As promised
Feb. 24th, 2008 03:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chrishansenhomeHere is a picture of me in my new cassock and cotta, with a biretta for good measure. The picture isn't very good so I shall get a better one taken next time I'm preaching (Good Friday, I think). They are very comfortable.
February 24, 2008 Third Sunday of Lent
Sermon delivered at St. John the Evangelist, 10 am.
Subject: Humility (Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit)
In the name of God, the one, the Undivided Trinity. AMEN.
The retired Rector of my parish church in San Francisco, California is an amazingly good preacher. Some of the best sermons I’ve ever heard were those Robert preached in Trinity Episcopal Church. He recently wrote in his blog about how to listen to a sermon—he recommended taking notes. (Now, don’t all get your pens and paper out!)
He told us about an occasion when he was preaching, years ago, and noticed that a young girl in the congregation was writing in her notebook as he spoke. Suitably impressed, at the coffee hour after the service he approached her proudly and said, “I noticed you taking notes during my sermon. Will you be studying it later?” She stared at him with a puzzled look and said, “Why would I do that? I was keeping track of whether you used every letter of the alphabet in your sermon.”
How often have we heard the saying, “Pride goeth before a fall.”? Many hundreds of times, I’m sure. I know that I am constantly aware of times when I assume that I am more important, more intelligent, more powerful, or more influential than other people. After those occasions of pride, I await with fear the next occasion when I’m taken down a peg or two from the lofty heights to which I think (or perhaps thought) I am entitled.
Thinking that being proud of yourself or your accomplishments will inevitably bring bad luck is superstition, on a par with believing that breaking a mirror, walking under a ladder, or spilling salt will bring bad luck. Bad things happen to good people all the time—some guy wrote a book with that title and cleaned up: obviously someone else’s bad luck was, for him a stroke of very good luck indeed.
So if pride is bad, and humility is good, why do we talk about how proud we are of an accomplishment of ours, or of someone we love? Is that bad? Will we be stricken blind, like Oedipus was in the Greek tragedy? I’m sure that the Blessed Mother was very proud of her son and his ministry—was that pride sinful?
The gifts of God the Holy Spirit are meant to uplift, and not to cast down. So the pride of a mother in her son is not something that the Holy Spirit would want us to avoid.
Humiliation is not the precursor of humility any more than pride goeth before a fall. Humility is a virtue in its own right. Would you be surprised if I said that you can be proud and humble at the same time? Well, you can!
Humility is putting others before yourself. In the parable of the wedding banquet, Jesus says that we should avoid exalting ourselves overly much. It must have been quite a scrum at banquets in Israel in those times, somewhat like trying to secure a place in an open-seating cinema. I imagine people racing into the room looking for the seats closest to the host so that they could bask in his favour, listen to his funny remarks and perhaps gain some advantage through being near him.
How humiliating it must have been for such people when a more important guest arrived who was ushered by the servants straight to the closest seats to the host—the less important guests would be turned out of their comfortable places and told to seek a seat further away.
How much better it would have been for these lesser guests to sit closest to the door. When the host entered, he would notice them sitting near the door and, wanting to speak with them during the banquet he would say, “My friend, come up and sit with me!”
Humility is knowing your place. Knowing that your place is at the highest table, in the best restaurants, at the smartest parties, and the most exalted gatherings, and yet taking a seat near the door, or in a restaurant that serves merely edible food, or at a party given for those who never get a party, or in a group of ordinary people. We sit below the salt not because that’s where we belong, but because we are content to sit there of our own free will.
Humility is a very British virtue. We queue in an orderly fashion in the supermarket. We wait patiently for a train or a bus. We accept the dull weather that seems to be our lot lately without a murmur. We open doors for people to pass in before us, and we accept that taxes will be higher, services will be fewer, and we will have to do more. We sit near the back in church, only coming forward when the priest urges us so to do. And, through all this, our constant refrain is: Mustn’t grumble.
Humility is being grateful for the gifts given to us by God, not asking for too much, taking our places at the table but not too far up toward the head table.
I’d like to make a suggestion for Lent 2009. Every year many of us make a sacrifice for Lent. We give up caffeine, or chocolate, or alcohol, or eating meat. We do so as a penance, a way of bringing our minds up short and remembering that, rather than giving up a tiny item like a piece of chocolate or a G&T, Jesus gave up all he had on earth, and his life, for our sins. Giving up an occasional chocolate is a small reminder of a very large sacrifice made for each one of us.
Perhaps next year, instead of giving up something tangible for Lent, we can turn the tables and force ourselves to do something that’s difficult for Lent: be humble. Be really humble. When you are driving, and someone cuts you off, instead of being rude to him hang back, smile, and be on your way without a murmur. When you are on the Tube and a little guy takes a running leap to get into the carriage and smacks right into your back, don’t do what I did and give him a flying jab with your elbow; ignore him and do your best to move in,
When you are at a party, don’t rush for the buffet before everyone else; pause, and remind yourself that you are luckier than many others in the world, then hang back and let the rest of the guests eat first.
Every time you do this, think of the supreme sacrifice of Christ, who knew that his place was at the right hand of the Father in heaven, but who voluntarily left his place to live in humble poverty and bestow on us the gift of salvation. Humility is the gift of being at one with Christ in his sacrifice for us. It reminds us not of pride, or humiliation, but of the triumph of Easter, which we now eagerly anticipate during these days of Lent. Use them well. AMEN.
February 24, 2008 Third Sunday of Lent
Sermon delivered at St. John the Evangelist, 10 am.
Subject: Humility (Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit)
In the name of God, the one, the Undivided Trinity. AMEN.
The retired Rector of my parish church in San Francisco, California is an amazingly good preacher. Some of the best sermons I’ve ever heard were those Robert preached in Trinity Episcopal Church. He recently wrote in his blog about how to listen to a sermon—he recommended taking notes. (Now, don’t all get your pens and paper out!)
He told us about an occasion when he was preaching, years ago, and noticed that a young girl in the congregation was writing in her notebook as he spoke. Suitably impressed, at the coffee hour after the service he approached her proudly and said, “I noticed you taking notes during my sermon. Will you be studying it later?” She stared at him with a puzzled look and said, “Why would I do that? I was keeping track of whether you used every letter of the alphabet in your sermon.”
How often have we heard the saying, “Pride goeth before a fall.”? Many hundreds of times, I’m sure. I know that I am constantly aware of times when I assume that I am more important, more intelligent, more powerful, or more influential than other people. After those occasions of pride, I await with fear the next occasion when I’m taken down a peg or two from the lofty heights to which I think (or perhaps thought) I am entitled.
Thinking that being proud of yourself or your accomplishments will inevitably bring bad luck is superstition, on a par with believing that breaking a mirror, walking under a ladder, or spilling salt will bring bad luck. Bad things happen to good people all the time—some guy wrote a book with that title and cleaned up: obviously someone else’s bad luck was, for him a stroke of very good luck indeed.
So if pride is bad, and humility is good, why do we talk about how proud we are of an accomplishment of ours, or of someone we love? Is that bad? Will we be stricken blind, like Oedipus was in the Greek tragedy? I’m sure that the Blessed Mother was very proud of her son and his ministry—was that pride sinful?
The gifts of God the Holy Spirit are meant to uplift, and not to cast down. So the pride of a mother in her son is not something that the Holy Spirit would want us to avoid.
Humiliation is not the precursor of humility any more than pride goeth before a fall. Humility is a virtue in its own right. Would you be surprised if I said that you can be proud and humble at the same time? Well, you can!
Humility is putting others before yourself. In the parable of the wedding banquet, Jesus says that we should avoid exalting ourselves overly much. It must have been quite a scrum at banquets in Israel in those times, somewhat like trying to secure a place in an open-seating cinema. I imagine people racing into the room looking for the seats closest to the host so that they could bask in his favour, listen to his funny remarks and perhaps gain some advantage through being near him.
How humiliating it must have been for such people when a more important guest arrived who was ushered by the servants straight to the closest seats to the host—the less important guests would be turned out of their comfortable places and told to seek a seat further away.
How much better it would have been for these lesser guests to sit closest to the door. When the host entered, he would notice them sitting near the door and, wanting to speak with them during the banquet he would say, “My friend, come up and sit with me!”
Humility is knowing your place. Knowing that your place is at the highest table, in the best restaurants, at the smartest parties, and the most exalted gatherings, and yet taking a seat near the door, or in a restaurant that serves merely edible food, or at a party given for those who never get a party, or in a group of ordinary people. We sit below the salt not because that’s where we belong, but because we are content to sit there of our own free will.
Humility is a very British virtue. We queue in an orderly fashion in the supermarket. We wait patiently for a train or a bus. We accept the dull weather that seems to be our lot lately without a murmur. We open doors for people to pass in before us, and we accept that taxes will be higher, services will be fewer, and we will have to do more. We sit near the back in church, only coming forward when the priest urges us so to do. And, through all this, our constant refrain is: Mustn’t grumble.
Humility is being grateful for the gifts given to us by God, not asking for too much, taking our places at the table but not too far up toward the head table.
I’d like to make a suggestion for Lent 2009. Every year many of us make a sacrifice for Lent. We give up caffeine, or chocolate, or alcohol, or eating meat. We do so as a penance, a way of bringing our minds up short and remembering that, rather than giving up a tiny item like a piece of chocolate or a G&T, Jesus gave up all he had on earth, and his life, for our sins. Giving up an occasional chocolate is a small reminder of a very large sacrifice made for each one of us.
Perhaps next year, instead of giving up something tangible for Lent, we can turn the tables and force ourselves to do something that’s difficult for Lent: be humble. Be really humble. When you are driving, and someone cuts you off, instead of being rude to him hang back, smile, and be on your way without a murmur. When you are on the Tube and a little guy takes a running leap to get into the carriage and smacks right into your back, don’t do what I did and give him a flying jab with your elbow; ignore him and do your best to move in,
When you are at a party, don’t rush for the buffet before everyone else; pause, and remind yourself that you are luckier than many others in the world, then hang back and let the rest of the guests eat first.
Every time you do this, think of the supreme sacrifice of Christ, who knew that his place was at the right hand of the Father in heaven, but who voluntarily left his place to live in humble poverty and bestow on us the gift of salvation. Humility is the gift of being at one with Christ in his sacrifice for us. It reminds us not of pride, or humiliation, but of the triumph of Easter, which we now eagerly anticipate during these days of Lent. Use them well. AMEN.
