Sermon for Easter VI (Rogation)


Ascension, Chicago  Revelation 21:22–22:5, Psalm 67
                                                                                                
                                                                                          
 “Oh, who can make a flower? I know I can’t, can you?” That’s the opening line of a Sunday School song which, for some inexplicable reason, still takes up space in my brain sixty-some odd years later.

“Oh, who can make a flower? I know I can’t, can you?” It’s an expression of childlike simplicity, to be sure, but also reveals a profound truth. It gives voice to the very first article of the Christian creeds: “I believe in God the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth . . . of all that is, seen and unseen.” Creation is the first activity we attribute to God because, without it, we ourselves would not be. It is through the created order that our lives are made possible, and conceived, and formed and nourished and sustained. It is through Creation that God meets our needs—in the words of Psalm 67: “The earth has brought forth her increase; may God, our own God, give us his blessing.”

The created world around us not only meets our physical needs, however. It also provides us with beauty and grandeur and joy. Nature is an essential component in any truly human existence. Indeed, the beauty of nature, the wonder of Creation, is so ubiquitous, so familiar, so ever-present, that it is easy for us to take it completely for granted.

This can happen in at least two ways: Some people develop a sort of functional atheism. They don’t actually arrive at a conscious opinion that there is no God, but they think and live as if that were the case. For such persons, the natural world just IS. Yes, it’s beautiful and provides for our needs, and isn’t that a lucky coincidence? But they are not awestruck by any of it. They are blind to the fingerprints that God has left all over Creation, and therefore feel no sense of moral accountability for any effect their behavior might have on the created order.

Then again, there are well-meaning believers who read passages of scripture like God’s instructions to Adam and Eve in the book of Genesis to “subdue the earth” and “have dominion” over everything in it and take that as a carte blanche license to exploit every available resource as quickly and efficiently as possible.

The effect of either of these positions—either functional atheism or misguided application of scripture—either way, the effect on the environment can be disastrous. Do you remember the photographic images that came out of eastern Europe about thirty years ago, just after the fall of totalitarian communism? They were grim—scenes of air and water pollution such as you or I could never imagine. And at the risk of being controversial, from what I’ve seen, something along similar lines can be found even today in parts of China. I cannot help but think that the atheistic values of these regimes lie at the root of such gross environmental exploitation. Whenever we engage in activities that lead to, or abet, such a blight on the environment, whenever we choose short-term gain without thought of the long-term consequences, we are calling into question the integrity of our faith in “one God . . . the creator of heaven and earth.” Whenever we endorse environmental policies that result in economic benefit for the few at the expense of the larger welfare of society, we cast doubt on our belief in God.

The underlying issue, of course, is one of stewardship. Even that passage from Genesis that uses words like “subdue” and “dominion”—it isn’t about forcible exploitation; it’s about responsibility, accountability, trusteeship. You and I are trustees—stewards—of Creation. We will answer to God for the quality of our stewardship.

To gain spiritual insight into the mystery of our relationship with Creation, we do well to meditate on the moving and mystical vision in the Book of Revelation that is appointed for today’s liturgy. We read about a river flowing out from the throne of God and running down the middle of the heavenly Jerusalem. And “on either side of the river, the tree of life” — let’s not fail to notice a connection to a tree in the Garden of Eden by the same name—the tree of life “with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit in each month” — in other words, there is no “off season” for this tree, it is perpetually producing fruit, perpetually feeding people, perpetually meeting people’s needs;  “...and the leaves of the tree were for the healing...” —healing is usually not a sudden event, but a natural, gradual, organic process that restores health and wholeness in every dimension of our lives: material, emotional, social, and spiritual— “... the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.” The intended recipients of the Good News of life and healing and redemption in Christ, the proper objects of the church’s mission, consist, quite simply, of all people in all places at all times. The healing love of God, revealed in Jesus and ministered by the church, is for everyone.

When we encounter this vision of healing and life-sustaining trees planted on the banks of a river of living water flowing from the very heart of God, we can no longer see Creation, we can no longer see the natural order, as a mere happy coincidence, or as something to exploit for our selfish ends. Rather, it takes on a sacramental character. It is infused to overflowing with significance. As God provides for our material needs through the natural order, we are reminded of His ultimate provision for our deepest needs in Eternity.

The next three days—Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday before Ascension Day —are known by the Church as Rogation Days. This comes from the Latin verb rogare, which means to petition, to make a request. In its medieval origins, the idea was that since Jesus is about to return to Heaven, let’s load him up with messages for his Father, much as a parent might pin a note to a teacher on the jacket of a kindergartner. As Christian piety evolved, these “rogations” took on a specific focus—namely, for the sake of spring planting, that the weather would be seasonable, that insect pests and disease would stay away, and that the eventual crop yield would be bountiful. More recently, the emphasis on Rogation Sunday, as today is called, broadened to include both supplication and thanksgiving for all of Creation and its significance. I guess you could say that today is a peculiarly Christian version of Earth Day.

Yet, I believe today’s liturgy calls us to take our celebration of Rogation Sunday even one step further, to the end that we recognize in Creation not only God’s abundant provision for our physical welfare, but see in it as well an invitation to share God’s concern for salvation and wholeness in all of its aspects—concern that those who are alienated and lonely find peace and community, concern that those who are shackled by addiction and despair find freedom and hope, concern that those divided by suspicion and hostility find trust and reconciliation, concern—very simply— “for the healing of the nations.”

As we contemplate the mystical image of the consummation of all things that St John holds up for us in his revelation, our field of vision becomes like God’s—universal in scope, radically inclusive of all people everywhere.  Without becoming pantheists—that is, without losing the essential distinction between God and God’s creation—our relationship with Creation nonetheless takes on a deeply spiritual dimension. It is not merely for our “enjoyment,” but it mediates God’s presence and care and calls us to stewardship.

Alleluia and Amen.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Spring 2018 House of Bishops, Day 3

The Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

Saturday (St Charles, King & Martyr)