Thursday, December 12, 2019

Homily for the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe


Sermon December 11, 2019 Our Lady of Guadalupe

Amy Phillips

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing to you oh Queen of Peace, Mother of the Poor, Our Lady of Guadalupe.

In his book of theological reflections on the Guadalupe story, Dr. Maxwell E. Johnson, an ELCA minister and professor of liturgical studies at the University of Notre Dame, comments that “The Virgin of Guadalupe is a narrative, an image, and a devotion…” (p. 19). This observation is the organizing frame for my reflections – and conveniently has 3 points.

As a narrative, the story of Our Lady of Guadalupe has been told for over 450 years and has become a part of the religious and cultural consciousness of Mexicans, Mexican-Americans, and many others around the world.
In the event you need a refresher on the story, I am happy to provide it. I will be attempting to use Nahuatl and Spanish words out of respect for the characters in the story.

The place is central Mexico. The year is 1531 -- only 10 years after Hernan Cortes (the Spanish adventurer and conquistador) invaded Mexico and subjugated the indigenous Mexica (or Aztec) people, and only 7 years after the arrival of the first Spanish Franciscan missionaries. By 1531 the Spanish had been undertaking the work of converting tens of thousands of indigenous Mexican people to Christianity.

According to tradition, in the early morning hours of December 9, 1531, one Mexica convert, a devout and humble man in his mid-40s by the name of Cuauhtlatoátzin, or Juan Diego, left his dwelling in the village of Cuautitlán on his way to the Franciscan mission in the town of Tlateloco (near Mexico City).
As he passed by a hill called Tepeyac he heard music. He looked up the hill, and saw a lady surrounded by glowing lights the color of the rainbow. She spoke to him in his native language, Nahuatl, and identified herself as the Ever-Virgin Holy Mary, Mother of the God of Great Truth, Téotl. She asked him to tell the Catholic bishop Juan Zumárraga, to build a shrine to her on this hill where people could come to receive hope and solace from her. (and by the way, this is the first Marian apparition recognized by the Vatican, significantly predating Our lady of Lourdes and Our Lady of Fatima).

Juan reported his experience to the bishop, but the bishop didn’t believe him and sent him away. As Juan Diego was returning to his home, he again encountered Mary on Tepeyac hill and announced the failure of his mission, saying that “in reality I am one of those campesinos, a piece of rope, a small ladder, the excrement of people, [and you are sending me to a place where I do not belong].” Mary insisted that he was whom she wanted for the task and she sent him back to the bishop.

Again the bishop was not inclined to believe Juan Diego’s story but asked for proof that Mary had appeared to him. Juan Diego returned to Tepeyac and, encountering Mary, reported the bishop's request for a sign; she agreed to provide one on the following day, December 11.

On December 11, however, Juan Diego's uncle fell ill and Juan Diego needed to attend to him all day. In the very early hours of Tuesday, December 12, the uncle’s condition had deteriorated and Juan Diego set out to Tlatelolco to get a priest to hear his uncle's confession and minister to him on his death-bed. 

In order to avoid being delayed by Mary and embarrassed at having failed to meet her the previous day as agreed, Juan Diego chose another route around the hill, but Mary intercepted him and asked where he was going; Juan Diego explained what had happened and Mary gently chided him for not having appealed to her. In the words which have become the most famous phrase of the Guadalupe event and are inscribed over the main entrance to the Basilica of Guadalupe in Mexico City, she asked: "¿No estoy yo aquí que soy tu madre?" ("Am I not here, I who am your mother?").

She assured him that his uncle had now recovered and she told him to collect flowers growing nearby. Juan Diego found an abundance of flowers unseasonably in bloom and using his open cloak as a sack he returned to Mary. She re-arranged the flowers in his cloak and told him to take them to the bishop. On seeing the bishop in Mexico City later that day, Juan Diego opened his cloak, the flowers poured to the floor, and the bishop saw they had left on the cloak an imprint of the Virgin's image. The bishop fell to his knees in adoration and immediately ordered that a church be built on Tepeyac Hill in honor of Mary.

According to the story, Juan Diego lived the rest of his life in a hut next to the church built in honor of Mary.

Juan Diego was beatified on May 6, 1990 and canonized on July 31, 2002, by Pope John Paul II. His feast day was yesterday, December 9 -- three days before Our Lady of Guadalupe's Feast day, December 12.

I turn now to the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe that appeared on Juan Diego’s cloak – this is what you see on the prayer card. It is an ubiquitous image in the western hemisphere and is rich in indigenous symbolism. In fact, Mary appeared to Juan Diego on the very site of an ancient sanctuary to Tonantzín, a Mexica, or Aztec mother goddess.

Looking at the image, and some of this may be difficult to see, Mary’s rose-tinted, flowery tunic symbolizes the earth and also indicates that she is royalty since only Mexica emperors wore cloaks of that color.

The black ribbon around Mary’s waist shows that she is expecting a child. For the Mexica, the trapezoid-shaped ends of the ribbon also represented the end of one cycle and the birth of a new era.

The only four-petaled flower on Mary’s tunic appears over her womb. The four-petaled jasmine represents the Mexica’s highest deity, Ometéotl.

The Virgin stands on a crescent moon. The Nahuatl word for Mexico, “Metz-xic-co,” means “in the center of the moon.” The moon also symbolizes the Mexica moon god, fertility, birth and life.

An angel with eagle’s wings appears below Mary’s feet. According to Mexica belief, an eagle delivered the hearts and the blood of sacrificial victims to the gods.

Our lady of Guadalupe, particularly with the use of her image, is the subject of much devotion. Millions of people visit the Guadalupe Basilica in Mexico on and around her feast day. She is appealed to as a mother who can support, help, and protect. She is seen as a source of healing and miracles. She is viewed as uniquely and personally Mexican, an image which binds a nation together, but who resonates especially with indigenous peoples since she appeared as a brown-skinned woman speaking Nahuatl to an indigenous peasant. She is on calendars, lottery tickets, phone cards, and tattooed on the backs of gang members and prisoners. During the Mexican revolution, Emiliano Zapata and other fighters carried her image into battle, and her image was also used by Cesar Chavez during the Mexican-American civil rights movement. She is a particularly accessible and powerful source of hope for poor, oppressed, or marginalized people. When I think of her influence and importance I am awed by her power.

But where the story of Our Lady of Guadalupe touches me most is in the moment when Juan Diego attempts to evade her out of embarrassment and because he was in a hurry, and she effectively, “cuts him off at the pass.”
But she isn’t stern or disciplinary or disappointed. She “gently chides” him and reminds him that she is his mother and she is there with him. In other words, she is telling him “don’t feel bad, it’s ok, I love you.” At least that’s my interpretation of her words.

How powerful those words must have been for “a campesino, a piece of rope, a small ladder, the excrement of people.” And how powerful and empowering they must still be for those who are made to feel that way.

They are also powerful words for me because they remind me of my human mother, the unconditional love she had for me -- even when I ignored her or didn’t come through for her. And how she is still here with me, she who is my mother. And the words also remind me of the mother of us all who is always with us, loving us, even in the moments when we have failed in the tasks she requires of us.

If you can see it, feel free to read along while I read the prayer on the back of the prayer card:

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, implored your help, or sought your intercession was left unaided. Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto you, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to you do I come, before you I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in your clemency hear and answer me. Amen

Sources:
Johnson, M. E. (2002). The virgin of Guadalupe. Theological reflections of an Anglo-Lutheran liturgist. MD: Rowman &Littlefield.
“Our Lady of Guadalupe” 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Our_Lady_of_Guadalupe
“Unveiling the image’s hidden meaning” https://thecatholicspirit.com/special-sections/travel-and-pilgrimages/unveiling-
the-image%E2%80%99s-hidden-meaning/
“Our Lady of Guadalupe is a powerful symbol of Mexican identity” https://www.nbcnews.com/news/latino/our-lady-
guadalupe-powerful-symbol-mexican-identity-n694216

Sunday, December 8, 2019

Fr. Jamie is installed at St. Stephen's 6th Rector

It was a truly beautiful and moving morning at St. Stephen’s as Fr. Jamie was installed at the 6th Rector of St. Stephen’s, welcomed Stephanie. Megan and Caleb as new members, as we renewed out baptismal vows, got  sprinkled with holy water and celebrated Holy Eucharist together. Plus the congregation gave Fr. Jamie a very wonderful 50th birthday celebration. He also received a biretta and afterward we had cake shaped like a biretta, plus biretta-shaped cupcakes. Most of all, we celebrated St. Stephen’s. Thank you, everyone!




Caleb, Megan, Fr. Jamie and Stephanie

Fr. Jamie kneels during his installation to pray

Fr. Jamie kneeling as Senior Warden Steve Bolduc leads the Installation

Steve Bolduc presents Fr. Jamie with his Biretta

Fr. Jamie's point seems more emphatic while wearing a biretta

Fr. Jamie adjusting his new biretta


The vegan chocolate cake and cupcakes in the shape of birettas

Kristofer and Fr. Jamie posing for a biretta selfie

Biretta cupcakes

Fr. Jamie and his cool vegan biretta cake

Fr. Jamie welcoming new members Stephanie, Megan and Caleb

Fr. Jamie and Donna processing to the baptismal font

Fr. Jamie heading to the font

Fr. Jamie filling the font with water

Fr. Jamie blesses the congregation with holy water following their reaffirmation of baptismal vows

Funny hat day at St. Stephen's

Saturday, December 7, 2019

Congratulations, John!


Congratulations to John Anderson, who was made a Candidate for Holy Orders this morning. A date for his ordination to the vocational diaconate in the next few months will be announced soon.


Friday, December 6, 2019



Join us this week at St. Stephen’s

Sunday December 8  – 2 Advent
11:00 a.m. – Holy Eucharist
INSTALLATION OF FR. JAMIE AS RECTOR
New Member Sunday
Children’s Chapel
Coffee Hour following

Wednesday December 11 –   Eve of Our Lady of Guadalupe
6:00 p.m. – Holy Eucharist
Fr. Jamie, celebrant/Amy Phillips,  preacher
James Mackay, music




Thursday, December 5, 2019

Wednesday of 1 Advent


A Sermon by Jean Sando

When Father Jamie asked me if I could cover this week, I asked him what readings or topics I should include, and he listed St. Nicholas and St. Clement (no idea who he even is) as well as St. Ambrose.  All worthies, I’m sure (I was raised in the Methodist church so my familiarity with the Saints is slightly limited), but there’s really only one person I think about this time of year, this season of Advent, and Father Jamie said the sermon could be about anything really, so I’m going to talk about Mary.

Growing up Methodist, Mary wasn’t someone I venerated.  I learned to pray the rosary when I was in college from my Roman Catholic roommate.  I found the prayers rhythmic and comforting but growing up, Mary was the young woman with a blue shawl on her head kneeling serenely by the manger in the Christmas pageant. More important in the narrative than Joseph, certainly more important than the donkey my sister demanded to play one year.  I was never Mary. I was an angel. The loud angel. The angel/narrator. I’m sure you can’t imagine why I was typecast into this role.

So Mary wasn’t a big influence in my Christian life. She wasn’t anyone I thought very much about.  

Until I started to try to become a mother. I’m very good at lots of things, but at getting and staying pregnant, I was rather a failure.  Getting pregnant took doctors and shots and scans. I also didn’t manage to stay pregnant very well.  

I developed a very difficult relationship with Mary. My first miscarriage happened in March, but my second happened three days before Thanksgiving. I went through the entire advent that year alternatively numb and crying. I became angrier every time I heard the Mary story.  A Virgin birth? Sure, she gets pregnant conversing with angels, and I can’t get pregnant even though I’ve been talking with 32 specialists and 4 people at the health insurance company. 

Did you know that the only Christmas carol that doesn’t mention a baby is “O Come O Come Emmanuel”?  I do.

I’d love to be able to tell you “then suddenly I was pregnant!” and to pretend the story has a simple, happy ending.  It doesn’t. I did get pregnant with twins in February 1998. We knew one baby’s heart had stopped beating, so we knew we had lost another baby.  What was completely unexpected was for me to deliver the baby who died and remain pregnant with the other twin.
That just doesn’t happen. It’s so rare that a standing room only group of residents in the Chicago hospital where I’d been sent for consultation came in to see me and have my case explained.  With an insensitivity only certain doctors possess, the oldest doctor in the whitest coat said “This is very rare. Most likely infection will set in. Both the fetus and the mother are at risk. Less than a 3% chance.”

I knew the implications.  This was going to take a miracle.

But most of you have met the miracle. He was 2 months old at his first Christmas, and Mary and I were able to be friends again. All the “long-awaited baby carols” spoke the words that were in my heart.  There are still quite a few I will cry through if you’re watching. And you’ll maybe hear Kris ask “Mom, are you crying?” in the way he does.

Looking back, we knew our miracle was different from the beginning. He seemed lost in the world, very sweet but a little confused. This place didn’t quite make sense to him. 

Recently, I saw a funny meme on Facebook.  A singer is crooning the popular Christmas tune “Mary Did You Know?” and a sassy Mary snaps back “I think I made that clear in the Magnificat.” Well, I didn’t know what was going on with our baby.  Mary had been given insight that isn’t, Thank God, given to most mothers. 

As Kristofer’s life unfolded, it was clear he was not going to be like other people.  No, Kris isn’t the Messiah, but he isn’t typical, either. Kris is special. Kris is autistic. Kris has a disability.

In that song, “Mary Did You Know?” the lyrics say “The blind will see, the deaf will hear, the dead will live again.  The lame will leap, the dumb will speak, the praises of the lamb.” In our gospel message today, great crowds come to see Mary’s son on a mountain and he heals the lame, the maimed, the blind and the dumb.

And Jesus does that over and over again in the Gospels. In fact, this is part of how we know he is God. He performs these miracles of healing. Mary’s son comes at last and heals all the disabled people in the world.  There’s only one problem with that. I have a son with a disability, not a disease, not an illness, and I would step in between him and anyone who tried to “heal” him.  

My son is precious, exactly as he is.  

But the Bible and the Church and especially the stories of Jesus confuse us in regards to who the disabled are and what their purpose is among us and where they belong in the church.  Oh, not here at St. Stephen’s. We know where Kris belongs. He belongs in front singing. He belongs in his acolyte vestments and at the door greeting as an usher. He belongs in the gardens and pacing in the undercroft. Here he belongs.

But the isolation and exclusion that adults with disabilities experience is real. Too often the Church sees people with disabilities as people they pour mercy on instead of looking to people with disabilities as those who can pour mercy on us. 

We get drawn into this with these stories of Jesus’ healing.  We get the message that the disabled are “broken” and need to be fixed.  That they are not alright just as they are. The focus we have on these stories can be terribly alienating and off-putting.  I have a friend who is blind who has had random people approach her and pray for her sight to return. It’s bizarre. 

But maybe we are wrong about the whole story.  In Jesus’s time, there was no social safety net, people with disabilities had no way to access the community, or earn a living and were often seen as “unclean.”  Jesus doesn’t just heal them, he restores them to society in the only way he can. Maybe that’s what he’s really doing on the top of that mountain. He is giving those people a path back into the community as only Jesus can.

But maybe we’re understanding even less about who has disabilities in the Bible than we think. In the Book of Daniel, God is described as sitting on a throne of fiery flames with wheels of fire. God is in a wheelchair? When Jesus comes back from the dead, he retains his scars.  His body is not restored to perfection. Why not? Is it okay to be a scared and broken Jesus? Surely he could heal himself if perfection was the point.

Even more, consider Nicodemus.  According to Anne Memmott, in the Gospel of John, we find Nicodemus is a legal specialist for the Jewish community, so he would have had an encyclopedic knowledge of the religious texts, many autistic people have exceptional memories.
Just ask Paul Sando about trains sometime; he has Asperger’s.  Nicodemus approaches Jesus in the quiet and dark, away from the huge and loud crowd. Our Katie isn’t autistic, though she shares some traits and you can ask her about how the world can feel “too people-y.”

Nicodemus misunderstands metaphor, many autistic people misunderstand non-literal language, and Jesus re-explains it to him.  Later, Nicodemus tries to save Jesus by insisting the rules need to be followed, autistic people can be very rigid about rules, and, at the tomb, there’s Nicodemus staggering up the hill with a simply extraordinary amount, a hundredweight, of herbs and spices. Normally people would bring a small quantity. All of this reads as entirely normal autistic behavior, and there he is at the tomb, very much part of Jesus’s life, as a friend. He was not someone Jesus pitied and healed.

Autistic people, people with disabilities are there in the Bible.  And in today’s world, they aren’t here to be pitied or healed. They do need to be brought into communities.  That was why Jesus healed them. Today we need to heal our communities that fail to make a place for people with disabilities. We need to examine our ableist assumptions and practices in and outside the church.

When Jesus, Mary’s son looks out on that crowd in the reading today, he has compassion on the people.  He heals those among them to enable them to enter the community, then he provides for the whole community.  He feeds every last one of them, men, and women, and children. All of them eat together. All of them are at one enormous table.

I don’t know how my son Kris’s life will unfold.  But Mary knew. She knew from the beginning. She says “he has put down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of low degree. He has filled the hungry with good things.” She knew her son would create a loving and  welcoming community, for all the people.

Sunday, December 1, 2019

The Baptism of Rory Bernstrom

We Episcopalians are a resilient lot! When the Worship Leader, Altar Guild, Coffee Hour crew and acolyte all got snowed in and the organist said he couldn't get out, I was certain this morning's Mass was going to be a bare bones low Mass at best. I certainly never thought the scheduled baptism pf Rory would actually take place (hence the reason I'm in the sarum blue chasuble instead of white). But then, the organist got a ride, the Cantor showed up, the baptismal party showed up and the members who could make it out ended up filling the church. It was a truly beautiful morning and a great way to begin the Advent season.

ALSO, Rory's baptism was the 9th baptism this year at St. Stephen's. The last time we had 9 baptisms in one year at St. Stephen's, Lyndon Johnson was President (it was in 1967).