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Pentecost 24, Proper 28 Lesson: 1 Samuel 1:4-20
November 15, 2009 Psalm 16
The Rev. Wallace Marsh Epistle: Hebrews 10:11-25
St. James’ Church, Marietta Holy Gospel: Mark 13:1-8
I speak these words in the Name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
You can tell from the readings that we are getting closer to Advent. For those of you who did not grow up Episcopalian or are new to the church, this time of year the readings get very dark, while others celebrate the holiday season.
Why is this? For centuries as Christians celebrated Christ’s birth (his first coming), they also felt it was important to remember his second coming, thus the references we will have the next few weeks about the End of Time. This theme is something we remind ourselves of every week during the Eucharistic Prayer: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.
Every time I hear those words I cannot help but remember a funny story that happened to me in seminary. One of my classmates had a child during the first year of seminary. During the third year, when their son was two, the teacher at day care called them both into her office because she was concerned about some of the things he might be exposed to. (Now these two parents were both brilliant, PhDs and model parents.) The teacher went on to say that for the past couple of days this little two year old had been running around the room saying, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” The parents later realized that their child was going to a Communion four times a week, and that before he decided to quote any more of The Book of Common Prayer, they would limit his church time to twice a week!
Now that I have introduced you to the chaos that is referred to as seminary, I would like to keep you there for just a minute longer. There are a number of theories about what a priest should and should not say in the pulpit, and what I am about to say is something that many books would suggest I not say.
During my second year in seminary, I had what many of the contemplative writers would call a “dark night of the soul.” In other words, it was a period of spiritual numbness, dryness. I felt like Israel in the wilderness. For those of you who have not grown up in the church or are not Christians, a dark night of the soul is similar to what a writer might call “writer’s block.” I do not really know what happened, but my guess is that all those books and papers, the mandatory trainings, retreats and worship, along with all the meetings with church committees where they poked and prodded you all day long – all of it just sucked Jesus right out of my heart – and there I was in seminary having a crisis of faith.
Call it age, call it wisdom, call it what you will, but I now realize that every one of us, every Christian in this room has had something like that happen to you. I am not sure that you are human or your faith is sincere unless you have had questions and doubts – and I encourage you not to get discouraged when you have them, but dig deeper.
The disciples were constantly doubting and questioning, and to that end, show us that this is what it means to follow Christ.
However, in seminar, this little crisis of faith came at a bad time and was very disconcerting. There I was in seminary (almost two years down and one to go), studying to be a priest, and somehow I was struggling with my faith, prayer life, and questioning my call to the priesthood.
I remember just before Christmas (actually it was mid-November) of that year, I was trying to register for my next semester classes and instead of registering for the required Episcopal priest classes, I registered for different classes, so if this dark night of the soul continued into the Spring I would graduate with an MA and pursue another career.
Ironically (call it irony if you would like), just before Christmas Break, a friend and fellow priest invited me to join a group of parishioners on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. He said the trip would be during my Spring Break and it would change my faith. That Christmas I was very honest with my parents about where I was spiritually. I told them that I was studying Bible and theology eight hours a day, I had done outreach trips, served as a hospital chaplain, tutored kids in a local church in the community, and been preaching. But amidst all of this service to our Lord and the Church, the well had gone dry. I remember telling them that I needed to get away and think about things, and spend some time with Jesus. I needed a mountaintop experience. I wanted a honeymoon with JC – whatever you want to call it – and that I was going to Israel. “Momma, I am going to the Temple.”
Now a momma’s boy, telling his over-protective mother that he was going on Spring Break to the Middle East, was not the best Christmas gift. I think Mexico or Daytona Beach would have gone over a lot better. What did not make things any easier around the house was the fact that her mother-in-law decided to give me the airfare as my Christmas gift.
The reason I am telling you this is because I remember the exact moment I started to come out of my spiritual slump. It was as though God was listening to me because I was standing on a mountaintop. I was standing on the Mount of Olives overlooking the Temple in Jerusalem, and I must have been in the exact spot the disciples were standing today.
So that you can have an image, it is like standing on top of Kennesaw Mountain and looking out onto Marietta. The Mount of Olives is not much larger than Kennesaw Mountain. As I was standing there on that mountain, looking at that Temple, everything started turning around.
Today’s Gospel reading depicts the disciples standing in the same spot, yet for them, everything starts falling apart. The question I would like to pose today is, “Why?” Why were our reactions so different?
The reason our reactions were different is because we had different understandings of the Temple. For the disciples, God dwelled in the Temple in the Holy of Holies, as the Hebrew’s reading talks about. However, we know that when Jesus walked down off the Mount of Olives, he went into the city and was crucified, and he became the new Temple. The passage from Hebrews says that his sacrifice was the ultimate sacrifice, and his body was now the Holy of Holies.
What drew me out of my spiritual slump was not a vacation to the Holy Land. What drew me out of my dark night of the soul was the way in which those buildings and places directed me toward Christ.
I hope there are not too many of you in this room having a “dark night of the soul,” but maybe there are a few of you. And if you are not, you certainly know of family members or friends who are. There is a way out – here – our purpose at St. James’ is to direct people toward Christ. We exist to direct people toward Christ.
As we stand on the mountaintop today, it is important for you to know that we are not the Temple; and in the season of Stewardship, your pledge is not the Temple Tax. Jesus is the Temple and we are the body of Christ in this world. Yes, your pledge keeps this $1,068,000 operation going, but what it primarily does is to keep the body alive for those who are searching for Christ.
Around 400 people worship with us each weekend, where they experience the presence of Christ through our beautiful worship and music. Thirty two students attend Wonderful Days. Our children’s ministries not only teach children about the Bible, but also show them what it means to serve Christ.
Our youth ministries do not have Nintendo Wii’s and flat screen TVs to draw in big crowds. We have Journey to Adulthood, engaging teens with their real life issues an searching for Christ. Our multitude of adult offerings are an attempt to do the same thing. We are about bringing people to Christ.
Our limitation this day is seeing this church as the Temple, and our contributions as keeping the Temple operating. Jesus is the Temple and we are his body – and in order to have life, this body needs your participation, prayers and support – and to give life to those who are searching! Amen.
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