Each spring, the Office of Ministry Studies organizes the Billings Preaching Prize Finals, an annual preaching competition open to second- and third-year MDiv students.
Congratulations to MDiv Sharon Christner, the 2023 Billings Preaching Prize Competition winner, and to finalists James Lewis and Stephanie Hollenberg for their incredible talents. The finals were held during Noon Service on April 19 in Williams Chapel. The event also featured a reading from Nicole Marie, the Massachusetts Bible Society scripture reading winner, and john gehman, the reading from contemporary literature winner.
This event took place April 19, 2023.
Full transcript:
SPEAKER 1: Harvard Divinity School.
SPEAKER 2: Noon Service hosted by Billings Preaching Competition April 19th, 2023.
TEDDY HICKMAN-MAYNARD: Hello and welcome to everyone. Thank you all for being here. My name is Teddy Hickman Maynard. I'm the associate dean for Ministry Studies. On behalf of the Office of Ministry Studies as well as the Office of Religious and Spiritual Life work together to celebrate this occasion, we welcome you. The Billings Prize is one of the oldest institutions at Harvard Divinity School, established by the Robert Billings Family Foundation in 1904 to encourage and to promote excellence in preaching at the Harvard Divinity School. Certainly as our school has grown and changed and evolved over time, so has this wonderful event that celebrates preaching and liturgical reading, where we now wonderfully invite preachers from every tradition and none at all. We have liturgical readings from sacred texts and readings from contemporary literature that students hold sacred.
And so every year, we invite-- it also used to only be for third year master's students. But now, it's open to the whole school. And so we have a flurry of folks who submit preaching and readings for the Prize. Sometimes right under the wire, we had about two submissions with about three days to go before the deadline. And we were like, well, I guess they won. But of course, the morning after the deadline, we were inundated with dozens of submissions. And so I want to thank those members of our community who were a part of the first round of listening and hearing and observing of these wonderful sermons. We invite members of the community from within the school, so instructors and denominational counselors, as well as those who are part of our extended family, supervisors, alumni who provided their feedback.
And we invite five wonderful people from among those early submissions to this celebration today where you will hear three sermons. You will also hear two readings, one from sacred text and one from contemporary literature. At the end of all of this wonderful preaching and reading, we will have, again, members of our community, instructors, supervisors, alumni who have little devices with them, phones, tablets, computers, whatever have you. And they will offer their feedback about what they've heard today. And we will then, at the end of the service, announce a Prize recipient for the Billings Award.
We're very excited. We think this is going to be a marvelous occasion. We think you will be blessed by all of it. And I do want to thank sincerely from the bottom of my heart all of those who helped to make this day possible. We also honor our Dean for being here with us today. And with that, I will get out of the way so we may hear from these wonderful students and receive of their beauty, their wisdom. Here now, the Billings finalists.
SHARON CHRISTNER: Good afternoon, y'all. My beloved speaks and says to me, arise, my love, my beautiful one and come away. For behold, the winter is passed. The rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the Earth. The time of singing has come. And the voice of the turtle dove is heard in our land. The fig tree ripens its figs and the vines are in blossom giving forth their fragrance. Arise, my love, my beautiful one and come away. When I walk along the river and see that first prophetic crocus, I imagine what would happen if spring came all at once.
I don't mean this, half-hearted spring of fits and starts, always maybe back to winter tomorrow. I mean, full-bodied, blossoms on blossoms, not coming in their usual tentative progression but together suddenly as one thick stacked chord. Somehow it is cool enough for the tulips and warm enough for the roses, and breathing the air is like breathing and drinking from a clear river. The time has now come for even the most distinguished old professors to drop their suit jackets and frolic.
The winter is past. This is news we have been longing for. But who is this voice singing of the great relief? If this voice is divine as so many have read in this song of songs, why does it call out, my love, my beautiful one? This may bring some discomfort too close, unnecessary, runs the risk of being sentimental and intellectual, maybe embarrassing in its intimacy, too much. Is it not more respectable and interesting and serious to think of God as perfect being, as beautiful Trinity, as mysterious process, as maker of all things, as fullest form of justice, or as vast and cosmic and utterly unknowable who knows and sees and encompasses all and who stays over there, much safer.
But lover, can we not be good to each other, you and I, but keep our coats on. Even if this intimacy doesn't make you squirm because in theory, it's what you want, really. Hearing my love, my beautiful one, come away is still terrifying. God, being your soul's lover is not inherently good news unless you know he's the good kind. After all, you have known love that is lush and plenty and love like a leafless tree. So what kind of voice is this? And to what sort of lover does it belong? Arise, my love, my beautiful one and come away. For behold, the winter is passed. The rain is over and gone.
This is not a voice that speaks primarily of itself, like wind that howls of nothing but wind. It is not a voice that assesses you under the cold gaze of a winter sun. It is not like frost which destroys little growing things by insisting on its own structure. And it is not like snow enamored of its own brilliance. This is a voice that knows what winter was like. He has known lack and grief and unrequited everything. It is a voice that says you don't have to clench yourself together anymore or keep yourself awake to feed a meager fire or tie those bits of rag together to keep warm.
This is a voice that sings good news that the situation is different than you think it is better. All is changed. This is a lover that in his eagerness is not above asking and not above asking again, that cannot stop himself at only one epithet for you my love, my beautiful one. The voice of someone who wants to be where you are that loves you the way dandelions, bright and stubborn, push themselves up through concrete, almost visibly laughing, not to be deterred, or the vine that meeting an obstacle grows out and around ingenious loops and gymnastics making a way by going far out of its way. If you're afraid that it's still winter or that the harsh conditions you're used to could return at any moment, of course, you won't want to come outside.
If you're ashamed of the sight of your arms and legs, of course, you will want to keep your coats on and you'll cringe at the thought of spring. But the winter is over. The one who loves you best and most has arrived and brought spring with him. It's not just that we're out of danger for now. We are out of danger completely. Suddenly, whatever thing had its cold claws in us tightening our backs has dissolved. And we carry no burden and find ourselves resting on reams of tulips, ranunculus, daffodils, more flowers than you could name or count. They're heaped together like bouquets so you they've been brought on purpose for you. But they're not cut, they're growing.
Relief and delight together at once because what you dreaded is over and what you could hardly let yourself hope for is here. Divine love, not just correct or perfect, but thick and lush and living. And to this voice who calls you my love, my beautiful one and asks if you will come away, your yes is the warm breeze he has been waiting and hoping for. He has made everything ready. He has warmed up the sun and warmed it up again and threaded it with golden light, held back the harrowing winds, woken up the little breezes and set them running, pulled up zinnias, and dahlias, and toadstools, sparked the blossoms, spooned out caterpillars. And you stepping out of your shoes and your many coats onto the soft, thick grass that he has rolled out everywhere. That first willingness to come away is his relief and delight.
Do not be afraid if the voice of God calls you something like beloved and asks you to come away. The littlest opening to it is like that first prophetic crocus, and coming away with him is the passing of winter into a great lush spring.
NICOLE MARIE: What beauty to look at you all. I'm going to take us back to the winter through two Sutras from the Buddhist Pali Canon. As many of you may know, many of you may not, the contemplation of death is an important part of Buddhist practice and the scriptures are intended to invite you into that space. Look at the beautiful image, a heap of festering wounds shored up ill but the object of many resolves where there is nothing lasting or sure. Worn out is this body, a nest of diseases dissolving, this putrid conglomeration is bound to break up, for life is hemmed in with death. On seeing these bones discarded like gourds and fall, pigeon gray, what delight. Practice meditation on death reflect mindfully, uncertain is my life, certain is my death. Certainly, one day, I have to face my death.
STEPHANIE HOLLENBERG: Thank you, Sharon. Thank you, Nicole. Thank you all for being here. It's good to see you. There is a scene in "Peter Pan" in which Tinkerbell is dying. And she tells Peter Pan that she thinks she can get well if children believe in fairies. So Peter Pan calls out to children across the world, do you believe in fairies? If you do, clap your hands, don't let Tink die. I wonder, dear HDS, if you believe in fairies. So-- oh, you're ahead of me. So we're going to do a little exercise. If you do not believe in fairies, please stay silent. If you're hesitant but maybe open, give a two finger clap. If you are really open to believing in fairies, give a full clap. And please give a standing ovation if you believe in fairies.
Are you ready? Dear HDS, do you believe in fairies? Thank you. So Tinkerbell is on the edge today. Yeah. We're going to do this one more time. And this time, I want you to respond to the question, do you believe in angels? Do you believe in angels? Good people of HDS, do you believe in angels? Thank you for participating in that with me. You know, I did not grow up with a religious worldview enchanted with fairies and angels. But the seed was planted in me very early as a child who loved stories, like Disney's "Peter Pan" and "Pocahontas." As an adult, I'm learning how problematic these stories are with their whitewashing, romanticization, essentialization, and erasure of native communities.
Even so, for better or worse, Pocahontas in particular deeply affected my spirituality and my relationship with the Earth. It mirrored something I intuitively knew to be true but had not encountered in my church upbringing. Kinship with trees, rocks, and rivers, the interconnectedness of all of life and spirited earth community with a personhood and a voice. In the void, I felt in my own tradition, I latched on to Pocahontas and fairy lore. But knowing what I know now about the dangers of appropriating other cultures, how do I make sense of my deeply-held belief in and experience with an enspirited, enlivened world? Walter Wink suggests in his book unmasking the powers that the judeo-christian tradition actually has its own enspirited cosmology and affirms a world teeming with angels. This was news to me, as the only angels I encountered growing up were the ones adorning my Christmas tree.
But up until the Middle Ages, Jews and Christians believed that the universe was alive with angels associated with different parts of nature. Even before Moses, nature angels were an assumed background belief of the age. But with the Middle Ages came the advent of materialism, modern science, and capitalism, heralding the decline of this angel-thronged cosmology. This period uncoupled physical matter from its spiritual essence rejected the personhood and consciousness of non-human beings and reduced the world to a measurable kind of knowing. Nature's value became measured by its usefulness to humans leading to unrestrained exploitation.
Consequently, nature angels were dismissed as mere superstitions, and biblical images of personified messenger angels prevailed as the dominant image. This is the legacy that we have inherited. And I can't help but wonder if Christians reclaim and revalue this ancient tradition, might it help us heal our fractured relationship with the Earth? Now, I know that concept of angels carries baggage for some folks. And while I bring openness today, I also bring my own reservations. But please take a moment to dream with me because here is what I to be true. To counter the exploitation and devastation of the Earth, humans must uproot the materialist view that nature is dead, that nature lacks inherent worth. We must plant new seeds that re-sacrilize all of life.
Christian scriptures have long revealed that the Earth has a voice and it speaks God's voice. But as 21st century humans with all this baggage, attuning our ears to heed these voices will require us to broaden and complexify what we mean by angels. Simply put, angels are messengers of the divine. To the ancients, angels were real beings, although they didn't hover in the air. They were incarnate in the physical world. Wink describes angels as the interiority of every physical reality. Angels are the patterning presence that guide nature. Last summer, I planted a handful of herbs seeds and much to my delight, parsley burst forth. The seed had known exactly what to do, the same it's been doing for time immemorial.
Over several months, I watched as it grew from its center, stem after beautiful stem, reaching its flat-leafed faces towards the sun. And even after a final cutting in October, rain and sun invited parsley to continue its joyful giving. An enspirited worldview invites us to recognize the interior life of parsley, the patterning presence that guides its stem after stem. With this view, parsley opens us up to an experience of glimpsing what is holy and divine present in everything around us. Only then can we begin to observe and discern the Earth's voice and gods therein. Robin Wall Kimmerer writes in her book Braiding Sweetgrass about the council of pecans. She says trees stand in their own counsel and craft a plan.
The scientists decided long ago that plants were deaf and mute, locked in isolation without communication. In actuality, what we know now is that tree language looks different. It looks like pollen spread on the wind that creates nuts. It looks like hormones carried on the breeze to forewarn other trees of insect attacks so they can put up their defenses. It looks like underground fungal bridges that connect all trees in the forest. Science is finally catching up with ancient Indigenous traditions which teach us that trees speak. From within the Christian tradition, the book of Psalms and Revelation also teach us that the Earth has a voice. Psalm 148 says that in all corners of the Earth are bid to raise their voices, celestial planets, and sea creatures, cedar trees, and winter frost. But what do we expect to hear? Pavarotti, Aretha Franklin, U2, maybe. Or might we recognize Frost's voice of praise in the exquisite patterns it creates on forest undergrowth and city windshields.
In Revelation, we find angels that govern winds, and fire, and water. It shows in vivid imagery that waters cry out speaking God's voice. But to understand, we must learn the language of the waters, pecan trees, rocks, and more, observing their interiority and the patterning presence that guides them. Materialism has proved catastrophic. Humans are effectively murdering the Earth through slow violence. In response, there is an invitation here to reawaken a worldview enspirited with angels, nurturing relationships with the surrounding earth community, and thereby re-enchant the earth by heeding the voices of plants, animals, and elements all around us. At the end of the day, friends, angel is simply a word, a word that points us to the numinous interiority of created things. It points us to an experience of awe interconnectedness and God with us.
Psalms and Revelation beckon us to be attentive to the angels around us, to heed their voices. Our lives depend on it. Our lives and the lives of future generations, human, whale, water, and tree depend on our ability to bear witness to the angels of nature, to attune ourselves to the holy interior life of all created things. A re-enchanted worldview is an act of resistance to climate injustice. Re-enchanting the world means learning the language of the angels. It means becoming familiar with the interior life of plants, animals, and elements around you, familiar and familial.
This work of reconnection is not a linear journey nor a fast one. We cannot simply clap our hands to keep Tink alive and all of nature. Perhaps the only true answer to slow violence is slow healing. And perhaps, clapping is not something that we do just once but every day as we learn to discern and respond to God's voice in the praise and lament of the angels. Maybe so.
JOHN GEHMAN: I've selected a work from the 17th century German Catholic mystic poet and priest Angelus Silesius. Of as many works, I selected Der Cherbinische Wandersmann which translates to "The Cherubinic Pilgrim" first published in 1657 and later reprinted in 1674. This is a collection of 1,676 short poems. And I will read the 289th poem entitled "Ohne Warumb."
[NON-ENGLISH SPEECH]
The rose is without why. She blooms because she blooms. She pays herself no regard. Ask not if she's seen.
JAMES LEWIS: Because of the times in which we find ourselves, It seems appropriate to turn to wise guidance. Of late, I have found myself turning to words attributed to the Apostle Peter. The words of Peter taken from first Peter chapter 4 verse 8, "Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, because love covers a multitude of sins." Troubles, injustices, evils, and sins, they swarm all around us. Anger, divisions, and fears abound. It is why hope is in such short supply. It is so hard to believe that anything is good if only we could. So much easier to fuss and to cuss. It satisfies our flesh and it suits us, but it doesn't resolve nor change a thing. Perhaps it is time to lift every voice and sing.
To my country, tis of thee sweet land of liberty of thee I sing. Sing to the Earth and heaven's ring as yet unheard. Sing like a bird to raise a petitioning word to God. Word. Word of a land so sweet yet soured by theft, sullied with compromise by men so bereft of vision. So smart yet so lacking in wisdom that murder seems wise. Yes murder and theft, while proclaiming a loving creator who wept from above at the rise of our wealth and the demise of love. My country, you say that we're free. Oh, lover of liberty, but today truth stings. Lift every voice and sing for joy over liberty from taxes then to bring down the axes on the freedoms of those who do not belong in sum's estimation. But evil isms are wrong. Sexism, racism, imperialism, weaponizing theism, political fanaticism, you understand that these are all key to growing the cynicisms, widening the schisms, and corrupting the prisms that we use to see, that I so, so hate you because you first hated me.
But with so much deep hatred, we'll never be free Oh why is it, my friends, that we cannot see that there will not be blessings of sweet liberty while stealing this land without any blame, while dividing this land to keep some in chains, while destroying this land and ignoring its pains. Now, removing our histories to avoid feeling shame, casting lies as the truth saying, truths are the lies, dismantling what's good with hands raised to the sky shouting, father, forgive us, we know now what we do. But we're chosen, we're special, we are reborn anew. A side note, my friends, that we cannot be free to love nor lovingly free if we keep on dismantling our democracy whilst we chisel it asunder a monumental blunder. We are reminded that love will not flourish in autocracy because where absolute power reigns, it maximizes our pains and forges strong chains that will bind us all.
This is what comes with an earthly king. Lift every voice and sing. My country, it is we who rise now awake and we do ask of thee the value, the cost of all being free. Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. Even over the evil isms, even in this land where so many have died for being born dark or for showing our pride, in this land this land of deep, deep divide, in this land over which our loving God has cried, in this land where anger we do stoke, by whistling for dogs chanting, canceled and woke. Woke, it's just a four-letter word. We must rise above by reviving another. I refer here to love. Love does indeed cover a multitude of sins. But lovers of God can't be doers of hate.
The rift is getting wider, no more time to wait on a city, even a shining city perched high upon a hill. All eyes fixed upon us. Oh, yes, they're watching us still. Be still. And know-- know and believe we shall overcome. Although we yet grieve, our greed and our hatred, our hate runs so deep. But can we not dream although we yet weep and commit to let go of the ills that we keep? Think of the goodness that we each could bring to the table of love at which we together can sing. Sing till our Earth and even the very heavens will ring announcing that we were all so wrong for we fail to acknowledge that we all belong.
But if we sing out to God, from the muck we can wade, new plans can be laid and space can be made for a new thing. Yes, yes, a new thing where we lift every voice and sing about our country. Our country, tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee we will sing to God for our love that will cover our multitude of sins. No time like this very hour for us to begin. Our country, America, of thee we will scream to God. Our present help, yes, the one who redeems, the person who is our salvation, our peace from above. If we truly desire the rise of pure love, then to our Redeemer and Merciful King, I plead with you now, let every voice sing. Thank you.
TEDDY HICKMAN-MAYNARD: Thank you all so much. I failed to be mindful that those who are watching online do not have their service bulletins with them. And so I would like to take a brief moment to shout out the names of these wonderful students. For the liturgical reading prize for reading sacred ancient sacred text, Nicole Marie. Won't you stand, Nicole? Our prize winner for reading of contemporary literature, John Gehman. Won't you stand, John?
And our three finalists for the preaching prize, Sharon Christner, Stephanie Hollenberg, and James Lewis. The winners of the liturgical reading prize will both receive sacred texts of their choosing sponsored by the Massachusetts Bible Society. So we thank them for that prize. And all three finalists for the preaching prize will receive cash gifts of how much, Leslie? $750 for the two finalists and $1,000 for the winner. So they truly are all winners here, yes. Give them a big hand.
Certainly, our greatest gift is not the financial prize, although that's real money, y'all. That's real money. But we're grateful that the prize allows us to encourage this kind of activity. The wonderful calling up of these resources of wisdom and linguistic beauty was just awesome. So I am vamping right now because voting is going on. And I'm done vamping. So now, we'll do one more thing. And that is offer a song, by the end of which I hope we will have some results. This is a song we sing at our church and I'm going to offer it as a gift to you all. And if it speaks to your spirit and resonates with your own witness and testimony, then I invite you to sing along once you catch it. Otherwise, you're welcome to just listen.
(SINGING) I used to think God was the son. God is the sign but God so much more than the Earth or the stars or all of creation. God is creator all in all. Oh, meeting us to shine God's light as me, as you. So use me. Oh, God, I stand for you. And here I'll abide as you show me all that I must do. Command my hands what must they do. Come in my life, it's here for you. God is the love that heals all creation. God is creator makes all things new. And God needs us to shine God's light as me and as you. So use me. Oh, God, I stand for you and here I'll abide as you show me all that I must do. Oh, use me. Oh, God, I stand for you and here I'll abide as you show me all that I must do. Show me all that I must do. Show me all that I must do.
Amen. All right. Can we have our three preaching prize winners, preaching prize finalists, if you all would come and stand here, please. And I'm going to play Carson Daly now. No, seriously, thank you all of you for your gifts. Thank you for your wisdom. Thank you for the way that you've touched us this morning. And so at this time, I am pleased to announce that our Billings Prize Award winner for 2023 is Sharon Christner.
Please give it another rounding, rising applause for these our finalists.
SPEAKER 1: Sponsors, Office of the Chaplain and Religious and Spiritual Life.
SPEAKER 2: Copyright 2023. President and Fellows of Harvard College.