Sermon by the rev'd. Pamela Snare

Sermon
January 7, 2007
The Reverend Pamela Snare

“Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him…He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street, a bruised seed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench…” (Isaiah 42:1a, 2-3a)

“The heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him… and a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” (Luke 3:21c-22)

Last summer, my husband, Jerry, and I returned for two weeks to the Benedictine monastery in Normandy where we spent our sabbatical in the fall of 2004. Our last day there, a Saturday, was the feast of the founder of the Abbey, Abbot Herluin. A visiting monk preached the homily on this text from I John 4: “Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love” (vv. 7-8).

Jerry and I were both deeply moved by Brother Bertrand’s words on the text, “God is love,” so much so that we asked for a copy of his homily. In it, Brother Bertrand first noted that this is the only place in scripture where we find the statement, “God is love,” even though this is the heart of the revelation of God. “Why,” he asked, “should that be?” “Because,” he said, “there is in love a modesty in making itself known; because there is a divine discretion in revealing the heart of its mystery. Never does the Lord impose himself [on anyone]; never does he reveal himself in the brutality of the obvious or evident, which would ignore our consent. Yes, ‘God – love’ is discrete, quiet, and infinitely delicate.”
I remembered Brother Bertrand’s homily as I was preparing this sermon for the feast of the Baptism of our Lord. Partly because of the reading from Isaiah which speaks of the calm and quiet nature of the servant and the way he works. He is neither loud nor violent as he goes about his mission: “He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street, a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench.” And, partly because of today’s gospel, Jesus’ Baptism. In theological language, his baptism is described as an epiphany- a showing or manifestation of a deity, or as a theophany-an appearance of a god. Yet, biblical commentators tell us that the phrase - “the heaven was opened” - is not like a newspaper account of what happened, but rather a prophetic symbol that a divine revelation is taking place [The New Jerome Biblical Commentary]. The same is true for the Spirit descending, like a dove. As for the voice from heaven, they point out that it is heard by Jesus alone.
In other words, all those present did not literally see the heavens opened, and the Spirit descending like a dove, nor hear the voice from heaven. That would have been a “brutality of the obvious or evident” which would have ignored the consent of those present. Only those who were attentive, who had the eyes and ears of faith, who were alive to God, would have perceived God’s presence and acting in this event. Only those with the insight of faith, not eyesight, experienced and comprehended the divine presence in this very ordinary event of baptism. Otherwise, if all present had seen the heaven opened and the Spirit descending and heard the voice from heaven, would not all have then been compelled by this evidence to acclaim Jesus as God’s Son, the Beloved? But they did not.
As Brother Bertrand said, “God – love” is discrete, quiet, and infinitely delicate.” He does not bombard us with evidence so that we cannot dispute with him. He does not heavy-hand us with extraordinary revelations that would force us to acknowledge his presence and acting. Rather he makes himself known to us as love; he entices us, attracts us, discretely, quietly, and with infinite delicacy in the ordinary events and the ordinary people of our everyday lives.
How often do we miss these quiet revelations of love, these delicate theophanies of the heart of God, either because we are looking for the extraordinary and the spectacular, or because we have forgotten to be on the watch, to be attentive to his presence as love, the heart of who he is?
I ask myself this question, and I must answer, if I would be truthful, too often. I think of things that have become so habitual and so ordinary that the tendency is to do them without remembering, without being conscious that they are manifestations of God as love.
I think of the Eucharist. We celebrate it every Sunday. Today I do it four times. I think of the words at the heart of that mystery: “Take, eat; this is my Body, given for you. Do this for the remembrance of me.” Do this to remember the great love that I have for you. Do this to remember that I died for you because of that love. Do this to remember that I am love, and that I feed you with myself. Do this to become love yourself, for others, for me.”
My friends, when we gather at this table, the heavens are opened; the Spirit descends not only on the bread and wine, making them the food of love, but on us also, to make us love as he is love. Every Eucharist, even with only two people present, is an epiphany, a theophany of the love of God. It is not showy; it is not spectacular; but it is nonetheless a manifestation of the heart of God as love - to those who are attentive, to those with the eyes of faith, to those who are awake to the divine presence.
At 11:00 today we will celebrate the baptism of two infants, Jacob Ellis and
Simon Hall. These baptisms will also be theophanies. The heavens will be opened, the Spirit will descend, and a voice, however quietly, even silently, will say, “These are my beloved sons; with them I am well-pleased.”
My friends, God is present with us today as love - discretely, quietly, and with infinite delicacy - in these very ordinary means of bread and wine, of water and oil. He is opening the heavens and descending in his Spirit upon us. He is speaking to us in the Eucharist: “Take, eat, this is my Body given for you.” He is speaking to us in baptism: “You are my beloved son; you are my beloved daughter; with you I am well-pleased.”
Do you perceive him descending? Can you hear his voice from heaven? He is speaking to you, to me, to us all, in his discrete, and quiet, and infinitely delicate voice of love. Run to meet him.

The Reverend Pamela P. Snare

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