Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. (Rev. 21:1)

I’m a coastal person by nature. While I’m not a sailor, and I get rather seasick under any but the calmest conditions, I’ve never lived more than ten miles from the shore. Salt water and decaying seaweed smell like home to me. There is no more comforting sound than a seagull’s cry over the pounding of the waves. And, yes, I’ve been known to swim in the icy Atlantic off the coast of Maine on more than a few Memorial Day weekends. (Although “swimming” is perhaps a generous term.)

So I’m always somewhat dismayed when I read, in the chapter of the Revelation to John that we’ll be reading this Sunday, that John “saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away,” but “the sea was no more.” (Rev. 21:1)

It’s the kind of baffling throw-away phrase on which scholarly careers in Biblical studies are made, and I’m happy to say I once wrote a twenty-page term paper on exactly that question.  So if you’re a sea creature like me, perhaps you’ll enjoy a few short reflections on what John means when he says that in the new creation, “the sea was no more.”

Like most things in Revelation, it’s operating on four or five different levels all at once:

1. On the ordinary level, the sea is a place of danger. While small-scale fishing voyages, coastal travel, and island-hopping were possible and relatively safe, the open Mediterranean was a stormy and dangerous place, and shipwrecks and mishaps were common and deadly, especially given most sailors’ inability to swim. This danger led directly to the…
2. The mythological level: the sea symbolizes the chaotic, destructive powers of the cosmos. Many ancient Near Eastern creation myths include a battle between a god or God and the sea, or often a sea monster, in which the god must subdue the chaotic powers of destruction to make a safe and stable creation possible. And in fact, there are traces of such an idea throughout the Bible, with references to God struggling with sea monsters or holding back the waters of the deep to prevent them from overcoming life. In the “new creation” of Revelation, God has finally won an ultimate triumph over the powers of chaos, and this victory is symbolized by the absence of the sea.
3. On the historical/political level, the sea is a highway for the spread of Roman authority. The author and audience of Revelation are not Roman citizens, but subjects whose homelands have been conquered by Roman armies sailing over the sea. John the Divine himself receives the vision while in exile on the island of Patmos: he has literally been separated from his own community by the combination of Roman power and the sea surrounding the island. So the abolition of the sea symbolizes not only the end of chaos on a mythological level, but the overthrow of the Roman imperial power of Caesar in favor of the peaceful and loving kingdom of God.
4. This overturning of exploitation extends to the economic level, as well. Elsewhere the Book of Revelation envisions the destruction of the city of “Babylon” (a coded stand-in for Rome), and the grief of “all shipmasters and seafarers, sailors and all whose trade is on the sea” as they watch it burn. (Rev. 18:17) And they “weep and mourn for her, since no one buys their cargo anymore, cargo of gold, silver, jewels and pearls, [… the list goes on …] horses and chariots, slaves—and human lives.” (18:11-13) This is not a generic anti-business screed. The sea is a highway for human trafficking: soldiers go east to conquer, merchants return west with cargoes of enslaved prisoners and plundered wealth. John envisions these enslavers and looters weeping at the loss of the sea that has enabled their exploitative practices to thrive.
5. On the ritual level, the sea is a symbol of purification. Water, salt, and fire are often associated with rites of cleansing and renewal, and indeed the container used for priestly ablutions in the Temple in Jerusalem was a giant bronze vessel known as the “Molten Sea,” (1 Kings 7:23) combining salt water and fire in one vessel! In earlier visions in Revelation, the human seer is separated from God by “something like a sea of glass mixed with fire,” (Rev. 15:2; cf. Rev. 4:6) That “the sea is no more” suggests that there is no longer a need for purification, no longer something to be washed away that separates the human being from God.
6. Finally, on the community level: for all its chaos, danger, and opportunities for exploitation, the sea brings people together. John writes from the island of Patmos to churches in seven cities in Asia Minor, the western coastal region of what’s now Turkey. In a region defined by mountains and archipelagos, travel by sea is often much easier than travel by land, and the sea connects John to these small communities scattered in different cities around the area. In the new creation, though, God brings a new and holy city out of heaven, in which they all will dwell. The Church that has been scattered throughout the world is reunited in one place. The Church that has communicated through letters sent across the sea can now live together, face to face.

To be reunited in that heavenly city, living in a community of love with one another and with God, with chaos and empire conquered, with ritual impurity gone forever, is the greatest joy the angels can show to John.

Although, for my part, I think I’d still probably miss the seagulls.

This morning I welcomed a local friend to St. John’s, who’s a retired librarian and Episcopalian with a great interest in working with church archives, to begin sorting through and categorizing some of our very old books and historical documents. In the process of showing her around, I found a small book that was mailed to me by Tom Mousin a few weeks ago, after he found it among his papers: a notebook kept by the Rev. Wolcott Cutler from April 1964 to May 1965, several years after his retirement from St. John’s and in the time immediately before his death. It is a treasure trove of wisdom and insight, and I thought I might share a few excerpts “From an Old Rector” with you over the next few months. (I will try to keep the private portions private, and will beg Mr. Cutler’s forgiveness in heaven as necessary for sharing what I have.)

This week’s selection contains a reflection on the unhappiness we can often feel in the midst of seeming success and fulfillment, especially in retirement—and maybe a hint of a solution!

Cutler writes, on June 30, 1964:

“I heard such a surprising fact today about one of the most highly honored and intellectually prominent bishops in the Episcopal Church that I feel moved to speculate about the reasons for it, not that my conclusions will have real validity. I was told that Bishop Y, who retired from one of the most important centers of national as well as church life a very few years ago, and who divides his year between two of the most desirable locations, is bored and unhappy in his retirement. I can understand that as a retired official he is not looked to for favors by distinguished or by ambitious persons any more; but if he still reads significant books, if he still cares for what happens to humanity, or if he likes to do for others, why is he not even better able to carry out his interests than when he was bound down by the mechanics of administrative responsibility?

I praise the Lord that I can now, as this very night, devote two hours and a half to a single troubled brother, and not begrudge the time.”

May God give us all the gift of a few hours’ free time, now and then, and of the wisdom to use it with joy and compassion, for our own spiritual growth and, above all else, for the love of our neighbors.

Happy Easter!

I say this not just because I’m basking in the memory of Easter morning, and not just because my house is still full of chocolate rabbits and carrot-shaped candy, but because Easter is not just a day: it’s a fifty-day season, stretching from Easter Day to Ascension Day, which falls on the Thursday after the Sixth Sunday of Easter—a season stretching from April 17 to May 26 this year, a season of celebration even longer than our forty-day season of Lenten fasting.

Easter isn’t a season of fasting or arduous spiritual disciplines, but it can be a wonderful time to continue a daily devotional pattern of prayer. If you’re looking for a way to way to mark this season, I’d encourage you to take a look at 50 Days: Celebrating Easter with Daily Reflections from Forward Movement. It’s a free, online devotional with a new daily post during each day of Easter. You can read it on their website or subscribe to receive it in your email every morning. You might also enjoy Easter Triumph, Easter Joy, a book of daily devotions for Easter written by Scott Gunn, Executive Director of Forward Movement.

I’ve taken a few days off this week, so I’ll continue with my usual newsletter reflections next week. For now, I just wanted to share these resources with you.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen! The Lord is risen indeed—Alleluia!

I’ve experienced many strange things as a priest, but by far the strangest was being mocked by a man wearing tights and carrying a musket for shamelessly going around outside without wearing a hat.

It was, of course, a Monday morning in mid-April, and I was at the Old Burying Ground in Lincoln, where I had been invited to offer prayers for the fallen British regulars who’d been buried there after the Battle of Concord in 1775. (The Congregationalist minister was invited to pray for the fallen colonial militia. Go figure.) Except for the two clergymen and a rather-uncomfortable representative from the British Consulate, the event consisted entirely of historical reenactors: men dressed in the uniforms of the British Army or the humble clothing of the Minute Men, shooting off blanks from authentic flintlock muskets in memory of the events of the past.

Our Holy Week can sometimes like feel an historical reenactment of the same kind, as we remember the events of the last week of Jesus’ life and act them out: waving palms, washing feet, breaking bread, and even giving voice to the main characters of the story in a dramatic passion play.

Unlike a military reenactment, our emphasis is not on the accurate details of clothes or tools; we do not dress in ancient garb or use first-century soap to wash our feet. Ours is a symbolic reenactment, pulling out a few key practices and moments from the events of Holy Week and reshaping them into the form of our liturgies.

But we share the same simple idea: that human beings are more than disembodied minds. By reenacting what has been, we can learn from and experience the events of the past and allow them to shape us in the present and the future. By reenacting the struggle for freedom, we strive to remain a free people. By reenacting Jesus’ acts of love, we allows ourselves to be formed into more loving people.

So join us, this Holy Week, if you can, as we remember those last few days of Jesus’ life and walk the way that Jesus walked, together.

Palm Sunday — April 10 — 10am

We celebrate Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem with a parade of palms, and remember the crushing disappointment of his betrayal, arrest, and death with a reading of the Passion According to Luke.

Maundy Thursday — April 14 — 7pm

As Jesus gathered with his disciples for a Last Supper together, we share a simple meal. As he taught them his “new commandment” to love one another as he loved them, and then humbly knelt to wash the dirt from their feet, we wash one another’s feet. As darkness fell and he went out to the Garden to pray, we strip the decorations and ornaments from our sanctuary and pray before the Blessed Sacrament in a Garden of Repose.

Good Friday — April 15 — 7pm

We remember again the events of Jesus’ betrayal, arrest, trial, and death with a solemn service of readings and prayers, and venerate the cross on which he died and through which he destroyed the power of death.

Holy Saturday — April 16 — 12pm

One of the simplest, most austere, but most beautiful services of the year, the Liturgy of the Word for Holy Saturday reflects on the day in which Jesus rested in the tomb, and offers prayers drawn from our funeral services.

The Great Vigil of Easter — April 16 — 7pm

Our celebration of Easter begins with the kindling of a new fire and the retelling of the whole story of salvation, stretching from the moment of creation through Easter morning, followed by a festive celebration of the first Eucharist of Easter.

Easter Sunday — April 17 — 10am

We journey with the women who followed Jesus to the door of his empty tomb, and see their astonishment to find him risen, crying aloud our words of praise: “Alleluia! Christ is risen!”