THE CONSECRATION OF
THE RT. REV. JEFFREY D. LEE
February 2, 2008
sermon given for the Diocese of Chicago
I once knew a Christian who had an opportunity to hear a speech by Archbishop Desmond Tutu. It turns out that she didn’t care much for him. Why? Well, it seems he didn’t say enough about sin and judgment. Not remembering his credentials, she asked me for clarification: “He’s supposed to be some sort of Christian, right?”
More recently, I had a co-worker who enjoyed mocking Christianity. At first it only annoyed me a little, but one day I got flustered and asked him, “John, what do you think of when you think of Christians?”
Without hesitation, he answered: “Intolerance, bigotry, and hatred.”
Well! I must be on the middle way. We do get it from both sides.
Today, we present Jeff Lee to the Diocese of Chicago, to shepherd the Via Media, the Middle Way, in this part of the world. For the past three years, Jeff has been my boss, my guide, and my mentor. Today’s lessons cover a surprising amount of theological ground and also tell us exactly what sort of bishop Jeff will be.
The prophet Malachi, truly ahead of his time, captures the essence of the Gospel’s take on sin and judgment. Contrary to our usual wish that people get what they deserve, God’s judgment is not merely punitive. It does not seek “an eye for an eye.” But that doesn’t make it any less terrifying: “Who can stand when he appears?” We don’t like to talk about sin, because if we do, we might have to change! And yet, what better solution is there to the problem of sin than to be forced to change and grow?
C. S. Lewis illustrated Malachi’s perspective very well in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, in the character of Eustace Clarence Scrubb. This little boy is petty, rude, self-centered, tiresome, and worst of all, he has no imagination. Then, on a Narnian sea voyage, Eustace accidentally gets himself turned into a dragon. Finally, he understands the monster he has been. He fears that his companions will desert him, and who could blame them?
Then the Great Lion Aslan comes to him at night, leads him to a pool of water, and orders him to bathe in it—but to undress first. So Eustace scratches at his scaly skin, and it starts to peel away. Unfortunately, every dragon skin he peels away reveals yet another dragon skin underneath. It becomes obvious that Eustace will never be able to get rid of all his dragon skin by himself. So Aslan does it for him—with his sharp lion’s claws. Eustace says:
“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off. You know—if you’ve ever picked the scab of a sore place. It hurts like billy-oh but it is such fun to see it coming away.”
That’s what God’s judgment feels like. God refines us and scrubs us and peels away our reptilian skins. We can’t do it by ourselves. Aslan bathes Eustace Clarence Scrubb in the waters of the pool, turning him into a boy again and enabling him to continue the journey with his friends. He doesn’t become a perfect person, and he occasionally relapses into his old behavior. But Eustace has been transformed.
God judges us, finds us wanting, and helps us become who we really are. The way this happens is that God comes to be with us in Christ. That’s what the letter to the Hebrews is about—God meeting us where we are, dragon skins and all. In so doing, God shows us that justice and mercy are two sides of the same reality.
The human experience is marked at every turn by the fear of death—not just our literal deaths, but also every little death along the way. We lose jobs, we lose face, we lose control … we’re always having to let go of something we thought we needed. But we have Jesus as our confidant, because he was human, too. Jesus meets us in our daily terrors and heals us; in our joy, he dances with us. Jesus proclaims that, living a life of faith, we don’t need that job, that reputation, or that feeling of control. All we need is love.
Some Christians insist that “all you need is love” is a false Gospel—that this attitude doesn’t give enough weight to judgment. These people need to expand their definition of love. It’s not just a warm, fuzzy feeling. It has very little to do with being nice. Love is the force by which God fiercely pursues us, the hound of heaven hot on our heels, urging us onward into bolder actions that are good for others and for ourselves. Loving judgment flows perpetually from God, enveloping every one of us in an impenetrable cloud of grace through which we can see who we really are: all the evil and all the good, all of which God loves and redeems eternally. YES, all you need is love!
Now, this may sound like wimpy foolishness to you. Let me tell you: Christianity is not wimpy, but it is absolutely foolish. It’s no wonder outsiders—and insiders—don’t understand us. We can bend over backward trying to prove to others that Christianity is sensible. But it’s not sensible, and it never was. Christianity is not subject to Vulcan logic. It’s not about the safest course of action. God doesn’t act like a smart business owner, saving as many as possible with scarce available resources. There is no scarcity! God will save all, or God will save none. God will not settle for any less risk than that. Is it a foolish risk?
Faith is a lifelong project that can sometimes feel hopeless. And that’s why the Bible preserves for us so many encouraging stories about those who remained faithful … like the story in today’s Gospel.
The old man Simeon comes to the temple and immediately recognizes the forty-day-old Jesus: “O! Lord, you now have set your servant free to go in peace as you have promised.” “Now I can die.” Simeon has seen the child who will change everything—the ultimate revelation of God’s extravagant love.
Simeon’s speech, the Nunc Dimittis, is one of my favorite pieces of scripture. It demonstrates the fulfillment of a lifetime of faith, faith against all odds. But it comes with a warning. As Leonard Cohen once sang, and Jeff Buckley after him: “Love is not a victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.” Simeon predicts upheaval and pain for many in Israel, including Jesus’ mother, Mary. Grace is not cheap. But it is relentless, and it will save us all.
God’s merciful judgment meets us where we are and invites us to grow. If we don’t accept the invitation, God sends it again. God pursues us. And the church is meant to be one of God’s primary methods of doing this—practicing hospitality at every moment, offering healing to wayfarers who have been hurt.
You have prayerfully elected Jeff Lee to lead you in this quest. You’re not getting a perfect bishop. But you are getting a bishop who shares Malachi’s—and C.S. Lewis’s—vision of judgment. Nobody deserves God’s abundant love—how could we? But our relationships with God—and the entire tangled web of relationships worldwide—can refine us and scrub us and purify us. That is God’s judgment in action. It inspires us to grow and learn so that we can be good to others.
Jeff understands this, and he is an expert at meeting people where they are. I bet he relishes the challenge of getting to know the local flavor of each of your congregations and listening to the many ways you draw closer to Christ. Jeff will preach the Gospel as Jesus did, providing the appropriate words to the appropriate people at the appropriate time. Do you realize that you have elected one of the best preachers in the Episcopal Church today?
Most of all, Jeff finds his deepest joy in sharing the worship of God with those who are being marked by Christ. He has bathed many people in the pool and has watched as God peels away their reptilian skins. He recognizes the gifts of newcomers, seekers, the marginalized, the victimized, the all-too-comfortable people, and anyone else who might otherwise be overlooked. He knows how to draw out their gifts; this is how he helps the Church to grow. And Jeff will call on all of you to carry out this ministry throughout the diocese. What’s more, he will offer reassurance and support to those who find themselves hyperventilating. You see, Jeff has a superpower: he can suck up all the anxiety in the room and dispose of it through prayer.
All over Northern Illinois are lost, confused, anxious people. Many of them are about to set foot in your church for the first time. Others are already known to you but don’t feel they have much use for the church. Some of them don’t believe God’s justice is merciful. Others don’t believe that God’s mercy is just. And some see no reason to believe in God in the first place. But God already has a relationship with every one of them, whether they recognize it or not.
Every person on the fringes—everyone who’s been hurt by the church, who’s been taught by experience that religion is something to be avoided, shunned, or mocked—every one of those people is, to us, Jesus bring presented at the temple. All of us, we insiders, are Simeon and Anna. It would be better for us to fall down in worship at the feet of a befuddled newcomer than to mistreat or ignore that person, in whom Christ is present and already working diligently.
In your own congregation, be ready for these people. Meet them where they are. Draw out their precious gifts in the service of others. Be a guide when they inevitably stumble and misuse those gifts. Always be ready to grant forgiveness, solace, and renewal through the bread and wine. That’s what your new bishop plans to do.
Friends, I present to you Jeff Lee. It’s time to make him a bishop of the church, so that we can continue to practice the hospitality of God. Amen.