Sing a new song - Or an old one

To some people’s delight, and to other’s consternation we’ve been changing the music around here. We’ve brought back some old favorites, like the “Old Rugged Cross,” and “Great is Thy Faithfulness,” and we’ve brought in some new ones, like the Taizé “Alleluia” we just sang, and “All That We Have” which we’ll sing in a few moments.

Regardless of whether you love them, or you’re ready to run me out of town on a rail – Christians sing. We always have, and we always will. We’re singing people.

And, as singing people, there are times when we learn new songs – or write new songs – or rediscover old songs – and there are times we belt out our favorites.

Every song was sung for the first time at one time or another. A German priest was stuck on Christmas Eve once with a broken organ. What was he going to do? The throngs of people were going to descend upon his church to celebrate the birth of Christ, and he had no musical instrument to play – well, yes he did. He whipped out his guitar, and he whipped out some lyrics and a tune, and there on one of the most important nights of the church year he sang a new song on a guitar. That song’s name is “Silent Night.”

Oh, I’m sure there were some people who didn’t like all this new music stuff – why couldn’t that priest just play one of the old tunes? But, a new song was born, and it wouldn’t be Christmas today without it.

A slave trader in the 1800’s was riding his slave ship, and he had a change of heart. Maybe this slave business wasn’t the right thing to do after all. So, with a contrite heart he sat down and wrote a poem, later put to music. One Sunday in a church in England that song was sung for the first time. O, they could have sung one of the old familiars, but then that song wouldn’t have had it’s birth: The song? Amazing Grace.

We’re singing people. Some of us sing well. Some of us don’t. But, regardless, the singing of hymns and carols is infectious. Maybe you’re like me and you walk around much of the week humming and singing the chorus of hymns we sing in church. I can’t get “All That We Have” out of my head sometimes!

Singing hymns has a way of grafting our faith into our hearts and souls. It embodies our faith with power, urgency, and powerful emotion – and it lets us experience our faith over and over again whenever the organ (or piano) strikes up.

We’re singing people, we Christians. And we always have been.

In the very, very early Church, back even before much of the New Testament was written, Christians were gathering together to read the scriptures, pray, break bread. . . and sing.

One such hymn of the early church is in today’s epistle lesson from Paul’s letter to the Philippians. Paul inserts part of the hymn to help him make a point, and to reinforce his point by letting his Philippian friends know that a hymn that they already knew and loved contained that point.

It’s a hymn about Jesus – his existence – his birth – his life on earth – his death – and his exaltation.
The hymn goes like this: Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue in modern English – but it was a hymn. It was sung by our fathers and mothers of the Christian faith. Isn’t it neat that we have a little piece of a hymnal from 2,000 years ago?

The hymn says two important things. First, it says that it wasn’t just on the cross that Christ sacrificed himself. It says that his birth into our world, his becoming human, and his life of obedience was all sacrificial. He emptied himself. He took the form of a slave and was born in human likeness. He became obedient to the point of death.

At one time he was in heaven, as God, reigning over the universe in glory and splendor – and he gave all that up to become like us, for no other reason than his love for us.

Second, it says that that Jesus is the most important thing in the universe. Everything that has life and breath is created to praise him, and live for him.

So, this hymn is about Jesus. It’s about his incarnation, and it’s about his divine status.

But, the startling thing about this hymn is how Paul uses it in his letter. He adds a little piece into the first verse of the hymn: Have the same mind in you.

Paul quotes this hymn as saying how much Jesus sacrificed, and humbled himself, and became obedient to God – and then Paul says that we’re to be just like that.

For Paul, the life of Jesus is the standard for all humanity. We’re to live like him, and be like him, and love like him, and be obedient like him. Paul always judges his own life against the example of Jesus, and that’s what he wants from all of us.

The really powerful thing is that when Paul was writing this letter, Paul wasn’t sitting comfortably in some throne somewhere being fed grapes. Paul was in jail, and he was heading for certain death by execution. Paul was living the life of emptying, he was exemplifying what it mean to be a slave of his Master God, and he was demonstrating by his life what obedience really was.

We don’t know what the tune to this hymn sounded like. Was it as good as “Amazing Grace?” “Silent Night?” “All that we Have?”

Regardless though, I’m sure it was grafted into the hearts of the Philippians through years of singing, and I’m sure it was grafted into their hearts by Paul’s use of it, his reframing of it, and his example.

For us singing people, it’s all about Jesus. And it’s all about being like him, in his life, his obedience, and his willingness to sacrifice.

In the words of Paul then, let us be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Let us do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than ourselves. Let each of us look not to our own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in us that was in Christ Jesus.

Worship at Camp Dawson

Georgia, Mary, and Marie from St. Peters, and Karen and Ruth G. from St. John's traveled with me to Camp Dawson tonight for worship with the evacuees.

When we got there, I nearly flipped my lid. I was asked almost two weeks ago to lead this service, and when I arrived I was told that another church was there to lead worship.

What!?

When I calmed down, I realized that this could be a wonderful blessing. It's tragedies like Katrina which remind us that we all call on the same heavenly Father. This other church was an Independant Baptist church who had brought in this evangelist from Florida. After saving some souls, and some really very good music, the Episcopalians were the second act.

I sang my usual "Great is Thy Faithfulness" routine, and preached a sermon on Lamentations 3, where many of the words for hymn come from. Lamentations is a book written after Jerusalem was destroyed, many of its inhabitants were killed, and the survivors were taken away to Babylon as slaves.

I asked the congregation if they could imagine their city being destroyed, men, women and children being killed, and being dragged off to a place where they had never been before.

. . .

Of course they could. I told them that I felt sheepish giving the sermon, because it was their story - their sermon to give.

They sang with reverence - they listened intently, and interjected with 'amens' - and they passed this one beautiful child (named 'Heavenly') around. It was so wonderful. Graceful. Holy.

We then had communion together. (Interestingly the Independant Baptists slipped out the back when the Communion table came out. . .) "The Body of Christ, broken for you. . . the Blood of Christ, shed for you. . ." Those broken people, who had gone hungry, and who are so wounded were being fed by the broken Body of Christ, and the Balm in Gilead was healing wounds.

They held out their hands. They opened their mouths to have the wafer put in for them. They Communed with the God who morning by morning showers down mercies upon us all, and whose faithfulness is great.

Afterwards a couple came up to me to thank me. Hewas brought by his sister (?) to church, not really wanting to come, but was leaving with a smile from ear to ear. He was fed in more ways than one.

We are One Church, gathered under our One God, and we are the recipiants of new mercies every morning - no matter who we are, where we are, or how bad a storm has devastated our life.

Day 2 at Camp Dawson

These people are really quite remarkable. So upbeat, so hopeful, so eager to get on with life.

I sat and talked with one gentleman today who said he was doing pretty good. He said that things were looking up. And then about ten minutes into our conversation he said that he has had major diarrhea for the past four days! He's doing pretty good, and things are looking up?! Just amazing.

God created the human spirit with such reciliancy, and such capacity for compassion and hurt. And no matter how bad FEMA or the government messes up, that human spirit will keep on truckin'.

I played basketball with 5 kids today on and off. It was hot - and there was no cloud cover at all - but it was just so much fun. As we'd play, they'd talk about their experience, and the uncertainty of their future.

There's a pool available on the base, and one of the kids said in a very exasperated tone, "There's no way I'm going swimming - I've seen enough water!"

He then talked about wading through chest high filthy water to make his way to the Superdome.

They were concerned about where they would be going to school. They wanted to play basketball on their school teams again, but were willing to teach the West Virginia farm boys a thing or two if it came to that.

I talked to another fellow that I met on Monday who is getting ready to head to Asheville on Friday. Such faith. Such strength. He saw God blessing him through his experience at Camp Dawson - as if God had been preparing him through his life for it. He felt that God would use him and his witness from this ordeal for many years to come. He felt a call to the ministry.

I also met one of my cousins there from West Viriginia. She works with the state unemployent office, and WV had found several hundred jobs in the middle of the state with good pay and even temporary housing. I am just stunned over and over again about how people are picking up the ball and running with it in so many different directions, and in so many important ways.

I also say this total mountain man - complete with hunting fatigues and blaze-orange cap sitting down and talking to this total inner city black man. These two would NEVER have given each other the time of day two weeks ago. But now, they're brothers. Now, they're ministering to each other.

This has been a total devastating disaster. Lives have been lost, and lives have been changed forever. But, maybe some of those lives that have been changed forever will be changed for the good. And maybe lives that were never affected by the rain, wind, and floods of the hurricane will be changed forever too.

Dare I say our nation, our communities, and the Church could be changed forever?

My Experience Ministering to Katrina's Ravaged

Today, Labor Day, I arose before the sun and set off for Kingwood, WV and the army base Camp Dawson. Yesterday 450 people from the Superdome in New Orleans arrived in the West Virginia hills, many seeing mountains for the first time.

They are tired. They are weary. They have incredible stories of survival - some frightening, some angering, and some hilarious.

Some of these are the poorest of the poor in New Orleans. These are people who had very little to start with, and now they have even less. But, they are so thankful. They are thankful to be where they are - they are thankful that the Red Cross and Christians of all stripes are treating them like kings and queens - they are thankful for a shower and a hot meal. When I ask someone how they are, the response is usually, "blessed."

Today was a lot of sitting and waiting for people to come and talk to me. They were either repelled or attracted to the collar around my neck, and those who were attracted were spiritually wounded and needy - though always thankful.

I played basketball with some of the kids and young adults - who of course were profoundly better than me, though I did earn some credibility by sinking some impressive 3 pointers, and a daring reverse layup.

Overall, it just felt good to be there. It felt good to see West Virginians (and this Marylander) reaching out to the urban poor with much love.

And, it was good to be available to hear their stories. One couple told me that what we all heard in the media wasn't true. There were reports of the Superdome being evacuated almost a day before it was actually being evacuated. They also said, that they had an opportunity to wade through the streets one day - riding a bicycle that quickly became totally submerged, and watching a man drag a huge hot-tub floating down the street.

There was also talk of death and suicide - hunger and survival instincts.

They are God's children - may God look out for them in WV, which is in the words of John Denver 'almost heaven' anyway.

The deepest, darkest of nights

In 1998 one of the largest and most destructive hurricanes to ever form in the Atlantic bore down on the Central American country of Honduras. Unlike Katrina, when this hurricane named Mitch, hit the coastline of Honduras it just about stopped. Katrina was through the Gulf Coast in a manner of hours. Mitch took 4 days to go through Honduras.

It was 4 days of hellish rain, pounding wind, and devastating flooding.

Also, unlike Katrina, tens of thousands of those who were in Mitch's path weren't living in solid homes, but rather in makeshift homes constructed of twigs, cardboard, and other random objects. (This was before the hurricane hit).

It was absolute destruction. Honduras was already the second poorest country in this hemisphere, with an inadequate infrastructure, and people living on less than a dollar a day. The ones that survived, lost children, parents, siblings, and friends. The hollow look we are familiar at seeing in the eyes of our Gulf Coast residents, bore into the already hollow eyes of the Hondurans.

Karen and I had an opportunity to lead a mission trip to Honduras in 2001, to help them rebuild homes and lives. Before we left for Central America I had the chance to hear the Episcopal Bishop of Honduras speak. Standing in the rubble, which was all that was left of his country, he talked about the Gospel.

He said that what gave his people hope was that the Gospel of Matthew didn't end with the 27th chapter. He said that what gave his people hope was that Jesus' story didn't end at the tomb - that Jesus' story didn't end with a corpse and a broken body. There's a 28th chapter: Resurrection, new life, hope, and God's powerful hand working to shed light on the darkness.

God's story didn't end - and it still hasn't - He lives!

May that give us hope today. May the resurrection of Christ give the people of the Gulf Coast hope.

The darker the night - the deeper the blackness and despair gets, the smaller the spark of light needs to be to pierce the darkness. A single candle can illuminate an entire cavern. May we, the Church of Jesus, hold aloft that spark and let is shine like a beacon for those who have been through so much, and lost so much, and need so much.

My guess is that many of you have been as glued to the coverage of this disaster as I have. It has been just been aweful. The pictures of those people on rooftops. Little children being hauled in a basket up to a helicopter. Rivers and lakes where streets and homes used to be. Reports of gunshots, looting, rapes, and gang violence. Reports of people opening thier homes, and cities, and schools, and churches to house, feed, and pray with the victims.

It's times like this that America gets a little smaller. Death, destruction, and despair can make us all feel like New Yorkers, or New Orlanders, or Cajun Mississippi Gulf Coasters. These times break down the walls that divide us and remind us that we all gather under the same flag, and pray to the same Heavenly Father.

Times like these also give us a good glimpse into humanity. In disaster we see most at their best, and some at their worst. We've seen Texas and other Southern States open their arms to others, and we've seen people on the streets of New Orleans take up arms against others.

All of this gives us a view of community. What kind of community is America? What kind of community is Houston? What kind of community are the looters working for? What kind of community are the doctors, nurses, and rescue workers working around the clock working for? What kind of community is the Church building - there - and here?

Both our Epistle lesson and Gospel lessons this morning are about community. I'm not going to go into much depth this morning with them, because I think they mostly speak for themselves:
Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers. Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.

Jesus almost continues along the same line, as he talks about conflict in the Church. He doesn't say to avoid it. He doesn't say it should never happen. He doesn't say that people won't make us angry or hurt, or that we won't ever anger or hurt others. He says that when it happens there is a right way to deal with it. A holy way. A direct way. No middle men. No triangulating. No gossip, but head-on conversation.

Our church is going through some changes these days. We're adding services. We're doing things with Sunday School. We're changing our adult education program in the region. We're training members of this parish for ordained ministry, and seeing their responsibilities and training grow. We're engaging in ministry with the college and the community. We're doing new things with our worship.

Will there be conflict, and concern? You bet.

But, there's a way to deal with it. And there's the promise that conflict will help us grow closer to each other, and closer to God.

Our nation is going through difficult times. Hurricane destruction. Lives lost, and lives destroyed. Gas prices soaring. Home heating bills will double this year.

Will there be conflict and concern? You bet.

But, there's a way to deal with it. And there's the promise that the Gospel doens't end with death and loss and a dead messiah, but rather an empty tomb, new life, and resurrection.

That's the shard of light that pierces even the deepest darkness. Let it shine. Let it shine in us. Let it shine in our parish. Let is shine in the Gulf. Let it shine in our community, and how we live with each other, love one another, and grow with each other into the Body of Christ.