The Rev. Deacon Dr. Bette Kauffman's sermon from Ash Wednesday service March 5, 2025

  Christ Episcopal Service Schedule:

    Sunday March 9th 10am MP

    Sunday March 16th 10am MP

    Sunday March 23rd 10am MP

    Wednesday March 26th 5pm Holy Eucharist with The Rev. David Perkins

    Sunday March 30th 10am MP

 Memento Mori

Christ Episcopal Church, St. Joseph

Year A, Ash Wednesday

Isaiah 58:1-12; 2 Corinthians 5:20b–6:10; Matthew 6:1-6,16-21

 

Keep death daily before your eyes. That’s what St. Benedict said when he established his order many generations ago. It is still a good way to practice the Christian life.

You might recall that 2 years ago, I purchased this hourglass to wear as my memento mori, to wear throughout Lents. It is my reminder that we, and everyone, are going to die.

I’m not sure wearing it only during lent is adequate. Although I have had a good life and think I am not afraid to die, nevertheless I have trouble conceiving of the world without me. But of course it will.

Today, we get ashes on our foreheads, but we only do it once a year. I’m not so sure that is enough. Perhaps keeping our own death daily before our eyes—not just during Lent, but all year long—would indeed rearrange our lives, teach us to make better choices about how we spend our time, and our talent and our money.

Keeping our own death daily before our eyes is also a way of healthy and appropriate letting go of those things that are so destructive to living a full and rich life. How much time will we invest in holding onto a grudge, stubbornly refusing to forgive, beating up ourselves with regret… while contemplating our own death? Not much, I hope.

How about awaking us anew to the value of life itself and to the transient beauty that surrounds us? Like trillium, this most beautiful wildflower that blooms for only a few weeks in the early spring. Now! Go see it now, because by the middle of March it will be gone. Without a trace.

The poet E.B. Browning said it like this:

Earth's crammed with heaven and every common bush afire with God; and only he who sees takes off his shoes. The rest sit around it and pluck blackberries. 

Maybe keeping our own death before us helps us to be joyful, content and attuned to the present, to cherish every moment that we draw breath? To love God for God alone? For no other motive than to love for love’s sake?

Remember, you are going to die.

So consider a Lenten discipline of giving yourself a daily reminder that you are going to die—a memento mori. Make it real. Write about it in a journal, or wear something—maybe a skull pin or pendant, or an hourglass to remind yourself that time is running out.

If you were here Sunday, you heard me say that in writing my sermon, I could not come up with a story about what I’ve done lately to make the world a better place. And I suggested there might be a continuation of that theme today.

I have never been one to “give up” something for Lent. I did grow up attending a Roman Catholic elementary school for a time, and it just never much impressed me that eating fish on Friday and giving up candy did much to transform the behavior of my classmates, much less to make the world a better place.

So I usually try to add a new discipline or spiritual practice to my life during Lent. I can’t do exactly what Jesus did. If I were to go around trying to heal people by spitting in the dirt and making mud, all we’d end up with is people with mud in their eyes!

So we need to look for ways to make the world a better place that in our own time and place and within our capabilities. And this year, I found my thing a couple days ago.

It’s called the 39-Mile Walk Challenge and it is being conducted by the Carter Foundation, which was founded by Jimmy Carter and his wife Roslyn after he left the presidency.

The 39 miles of the challenge comes from the fact that he was our 39^th president, but I hasten to add, this is NOT about politics.

It IS about a man who said “faith is an action verb” and he, himself, lived his faith in visible and specific ways. I’m sure you have seen many photos of him building homes through the Habitat for Humanity program well into his 90s.

The Carter Foundation’s motto is, “Waging Peace. Fighting Disease. Building Hope.” It has a record of success and is highly rated as a nonprofit for low overhead costs. Your money goes to the causes the Foundation takes up.

Jesus healed, and so I chose the 39-Mile Challenge Walk as my Lenten discipline this year. I see it as a way for me to follow Jesus and make a difference in the world by raising money for this organization engaged in healing people around the world.

I also chose this challenge because it requires something physical—some action—from me. This Friday is my first scheduled walk. I plan to walk 5 miles out at Black Bayou Lake National Wildlife Refuge. And while I walk, I will pray and reflect and praise God through appreciating the beauty of creation.

Jimmy Carter also said, I have one life and one chance to make it count for something. I’m free to choose that something. … My faith demands that I do whatever I can, wherever I can, whenever I can, for as long as I can.

So that’s what I chose for this Lenten season. You choose what works for you! A million opportunities await.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the day we remind ourselves that we are but dust and to dust we will return. I will close with this reminder from Br. David Vryhof of the Brothers of Saint John the Evangelist:

We receive the mark of ashes on our foreheads, not as a sign of our sanctity but as a sign of our humanness. We kneel in repentance today. The Savior knows the secrets that hide in the hearts of each of us because he created us, redeemed us, and called us by name. It is his love that will make us whole.

 

  In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. AMEN.

 

 

 

 

 

The Rev. Deacon Dr. Bette Kauffman homily from March 2, 2025

 

    ...Ash Wednesday 5pm, Mar 5, Distribution of Communion and Imposition of Ashes, The Rev. Deacon B. 

Encountering the Holy

2 March 2025

Christ Episcopal Church

Last Epiphany, Year C

Exodus 34:29-35; 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2; Luke 9:28-43a

Who could not love Peter in this Gospel story? He is so very human, even child-like, in his offer to build dwellings on the mountain in order to hold on to a glorious moment.

We have all been there. We have all had a moment or two in our lives, moments so perfect and beautiful, that we have yearned to stop time in its tracks.

We call them “mountain-top moments” for good reason. They are typically moments bathed in holy love and holy light, like the one described by Luke, and like Peter, we want to stay in that moment forever.

Artists throughout the ages have represented the transfiguration scene in a variety of ways, but my favorites show the disciples tumbling down the mountain in disarray, sandals flying off their feet. Moses would approve. They are all on holy ground.

Today is the last Sunday after the Epiphany, and we end this holy season of “showing forth” the way we began it…, with a theophany—a human encounter with God. We—and the world in the persons of the Magi—saw the star, followed it to the infant Jesus, and knelt in wonder before God Incarnate.

That was eight weeks ago. Today we are with the disciples on the mountain top witnessing the glory of God Incarnate once again.

Soon, the vision will end—as all mountain-top experiences must. We must put our shoes back on, head down the mountain, and with Jesus, turn our faces toward Jerusalem. I don’t think the disciples had much of a clue about what was coming, but Jesus did. He has tried to tell them and will try again, but… we see little evidence in their words or actions that they understood.

Who can blame them? We understand—to the extent that we do—only with the help of the biblical record and two thousand years of hindsight.

“To the extent that we do.” I put that phrase in that sentence very purposefully.

We regular church goers are very familiar with the progression of the church year. We prepare for Christmas with advent, we celebrate the holy birth with gusto, and we give at least a nod to the showing forth on Epiphany. We mark the transition between Epiphany and Lent by gorging on pancakes and King Cake, and then get down to the serious business of ashes and fasting, perhaps a bit of extra alms giving, maybe even giving up chocolate or beer—in the fond hope that we can honor Jesus and lose a little weight at the same time!

So, yes, we get it. And we have organized our church life around these events in the life and death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. But I’m directing our attention to something deeper.

Jesus knew what was ahead in Jerusalem. I like to think that he gained strength and courage and resolve for the agony to come from his glorification and moment of complete unity with God the Father and God the Holy Spirit on the mountain top.

Matthew tells this story as well and says that, on the way down, Jesus and his disciples have a brief theological discussion about what has happened. Luke tells us that, whatever they might have said to each other, they told no one else, which must have been a bit of a strain. We’re usually rather anxious to talk about mountain-top experiences.

But the very next day, something quite important happens. We are used to hearing that people followed Jesus and hung around waiting for him, so it’s not surprising that they encounter the crowd they had left behind to go up the mountain to pray.

Immediately, a man steps out of the crowd and presents himself to Jesus—and not just “a man,” but a distraught and desperate father. Teacher, I beg you to look at my son, he pleads. [A] spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him.

Now Jesus, in my mind, has every right to stay focused on the larger mission. He has bigger fish to fry. He must go to Jerusalem to fulfill all things, to become, through his passion, the salvation of the world. Big, big orders, just confirmed again in his glorification on the mount.

But Jesus does what we have come to expect Jesus to do. He responds to the human need and pain in front of him. He pauses. He puts his own agenda aside. Go get your son, he says to the father, and the father does and Jesus heals him.

How do we encounter God in our own lives? What do we do with those encounters? Are they turning points in our relationships? Not only with God, but with the hurting world of which we are a part?

At this point in writing this homily, I felt that I needed a story, a personal experience of encountering God in my everyday life. And of course, I could think of some, but they involved me alone out in the woods or a swamp or a beach somewhere. I have lots of those kind of encounters with God!

But I particularly wanted a story about God coming to me in the form of human suffering that I was able to respond to and perhaps make a difference in someone’s life. I could think of one from a number of years ago when I helped an asylum seeker with transportation after he was released from Richwood Detention Center. It was a powerful experience and I got to witness a bit of a family reunion and it certainly affected my view of people who have had to flee their home due to war and violence. But that was at least 5 years ago.

I’m reminded of a conversation among a group of women I was part of a couple of weeks ago. One of them shared that she didn’t feel like she did much in the way of making the world a better place. Her confession made me think then, and again while writing this homily. What am I doing to relieve the pain and suffering of my neighbors, the nearby ones and the more distant ones?

How am I living out the way Jesus shows us—of coming from our encounter with God on the mountain top, or in church, or in the woods or wherever… and finding and responding to God in the pain and suffering of the world?

Here's what I know: We are poised in this moment between Epiphany and Lent. Jesus walks among us in the form of our fellow human beings, even the ones who don’t look like us or think like us, and who might not even like us. Our encounters with God through being a neighbor are waiting.

Here’s what I don’t know: Are we open to them? Are we willing to find God, not only in a beautiful sunset, not only inside this beautiful worship space, but even more compellingly disguised in the very brokenness of our world? Are we willing to be transformed by our encounter with the Holy in the most unlikely people?

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, AMEN.