Author Archives: jandrewsweckerly

On love and change…

17 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

One of the things that I am most excited about from General Convention is the election of Bishop Michael Curry as our next Presiding Bishop.  I have been a longtime fan of Bishop Curry.  He is arguably one of the Church’s best modern-day preachers, and I believe his passion for Jesus and ability to communicate that passion in a dynamic, accessible way may give the Episcopal Church the boost it needs to get back into the business of spreading the Good News.

At General Convention, Presiding Bishop-Elect Curry preached the closing Eucharist sermon, which can be found here.  His words have been rolling around in my mind, but one quote from his sermon stood out for me for St. Margaret’s.  Bishop Curry, quoting Max Lucado, said, “God loves you just the way you are, but he [doesn’t intend] to leave you that way.”  I think the reason that quote spoke to me so much is because it gets right to the heart of the fear and resistance we as a community have had around change.

In my time at St. Margaret’s we have talked a lot about change.  The feedback has ranged widely.  “I knew we would need to change, but does it have to be all at once?”  “I know we need to grow, but I don’t want us to grow too much.”  “I just wish we could go back to the way things used to be.”  When we are really honest with ourselves, no one really likes change.  Change is hard, it involves work, and it means letting go of things we might like.  And yet, here Bishop Curry is affirming that God does not intend to leave us as we are.  In other words, God intends to change us – over and over again.

Of course, Bishop Curry wisely couches his sentiments in affirmation.  God loves us just the way we are.  That statement in and of itself is wildly affirming and encouraging.  Without changing, God loves us just as we are.  I am reminded of that scene from Bridget Jones’ Diary when the unexpected love interest tells the heroine, “I like you very much – just as you are.”  But Bishop Curry’s comment is a both-and statement.  God loves us, just as we are; AND God does not intend us to leave us as we are.  The both-and statement is affirming, challenging, and terrifying.  And it is just the word I needed to hear this week as I think about the ways that God does not intend to leave me the way that I am.  May you be similarly encouraged and terrified with me!

Sermon – 2 Samuel 6.1-5, 12b-19, P10, YB, July 12, 2015

17 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

One of the side bonuses of being a parent of small children is that you have to step up your silliness game.  In general, I am not what most people would call being adept at being silly – I tend to err on the side of being serious and thoughtful.  I am not sure when the loss of silliness happened, but I imagine the loss began as I matured into adulthood.  Even scripture seems to condone this putting away of silliness.  First Corinthians says, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.”[i]  Most of us embrace the mantra of putting aside childish ways when we mature – except perhaps when we are in the presence of a child.  I learned pretty quickly that harnessing silliness could garner me much parenting success.  Nothing deflates a temper tantrum like a silly face contest.  Nothing distracts a fussy baby like silly noises.  And nothing makes a car of children happier than a parent grooving out to a favorite song on the radio while driving.  Sure, the drivers on either side of the car will look at you like you are crazy – and if you think about them too much, you’ll become too self-conscious to keep up your silly dancing.  But if you can block them out, and dance with abandon, the joy in the car multiplies – and the whole car shakes as you and the children dance in your seats.

Restraint is a value for most of us.  Most of the time, dancing while driving is not really appropriate.  Instead we should be calmly and intently focused on driving.  Most of the time, we expect a certain amount of decorum while working.  The expectations around attire, behavior, and language are quite different at work than they are at home.  And most of the time, we expect a significant amount of restraint from those attending church, especially as Episcopalians.  Though we encourage people to come as they are, there are still certain garments that would raise eyebrows if you wore them to church.  Though we say “Amen,” throughout our services, we have designated times for those amens, and many of us tense up when someone says a spontaneous “Amen.”  Though we often sing songs of praise in church, many of us get uncomfortable if someone embodies that praise, either through clapping, raising their hands, or, heaven-forbid, dancing.

And yet, that is exactly where we find David today in our Old Testament lesson – exuberantly, and without many clothes, dancing before the ark of the Lord.  Before we can understand why David’s actions are so outlandish, we need to understand the fullness of this story.  If you recall, we have been tracking David’s story this summer.  We have seen him from his earliest days, when Samuel anoints him after calling him in from the shepherd’s fields; to his daring battle as a boy with the giant Goliath; to his tenuous relationship with Saul and Saul’s children – who seemed to both love David and fear the threat of David at the same time; to the ultimate demise and death of Saul and Jonathan; and to today’s reading, where David is establishing his rule of the people by bringing the ark of the Lord into the city of Jerusalem – the city of David.  If you remember, the ark of the Lord is known as the container of God’s presence among the people.  They built the ark back in Moses’ day, and most recently, the ark had been stolen by the Philistines.  David retrieves the ark so that the ark can be brought back in the center of the people, marking how David’s rule and God’s presence and favor are tied.[ii]  David’s favor with God leads David to begin his dancing journey of celebration to Jerusalem.

Now lest we think that dancing before the ark is totally normal in those days, we encounter a strange comment by David’s wife, Michal.  The text says, “As the ark of the LORD came into the city of David, Michal daughter of Saul looked out of the window, and saw King David leaping and dancing before the LORD; and she despised him in her heart.”[iii]  You almost miss the line in the long text, but that is partially because we do not get the rest of the story today.  In the verses following what we hear today, David and Michal have a heated conversation about the inappropriateness of a king dancing nearly naked before the common people.  In the end, the text says that Michal never bears a child to David, as if suggesting that she is in the wrong for judging David.

But here this is where I am intrigued.  You see, Michal was the daughter of Saul and the sister of Jonathan, both of whom are now dead.  There is some debate about why Michal despises David,[iv] but I think we must remember that Michal is mourning.  In theory, this is a day for joy, since Michal’s husband is now king.  But Michal has every right to be mourning.  That line, “and she despised him in her heart,” though sharp and jarring, is not unfamiliar to me when I really think about her reaction.

One of the realities of the advent of social media is how quickly news travels.  If you follow social media, you are bombarded with news.  Normally, this is a good thing, because social media allows us to stay in touch with the highlights of friends’ lives from around the world.  Where social media becomes a challenge is when someone is struggling.  I have many friends who have struggled with infertility.  Nothing is worse for someone struggling with infertility than to watch a news feed of friend after friend getting pregnant.  They post the coveted ultrasound picture of a baby.  There are endless congratulations, and follow-up baby-bump pictures.  Everyone is full of joy, except for the person who wants that reality and cannot have it.  Every pregnancy announcement feels like another painful reminder of how you cannot seem to become pregnant.  The same is true about jobs or college acceptances.  The social media community seems adept at celebrating the good, but really struggles with recognizing those who mourn while we simultaneously rejoice.  We prefer to dance instead and forget the bad stuff.

We struggle with that reality in the context of church too.  On our healing prayer Sundays I am acutely aware of that reality.  Though each Sunday is meant to be an Easter celebration, once a month we try to remember how Sunday does not always feel like a celebration.  There are parts of our lives that are not whole or healed.  There are times when we still mourn or long for something else.  There are times when we are just not in the mood to dance, and would much rather have people sit with us in our discomfort than for them to be dancing around praising a God who quite frankly may seem absent, neglectful, or downright mean.[v]

I think that is why I love this story from Second Samuel so much.  When we read about David, we long to be like David – unfettered, totally unself-conscious, and full of joy.  We want to be a people of gratitude, celebration, and praise.  But sometimes, we are more like Michal.  We are not ready for joy, we are not ready for celebration, and we not ready to praise God yet.  And quite frankly, having someone in our face doing just that – or worse, telling us to get over ourselves and start dancing makes us despise them in our hearts too.  But that is what I love about this story.  Michal was not edited out of the story.  This is not a simple story about how we should always praise God.  This is a complex story about how freeing and life-giving praising God can be.  In fact, the joy we get from God can make us dance with abandon, totally liberated from what is socially acceptable.  But, there are also times when we are just not there – and the command to make a joyful noise makes us more angry than willing to yield.  And that’s okay.  Things may not turn out how we want them.  We may need to mourn that reality for a long time.  In this complex reality, the Church stands in solidarity with us all, celebrating what can be celebrated, giving space for hurt and mourning where needed.  We are a community of both Davids and Michals.  And sometimes we identify with one more than the other.  To us all, the Church offers a humble meal, reminding us that there is room for all at God’s table.  Amen.

[i] 1 Corinthians 13.11

[ii] Walter Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel: Interpretation, A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1990), 250-251.

[iii] 2 Samuel 6.16

[iv] Brueggemann, 251.  Also, see other theories by J. Mary Luti, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, supplemental essays (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Pres, 2012), 6.

[v] David G. Forney, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, supplemental essays (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Pres, 2012), 3.

On Being the Church…

08 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

Over the course of the last year, I have read countless articles about the state of our struggling Church.  The struggle is not just an Episcopal one, but is common across most denominations.  There are all sorts of theories about why it is happening and who or what is to blame.  I myself have pondered these theories in my heart, as I wonder what ministry will look like twenty years from now.  But in all the finger-pointing and discussion about what is causing our attrition, I stumbled on this prayer last week in a blog entry by David Lose:

L: Let us pray together.
C: Your church is composed of people like me.
I help make it what it is.
It will be friendly, if I am.
Its pews will be filled, if I help fill them.
It will do great work, if I work.
It will make generous gifts to many causes, if I am a generous giver.
It will bring other people into its worship and fellowship, if I invite and bring them.
It will be a church where people grow in faith and serve you, if I am open to such growth and service.
Therefore, with your help Lord, we shall dedicate ourselves to the task of being all the things you want your church to be.  Amen.[i]

What I loved about this prayer is that it took the argument about church decline and made it personal.  No longer was the issue one that “the Church” was facing, but one that I am personally facing.  There is no mysterious formula that will solve this problem.  The issue is me – about how I make the Church the place the Church is meant to be – the place God longs for her to be.  I cannot count on people simply having an inspired desire to come to Church.  I need to share my story.  I need to get my hands dirty being Church.  I need to stop hiding my love of Jesus and start living as one who is loved by that same Jesus.

Our church just had two baptism Sundays in a row.  In those services we made some tremendous promises – to seek and serve Christ, to share the good news, to strive for justice and peace, and to be present in the life and work of the church.  That all sounds like a lot of work.  But the truth is that the work is not onerous when done in community.  The work is not onerous when we look into the eyes of infants and confidently welcome them into the community of faith.  The work is not onerous when it gives us great joy.  Over the next few weeks, I invite you to pray this prayer everyday.  Pay attention to whether its words create some shifting in you.  Linger in the parts that seem the most uncomfortable.  And then keep inviting the Spirit of the Living God to fall afresh on you.

[i] The prayer was not written by David Lose, but one he stumbled upon in a church in Wisconsin.  The full citation can be found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1620.

Sermon – Mark 6.1-13, P9, YB, July 5, 2015

08 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

A few weeks ago, as we were planning liturgies, we were discussing the fact that we had two baptisms in a row – last Sunday and today.  A few people in the group kind of groaned, “Two in a row?!?”  I laughed at the time.  But the more I thought about their exasperation, the more I wondered why they were exasperated.  Certainly baptisms can take longer.  Between the blessing of the water, the renewal of vows, and the baptism itself, the service is a bit longer.  And perhaps to groan came out of a place of wanting to spread out the requency of special services – much like one rations out Halloween candy instead of eating it all at once.  But the more I thought about having two baptisms in a row, the more I liked the idea; in fact, the more I thought about the baptismal liturgy, I began to wish we had one every Sunday.

Now before you all issue a collective groan of exasperation, let me explain.  You see, the baptismal liturgy is one of those foundational liturgies.  In baptism, we ritually welcome someone into the family of faith.  But the baptismal liturgy is about more than the cute baby (though Rose is very cute, I admit!).  The baptismal liturgy is the time when we declare who we are, how we are to live, and how we will accomplish that ideal.  In this liturgy, we retell the story of our history – how God moved over the waters in creation, how God split the waters to free the enslaved people of Israel, and how God used the waters of baptism to mark a new way through Jesus’ own baptism.  In this liturgy, we also talk about our nature – how we are prone to sin, how we (despite the fact that we are saved by the waters of baptism) are on a continual journey of repenting and returning to the Lord, and how we need each other if we are ever to keep turning toward God.  In this liturgy, we also declare the radical way that we will live our lives in Christ – what being a Christian actually means.  Being a Christian means regularly gathering to learn together, to pray together, to eat at the Holy Table together, and to join in fellowship together.  Being a Christian means sharing the good news with others – not just by example, but by our words too.  Being  a Christian means seeking and serving Christ in others, loving our neighbor, striving for justice and peace, and respecting the dignity of others.  I don’t know about you, but regular worship, regular evangelism, and regular mission sounds like a lot of work!  And yet, here we are (for the second week in a row!) proclaiming that we will do these things.

So if today is all about defining who we are and who we are going to shape little Rose into being, what might be the best way for us to prepare her for her new life in Christ?  Some of us might imagine the story we heard a few weeks ago about David and Goliath.  If you remember, David was just a boy who agreed to take on the enormous Goliath, that everyone feared.  When King Saul agrees to let David fight Goliath, he first wants to suit up David.  Saul clothes David with Saul’s armor; he puts a bronze helmet on David’s head and clothes him with a coat of mail.  By the time Saul puts his sword over the armor, David cannot even walk!  David realizes the protection weighs him down.  So he removes the armor and weapon and instead takes only a staff, five smooth stones in his shepherd’s bag, and his sling.  Goliath (and if we are honest, probably everyone else gathered, including the people of God) laughs at David’s puny preparation.  The funny thing is that in our gospel lesson today, Jesus does the same thing for the disciples when he commissions them to go out in the world.  Jesus tells them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; they get a staff, one pair of sandals, and one tunic.

When we think about preparing ourselves for the life of faith – of going out into the world to seek Christ, serve Christ, and share Christ – most of us think about preparing the way that Saul prepares David.  We want some armor for all those times that we are rejected when we share our faith; we want a sword in case we run into trouble while seeking Christ; we want some heavy mail so that when we serve others, nothing or no one gets too close[i]  But instead, Jesus sends out the disciples with a staff to steady their walking as they share the good news, a pair of sandals and one tunic so that they can humbly encounter others as they serve Christ, and empty hands and bellies so that they can seek Christ in others.  On this day when we proclaim who we are and how we will live, one might imagine that we are readying ourselves and gathering our supplies, and especially that we are arming this small, vulnerable child for walking the way of Christ.  But instead, Jesus basically tells us that there is no way to protect ourselves; there is no way to prepare.[ii]  We go with our trust in the Lord, with vulnerability, and with a sense of identity and purpose.

That is why I think we could stand to have baptism Sunday every Sunday.  Our tendency would be to find the biggest backpack we can and load that bag with all the things we think we need for our journey.  But Jesus tells us to put that bag down and start walking:  walking the way, the truth, and the light; walking by seeking, serving, and sharing Christ.  In many ways Rose has more to teach us today than we have to teach her.  She came into this world with very little.  In fact, she even came here with very little – sure her parents might have a monster diaper bag with all the “just in case” stuff babies often need.  But Rose herself cannot carry a bag; she is not self-sufficient; she is vulnerable with us all.  Instead of giving Rose an armor for Christ today, she encourages us to take off our armor and swords, and get back to the basics: our staff, sandals, and tunic.  That is the beauty of baptism.  Baptism helps us remember that we need each other.  Rose needs us to teach her the way.  We need her to teach us how to gat back to basics.  Together we find our way to living the faithful life in Christ.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

[i] Michael L. Lindvall talks about the anxiety that evangelism produces in all of us in his article, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 216.

[ii] C. Clifton Black, “Commentary on Mark 6:1-13,” July 5, 2015, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2502 on July 2, 2015.

Always go to the baptism…

01 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

At St. Margaret’s we are in the middle of two big weeks.  This past Sunday we baptized twin girls and this coming Sunday we are baptizing another baby girl.  It is fairly rare for our parish to have back-to-back baptisms.  For the Altar Guild, that has meant that the same paraments can stay on the altar, the Pascal Candle can stay in the sanctuary, and flowers will be equally festive.  For the liturgical leaders it means that the occasionally used service is much more familiar as we head into this weekend – we should not need as much preparation and should be primed for who is holding what and when (it turns out there is a lot of choreography when it comes to liturgy!).  And for the parish, the liturgy will be very familiar and they will be ready for their big line, “We will!” when it is their turn to affirm that they will do all in their power to support these persons in their life in Christ.

But just because this coming Sunday feels familiar or even repetitive, nothing about it is rote.  That is the thing about baptisms:  although everything surrounding the day is the same, the experience is totally unique.  In the Episcopal Church, we only baptize once.  A baptism is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, something that is tremendously significant and special.  Nothing can invalidate our baptism.  Once we are welcomed into the household of God, nothing the person does can take away that status.  Baptism is a big deal.

I have often heard it said that you should never miss a funeral.  A funeral only happens once, and is something you can never recreate.  Though many of us fear what to say or do or how to approach the family, just being there becomes a blessing to the bereaved and to you.  It is a practice many have come to value:  always go to the funeral.  In fact, I began to embrace that mantra fully after seeing this story.

I think the same can be said of a baptism.  Though the liturgy is always the same, the liturgy says and does something very important.  It is not about the pretty dresses or handsome outfits.  It is about a sacred thing that happens.  It is about committing to a way of life – declaring the importance of faith in one’s life and agreeing to live in a certain way.  It is about renewing our own commitment to our baptismal covenant – something that, if done regularly, could probably help us change the world.  And it is about standing tall as a community, and taking ownership for the ways in which we form one another.  When we jubilantly say, “We will!”, our commitment is to being a community that lives life in a radically different way – in seeking Jesus, in serving Jesus, and in sharing Jesus.  When we stand at the font as a community we are claiming a radical identity that changes everything in our lives.  Something bold, invigorating, and life-giving happens at baptism.  You may think that if you have seen one baptism, you have seen them all.  On the contrary, I suggest that each one has a unique way of transforming us in Christ.  For the health of ourselves, the community, and the newly baptized, we need to be at the baptism as much as the family wants us to be there.  Always go to the baptism.  It will change your life.

Sermon – Mark 5.21-43, P8, YB, June 28, 2015

01 Wednesday Jul 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Today we are surrounded by some powerful women.  Many of you do not know Charlotte and Piper, who we are baptizing today, but they came into the world fighting.  While they were in the womb, their lives were threatened.  Doctors were able to operate in the womb at twenty-one weeks to ensure their survival.  Despite that help, they were born early and very tiny, but amazingly, had to have very little medical support.  Once they gained weight, they were able to come home and enjoy a healthy infancy.  My guess is that the strength these two children of God harnessed is what has pulled them through – a strength that their parents might regret when they hit their teenage years!

When we baptize Charlotte and Piper, we will baptize them into a communion full of strong saints – women who have paved the road before them, who have shown great faithfulness and strength, and who will serve as mentors and guides in their earthly pilgrimage.  We meet a couple of those women today.  First we meet Jairus’ daughter through her father.  Now, we might not think of her as a strong woman, since she is near death, but this young woman was powerful nonetheless.  She evokes such devotion in her father that he, a synagogue leader, is willing to bow down to the controversial Jesus and beg for healing for his dying daughter.  Jairus’ love for this powerful young woman made him willing to cross boundaries, to show vulnerability, and put great faith in Jesus.  We also know that Jairus’ daughter is twelve, about the age that women start menstruating, making them capable of producing life – one of the most powerful gifts of nature.  Though she is at death’s door, her power as a woman and as an individual bring people like Jesus to her, so that she might be restored to wholeness of life.

Of course, we also meet another strong woman today.  By all accounts, this woman should not have been strong.  In those days, menstruation alone meant that women had to be separated from the community for a period of time for ritual impurity.  But to have been bleeding for twelve years means that this woman has been ostracized from others for as long as Jairus’ daughter has been alive.  Furthermore, she spent all her money trying to obtain healing from doctors.  Her poverty and her impurity make her a double outcast.[i]  But this woman will not quit.  She boldly steps into a crowd (likely touching many people that she ritually should not) and she grabs on to Jesus’ clothing, knowing that simply by touching Jesus she can be healed.  She does not ask Jesus to heal her or mildly whisper among the crowds, “Excuse me Jesus, could you please heal me?”  No, she takes matters into her own hands, and though Jesus demands to speak with her, her own determination and faith make her whole.

In many ways, the baptism that we witness today is a same expression of strength and faith.  When we are baptized, we (or in the case of infants our parents and godparents) boldly claim the life of faith.  We renounce the forces of evil and we rejoice in the goodness of God.  We promise to live our life seeking and serving Christ, honoring dignity in others, and sharing Christ in the world.  This action is not a meek or mild one.  This action is an action of boldness – one in which we stand before the waters of baptism, and stake our claim in resurrection life.

Now, here’s the good news:  even though we are surrounded by powerful women today and we are doing and saying powerful things, we do not always have to be strong.  All the women we honor today are strong – but they have moments of weakness too.[ii]  I am sure over the course of twelve years, the hemorrhaging woman has doubts.  As bold as she is today, I am sure there are moments when she fears – maybe even that day – whether she could really reach out and claim Jesus’ power as her own.  And as Jairus’ daughter feels the life fade from her, I am sure she doubts.  I am sure she wonders whether she will ever be able to claim the life-force that is budding inside of her or to live a long life honoring her parents.  And though Charlotte and Piper have been warriors thus far in life, they will both have their own doubts and weaknesses.  In fact, that is why we as a congregation today promise that we will do all in our power to support them in their life in Christ.  That is why her parents and godparents promise by their prayers and witness to help them grow into the full stature of Christ.  That is the good news today.  For all the moments of strength that we honor in one another, we also honor the doubts, fears, and weaknesses.  God is with us then too, and gives us the community of faith to keep us stable until we can be strong witnesses again.  Amen.

[i] Mark D. W. Edington, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 190.

[ii] David Lose, “Come As You Are,” June 24, 2012 at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1493 found on June 25, 2015.

Seeing dignity…

24 Wednesday Jun 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

This weekend I finally saw The Intouchables, a 2011 film based on the true story of a French, wealthy quadriplegic who hires a man convicted of petty theft to be his caregiver.  The quadriplegic, Philippe, has been through many caregivers.  He is a widower who lost the use of most of his body in a paragliding accident.  He is bitter and does not like the way that most highly-skilled caregivers treat him more like a patient than a person.  Meanwhile, Driss applies for the job simply to obtain governmental unemployment benefits, assuming that Philippe will never hire him.  Philippe is intrigued by this man who shows him little respect, and hires Driss.  The two begin a relationship that is different than any either of them had known.  Philippe is finally able to rediscover a joy for life and reimagine what his life can be.  Meanwhile, Driss begins to see that he can have value too – that perhaps he can start anew with life, providing for his family and having a new sense of self-worth.

What I loved about this film was two-fold.  First, I had anticipated this being a sober, but triumphal movie.  Instead, I found myself laughing throughout the film – not at a slapstick humor, but at the kind of humor one develops when things get so bad that laughter is both the inappropriate and most appropriate thing to do.  It is an irreverent humor that only two characters who have been pushed to the margins can deeply enjoy, and yet, those outcasts invite us in to our own darkness and bring us out with laughter.  The second thing I loved about this movie is the way in which each character was able to see humanity in one who had been stripped of their humanity.  For Philippe, his physical disability had taken away his ability to full participate in society.  Society struggled to see any value in him beyond his money – which is not a value for which anyone wants to be known.  For Driss, he was a criminal who was unable to hold down a job and be a responsible citizen.  Society struggled to see any value in him, leaving him limited options.  And yet, in Philippe, Driss was able to unearth an adventurous, funny, sarcastic man of compassion and fortitude.  And in Driss, Philippe was able to unearth a sympathetic, strong, talented man of wisdom and grace.  In essence, they could see the humanity in one another.

When we reaffirm our baptismal covenant, one of the promises we make is to respect the dignity of every human being.  Over and over we make that promise, and yet I think it is one of the hardest things we promise to do.  It is very difficult to respect the dignity of the guy who cuts you off in traffic.  It is very difficult to respect the dignity of your family member who constantly puts you down.  It is very difficult to respect the dignity of the man who kills nine Christians in a church because of their race.  This past Sunday, as we were editing the Prayers of the People, I found I had no problem listing the names of the deceased from Charleston.  Where I struggled was adding the killer’s name to our list too.  That action went against every instinct in my body, and yet, some small ache made me feel like I had to add him too.

Respecting the dignity of every human being is not a one-time action.  It takes a lifetime of practice.  We fail at it all the time, but we keep recommitting to the work because we promised we would at our baptism.  What encouraged me about that work this week, was the relationship between Philippe and Driss.  Watching two men, so dramatically different, and yet similar in the way that society treated them as outcasts, heartily laugh from the depths of their souls gave me hope.  They gave me hope that I might see the dignity of others through my own brokenness.  The promise for my work is that I too would find the joy that only hearty, full-bodied laughter can bring.

Sermon – Mark 4.35-41, P7, YB, June 21, 2015

22 Monday Jun 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

A long time ago, we got on a boat.  We were not really sure what was going to happen while we were out to sea, but we got on the boat because we were curious.  We had an experience, or maybe multiple experiences with a man named Jesus, and something about those experiences compelled us to get on the boat.  Maybe the experience happened as early as Sunday School, maybe the experience happened when we were confirmed, or maybe the experience happened as an adult.  We may not even be able to articulate the reason why we got on the boat.  But all of us, at some point, step onto the boat, however tentatively or boldly, and we sail with Jesus to the other side.

The disciples have that same experience in today’s gospel lesson from Mark.  After a long day of preaching and teaching, during which Jesus pulls them aside and explains parables to them, Jesus says, “Let us go across to the other side.”  Now if the disciples had been smart, they would have asked some questions: “What is on the other side?  What if a storm comes?  Can’t we just stay here and get a good night’s rest?  This place is familiar and comfortable.”  And they should have asked questions.  The “other side” of that body of water is exactly that – other.  The other side is Gentile territory, the land of the Gerasenes.  Jesus is taking his first journey into what might be considered dangerous, and even inappropriate.  Jesus is beginning a ministry beyond just the Jews.[i]  “Let us go across to the other side,” is no “Hey, let’s mix things up this year and go to Cabo.”  Yes, the disciples should have asked a lot more questions.[ii]

But they do not.  Something about this Jesus compels them forward, stepping on and manning that boat without question.  That’s the funny thing about Jesus.  We too got on a boat because of him, probably having no idea what we were getting into.  Suddenly we find ourselves cooking casseroles, watering gardens, and bringing in men’s undergarments for our needy neighbors.  Suddenly we find ourselves getting asked by the Rector to serve on some committee.  Suddenly we find the news of the day is not so simple when we remember all those words we said in our baptismal covenant about seeking and serving Christ, loving our neighbor as ourselves, and sharing the Good News.  We really should have asked more questions before we got on that boat to follow Jesus.

I have been thinking about that boat a lot this week.  You see, some of our fellow disciples were murdered this week – nine to be exact, in Charleston, South Carolina.  They were praying and reading Holy Scripture – just like we do every Thursday.  They even welcomed in a stranger that night – like Jesus always tells us to do.  That very stranger turned out to be crazy, filled with racist rage, and willing to kill nine people before fleeing.  At least that was how I saw the episode at first.  At first, this was another instance of a crazy person, senselessly killing other people.  But then the prophets of our time began to speak.  The prophets reminded me that violence proliferates in our society.  The prophets reminded me that because we cannot agree on a reasonable gun policy, more and more people die in our backyards.  The prophets reminded me that our African-American brothers and sisters in this country experience very fragile and virtually non-existent safety – they cannot even be safe in church.  There was a part of me that wanted to stay on the shore this week and say, “Oh, Jesus, that was just an isolated event by a crazy kid with extremist views.”  But I had already gotten on the boat.  It was too late.  And a storm began to rage.

That storm for me was the storm of our time:  a storm of violence, racism, and suffering.  No longer could I contain each story:  Trayvon Martin, Ferguson, Sandy Hook, Baltimore, Columbine, Selma, Charleston.  One story bled into another, and as I was reminded of each one, I felt the buckets of water dousing my face.  As I thought about every conversation I have had about how racism is not dead, I felt the water creeping up to my waist.  As I thought about the historical shadow of the oppression of others in our country, I wanted to cry out to God.  And all I could think about was Jesus on that stupid boat, asleep on a cushion in the stern.  Who can sleep at a time like this?  Doesn’t Jesus care about us at all?  Why couldn’t we have just stayed on the shore in that comfortable, familiar place instead of getting on the God-forsaken boat with a man who does not seem in the least bit bothered by our suffering?

The disciples know that feeling.  They are experienced at life on a boat.  At least when they get on the boat, they knew how to manage a boat.  They know the dangers and the perils, and have learned to navigate them for the necessity of survival.  But even these experienced fishermen are scared.  They have tried to control the boat, they have scooped out as much water as they can, and they know they have met their match.  And so they go to their last resort.  They wake up Jesus and shout, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?!?”  When they got on that boat, this is not what they were expecting.  They were expecting the fulfillment of a promise – the fulfillment of a different life and a different world:  the kingdom of God here on earth.  Instead they were going down fast with a man who could not even stay awake and fight the good fight with them.

I shouted those words this week too.  Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?  Maybe we brought all this violence on ourselves, but surely you care?  Surely you did not lure me onto this boat – into this relationship with you – only to watch us perish?  Though I wanted more than anything to think this was an isolated event of a crazy person doing something ungodly, I could not ignore the storm swirling around.

I struggled to find hope today in our gospel lesson.  All I saw was Jesus scolding the disciples for their fear and their lack of faith.  And then I saw disciples even more afraid than before – which is saying something given the awfulness of that storm.  Straining for some strand of hope – some glimmer of redemption – I came back to that invitation from Jesus, “Let us go across to the other side.”  Jesus does not tell the disciples to go to the other side alone.  Jesus does not say, “Go to the other side without me.”  Jesus says, “Let us go to the other side.”[iii]  Whether the disciples felt like Jesus was with them during that storm or not, Jesus was with them.  That may not seem like much, but that may be the biggest miracle of all in this story.  As one scholar writes, “God’s power isn’t in the control of creation or of people, but in being in covenant and relationship with them.  [God’s power] isn’t in imposing the divine will or insisting on its own way but in sojourning with us as we fumble around and make our way in the world.  God’s power is not in miraculous interventions, pre-emptive strikes in the cosmic war against suffering and evil, but in inviting us to build a kingdom out of love, peace, and justice with God.  God’s power is not in the obliterating of what is bad in the world, but in empowering us to build something good in this world.”[iv]

A long time ago, we got on a boat.  We did not know where we were going, what we would see, or who we would encounter.  All we knew was that Jesus was inviting us into a different life, and we felt compelled by this passionate, nonsensical man.  Oh, we had clues.  We knew that the “other side,” was not a place we wanted to go.  We knew that going there might change us, and change our entire worldview.  We knew that getting on that boat would mean stepping away from the familiar, comfortable coastline, and sailing into something different and scary.[v]  But Jesus said he would go with us.  Jesus invited us on a journey with him and something deep inside us, despite the little devil on our shoulder telling us to stay put, told us to step onto that boat.

I am still scared of the storm.  In fact, I am a little afraid of Jesus too.  But what brings me comfort this week is that Jesus is with us.  Jesus does not invite us onto a boat and let us sail alone.  And though Jesus may have an ability to sleep through a storm, with complete confidence in the direction of God, I also know that Jesus will wake up and respond to me when I call out his name.  He may not say what I want to hear.  He may leave me feeling more uncomfortable than getting soaked in a storm.  But he is here.  Jesus is here on our boat, and can make things right.  We just have to be prepared to go to the other side.  Amen.

[i] Beverly Zink-Sawyer, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 165.

[ii] This train of thought comes from Karoline Lewis’ writing “The Other Side,” June 14, 2015 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=3645 on June 18, 2015.

[iii] Lewis.

[iv] David R. Henson, “When God Sleeps through Storms (Lectionary Reflection for Mark 4:35-41),” June 15, 2015 as found at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson/2015/06/1804/ on June 18, 2015.

[v] Lewis.

On Father’s Day…

17 Wednesday Jun 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

In general, I am opposed to “Hallmark Holidays.”  I learned a long time ago on Valentine’s Day how consumerism fueled by one stationery company (and let’s be honest, the restaurant industry, floral industry, chocolate industry, jewelry industry…) could make a person feel invalidated, lonely, or dissatisfied.  As with any consumerism, there really is no one thing that we purchase that can fill a void in our egos and hearts.  And so I stopped wanting an amazing Valentine’s Day and started trying to affirm my loved ones as often as possible on the other days.

The same is true for Mother’s and Father’s Day.  An industry has told us how and when we should specifically honor our mothers and fathers and any resistance makes one seem ungrateful and disrespectful.  Like with Valentine’s Day, I would much rather work intentionally on showing gratitude towards my parents as often as possible – and as a parent myself, I find that my gratitude is much easier to give now that I understand the fullness of their sacrifices, challenges, and struggles to love me in the best ways they knew and know how.

That being said, what really burdens me about Mother’s and Father’s Day is the ways in which they are fraught with emotion.  Not everyone has positive relationships with their parents.  Not everyone has two active parents in their lives.  Not everyone has living parents.  And some of us experience extremes in those areas – parents who were hurtful, abusive, or absent.  But what I had forgotten about until this week is that there are also men who want to be fathers and cannot.  Women are not the only victims of infertility, miscarriage, and infant loss.  So are men.  For those men who have longed to cradle a baby in their arms, to throw a baseball in the front yard with their child, or have a meaningful relationship with their child, Father’s Day is an equally painful day.  And because of the way that we socialize most men, there is rarely a forum for such a vulnerable conversation.  I was humbled by that realization when I read this poem this week:  http://projectpomegranate.org/2015/faith-hope-and-love/.  It gives more voice to that pain than I ever could.

Once again, I am conflicted about Father’s Day.  For the wonderful father and step-father I have been blessed with and the amazing husband and father who is helping me raise our girls, I am eternally grateful.  For all the men who have been mentors and companions on my journey, and for those who are amazing dads to their children, I am equally grateful.  I am also mournful for all those who suffer because of the fraught relationships they have had with their fathers.  I grieve with all those men who want to be fathers and have not been able to conceive.  And I stand with all those fathers who recognize their faults and failures and long to be better versions of themselves.  Father’s Day is a complicated mess.  And so this year, I hold all of us in prayer, as we sort through the complicatedness of life, honor the good, recognize the bad, and celebrate our God who can redeem us all.

Sermon – 1 Samuel 15.34-16.13, P6, YB, June 14, 2015

17 Wednesday Jun 2015

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Talking about politics in the pulpit is always dangerous business.  I rarely do because I know that one mention of something political can be so distracting that I lose your attention for the rest of the sermon.  So I am going to ask you to hang in there with me because I think our secular world can teach us something about our sacred world today.  Back in 2008, a young man named Barack Obama was running for president.  Though many of us had no interest in his candidacy, some people saw a sense of hope and the possibility of a change that might bring about a new era of progress.  He even won a Nobel Peace Prize before completing one year in office.  But as time rolled on, many of his enthusiastic supporters began to be frustrated.  The hope they had seen seemed to fade away.  I remember I spoke with someone about this sense of lost hope, and the person confessed, “The problem is that people were treating Obama like he was the next Messiah.  He’s not.  No one is.  We have one Messiah, and we killed him on a cross many years ago.”

In our scripture lessons last week, God warned the people of Israel through Samuel that electing a king would involve such a challenge.  A human king could never give them all that they dreamed about having.  A human could never be God.  Having been fairly warned, the people insisted on having king anyway, and were given Saul.  For a while, things were okay.  Saul seemed to thrive and make progress for the people.  But Saul got cocky.  He overstepped his bounds, and he stopped following God’s instructions.  Finally, Saul made one fatal mistake that cost him his anointed kingship.  He had been instructed to completely destroy the Amalekites and all that they had.  But Saul saved some of the best of the spoils of war – animals, valuable trinkets, even the rival king.  This was the last straw for God, and Saul’s rule was over in God’s eyes.  In today’s lesson we find Samuel grieving over Saul and God being sorry that God had made Saul king of Israel.

We are no stranger to this sort of grieving in the church.  We have watched bishops leave the Episcopal Church in protest of decisions made at General Convention – taking many priests and parishioners with them.  We have watched priests who were seemingly amazing leaders ruin careers and parishes with romantic affairs or financial indiscretions.  Even in our own parish, less than ten years ago, we went through a period of grief when our relationship with our priest required us to dissolve the pastoral relationship, ending for some what had been a meaningful relationship, and for others had been a fraught relationship.  Like Samuel, we grieved that relationship – in fact, many of us still do.  I have heard story after story of grief and guilt about that time.  Some members of the Search Committee who helped select that priest feel as though they did a faithful job in selecting the priest for this parish; but in hindsight, they wonder.  Some leaders of our Vestry feel as though they bent over backwards to accommodate and help our priest thrive as much as possible, but they mourn the way history unfolded and they still feel the scars of that turbulent time.  And some leaders in our parish were so upset by the final decision that their grief drove them out of the church, never to return.

Although Samuel grieves Saul’s demise, God does not allow that grief to be the end of the story.[i]  God sees hope and promise in a way that Samuel cannot.  Seeing that Samuel is not going to be able to move on and do the work God needs Samuel to do, God steps in and guides Samuel into a new future.  Samuel struggles to take those first steps.  When God tells Samuel to get up and go to anoint another king, Samuel is terrified.  He knows that Saul is a vicious king, and will kill Samuel if he finds out.  But God makes a way, creating a “cover story” of sorts to encourage Samuel.  Later, when Samuel meets the eldest son of Jesse, Samuel is certain the eldest will be the next king.  But God has to keep guiding Samuel to the true king – the unexpected youngest son, David.  When Samuel is weak, God is strong – nudging and guiding Samuel into new life.

What I love about this part of Samuel’s story is the way that the story reminds us that God does not call people and merely wish them well and send them on their way.  God empowers those who are called to accomplish what they are called to do.  God walks with them, corrects them, forgives them, protects them, and keeps directing them to see what God sees.[ii]  God is not a passive god, but a “passionate, fully engaged deity, willing to take risks and even expose vulnerability in order to continue the relationship with the people.”[iii]  We see that reality with Samuel, and later we will see that reality with David – who, if you remember, is no saint himself.  Though David becomes the ancestor of the Messiah, David has his flaws that God will journey through as well.

God has been journeying with St. Margaret’s in a similar way.  In our grief from a troubled relationship with our priest, God stepped in and pushed us forward.  God sent us other priests, but more importantly, God sent us new life.  New parishioners joined us, new ministries unfolded, and new life emerged.  God did not allow grief to have the final word.  God knew that there was life beyond our grief – and that life has been born in each of us, and has been renewed by each new person who has joined us in our journey since then.

I have heard this story from First Samuel many times.  Every time I read verse 16, when God says, “How long will you grieve over Saul?” I thought God was scolding Samuel.  I could almost imagine God rolling God’s eyes at Samuel, God’s tone being one of annoyance and exhaustion from Samuel’s lingering grief.  But as I read God’s words this week, and I thought about St. Margaret’s, I heard them with a bit more tenderness.[iv]  I think of the young teen looking over love letters and trinkets, mourning the loss of a romantic relationship.  I think of the man who visits the grave of his wife every week, wondering what is left of life.  I think of the mom whose fingers still rub the ultrasound picture of the baby who did not survive.  God knows the depths of that grief and, even in our passage today, we see that God grieves too.  But, when the time is right, God also saddles in beside us, and whispers ever so gently and kindly, “How long will you grieve?”  The question is not one of rebuke, but one of encouragement.  The question is followed up with some sort of promise for tomorrow.  For Samuel, God promised a new leader and a plan for how to find that leader.  For us, God promises something new too.  God asks us too, “How long will you grieve?  Because when you are ready, I have something tremendous in store.”

Our invitation this week is to ponder anew what that promise is for us.  Grief always has a  place – whether grief over the failure of a leader in our lives or the loss of something or someone dearly loved.  But God will not let grief have the last word.  When we are ready, God stands waiting – not only with new direction, but with a plan to help us.  Our task is to listen.  Our task is to discern the movement of the Spirit already alive and active in us, gently pulling us from our grieving rooms.  Our task is to acknowledge our fear and resistance, and to allow God to guide us anyway.  Grief will not have the last word.  A new promise awaits.  Amen.

[i] Cynthia L. Rigby “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Supplemental Essays, Yr. B, Proper 6 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2012), 1.

[ii] Rigby, 5.

[iii] Charles L. Aaron, Jr., “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Supplemental Essays, Yr. B, Proper 6 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2012), 2.

[iv] The various ways of hearing God’s words were introduced to me by Roger Nam, “Commentary on 1 Samuel 15:34-16:13,” June 14, 2015, found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2473 on June 11, 2015.