July 25, 2010
Mary Magdalene
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

Today and then again in two weeks we are taking the option of transferring a lesser feast day from the middle of the week to a Sunday. We’re celebrating Mary Magdalene today, and, in two weeks, the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

Who was Mary Magdalene? Well, first we have to start with who she wasn’t, because the western church has defamed her character throughout its history. Through a misinterpretation of scripture, she has been said to be a sinner, a repentant prostitute, the beloved patron saint of all fallen women. This view came from a merging of two unrelated texts, and a liberal sprinkling of sexism.  

Mary Magdalene, it is said in the gospels, had 7 demons cast out from her by Jesus, prior to becoming a disciple. Well, we all know that the chief sin of women is to tempt men, so obviously the 7 demons must have been of a sexual nature. Then there is that unnamed woman identified as a notorious sinner who shocks a proper dinner party of Pharisees by washing Jesus’ feet with her tears and her hair. Obviously she was a prostitute, because why else would a woman be notorious? And even though she was unnamed, obviously she was Mary Magdalene, because Mary had been cured of 7 sexual demons. Voila!

The here’s what the gospels actually tell us. Mary was from Magdala, a town on the shores of the Galilee. She was named as one of the women who always accompanied Jesus and supported him with her own money. Some speculate that since Magdala was a town that included rich fabric merchants, Mary could have been a successful businesswoman. 

The 7 demons that Jesus cast out of her were probably illnesses, since, in those days, they understood chronic illness as demonic. If they had meant that her 7 demons were sins, the gospels would have had Jesus forgiving her, as he did for many sinners. So she was probably a very sick woman whom Jesus made well, and who then supported him financially from her substantial means. 

Next, the gospels tell us that Mary Magdalene was present at Jesus’ crucifixion, after all the male disciples had fled in fear for their lives. Then, she is one of those who was there when Jesus was buried by Joseph of Arimathea. Again, the cowardly male disciples were nowhere in sight. 

All 4 gospels tell us that even after his burial, Mary would not abandon Jesus. Her love for him compelled her to hang around the tomb. In two of the gospels, including the story we heard as the gospel reading today, we are told that Mary Magdalene was alone when the risen Christ first appeared. We’re then told that she went and told the men what she had seen, and they did not believe her. 

From this point on, Mary Magdalene disappears from the New Testament. 

However, she continues to appear significantly in Christian texts that did not make it into the canon of the New Testament, and were actively suppressed by the developing church. In Gnostic gospels, she is described as having a special, beloved relationship to Jesus, about which Peter is terribly jealous. 

These texts also call her “the apostle to the apostles,” the one to whom Jesus imparted deep knowledge and who would then teach the other apostles the mysteries of the faith. Some scholars believe that because of this, Mary Magdalene was a leader in the early church, among other women, perhaps considered apostles before their role became institutionalized as bishops, and limited to men. 

But this non-canonical tradition was stamped out by the church, along with other Christian minorities. Texts were burned, leaders were exiled or martyred, property was confiscated, and followers were excommunicated. Mary Magdalene, along with many other figures, teachers, and traditions, disappeared. 

This is where fictional speculation begins, with books and movies like The Da Vinci Code. But we will never know precisely her relationship to Jesus. We will never know whether she, along with other women, ever  preached, celebrated the Eucharist, or ordained clergy. 

However, there are several things we do know. She was a faithful disciple, who became very close to Jesus after he healed her. She supported his movement financially. She had the courage to stay with Jesus at the cross and burial, despite the great danger of being associated with him. Most importantly, she was the first witness to the risen Christ, and to then go out and share the good news. Through it all, she persevered with determination and love for Jesus, in spite of the jealousy, cowardice, and skepticism of the male disciples.

What can we learn from Mary Magdalene’s story, other than the fact that the church, even the apostles, sometimes gets it wrong? 

First, that our discipleship is strengthened by healing. Mary followed Jesus because he healed her. When we journey with God through a complete meltdown and come out the other side a new person, freer and stronger, we will never forget who helped bring us there. When we narrowly escape death and come out of surgery with a second chance in life, we know what Spirit has been at work to heal us. 

We will, like Mary Magdalene, follow that Spirit with loyalty and perseverance for the rest of our lives. And part of our loyalty will be to give our money towards the spread of Jesus’ gracious kingdom, as Mary did. 

Second, we learn from Mary that it is possible to remain with Jesus even at the cross, even at the tomb, when things are hopeless and seemingly buried forever. When someone we love dies, when we have been hated or exposed as a failure or a fraud, when our finance, our work identity, and our dreams crash to the ground, we can remain with Jesus. We don’t have to be a fair-weather friend to him. We can stay with him, even when we can’t see him offering any light at the end of the tunnel. It is enough, like Mary, to hunker down with him in the darkness, and wait together for the light. He will be our friend, even there. 

Third, we can be a witness to the resurrection. Like Mary of Magdalene, we may have been in the dark garden of despair when Christ quietly appeared to us as light and new life. So don’t hide the light you’ve come to know under a basket. Tell others how it happens for you, how God renews you and helps you through. As it is often said, you are the only gospel that some people will ever read. 

This, after all, is what it means to be an apostle, an evangelist, a bearer of good news. And this doesn’t mean that you try to convince anyone of anything. It simply means that you are one thirsty soul telling another where they, too, might find water.

There is a tradition in the Eastern Orthodox Church that shows Mary Magdalene holding a red egg. The image comes from a story that, later in life, Mary had the opportunity to witness to her faith before the Roman Emperor Tiberius. She happened to be carrying an egg at the time. Don’t ask me why. 

When Mary spoke to Tiberius about Jesus rising from the dead, the Emperor laughed and replied “that is about as likely as that egg in your hand turning red.” Which it promptly did. 

We stand before the world, holding out our life experience, for all to see. We even hold forth our faith. For people can tell if, in spite of our difficulties, we are people of hope, faith, abiding love, and courage. It’s as obvious as an egg. 

As people who know from our own experience that God has the power to make all things new -  just as surely as Mary Magdalene knew from her experience that Jesus healed her and rose from the dead to live in her - we can hold up that egg of our life, and show how red it has become. 

July 18, 2010
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor
Martha and Mary
Luke 10:38-42

In the old days, Roman Catholics used to refer to the various religious orders as either “active” or “contemplative.” One was out in the world, running hospitals and schools, and the other was in the cloister, praying. One was said to be like Martha, busy and distracted by their many tasks, and the other was Mary, sitting at the Lord’s feet. 

Sometimes identify themselves more as a Martha or a Mary in their faith life. The Marthas like to organize potlucks and the Marys like to be in contemplative prayer groups. We’ve held up these two models as spiritual personality types, almost like the Enneagram or the Myers-Briggs. Both are considered equally valid ways of living out our faith. 

While this is true, it comes from a misreading of this story. Here’s what happened. When Martha complained to Jesus about how Mary was not helping her, Jesus did not say “well, isn’t it nice that we’ve got different forms of spirituality here, one active and one contemplative. Martha, you go on and fulfill your vocation there in the kitchen and Mary, you fulfill yours here sitting on the floor.” 

Instead, Jesus said “Martha, stop your fussing and settle down. Mary has chosen the better part.” The better part. Now I don’t think that this was a sweeping statement about the superiority of the contemplative life over the active life. It was, I think, a response to a particular situation. 

We don’t know what was going on before and after this evening. But it is possible that what Jesus had to say that evening was important. Maybe he had just healed someone, or maybe one of his disciples had come to the stunning realization that Jesus was filled with the light of God, and said so. Whatever was going on, sitting down and listening to Jesus with devotion was, in fact, the better thing to be doing at that moment.

There are times for busy activity, and there are times for sitting at the feet of the Lord. Neither is superior the other. None of us is oriented toward just one or the other. But there are times when it is better for any of us to stop our fussing and settle down with God. There are times when it is better, as it says in Psalm 46, to be still and know that [God is] God. 

If sometime you turn to back of The Book of Common Prayer and look through the Outline of the Faith, commonly called the Catechism, you’ll find a section on prayer. It names 7 principle kinds of prayer: adoration, praise, thanksgiving, penitence, oblation, intercession, and petition. 

Adoration is when we sit at the feet of the Lord, when we leave ourselves behind and put our attention on God. Adoration the kind of prayer we have come to associate with Mary in this gospel story. It is the first form of prayer that the prayer book lists, and perhaps by implication, the most important. But what is adoration, and how is it different from praise or thanksgiving? 

There is a phenomenon that takes place mostly, but not exclusively, with women and babies I call the Adoration of the Blessed Infant. The other day I went into my dentist’s office. A young mother, the dentist, in fact, came through the front door with her 1-year old, and you’d have thought that Brad Pitt just walked in. The receptionist, waiting patients, hygienists from the other examination rooms – they all immediately glided towards the baby. All eyes locked in on the little girl, smiles spread across each face, each body leaned in her direction. It was like iron filings being pulled toward a magnet. It was the Adoration of the Blessed Infant. 

What they were doing was a form of what every good parent does with their baby. It’s called mirroring, or attunement. The parent stays focused on the baby’s eyes, and the two of them mirror expressions, eye movements, subtle smiles. It’s very natural and very important. From the infant’s point of view, there is no subject and object; the baby is one with the parent. It is how the baby learns that the universe is safe and good, and that they are connected in love. 

So it is with the prayer of adoration, the prayer of Mary. We attune to God, we fix our attention on the One with whom we are one, and there is no subject or object. In doing so, we learn that the universe is safe and good, and that we are connected in love. 

In other forms of prayer we bring out concerns into the relationship: we name what we’re grateful for, what we’re sorry for, and who we’re carrying in our heart. But in adoration, we leave ourselves behind. We only gaze upon the Beloved. It’s not about us at all; it’s about God. 

The prayer of adoration isn’t complicated and it isn’t reserved for the especially holy, or for those who are supposedly a contemplative or introverted “type,” any more than attunement is reserved for those kinds of babies. We’re all made to adore God at times. It is natural to our humanity. And there are times when it is the better thing for us to be doing, as Jesus said that day in Bethany. Some are drawn to do it a lot, and others are drawn to it just once in awhile. It doesn’t matter. What matters, as the Catechism teaches, is that we learn to include it in our repertoire of prayer. 

Sometimes adoration just comes over us. This happens for me when I’m sitting and listening to beautiful music. It happens sometimes when I’m serving communion here at this altar. Last week I was camping up in Abiquiu, and it happened almost every time I lifted up my eyes and took in the beauty of that powerful land. In these times, I know I am with God, and I’m just happy to be there. 

But adoration is also something that we can sometimes set out to do, just as we set out to offer prayers of thanksgiving or confession or intercession. In adoration, we are not praying for anything. We’re not expressing our needs, we’re not asking for a feeling of peace, we’re not focused on ourselves or other people at all. We’re focused on God. 

How do we do this? God is, after all, invisible and silent. How do you focus on a mystery? Well, in this case it’s probably more helpful to do it than to talk about it. So let me demonstrate, by guiding you for a few minutes in prayer. 

*************

close eyes, feet on the floor, hands on your lap

breath

chest, soften and warm your heart - light

light in heart radiates outward, beyond you
in this room, connecting you with those around you
beyond this building, into neighborhood
sky above, out into all the earth

light that is within you is everywhere; it is the Spirit of God
no subject and no object
you are part of it

Russian Orthodox Theophan the Recluse:  prayer then consists only in a standing before God, in an opening of the heart to him in reverence and love.

now take a few moments to stand before God 
“thank you” 
asking nothing, expecting nothing 

in reverence and love

In the Northern New Mexico of my youth, one would find numerous images of Nuestra Senora De Dolores (Our Lady of Sorrows).  The representation of Mary with a sword piercing her heart and tears in her eyes as she grieves over the suffering of her son.  Throughout the villages of the north, are the Penitentes, a group of lay religious devoted to the suffering of Christ and the sorrows of Mary – they influenced my spiritual and cultural formation.  

Memories of the Penitentes singing ancient hymns or alabados brought over from 15th century Spain are quite vivid.  These hymns evoke a pleading and wailing, so much so that within the walls of a darkened church, as the verses begin – you almost instantly begin to cry as sorrow and pain converge in prayerful plainchant  “a mi hijo Jesus le dio en rostro y en la Corazon a mi.  “he hit my son Jesus on the face and hit me in the heart.”

I was deeply affected by one of these hymns during a velorio or wake of a young boy who died tragically.  The song written about Mary, seem to apply to this grieving mother “You are left alone, what desolation, without the presence of you beautiful Son.”  She wept uncontrollably, refusing to leave the casket of her son as this song was sung.  She would cry out, first in anger, yelling “Dios, porque? – God why?”, and then pleading “Por favor Dios- ayudame –Please God, help me.”  She eventually had to be carried out of the Church.  

At that moment, her anger, grief, pain, and helplessness all made sense, they were natural.  This woman’s grief had a profound impact on me, because she shared this profound pain, and her grief was a prayer, her pain was holy, it was sacred.  It was as if the wailing pounded on the gates of heaven. I wondered if she would ever find peace.  

As I left the church, I thought of the importance of grieving.   To get angry, to cry, and then move into absolute dependence.     To scream at God and then understand and allow God’s response to our pain.   That may sound strange – to be angry at God, can we do this?  

Today’s Gospel speaks of not only compassion, but pain.  The traveler, on his way is blind-sided by life.  We assume the attack was savage because it says he was left half-dead.  So when he finally regains consciousness, he is in pain, tasting blood in his mouth, his vision is out of focus.

Imagine his desperation as he struggles to his feet.  He falls back on the ground in pain and afraid, attempting to make sense of what just happened.  All he can see is the world passing on its merry way while he is suffering. As he was lying there alone, what is he thinking? 

Is he independent saying I going be tough, and avoid everyone.   I do not need God or anyone else’s help.  Is it,  I am going to act like nothing happened, I’ll just hide until the pain passes and then go on my way.   When I get my strength, I will whack the next person who comes along, take their donkey and money and then I will feel better.  

Most likely through the pain and despair, he looks up to the sky and asks – why?  He pounds the dirt, and screams at God “Why me? Why did I do to deserve this?”  There is never a sufficient explanation for tragedy and suffering so he becomes angrier, screams, and moans.  Finally, he begins to cry.  He sobs in absolute helplessness until that Samaritan hears him and gently lifts him up.  Lying in his pain, maybe he even whispered the same words of that grieving mother – “please, please help me Lord.”

When we read this Gospel, most assume that the traveler was robbed of his money, but the Gospel does not describe what was taken.  Anyone of us can be that traveler in our Gospel, walking along in life and then our marriage is robbed of trust by an act of infidelity, or our certain future robbed by cancer or illness. 

Maybe we were robbed of home or savings because of the economy.  Trust and innocence stolen because of violence or abuse.  It could have been a religious leader stealing the love of God from you based on their own selfishness.  What if your heart was taken by the death of someone you dearly love?

In each instance, you feel beaten, powerless and bewildered.  And you do not have to be by the side of the road, you can be sleepless in your bed at night, pounding the kitchen table or maybe sitting right here in this church, biting your lip to hold back the tears.  Wondering silently, Why me? What have I done to deserve this?  

It sounded silly for the traveler to avoid everyone, to act like nothing ever happened, or to go at it alone.  But for many of us, that is how we behave.  We do not want to express our anger, our doubts, and our grief.  What do we do?  

Do we bury it, and avoid the pain – that never works because it will eventually rise to the surface.  Do we avoid God?  That only isolates us from our true calling and separates us from a supportive community. For many, it is easier to bury our pain than to free your tears.  

Or do you just let go, scream at God and then sob uncontrollably?    When we give ourselves permission to bring our pain and loss into the light and allow it to breathe, it is there that healing begins and trust returns. 

When we acknowledge our pain and suffering, that broken place allows for the peace of God to enter.  For just as we cannot sufficiently explain tragedy, as St. Paul writes – we have no words for the peace of God which passes all understanding.

We are never told that we can complain to God.  But as I have come to know this indescribable love of God, I began to understand that God can handle our anger, God can handle our questioning, and God can handle our pain.  Because God has been there, and understands, only God can give the peace we need.   

God can stand there and have you can pound on that divine chest, using the worst language possible and you will simply be loved.   When we question God the most, seems to be when God is holding us the tightest.  God is there, weeping with us, lying next to us when we are cursing the darkness.

This is not a new concept, nearly 1/3 of all the Psalms are about complaining to God, asking God why?  Yet we avoid those Psalms.   Jesus tells us in that beatitudes that weeping and mourning is a blessed state.   Jesus wept openly at the grief of Martha and Mary.

We often hear many evangelical and conservative churches say that we need to have personal relationship with Christ, with God.  I agree, and that includes the stuff most do not like to deal with – the pain, the anger, the helplessness, the crying. At times, yelling at God is the most honest type of prayer.  

Where we surrender, when we yell God’s name, we actually show that we need God.  I often wonder if Jesus prefers that we do not believe or ignore him because it makes our eventual belief all the more interesting, all the more intense.  Think of it, when you look at the sky and ask “if you really exist, how can let this happen” you are communicating with God.

When God see us in pain, when we are hurting, the last thing the divine wants from us is a soppy halleluiah, or false praise.  God wants an honest, true relationship and that includes loving each one of us enough to hear our pain, our doubts, our complaints, our cries.   There is a speaks of this love. The words go: 

God loves a lullaby, In a mothers tears in the dead of night. God loves a drunkards cry, A soldiers plea not to let him die Better than a Hallelujah sometimes.  The woman holding on for dear life, The dying man giving up the fight, Better than a Hallelujah sometimes.

The tears of shame for what's been done, the silence when the words won't come.    We pour out our miseries, and God just hears a melody, Beautiful the mess we are, the honest cries of breaking hearts are better than a Hallelujah. 

We know Mary’s story, she lived in complete trust of God.   I believe the traveler saved by the Samaritan changed hearts and lives through the same compassion he was shown.  The woman who pleaded with God at her son’s funeral, she volunteers at the church, helping the needy and there she started a support group for those who have suffered loss or trauma.  She often says she is blessed.  

God love us intimately, and it is ok to be angry with your pain, you are allowed to cry like a baby, to grieve hopelessly, to question, to shake your fist.  Nothing will change God’s love for you.  God is always listening for the sound of your voice, whether angry, sad, despairing or praising, your voice will always be met with God’s song of love the gift of peace.   Go ahead, cry out, you will be surprised by the response.

The 4th of July, 2010
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

In the last few months I’ve been working on a music project, which you’re sharing in today. I’ve been collecting some of my favorite American sacred music. Most of it is from the 19th century, and from the South, where so much of our nation’s soul is to be found. The music includes African-American spirituals, Appalachian folk hymns, tent meeting songs, gospel tunes, and white spirituals from collections like The Sacred Harp.  

This music captures something of the American soul. It’s deeply religious music, coming from a time and place of real suffering: slavery, poverty, Civil War, failed crops, sickness and death. Life was hard then. As the common folk wrote songs on their guitars and fiddles, they poured their faith into this music, expressing a pure, uncomplicated passion. It’s a feeling of unashamed devotion and longing for a better life with God - for liberation, peace, and plenty. 

Much of it seems to be about heaven. But it’s also about this world, about making this nation a reflection of the heavenly city. The slave spirituals are a good example of this dual meaning. They sing of freedom to be found in the sweet by and by, but this was also code for the end of slavery, for the Underground Railway, for the North. 

So they were pilgrims, journeying through one promised land into the next, from America to heaven. They were grounded in scriptures such as our reading from Hebrews today, which hearkened back to the first pilgrims of our faith tradition: Abraham and his tribe. 

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance… he looked forward to the city…whose architect and builder is God…they confessed that they were strangers and foreigners on the earth…[so] they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one.

This is what American pilgrims believed: that God was giving them this land as an inheritance, and they were to build a city whose architect was God. They were to found a New Jerusalem, a place that would reflect that better country, that is, a heavenly one. 

Of course we know that this sense of divine mission cut both ways. They were grateful for the beauty and resources of this land; but in order to take full advantage for themselves they exploited the earth and all people of color. Like the Jews before them, when they arrived in the promised land, they overlooked the fact that perhaps God had already promised it to others before them, people who already lived here. 

And yet, at the same time, they succeeded in their vision, to some degree. We have a justice system that protects people’s rights pretty well, better than most nations. We are freer than millions who live under oppressive governments. All you have to do is travel a little to see this, and to be grateful for it.

Yet we always have further to go in our pilgrimage. There is always a more to do, because new problems and greater complexities demand it. We’re never finished building this promised land. And people of faith, just like our forebears, look to our scriptures to tell us how we might do so.  

Our scriptures tell us first of all, right there in the first sentences of the book of Genesis, of a Garden of Eden. The earth is a sacred, abundant, and harmonious place, and our Creator has asked us to steward it well. So we sing of this American Garden of Eden: purple mountains’ majesty and fruited plains, shining seas and God’s blessing over all. We have been given stewardship of a heaven on earth. 

I’ve traveled all over this land, and I feel this way. And so as I look at the ongoing disaster of the oil gush in the Gulf, my heart breaks. But I pray that this horrible tragedy will prove to be for us our big opportunity to return to that sense that we are God’s stewards of a sacred garden. 

I pray that we will remember that God’s earth is not ours to poke holes in with flimsy mile-long pipes, hoping they won’t break, with no back-up plan, driven only by urgent demands for more oil, more jobs, more money. We have no business treating God’s earth with such risky short-sightedness. It’s not ours to exploit. 

This tragedy is our big chance to question our environmental policies. I hope it will help us wake up. I hope we will find the will to figure out how we can both create prosperity and care for this fragile earth, our island home. The question is, can we learn to lovingly care for God’s Garden of Eden as we make our pilgrimage through it? 

Our scriptures, in fact our reading from the Old Testament today, also tell us that God calls us to execute justice for the widows and the orphans, for the poor. What does this say about providing healthcare for all? We get all wrapped up in debates about the welfare state and government regulation, but aren’t we supposed to care for those who can’t care for themselves? Why shouldn’t we provide good healthcare for everyone?  Aren’t we a compassionate nation, founded on biblical principles of mercy and sympathy for the most vulnerable? 

The Old Testament lesson today also asks us to love the stranger, giving them food and shelter, remembering that we, too, were strangers in this land once. What does this say about the current debate about immigration? Before we get too exercised about security and jobs, perhaps we need to remember that we are a nation of immigrants. Can we see ourselves in the eyes of Mexican immigrants, knowing that we, like them, were strangers in this land once? Can’t we strive for security and hospitality, at the same time?  

Our scriptures speak again and again of nonviolence and forgiveness, as our gospel does today. This is a hard one. Many lay this aside entirely, saying that for individuals, this is fine, but for a nation, it is unrealistic. Look at Hitler, they say: even Gandhi said that nonviolence wouldn’t work with him. You don’t approach terrorists with compassion. 

But for us, Jesus’ teachings cannot be aside too quickly or too indiscriminately. We need to struggle with them. He said, in today’s gospel, that we, like God, are to rain down justice and compassion on the good and the evil alike. We are to love our enemies, to pray for those who persecute us.

How can we then, as followers of Jesus, jump enthusiastically into pre-emptive war? How can we justify civilian deaths in air strikes, unlimited access to all sorts of guns, or the death penalty? 

As followers of Jesus, I think we should be voices of caution when it comes to violence. We should be the voice of conscience for our violent nation. Surely we can send the rain of justice on our enemies in some way; surely we can exercise compassion even for those who persecute us. We can contribute to their economic development, we can take seriously their legitimate needs and concerns. 

As we give thanks on this national holiday for this blessed and abundant land, for the many freedoms and privileges we enjoy, we also know that there are no easy answers to any of these thorny questions of national policy. 

But we can listen carefully to our scriptures, and wonder what they might say to us about how we exercise our citizenship. We can listen to what they say about peace, freedom, equality, and mercy, and strive towards a greater fulfillment of them. 

Our forebears listened, and what they heard was a call to be pilgrims, moving through a sacred landscape. Along the way, they wanted to build a promised land here on earth, as a reflection of the one they were headed towards in heaven. I think we still do.