The Solemnity of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

Isaiah, 45:21-25
Philippians, 2:5-11
John, 12:31-36a

+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

As I chewed on a humble turkey sandwich for lunch Thursday, I read a story about a dozen gastronomes who met at a French country manor to indulge in a meal with thirty-seven courses and thirteen wines. They began at noon with what the author called a "girlish delicacy - a clear soup made from poultry, diced vegetables, and crayfish - followed by tartines of foie gras, truffles, and lard." ⁽¹⁾ The story proceeds in this rather camp and effete vein describing their gluttony in detail: "a buisson of crayfish with little slabs of grilled goose liver, a terrine of the tips of calves' ears, hare cooked in port wine inside a calf's bladder. . ." - a silly, light, delightful story.

Or so it was until the author, Jim Harrison, tried to think profoundly about the meaning of his lunch. He says, "No question looms larger on a daily basis for many of us than 'What's for lunch?' and, when that has been resolved, 'What's for dinner?'" ⁽²⁾ I agree - that's a great way to live when you are vacationing in Paris, New Orleans, Hong Kong, and the like, but Harrison doesn't seem to put such limits on indulgence, and it gets depressing.

Harrison argues, "Good food is a benign weapon against the sodden way we live." ⁽³⁾ At first you think that he's being funny, but as you read on you get a sense that he's being serious, that he's not joking. He concludes, "Like sex, bathing, sleeping, and drinking, the effects of food don't last. The patterns are repeated but finite. Life is a near-death experience, and our devious minds will do anything to make it interesting." ⁽⁴⁾

What a poor man! What a bored man! Life becomes boring and uninteresting and pointless when you live only for physical sensation. I am all for pleasure, and lot's of it, but seeking pleasure can't be the purpose of our lives. Directing our lives toward pleasure, or power, or wealth, or achievement, means that our lives become sodden, dull, gray. Being self-seeking is not only sinful, it's boring, lifeless, unpleasant. This is the way of the world. But food tastes better if you are a Christian. All sensations are better because they are only a part of life - not the meaning of life. Christianity is about having balance in life: enjoy the pleasures of life, but don't live for them.

Just before Thursday's lunch, I had said mass. We kept the feast of Constance and her companions, the Martyrs of Memphis. In the late summer of 1878, Yellow Fever plagued Memphis, Tennessee. 30,000 people fled the city, especially those with the means to leave, but another 20,000 remained. Ninety percent got the disease. 5,000 died. Despite the panic, many brave men and women stayed to assist the sick. It's similar to the heroism of the 9/11 rescue workers, but perhaps evern greater heroism because they knew the danger they faced and willingly put their lives on the line.

Memphis had several communities of nuns, Anglican and Roman Catholic, and Constance was the head of the Sisters of S. Mary, an Episcopal order. These nuns along with several priests and lay people, Anglican and Roman, had the opportunity to leave, but they chose to remain and to minister to the sick. "Amid sweltering heat and scenes of indescribable horror, these men and women of God gave relief to the sick, comfort to the dying, and homes to many of the orphaned children." ⁽⁵⁾ The fever killed most of these Christian workers, and the first to die was Constance.

We count them as martyrs of the faith. In Greek, the word 'martyr' means witness, as in witness to the faith. The martyrdom of the Memphis Christians is not wholly like that of the early Church's martyrs, most of whom were killed for professing faith in Christ, for refusing to deny Christ and worship pagan gods. The Roman civil authorities killed S. Agnes because she would not renounce Christ and marry a pagan.

Constance and her companions had a different kind of Christian witness - not for refusing to renounce Christ, but for insisting upon living with Christ-like love and compassion. Their martyrdom comes from living up to our Lord's teaching. They put their lives on the line and gave their lives, to love people, to care for the needy, to serve the abandoned, the children, the suffering. They witnessed to Christian hospitality. Two of the Episcopal priests who died, Fathers Parsons and Schuyler, were buried in the same grave with a marker simply saying: "Greater Love Hath No Man." Jesus said, "Greater love hath no man than this: that a man lay down his life for his friends." The Martyrs of Memphis gave their lives to follow Jesus in the way of love. In the eyes of the world, they were foolish and weak, but they chose the cross, not the way of the world.

Life was not boring for the Martyrs of Memphis. They lived with purpose. They lived with commitment to something greater than themselves and their own pleasure. If love and sacrifice are part of your life, life is not sodden and dull. Happiness does not come doing and getting everything you want in life. It does not come merely from pleasant things, or accomplishment, or power. It comes from being committed to something far bigger than ourselves, being possessed by a good and holy purpose, making the center of gravity outside of ourselves. It comes from sacrificing for a noble purpose.

Jesus tells us who's happy: "Blessed are the poor in spirit. Blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are the meek." Jesus says that these people are happy. The world says that these are the sad and unfortunate and urges us to have no part of it, to avoid it, but God knows that the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek are far more likely to allow God to be part of their lives. God does not want us to be aloof, apathetic, self-sufficient, self-assertive, because those qualities lead us to give him no room in our lives.

The world scorns weakness. God uses it. S. Paul tells his fellow Christians, "Not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth; but God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise, God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong. . .". (1 Cor 1:26-27) Paul recalls praying to God to make him strong, to heal him from a sickness or to relieve him of persecutions, and God tells Paul, "No. My grace, my presence with you, is all you need. My strength shows up best in your weakness." (2 Cor 12:9)

We all have weaknesses, limitations, wounds. These may be emotional traumas or disappointments or painful memories or separations; these may be physical illnesses or disabilities or limitations; these may be intellectual limitations and challenges. The world does not consider them kindly. Our weaknesses often cause us embarrassment and shame as well as sadness.

We should recognize that what we count as weakness or bad fortune often are the very things that allow God's power to be seen in us and to work in us. Our weaknesses encourage us to open to God, to allow him to be part of our lives. Our weaknesses encourage us to be humble, to recognize that our existence is not indispensable to life, to depend upon other people. Our weaknesses encourage us to empathize with other people, to have compassion, to treat other people well, to show hospitality to the stranger. In that way, our weaknesses encourage us to love one another, to build stronger communities. What the world counts as weakness God needs in order to perfect his image in us. God transforms our weaknesses.

The world considers the cross to be the ultimate place of weakness and humiliation and failure and shame. That's what the disciples thought immediately after the crucifixion, but they came to understand that the cross was God's victory, the moment when he most clearly showed the world his strength and his love. We did the absolute worse we could do to Christ, and he made it the remedy for our sin. We murdered Christ, and he made it the remedy for death.

The cross shows us what is most important in life, what has true strength and purpose. It shows us love, true love. We are not loving if we live for ourselves. We are not strong if we live for ourselves. We come and kiss the cross this morning as an act of worship, as a sign of how we want to live our lives, as an act to commit ourselves to something bigger than ourselves.

+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

1. Jim Harrison, 'A Really Big Lunch,' The New Yorker, September 6, 2004, p. 81.

2. Ibid., p. 82.

3. Ibid.

4. Ibid.

5. Lesser Feasts and Fasts - 2003, Church Publishing, p. 358.