recognize that failure for what it was, a failure to do as our Lord commanded us. Perhaps you have found yourself trusting in things other than Him. Maybe, instead of letting Jesus bear your burdens and loads, you have found yourself seeking to drown your cares in the arms of a lover, in the chemical high of a drug, in the bottom of a jar of your favorite alcoholic drink. We want desperately to believe that He is sufficient to meet our needs, yet we find ourselves turning to everything but Him to ease the pain, to bear the burden, to forget our cares. We ignore church so we can “rest up” or “exercise by playing golf” or intellectually stimulate ourselves by staying home to “read the paper.” In a very real sense, Peter represents us. He has failed miserably, and Jesus will redeem him. In fact, only Jesus can redeem him, just as only Jesus can redeem us.

And so, on the shore, Jesus asks Peter three times "Do you love Me?" Three times Peter failed Jesus (three times recently, that is), and three times Jesus reaches out His hands in love to His disciple. And look at Jesus' response to Peter's answers. "Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep." The past is already forgotten, and the restored Peter is commissioned by the resurrected Messiah of Israel to go forth and feed God's flock. Often, Israel is presented by Scripture as God's flock, and Peter is told to go and feed them. Peter is instructed to go and feed them, young and old. He is told to tend their needs. And just like that, Peter is restored. He has a mission. He has a command from the very One whom he betrayed. He is restored to a dignity which he could never achieve on his own. He knows he is forgiven and sent out in the name of Jesus to care for His chosen people. And look at the transformation! An inelegant speaker will speak out in Acts, and thousands will be drawn to the Gospel (though, lamentably, crowds will at times be stirred up against the good news Peter has to proclaim). A former fisherman will begin to interpret the torah in the light of Christ for the religious leaders of his day and even for us. A former denier of Christ will, when push comes to shove later in life, refuse to recant his faith before the powers of the world and die as a martyr for that Lord who restored, redeemed, and commissioned him to be a bearer of good news!

But the story does not end with Peter's perspective. As most of you know, I just spent a few days listening to some amazing scholars at Wheaton. The best known of those speakers was N. T. Wright, a bishop in our Anglican church. Part of our jobs as Christians, he often teaches, is to figure out the why of the historical Jesus. Put another way, you and I are called not to think of Jesus as a theological concept floating around in our heads or in space above us but as, if we are believers, the Son of God who came into the world, for the sake of love, to redeem the world. And is there a better passage that demonstrates the truth of John 3:16 than what we read this week? Jesus meets us, every single one of us, where we are; then, and only then, does the transformation of our lives begin. The Scriptures teach us about God as much as they teach us about others who are not that different from us. What do we mean by this? Think of Jesus' questions. Agapas me? Agapas me? Phileis me? Twice Jesus asks Peter if he unconditionally loves Him. Twice, Jesus asks Peter if he loves Him in a sacrificial way. Twice Jesus asks Peter if he loves Him as God loved His people Israel. Each time Peter declares Jesus to be his friend: philo se. Jesus is speaking in godly love terms, and Peter can only think right now in terms of friendship. It is not surprising that Peter answered in these terms. Outside Israel, no one in the ANE, not even their gods, could be conceived of loving unconditionally, of loving sacrficially, of loving in any way that resembled God's love. We are told, and we confess, that though He was fully divine, Jesus chose rather to empty Himself and take the form of a slave. John, who begins his Gospel story with the teaching that the Word was in the world, but that the world did not recognize Him even though the world was made through Him, ends his account with the reminder to each of us of the efforts to which God will go to reach us.

Nicole's lovely choice of a Gospel hymn should remind us of the truth of that statement and His effort to reach us. “it was not I that found, O Savior true; no, I was found of thee” and "twas not so much that I on thee took hold, as thou, dear Lord, on me.” Such is God’s love for all of us that He tries to meet each of us where we are, even when we do not recognize Him, even when we question whether He exists, even when we have previously denied Him or persecuted Him. Peter is no different. Ok Peter, I hear you. You cannot yet love Me sacrificially, unconditionally, as I deserve, but I will restore you and I will come down to your level. Then, through the bestowal of My grace, and because this is where you are, my dear friend, I will teach you to agapas me. I will circumcise your heart and make you born of My Father’s will and not of natural descent.

Brothers and sisters, you and I have failed Him miserably. As we will confess in a few short minutes, we have done things we ought not to have done and we have left undone those things those things which we ought to have done. But the glorious news is that He did not come to judge us. He did not come to condemn us and leave us where we were, dead or dying. Just as He did with Paul, with Mary, with Thomas, with the Samaritan woman, with the lepers, with Zaccheus, and everyone else whom He encounters in Scripture and in life around us, Jesus reminds us that He comes to where were are. He empties Himself, pours out Himself to reach us. And He comes to where we are to shape us, to redeem us, and to commission us to do his work: to proclaim His saving grace to a world that, so often like us, knows it does not deserve such hope, such a lofty promise. Thanks be to God you and I have met Him, and thanks be to God that He uses people like you and like me to reach others in His name and share that joy that lasts not just a lifetime, but for all eternity!

What if you have not come to believe? What if, sitting there, you find yourself wanting to believe, but unable to overcome your unbelief? Perhaps you deem yourself too unworthy of His love, too far in debt ever to be freed by a holy, just, and righteous God. Brother, sister: hear His words of grace this morning. Hear that invitation which He has offered you every moment of every day of your entire life. Listen for that invitation and accept. Follow Him, and watch what He will accomplish through and in you as you are sent forth to bear witness to His immeasurable love and His unmerited grace. Follow Him and let Him make of you in the lives of others a Peter, a Paul, a Mary, or simply a saintly version of yourself in the lives of those around you.

Peace,
Brian†