Paradox Sunday
Saint Paul's Cathedral, San Diego
April 7, 2007; Easter Sunday
Scott Richardson +
Noble Love, Loyal Friend - The Great Vigil of Easter
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Only the most heedless gambler would put good money down on this proposition – that the dean of Saint Paul’s Cathedral in San Diego would begin his ’07 Easter Vigil homily by reflecting theologically on the movie “Tombstone”. You could have drawn long odds on that and, in just ten minutes or so, you’d be rich because that’s precisely what I intend to do.
“Tombstone” is not a great movie by any measure (and, of course, it is predictably, gratuitously violent) but one of my favorite characters in film history is Val Kilmer in the role of Doc Holliday. He’s a smooth rogue with multitudinous vices that make it impossible for him to practice even elementary self-care. He’s dying of tuberculosis but rarely allows that to stop him. He is wild, endlessly reckless, perfectly debauched but he does grow on you. His outstanding virtue (apart from hilarious charm) is loyalty to friends. As the Earp brothers, for instance, turn their shoulders toward chaos at the OK Corral, Holliday sidles up, rarin’ to go. Wyatt tells him he need not engage the fight, it’s not his quarrel; Doc is sincerely and grievously offended. Later, when Wyatt faces sure death in a shootout with Johnny Ringo (archetypal villain), Holliday slyly steps in as Earp’s proxy; he’d much rather risk the bullet than see his friend go down.
You may have already guessed that I’m a sap for noble love expressed as loyalty – gets me every time. And that’s a good thing for a priest because that’s precisely what our faith story is centrally about. We see it played out over and over again tonight. In the beginning, God creates the cosmos and places us at the center of it for the express purpose of relationship. When we’re enslaved in Egypt, God sides with us, chooses us, and intervenes to free us from Pharaoh, the great oppressor. When we are hauled into exile, God goes with us side-by-side and soothes troubled spirits with hopeful visions. In the aftermath of the death of the most righteous One, faithful women are befriended by an angel who consoles them with words even more fantastic than their pain. After the new era begins, God recruits and co-opts an avowed enemy, a man intent on stamping out his best truth and those who believe it.
Now notice: in every case, God takes the initiative. God is perfectly loyal, completely committed to relationship. God creates, liberates, soothes, sojourns, comforts, directs, reveals, befriends, recruits. And we, when we have our wits about us, respond in kind - but God’s friendship is not dependent on ours. God is wild, endlessly reckless, stubbornly given over to us and to those who came before. To suggest otherwise is to risk sincere and grievous offense in the heavens.
Now those of you who are still awake may be struggling with these assertions. Wait a minute, you might be thinking - you missed a story. You skipped over the flood. Include that and then tell us again about this God who loves us so much. Factor that in and then tell us once more about our heavenly friend.
Alright, I will. I now assert that the flood myth both makes my point and nuances this oration. Remember where the flood comes in Genesis; early on, just after a wrenching break in the garden. There’s the creation, the forbidden fruit, and immediate murder (Cain and Abel). That’s it - that’s all that precedes the flood narrative. God’s initiating vision lies ruined. God’s glorious beginning is squandered. God’s hope for holy relationship is thwarted. God, the frustrated artist, is tempted to trash everything but that doesn’t happen. Instead, a faithful remnant is lifted up and, again through divine initiative, relationship is restored. The human family is reconstituted and the link between heaven and earth endures; we’re not in Eden anymore but we’re not treading water either.
Now fast forward a few thousand years. Same story, right? Heaven and earth remain in relationship but it can’t honestly be called “right”. Both Cain and Abel have spiritual progeny. In fact, the mature know that both Cain and Abel live within every human heart. Because of that, relationships here on earth fall short of the divine plan. Over the vast expanse of time, we discover that we simply cannot love God with our entire being nor can we love our neighbor as ourselves. Because we cannot manage these two simple things, we can’t do anything else that ultimately matters. We can build cities, corporations, empires, universities, cathedrals, hospitals; we can do good deeds that bless the moment, we can even make thoughtful adjustments – be they personal or social - that help over the long haul; we just can’t fully and finally realize the kingdom that Jesus came to proclaim. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity: the Preacher said that in the Book of Ecclesiastes; it may be overstated, even overblown, but, in clear moments, we admit that it’s tough to argue the point.
And yet God remains faithful, loyal, committed. God continues to reach out, befriend, restore. In the fullness of time, he does so as the Nazarene. He comes not to call us (yet again!) to holy love but to incarnate holy love, to live holy love, to share and spur holy love. A few puzzle over it, a few get it, thousands miss it, and those who matter most resist it violently. Holy love, God’s best hope, God himself, lies murdered. And, again, it’s not over; it’s never over. He comes back from the tomb to claim us as his beloved family and his dearest friends. He is risen! Only the most heedless gambler would have put good money down on that proposition but that’s why we’re here tonight.
We indeed hit the celestial jackpot: the forgiveness of sins; eternal salvation; the defeat of evil, a place in the communion of saints; abundant life; liberation from the powers and principalities of death; identity, meaning, and mission; riches unimaginable; endless hope. In response to that happy fact, in response to his eternal pact with us, some of you were just baptized, some confirmed, some received, and some reaffirmed your devotion to God in Christ in the presence of your bishop. All of you are central to God’s unfolding drama but you need to know that you’re responding first to God’s initiative, to God’s claim on you, to God’s love for you. That’s a blessed and beautiful thing; it is pure grace. You now enter more deeply into your primary relationship but please don’t think for a moment that you enter as an equal partner. He is Creator, you are creature. He is Savior, you are saved. She is Spirit, you are Spirit-filled. Big difference; keep it straight and all shall be well.
As “Tombstone” winds down, Doc Holliday lies dying in a hospital in Colorado. Wyatt Earp, loyal to the end, comes every day to cheer him, play cards, run up poker debts that will never be paid, recall old times. Doc eventually grows weary of Earp’s ministrations; he gently, then firmly, asks Wyatt to leave and never return. He turns his full attention to more pressing matters. Something else - Someone else - has claimed him. Nuns tend to his comfort needs and a priest hears his confession, blessing him on his way. Holliday is left by himself, but it’s clear that he’s not alone; he lies at peace in the arms of his oldest and truest and best friend. May we, tonight, allow ourselves to be held by that same love.
Amen.
Scott Richardson +
April 7, 2007; Easter Sunday