The King's Speech

Royal subjects know the voice of their king. Those in early 20th century England certainly recognized their king’s voice in the stammering speech of George VI. The 2010 movie The King’s Speech tells the story of how Bertie, the future King George VI, is led by his wife to Lionel Logue, a speech therapist. Bertie has struggled since childhood with a vocal stutter, and with the new reality of speaking publicly on a regular basis, Bertie’s wife, Elizabeth, is determined to fix the speech defect that has plagued him for most of his life.

Logue is a rather unusual choice for a speech therapist. He is an Australian with very little formal training in speech therapy, as Bertie later finds out to his dismay and to the dismay of those in his close circle. He’s not a medical doctor, although Bertie, at first, assumes that he is. There are, in fact, no credentialed letters after Logue’s name that can provide any formal imprimatur of his expertise. And at first, Bertie is completely unconvinced of the effectiveness of Logue’s training. But over time, he comes to see that Logue is actually helping him find his voice, if in unconventional ways.

 The rocky beginning of Bertie and Logue’s working relationship soon morphs into a friendship grounded in shared vulnerability. Logue is a failed actor and a self-made man, and he comes from humble beginnings. And Bertie, with his lack of eloquence, is a most unlikely candidate to be King of England. He is uncomfortable with the public scene. He is many ways self-effacing, in spite of his temper. He is after all, not even supposed to be king.

He is king only because of his brother Edward VIII’s abdication. Bertie’s entire speech training with Lionel Logue has been intended to prepare him to fit into a particular mold as king. This mold is one forcefully imposed upon him, one created by centuries of British politics, pomp, circumstance, and colonialist pride. The might of the British empire must be represented in the might of a king, and the might of a king is represented in a certain image. And this image does not involve a stammer.

And so Bertie is caught in a vicious and self-defeating cycle of despair. His speech defect seems to be largely psychological, the result of years of being beaten down by his family and those in the inner royal circle. From the abuse of his cruel childhood nanny to the impatience of his father who can’t sympathize with his speech defect, this pressure is precisely why Bertie cannot speak without stammering—that is, until Lionel Logue gets at the heart of his problem. Logue is able to see that Bertie can, in fact, speak with fluency. Logue helps the king find his authentic voice, even if it still defies the mold of expectations for a mighty ruler, because Bertie’s slightly stammering voice is still the voice that his people know. It is, in fact, the only voice his people know.

When, in 1939, Bertie is obligated to make a public speech declaring war against Nazi Germany, his stuttering speech and lack of confidence are pitted against the blustering arrogance and darkly strident speech of Adolf Hitler. Bertie seems somewhat envious of such speech that, while horrid and evil, is capable of captivating audiences. And yet, what George is still only beginning to accept is that, with Logue’s assistance, he has discovered his own unique voice as king. It is a voice that the British people in a new age of wireless communication are able to recognize as that of their leader, for better or for worse. And even this vulnerable, imperfect voice can become the voice of a nation standing against forces of evil. After the successful 1939 broadcast, Logue gently notes that George showed some difficulty in pronouncing “w’s.” George cheekily replies, “I had to throw in a few so they’d know it was me.” After all, royal subjects know the voice of their king.

The question for us is how do we know the voice of our King, and how do we listen for his voice of truth? When facing the dominance, might, and ruthlessness of Pontius Pilate in the trial prior to his passion and death, Jesus never calls himself a king. Jesus never claims majesty, power, and brute strength as defining factors of his kingship. Instead, Christ admits that his kingdom is not of this world. His kingdom is something so very different from the secular definition of a kingdom, that the world does not recognize him as bearing imperial authority. Jesus testifies that his kingdom is characterized by truth. And this truth is received by listening to his voice.

But the issue with this voice is that many people in Jesus’s day were not able to hear it for what it was. And many people in our day still do not hear this voice. This voice of our true and only King is sometimes unrecognized because it doesn’t speak in ways that the world expects. In Jesus’s day, as in the more modern examples of kings, there are certain assumptions about what a king’s voice should sound like and what it should say. Our King’s speech in 1st century Palestine was not a voice of imperial dominance and military brawn, as were the voices of most other kings and rulers in that time. Christ’s voice was not one that basked in privilege and unrestrained civic power. It was a voice that spoke in ways that defied cultural expectations, so that some people simply couldn’t identify this voice as that of a King, as that of their King.

This voice entered the world in a babe born in a Bethlehem stable, who with his first meek cry challenged the suppositions of a complacent and unjust world order. This King of kings was born of an unwed mother and adopted by a lowly carpenter. This King established the borders of his kingdom by proclaiming that the oppressed would be raised up and the mighty cast down. This King challenged the religious order of his day and called out its hypocrisy and refusal to help those in need. This King of the world declared victory by dying on a cross in desecrated territory outside Jerusalem.

And yet God’s word of truth was uttered clearly in the human voice of Jesus of Nazareth. It was uttered when he spoke words of healing to the sick and to those possessed of demons, when he spoke words of forgiveness to sinners, and when he spoke words of intercession for all of humankind before the throne of God. This incisive but gentle human voice of Christ was seemingly incapable of rising above the noisy din of worldly rulers in their struggle for domination, but in its persistent strength, it nevertheless continues to speak two thousand years later in Scripture and through the Church.

The voice of our heavenly King did not assert truth by force or volume, and it was a voice that was willing to stammer in vulnerability. It was a voice that could break into tears at the death of a friend. It was a voice that could admit thirst in the last pangs of death on the cross. It was a voice that would give up its last breath in agony. But in spite of worldly expectations of what a king should be and how a king’s voice should sound, this King’s voice did not cease to speak at death.

Precisely because this King’s voice did not speak truth through arrogance and the savage screaming of a dictator, it is still capable of being heard even these many years later. Precisely because this voice sounded through vocal cords given flesh in the Incarnation, its message of truth has not ceased. It lives on even today, and it’s heard by all who belong to the truth.

Indeed, this voice of truth must still vie in quiet strength against more worldly voices that yell and compete for attention. But because of the Word made Flesh, our King’s voice still speaks in unexpected ways, and yet the vulnerability of this voice is the only way in which we can recognize it as our King’s voice. We hear this voice in those whose song is that of Mary, yearning for the lowly to be lifted up and the mighty to be cast down. We hear this voice in prophetic strains that strive for justice, peace, and respect for the dignity of all people. We hear this voice as we read and pray with Holy Scripture in community through the power of the Holy Spirit. We hear this voice in the cries of those who hunger and thirst, and in the sorrow of those who weep for the violent deaths of their friends.

This familiar voice of a risen, ascended, and glorified Christ is still recognizable to us because those to whom Christ spoke in his day are still with us in our own day. Christ is still speaking truth to us over the noise of a troubled world. Now, Lord, give us hearts to respond to this voice for the life of the world, because if we’re really listening, we will know the voice of our King.

Preached by Father Kyle Babin
25 November 2018
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia

The Surplus of God's Grace

Today may be Thanksgiving Day, but for those in the retail world, minds are already set on tomorrow. Like dogs dreaming of catching squirrels and cats of catching mice, retailers are likely immersed, as we speak, in spectacular visions of the hordes of people lined up outside department store doors, waiting with bated breath for the beginning of the great shopping race on Black Friday. In a day of Amazon and widespread electronic shopping, the traditional notion of Black Friday, that day of shoppers’ heaven—or hell—is almost anachronistic. Many businesses are offering pre-Black Friday deals in the quest to maximize profits this holiday season, and  Cyber Monday is an added bonus. Black Friday is actually no longer confined to rigid shopping hours on the day after Thanksgiving. A survey from last year revealed that 11 percent of Americans apparently shop on mobile phones during Thanksgiving Day feasting.[1] I imagine a significant number of people will begin the shopping frenzy late this evening, happily buttressed by the tryptophan coursing through their veins.

I was surprised to find out that Black Friday is a term that supposedly originated here in Philadelphia in 1961, initially referring to the heavy foot and road traffic on the day after Thanksgiving. Over time as this moniker became more popular, it came to represent the reality of businesses reeling in profits, and so moving from being “in the red” financially, to being “in the black.”

If you think about it a bit, the occurrence of Black Friday right after Thanksgiving Day is quite odd. It is rather like having a much-needed massage and then immediately throwing your back out. Thanksgiving, it seems, is one of the few days left in the secular calendar on which there are few obligations other than eating and spending time with family and friends. Most businesses are closed. There is no need to buy, wrap, and give gifts to people. Thanksgiving is, in large part, a day to revel in the present moment, to live in the here and now. It is, in some sense, the closest our secular culture gets to true sabbath rest. Thanksgiving Day is a most welcome, rare pause in a pace of life that is running at sonic speed.

But Black Friday is well-nigh the complete opposite of Thanksgiving sabbath. Black Friday is defined by shoppers’ mania, with people lining up outside department stores while it’s still dark, hoping to be the first ones into the store without being trampled in the wild-eyed lust for cheap purchases. Black Friday is not restful; it seems to be characterized by anxiety. It also assumes a scarcity mentality. Marketing and commercials play on the generalized fear of not having enough—not having enough toys for children, not having enough clothes, not having enough pairs of shoes, not having enough things, whatever they may be. A Black Friday mindset assumes a starting place of “in the red,” with the ever-present hope of moving across that indefinable line into “the black” where just a few more possessions might give you long-desired fulfillment. But the truth is that this coveted place of contentment, of being fully sated, is never achieved, because when it comes to material possessions, things bought in department stores, and the latest technological devices, it will never be enough. That is as certain as the sun’s rising.

And so, this prevalent attitude of scarcity is the greatest argument in favor of celebrating Thanksgiving. It is the principal reason that we should honor and keep, as we do today, one of our prayer book’s holy days. Our culture, however secular it may be, needs Thanksgiving, too. And we, as Christians need to be constantly reminded that our very lives as followers of Christ should be centered on the act of giving thanks. It is, after all, what we do every time we gather at Mass, when we celebrate the Eucharist together, that glorious and ceaseless eternal act of thanksgiving.

For the simple but profound act of giving thanks whether in our individual private prayers or together as a worshiping community here at Mass, reminds us that because of God’s bountiful grace and love, we are never “in the red.” We are always “in the black.” Because God’s grace, goodness, and promises to us are limitless, we are never truly in need. In our relationship with God, our starting place is one of abundance, not scarcity. And that is such good news.

This is what we hear from our Lord himself when he tells us in the Sermon on the Mount not to worry about our lives, not to worry about food, not to worry about our bodies or what we will wear. All these worries and anxieties about material things prevent us from living in the present moment and, most of all, from resting in profound thanks for what we do have. They distract us from focusing on the essence of God’s kingdom. This ceaseless fretting can suck us into a vicious cycle of negativity and despair, which undermines any sense of trust in God’s gracious goodness and providence. Worry about material provisions puts us at the center of things rather than God. Because Jesus tells us that if we merely trust in God, what we need will be given to us. In God’s kingdom, we are always dealing with surplus situations, not deficit situations.

At the same time, Jesus’s words in Matthew’s Gospel might seem a bit impractical and idealistic. For we know from merely watching the evening news, reading the paper, or walking around Center City, that there are many people who seem to be starting from deficit situations. We know that people in this very city go to bed hungry each night. We know from the large number of people who came last week to this place to be sized for boots that there are plenty of God’s children who need proper shoes and clothing. And so, how can these people not worry about their futures?

Surely, the heart of God bleeds at the situations of those around us who are in need. But recognizing the real material poverty of some of our brothers and sisters doesn’t mean that they are necessarily defined by a scarcity mentality or that they constantly see themselves living “in the red.” I suspect that there are many who lack material staples of life who still live with a perpetual spirit of thanksgiving, because they know that even in spite of their lack of tangible things, God has blessed them in various ways. They know how to be thankful for what, to the more fortunate, might seem like small blessings but are indeed great riches. They instinctively know that in the richness of God’s providence, they are always “in the black,” and from this gratitude, the world can learn.

You see, the ultimate gift of gratitude is that it shapes us into people who are able to bask in the knowledge that we are precious in God’s eyes, no matter what, no matter how vast our wardrobe or how sumptuous our meals. Knowing our worth in God’s eyes frees us to be at peace knowing that it is enough simply to be loved by him, right here, right now, in spite of what we might need in the future. But ingratitude does the exact opposite, for it is a fraud. Ingratitude is a liar and a deceiver that tells us that we are never good enough. It tells us that, like those in the frenzied lines outside stores on Black Friday, we must be first in line to get the best deal with God. Ingratitude torments us with the lies that we are never good enough, that what we do never measures up to what it should be, and that somehow God will love us less as a result.

But Jesus offers us the good news that worrying, fretting, and being consumed with anxiety about measuring up is not true living. Truly living means being ever present in a posture of thanksgiving towards God, the Creator and Maker of a splendid creation that was called good. We may be sinners in need of God’s redeeming grace, we may live in a world that is fractured by division, greed, and lust, and we may inhabit a culture that lives like one perpetual Black Friday, but Jesus assures us that who we are and what we have, under God’s benevolent care, is enough. For we are sinners simultaneously longing for redemption and reveling in gratitude for God’s many blessings. Our true home is in the surplus of God’s grace and forgiveness. Because we are a people of thanksgiving, and when it comes to our relationship with God, we are never living “in the red.”

Preached by Father Kyle Babin
22 November 2018
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia

[1] http://www2.philly.com/philly/business/retail/black-friday-descends-philadelphia-region-with-earlier-and-deeper-discounts-20171122.html

The Book of Life

Philadelphia, it has to be admitted, is a clubby sort of a city - at least our part of town is.  The Racquet Club (where you can play the exceedingly rare sport of Court Tennis) is around the corner.  The Acorn Club is down the street.  The Locust Club used to be across the street from us, until it merged with the Union League, which is only a few blocks from here. The oldest social club in the nation is on the other side of Broad Broad Street: the Philadelphia Club.  The building that is now the Lanesborough, on our corner, was built to be the University Club.  Property this parish used to own on 18th and Locust is now occupied by a building that was built to be the Philadelphia Athletic Club.  The Rittenhouse Club closed down decades ago.  Thank God the Orpheus Club is still going strong.  And there were more.

Clubs, of course, are defined by who is in and who is out.  And at most clubs - whether country clubs, or golf clubs, or city clubs, each member is assigned a number, so that the billing department can keep track of members’ accounts.  When you sit down to eat, or order a drink at the bar, or play a round of golf, you sign your chit and you scrawl your name and your number in the designated place.  And the bill arrives at the end of the month.

The story is told of a distinguished, and maybe somewhat snooty, old men’s club in a city, possibly in London.  It was a club with a very small membership.  The staff at the club prided themselves on knowing all the members by name, and they would greet members by name at the door, in the halls, at the bar, etc.  A newly elected member, on the younger side, perhaps not strictly speaking from just the right sort of family, and not much acquainted with the ancient club, because his father and grandfather had not been members there, was, upon his election to the membership rolls, being introduced by the Manager to the club’s customs and practices.  When all the amenities had been pointed out - the squash courts, the steam room, the members-only bar, the smoking room, and the wine cellar - the young new member asked a question of the Manager, whose duty it was to provide this introductory session.  “And do I have a number?” the young new member asked.

The Manager replied, “Oh, yes, you have a number, but you don’t need to know it.”

Sometimes we hear in Scriptures of those who will be in and those who will be out, when it comes to the kingdom of heaven.  In fact, we heard a hint of it in the reading from Daniel: “Many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt.”

You will find similar warnings in Jesus’ own teaching in the New Testament.  And it has been a preoccupation of the church over the centuries, to ponder who will be in and who will be out in the kingdom of heaven, in the life that awaits us on the other side of the grave, in the new city that God will establish in peace when the cares and disasters of this world have at last melted away.  Who will awake to everlasting life, and who will find themselves consigned to everlasting contempt?  Who will be in and who will be out?

There has never been a time that this equation wasn’t considered in economic terms, at least in some people’s minds, almost as though the kingdom of heaven is the best club of all.  The well-to-do - who see themselves as blessed by God, and who others see that way too - are often presumed to have an express ride to heaven, or at least access to the preferred members’ lounge on the way.  Jesus actually confused his disciples when he told them that it would be difficult for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.  They were astounded, in fact, and asked him, “Then who can be saved?”  The commonly accepted ideas for who must be in and who would be out were upended by Christ’s teaching, when he asserted over and over again that the first would be last and the last would be first.  Take up your cross, and follow Jesus, but don’t look back, lest you be consigned to outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Since today is Commitment Sunday for us, when I am to offer my most effective encouragement to you to give generously for the work and mission of the Gospel in this place, it is tempting to want to describe to you the benefits of membership in whatever elite segment of God’s people it is that you may be able to join, if only you will give enough.  I am, after all, in some sense of the word, a Manager (or a Steward), who is to point the way to the kingdom, to describe to you its benefits, to explain to you why getting in is so good for you, and why being left out is so bad.

Seldom, in this explanation, would I normally turn to the Book of Daniel, and certainly not to the latter sections of it, which describe the somewhat complicated apocalyptic visions of Daniel.  But we have been asked to pause by these few verses that mention a “time of anguish, such as has never occurred since nations first came into existence,” and I feel that pausing here makes at least a little bit of sense, considering the times we live in.

It would be so easy if I could tell you that your generosity to Saint Mark’s will bring you blessings in heaven, and will, in fact, assure you of deliverance from times of anguish.  But you already know that I cannot tell you such a thing, and I hope you know that I would never try to impress upon you such lies.  But still we are paused here by Daniel’s vision, and we are told that Michael the archangel, the great protector of the people, will arise amid the anguish of God’s people.

We can assume that Jesus had paused before this same vision, and that perhaps he remembered it when he warned his followers that there will be wars and rumors of wars; that nation will rise against nation; that there will be earthquakes in various places; and famines; and that charlatans would come with false promises to lead many astray.

And here in Daniel’s convoluted, confusing, and often confounding vision is a promise that comes, brought to us by way of the Archangel Michael: “But at that time your people shall be delivered, everyone who is found written in the book…. Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever.”

The natural question that follows, of course, is to wonder what this book is, whether it is kept up to date,  and how to make sure that your name is written in it.  This question is akin, I propose, to the question that the young new club member asked of the Manager, “And do I have a number?”  Implied in the question is the thought that if I know my number I can make sure my account is in order.  And if I can make sure my account is in order then I am in control, I can pay my bills, and all will be well.  And this is, in fact the way the world works, the way that clubs work, and the way that billing departments work.

But there was an odd graciousness in the reply that the young new member was given by the Manager to his question, that implies the possibility of another kind of operation.  “Oh, yes, you have a number, but you don’t need to know it.”  It was a graciousness that actually exceeds the capacity of any club, since in the end, every member will still be receiving a bill.

But the cost of our salvation was paid long before you or I arrived at Saint Mark’s.  And  the grace of God has no limits.  You don’t need to know your number because by his sacrifice, Christ has assured that your name will be found in the Book of Life.  Christ died for you; Christ rose for you; and Christ will come again for you because Christ made you, Christ loves you, and Christ will not let you perish.  Oh, yes, you have a number, but you don’t need to know it.

If there is a Book somewhere in the courts of the Lord, and if scribes are carefully scanning it to keep track of who is in and who is out, to be mindful of who will be delivered from anguish, then Jesus wants you to know, I feel certain, that your name is to be found there in that book.  No amount of giving will put your name in that book, and no amount of giving can improve your number, if there happens to be a number by your name or mine.

And God has not called us here into a community of faith and love and service, in order to frighten us, or threaten us, or to extort us on the way to salvation.  No, he has called us here to speak to us of his love, and to assure us that his people will be delivered: everyone who is found written in the book.  Yes, you have a number, but you don’t need to know it.

And because the church is not a club, and because salvation is a gift, not a reward, there is no bill for the blessings you may find here - which is not to say that they don’t come at a cost.  But the giving is up to you.  There are amenities here, if you consider the benefits of a loving and prayerful community of worship and service to be counted as amenities.  And there are amenities in the kingdom of heaven, if you consider the benefits of a society of peace, justice, and love to be counted as amenities.

And God wants you to know that you are a part of this community.  God wants you to know that he intends his kingdom of peace, justice, and love for you.  God wants you to know that your name is written in the Book of Life.  You will not be sent a bill.  The giving is entirely up to you.  And God wants you to know that yes, your name is in the Book.  And yes, you have a number, but you don’t need to know it.  For such is the graciousness of God’s love.

Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
18 November 2018
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia