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A year has passed. We have marked our time on earth once again with the changing calendar page, the midnight fireworks, the rituals of memory and memory’s children, the now and near, today.

Time has passed, and our world fumbles and tumbles into another sphere, caught in another orbit. It has changed since this time last year. I have changed. You have changed. We have lived another year and we have one less year to live. Change. There is no stopping it. Time tumbles, stumbles, on.

My second great granddaughter came into our world in May, and as I cradled her in my arms at Christmas, I gave thanks for this change that is housed by love. New life is the kind of change we understand, we celebrate. Children and mothers and fathers form families, and add to the extended family, so that generations are changed, but in ways we know, for it is change housed by love, the love of family.

I have found that the Church is such a house, that it holds truths that do not change. Entering its doors is to enter God’s house, his holy place of worship. The central aisle leading to the chancel steps and the altar points to the sacred, the unchanging, the eternal. Stepping into this home of God is to step into a crèche, a manger, and fall down to worship. We bring the Christ Child, His presence in the tabernacle, gifts like the kings will bring soon. We have followed the star in our hearts to this place of holiness. We have heard the choirs of angels sing, pointing the way to Sunday worship, and as we look up from our pews we see them fluttering around the altar with their golden glittering wings.

These things, the truth of God and of His Son and of his Holy Spirit of love, do not change. They form a foundation of love, sacrificial love, that girds the earth and its created order with the Cross. To worship on a Sunday is to feel the firmness of this foundation, to know that truth steadies the quicksands beneath us, turning the swirling soil into rock, so that our faith can be rock-solid.

Today we celebrate the eighth day of Christmas, the eight day since the Word became Flesh and dwelt among us, born to us in Bethlehem. Thursday will be the twelfth day of our celebration, marking the end of Christmastide, the Twelve Days of Christmas. Friday we celebrate the glorious Feast of the Epiphany, when the Three Kings, the Wise Men, the Magi, visit the Christ Child, bringing him gifts. These celebrations of what God has done for us, does for us, do not change. We mark them year after year, and while we have changed, will change, and our world around us changes, our hearts and souls are firm, buoyed by the changeless seasons and festivals of the Church Year.

Love does not change. And since God is love, He does not change either. He is true and He is steady and He loves us. When we are lost He finds us. When we despair He gives us hope. When we doubt He gives us faith. But we must watch and listen for Him. We must seek Him. We must open our hearts so that He can find a room in the inn of our souls.

A star appears and leads us out of the dark forest of doubt and despair, of loneliness, into the light, onto the right path, to Him, with Him, in Him, to faith, hope, and charity. He calls us and we know His voice. We are on a ledge looking down at a great gorge and up at the sheer cliff behind, trembling, and He reaches for us and pulls us back to safety with a father’s strength. How do we know His voice? We hear it in His Church.

All of this and so much more is found in His house, His Church. Even with all of the human frailty and unlove, His house is a haven from the world of change. His house is a refuge from the questions and fears and uncertainties we face daily. He invites us into His house to dine with Him, to share His Eucharistic supper, to get to know His family (and His voice), the Body of Christ, our sisters and brothers and mothers and fathers, and our children. For we are not alone. God has provided shelter, family, friends, and love.

And so today, this New Year’s Day 2017, we were thankful our bishop visited us and confirmed of one of our children. In this sacrament of Confirmation, the child confirms the vows made at her Baptism, vows to follow Jesus as her Lord. She has now become an adult member in Christ’s body, and she has received the Holy Spirit through the hands of the bishop, who is in the long line of succession of bishops going back to the first apostles. In this way time has entered eternity and eternity has entered time.

Tomorrow, January 2, we will face the tumult of our times, the selfishness of our own hearts and those we love. We shall hear of wars and tragedies and hurricanes and earthquakes. And yet, the Church will hold us fast until our next visit. This Body of Christ, all around us, seen and unseen, past and present and future, will light our way in the darkness on our pilgrimage to God with God.

I choose to follow that path of love, day by day, to Epiphany, to the next lamppost, the next liturgy. For between Eucharists, we travel safely, to safety, allowing the Christ of Christmas to enter our own time, our own bodies, allowing eternity to enlighten our minutes, hours, days, and years.

Our Living Crèche Christmas Pageant cradled our parish this morning in God’s grace.

Grace was everywhere – outside in the brilliant sunshine lighting up the icy world, inside in the laughter that sang and wove among us as we donned our costumes. Phones snapped photos of angels in white cottas wrapped in golden garlands, of shepherds in subdued earth tones, of Mary in her blue gown.

Once costumed, we assembled in the narthex of the church and waited for our cue to step up the aisle, seven pews apart, genuflect before the chancel steps, and take our places in the scene. We were adults, young and old, and children, two to fourteen. We were of many races and backgrounds. But the love of Christ wove through us on this cold and bright wintry morning.

This tableau is not a silent one, for we spoke our lines from Luke 2 about the greatest drama on earth, the birth of our Lord Jesus. We sang carols full of hope and faith, sending our song over the rapt congregation. It was as though we included them in the Living Crèche with our soaring song. The notes danced in the air, sweet tunes, simple tunes that lingered. We invited those in the pews to watch and pray, to worship with us within the tableau. We invited them into our story.

For it is a story for all of us, about all of us, with no one left out, no one separated from the love of God. In our divisive world, in this world that fractures faith and bullies belief, in this world that isolates and pushes the pulse of church life to the edges of society, we will not be silent. We will sing our songs and proclaim our good news, our message of salvation. As we stood in the chancel, our songbooks in our palms, we sent our music winging, not only to the people in the pews, but out the front doors and into the streets of our communities.

It has been said that man is incurably religious because of his mortality. At some point we all must face our death, our dying flesh, our limited time on earth. What comes next? Is this all there is? Our culture wishes to silence our reply. Heaven comes next, we answer. Let’s get ready. Let’s prepare here on earth for the great banquet in Heaven. Let’s set out on the right road on our pilgrimage to God with God. For only by journeying with him will we arrive at our true destination, find our true destiny, God himself.

I have taken part in Christmas Crèches and Pageants for over forty years and I am always stunned by the miracles birthed as we tell the story. We are so small and weak and human, so full of self. And yet as we tell this story of the child born to Mary in Bethlehem, of the shepherds and the angels and the heavenly host on a cold clear starry night over two thousand years ago, we are fed by love, made one body in the love of God. We soon see that the glories of the Incarnation are here, present among us, present on the altar, present in our hearts. The holy child of Bethlehem lives today.

It happened this morning once again. It was clear and cold, a midday clear if not a midnight clear, and grace wove among us, lacing us together with God’s love. Such a Christmas present is nearly too joyous to bear. And so we share it with you, let it overflow into the communities in which we live. For grace grows in love, weaving us together into a beautiful tapestry, a solemn sonnet, so that many races, many ages, many walks of life are woven together. No one is left out in this creche.

For all is grace.

We assembled in the first pews after Mass, the cast reflecting our parish in the vast span of ages, 2 to 81. We gathered on this Rose Sunday in Advent to rehearse our Living Crèche Christmas Pageant, to be performed next Sunday, December 18.

As we sang the carols and read the verses from Luke 2, we became part of the story, telling it again, bringing it to life with our words and song. Dramas like this were done since the earliest days in the Church to teach the glorious events of that first Christmas. And so we continue to tell and to teach, to act out, to paint a canvas of love on the chancel steps.

The organ, high above in the loft at the other end of the sea of pews and walls of stained glass, sent its rich tones soaring toward us, and we caught them and sent them back. It was as though we were wrapped in music and words, in this tableau called a Living Crèche. We were a wrapped gift decorated with the ribbon of music, ribbons curling with joy, ribbons tying us close to one another, closer to love.

Advent is a time of preparation for the Feast of the Incarnation, the eternal entering time, the Word becoming flesh, the light entering the darkness. Christmas expands our universe and pulls us into Heaven. The reality of God’s love is too large for us to grasp, and so we shrink it into pieces of art, pieces of truth shared in a way that we can fathom, that we can touch. We domesticate this awesome God, this magnificent transcendent God who searches for us and within us, who desires us with him forever, who loves us so.

And so the Church, from the earliest days, has used art to touch us with the love of God. With image, drama, poetry, music, dance, God reaches out to us. For God is the burning bush and we cannot bear his brilliance. Moses approaches with care. So do we. We are frail human beings, made of dust who will return to dust. So, in our tentative frailty, we listen to stories. We look at paintings and icons. We sing hymns and carols. We allow a booming organ to enter our hearts on the chancel steps. We domesticate the brilliance, the magnificence, with art, glorious art.

T.S. Eliot said that mankind cannot bear very much reality. Truth and beauty find their way to us even so, if we watch and listen, if we are awake. The love of God shatters the universe into billions of stars, and becomes a tiny baby born in a stable. For, as St. John says, God is love, and it is this reality that is the good news of Christmas. It is this truth that mankind yearns for, hopes that it really is true. It is this love, the source of all creation, that we fear is simply too good to be true. And yet it is.

Love shatters us for it sees us as we are, broken and selfish, but remakes us into who we should be. Love takes our shattered fragments and puts them back together, healing us, making us whole.

The Living Crèche tells the story of God’s love for us. One by one, each character steps up the aisle. One by one, they are added to the picture painted, each adding to the whole. We begin with Adam and Eve, then enters Isaiah, Mary, Gabriel, Joseph, shepherds, and the heavenly host of angels. With each one, the song grows, the story is born in a stable in Bethlehem. Each one journeys up the long aisle from the narthex to the chancel, a pilgrimage to God with God, just like our lives in time, from birth to death to Heaven.

We take our places in the chancel, and behind us the tabernacle holds the Real Presence of Christ. Tall tapers flame on the altar, framing God among us, Emmanuel, God with us. The flaming candles remind us of light in the darkness. They remind us of the warmth of God’s love. They remind us of life itself.

The story of Christmas is so fantastic it could never have been invented. It is a story that has a reliable historical pedigree, told and retold through the ages, by reliable witnesses. The Gospels, as Classics scholar C.S. Lewis points out, read as history, not fable or myth. They read as an account of events, marvelous, incredible events, good news for mankind:

“He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: which were born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God. And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father), full of grace and truth.” (KJV John 10-14)

In Advent we tell the glorious story as we wait for Christmas, the Word made flesh, the Incarnation.

Entry into Jerusalem, Giotto

Today is the First Sunday in Advent, the first day of the Christian Year, our New Year’s Day.

I often wondered why the Gospel appointed for the First Sunday in Advent (Matthew 21:1+) recounts Christ entering Jerusalem. This is the Palm Sunday story, not the Bethlehem story, I often thought. Christ enters through the gates, the people welcoming him with palms and hosannas. Why does this Gospel usher in Advent, the prelude to Christmas, when it seems the prelude to Easter?

I gazed this morning upon the Advent wreath and the four candles in the greenery, tapers representing death, judgement, heaven, and hell, the “four last things” we experience. The Church reminds us of these great events in Advent, the season of preparation for Christmas, the season in which we look forward to the Son of God born among us, incarnate love, in our flesh. Today we are reminded of our death, next Sunday our judgement, and the last two Sundays, heaven and hell. Death will usher in judgement, and the judgement will bring heaven or hell. It will be, and is, and ever shall be, our choice, our free choice, for love is defined by free will, freedom to choose.

And so as I consider the itinerant preacher, Jesus of Nazareth, riding on a donkey toward the gates of Jerusalem, I know he is riding toward the gates of my heart. He enters Jerusalem and judges, overthrowing the tables of the money-changers in the temple. He enters my heart and judges, overthrowing the tables of my sins. For we too are temples, incarnate houses of the divine, or would like to be. Christ cries, “My house shall be called the house of prayer; yet ye have made it a den of thieves.” Just so, my heart must be purged of the thieves of time and love, the thieves whispering lies and encouraging greed, distracting me from my true end, God.

Christ enters Jerusalem. Christ enters our hearts. And Jesus Christ enters our world, born in a manger. Advent means coming, the coming of Christ, his entering through the gates of time into our world. The immortal breaks through the boundaries of the mortal. To do this he must take on flesh, become one of us. How does this happen? It happens through love, the sacrificial, suffering, immense love of God.

Advent calls us to focus on death and judgement so that we may fully live today and in eternity. Advent cries, “Wake up! Your time is limited, do not waste it.” Love one another. And how do we learn to love? We welcome God into our hearts and lives, for God is Love.

Many preachers rant against the festivities and trappings of Christmas as being too materialistic. But we are material creatures, and we celebrate with matter, with material goods that reflect the joy of the season. The Advent wreath of greens tells of the tree of life that brings light. The wreath is the crown of thorns become a crown of light, eternity seen in the circle and life living in the branches. We decorate a fir tree, bringing it in from the cold outside and into the warm inside, placing it in the center of our homes and hearts, stringing glittery bits through the dark foliage, hanging bright shiny ornaments that dangle and dance, that hold our memories, setting a star on top, leading us to the manger in Bethlehem. We gather around the tree, warmed by its light, and we are touched by eternity, transcendence. It is the tree of life that will become our salvation on Good Friday.

And what about the gates of our hearts? We are more than money-changers. We are called to love, to give, in this holy season. We consider others and their needs when we choose our gifts, and we wrap each one to sing our love, with ribbons and bows and glossy paper. We share meals with friends and family, and bake cookies with children and grandchildren. We set out a crèche, a stable, and place Mary and Joseph, the angels, the shepherds and the wise men around the manger that cradles the Holy Child. We sing Silent Night and The First Noel and Hark the Herald Angels Sing. We tell the story again and again, as we draw closer to Christmas Day. We tell the story of God with us, Emmanuel.

In America we celebrate our freedom to worship whomever and whatever we choose. Christians can choose to worship the triune God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. They can choose to gather together in church, to love God in prayer and song, to call him to come among us. We are blessed to have this choice in a violent world growing more and more hostile to freedom of worship. We must not waste the time or take it for granted. We must embrace what we are given, with joy and gratitude.

This morning in church we lit one candle, one lone flame to welcome Christ into our hearts this magnificent season. This flame will light the second candle next Sunday, and the third the following Sunday, and the fourth the last Sunday before Christmas Day. In this time of Advent, of the waiting for the coming of the Holy Child to be born, we are given the rich rituals of the season to lighten our darkness, so that we can see where we are going.

On this first Sunday in Advent we sang, “O come, O come, Emmanuel…”, calling the Messiah into our world, opening our gates to the Son of God. The hymn is a haunting cry in the wilderness for help, a confession of need, an admission of guilt, and a wail for mercy. Our country and our world cry for him to come, to become incarnate among us, within us.

I looked to the altar and the tabernacle holding the Real Presence of Christ. I thought of his Last Supper and his commandment to love one another and to re-member him in the Eucharist until he returns in judgement. And this we did, consecrating bread and wine into Body and Blood as he commanded. As we knelt and received our communions, we entered Love and Love entered us.

Death, judgement, heaven, hell. Come, Lord Jesus, come. Enter our gates. Teach us to love one another.

This morning as I watched the acolytes and clergy process into our collegiate chapel, St. Joseph of Arimathea, I was thankful. Cal is, after all, the home of the Free Speech Movement. There seemed a chance now for our precious freedom of speech and religion to be protected. I had hope that peace and freedom would return to our land. Our country, held hostage by political correctness, crime, and anarchy, was slipping down a dangerous slope into dark muddy waters. Without shared law and order, tyranny rules. Hopefully, the recent election will cause a change of course, just in time.

This year election day and Veterans Day were close to one another. Americans observed both, the electing of those who govern America, and the honoring of those who protect her. It seems appropriate, for both the voters and the veterans fight for the same thing, freedom and the rule of law. And now, after our national elections, we seek a more perfect union, uniting our many wonderful and colorful peoples.

In order to form a more perfect union, we agree on common laws that keep us safe from one another, that keep the peace. We elect those who will best do this.

For we are human beings, full of self, full of pride, and we butt against others full of pride who disagree with us. Nations pass laws that protect the peace, laws inspired by our better selves, our better angels. It is as though our better angels within us govern those darker angels within, the demons, who seek to do us harm.

In order to form a more perfect union, a more peaceful United States, we give voice to the voiceless through free press and rigorous debate. But speech, being human speech, is also targeted by those lesser angels within us, those demons. And so the war within each of us continues and will continue until the end of time.

This election was a challenge for both winners and losers, for the winners didn’t expect to win and the losers didn’t expect to lose. Our “free” press, largely owned by the Left, muddied the waters of our electoral process again and again, painting false pictures, telling outright lies, sneering and ridiculing, throwing innuendos and salacious dirt into the public square. False testimony, name calling, and gutter arguments appealed to the lesser angels, those who enjoy Twitter tittering and thinly disguised pornography. Confusion reigned, distorting the issues and hiding the facts.

Spreading confusion is a favored tool of those dark angels. Confusion leads to chaos, evident in the violent demonstrations, the attacks on police, and the disruption of peaceful rallies. Chaos leads to anarchy.

But Mr. Trump won in part because of this violence. Americans desire peace and freedom, law and order. They want everyone to be equal under the law, the rich and the poor. Many women voted for Mr. Trump, which was not surprising to me. Women want safe streets and schools for their children. They want protection from assault. They want crimes prosecuted and criminals removed from their communities. They don’t want to live in fear, hiding behind locked doors. Women are mothers and grandmothers and aunts and sisters. They care immensely about family, the next generation and the one after that. They fear for their daughters and granddaughters.

There were other reasons that Mr. Trump won, for he provided real hope and change, not mere words, especially in states hurting from free trade policies and the religion of environmentalism. Workers wanted work and voted for the return of factories and jobs. They could see that Obamacare, when it inevitably became a single payer system, would end their union health care, a substantial loss.

I am proud of America, that her citizens could see through the hype and slander and lies of the media and the elite politicos on both sides. They saw through the fog, the evasion of the issues. Americans refused to fear a Trump presidency, as they were commanded to fear. And they were labeled and punished for their views. They were forced to be silent, to hide. They were accused of racism and judged deplorable. If Trump supporters felt fear, it was fear of their neighbors, fear of alienating their family, fear of even speaking, and even today they fear the childish, dangerous rioters on their city streets. They hide behind locked doors, still fearing to offend.

So the more folks riot and smash windows and spray paint and destroy property and refuse to be responsible citizens in our great land, the more I realize that President-elect Trump is a much needed correction to American narcissism. Their violence validates America’s presidential choice; clearly a correction to the culture of America is needed. Mr. Trump will not be rash or hurtful. He is, I believe, smart and honest and brave. He will rely on good advisers. He will negotiate his path forward, not rule by executive fiat as President Obama enjoys doing. He has a big heart for the American people, all races and genders, and this soon-to-be great nation. He will unify us, assuming the media changes course as well and supports our country rather than tearing it apart, and assuming we all listen to our better angels.

Those veterans we honored on Friday fought for this historic moment. And as we pray for a peaceful transition of power, the free world will soon realize they are better off with a President Trump who will strengthen America and thus protect the West. He was and is their best hope as well as ours. A strong America is an America that can defend peace and freedom, law and order, abroad as well as at home, even on university campuses in California.

Those veterans fought for my right to worship in our beautiful barrel-vaulted chapel alight with song and thundering organ and flaming candles and hovering angels. They fought for my right to write these words. I gave thanks for them this morning. I gave thanks for America.

Saints are those who are so full of the love of God that they radiate His glory. They love as He loves, and thus care for the poor, heal the sick, feed the hungry. Sometimes their vocation is to pray, cloistered from the world, or sharing their abbeys and chapels with any who desire a quite moment with God. They are men and women of sacrifice, for their Lord is a God of sacrificial love. They give half their cloak to a naked beggar, as St. Martin did. They heal lepers and tame wolves, as St. Francis did. They preach the love of God in Auschwitz and offer their lives in place of others. They care for the dying and give shelter to the homeless. Having a vision of God, they write and preach, bursting with a love that cannot be hidden, helping the blind to see.

As our culture becomes increasingly secularized, the idea of self-sacrifice has become unpopular. Even Christians run away from Christ’s commandments, bending their knee to the politically correct dogma of the day. Christianity is not for sissies. And yet, it is definitely for lovers.

My bishop often said that you won’t like Heaven if you don’t like being in love.

And this morning, as we sang the thundering hymn, “For all the saints…”, as the priests and acolytes royally processed up the red-carpeted aisle of our local parish, I was glad to have the blessing of worshiping God in this beautiful sacred space. It was indeed like being in love. In love with glory, in love with God.

The Epistle, our first Scripture reading, was St. John’s vision of Heaven, in particular the saints and martyrs who stand before the Lamb, the Son of God, Jesus Christ:

“After this I beheld, and, lo, a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and peoples, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands; and cried with a loud voice, saying, Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb… These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall  wipe away all tears from their eyes.” (Revelation 7:2+, BCP, All Saints Day)

In their sacrificial love of God and neighbor, the saints are given a special place in Heaven, close to the throne of God, fed by by the Lamb, Christ himself. They are our heroes, those who thirst after righteousness, who tell the truth, true to God.

The Gospel for today complements this vision of John, for Christ lists the blessings (Beatitudes) given to the poor in spirit (the sad, depressed, despairing), those who mourn, the meek, the lovers of righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and those “persecuted for righteousness’ sake.” This last phrase speaks to us today, for Christians are being persecuted throughout the world, as well as here. Our Lord concludes the passage:

“Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.” (Matthew 5:1+, BCP, All Saints Day)

We are in the last hours of a national election. The vote could go either way. The electorate seems to be split between one candidate who breaks the law boldly, with impunity, immunity, and perjury. The alternate candidate upholds the law and tells the truth. But truth is difficult to bear. T.S. Eliot wrote in Four Quartets, “Humankind cannot bear very much reality.” And so we have a media of lies as well, denying the reality of international threats, of domestic disorder, and of late-term abortion. It is a media that covers up major flaws in one candidate and exaggerates minor flaws in the other. It’s all upside down and topsy-turvy. Confusion reigns. As a supporter of the second candidate, I have felt reviled, persecuted, and slandered for my beliefs, by media, friends, and family who look down from their lofty and superior perch.

This election is a turning point for America. It is a referendum on her very identity. History tells us that a democratic nation without the foundation of equality under the law will crumble. A nation crumbling will be prey to foreign powers, ideologies, tyrannies. The great experiment in democracy may be seeing its last days.

But today I gloried in an hour of Sunday worship, an hour in which I faced the reality of God, of Heaven, of the Saints. It was an hour of prayer and praise, a victorious hour that reminded me of who I am, why I was created, and my eternal destiny, Heaven. It was an hour bursting with God’s love, incarnate on the altar in bread and wine, a love fulfilling all righteousness.

Please pray for our country, pray for this election, pray that in all things, large and small, nations and people, God’s will be done. May we all be sanctified in time, so that we may in eternity gather by the river that runs by the throne of God.

One of the best arguments for the existence of God is made by C.S. Lewis, that human beings have an innate sense of justice, and there must be a source for that intuition. We complain when we think justice is violated, when the agreed-upon rules are broken. We say, “It’s not fair…”

And so our Pilgrim Fathers left their native land to escape religious persecution, to found a new world in which, in time, every citizen would be deemed equal under the law, regardless of class, race, and religion. We talk about “blind justice,” and while it is not always achieved, Lady Justice remains our ideal.

When those who work in our halls of justice are not blind in rewarding and punishing, or when they themselves are immune from justice, we complain, and our complaint is right and just.

I’ve been editing, for future publication by the American Church Union, the late Robert Sherwood Morse’s sermons. He repeats often the words of Saint John, “God is Love.” And within that love lies mercy. But there’s no need for mercy, Bishop Morse explains, if there is no judgement. And hence we have the source of justice, this seed planted deep within each of us. His Advent sermons in particular emphasize and illuminate the nature of the Last Judgement, describing how we will be both judged and saved by Jesus Christ. Christ will judge our lives in Time, and through the Cross save us in Eternity. Save us from what? Save us from the punishment demanded by justice.

Love begets mercy and forgiveness. And mercy assumes judgement.

Today’s Gospel for the 23rd Sunday after Trinity describes the response of Our Lord to the trap laid by the Pharisees who ask him:

” ‘Is it lawful to give tribute unto Caesar, or not?’ ” But Jesus perceived their wickedness, and said, “Why tempt ye me, ye hypocrites? Shew me the tribute money.’ And they brought unto him a penny. And he saith unto them, ‘Whose is this image and superscription?’ They say unto him, Caesar’s. Then saith he unto them, ‘Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.’ ”  (Matthew 22:15)

This passage is often quoted to support the separation of Church and State, as though we as Christians live parallel lives. What we do in church, what we believe, this argument goes, has nothing to do with whom we elect, the laws we enact, the societal mores we choose to uphold or tear down.

But Christ, a Jew with full knowledge of the Mosaic Law, was speaking to Jews also holding to this law, but who still lived in bondage to Rome’s law. The Mosaic Law was assumed, unquestioned. The question was a trap, and so Christ answered without answering.

Christians in America and other democracies are not (theoretically) living under totalitarian governments. We are encouraged to voice our beliefs to inform policy, to choose the good and refuse the evil.

When Moses descended Mount Sinai, carrying the Ten Commandments etched upon tablets of stone, his people could not look upon the brilliant radiance emanating from his face. Just so the law has been burned into our hearts and minds. The Mosaic law bound God to his people and the Children of Israel to God. Christ, the Messiah, embodied that law when he gave his body for us, rising from death, to save us from the judgement the law intrinsically imposed. Christ did not deny the law. He fulfilled it.

The early Church, those first Christians, knew that they must uphold the Ten Commandments, that they should worship only the one true God as the First Commandment commands. They died tortuous deaths for their public witness. They knew that the words of Christ to the Pharisees as he held the coin bearing Caesar’s image did not mean separation of Church and State.

Christians continue to witness to this truth. Those who witnessed against the horrors of Hitler, Stalin, and Mao, who gave their lives in the last century, knew they must not be silent in the face of evil.

We are called to bear witness to the great graces given to us in the Judeo-Christian heritage. We are called to honor not only the law of the land, but the law of God, and when they conflict, the latter demands our obedience.

Christ summarized this law of love:

“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it; Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.”  (Mark 12:30-31)

Today, for many Anglicans, we celebrate as well the Feast of Christ the King. It seems appropriate that His kingship be celebrated on this 23^rd Sunday after Trinity when we are reminded of law, commandments, and the great Summary of the Law.

God is, indeed, love. But in order to love we must have law and order. And we must have equality under the law. This our Founding Fathers knew. This we must protect for our children and their children.

The winds were high along the Kohala Coast on the Big Island of Hawaii, where we took a few weeks to re-create, rest, read, and reflect. We walked the beach and the sweet stretch of smooth sand was blown by the wind, sliding across the shore. Its unfriendly force pushed us, driving us forward, belying the deep beauty of the blue sea with its dancing whitecaps, belying the cerulean sky cleared of volcanic ash that sometimes drifts from the volcano to the south. This land was a stark reminder that nature does not care about us. Nature will go on long after our footprint has been washed away, or perhaps blown away.

The powerful winds remind us that we human beings are different from nature. We do indeed reflect. We create language that allows us to shape our past, present, and future and consider, contemplate, and choose. We stand apart from the natural world, albeit our feet are firmly planted in it. But somehow we are different, not mere animals. And with this difference comes a deep sense of spirit, of soul, of a connection to someone greater than we are, our creator, as though we creatures connect heaven and earth, eternity and time.

Someone once said that eternity is now. What we do matters, what we think and say and write matters, and how and what and whom we love matters. It all counts. Nothing is wasted, as my bishop used to say. Everything, every breath of life, is noted in the Great Heavenly Book of Love and becomes a part of our eternity. We weave our future each day with the threads of our lives, creating a pattern of good or evil, telling a story in which we will live forever. Have we chosen the right design, the right colors, the right threads? And with Christ’s saving grace, we have the chance, the choice, to re-weave our life-tapestry when we appear before Him in that Great Judgment Hall of piercing light. We are not afraid. We have his promise of forgiveness for those darker dirtier threads that run through our living weave. The piercing light will show them to us. We can repent.

What we do matters. How we vote matters. And as election day nears, what choice do we have? Stay home? Hide under the bed? Neither candidate is perfect, but then candidates have never been perfect. They are human, as one pundit pointed out. But this election will matter far more than any election in the history of our nation. We are hanging by a thread.

Many don’t like Mrs. Clinton, but see Mr. Trump as far worse. Why is that?

Mr. Trump makes offensive comments, many say in a superior tone. I find it curious that the liberal media find Mr. Trump’s words coarse and offensive, even “scary”,  especially toward women. Yet Mr. Trump’s words – and remember they are merely words, not actions or policy – clearly reflect the culture created by that same liberal media. Our culture is far more coarse and degrading (yes, especially toward women) than Mr. Trump has ever been. America is permeated with porn, a state that occurred as religion backed out (was forced out?) of the public square. As Heather McDonald writes in “Trumped-Up Outrage” on the City Journal’s website, quoted in the Wall Street Journal:

“Now, why might it be that men regard women as sex objects? Surely the ravenous purchase by females of stiletto heels, pus-up bras, butt-hugging mini-skirts, plunging necklines, false eyelashes, hair extensions, breast implants, butt implants, lip implants, and mascara, rouge, and lipstick to the tune of billions a year has nothing to do with it… The sudden onset of Victorian vapors among the liberal intelligentsia and political class at the revelation of Trump’s locker-room talk is part and parcel of the Left’s hypocrisy when it comes to feminism and sexual liberation… but the feminists can’t have it both ways: declaring that women should be equal to men in all things and then still demand a chivalric deference to female’s delicate sensibilities…”

The liberal elite feign shock as they smugly peer down from their ivory towers, sneering at the rest of us whom they consider to be “dumbed down.” They question our ability to make decisions about our own lives. But, remind me, who dumbed us down? Wouldn’t that be the purview of public schools, universities, television, movies, popular music, the press – yes, that same liberal elite.

What to do as a deplorable who is irredeemable according to Mrs. Clinton? Do those who find Mr. Trump offensive, and Mrs. Clinton criminal, assuage their consciences and not vote at all? Or vote for a third party candidate, which equals not voting.

Eric Metaxis, author of “If you Can Keep It: The Forgotten Promise of American Liberty,” understands the problem of conscience, when to be speak, when to be silent. He researched Bonhoeffer speaking out against Hitler, and Wilberforce speaking out against slavery. He writes in the Wall Street Journal (“Should Christians Vote for Trump?”):

“If imperiously flouting the rules by having a private server endangered American lives and secrets and may lead to more deaths, if she cynically deleted thousands of emails, and if her foreign-policy judgment led to the rise of Islamic State, won’t refusing to vote make me responsible for those suffering as a result of these things? We would be responsible for passively electing someone who champions the abomination of partial-birth abortion, someone who is celebrated by an organization that sells baby parts. We already live in a country where judges force bakers, florists and photographers to violate their consciences and faith—and Mrs. Clinton has zealously ratified this. If we believe this ends with bakers and photographers, we are horribly mistaken. No matter your faith or lack of faith, this statist view of America will dramatically affect you and your children.” (Italics mine)

David Gelernter, Yale professor, writing in the Wall Street Journal (“Trump and the Emasculated Voter”) agrees:

“There is only one way to take part in protecting this nation from Hillary Clinton, and that is to vote for Donald Trump. A vote for anyone else or for no one might be an honest, admirable gesture in principle, but we don’t need conscientious objectors in this war for the country’s international standing and hence for the safety of the world and the American way of life… it’s no big deal of a sacrifice for your country. I can think of bigger ones.” 

It is a windy time, hurricane season. On the edge of an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, I could be burned by the sun, drowned by the waters, blown by the winds. On the edge of the sea, it was beautiful. Yet the beauty scared me, teaching me that appearances could be deceiving.

In the most recent presidential debate, Mrs. Clinton appeared perfect – poised, confident, ebullient, hair coiffed. She was beautiful. Next to the bullish Trump she was serenity and wisdom in spite of her arrogance. But this Stepford candidate, this Barbie doll primed, wound up, and let go, didn’t seem human. She was a porcelain puppet controlled by an unseen master, held up by marionette strings.

James Dobson, evangelical author and founder of Focus on the Family, is voting for Mr. Trump, understanding that the next Supreme Court appointments, if made by a President Clinton, will destroy religious liberty. Pastors will not be allowed to preach. Hospitals, schools, missions for the poor, will be forced to close. Freedom will be given its last rites.

And so, I agree with Eric Metaxis when he mourns the many who will be hurt by a Clinton presidency. “A vote for Donald Trump is not necessarily a vote for Donald Trump himself. It is a vote for those who will be affected by the results of this election. Not to vote is to vote. God will not hold us guiltless.” (Italics mine) We are responsible for our choices. We will be held accountable. Nothing is lost, nothing forgotten, nothing wasted, nothing hidden.

We judge those who turned a blind eye to slavery and concentration camps. Those who chose not to see. We say, how could they do that? And yet, today, with the winds raging around us, we too are tempted to turn away, to leave the sick and the lame by the side of the road, to stop our ears to the cries of the dying.

The winds are rising, whining and howling like the hounds of death. Now is the time to make a stand for religious liberty, for law, for order, for honesty and truth. Edmund Burke was right when he said, “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”

Ah, another week of the media drowning the airwaves with the noise of distraction. Another week of the media appealing to our baser natures.

If the noise is loud enough, you can’t hear the music. Or the words. And there has been a lot of noise lately, blared by mainstream news, so that the all too urgent crises we face today have been silenced or ignored. The noise has added to a general confusion and querulous wonder that we as an electorate have stooped so low as to welcome the mudslinging and muckraking.

When I see muck raked from the past with the purpose of clouding our election process, intended to distort and confuse our present, I grow suspicious. Who exactly reported that bit from twenty years ago, ten years ago? And why? Distortion and confusion is a tool of those who desire to, well, distort and confuse, i.e., to lie about the present. Muck raked from the past can be appropriate at times, but must be of the illegal kind of muck, public not personal, to add real clarity to the present. It must, to be legitimate to our national conversation, have harmed the body politic, have done grievous injustice to our citizenry, to have actually broken our law.

And so, cover-ups and lying and private servers are legitimate muck to be raked, mud to be slung. Locker room banter, taped privately, is not pertinent to our national debate. Do we know the difference, and do we care?

We should care. Again and again, this election comes down to one basic issue: the rule of law. Mr. Trump was indeed smart to not pay taxes that he didn’t owe, to have worked within the law to achieve his goals. He might do the same in Washington, for us as a nation. Legally.

His opponent doesn’t care about the rule of law. She pretty much does as she wishes, being royal and privileged that way. Her courtiers sling the mud for her. They rake the muck that will make all of us forget she is prone to acting above the law that we have all agreed should be meted out on an equal basis to every citizen regardless.

And so we have another debate tonight. I’m gearing up to see with open eyes, to evaluate what is important and what is not. For it seems likely we shall see more diversion, more raking and slinging. Mr. Trump might feel he must fight at her level, since that is where she is. He was restrained last time, but will he be tonight? The Clintons have such a rich reservoir of mud and muck. What’s a candidate to do when faced with such a temptation?

The Vice-Presidential debate this past week encouraged my faith in the democratic process. I didn’t know Mr. Pence or Mr. Kaine. What image would they project? Would they appear presidential? Would they discuss the issues civilly and not interrupt one another?

Their performances varied greatly in spite of the fact they were both “politicians.” Mr. Pence owned a presence any president would covet. Mr. Kaine ranted and wisecracked and bullied, interrupting the composed answers of Mr. Pence. While they were both “Washington insiders,” Mr. Kaine spewed talking points and jargon, with rolling eyes and a sneering arrogance, while Mr. Pence gave thoughtful answers to the questions at hand, often pivoting to substance and eyeing the American people directly. Mr. Pence was the sound of music in a public square of noise. And should Mr. Trump win, Mr. Pence will be a heartbeat away, his life support. Should Mrs. Clinton win, Mr. Kaine will be a heartbeat away, her life support.

I have been editing a book of sermons and addresses given by the late Archbishop Robert Sherwood Morse, and yesterday I revisited his 1977 landmark speech in St. Louis, “The Long March into the Desert.” What he said then has come true:

“The major thrust of the Spirit of the Age is against the essential mysteries of Christ – the family and sacramental marriage. The demonic in history are those blind forces which would impersonalize life – eroding those interpersonal commitments that make civilization possible. Without the priority of the family – no nation, church or society can survive. The crisis of our Western culture is theological. For the primary problem of our time is the attack upon the family.”

His words made me think of Mr. Pence and Monday’s debate. When Mr. Pence explained that he thought all human life sacred, he spoke eloquently, touchingly. He was brave to wear the Pro-Life banner, a stigma and anathema to Mrs. Clinton and her friends. And he spoke directly to all of us watching, to Americans who may not care anymore about the family, marriage, and children.

The next president will have the power to appoint justices to the Supreme Court that will either revive the family or oversee its burial. He or she will have the power to uphold the rule of law or not, equally or unequally. The next president will choose to either build our defenses and strengthen world peace or weaken our defenses and welcome those who desire to conquer us, be they political or religious tyrants.

In the end, and we may be nearing the end of the great saga of America, this election will either ensure the death of democracy or breathe freedom into its embers.

The noise is rising, the static is nearly unbearable. Can we hear the words of liberty, the song of America? Can we rise once again, a phoenix from the ashes? Can we ignore the noise and silence the static?

I’m tuning in tonight for the Presidential debate (9 p.m. Eastern). It will be difficult, but I’m going to watch and listen for what they are really saying about the issues, if anything at all. The rest – the mudslinging and the noise – I’m going to expect, but try to ignore. There’s way too much at stake to see this as entertainment. This is our nation’s survival and our children’s future.

I’m trying to imagine a Clinton presidency or rather a Clinton monarchy. The heir apparent (heiress apparent?), according to the all-knowing press, is the only possible choice for any right minded, clear thinking, compassionate adult. Those who might possibly consider the opposite candidate are clearly out of their mind and unfeeling, according to the heir apparent, her courtiers, her water carriers, and her town criers.

The day she announced she was running, that she would bear the heavy burden of the crown, I guessed the contest over such as it was. Any candidate with this much power, in Washington and the media, couldn’t possibly lose. This was long before Mr. Trump sailed to the Republican nomination.

It was, to be honest (a dangerous thing to be, but I’m feeling reckless), when Mr. Trump resonated with large numbers of ordinary voters that I began to have hope that the Clinton monarchy might be challenged. And challenged it has been, and may still be, but I fear the scales are so heavily weighted (should I say rigged?) that even a Jack Kennedy wouldn’t stand a chance.

Let’s see. Bill Clinton reigned eight years (1993-2001), decimating the CIA which led to Nine-Eleven attacks. Hillary Clinton held major positions of power in Washington (Senator, 2001- 2009; Secretary of State, 2009-2013) for the following three terms, 12 years. Now she will reign another eight years. Total years of the Clintonian reign by January 2025: Twenty-eight years. Not bad, for a monarchy that rules a democracy.

It appears to me that for the spouse of a former president to run for president is a dangerous thing. The former president becomes First Gentleman, or First Consort, perhaps. The reign returns.

It has been noted recently that the Clinton sphere of influence over these last two decades has risen enormously. As peddlers of access, they have profited even when out of office, for it is assumed they will return. This peddling of power has solidified relationships at home and abroad, enriching the Clintons through their “Foundation,” kind of a royal treasury with a smile.

How did this happen? How did they become so powerful? The last debate was quite revealing, at least to this writer.

Call me crazy, but I thought Mr. Trump won the debate, or at least tied, but then I decided before I heard the TV spin and read the paper pundits. With his own party seeking his downfall, naively hoping to “come back” in 2020, Mr. Trump has major odds against him.

These debates are not about classic debate skills. They are about talking to the American people. They are about appearance, not substance, and feelings, not reasoning. So in terms of appearance, Mr. Trump looked thoughtful, controlled, composed, and even presidential. Mrs. Clinton looked arrogant, sneering, her voice strident and mean. As expected, the third person in the debate, the moderator, made his loyalty obvious as the evening unfolded. But Republicans are familiar with the two to one ratio.

Americans, while interested in appearance and not substance, even so must rely on others to judge and interpret for them. Many of us cannot think for ourselves. Peggy Noonan writes that the media are partly at fault, for they are so exhausted, that they live on the Edge of Stupid:

“Modern media realities make everything intellectually thinner, shallower. Everything moves fast; we talk not of the scandal of the day but the scandal of the hour, reducing a great event, a presidential campaign, into an endless river of gaffes.”

Ms. Noonan describes the “educated” college graduates who don’t read much, but rely on sound bites and movies. But most profound was her reference to Nicholas Carr’s book, The Shallows, about the Internet’s influence on our brains. Mr. Carr writes that the media “shape the process of thought…lessening our capacity for concentration and contemplation.” (WSJ 10/1-2/16)

So it appears, unless there really are secret Trumpists out there, that the election was over before it began. Queen Hillary will soon reign over our great land of equal opportunity, liberty and law, along with her Consort, William.

What will her reign be like? She will have power like no other president in the history of the United States. As historian Victor Davis Hanson observes, we should all fear what the presidency has become under President Obama, who “has transformed the powers of presidency in a way not seen in decades,” bypassing Congress, issuing executive-order amnesties, and “allowing entire cities to be exempt from federal immigration law.” He also notes, “The press said nothing about this extraordinary overreach of presidential power.”

The Clintons will silence disloyal subjects, for few will have the courage to speak out, and major institutions will support the monarchy in all they do. The Supreme Court will pass Clintonian legislation once the queen appoints her justices; religious freedom will be a precious piece of the past. Academia will shame faculty and students into a single way of thinking and speaking, the queen’s way.

Ah, what’s a subject, er, citizen, to do? My late bishop used to say (when I thought about things too much), “Don’t worry, God wins in the end.” True, but in the meantime we are called to act with honesty and courage, unselfishly, not as dictated by others, not as dictated by political correctness. My old bishop would say, “All is grace.” True again, for God pulls goodness out of evil every day, miracles happen everywhere, all the time, if we have eyes to see.

In church this morning we celebrated Michaelmas, the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels, giving thanks for the good angels who conquered the evil ones: 

“And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon [Lucifer] fought with his angels, and prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven. And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him…” (KJV Revelation 12:7+)

The Archangel Michael slew the dragon. But the war in heaven came to earth. We must consider carefully the choices we have left this election year. We must watch, listen, and decide on our own. There is no room for pride or snobbery about manners and temperament. There is no room for political correctness. There is far too much at stake. But then, in the end, all is grace. In the end, God wins. And in the meantime, we fall on our knees, before God not the queen, and pray that He write straight with our crooked lines.