Sermon: "Precipitate the Miracle"
The Reverend Canon Michael L. Delk
The Cathedral of St. Philip, Diocese of Atlanta

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Greetings from the Diocese of Atlanta and the Cathedral of St Philip! I am honored and delighted by your invitation, and I thank Bishop vonRosenberg, for extending the privilege of this pulpit.

Only a few weeks ago, we heard Jesus inaugurate his ministry at a synagogue in Nazareth. He read a powerful, revolutionary prophecy from the scroll of Isaiah: "The Spirit of the Lord IS upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." Jesus' commentary on the text, simple yet subversive: "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." In other words, "I embody the truth of this text. I overturn the natural order. The blind will see. I overturn the social order. Those in bondage will go free. I overturn the economic order and institute the Jubilee of Leviticus. Slaves now receive manumission. Land returns to its original owner. Debts are erased."

Jesus made his words reality. In Capernaum, he exercised a demon, asserting his authority over the evil powers and principalities that corrupt and destroy the creatures of God. He restored the sick to wholeness, and on the lake of Gennesaret, Jesus provided abundance in the midst of scarcity, so many fish that he swamped two boats. Throughout, Jesus symbolically and directly refuted "the way that the world works," and manifested in his own person a new Kingdom, the Kingdom of God.

By the time we reach Jesus on the plain, having traveled far through this season of Epiphany, Jesus has descended from the mountain, having, prayerfully selected his disciples. We come to hear him and touch him, to be healed in body and spirit. People are pressing close. Standing there, short of breath because of the excitement and the crush of bodies, we anticipate a miracle. Then Jesus begins to speak words of blessing: the poor will inherit the kingdom; the hungry will feast; tears will evaporate into laughter. What good news, these words of blessing, spread like manna upon a people under captivity.

They were poor, taxed and extorted to an extent we cannot imagine. The galling part was that much of the money went to feed and house the occupying Roman legions. Rome was just the most recent in a series of conquerors, stretching back centuries, who threatened to erode the identity of Israel as a people of God. Their monarchy was gone, and their religion factionalized and legalistic. The roads were choked with violent gangs, and charlatan wonder workers abounded. Into this mess, Jesus brought words of blessing to the poor, the hungry, the mourning, and the faithful.

He also brought words of warning. There were those who benefited from the status quo. A tiny sliver of the people had the right training and the right connections, the proper pedigree and an opportunistic attitude. Those people managed quite well for themselves. They concentrated wealth and power in their own hands, using it for exploitation and pleasure. To these people, Jesus says: "Enjoy it while it lasts, for the feast will end and famine will come. You delight will turn to sadness, and your practical compromises will be exposed for the selfish deceit they are. Your complacency and smug self-satisfaction will lead you to ruin. The bubble will burst."

As revolutionary as these words sound, they merely recapitulate the prophecy of Jeremiah, addressed to Israel in an earlier age. Jeremiah admonished an idolatrous generation to place their faith in God alone. Evidently, people were hedging their bets. Perhaps they no longer anticipated miracles. So they invested in other means to secure their future. They made sacrifice and offered prayers to local deities that promised specific boons, like fertility for wives and good harvests. They spread themselves thin, distributing their time and energy among many gods, until their commitment to the One True God was diluted and weak. Jeremiah warned the people that they would wither if they continued. He beckoned them to renewed fidelity: "Blessed are those who trust in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord." Very few responded favorably.

In the blessings and curses of Luke and Jeremiah, we have a mandate for transformation. The word "mandate" has the connotation of privilege or permission. It usually enters conversation during election cycles, when we speculate on whether the electorate will give or withhold a mandate. However, the English word "mandate" derives from the Latin "mandatum," from which we also get "maundy," as in Maundy Thursday. In its original sense, mandatum meant commandment, and today we obey that command in the breaking of bread.

The act of Eucharist is a radically transformative event. When we partake of Christ's Body and Blood, we embody Jesus. If we embody Jesus, then we embody the fulfillment of Isaiah's prophecy, as Jesus did. We dispense blessings and words of warning. We seek the day when the hungry will eat their fill and the despairing dance. We open our arms to touch and be touched by the people on the edges, the outcast and ignored. We overthrow any order that denigrates the human spirit by denying basic necessities. If we embody Christ, we anticipate miracles, and we precipitate them by our presence.

Jesus came down from the mountain to face a great crowd of people. Remember that Jesus was not universally admired. He had no idea what to expect from this crowd. Even in the most friendly of circumstances, people always wanted something from him -- healing or a wise parable. Imagine a crowd of perfect strangers, swarming around trying to touch you. Perhaps they're imploring you in some incomprehensible language, desperate for help. How frustrating. But Jesus came down from the mountain to face the crowd, and we need to descend the mountain, too. Once we make it to the plain, we need reach out and touch those fellow travelers, who have often come so far to hear a blessing and be healed. We need to allow ourselves to be touched,, because connection is such a precious rarity in our hyperlinked but disconnected world.

Jesus contradicted the conventional wisdom and announced impending change. Now any analyst, economist, or demographer could have told Jesus all about the trends and statistics that irrefutably demonstrated the likelihood of continued widespread poverty in Galilee during Roman occupation. Unemployment, inflation, and taxation were all too high. Alan Greenspan hadn't been born yet. Nevertheless, Jesus blessed people who by all outward appearances were in disfavor with God. They were poor and sick and tired, and Jesus gave them hope and the promise of a better life. Only a miracle can accomplish that. Fortunately, in the Diocese of East Tennessee, I understand that you anticipate miracles. And I believe you can precipitate miracles by your presence when you embody Christ.

Finally, Jesus moved on. He could have stayed on that plain indefinitely, among an appreciative audience, dispensing health and wisdom. But after a brief discourse, only twenty-nine verses in all, he moved on to Capernaum. The Church needs to learn how to move on. We say that we love our history, but it seems to me that what we really love is our past. History provides perspective, but we in the Church often display a deficiency of perspective. When we focus on the past, the present and the future are usually out of view. When we know our history, the present and the future find a larger context that gives direction, as well as the foundational strength for change. What history teaches us is that over the centuries the Christian faith has endured much greater change than those that face us now, and the Church survived. Without this awareness, we will never stomach the razor-sharp words of warning that critique our practice and rouse us from complacency. Without this awareness, we will never accept the need for radical transformation. Without the ability to move on, the Church will atrophy and decay.

Throughout this weekend, I believe you have experienced and talked about connection, change, and movement. These are the miracles you can anticipate, and these are the miracles you can precipitate. Apply what you have learned. Continue to collaborate. And pray, pray, pray on the mountain top. You will be glad you did when you make it to the plain. Amen.