Our second reading today comes from
the strange and wonderful Book of Revelation, a book most Episcopalians associate
with televangelists and other crazies.
Revelation is actually a fascinating political commentary, asserting
Christ’s power and authority even over the Roman Empire – and whatever human
power we might substitute for Rome in our own day. This morning’s reading paints a picture of a
great multitude, people blessed, through their tribulation on earth, to stand before
the very presence of God.
We’re blessed with our own moments of
transcendence from time to time. When we
get to see through the veil and catch a glimpse of Jesus Christ reigning in
glory – what does that look like? On
Easter morning, in Revelation’s words set to Handel’s glorious accompaniment, we
sang out that “the kingdom of the world is become the kingdom of our God and of
his Christ. And he shall reign for ever
and ever.” (Revelation 11:15) So what do
you think that looks like, when “the kingdom of the world has become the
kingdom of our God and of his Christ”?
Well, as we stumble upon that scene in today’s
reading, we find ourselves in the heavenly throne room. We come along with a “great multitude that no
one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages,
standing before the throne and before the Lamb” (Revelation 7:9). Wait, standing before what? The Lamb?
What lamb?
If we back up a couple of chapters, we learn
who this Lamb is. When the writer of
Revelation sees the heavenly throne for the first time, as the Messiah is about
to make his appearance, the writer expects to see the “Lion of … Judah” (5:5),
the powerful liberating king the Jewish people had been waiting for. But the writer looks up and sees instead “a
Lamb, standing [though] it had been slaughtered” (5:6). The kingdom of the Lord God Almighty has been
given to a slaughtered Lamb. It turns
out the ultimate power of God – the roar of the lion – is fully revealed on the
Cross, in the suffering of the Lamb.1 And now that slaughtered Lamb stands strong,
ready to complete God’s project of reuniting heaven and earth, returning all of
creation back to the garden God made “in the beginning” (Genesis 1:1).
Now, we have trouble wrapping our minds
around all that, and I think we’re supposed to.
The Book of Revelation is not a news report, or a fortune teller’s prediction,
or a copy of God’s day-by-day planning calendar. It’s poetry – a mystical vision that brings
together “in the beginning” and “world without end.”
So hold that thought, because I think I
got a glimpse of that heavenly throne room two Sundays ago. And because God is not only sovereign of all
creation but also a comic genius, the scene even comes with a little humor.
Here’s something I never imagined myself
saying: I got to worship at the altar of
God along with two chickens and a goat. The
occasion was a grand celebration, the 150th anniversary of the
Church of St. Sauveur in Les Cayes, Haiti.
The rector there is our partner priest, Père Colbert, who has been here
with us several times. The worship began
with the congregation and about 30 clergy all processing through the streets of
Les Cayes, led by incense and the Cross.
It was an incarnation of intersection, of the blurred boundary between
heaven and earth that the Book of Revelation points toward. Arriving at the church, about a thousand
people filled every space, including the stairs to the balcony; and others
crowded at the doorways. Stunning choirs
transported the congregation with the full-throated praise Haitians always
offer, singing like their lives depend on it, because they do. Clouds of incense filled the chancel at the
Gospel procession; more clouds of incense would envelop the altar before the
Eucharistic prayer. Dancers interpreted
God’s Word in body and in Spirit.
And then came the offertory. Of course, none of us knew what was coming,
other than figuring they’d take up a collection. Well, I have never seen such a deeply
sacramental sacrifice of thanksgiving, such a full presentation of people’s
life and labor to the Lord. For us, we
offer bread, wine, and money at the offertory.
When we get really symbolic, we add canned food to share with people in
need. In Les Cayes two weeks ago, they
presented tokens of everything God
had given them. As the choir and people
sang for joy, members swayed down the aisle and toward the altar bearing
bananas, and mangos, and okra, and peppers; beans, and rice, and potatoes, and
onions; squash, and wood, and flowers, and sugar cane – and two chickens, and a
goat.
And then, because God is a comic genius, just as I was getting all wrapped up in the deep
meaning of this stunning offering, the chickens started pecking at each
other. Now, they had been laid literally
before the altar, as had the goat – each animal with its legs bound, and with the
chickens’ wings wrapped in small, thin, black trash sacks. But the liturgical planning committee hadn’t
considered three key elements: First, chickens
don’t like to be right next to each other and
out of control. Second, chickens have
wings, and they can move by flapping those wings even if their feet are bound together. And third, thin black plastic is no match for
an angry chicken. And so, we witnessed a
literal chicken fight before the altar of God.
Now, in the eyes of the people there, it wasn’t that big a deal. Someone simply came over, grabbed the
chickens by their bound legs, and hauled them out.
Now, all this time, the goat was just lying
there, minding his own business, looking exhausted after his long trip bouncing
around in the back of a truck. But the
chickens’ misbehavior made people think twice about leaving the goat up there
for the Eucharistic prayer, so he was hauled out, too. Now, this left open two holes in the
offertory décor; and this is an Episcopal
church, after all, with a certain sense of order and propriety. So, to fill the holes in the tableau left by
the absent chickens and the absent goat, the Altar Guild sacristan ran up to rearrange
the flowers and bananas and mangoes and sugar cane into a balanced and
aesthetically pleasing visual presentation.
And, I believe, the Lord God did grin.
Now, the next scene I want to describe came
a few days later, as we drove between Les Cayes and Port-au-Prince. It was market day, so everywhere, people were
bringing the products of their life and labor to the village gathering place. We ended up following a truck on its way to
market – with chickens and goats dangling by their legs off the back and the
sides of the truck, clearly in great pain.
It’s a necessity of life in a culture without refrigeration: You get
fresh meat by keeping that meat alive as long as possible before you eat
it. So, creeping along the road into the
village, we were eye to eye with a goat, dangling by its legs, in its last
hours. There is little more pitiable,
and maybe nothing more vulnerable, than a goat or a lamb about to be
slaughtered.
Of course, all the Americans in our pickup
wanted to get out and untie the goat, and take him down, and ease his
pain. And of course, that impulse was more
about our discomfort than the goat’s well-being. We’d been happy to have roasted goat for
dinner the night before, but we weren’t so interested in looking dinner in the
eye as it suffered.
In a place like Haiti, you see sacrifice
up close and personal. Everything – and
especially every good thing – comes
at a cost. At our partner school in
Maniche, enrollment has increased by 50 percent from last year. In a classroom smaller than my office, in
tropical heat, there’s a first-grade teacher who every day shapes the hearts
and minds of 47 little people in that
small room. Picture that. Feel the heat.
Hear the fidgeting. Smell the
closeness. Now, this teacher comes to
work every day from her house near Les Cayes, so she bounces around the back of
a truck for an hour and a half every morning and for an hour and a half every
afternoon. Sacrifice is her job
description. She is paid pretty well in
a culture where the average person tries to live on $2 to $3 a day. But she earns every penny, two or three times
over.
That sacrifice will cost the teacher her life,
one day at a time. But it also brings life, and hope, to those 47 first
graders, one day at a time. That
teacher’s work inspires her students’ dreams – dreams of becoming doctors, or
teachers, or nurses, or agronomists, or business owners, or soccer players, or
linguists, or presidents – each of them professions kids actually told us they
wanted to pursue. And it’s not just the
teachers who sacrifice. Two cooks
prepare beans and rice for 300 kids every day in two pots on open fires. The headmaster keeps the peace and maintains
morale among teachers pushed to the limit, all the while teaching sixth grade,
too. Their day-to-day sacrifices bring
new life to children who otherwise would simply occupy their parents’ huts in
the next generation but might, instead, be president.
Of course, the other sacrifice is
yours. About 1 percent of your pledge
giving goes to support these ministries in Maniche. In addition, the Advent Card Fundraiser in
the Jewell Room pays the teachers’ salaries and buys textbooks. The Fools for Christ’s Sake Dinner next
Sunday funds the school’s lunch program.
These are not small investments that you, and we, make. We, too, offer our sacrifice of thanksgiving
when we pay our pledge, or buy an Advent card, or come to the Fools
dinner.
But you see sacrifice up close and
personal in Haiti. Living and dying
happens right before your eyes. And so does rising again. That Lamb at the center of the heavenly
throne made his choice to live, and die, and rise again for you, and for me,
and for our Haitian friends. And the
Lamb calls us to follow him as he shepherds us into eternal life, now and
forever. He leads us to make our own life-giving
sacrifice – a life of self-giving that
leaves you, and the world around you, stronger and healthier than
self-preservation ever could. This is
life that truly “revives [your] soul” (Psalm 23:3). For when we follow where he leads, the Lamb
who is our shepherd will guide us to springs of the water of life, where God
will wipe away every tear from our eyes (Revelation 7:17).
1.
Harrington,
Wilfrid J. Revelation. Sacra Pagina Series, Vol, 16, Daniel J. Harrington,
ed. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press,
1993. 87
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