Sermón por la Fiesta de Cristo Rey.

Noviembre 21, 2021

Te damos nuestra tristeza, desesperación y desesperanza.

Te damos nuestra ira, dolor y rabia.

Le damos nuestros pensamientos, palabras y acciones que son racistas, perjudiciales,  

y discriminatorio,

Te damos nuestra tendencia a menospreciar a los demás y hablar mal de los demás.

Permítanos ver a cada persona por lo que es, un hijo amado de Dios.

Te damos la falta de fe que tenemos en tu misericordia, amor y perdón

hacia nosotros, y por los demás o por tu capacidad de transformar nuestros corazones endurecidos.

Sana nuestras heridas y rompe nuestras dudas.

Jesús, sana nuestras heridas con tu corazón y abre nuestros corazones al amor–con el

amor de tu Sacratísimo Corazón.

Sagrado Corazón de Jesús,

Coro:

Sagrado Corazón de Jesús,

viva llama de amor y de luz;

amigo tierno de Betania,

maestro y modelo de virtud.

Reina, reina, Jesús para siempre;

reina aquí ¡oh amado Redentor!

y derrama tus gracias, divino Jesús;

quiero vivir tan sólo de tu amor.

Coro:

Entronizado serás en todo el orbe,

donde quiera que haya un hogar;

y buscando tu amparo, te busco Jesús;

yo quiero un día contigo reinar.

Coro:

Bendecid nuestra patria querida,

sé el dueño de nuestra nación;

y que en toda la tierra resuene esta voz:

Viva, viva el Sagrado Corazón.

Coro:

Querides hermanas y hermanos, a lo largo de muchos años, hemos escuchado muchos sermones. Viniendo, como lo hacemos, de una tradición que valora ambos la Palabra como el Sacramento, semana tras semana, hemos escuchado la palabra de Dios proclamada, predicada y aplicada.

Pero, si son como yo, dudo que puedan recordar muy pocos de esos sermones. Tenemos una tendencia a recordar los que no nos gustó, no apreciamos, o con los que no éramos de acuerdo. ¡Pero se siente como si todos los buenos sermones de alguna manera corrieran juntos! Sería difícil nombrar más que solo uno o dos.

Sin embargo, cuando recordamos un sermón, a menudo es porque nos tocó de una manera inesperada. Tal vez proporcionó alguna idea en un momento de confusión, o de pérdida, o de luto. Tal vez nos dio esperanza en un tiempo de incertidumbre en el que luchamos por perseverar en la fe. O tal vez nos dio una nueva visión que nos hizo ver las cosas de una manera diferente.

Uno de los sermones más poderosos que recuerdo haber escuchado, me tomó por sorpresa. Una mañana, estaba navegando por el canal, y por casualidad me encontré con una misa dominical televisada de la Arquidiócesis Católica Romana de San Antonio en Texas. Resultó que el predicador era el arzobispo Patricio Flores, y predicaba en la solemnidad de Cristo Rey.

Más tarde, aprendí un poco más sobre el arzobispo Flores. Resulta que fue el primer sacerdote mexicano-estadounidense ser nombrado obispo en este país. También fue cofundador del Centro Cultural Mexicanoamericano. Pero en esa madrugada de domingo, no sabía nada sobre el arzobispo.

Casi desde el momento en que comenzó a hablar, sentí algo muy diferente. Habló de años de experiencia pastoral en lugares y situaciones difíciles. Estaba claro que había sido testigo de mucho dolor, angustia y tristeza. Se había ministrado en lugares y comunidades que muchos habrían considerado peligrosos y para personas que muchos otros habrían descartado como que no valían su preocupación.

Lo sorprendente, sin embargo, fue que, en lugar de ver razones para preocuparse, e incluso desesperarse, el arzobispo Flores fue uno de los oradores más esperanzadores y alentadores que había escuchado en algún tiempo. Esto fue aún más sorprendente porque claramente no era ingenuo. Habló de realidades y situaciones que estaban lejos de ser agradables.

Comenzó hablando de las vidas complejas que experimentan aquellos que viven en la pobreza en los centros de las ciudades descorridas. Describió la violencia, el crimen, los problemas con la pobreza, la adicción y la falta de buena educación, atención médica y oportunidades de empleo. Habló sobre la madre soltera que trabaja en dos trabajos y lucha por mantener a sus hijos. Habló de la abuela anciana temerosa de caminar a la tienda o al consultorio del médico porque le habían robado y herido en el pasado. Habló sobre aquellos que carecían de un lugar para vivir, comida y ropa, o cualquier sensación de seguridad.

Habló sobre las comunidades en conflicto, sobre los prejuicios y el odio racial. Habló de la experiencia de los inmigrantes que lucharon por inclinarse por otro idioma, por encajar en una sociedad que no los quería ni los acogía, y de su deseo de aferrarse a su propio orgullo por su lengua materna, su comida y su música.

Hizo preguntas difíciles: “¿Cuál es la fuente y el origen de estas heridas en nuestra sociedad? ¿De dónde vienen el odio, la violencia y el miedo? ¿Por qué hay injusticia, opresión, explotación y abuso? ¿Hay algo que se pueda hacer con respecto a estos problemas que, tan a menudo, se sienten insuperables?”

El buen arzobispo hizo entonces algo completamente inesperado: dijo: “No somos las primeras personas en encontrar estosproblemas. No somos las primeras personas en hacer estas preguntas. ¡No somos las primeras personas en buscar significado y esperanza!”

Luego parafraseó el cuarto capítulo de la Carta de Santiago. Y su punto era este, todos los problemas que vemos afuera, alrededor de nosotros, tienen su origen en nuestros propios corazones. ¡Es en nuestros propios corazones heridos, endurecidos y divididos que encontramos el camino para comprender el caos y la confusión que encontramos a nuestro alrededor!

La solución, que encontró el arzobispo Flores, no estaba en alguna proclamación teórica de que, si solo permitimos que Cristo fuera nuestro Rey, todo estaría bien. No, Flores habló de la realidad de Jesús como gobernante, no como Rey en un trono lejos y celestial, o incluso como una víctima pasiva en una antigua cruz. No, habló de la esperanza, la sanación y la promesa que se encuentran—aquí y ahora—en el Sagrado Corazón roto, herido y sangriento.

Aquí está la gran paradoja: de ese corazón herido fluye agua y sangre. De esas sangrientas heridas fluyen la vida sacramental de nuestra Iglesia: las aguas del bautismo y la sangre de la nueva y eterna alianza. Este corazón sangrante ofrece sanación, reconciliación, perdón y esperanza. El Sagrado Corazón de Jesús ofrece la posibilidad de sanar las divisiones, el odio y la desconfianza.

En los últimos años me he preguntado si la Comunidad Amada, que es inclusiva, afirmativa, empoderadora, justa y honesta, es realmente posible. Las palabras del arzobispo Flores, así como las del Obispo presidente Curry, me dan la esperanza de que la Comunidad Amada no es solo un sueño, o una esperanza cariñosa.

• Comenzamos pidiéndole a Jesús que sane nuestros propios corazones heridos y sangrantes.
• Comenzamos pidiéndole a Jesús que sane a nuestras familias rotas y divididas, a nuestras atribuladas comunidades de fe, a nuestras aldeas, pueblos y ciudades caóticos.
•  Comenzamos pidiéndole a Jesús que llene nuestros corazones de amor por los pobres, los necesitados, los oprimidos, los marginalizados, los explotados y los abusados.
•  Comenzamos pidiéndole a Jesús que llene nuestros corazones a rebosar de tal amor que queremos amar, alentar, y ayudar a cada persona que conocemos a conocer el mismo amor transformador.
• Comenzamos comprometiéndonos a erradicar el malentendido, el miedo, el odio, y el prejuicio.

Si emprendimos estos proyectos por nuestra cuenta, probablemente no lograríamos mucho. Pero, cuando Jesús está en el centro de nuestros propios corazones y de nuestra comunidad, nada resultará imposible.

“Reina, reina, Jesús para siempre;

reina aquí ¡oh amado Redentor!

y derrama tus gracias, divino Jesús;

queremos vivir tan sólo de tu amor.”

“Sacred Heart of Jesus.”

Chorus:

Sacred Heart of Jesus,

living flame of love and light;

tender friend of Bethany,

teacher and model of virtue.

Reign, oh Reign, Jesus forever!

reign here, oh beloved Redeemer!

Pour out your grace into our hearts, divine Jesus.

May we live only in your love.

Chorus:

Be enthroned throughout the world,

wherever your heart finds a home;

Seeking your protection, we seek you dear Jesus;

May we, one day, reign with you.

Chorus:

Bless our beloved country,

be the Ruler of our land.

May this cry resound throughout the whole earth:

Live forever, reign forever, Sacred Heart!

Dear friends, over the course of many years, we have heard a lot of sermons. Coming, as we do, from a tradition which values both Word and Sacrament, week after week, we have heard God’s word proclaimed, preached, and applied. But, if you are anything like me, I doubt that you can remember more than just a few of those sermons. We tend to remember the ones we didn’t like, appreciate, or agree with. But it feels as if though all the good ones somehow run together! We would be hard pressed to name more than just one of two.

When we do remember a sermon, though, it is often because it touched us in an unexpected way. Perhaps it provided some insight at a time of confusion, or of loss, or of mourning. Perhaps it gave us hope in a time in which we struggled to persevere in faith. Or, perhaps it gave us some new insight which caused us to see things in a different way.

One of the most powerful sermons which I ever recall hearing, took me by surprise. One morning, I was channel surfing, and just happened to come upon a televised mass from the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of San Antonio in Texas. The preacher, as it turned out, was Archbishop Patricio Flores, and he was preaching on the Solemnity of Christ the King.

Later, I learned a bit more about Archbishop Flores. It turns out that he was the first Mexican American priest to be appointed as bishop in this country. He was also the co-founder of the Mexican American Cultural Center. But on that early Sunday morning, I knew nothing about the archbishop.

Almost from the moment that he began to speak, I sensed something very different. He spoke from years of pastoral experience in difficult places and situations. It was clear that he had witnessed a lot of hurt, pain, and sadness. He had ministered in settings which many would have regarded as dangerous and to people whom many others would have dismissed as not worth their concern.

The surprising thing, though, was that rather than seeing reasons for concern, worry, and even despair, Archbishop Flores was one of the most hopeful and encouraging speakers I had heard in some time. This was all the more surprising because he clearly was not naïve. He spoke about realities, and situations which were far from pleasant.

He began by speaking about the complex lives which those who live in poverty in run-down inner cities experience. He described the violence, crime, problems with poverty, addiction, and lack of good education, healthcare, and opportunities for employment. He spoke about the single mother working two jobs, and struggling to provide for her children. He spoke about the elderly grandmother afraid to walk to the store or to the doctor’s office because she had been robbed and beaten in the past. He spoke about those who lacked a place to live, food and clothing, or any sense of security.

He spoke about communities in conflict, about prejudice, and racial hatred. He spoke of the experience of immigrants who struggled to lean another language, to fit into a society which did not want or welcome them, and of their desire to hang on to their own pride in their native language, and food, and music.

He asked difficult questions: “What is the source and origin of these wounds in our society? Where does this hatred, violence, and fear come from? Why is there injustice, oppression, exploitation, and abuse? Is there anything which can be done about these problems which so often feel insurmountable?”

The good Archbishop then did something completely unexpected—he said, “We are not the first persons to encounter these problems. We are not the first persons to ask these questions. We are not the first persons to seek meaning, and hope!” He then paraphrased the fourth chapter of the Letter of James. And his point was this, all the problems which we see on the outside have their origin in our own hearts. It is in our own wounded, hardened, and divided hearts that we find the path to understanding the chaos and confusion which we find all around us!

The solution, which Archbishop Flores found, was not in some theoretical proclamation that if we only allowed Christ to be our King, everything would be fine. No, Flores spoke of the reality of Jesus as Ruler—not as King on some distant heavenly throne, or even as a passive victim on an ancient cross. No, he spoke of the hope, healing, and promise which may be found—here and now–in the broken, wounded, and bloody Sacred Heart.

Here is the great paradox—from that wounded heart flow water and blood. From those gory wounds flow the Sacramental Life of our Church: the waters of baptism and the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. This bleeding, pierced, heart offers healing, reconciliation, forgiveness, and hope. Jesus’ Sacred Heart offers the possibility of the healing of divisions, hatred, and distrust.

In recent years I have asked myself if Beloved Community—which is inclusive, affirming, empowering, just, and honest—is really possible? The words of Archbishop Flores, as well as those of Presiding Bishop Curry, give me hope that it is! Beloved Community is not just a dream, or a fond hope!

• We begin by asking Jesus to heal our own wounded and bleeding hearts.
• We begin by asking Jesus to heal our broken and divided families, our troubled places of worship, our chaotic villages, towns, and cities.
• We begin by asking Jesus to fill our hearts with love for the poor, the needy, the oppressed, the marginalized, the exploited, and abused.
• We begin by asking Jesus to fill our hearts to overflowing with such love that we want to love, to encourage, and to help every single person we meet to know the same transformative love.
• We begin by committing ourselves to eradicating misunderstanding, fear, hatred, and prejudice.

If we undertook these projects on our own, we would probably not accomplish very much. But, when Jesus reigns in our own hearts, in our homes, and in our communities, nothing will prove to be impossible.

“Reign, oh Reign, Jesus forever!

reign here, oh beloved Redeemer!

Pour out your grace into our hearts, divine Jesus.

May we live only in your love.”

Preached at Trinity Episcopal Church

in Easton, Pennsylvania

“You have become a new creation,

and have clothed yourself in Christ.

See in this garment the outward sign of your Christian dignity.

With your family and friends to help you by word and example,

bring that dignity unstained

into the everlasting life of heaven.

You have been enlightened by Christ.

May you walk always as a child of the light.

Keep the flame of faith alive in your heart.

When the Lord comes, may you go out to meet him

with all the saints in the heavenly kingdom.”

Adapted from the Rite of Baptism for One Child.

Our Book of Common Prayer asks us to regularly renew our Baptismal Promises—and today is one of the days in which it is recommended that we do so. There is an intentional desire to connect two important ideas—the celebration of what it means to be holy, to be a “Saint,” and the reality of the Sacrament of Holy Baptism.

On its most basic level, the Feast of All the Holy Ones, or of All Saints challenges us to re-examine our notion of what it means to be holy. It could be easy to think that holiness is a very rare thing indeed. If, for instance, we only imagine that the handful of those who have been canonized, included in a list of those who are considered holy, or placed on the calendar of those who are to be commemorated—we might well be tempted to think that holiness has nothing to do with most of us. This is especially true if we make the mistake of thinking that the call to be holy is primarily connected with miracles, a brutal death, or with a life of profound asceticism and renunciation.

In fact, our celebration today suggests just the opposite. It is a reminder that many who are holy, who are profoundly connected to God, who have lived lives of deep an profound faith will never be formally canonized. Many of these holy ones have lived lives of faith which are “known to God alone.” What a shocking idea! The language which has been used to describe this is the “universal call to holiness.” In other words, each of us—without exception– is called to be a saint!

Has anyone ever told us that we are called, invited, and challenged to be saints—to be holy—to be living icons or witnesses to the loving, healing, emancipating, and transforming presence of God in this world?

—–What might it mean if we chose to accept that invitation?

—–What might it mean if each of us chose to say yes to God in a radical and profound way?

—–What might it mean if we chose to view every event in our lives, and every person that we meet, as an opportunity to seek and find God?

—–What might it mean if we intentionally chose to live out our beautiful Baptismal Covenant every single day—and not only on the days that we repeat it in church?

Our call to holiness, to be saints, began with our own Baptism. It began in that moment in which we were united into the passion, death and resurrection of Christ through the waters of Holy Baptism.

The two prayers which I shared at the beginning of these words today remind us of that. The purity of out baptismal garment, and the light of Christ given to us from the Paschal Candle, the reminder that we are marked, sealed, and claimed as Christ’s own forever give us some explanation of the power that the Sacrament of Holy Baptism offer us—if we choose to embrace that promise and allow it to be active and fruitful in our lives.

My own favorite image, taken from the Twelfth Chapter of the Letter to the Hebrews, is that of the “Great Cloud of Witnesses.” Here is that text: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off every encumbrance and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with endurance the race set out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

One very important way that we see the power of this hopeful promise is found in the image which I asked to have shown on the screen today. It is a photo which I took only a few weeks ago here at Trinity. It shows our Church surrounded by the graves of those who have “gone before us marked with the sign of faith.” It reminds us that we are the heirs of their faithful witness to Christ. It also reminds us that there will come a day when we will join them—wherever we are buried–as a visible part of that Great and Holy Cloud. The practice which our tradition has of using the funeral pall—with its close connection to the baptismal garment–reminds us that “both in life and death, we belong to the Lord.”

May the waters of Holy Baptism continue to empower us live to live holy lives as Children of God. May we become living candles who carry that light of Christ to a dark world so in need of warmth and light.