With Hands Stretched Out - Daily Devotions with the Dean

Thursday • 6/9/2022

We’re taking a detour from the Daily Office readings for a few days, while I teach with my friends at the Robert E. Webber Institute for Worship Studies. In our Daily Office Devotions this week, we are consider several aspects of worship: corporate and personal. The thoughts offered here are excerpts from articles I wrote for Worship Leader magazine a few years ago. We’ll resume our reflections on the Daily Office next week.

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

Lifted up, with Hands Outstretched

Twice in John’s gospel, Jesus insists, “My time is not yet” (Jn 2:4; 7:30). It is only when “Greeks” approach Philip and say, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus,” that Jesus finally exclaims, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified,” explaining that that means he will lifted up from the earth (on the cross) and “I … will draw all people to myself” (Jn 12:21,23,32 NRSV). 

The image of Jesus being lifted up and thus drawing people to himself was a compelling one to Athanasius, 4th-century bishop of Alexandria. Athanasius pondered Jesus’ dying, lifted up “with hands stretched out”: 

[O]nly on upon the cross does one die with hands stretched out. Therefore it was fitting for the Lord to endure this, and to stretch out his hands, that with the one he might draw the ancient people and with the other those from the Gentiles, and join both together in himself (On the Incarnation 25). 

Athanasius himself lived in a place of hard intersection between hostile people. He persistently and stridently insisted that the church’s worship of God was only possible through a Jesus who was 100% divine and 100% human (as Shai Linne might put it: “Jesus both God and man, two hundred percent, yeah”). He did so to the frustration of those who thought Jesus would be more comprehensible – or marketable – if we thought of him as not quite 100% divine. As a result, during his 46 years as bishop in Alexandria, he experienced exile 5 times, for a total of 17 years. Throughout, he saw himself offering outstretched hands, in cruciform fashion, to his enemies and to the gospel’s enemies. He believed, in the end, that Christ’s hands were strong enough to reconcile us to God – and to one another. Happily, he lived long enough to see most of his own opponents reconciled. 

It’s not very romantic to stand in that place of intersection: to hold on to God with one hand and to resistant people with the other, or to hold on to one group of people with one hand and their opposites with another. 

Many of us live and minister in cruciform fashion. Missionaries live far from “home,” labor for years to master difficult languages, and take on uncomfortable customs, often only to build bridges of relationships for a harvest in the next generation. Musicians make hard choices about when to challenge their congregation’s narrow bandwidths, and when to set aside their own aesthetic for the sake of their congregation’s. Privileged people marginalize themselves for a Jesus who is hungry, thirsty, estranged, naked, sick, and imprisoned (Matt 25:35-36). Church leaders fight cynicism, but won’t abandon Christ’s Bride when they see her falling prey to theological confusion and post-biblical morality. May we know Christ’s sustaining power, hope, and love.

For the sake of us all, hardly a day passes when I do not pray this prayer, written by Episcopal bishop to the Philippines and Western New York, Charles Henry Brent (1862-1929), and no doubt inspired by John and Athanasius:

Lord Jesus Christ, you stretched out your arms of love on the hard wood of the cross that everyone might come within the reach of your saving embrace: So clothe us in your Spirit that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you; for the honor of your Name. Amen (Book of Common Prayer, p. 101).

Be blessed this day, 

Reggie Kidd+

Image: Wikimedia Commons, Public domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ikone_Athanasius_von_Alexandria.jpg

The Church is a "Sacred Mystery" - Daily Devotions with the Dean

Wednesday • 6/8/2022

We’re taking a detour from the Daily Office readings for a few days, while I teach with my friends at the Robert E. Webber Institute for Worship Studies. In our Daily Office Devotions this week, we are considering several aspects of worship: corporate and personal. The thoughts offered here are excerpts from articles I wrote for Worship Leader magazine a few years ago. We’ll resume our reflections on the Daily Office next week.

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

“Things Which had Grown Old”

I have become less impressed with my own prayers, and more reliant on the church’s. One that is sustaining me now is a prayer that is at least 1500 years old, but which seems to me fresher than tomorrow. It is a prayer that my church prays every Good Friday and at every ordination service: 

O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: 
Look favorably on your whole Church,
that wonderful and sacred mystery;
by the effectual working of your providence,
carry out in tranquillity the plan of salvation;
let the whole world see and know
that things which were cast down are being raised up,
and things which had grown old are being made new,
and that all things are being brought to their perfection
by him through whom all things were made,
your Son Jesus Christ our Lord;
who lives and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The church is a “sacred mystery.”

Sometime during the middle of the first millennium, this prayer appeared. After only 500 or so years of existence, the church had been through a lot – and must have seemed to many people to be tired, enfeebled, old, and ready to fade away. The early persecutions by hostile Roman emperors, the almost as fatal befriending of the church by a converted emperor, the battle over defining the oneness and threeness of deity and ditto the humanness and deity of Jesus, the disappointment that the adoption of the faith as “civil religion” failed to protect Roman society from invading armies, the emergence of a rift between Western and Eastern theological and liturgical sensibilities that was as much about “turf” as anything. 

Even so, through this anonymous prayer, our forebears acknowledged that the church wasn’t their invention, but God’s. That she was a Bride beloved of a Divine Groom. She is what the apostle Paul described as “a mystery” (Eph 5:32) planted in the world as a picture of Divine Love. Because she is God’s creation, not ours, our heresies haven’t killed her, nor have our schisms. Yes, it’s our responsibility to respond well to Jesus’s question: “When the Son of Man appears, will he find faith on the earth?” Nonetheless, He is so much at work among us that, one way or another, He will make sure the question is answered in the affirmative. 

We may be stressed, but God isn’t.

The human story is that God is working to make all things new. If history seems to be going the wrong way, we don’t have to worry that God has either forgotten, or lost his punch. The resurrection of his Son is his promise that all will one day rise – it can’t not happen. If we don’t see the church rising to the task to which she is called, it’s because we’re not looking hard enough. If the candle goes out here (say, Turkey after the rise of Islam, or Europe since the so-called Enlightenment), the light will get lit elsewhere (say, out of the waters of the Dniepre River way back when, or from Africa more recently). If the gospel becomes just another “product” in the US, it will become a transformative engine in Korea or China. 

God is in the business of reversing things.

At the very moment demons howled at Jesus on the cross, the earth shook with what the ancient church took to be the breaking of the power of death and hell and Satan himself. On the cross, Divine Justice and Mercy embraced – and the beginning of the renewal of all things set in. As Paul would write: “He brought life and immortality to light” (2Tim 1:10).  

“Christianity has died many times and risen again; for it had a god who knew the way out of the grave,” wrote G. K. Chesterton.

When turmoil reigned in the ancient church, God raised up an Augustine to articulate a philosophy of the City of God, a Gregory to teach the church a “new song,” a Cyril to contribute liturgical coherence. When medieval Christendom was sliding into decadence and either indifference or moralism, God called a Francis to rebuild a broken-down countryside church building – and Francis realized God meant to rebuild his whole Church through repentance and love and care for the poor. While the 20th century American church was selling its soul for “relevance” and market share and while the European church was shuttering cathedrals or selling them as skate parks or shopping malls, God was sending a nun to find Jesus in the slums of India. We have yet to see what miracles God will do through other Augustines, Gregories, Francises, and Teresas. 

Meanwhile, I’m grateful for words bigger than my own to ask God what I know He wants to – and surely will – do: raise up “things which were cast down” and renew “things which had become old.”

Be blessed this day, 

Reggie Kidd+

Image: Nicholas Roerich, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Eucharist Means "Thanksgiving"- Daily Devotions with the Dean

Tuesday • 6/7/2022

We’re taking a detour from the Daily Office this week, while I teach with my friends at the Robert E. Webber Institute for Worship Studies. 

In our Daily Office Devotions this week, we are considering several aspects of worship: corporate and personal. The thoughts offered here are excerpts from articles I wrote for Worship Leader magazine a few years ago. We’ll resume our reflections on the Daily Office next week.

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

“Be What You See; Receive What You Are”

The Table has many names because it does many things. Of late, I have come to understand why one of those names – Eucharist – means “Thanksgiving.”

Growing up “once born,” I was introduced at some point to “Communion” in church. But I was never sure with whom I was supposed to be communing. God was far off. His Son had died but a martyr’s death and had experienced a “resurrection,” as far as I could tell, only in his followers’ imaginations. Communion felt like rote religiosity to me. 

After I became “born again,” I frequented “The Lord’s Supper,” as a re-enactment of the meal on the eve of our Lord’s death, and “The Lord’s Table,” as a sharing in the banquet of the world’s true King. But I was often confused, because, for whatever reason, I got the feeling that this Lord was ready to give me an early death if I did not partake worthily. The Lord’s Supper often felt funereal, and his Table was scary and somber.  

Robert Webber, champion of worship renewal, helped me better understand the point of the Bible’s and the ancient church’s worship practices. Long story, but he helped me find communion in “Communion,” redemptive remembrance in the “Last Supper,” and grace-kissed reverence in the “Lord’s Table.” He also noted that the most common way that the early church spoke of the Table was as “Eucharist,” in view of Jesus’ “giving thanks” first over loaves and fishes (Matt 15:36; John 6:11,23), and then over the Bread and the Cup (Luke 22:17; 1Co 11:24). When I was first invited to help distribute bread at a Eucharist (in which people came forward to receive, instead of remaining in their seats), I noticed how many people came with smiles on their faces. They seemed, well, grateful. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been, but cheerful gratitude at the Table was a new notion for me. 

A sermon by Augustine, the great 5th century North African bishop, has helped me understand the smiles. 

In his Sermon No. 272, “On the Eucharist,” Augustine celebrates who Christ is, what he has done, and where he is now as Ascended Lord. Then he takes up the question of how this bread and wine down here can connect us to who he is up there. He simply asserts: in these elements, “one thing is seen, while another is grasped.”

The Mystery of My Own Self

The elements on the Table physically represent Christ’s Body in such a way that “what is grasped bears spiritual fruit.” Augustine reminds us that Paul has said: “You are the body of Christ, member for member” (1Co 12:27). Thus, continues Augustine, 

it is your own mystery that is placed on the Lord’s table! It is your own mystery that you are receiving! You are saying “Amen” to what you are: your response is a personal signature, affirming your faith. When you hear “The body of Christ,” you reply “Amen.” Be a member of Christ’s body, then, so that your “Amen” may ring true!

To paraphrase, here at this Table you say “Yes!” to yourself, “Yes” to who you are in Christ, “Yes” to the people to whom he has made you to belong!

Augustine asks believers to compare themselves to the loaf on the Table. 

Remember: bread doesn’t come from a single grain, but from many. When you received exorcism, you were “ground.” When you were baptized, you were “leavened.” When you received the fire of the Holy Spirit, you were “baked.” Be what you see; receive what you are.

Because of Christ, I am no longer alone. Because of Christ, I am no longer subject, to borrow the language of the Book of Common Prayer, to “Satan and all the forces of wickedness that rebel against God.” Christ has breathed life into me, so my life has “rise” or bouyancy to it. The Holy Spirit has warmed what was cold and desolate in me. At Eucharist, I receive back the mystery of who I am. 

The Mystery of Our Unity

Of the bread, Augustine has said: “Understand and rejoice: unity, truth, faithfulness, love.” He asks us to ponder the cup:

Remember, friends, how wine is made. Individual grapes hang together in a bunch, but the juice from them all is mingled to become a single brew. This is the image chosen by Christ our Lord to show how, at his own table, the mystery of our unity and peace is solemnly consecrated.

Here, indeed, is why the early church could – as can we! – bring smiles to the Table. For at a Table of Thanksgiving/Eucharist we, who through grace belong to Christ and to one another, may “give God our sincere and deepest gratitude, and, as far as human weakness will permit, … turn to the Lord with pure hearts.” The Eucharistic Table assures us together that “God’s power will drive the Evil One from our acts and thoughts; it will deepen our faith, govern our minds, grant us holy thoughts, and lead us, finally, to share the divine happiness through God’s own son Jesus Christ. Amen!”

Be blessed this day,

Reggie Kidd+

Image: "257/365 Thanksgiving at my church" by rennes_i is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

A Place to Sanctify - Daily Devotions with the Dean

Monday • 6/6/2022

We’re taking a detour from the Daily Office readings this week, while I teach with my friends at the Robert E. Webber Institute for Worship Studies. In our Daily Office Devotions, we’ll consider several aspects of worship: corporate and personal. The thoughts offered here are excerpts from articles I wrote for Worship Leader magazine a few years ago. We’ll resume our reflections on the Daily Office next week.

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

“COLOR ADDED”

Some of us worship in a building that is an unadorned, multimedia-accommodating “box” that we are able to treat as a canvas for telling God’s story. We can fill it with lights and sights and sounds any way we wish, any time we wish. I have spent many of my ministry years in such a setting. It’s a delight to play with visual and aural textures, and to take on the challenge of imagining anew the Christian story week after week. 

Some of us worship in a building that is clearly and intentionally designed for “church.” I am spending the present phase of my ministry in this sort of setting: a cathedral of Gothic Revival design. Stained glass panels encompass the worship space with a rehearsal of the biblical story. An altar is both the visual and liturgical focal point of the room. Pulpit to the side, but elevated and extending out toward the congregation. Pipe organ. Pews with kneelers. A lingering scent of incense. I am learning that fixed features can bring their own delight. 

Permanence…

The New Testament portrays the Church as something that is both dynamic and changing, on the one hand, and solid and immovable, on the other. To be sure, the Church is made up of “living stones,” and is constantly growing (1Pt 2:5; Eph 2:21). At the same time, Christ’s Church is also “the pillar and foundation of the truth” (1Tim 3:16). It’s as though we need “wings to fly” and “feet firmly planted.” Opposites? No, not really. 

I am appreciating the way the building I’m in communicates the solidity of our faith. Twelve massive pillars – each bearing the shield of one of the 12 apostles – surround us as we worship. Stained glass panels depict Jesus’ life and ministry on the lower level, and Old and New Testaments saints on the upper level. It’s marvelous to be surrounded by such a great “cloud of witnesses.” 

… But Not Perfection

No other entity on earth will last beyond the Lord’s return – no government, no economy, no relationship – only Christ and his Bride, the Church. Nor, even in this age, it seems to me, is there any more compelling an argument to be made for the truth of the faith than the existence of the Church itself. As Cardinal Ratzinger (before becoming Pope Benedict XVI) offered: “The only really effective apologia for Christianity comes down to two arguments, namely, the saints the Church has produced and the art which has grown in her womb.”

What speaks so profoundly about the Church’s existence is that we are a community of people who are forgiven and know it. Flawed and owning it. Loved in spite of ourselves, thus under compulsion to love in response. 

A Mystery

Early in my days at the cathedral after a worship service, I was surveying the Old and New Testament figures portrayed in the stained glass panels around the top of the building. It was no small help that the names of the saints were part of each panel. But there was one panel that nearly stumped me. It was a panel of Moses, but from my vantage point below, it looked like the name “Moses” was upside down and backwards, and indeed it was.

A number of people I asked had the impression it had been done that way on purpose to “remind generations that only God is perfect.” Anne Michels, the Cathedral Archivist, had heard that account for years, and called Willet Studios in Philadelphia to confirm the story. (They created our stained glass … as well as the stained glass in the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C.) According to Willet Studios, when the Moses stained glass was installed in the late 1980s, the panel with his name was inserted upside down by accident. The letters (as you can see) are stylized. Nobody seemed to notice the mistake until the work was finished. At that point, they were left alone. And as such, they stood as a reminder that only God is perfect, or in Anne Michels’ words, “they are for us a message of the futility of works. If we try to work our way to perfection, we’ll never get there.”

The mistake was allowed to stand until we had it corrected in 2020. Whenever I look up at Moses, I am reminded, as a friend put it to me, that “the most beautiful of our creations this side of glory are still fallen creations. We are forgiven people, living in hope.” People who talk that way let me know I am where I need to be. Those are the kind of lives that commend the faith. This is the kind of art that grows – by a combination of inspired purpose and providential accident – in the womb of the church. 

Symbolic East … 

Early Christians were known for praying facing the east. That’s because, notes Gregory of Nyssa (central Asia Minor, 4th century), East is the birthplace of humankind and the earthly garden of paradise. As Thomas Aquinas (Italy, 13th century) was later to observe: East is the place of our Lord – his life and death, and the direction from which he will come on judgment day. 

Jesus’ incarnation, death, and resurrection is the dawn of new creation. That’s what John the Baptist’s father, Zechariah, anticipated when he sang about “the rising Sun” visiting us (Luke 1:78 NJB – the term is anatolē, lit., “east,” a term that was understood either to refer to the morning star, Venus, or to the rising sun itself). That’s what early Christians recalled when they noticed that the Greek OT had translated the messianic promise of a “Branch” (Heb. tsemaḥ) as “Dawn” (NET – again, anatolē; Zech 3:8; 6:12; Jer 23:5).

Accordingly, when Christians began building church buildings, they put them on an east-west axis when they could – the door of entry to the west, and the pulpit and Table to the east. We came from Paradise … then lost Paradise through a bad exchange and are being reoriented to Paradise through our Second Adam’s mission of love to regain his Bride. That cosmology – that symbolic shaping of our world – alone gives us our bearings in a world that has no bearings. 

To reinforce that symbolic reshaping of space, my church is laid out on an east-west axis – except for this: it’s backwards. So the architectural plans show literal east as “Symbolic West” and literal west as “Symbolic East.” I love that! Getting true directionality is clearly not about literalism. That means it doesn’t especially matter whether you have stained glass or screens, pews or cafeteria chairs, an organ or a band, you can point “east,” as long as you know what you are looking for.

… With “Color Added”

I’ve served urban and suburban churches, and churches in university towns and in beach towns. I’ve appreciated the way each has acknowledged and embraced the place of its setting. Orlando, Florida, was a small town in the 1920s when the cathedral was built. Back then Central Florida was awash in citrus groves, not tourist attractions. To honor its city’s roots and to help to tell its “story,” the cathedral frames one of the stained glass panels – one that places Jesus among his disciples – with stained glass oranges. In letters barely large enough to see, one of the oranges bears the characteristic citrus industry stamp: “color added.” 

“There are no unsacred places,” offers Wendell Berry, “there are only sacred places and desecrated places.” The Lord has given each of us a place to sanctify. Whether with technology that is dazzling and electronic or that is simple and acoustic, whether across a canvas that constantly evolves or within a fixed environment that stolidly invites you to discover its nuances, may we embrace, enhance, and redeem local “color.”

Be blessed this day,

Reggie Kidd+

Because He... - Daily Devotions with the Dean

Friday • 6/3/2022

This morning’s Scriptures are: Psalm 102; Jeremiah 31:27-34; Ephesians 5:1-20; Matthew 9:9-17

This morning’s Canticles are: before the Psalm reading, Pascha Nostrum (“Christ Our Passover,” BCP, p. 83); following the OT reading, Canticle 10 (“The Second Song of Isaiah,” Isaiah 55:6–11; BCP, p. 86); following the Epistle reading, Canticle 18 (“A Song to the Lamb,” Revelation 4:11; 5:9–10, 13, BCP, p. 93)

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

“Follow me.”— Matthew 9:9. Jesus commands, and Matthew simply obeys. Why does Matthew follow him? Our passage provides but an indirect hint. Matthew is a tax collector. He is therefore reckoned among “the sinners” by “the righteous” (Matthew 9:11). He is among those who recognize they are sick, and in need of a physician (Matthew 9:12-13)—that they are worn out by life, and need to be made new (Matthew 9:14-17). 

What makes me follow Jesus? I see some of myself in Matthew. In addition, our readings today give me ample reason to follow. 

Because he is God. — Hebrews 1:10-12 is a direct quote of Psalm 102:25-27 (from today’s psalm): “But you are the same, and your years will never end.” In Psalm 102, these verses anchor the psalmist’s hope “in the day of my trouble” (see verse 1). His troubles come from enemies (v. 8), from his recognition of God’s indignation at his sin (v. 10), from his feeling of homelessness (v. 17), and from a creeping fear of death (vv. 11, 24). With verses 25-27, the psalmist places his destiny in the hands of the Lord who is eternal. 

The fascinating thing is that in Hebrews these verses conclude the writer’s argument that Jesus is God. Psalm 102 affirms the eternality and the deity of Jesus Christ, says the writer to the Hebrews. And whether Matthew the tax collector realized it in that moment when Jesus told him “Follow me,” or whether it dawned on him over time, he came to see it as well. Matthew’s Gospel is the one that tells us that Jesus’s name means Emmanuel, “God with us.” 

So, with Matthew, I follow Jesus because he is God. 

Because he makes sin go away.  Jeremiah speaks of a new covenant that’s not like the old covenant. The old covenant, announced on Mt. Sinai and engraved on tablets of stone, did more to convict people of their sin than it did to mold them into the kingdom of priests they were called to be. The old covenant relied on sacrifice after sacrifice to provide covering for sin after sin. Jeremiah looks to a new covenant that brings the law’s work into the human heart where it can produce transformation, not just demand it. The premise of that new covenant is one single sacrifice that finally cleanses consciences once and for all. That sacrifice, in addition, gives God a sort of holy amnesia: “I will forgive their iniquity, and remember their sin no more” (Jeremiah 31:34; Hebrews 8:12). 

Did Matthew catch a glimpse of that hope when Jesus told him “Follow me”? Who knows? But by the time he wrote his Gospel he definitely did! Of the three Gospel accounts of the institution of the Last Supper, it is Matthew’s alone that echoes the amazing scene in Exodus 24, when the elders saw Moses take blood from the sacrificed oxen, dash it on the people, and say, “See, the blood of the covenant which the Lord has made with you…” (Exodus 24:8). Matthew alone recalls Jesus speaking of the sacrifice he was about to make as “my blood of the covenant” (Matthew 26:28). As the writer to the Hebrews makes clear: the one last sacrifice to end all sacrifice, by clearing all sin and covering all transgression once and for all: “For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are sanctified” (Hebrews 10:14, and context).

So, with Matthew, I follow Jesus because he has dealt with sin—and my sin—for good. 

Because he breathes life into the deadness of my being. “But be filled with the Spirit,” says the apostle Paul in Ephesians 5:18. Sin taken care of, transformation can take place. Transformation occurs when the Spirit who raised him from the dead and who now resides in us breathes fresh life into us. The breath of the Spirit draws us out of the walking sleep-death of “fornication, impurity, greed (which is idolatry),” and into the robustness of wise living, thanksgiving, praise, and above all, love. How ironic that this new life is the opposite of pursuits that people undertake in the name of freedom, fulfillment, and fun. The Bible characterizes those pursuits as representing a coma of sorts: an internal deadness, a lack of awareness of being truly and vibrantly alive, of being incapable of understanding the authentic nature of love. 

Christ lives in us now! He’s writing God’s law on our hearts by the Spirit! He ushers us from the darkness of spiritual stupor and into the light of full awakening! “‘Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you’” (Ephesians 5:14). Perhaps Matthew did, or perhaps he didn’t, immediately sense the newness of life offered in Jesus’s “Follow me.” But at some point, he did come to understand (because he wrote about it) that Jesus was refashioning him into a new wineskin so that he could be a vessel of the new wine of new life (Matthew 9:17). 

So, I follow Jesus because, with Matthew, I choose newness over senescence. I choose life over death. I choose being awake over being in perpetual torpor. I choose the breath of the Spirit over the sour aftertaste of mere amusement. 

May you, this day, follow Jesus—and in following him, may you know his divine protection, may you revel in the forgiveness he has won for you, and may you breathe in the fresh wind of his Spirit. 

Be blessed this day, 

Reggie Kidd+

Image: Pixabay

A Different Kind of People - Daily Devotions with the Dean

Thursday • 6/2/2022

This morning’s Scriptures are: Psalm 105:1-22; Zechariah 4:1-14; Ephesians 4:17-32; Matthew 9:1-8

This morning’s Canticles are: before the Psalm reading, Pascha Nostrum (“Christ Our Passover,” BCP, p. 83); following the OT reading, Canticle 8 (“The Song of Moss,” Exodus 15, BCP, p. 85); following the Epistle reading, Canticle 19 (“The Song of the Redeemed,” Revelation 15:3–4, BCP, p. 94)

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

A Priest and a King: A feature of the book of Zechariah is the expectation that after the exile, Israel will be rebuilt and ruled by a priest and a king. Zechariah looks forward to a messianic age where the high priest Joshua, son of Jehozadak, and the future king Zerubbabel (“a man whose name is Branch”) will rule together in peace. One can’t help but think of the book of Hebrews, where Jesus is described as prophet, priest, and king.  (If you’d like to read further in Zechariah, chapters 8 and 9 describe the reign of the victorious yet humble Messiah who rides into Jerusalem on a donkey—see especially Zechariah 9:9)

Zechariah prophesies that the Temple will be rebuilt, and Jerusalem will be refortified. As mentioned in yesterday’s devotional, Zechariah and other prophets of the time understand that the glory of the second temple, however, will not match that of the first temple that Solomon built. But Zechariah says that these “small beginnings” (Zechariah 4:10 NET) are not to be despised. 

Israel’s stature among the nations—even at the height of Solomon’s reign with its massive building projects and extensive alliances—never depended on military prowess or political sagacity. The reality was always, as Zechariah puts it here: “Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, says the Lord of hosts” (Zechariah 4:6). 

That’s a word to remember in good times, and in bad. When things flourish, it’s by God’s Spirit. And when things appear to be in decline, his Spirit is still at work—for those who have eyes to see.

A different kind of people. The apostle Paul had to contend with “small beginnings,” as well. Christian believers in Ephesus represented a tiny percent of the population of one of the Roman Empire’s larger and more robust cities. Ephesus was marked, according to Paul, by hardness of heart toward the things of God. He describes the city’s chief values as immorality, greed, deceit, anger, thievery. He calls upon Christ’s followers to be a colony, instead, of those who have “put away your former way of life, your old self, corrupt and deluded by its lusts, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to clothe yourselves with the new self, created according to the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Ephesians 4:22-23). They are to live in such a way as to delight God, not grieve him; and to model a kindness and readiness to forgive exactly like the kindness and forgiveness that have been extended to them in Christ. 

We have our own world of bad actors, rudderless fellow citizens, childish leaders, megalomaniacal despots, and brutal authorities. 

We can be a different kind of people—especially now, in a world of new adjustments and changes, through our own personal small beginnings: small obediences, small courtesies, and small kindnesses. 

A Healer has come. Matthew’s account of the healing of the paralytic reminds us of three simple things: 1) at the bottom of all things that afflict us—from physical maladies to social breakdown—is the reality of sin and the curse on the creation God loves; 2) the one who has authority and power to forgive and heal is Jesus, who is both Son of God and Son of Man; and 3) we are here to help each other find the Healer: “some people were carrying a paralysed man lying on a bed. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Take heart, son…’” (Matthew 9:2). 

Be blessed this day, 

Reggie Kidd+

Image: Pixabay

A Time for Hope Once More - Daily Devotions with the Dean

Wednesday • 6/1/2022

This morning’s Scriptures are: Psalm 101; Psalm 109; Isaiah 4:2-6; Ephesians 4:1-16; Matthew 8:28-34

This morning’s Canticles are: before the Psalm reading, Pascha Nostrum (“Christ Our Passover,” BCP, p. 83); following the OT reading, Canticle 11 (“The Third Song of Isaiah,” Isaiah 60:1–3,11a,14c,18–19, BCP, p. 87);  following the Epistle reading, Canticle 16 (“The Song of Zechariah,” Luke 1:68–79, BCP, p. 92)

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

Desolation straight ahead! Isaiah foresees desolation for Jerusalem at the hand of an invading army. He foretells exile to an alien land for the city’s residents. But for the people of Yahweh, destruction is never the last word. In today’s Daily Office, Isaiah looks into the future in both Isaiah 4 (the reading) and Isaiah 60 (the canticle). 

In Isaiah 4, Isaiah looks beyond desolation and exile, to prophesy the rising of a beautiful and glorious “branch”—that is, a Messiah from the line of Jesse. Isaiah sees proud survivors finding the land fruitful once again. In this same chapter, Isaiah sees fire cleansing the metaphorical filth of Jerusalem’s streets, followed by a protective cloud hovering over the city’s Mt. Zion. Like the cloud that accompanied Israel in the exodus, this cloud gives shade from heat and refuge and shelter from storm and rain.

In Isaiah 60, the prophet calls upon his hearers to “arise” from the brokenness of their desolation, as the “glory of Yahweh” shines upon them and upon their city once again. On that day, the Branch of Yahweh will appear. Violence, ruin, and destruction will be no more. “Nations will stream to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawning.” Here is a preview of God’s plan for humankind: here is hope, not merely for Israel, but for the world.

These prophecies received partial fulfillment when, at the behest of Persia, Israel enjoyed a return to the land following the Assyrian exile and Babylonian captivity. Ezra and Nehemiah undertook to rebuild the city’s defensive wall and the temple, although not at the scale of the original city. But, say the prophets of their day, this is reason enough to celebrate God’s kind favor and faithfulness: “For who dares make light of small beginnings?” (Zechariah 4:10 NET). The lesser rebuilding is itself a gift, a promise of something greater, and of God’s continued care for his people.

Centuries later, the “Branch”—Jesus Christ, Son of God and son of Jesse—appears. “And he said to [the demons], ‘Go!’” — Matthew 8:32. As the reading in Matthew demonstrates, he comes with power over all demonic forces as well as over nature, subject to corruption as it is. (Romans 8:18-23). God loves people. He loves each of us so much that he sent his only and eternal Son to become one of us, and to reconcile us—to restore us—to himself. Although damaged by the fall in Adam’s sin, creation—and we ourselves—await restoration and a greater “rebuilding.” With arms outstretched on a cross, Jesus offers himself as the means of that purgation of sin to which Isaiah alludes here in Isaiah 4:4 (a concept which he develops at length in his Song of the Suffering Servant: “the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all”—esp. Isaiah 53:6). Jesus offers himself not just to provide a perfect atonement for sin, but also therefore to secure a future hope of glory for those who trust him. 

Following the cross come the resurrection and ascension of Jesus. Then on the first Pentecost, as if in direct fulfillment of Isaiah’s visions, God’s glory cloud descends upon Mt. Zion, distributing tongues of fire—empowering the proclamation of a gospel that brings refining repentance and vivifying faith to wayward hearts. 

Paul’s letter to the Ephesians demonstrates the power of that gospel, as he urges Christ’s followers to “lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called … Bear with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.” —Ephesians 4:1-2. Paul is confident that Christ’s grace is strong enough to empower his church to “build itself up in love” (Ephesians 4:16). As that happens, the church becomes the visible manifestation of Pentecost power on the earth. God rebuilds, not a physical city with defensive walls, but an outward-facing, spiritual city, taking the good news of His love to the nations. 

Ours is a time for hope once more. Hope in the face of a global pandemic. Hope in the face of invading armies. Hope in the face of a poisoned political atmosphere. Hope in the face of revelations about human trafficking. Hope in the face of gun violence and intractable racial, ethnic, and economic cleavages. Hope in the face of opioid addiction. Hope in the face of personal failings and disappointments. The prophet Isaiah speaks hope even now, perhaps especially now.  We can know that God will not abandon us … ever. He loves you, and me, and he will not abandon us. 

Be blessed this day, 

Reggie Kidd+

Image: Pixabay

The Lord Looks on the Heart - Daily Devotions with the Dean

Tuesday • 5/31/2022

This morning’s Scriptures are: Psalm 97; Psalm 99; 1 Samuel 16:1-13; Ephesians 3:14-21; Matthew 8:18-27

This morning’s Canticles are: before the Psalm reading, Pascha Nostrum (“Christ Our Passover,” BCP, p. 83); following the OT reading, Canticle 13 (“A Song of Praise,” BCP, p. 90);following the Epistle reading, Canticle 18 (“A Song to the Lamb,” Revelation 4:11; 5:9–10, 13, BCP, p. 93)

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

This week’s readings in the Daily Office, particularly the Old Testament and the Epistle readings, highlight an amazing truth: Ascension and Pentecost together mean the re-centering of Christ’s ministry in two places at once: simultaneously at the Father’s right hand in body, and inside us and among us by the Holy Spirit. 

… but the Lord looks on the heart. — 1 Samuel 16:8. In today’s passage, it doesn’t matter that David’s family thinks him unworthy to be included in the gathering for Samuel’s visit. David, the boy shepherd, is fit to be the Lord’s king because, “the Lord looks on the heart,” What God sees is an earnest and courageous devotion to him. With the Lord’s anointing comes the power of the Holy Spirit: “Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the presence of his brothers; and the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward.” The power of the Spirit quickly becomes manifest as David defends God’s honor against the giant Goliath and the Philistine pagan deities.  

While it is David’s heart that qualifies him to be king, it is the Spirit he receives from on high that empowers him to be king. This passage points forward to Jesus, who receives his own kingly (and priestly) anointing by the Holy Spirit, in the form of a descending dove. Following that anointing, Jesus undertakes a solitary journey into the wilderness. Here he begins the subjugation of Satan by resisting his temptations. Then Jesus begins his ministry of teaching the Kingdom and displaying his power by calming storms (as in today’s gospel reading), healing the sick, forgiving sins, restoring sight to the blind, and raising the dead. Praise to God for taking pleasure in the heart of his own Son, and for empowering him as he sets out to crush and destroy sin, death, and the devil for us. 

… I pray that … you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit … — Ephesians 3:16. Paul prays that Christ may dwell in our hearts by the Spirit, and there give us an overwhelming sense of his love for us—and thus we may “be filled with all the fullness of God” (Ephesians 3:19). What Paul prays for us here is almost audacious: that our hearts would be made like David’s, and that we might have the same inner assurance that Jesus did of being deeply and profoundly loved by our Heavenly Father. And that, therefore, we might abide in our own portion of the power of the same Holy Spirit as David and Jesus. 

I hope today’s passages in 1 Samuel, Matthew, and Ephesians will help you reflect on and marvel at Christ’s loving presence, by his Spirit, in the very core of your being. And that you might live—and grow—and thrive as the Holy Spirit empowers you for his good purposes today.

Be blessed this day, 

Reggie Kidd+

Image: Adaptation, "Leadership: strong but sensitive" by sniggie is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Read, Looking for the Mystery - Daily Devotions with the Dean

Monday • 5/25/2020 and 5/30/2022 • y2e7m

This morning’s Scriptures are: Psalm 89:1-18; Joshua 1:1-9; Ephesians 3:1-13; Matthew 8:5-17

This morning’s Canticles are: before the Psalm reading, Pascha Nostrum (“Christ Our Passover,” BCP, p. 83); following the OT reading, Canticle 9 (“The First Song of Isaiah,” Isaiah 12:2–6, BCP, p. 86); following the Epistle reading, Canticle 19 (“The Song of the Redeemed,” Revelation 15:3–4, BCP, p. 94)

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

Today is Monday of the 7th Week of Easter

Today’s lesson: It’s not just that I read, but how I read. 

Read slowly. “… you shall meditate on it day and night…” — Joshua 1:8. Joshua is given formidable tasks and stupendous promises. And he’s given one principal resource: “all the law that my servant Moses commanded you … this book of the law.” The key to success in the tasks at hand lies in not deviating from what’s in that book. For all the verbal instructions that Yahweh will provide, he has revealed his heart and his mind, and has laid out the shape of relationship with him, in the written word. And that word must be internalized, taken in slowly, and “chewed on” (the literal meaning of the Hebrew word translated “meditate on”).  

So, the notion of the word “not depart[ing] out of your mouth” is graphic. Of course, in the abstract, it means “think about it” all the time. But the concrete image is quite vivid: “chew on it,” the way a cow chews its cud, or a dog worries its bone. That sort of reading presupposes reading slowly and reflectively. It calls for committing thoughts and phrases to memory, and for rolling them over on the tongue. It means constantly pondering their significance. It does not mean breezing through passages to put a check mark on a to-do list. That’s easy to do in an exercise like the Daily Office. Which is why I often have to make myself slow down, reread, and ask the Lord what I’m supposed to be getting today, as I look for key phrases to jump out and grab me.

It means committing some passages to memory. Good candidates from today’s reading in Joshua are: 

“This book of the law shall not depart out of your mouth; you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to act in accordance with all that is written in it. For then you shall make your way prosperous, and then you shall be successful.” (Joshua 1:8)

and:

“I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9)

Read, looking for the mystery. “…a reading of which will enable you to perceive my understanding of the mystery of Christ…” — Ephesians 3:4. Besides reading slowly, today’s passages commend a certain purpose in reading: looking for what God would reveal to you and to me about his Son, and about the way he is making all things new through his Son. 

For Paul, there is a twofold “mystery” hidden throughout the Old Testament, now being revealed for the world. That mystery is Christ and his Church. For example, in the first place, “Joshua” (translated “Jesus” in the Greek Old Testament) pictures ahead of time the One who will bear the same name when he comes to earth to conquer sin and death—as Paul describes the “mystery” in Colossians: “Christ in you, the hope of glory” (Colossians 1:27). In the second place, as the nation of Israel enters the Promised Land to become a colony of God’s rule, she depicts in advance Jesus’s Church growing into a house for God’s dwelling (Ephesians 2:22): “the mystery of Christ…that is, the Gentiles have become fellow-heirs, members of the same body, and sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel” (Ephesians 3:4b, 6). 

A Christ-filled interpretive imagination can get carried away with itself, of course (early theologians could find Christ’s blood in Rahab’s red rope). But our imaginations can also become dull to the fact that “the ends of the ages” have fallen upon us (1 Corinthians 10:11). We can too easily forget that, at its heart, the whole of the Bible points to Christ. I should read, asking Christ to show himself and what he’s doing to bring people into fellowship with him and with one another. And then for him to show me where I fit in those purposes—even in what lies ahead today. 

Read as under authority. Centurion: “For I also am a man under authority” … Jesus: “Truly I tell you, in no one in Israel have I found such faith.” — Matthew 8:9a, 10b. Finally, I need to read, expecting marching orders! This centurion was accustomed to responding to superiors who communicated to him through messengers. He knew that Jesus, like the centurion’s own superiors, spoke with such authority that Jesus wouldn’t physically need to be some place for his commands to be enforced. 

The faithful centurion knew that dutiful messengers don’t speak for themselves. We know that faithful Scripture writers don’t either. When I read them, I need to listen for the voice of their Master and mine. As Peter puts it: “It was not on any human initiative that prophecy came: rather, it was under the compulsion of the Holy Spirit that people spoke as messengers of God” (2 Peter 1:21 REB). 

From the Catechism in the Book of Common Prayer.

Q. Why do we call the Holy Scriptures the Word of God?

A. We call them the Word of God because God inspired their human authors and because God still speaks to us through the Bible.

Be blessed this day,

Reggie Kidd+

Image: Adaptation, "Roman centurion at the Coliseum, Rome" by Andrew & Suzanne is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

Mercy and Truth Have Met Together - Daily Devotions with the Dean

Friday • 5/27/2022 Friday of the 6th Week of Easter

This morning’s Scriptures are: Psalms 85 & 86; 1 Samuel 2:1-10; Ephesians 2:1-10; Matthew 7:22-27

This morning’s Canticles are: Pascha Nostrum (“Christ Our Passover,” BCP, p. 83); following the OT reading, Canticle 10 (“The Second Song of Isaiah,” Isaiah 55:6–11; BCP, p. 86); following the Epistle reading, Canticle 18 (“A Song to the Lamb,” Revelation 4:11; 5:9-10, 13, BCP, p. 93)

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

I love it every seven weeks when Psalm 85 rolls back around in the Daily Office. Every time, a single verse from this psalm brings everything else going on around me to a halt. I have to pause to take it in once again:

Mercy and truth have met together; *
righteousness and peace have kissed each other (Psalm 85:10).

Think about the wonder of what’s being said here. Deep within the wonder of God’s very being, seeming opposites coalesce. The unbreakable truth of God’s Law meets the tenderness of God’s mercy. The unbending rectitude of his righteous justice kisses the loving peaceability of his heart. He must judge rightly, and he loves endlessly. The Bible, then, as a whole turns out to be a telling of the epic of this dynamic—this “meeting” and this “kissing”—as it is played out on the world stage, culminating at the cross of Calvary. There truth and mercy meet. There righteousness and peace kiss. There, as the apostle Paul puts it, God shows himself to be “just and justifier” (Romans 3:26).

This verse from Psalm 85 reminds me of the 18th century Welsh hymn, “Here is love,” which includes this verse:

On the mount of crucifixion fountains opened deep and wide;
through the floodgates of God’s mercy flowed a vast and gracious tide.
Grace and love, like mighty rivers, poured incessant from above,
and heaven’s peace and perfect justice kissed a guilty world in love.

What an arresting line, that last one: “Heaven’s peace and perfect justice kissed a guilty world in love.”

“Here Is Love,” at “The Event Without Walls,” Exeter Showground, 1995

“Here Is Love,” sung by Matt Redman

Ephesians 2 finds the apostle Paul reveling, in the first place, in the way that the walking dead—unworthy sinners, all—have been, out of the richness of God’s mercy, made alive in Christ. Indeed, they have been raised up and seated in the heavenly places right alongside the ascended ruling Christ (Ephesians 2:1-10, today’s epistle reading). In the second place, Ephesians 2 shows Paul glorying over the way that formerly alienated people—Jew and Gentile—have been made one, since Christ has become their peace (Ephesians 2:11-21, tomorrow’s epistle reading). Truth and mercy. Righteousness and peace.

Accordingly, at the end of the Sermon on the Mount, in our gospel reading, Jesus urges (I paraphrase): “build your life on the solid rock of this truth, not on the sand of your own machinations and strivings. Don’t think you can approximate God’s righteousness on your own merit. Don’t think you can presume to find mercy apart from ‘my blood of the covenant’ (Matthew 26:28). Take the whole package deal. Take me,” he says, “because in me, mercy and truth meet. Take me, because in me, righteousness and peace kiss. Take me, because in me, heaven’s peace and perfect justice kissed a guilty world in love.”

Be blessed this day.

Reggie Kidd+

Image: Adaptation, Pixabay

Crowned with Glory and Honor - Daily Devotions with the Dean

Thursday • 5/26/2022 Thursday of the 6th Week of Easter

Today is the Feast of the Ascension of Christ

This morning’s Scriptures are: Psalms 8 & 47; Daniel 7:9-14; Hebrews 2:5-18; Matthew 28:16-20

This morning’s Canticles are: Pascha Nostrum (“Christ Our Passover,” BCP, p. 83); following the OT reading, Canticle 8 (“The Song of Moses,” Exodus 15, BCP, p. 85); following the Epistle reading, Canticle 19 (“The Song of the Redeemed,” Revelation 15:3-4, BCP, p. 94)

An audio or video version of this devotional can be found here: Apple Podcast, Spotify Podcast, YouTube

You give him mastery over the works of your hands; you put all things under his feet. — Psalm 8:7. The majesty of the heavens makes David, in Psalm 8, ponder the wonder of the Lord’s having put us humans at the pinnacle of creation. David is in awe of the status that we have been given—crowned with glory and honor, overseers of a dominion where everything is life, no death; cooperative effort, minus coercion or corruption; productivity without waste. 

I love the way the artist Ari Gradus (www.ari-gradus.com) imagines our relationship with the creation in his painting Spirit - Creation. The form of Adam emerges from the ground. His posture is one of wondrous praise. It’s as though all earth’s plenitude streams out from him, or at least revolves around him—as though the glory of image-bearing flows out with its own creative, life-giving energy. Even though that’s an inversion of the order of the Genesis account, it captures the biblical logic of humans being the fulcrum and crown of creation.

And yet…

As it is, we do not yet see everything in subjection to them… — Hebrews 2:8b. Perhaps one of the greatest understatements of all time. The writer to the Hebrews takes up Psalm 8’s celebration of the dignified place of humans in the scheme of things. But he notes that what we see—what we experience—is not what Psalm 8 envisions. As it is, we don’t see humans large-and-in-charge. As it is, we don’t see humans proudly reflecting the glory. As it is, we don’t see ourselves here and now as lords and ladies of God’s creatures.

In a second painting, titled Paradise Lost, Ari Gradus captures this “As it is…” insight. No, since the Garden, “we do not see everything in subjection to him.” Instead, the bitter fruit of the bite from the forbidden fruit leaves us cringing and fleeing for shelter. Creation devolves into a serpentine swirl of threatening globs, all of them indistinct, except for the ones in the shape of the forbidden fruit. Adam and Eve have dropped the fruit with the missing bite to the ground, where it lies at the front of the painting. Several forbidden fruit seem to chase the unhappy couple down, threatening to rain down upon them.

“As it is,” indeed. We are supposed to be the crown of creation. But starting early in 2020, we found ourselves plagued by an ironically named coronavirus, “corona” being the Latin word from which we get “crown.” Originally, “corona” meant a “wreath” of honor or “garland” of majesty. The microscopic coronavirus is covered with super-microscopic crowns. When the coronavirus invisibly invades our being, it connects itself to our lungs with those grabby crowns, so it can claim us and kill us. It’s brought our economy to its knees. It’s made us mask ourselves from one another and has caused us to be fearful of getting within six feet of each other. Even the confinement it has forced on us has led to things like increased domestic violence and substance abuse. The helplessness we feel, the sense of attack we experience—they are a parable of what it is to live with “Paradise Lost.”

…but we do see Jesus… — Hebrews 2:9a. Then again, this is Ascension Day. And the writer to the Hebrews doesn’t quote Psalm 8 to push us further into despair. He wants us to look up and see that at the right hand of the Father sits Jesus. There in advance of us is our Champion—once “made lower than the angels” and “suffering…death and tasting death for everyone,” now “crowned with glory and honor [also] for us” (Hebrews 2:9). He is there because paradise has been regained.

There, according to the writer to the Hebrews, quoting Psalm 22:22, he proclaims the Father’s name to us, a name of holy blessing (Hebrews 2:12; and see Numbers 6:23-27). And there, according to the same psalm, he sings a hymn of praise to the Father (Hebrews 2:12). He proclaims the truth that our sins have been atoned for, “our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water” (Hebrews 10:22). He sings us out of shame and into his fellowship as his brothers and sisters (Hebrews 2:11). He announces—and loudly, I submit!—that he has “destroy[ed] the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and free[d] those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death” (v. 15). As “merciful and faithful high priest,” he tunes our voices for the singing of praise to the Father who has provided complete atonement and timely help (2:18; see also 4:16).

Collect of the Day: Ascension Day. Almighty God, whose blessed Son our Savior Jesus Christ ascended far above all heavens that he might fill all things: Mercifully give us faith to perceive that, according to his promise, he abides with his Church on earth, even to the end of the ages; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen.

Be blessed this day.

Reggie Kidd+