Sermon – Habakkuk 1.1-4; 2.1-4, P26, YC, October 30, 2016

02 Wednesday Nov 2016

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anger, argue, bold, celebration, cry, dreams, God, Habakkuk, joy, lament, listen, plain, pledge, Sermon, stewardship, vigil, vision, watch, write

I don’t know about you, but there are times when I have to tune out from the world. I binge watch HGTV or find a mindless comedy and I just zone out. In part, I do this because my psyche, my spirit, my soul feels overwhelmed. I cannot listen to one more story of natural disaster – of floods, of famine, of destruction. I cannot learn of one more part of the world where humanity seems lost – of genocide, of systemic violence against women, of the taking of land from its rightful owners. And lately, I cannot absorb one more barb by a political campaign – of slander, of innuendo, of plain meanness. And if I am not trying to hide from the world around us, sometimes I find I need to hide from the world right in front of us – from awful diagnoses, to life lost, to relationships broken.

While one common response is to relieve tension through mindless activity, the other alternative is to do what Habakkuk does today: cry out to God. “How long, O LORD, must I call for help, but you do not listen?” The reading from Habakkuk today starts with what is called a lament – something commonly seen in the psalms,[i] but known by us all because at some point in our lives, we have all cried out a lament to God. In this particular lament, Habakkuk is angry with God because the world is crumbling around him. Violence is on every side and those supposed to enforce justice are perverting justice. You can hear the sense of betrayal in Habakkuk’s voice – as if God has abandoned him and the rest of God’s people. And so, Habakkuk does what God’s people have done from the days of Abraham – he argues with God.[ii] He demands a response. He calls God to task – demanding that God not let this ungodly world continue on its ungodly path.

If you are ever in a crisis, one of the things you will learn about me is what I love about our God: God can take our anger, our righteous indignation, our arguments. Our people have been engaging this way with God from the beginning – not victim to an all-powerful God who demands our obedience, but in relationship with a God who can handle all of our “stuff.” Lord knows God has gotten an earful from me over the years – every time a child is lost, fellow citizens die from senseless violence, or life just seemed too much to bear – God has heard from me. Sometimes I cry out in a lament, sometimes I cannot even find the words I am so angry. I learned a long time ago that the good news is God can take it.

After his lament, Habakkuk does something that is quite familiar to me as a parent of young children. Habakkuk stomps his feet, crosses his arms, and stares in silent indignation, daring God to respond. Of course, one could certainly label this as the conclusion of Habakkuk’s temper tantrum. But an alternative may be to see something else in what Habakkuk is doing. In the face of great sorrow, anger, and despair, Habakkuk does not flee. Though he feels abandoned, he does not abandon God. Instead, he demands God’s presence and will not be satisfied until he hears a word from God. And so he waits. He waits, and watches. He keeps vigil, listening for God to speak.

Several years ago, Hickory Neck was thriving and heading toward what looked like a tremendous time of growth and change. The community rallied around creating this new worship space to house the community that was bursting at the seams. We even have plans for how to expand this building into phases two and three when we expected we would be bursting at the seams again. But a few years ago, we hit a bit of snag. Our pastor became ill and eventually took a new call. Though we had an interim priest, we had interims without the interim. I would not say that things ever got so rough that we called out in lament to God like Habakkuk. But we did take a play out of Habakkuk’s book: we stood in wait, keeping vigil, listening for God to speak a new word to us.

And slowly, God did just that. God began to speak. God began to whisper new dreams, new visions. We began to dream about mission trips, increased local outreach, repurposing building or building new spaces to house ministries for the growing population of both retirees and young families in our area, and meaningful worship and growth. God began to open our hearts to what new clergy might join us, and what new visions we might build together. We began to do what God tells Habakkuk to do today. When God finally speaks to Habakkuk, God says, “Write the vision; make it plain on tablets, so that a runner may read it.” Now there is a little scholarly debate[iii] about what the vision is God is communicating – one of promise or one of condemnation – one to be rejoiced or one to be feared[iv] – but the clarity is what strikes me. Write the vision; make it plain.

A little under a year ago, your Vestry engaged in just that kind of work. They looked at the state of Hickory Neck, they talked about their dreams for Hickory Neck, they looked at the finances, and then the wrote a vision. They knew what everyone here knows: that Hickory Neck is a special place that has been challenged to grow in new and exciting ways. We have all experienced the power of worship in this place, the transformative nature of formation and prayer in this place, the radical commitment to hospitality in this place, and the passion for Christ’s call to love our neighbors in this place. And so, the Vestry did what may feel a little like that line from a Field of Dreams, declaring “If we build it, they will come.” But the Vestry did not just wait for “them” to come. They soberly looked at finances and decided they would not only fund a rector, but also a curate. They named their vision to make our buildings not just useful to us, but useful to our communities: through Winter Shelter and outside guests, but maybe eventually to a preschool or day center for seniors. The Vestry committed to not just waiting for “them” to come, but employing tools to invite, welcome, and connect seekers into our community. They wrote the vision and they made it plain.

When I first came on board with Hickory Neck in April, the Vestry began to ask me under what vision we were going to operate. What I told them is what I will tell you: we are already operating under a vision. Now, there are certainly dreams I have for where we will be 5 to 10 to 15 years from now, but for today, for next year, we already have a vision. Now, being pragmatists, the Vestry wanted me to make it plainer. And so, we worked in reverse. We sat down and we mapped out the entire calendar from August to August. We wrote down everything we normally do and everything we hope to do. And then we stepped back and said, “Is this us? Does our calendar reflect who we are and our vision for this place?” You see, our calendar was just a tool to mark our values and vision.

We have been engaging in that same conversation in our homes, in small groups, and as a community these last four weeks. As we laid out a vision of being a community that lives generously, we took stock not of our calendars, but of our checkbooks. We sat down and looked at where our money was going and whether that cash flow reflected our values and vision. For the Vestry, our budget involves some commitments that are hefty, but reflect a vision of who we want to be. Each Vestry member went home and engaged in a similar exercise at home, looking to see if their budgets reflected a vision of who they want to be as individuals.

The Vestry and Stewardship Committee have written a vision and made it plain. Instead of scaling back and being tentative, we have committed to being a parish who boldly is ready to seek and serve Christ in all persons and to share the Good News of God in Christ. As the Prayer Book says in the Catechism, our vision is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ, as we pray and worship, proclaim the Gospel, and promote justice, peace, and love.[v] Those are bold promises that will require all of us to succeed. Today, we are talking about how our treasure is needed to bring that vision to fruition; in January, we will also talk about how our time and talent will bring that vision to fruition. But because our vision is living generously, this is not a call to sacrifice and struggle. No, this vision is an occasion for celebration and joy. I look forward to marking that celebration and joy with you today as we bless our commitments to live generously, eagerly helping Hickory Neck to shine its light on the hill for all to see. Amen.

[i] Bryan Spinks, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 242, 244.

[ii] Theodore Hiebert, “Habakkuk,” Neil M. Alexander, ed., The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 7 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996), 632.

[iii] Karl Jacobson, “Commentary on Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4,” November 3, 2013, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1875 on October 26, 2016.

[iv] Corrine L. Carvalho, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 247.

[v] BCP, 855.

Homily – Matthew 11.25-30, Feast of St. Francis, October 23, 2016

26 Wednesday Oct 2016

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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animals, Blessing of the Animals, burden, creation, easy, homily, light, manageable, poverty, relationship, solidarity, St. Francis, wealth, yoke

Today we honor St. Francis of Assisi, one of the most beloved saints of the church. Most of us think of Francis as the patron saint of animals and creation. When we think of him we may think of a St. Francis statue in a garden. We may think of various images of him preaching to birds. Some of us may even recall that tale where Francis negotiated peace between a village and a wolf that had been terrorizing the town. That is why when we celebrate St. Francis’ feast, we also bless animals – the creatures that were so dear to him. That is also why we often worship outside – honoring God’s creation, which Francis loved so profoundly.

The challenge with honoring Francis in this way is that we forget the other parts of Francis’ life – quite frankly, the much more difficult parts of St. Francis’ life. You see, Francis’ love of creation comes from a deeper place. Francis first started his journey to God out of a new relationship with wealth. Francis was the son of a wealthy businessman in the 1100s. He had everything at his disposal, and his father wanted him to enjoy that privilege and pass that privilege to Francis’ own children. But in his early twenties, Francis had an encounter with a beggar that changed everything. Suddenly the trappings of wealth no longer felt like a safety net or source of comfort – they feel like a burden – a barrier to the life Christ calls us to lead.

And so, Francis renounced the wealth in his life, reportedly even stripping off the clothes his father had given him to show how fully committed he was to this new way of life. He married “Lady Poverty,” and invited others to join him. The lifestyle is so austere that many joke that that Francis is one of the most revered, and yet, least followed saints of our faith.

I remember in college having long conversations about living in solidarity with the poor. We were presented the idea over and over again, but we could not get our heads around what living in solidarity with the poor meant. Several graduates tried – volunteering for at least a year after college. Some joined intentional Christian communities, in the hopes that living simple lives in community might help them get closer to that solidarity. Some traveled to impoverished countries to serve among the poorest, while others worked in the nonprofit sector in the States. But we always came back to one crucial question: can we live in solidarity with the poor? Most of us have a safety net, whether our safety net is family, wealth, education, or citizenship. Can we even help the poor if we renounce everything like Francis?

I must confess, I do not think there is a good answer to the question about living in solidarity with the poor. And I am not convinced that most of us can live like Francis, begging and living in tattered clothes. But what Francis is trying to do is help us see how money gets in the way of our relationship with everything else. That is why Jesus talked about money so much. Jesus even led a life much more similar to Francis’ than ours – wandering through life, depending on the hospitality of strangers, and telling his disciples to give up staffs and bags when they go out to meet the people. Both Jesus and Francis began to learn that living without the comfort of wealth meant entering oneself into a state of vulnerability – a state where true, holy, meaningful relationships begin; a state where everything’s value changes – down to the birds that sing, the creation that breathes beauty, and even the pets that show us unconditional love.

Of course, each of us has to discern what taking up Jesus’ or Francis’ way means for us, knowing that many of us have family obligations and debts that must be managed. But what Jesus and Francis do today is invite us to not allow those burdens to become an excuse for not making ourselves vulnerable. Jesus says today, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” For those of you who have worked with farm animals, you know that yokes are meant to fit smoothly on to animals, distributing the weight and burden in a manageable way.[i] That is what taking on the yoke of Christ, and walking the way of Francis is like – a life, that if taken on, is manageable. We may be scared to put on our shoulders the burden of vulnerability. But Jesus promises the burden is light, the yoke is easy. And Francis shows us the world of beauty that opens when we simply let go. Amen.

[i] Douglas R.A. Hare, Matthew, Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1993), 129

Sermon – Luke 17.11-19, P23, YC, October 9, 2016

12 Wednesday Oct 2016

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church, compliment, duty, generously, giving, grateful, gratitude, guilt, Jesus, joy, leper, living, obligation, pledge, practice, praise, Sermon, stewardship, Thanksgiving, transformation, turning

I once knew a man who was impossible to compliment. Whether you wanted to compliment a job well done or good deed, his response was always the same, “It’s not me. All the glory goes to God.” His response always left me feeling like I just offered a present that was rejected. Of course, I totally agreed with what he was saying – none of us is able to do good without the God who empowers us to do so. And truly, Jesus was not that great at accepting compliments either, especially if you recall all the times he asked people to keep a healing secret or to just go back to work. But upon receiving a compliment, a simple, “Thank you,” would not have hurt this man. After a while, I just stopped trying to praise his work or good deeds.

I think that is why I relate to the nine lepers who do not return to Jesus to give him thanks and praise. There were ten lepers originally – nine who were Jewish and one who was a Samaritan. We are not sure why the ten are together – the Jews and the Samaritans were enemies and rarely spent time together.[i] We are told at the beginning of the text that Jesus was passing through a borderland between Samaria and Galilee, so there is a possibility that then ten men banded together through their disease instead of culture. You see, both Samaritans and those of Galilee would have been seen as impure due to their leprosy. Being exiled to the borders of their land, they may have found more in common than divided them. And so, as a group, they shout out to Jesus for healing – careful not to approach him, of course, which would have been improper in their condition. Respecting their distance, Jesus does not insist they come forward, but instead tells them to go to the priest to show themselves to be healed. Along the way, they are healed, but they still would have needed to show a priest in order to be restored to their families and friends.[ii]

The Samaritan among them returns and gives praise to God, but the others do not. We do not know how their journey unfolds. Presumably they are faithfully doing what Jesus told them to do – going to the priest for restoration. Perhaps they give praise to God once the priest restores them. Perhaps they give praise when they are reunited with their families. Maybe they even show their praise through helping lepers later. But that is all supposition. All we get today is Jesus’ criticism of the nine because they neglect to turn and give God praise and thanksgiving.

I have been reflecting on Jesus’ words this week, and what rubs me the wrong way may be the same thing that rubbed me the wrong way when that man I knew always refused praise. In both cases, whether Jesus, or the man I knew, there is both implicit and explicit criticism of my own practice of gratitude and thanksgiving. What irritated me about the man’s responses to me was that they made me feel guilty – that perhaps I was not grateful enough to God for the goodness in my life. The same thing irritates me about Jesus this week – his judgment of the nine makes me feel guilty about the ways I have walked away healed and not given praise to God.

This week we are kicking off our stewardship season in a campaign called, “Living Generously.” After the service, you will be receiving a packet of information about how you can support the ministry of Hickory Neck, and a pledge card that we will collect in a celebratory ingathering in just four weeks. Most preachers would have read the text today and thought, “Yes! The perfect Stewardship text!” But the more I sat with Jesus’ words, the more I realized that his words actually bring up feelings of dread rather than joy. Most people associate stewardship with the same sense of guilt that this reading brings up. We feel guilted into showing gratitude, and so we guiltily look at our budgets and see if we can increase our pledge this year.

The first time I experienced the concept of pledging was when I started regularly attending an Episcopal Church. In the churches where I grew up, you never had to tell anyone what you were going to give. The preacher might have talked about a tithe – ten percent of your income. But the preacher never wanted you to say exactly what you were going to give. So when the warden of this church started explaining how he wanted us to pledge, I was aghast. I remember thinking, “That’s private! I don’t have to tell you how much I am going to give!” Now, I knew we would probably tithe that year, but the idea of telling someone else about my giving seemed to go against every cultural norm I knew. Fortunately, I stayed to hear the rest of the warden’s talk. He explained that the way the church formed the church’s budget was through the knowledge of what income they could expect. The Vestry would adjust expenses accordingly and try to get the budget balanced. My outrage faded as I realized how responsible that model seemed. Thus began my adult journey into pledging.

But that journey into pledging experienced a transformation about eight years later. We were at a new church, and the priest asked to hold our pledge cards until a particular Sunday. We did and the funniest thing happened. In the middle of the service, a banner appeared. The banner was processed down the aisle, joyful music started playing, and people started following the banner forward. We placed our pledge in a basket, and I felt something stirring in me. The priest blessed the pile of pledge cards, and something about stewardship turned in my heart – the pledging, the monthly giving was no longer an obligation or burden – something to be guilted into. My pledge was a joyful sign of gratitude – a sign blessed by God and affirmed by the community. And I have to say – it felt good!

In the gospel lesson today, the text says that the Samaritan turns back to Jesus. That word for turns back is more than just a physical description – the action of turning back is a sign of deep transformation – a reorienting of the Samaritan’s life from duty to gratitude.[iii] I do not think Jesus was looking for a guilty admission of thanks from the other nine lepers. What Jesus is looking for is a transformation of the heart – a turning of one’s life away from obligation and duty to joyful gratitude and thanksgiving.

I was reading this week about a woman with an interesting habit. Whenever someone asked her how she is – that basic question we always ask and anticipate the answer being, “Fine,” – instead she would say, “I’m grateful.” No matter what is on her plate – stress at work or school, an illness that kept plaguing her, strife at home – her response is always the same, “I’m grateful.”[iv] As I thought about her response this week, I realized that her response is probably one that took willful practice. I am sure there were weeks when she really felt grateful. But there were also probably weeks when she had to say she felt grateful even if she was not sure what there was to be grateful about. But slowly, slowly, I imagine the practice cultivated a spirit of gratitude. A practice like that can do exactly what Jesus wants for us all – a turning of the heart to praise and thanksgiving. I know I will never be able to shift toward the kind of response that the man I knew always gave, rejecting praise altogether. But learning to say, “I’m grateful,” might be a way for me to get a little closer to the same sentiment.

What that woman is doing, what Jesus is encouraging, and even what our Stewardship campaign is inviting is not a sense of guilt or burden, but a genuine invitation into a life that turns our heart to gratitude and transforms the way we see the world. Now that does not mean that every time you write the check to fulfill your pledge you will part from that treasure with a joyful heart. But that practice is a small invitation, every time, for us to turn our hearts and to see not only the God from whom all blessings flow, but to even see the blessings in the first place. Jesus is not mad at those lepers because they are ungrateful – he is sad for them because they have denied themselves the gift of transformation. That is the gift that he and the Church offer us every week – the gift of a transformed heart that can change everything. For that, I’m grateful. Amen.

[i] Audrey West, “Commentary on Luke 17.11-19,” October 9, 2016, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3029 on October 5, 2016.

[ii] Oliver Larry Yarbrough, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 169.

[iii] Margit Ernst-Habib, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 166.

[iv] David Lose, “Pentecost 21C: Gratitude and Grace,” October 3, 2016, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2016/10/pentecost-21-c-gratitude-and-grace/ on October 5, 2016.

Sermon – Luke 17.5-10, 2 Timothy 1.1-14, P22, YC, October 2, 2016

05 Wednesday Oct 2016

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apostles, belief, Episcopal, faith, God, head, heart, heritage, identity, increase, Jesus, mothers, pastoral, Sermon, struggle, Timothy, work

One of the funny things about wearing a priestly collar in public is that people tend to tell you way more about their lives than perhaps they should. As soon as a person realizes you are a priest, the flood gates open and all of a sudden you are the guest on the “Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Church But Were Afraid to Ask!” Show. I get questions about how one becomes a priest, what being an Episcopalian means, and what kind of Christian I am. But mostly I get confessions. People will confess they used to go to church, but once they became an adult, they had a hard time believing everything the church taught them as a child. People will confess that they were raised in the church, but when a terrible tragedy hit, they felt abandoned by God and could never go back. People will confess that they miss going to church, but that they always feel like they do not belong when the go to church – that everyone in the church seems to have their lives figured out except them.

What is interesting to me about those conversations with non-church goers or lapsed Christians is that they seem to think that their struggles with faith make them ineligible for church membership. Perhaps that is true in some denominations in our country. But one of the primary reason I became an Episcopalian was because the Episcopal Church not only made room for faith struggles, but expected those struggles. Almost every time I have raised a question about a Biblical text in Bible Study, instead of someone explaining the answer to me, the response is almost always, “Yeah, that is a hard piece of scripture.” Almost every time I have been with a grieving family who is on the brink of questioning their faith, no one in the room challenges them. Usually someone says, “I could totally see how you would be doubting God right now.” And almost every time I have been in a class about theology, the creeds, confirmation, or baptism, someone has asked, “What if I can’t believe that part.” Never once has that person been told they do not belong if they cannot believe – in fact, usually the person is praised for naming the lack of faith we have all have had at some point in our spiritual journey.

I think that is why today’s Gospel lesson feels so real. The disciples and apostles have been following Jesus for weeks, and Jesus has been handing them a lot of heavy stuff. Jesus has told them to give up their possessions, to forgive those who wrong them, to take up their cross. I cannot imagine anyone looking at the stark life Jesus describes and not calling out, “Increase our faith!” How else can we be all Jesus wants us to be without increasing our faith? Surely we have all had those trough moments – in the face of our mortality, at the betrayal of a friend or spouse, in the midst of anxiety and stress – when we too cry out to God, “Increase our faith!”

What might be helpful to do is talk a little about what we mean when we say faith. Marcus Borg talks about two different kinds of faith: faith of the head and faith of the heart. Faith of the head is claiming something about God or the human condition. This kind of faith is more about what we believe. When someone says they have lost their faith, they have often lost this faith of the head. They no longer believe something taught by holy scripture or the church. In the Episcopal Church, we do not get too upset about this kind of faith struggle. Instead, we see faith as ever evolving and growing. Questions are at the root of a deep, mature faith. Borg would argue that God cares very little about what beliefs are in our heads – if we believe the right things. Borg knows that you can believe all the right things and still be in bondage, because, “Believing a set of claims to be true has very little transforming power.”[i]

Unlike faith of the head, faith of the heart is a little different, according to Borg. Faith of the heart is characterized by three things: trust, fidelity, and vision. To have faith of the heart is to put a radical trust in God – to rely on God for grounding and safety. Faith of the heart is also characterized by fidelity – an understanding that we will be faithful in our relationship with God and God with us. Faith of the heart is finally characterized by vision – a belief that reality is life-giving and nourishing instead of threatening or hostile. “To live in faith requires ‘a radical centering (of our lives) in God that leads to a deepening trust that transforms the way we see and live our lives.’”[ii] So when the disciples ask Jesus to increase their faith, they are not necessarily asking Jesus to help them believe certain statements about God to be true (that faith of the head). Instead, they are asking for faith of the heart – to get help in trusting God, remaining faithful in their relationship with God, and seeing life as God-given and gracious.

Now one would hope that Jesus would hear this request from the disciples and come back with a loving response – a pastoral word of encouragement that makes them feel affirmed in their fears and doubts. Unfortunately, that is not what Jesus does at all today. Instead he tells an abrasive story about masters and servants, which is basically Jesus’ way of saying, “You want your faith to increase? Then get out there and do the work you have been given to do.” Instead of assuring and coddling the disciples, Jesus sounds more like that old Nike ad that says, “Just do it!”

I do not know about you, but Jesus’ words are not all that comforting today. I have sat with someone who is overwhelmed by the disappointments of life, and never once did it occur to me to tell them to just go out there and do the work they have been given to do. I have counseled people who are facing death, divorce, job loss, or shame, and I have not told a single one of them to stop complaining and just get back out in the world doing what God has called them to do. I myself have had moments when God felt absent, and I probably would have deemed any counsel to “Just do it!” as insensitive or unfair – to just trust that God is there anyway and get back to work. Where are we supposed to find the strength to be faithful – to trust, to be loyal, to hold on to the vision of God’s goodness – when we feel completely unable to “Just do it!”?

As I struggled with Jesus’ harshness today, I remembered Paul’s second letter to Timothy. Paul says to Timothy, “I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you.” Paul’s words this week help me see how we get back to the work Jesus wants us to do. In Paul’s encouragement, he is confident that Timothy can “Just do it!” because he knows Timothy’s identity. Timothy is the grandson of Lois and the son of Eunice. These women have taught him everything he knows about Jesus. They have been through the depths of despair themselves, and yet they are faithful witnesses of God. Timothy is not just a man fighting for faith – Timothy is known by God, and comes from a long line of people who have walked with God. Timothy’s heritage is a heritage of people who have gone before, who have shown him the way through their lives, and who have encouraged him. Now, you may be thinking, “Yeah, except my Grandma was a Southern Baptist who disagrees with what I believe, or my Mom stopped going to church ages ago.” Whether biological or not, we all have grandmothers and mothers of our faith. Maybe they are friends or fellow parishioners. Or maybe those mothers and grandmothers are the matriarchs of our faith. Regardless, we are all rooted in something bigger than us – something with much deeper roots that can ground us when we feel like we are flailing in our faith.

When I first read our gospel lesson this week, I thought we had been cursed with the wrong lessons – especially for those of you who brought friends today. But the more the lessons unfolded, the more I realized they might be the perfect lessons. We all struggle with faith – certainly of the head, but more importantly of the heart. But as Paul reminds us, we come from a long line of people who have gone before who have struggled as we do, and who leaned into their identity as beloved children of God in order to keep putting one foot in front of the other. We are encouraged today because we have seen the fruit of “Just doing it!” We have prayed for someone struggling this week. We have called or visited a friend who needed encouragement this week. We stood up to a bully this week. We gave money to support ministry this week. We did something seemingly inconsequential, but those small, everyday acts of faith are powerful, and they are how we answer Jesus’ call to “Just do it!” – even when we did not think we could.[iii] Paul and the Church remind us that we can – we can do those acts of faith because we are surrounded by matriarchs and patriarchs who encourage us along the way. We all have those moments when we just want Jesus to increase our faith. Today we are encouraged by doing – and eventually our faith increases in spite of us. Amen.

[i] Marcus Borg, The Heart of Christianity, 30. Argument about Borg presented by Br. David Vryhof, “Lord, Increase our Faith!” October 7, 2007, as found at http://ssje.org/ssje/2007/10/07/lord-increase-our-faith/ on September 28, 2016.

[ii] Vryhof.

[iii] David Lose, “Pentecost 20C: Everyday Acts of Faith,” September 26, 2016, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2016/09/pentecost-20-c-every-day-acts-of-faith/ on September 28, 2016.

Sermon – Luke 15.1-10, Jeremiah 4.11-12, 22-28, P19, YC, September 11, 2016

14 Wednesday Sep 2016

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breath, celebrate, chaos, church, create, destroy, destruction, formless void, found, God, hope, Jesus, joy, lost, order, parable, September 11th, Sermon

I remember that day like it was months ago, not years ago. I was driving into work, and caught the story right as I was about to exit the car. A plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. I rushed inside to find a radio, and my boss and I spent the day listening to the story unfold. That night, I got the first glimpse of the destruction on television, and the visual was worse than listening to radio updates. When the first tower fell, and then the second, the wind rushed out of me as I watched the wind rush out of those buildings. Life lost inside, life being forced away from the wreckage, chaos and rubble left in the wake. An eerie silence fell upon us as we watched in horror.

In Genesis 1, the narrator tells us that God forms the earth out of the formless void – tohu wa-vohu, in the Hebrew. Out of nothingness and chaos, God forms order – separating the watery chaos from the earth, dividing the day from the night, bringing vegetation, beasts, and humans to life. God takes chaos and creates order. But on that day fifteen years ago, many of us felt like the opposite happened. All of our order, routine, and compartmentalizing exploded into havoc. Two-hundred and twenty stories of order were thrown into disorder – which does not even take into account the madness of destroyed winding hallways in the Pentagon and the decision of victims to crash into their own deaths rather than allow terrorists to use their plane for more destruction. That day, we felt thrown back into a formless void, unsure of what end was up, and what had happened to our world.

I would like to say all is back to normal now – that after fifteen years, we or God managed to bring order back to the earth. But all one has to do is look at the news and the state of our planet and governments around the world and feel like we are still in the formless void of post-9-11. That is what makes the reading from Jeremiah so unsettling today. As a foil to Genesis 1, Jeremiah 4 describes the earth as waste and void – the same word tohu wa-vohu found in Genesis.[i] Jeremiah says that a hot, destructive wind[ii] blows and the earth becomes a mess – there is no light, the mountains quake, the people and birds of the air are gone, the fruitful land becomes a desert, and cities’ lay in ruin. Jeremiah goes on to say something even more jarring – that the people are foolish and stupid.

Now, I imagine you may be sitting here today thinking, “This is supposed to be a celebratory day, and I managed to invite a friend to church. Can you find us some joy, preacher?!?” Don’t worry – we will get there. I am happy to name where hope is today, but before we get to hope we have to go with Jeremiah into that desolate place. You see, for those of us who know hope and joy, we know we do not arrive there on a straight path. With the exception perhaps of children who have not begun to sense the depth of our depravity, most of us have been through the barren land Jeremiah sees coming. Perhaps we only saw that formless void in the midst of a national tragedy, but perhaps we found that nothingness in the face of death, divorce, or debt. Perhaps the destructive wind blew through our lives when violence, illness, or loneliness overwhelmed us. We do not need to live in this world too long before we know exactly what that barren land looks and feels like. There is probably even a scar left behind, or a metaphorical box we keep so that the watery chaos does not drown us.

But here is the weird part. Only when we claim those times in our lives of tohu wa-vohu, those moments when the world is a formless void, can we experience the fullest heights of hope and joy. Jeremiah calls the people nasty names today not because they are bad people or because they are not smart. He calls them those nasty names because they have failed to remember gratefully and loyally who created them. They have begun to live as if there is no hope, no grace.[iii] And that is why we come to church. To not let the formless voids of life overcome us, but to surround ourselves with a group of people who will remind us that there is still reason and room for hope. We eagerly gather in church because we want to be reminded that our God graciously, lovingly, and mercifully blows a creative air into our nothingness and creates again and again.

That is why we celebrate on this day that could otherwise be a day of overwhelming sadness. We celebrate today because Jesus tells us two parables that remind us why we are a people of hope. These parables of being lost are why we gather with laughter and smiles today. These parables are why we host a party later this afternoon – because we want to mirror the joy that God has over lost coins and sheep.

So how do we turn ourselves from the depths of sadness to the rejoicing of a heavenly party? We need to do some work first. Because the parable of the Prodigal Son follows these two short parables in Luke, we sometimes jump ahead and want to conclude, “All we need to do is repent, and the Lord will be happy.”[iv] But today we only get these two short parables, and for that we are quite lucky. Here’s the thing: sheep and coins cannot repent. They do not have the capacity to understand their own sinfulness. They do not even have the capacity to act. The funny thing about sheep who are lost is that they do not go around bleating for help. They know that such noise might attract a predator. Instead, they crouch behind a bush or other cover, and try to become invisible – paralyzed by the fear of being consumed in addition to being lost.[v] Likewise, coins have no agency. They cannot shout from under the couch cushion, “Over here by the crumbs!!” Those being found cannot cause God to find them. Nothing we do can earn us being found by God. Being found, as always, is a gift from our loving God – who is the kind of God who will always seek us, ever search for us, even when searching for us may seem like a lost cause. And on top of that, when those who are lost are found, the party that ensues is lavish, extravagant, and a taste of the heavenly banquet, as the heavens rejoice with God.

When I was growing up, money was often tight. Though my parents rarely talked about our finances, I could tell the financial strain made them anxious. As an adult, my father finally explained how they got by in scarce times. A box of produce would show up on our doorstep on a day my dad was wondering what we eat that night. A large bill would be sitting on the table and in our mailbox he would fine an envelope of cash – sometimes with a note that said, “thinking of you,” but sometimes without even a name. Now, I am not saying that our family’s experience was the best financial planning model, but what our experience taught us is that sometimes you have no control over the good that happens in your life. Sometimes you do not even have a person to thank. Regardless, whatever blessing, whatever good comes our way, what Jesus invites us to do today is to be people who celebrate the God who, sometimes completely illogically, searches us out and finds us – and then throws a party when we are found.

When I realized we would be kicking off our program year on the same day as the fifteenth anniversary of September 11^th, I was overcome with dread, wondering if maybe I could just ignore the anniversary and turn our hearts toward celebration. But our scripture today made me realize that celebration – true, deep, heart-rending celebration – can only happen when we understand the depths of our indebtedness toward our gracious God. Once we understand that debt, then we can celebrate with grateful hearts. I am thrilled to be embarking on a new program year with Hickory Neck and look forward to all that this year brings. But that sense of excitement is especially deep because I know the depths of the formless void – the chaos from which we were created and back into which we sometimes slide. Having seen the barren land that we sometimes create, I can only be even more filled with gratitude that our God is a God who scours every corner to find the coin She has lost. Today is a day for sobriety – but that sobriety also leads us to a celebration of the heart: a lavish party with the heavenly host. I am grateful to be a part of a faith community that invites me to be a person of abiding hope. Amen.

[i] Anathea Portier-Young, “Commentary on Jeremiah 4:11-12, 22-28,” September 11, 2016, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2973 on September 7, 2016.

[ii] George W. Ramsey, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 51.

[iii] Dwight M. Lundgren, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 53.

[iv] Karoline Lewis, “Lost and Found,” September 4, 2016, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post= 4708 on September 7, 2017.

[v] Helen Montgomery DeBevoise, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 70.

Sermon – Luke 12.49-56, P15, YC, August 14, 2016

17 Wednesday Aug 2016

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argue, avoid, conflict, conflict management, confront, cross, disagreement, division, family, forgive, honest, Jesus, listen, love, peace, Prince of Peace, rebirth, reconciliation, renewal, restoration, Sermon, transformation

I grew up in a house without conflict. No one ever fought, no one ever yelled, and certainly, no one ever hit. There may have been disagreements, but they were quickly resolved and our house was restored to peace. Given that was my experience growing up, I assumed all family handled conflict in hushed, quiet ways. But then I visited a friend who taught me differently. I was staying with her family for a few days, and on a car ride to dinner, her mother and father started arguing and were quickly yelling at each other in the front seat. My eyes bulged and my whole body tensed up. I immediately thought, “This is the most horrible thing I have ever seen!” I surreptitiously glanced at my friend to see if she was equally horrified, but she just sat there like it was an everyday occurrence. But even more strange than the fight was how the family acted later. There was a bit of quiet after the yelling, but by the time we stopped for dinner, everyone was back to normal. I, however, could not manage to release the tension in my body, and my mind was racing. Are they okay? Is this normal? Will it happen again? How do I act now?

I remember after that visit feeling relieved and almost proud. Clearly my family had the better conflict management system. Clearly we were more in control of our emotions and cared for each other with tenderness and love. I let myself believe that lie until my parent’s divorce. My entire world view about conflict and family and love came apart. Suddenly my quiet house was not simply quiet. My quiet house was a conflict avoidant house. The lack of yelling in my house was not simply a lack of yelling, but was a stuffing of hurt and pain for the sake of pretend peace. Now, do not get me wrong. I am not suggested that you all go home and yell at your loved ones. What I am saying is that no matter what your experience of conflict has been – avoidance, dramatic confrontation, reasoned discussion through disagreement – we have all experienced conflict in our family.

All that is to say that nothing Jesus says about families should be shocking today. Most of us like the loving, caring, gentle Jesus the best. We like Jesus being hailed as the Prince of Peace, not hearing Jesus say, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”[i] That is not the version of Jesus we come to hear about on Sundays. That is not the version of Jesus we want to read about when our best friend is mad at us, our brother won’t talk to us, or our spouse is thinking about leaving. That is not the version of Jesus we want the preacher talking about on the Sunday we decided to bring our friend to church.

And normally, I would be right there with you in protest. I like the Prince of Peace who cares for the poor and downtrodden. I love the Jesus who tells me not to be afraid and not to worry, especially when the lilies of the field are so well tended by God. I adore the Jesus who forgives and unites all kinds of people into one. But all of my protest comes from being someone who used to be pretty conflict avoidant. That is, until I learned another way. I will always say that one of the greatest gifts of my time on Long Island was learning how to not only handle conflict, but to really appreciate conflict for all that conflict can do.

For those of you not familiar with the cultural dynamic of Long Island, several things are at play. First, Long Islanders have a different way of communicating. They are direct, incisive, and honest. For a Southerner, their style of communication can feel rude, but over time, said Southerner realizes that all that directness and ability to dive into conflict means you get everything out on the table. There is no listening for innuendo or passive aggressiveness. There are no cute phrases that sound nice, but really mean something entirely different. Instead, you know where people stand, and you go home quite clear about the varying viewpoints. Of course, that style of communication does not always feel good. If you have sensitive feelings about criticism, your feelings can and will get hurt. If you get uncomfortable with heated arguments, you will be challenged to stay calm. If you prefer niceness over brutal honesty – well, you probably should not live on Long Island.

But here is what I learned and came to love about the beautiful people of Long Island. They taught me how to listen, even if all I wanted to do was flee the room. They taught me how to sit through criticism instead of getting defensive. They taught me how to see conflict not as the ultimate evil, but instead as a critical key to transformation, reconciliation, and restoration.

That is at the heart of Jesus’ message today. Of course Jesus says that he is going to divide fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, and in-laws against one another. What Jesus is teaching about is a radical reordering of the world.[ii] We heard that proclamation from his mother’s mouth as she sang out the words of the Magnificat earlier in Luke’s gospel, “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”[iii] Mary was not just talking about the enemy Rome. Many of the Israelites themselves were proud, powerful, and rich. We in the modern world are the proud, powerful, and rich. And to us, Jesus shouts, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”

The good news is that Jesus is not telling us he wants us to fight. He is not encouraging violence or abuse, or even neglect or pain. Jesus is simply telling us that his message is going to upset the status quo. And as people who benefit from the status quo, we are going to have to face our demons and look at our brothers and sisters who are in need and take real stock of ourselves and our lives. And when we start upsetting the status quo – when we start making women equal to men, when we start treating minorities with dignity and respect, when we start empowering the poor thrive and turn their lives around, we will have friends and family who push back. We will have people who try to convince us to protect our power rather than share our power. We will have family who walk away because they cannot face the truth. All we have to do is look at the church – look at the hundreds of denominations who could not agree on whom could be baptized, what Eucharist means, and whom can be ordained or married. We are a family divided because Jesus’ love is so revolutionary that we will be divided about how to define his love, how to share his love, and how receive his love. Jesus does not want us to fight. But he knows that if we are going to authentically live into the Gospel life, we are going to deal with conflict and we are going to be divided.[iv]

But that is also why Jesus went all the way to the cross. His death was an effort to transform and redeem our conflict and to help us live fully into the people of peace and love we are invited to be in him. Jesus knows that we will have to fight. But he also knows that if we are willing to enter into conflict with an open mind, with listening ears, and a discerning heart, we will become a people who do not avoid conflict, but understand conflict as the purifying fire that burns away the mess of life and leaves behind the fertile ground for creating something new and holy.[v] So yes, Jesus is still the Prince of Peace, who brings peace upon earth. But the path there is not a smooth, straight, simple path. The path there will take us through conflict, tension, and pain. But the peace that awaits on the other side is more glorious than any community that will sit through passive aggressive avoidance just to maintain a false sense of security.

And just in case you are already feeling weary, wondering where you can muster the strength to survive such a rocky path, our letter to the Hebrews today gives us a clue, “Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith…”[vi] That group of people you are going to be in conflict with – whether your biological family, or the crazy family you selected as your church home – is the same group of people who have left us an example of how to work our way through conflict. They have shown us how to survive the race toward peace and reconciliation, reminding us that Jesus is the pioneer and perfecter who gets us there. We will not get there avoiding conflict. But we will get there together, holding hands when we disagree, loving each other when we say helpful but painful truths, and rejoicing when we push through to the side of reconciliation, renewal, and rebirth. Amen.

[i] Luke 12.51.

[ii] Richard P. Carlson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 361.

[iii] Luke 1.51-53.

[iv] Audrey West, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 360, 362.

[v] Elizabeth Palmer, “Living By The Word: August 14, 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time,” Christian Century, July 26, 2016, as found at http://www.christiancentury.org/article/2016-07/august-14-20th-sunday-ordinary-time on August 11, 2016.

[vi] Hebrews 12.1-2a.

Sermon – Luke 12.13-21, P13, YC, July 31, 2016

03 Wednesday Aug 2016

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accountability, barn, community, financial management, God, greed, Jesus, money, relationship, rich, rich toward God, self-centeredness, Sermon, wealth

One of the last things that happens when you graduate from seminary is the staff from the Church Pension Group comes to talk to you about money management. They help you understand how retirement funds work for clergy, encourage you to make sure you are doing some additional savings and investment planning, and remind you that, like tithing, how you manage your finances is a witness to your congregation for being good stewards. That lesson is reiterated each year, as the priest is encouraged to be a smart investor through email reminders. We even go to a wellness conference a few times over the course of our ministry to make sure we are tending to our financial wellness in addition to vocational, spiritual, and bodily wellness. The lesson to clergy again and again, is to be good stewards of our financial resources.

So imagine my discomfort with the parable from Jesus today. At first glance, this is a story about smart financial investments. A man has a bumper crop – the land produces so abundantly he cannot fit the excess crops into his current barns. Knowing that the land is fickle, maybe even having taken some notes from our ancestor Joseph who prevented a seven-year famine by stockpiling during a seven-year boon, the man decides he will just have to build a bigger barn to hold all the extra crops. Quite frankly, his actions do not sound that far off from what any investment counselor who might tell us to do – store the excess away so that when a rainy day comes, or even when retirement comes, we can still “eat, drink, and be merry.” All in all, his logic sounds pretty spot-on to me.

Here is the kicker though: the day the newly enlarged barn is finished is the same day that the man will die. All those plans, hopes, and dreams for a secure retirement are gone. He never gets to enjoy the fruits of his labor. He never gets to retire in comfort. He never gets to eat, drink, and be merry. Our immediate reaction to this tragedy might be to proclaim how life or God is not fair. But into our disappointment, Jesus says, “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

In these last words from Jesus, Jesus takes the wind out of our sails. Jesus reminds us that being a good steward of our resources means lots of things: being smart with our money, saving for times of famine, giving to the church, and caring for our neighbor. But most importantly, being a good steward of our resources is not just about sound financial practices. Being a good steward of our resources is also managing our relationship with our money – and more specifically, managing our relationship with God in relation to our money.

Now some of you may be thinking, “Here she goes. She’s going to tell me how I need to give more money to the church to right my relationship with God.” No need to get too anxious today. I do not think Jesus is looking for a specific action today – as if to say, “Do not be like the man with the barns. Give your full ten percent to the church and all will be well.” No, what Jesus is trying to do is help us see that our relationship with money matters. Unlike a polite dinner guest, Jesus never shies away from talking about money. He is constantly warning us about the potential of riches to corrupt our relationship with God. So the answer to what the rich man should do may not be a clear-cut formula, but we get some obvious clues about what Jesus means about being rich toward God.

Going back to the story is particularly helpful. The most obvious thing that we see happening in the parable is that the wealthy man has become completely self-absorbed and ego-centric. Listen again to the words of the parable, “And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’” The list is long: What should I do? My crops, my barns, my grain, my goods, my soul. All the words of the wealthy man are self-referential.[i] Nowhere does he talk to God. Nowhere does he talk to his family or a trusted friend. Nowhere does he consult his property manager, or the local priest. He never praises God for the abundance. He never acknowledges that the land has provided. He never even considers sharing his abundance. He is self-interested, self-protecting, and self-centered. And all of that focus on the self comes from a relationship with money and with God that is out of whack.

So how do we avoid the slippery slope that leads to self-centeredness and greed, luring us to constantly redefine how much is “enough”? What exactly is being rich toward God? Jesus tells us the answer to our quandary throughout Luke’s gospel. As one scholar explains, “Being rich toward God entails using one’s resources for the benefit of one’s neighbor in need, as the Samaritan did (10:25-37). Being rich toward God includes intentionally listening to Jesus’ word, as Mary did (10:38-42). Being rich toward God consists of prayerfully trusting that God will provide for the needs of life (11:1-13, 12:22-31). Being rich toward God involves selling possessions and giving alms as a means of establishing a lasting treasure in heaven (12:32-34).” In other words, “Life and possessions are a gift of God to be used to advance God’s agenda of care and compassion, precisely for those who lack resources to provide for themselves.”[ii]

Last year, while serving on the board of the Episcopal Ministries of Long Island in New York, we were surprised by a bequest of about 1.3 million dollars. The bequest came from a woman who had seemed to be of little consequence. Each year she had probably given the charitable group about $25 a year. We assumed that was about all she could do. So when the gift came in, we were stunned. After some prayerful discernment, we elected to put one million into our endowment, to ensure that we could keep helping ministries on Long Island. But the three hundred thousand would be for us to try new and innovative ministries – and luckily for us, there was already a proposal on the table that we thought we could not afford: a food truck that would take food around to the homeless in Brooklyn, and maybe even host a social worker and or nurse. I do not know what sort of life this woman led or how she managed her money. But even in death, her richness toward God was obvious to us all.

The challenge of Jesus this week to be rich toward God is not just a challenge for self-centered men of means. Though we may be tempted to finger-point, Jesus and we know that money has the power to corrupt all of our relationships with God. And unfortunately, the consequences are not limited to our relationships with God – our ability to live lives rich toward God impacts our neighbors too. The good news is that we have a community of faith sitting right next to us who can be our support system as we work to turn our hearts and our riches to God. Now I know we all value being respectful dinner guests, but this time, we are going to need to follow Jesus’ lead. In order to really turn our hearts and riches toward God, we are going to need to start talking with our friends about the place of money in our lives and in our relationship with God. We are going to need to talk about our struggles and failures. And we are going to need to celebrate our victories and successes. We are basically going to need to become a giant support group for becoming rich toward God.

I once heard about a “congregation who invited families to not buy any unnecessary new thing for six months in order to break the culturally-induced habit of trying to buy happiness. But they didn’t just invite people to do this, they formed a culture in which they supported each other. They read and talked about a common book on abundant life, they kept in touch via small groups and email, they shared where they were succeeding and struggling and what they were learning. In short, the formed a community so that they could stand against the all-too-human and culturally supported belief that if we just had a little more we’d be happy.”[iii]

I do not know what model or what goals are going to work for each of you. But I do know that just by our very citizenship in this country, we face more temptation toward greed than in probably any other country. If we are going to follow Jesus, to avoid a life of self-centeredness, and claim a life of being rich toward God, we are going to need each other. Whether you want to form a small group or just find a trusted friend, this is the important work Jesus invites us into today. My guess is that building up a community of support that is rich toward God will create much more opportunities to eat, drink, and be merry, than any bigger barn could ever give us. Amen.

[i] Audrey West, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 312.

[ii] Richard P. Carlson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 315.

[iii] David Lose, “What Money Can and Can’t Do,” July 29, 2013, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2668 on July 27, 2016.

Sermon – Luke 11.1-13, P12, YC, July 24, 2016

27 Wednesday Jul 2016

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action, active, disciples, God, goodness, Jesus, Lord's Prayer, Our Father, passive, pray, prayer, profound, relational, relationship, Sermon, tangible

This morning I have a little confession. When I look at the texts for the upcoming Sunday each week, I rarely am excited about what lessons are presented. Invariably, Jesus will say or do something controversial or, like today, the Old Testament lesson will say something super provocative that I do not want to think about addressing in the pulpit. But this week was a bit different. When I read today’s gospel, and heard the disciples asking Jesus to teach them how to pray, I wanted to cry, Yes, yes, Jesus! Tell us what to do. Teach us how to pray. Because lately, my prayers seem hollow. Whether I am praying about the nastiness and disrespect within this year’s political campaigns, whether I am praying about the sinfulness of racism in our country, whether I am praying about the way we dehumanize one another enough to think it is okay to shoot each other, or whether I am praying about someone who is not likely to recover from their illness and is facing the reality of mortality – I need Jesus to teach me how to pray. I need Jesus to teach me how to pray, because I do not feel like my prayers are working. “Lord, teach us to pray,” the disciples beg with a spirit helplessness, hopelessness, and haplessness that we can all identity with this week.

Into that sense of despair and longing, Jesus does two incredible things. First, he gives the disciples something simple and tangible – something to cling to in the most desperate of times. Jesus gives them what we call, “the Lord’s Prayer,” or the “Our Father.” Luke’s version is not the version of this prayer that we are most familiar with – we know Matthew’s version much more familiarly. In fact, even Christians who have been away from church most of their adult life can recall this one prayer. We know the words so well that they become their own prayer beads, each word a talisman that our fingers and souls can cling to when our head and hearts are a jumbly mess. The Lord’s Prayer is one for the ages – telling us what we know about God, what we hope for about the kingdom, and what we need as we go about our earthly lives. Surely those words address all that we are facing right now. Surely, when we have run out of our own words, those are words that we can mutter over and over again. Surely those are the things we need: God to reveal God’s self, to right the world, to sustain us, to forgive us and help us forgive others, and to protect us from ourselves and the enemy. And on days when we do not have words, those are words that we can pray. Jesus is very practical with his gift of a prayer for the ages.

But then Jesus does a second thing. After giving the disciples something tangible, then he tries to teach them something much more profound. He teaches the disciples about what prayer really is. After giving the disciples the “Our Father,” Jesus does what Jesus always does – he sits them down for a little story. Basically, an annoyingly persistent friend comes pounding on the door of a neighboring friend, looking for food to give to an unexpected guest. It’s midnight, and the irritated friend tells him to go home – everyone in his house has finally settled in for the night, and there is no way he is getting up. But the friend “persists, and eventually the poor householder relents, not out of the charities of friendship but simply for the sake of his own peace and quiet.”[i]

The story is not the prettiest, but anyone who has had to put down a toddler for the fortieth time that evening knows how persistent that friend would have to be for the neighbor to risk waking up his children. Jesus’ conclusion about the story of a persistent friend is, “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.” This is where Jesus’ teaching gets tricky though. Too many of us know that there have been times when we asked and we did not find, it was not given to us, and the door was not opened. Those words from Jesus can seem empty for those of us who have experienced the opposite. But Jesus is not describing the economy of prayer: that you insert a request, and, with persistence, you get what you want. What Jesus is trying to say is that prayer is about relationship. Like the relationship that we have with the buddy who will get up in the middle of the night, our prayer life with God is a reflection of the relationship with have with God. Our prayer life is dynamic, involves conflict, necessitates initiative, and is relational.

One of my favorite hymns growing up was “What a friend we have in Jesus.” The hymn is a sweet, simplistic hymn that basically says that we too often try to shoulder our burdens on our own. The hymn argues that if we take our sins and grief, our trails and temptations, our weakness and heavy laden burdens, we will find solace in God. The hymn is comforting, and its simplicity can make us feel good. But as I thought about that hymn this week and our text today, I realized that the hymn tempts us in the same way that this text does. The hymn tempts us into concluding that all we have to do is ask, seek, and knock, and everything will be okay. All we have to do is “take it to the Lord in prayer,” or even say the Lord’s prayer, and everything will be okay.

But I do not think that is what Jesus is saying today. By talking about how prayer is relational between God and us, how prayer is a practice that resembles the relationship of friends, we can come to understand prayer a little differently. Like any healthy relationship, our relationship to God in prayer is going to change us. Our time in prayer with God might lead us to finding, receiving, and having doors opened. But our time in prayer might also lead us to acting, giving, and knocking doors down. Jesus says that the sleeping friend gets up because of his friend’s persistence. That word “persistence” in the Greek is translated alternatively as, “shamelessness.”[ii] In other words, our prayers to God are to be shameless: bold, audacious, and unfailingly confident.

As we think about our prayerful relationship with God, I was struck by a reflection by David Lose. He asks, “How might we act differently this week if our prayers were offered to God confidently, trusting that God will respond so much more generously than any earthly parent?” Perhaps [we] wouldn’t just sit back and wait for God to answer but would start moving, get to work, actually start living into the reality of what [we have] prayed for. So rather than pray for someone who is lonely, maybe [we’d] go visit. Rather than pray for an end to violence, maybe [we’d] campaign against the legality of military-grade semi-automatic weapons, or protest when police use unnecessary force, or go visit the police station to tell officers that [we are] grateful for their service and pray for their safety.[iii] In other words, what if a prayerful relationship with God is not passive, but is active and challenging?

The good news is that despite all the heaviness of the news lately, and despite all the examples of intolerance and degradation, there are also examples percolating of goodness – the fruits of shameless prayer with our God. In Dallas, I saw protestors hugging counter-protestors. In Kansas, I saw police officers and Black Lives Matter protestors not only holding a block party together, but also making time during the party for a real, raw question-and-answer period. In Cleveland, I saw protestors holding hands with a police officer and offering a prayer before the day’s events began. Now, I am not saying that shameless praying with God is going to be easy or even lead to the open doors we want or think we need. Anyone who has long-term friendships knows that friendship is hard. But what I am saying is that prayer is powerful and when tended to, can lead to transformation. So if you do not know where to start this week, start with the Lord’s Prayer. If you are too frustrated or jaded to say those words, then just show up at God’s door. As with any good relationship, showing up is half the battle. Wherever you are in your prayer life, know that our God is a God who will answer – and will use us for goodness. Amen.

[i] Stephanie Frey, “On God’s Case,” Christian Century, vol. 121, no. 14, July 13, 2004, 17.

[ii] James A. Wallace, C.SS.R., “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 291.

[iii] David J. Lose, “Pentecost 10C: Shameless Prayer,” July 19, 2016, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2016/07/pentecost-10-c-shameless-prayer/ on July 20, 2016.

Sermon – Luke 10.1-11, 16-20, 2 Kings 5.1-14, P9, YC, July 3, 2016

07 Thursday Jul 2016

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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collaboratively, commission, detail, gospel, help, humility, insider, Jesus, joy, mission, Naaman, outsider, power, Sermon, seventy, side effects, story, terrifying, transformation, vulnerable, witness

I remember when I was on maternity leave I ended up watching a fair amount of daytime television – mostly because that was the extent of intellectual stimulation that my sleep-deprived brain could handle. Not being someone who watches a lot of television, I was fascinated by one phenomenon in general: pharmaceutical commercials. There are tons of them and they are all filled with very convincing actors and stories. The story is always the same: the patient was sad, scared, or in pain, struggling with no cure; they or their doctor find a little-known drug; and, bam, they are returned to health and wholeness. Sometimes the actor or narrator will mention a few possible side effects. But in tiny print below the glowingly happy patient is a longer list of side effects that, quite frankly, sound terrifying – maybe even more terrifying than the disease or symptom they are trying to heal. If you are not careful, you can miss the messy stuff altogether because everyone looks so happy: from hair loss, to abdominal pain, partial paralysis, or in rare cases, even death.

That same sort of list of side effects is what our gospel lesson today glosses over too. The severity of the situation is clearly grim when Jesus commissions the seventy to go ahead of him, proclaiming the kingdom and healing people. Jesus is unambiguous. He tells the seventy that they will be like sheep among wolves. He takes away any forms of security: no purse, no bag, no sandals. He warns them that some people will not receive them well, and they will have to dust off their bruised egos and keep going. He advises them to be gracious guests, eating whatever is put before them (even if it is Brussel sprouts). Truly, this has to be the worst ad for a mission ever.

But here is the funny part. The text jumps over the mission of the seventy and simply says, “The seventy returned with joy.” We do not get details of all the side effects they experience. We do not get to hear how hard eating what is put before them is. We do not get to hear how scary traveling with no money or shoes is. We do not even get to hear how many times they have to dust of their feet in protest from ill treatment. No, the commercial just glosses straight to the end, “The seventy returned with joy.” The reading today feels like all the bad stuff is just shoved into fine print so that we do not get a sense of what going out into the mission field really feels like – because, based on what Jesus says, the mission field sounds terrifying.

Feeling frustrated by the lack of detail this week, I found myself wondering how we might get a glimpse into the real experience of following Jesus and sharing the good news. Then I stumbled back into the Naaman story and realized perhaps he is the key. Naaman seems like an unlikely candidate at first blush. He is a foreign national in the time of Elisha. Jesus does not come onto the scene until hundreds of years later. But Naaman has much more in common with the followers of Jesus – in fact, more in common with us – than we might imagine.

You see, Naaman is a mighty army commander. Because of the Lord’s favor, Naaman has led the king’s troops to victory. Naaman is not one of the Israelites, but he is someone with great power – a prowess we are familiar with as modern Americans. In that way, he, us, and the seventy commissioned by Jesus are similar – we are insiders with power. But despite his power, Naaman suffers from leprosy. He has longed for healing and would use his power, influence, and money if he could. But so far that has not led to success. Instead, Naaman has to go another way. As it turns out, Naaman has to go on a journey that is very similar in conditions to what the seventy must do.

In order to find healing and wholeness, Naaman must give up his power, sense of control, and must rely on others – especially those most marginalized in society.[i] Basically, like the seventy, Naaman must give up his purse, his bag, his sandals, and must rely on the hospitality of others. His story starts with a tip from a slave girl from Israel. She learns of the commander’s leprosy and suggests he seek out the Israeli prophet, Elisha for healing. So, Naaman gets a blessing from his king and heads off to the king of Israel. Only, the king of Israel misunderstands Naaman and thinks he is being setup for failure. Elisha, who is clearly not in the king’s court, saves the day, and sends word that he will help. So, Naaman takes his bountiful gifts to this non-ranking prophet seeking help again. But instead of greeting Naaman, Elisha sends out one of his messengers to Naaman with instructions for healing. Instead of dusting his feet off at the apparent insult, Naaman gets angry. But some of Naaman’s unnamed servants gently appeal to him to try the remedy anyway. Naaman eats humble pie again, and is healed.

Naaman gives us a glimpse into the fine print of Jesus’ commissioning of the seventy. Going without a purse, sandals, and relying on the hospitality of others takes a lot of humility. Facing rejection, which Jesus guarantees will come, will take a lot of anger management. Going in Christ’s name will mean accepting help from anyone and everyone – not the easiest of tasks for us, who as Americans prefer to be self-sufficient, independent, strong survivors. We prefer to be people who help instead of people who need help.

I have been on a variety of mission trips over the years: medical missions, missions building homes, missions building schools or community centers, and missions meant to build relationships. On almost every mission trip I have joined, the team members came back feeling like they gained more than they gave. This conclusion invariably leads to a discussion about whether money is best spent in direct aid than expensive overseas trips that seem to benefit us more than the people we serve. While that conversation always needs to happen, what that argument fails to see is the power of Christian witness – that even if we do not turn communities around socio-economically, part of what we leave behind is the love and fellowship of Christ – the message that you are not alone in your suffering. In part, being able to host us and show us hospitality gives those we serve more of a sense of worth and honor than being recipients of aid.

But in order for any of that to happen, we have to make ourselves vulnerable.[ii] We have to put ourselves in the position of Naaman to receive aid and healing from the least likely persons. True mission is not about the powerful and wealthy bringing their resources to the poor and downtrodden. True mission is about the powerful and wealthy realizing their own spiritual poverty and creating an environment where rich and poor, healthy and sick can share healing, wholeness, and health in a way that recognizes we all have needs before God – and that God uses us all of us when we work collaboratively for healing and building up the kingdom of God.[iii]

Jesus was right to warn us with the possible side effects of sharing the good news: vulnerability, insecurity, bodily danger, hurt egos, and long days. Though the seventy do not show us what that looks like, Naaman certainly does. He reminds us of the fine print: that the side effects may lead to anger, feelings of abandonment, a loss of self-worth and importance. But the benefits are still the same: healing and wholeness for the whole community, redefining who is in and who is out of the community, and new purpose in the larger world. The good news is that part of our prescription involves partners for the journey: Jesus sends the seventy out two-by-two.[iv] Even Naaman does not go alone, but takes others with him – others who keep him in check and support him in his sense of loss. And the result is the same: healing, transformation, and joy. Those kind of results make the side effects worth it! Amen.

[i] Stephen Reid, “Commentary on 2 Kings 5:1-14,” July 3, 2016, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2904 on June 29, 2016.

[ii] David J. Lose, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 219.

[iii] Adriene Thorne, “Moral Leprocy,” July 3, 2016, as found at http://www.onscripture.com/moral-leprosy on June 29, 2016.

[iv] Karoline Lewis, “The Security of Seventy,” June 26, 2016, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4683 on June 29, 2016.

Sermon – Lk 9.51-62, Gal 5.1, 13-25, P8, YC, June 26, 2016

29 Wednesday Jun 2016

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campaign, Christ, cranky, Elijah, focus, Galatians, God, Jerusalem, Jesus, leader, love, Moses, neighbor, politics, purpose, Sermon, single-mindedness

Whenever we are in an election year, I find myself wondering how Jesus might fare in a political race. I mean, he has a pretty awesome platform: liberation for the poor, forgiveness of debts, healing, even eternal life. But Jesus would be a modern campaign manager’s nightmare. I can imagine the harried manager running around in circles after hearing this week’s text. Just as Jesus is gaining ground and growing his constituency (or as the text calls them, disciples and followers), and just as Jesus is starting to gain prestige with comparisons to other great leaders, like Moses and Elijah, Jesus starts running his campaign into the ground.

We hear the campaign crumbling through four different incidents in our gospel lesson today. First, we hear the story of how Jesus and his crew need shelter. The Samaritans refuse them hospitality, and James and John, remembering how the great Elijah brought down fire on his opponents, ask Jesus if they should do the same thing. Reigning down fire on the enemies would certainly make for great evening news coverage and might even result in a surge in the polls. But Jesus does nothing of the sort. Instead, Jesus just ignores the affront and keeps going. Surely Jesus’ campaign manager would be crushed when his prepared speech about the Samaritans does not see the light of day.

Next, Jesus gets some promising news. On the campaign trail, someone shouts, “I will follow you wherever you go!” The campaign manager must be salivating as he hopes to tweet the comment and post the interchange on Vine or Snapchat. But, then Jesus ruins the whole moment by saying, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” Not exactly the best promotional video for Jesus’ campaign. Who wants to follow a guy whose response to “I’ll follow you anywhere!” is basically, “If you follow me, get ready to feel ostracized, abandoned, and alone.”?

The day keeps getting worse for the campaign manager. Two other people are ready to commit their lives to supporting the Jesus campaign. But instead of joyfully receiving them after they have packed their bags and said goodbye to their families, Jesus crankily says, “Let the dead bury their own dead,” and “No one who puts the hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” At least the great Elijah showed a little more patience than Jesus in his leadership. If you remember, when Elijah called Elisha to follow him, he gave him the chance to say goodbye to his family. But not Jesus. A new sheriff is in town and he has no patience for other agendas. I can just imagine the team of writers that the campaign manager would have to assemble to wax Jesus’ words and make them more palatable. Jesus would be a modern political campaign’s worst nightmare.

The way the text reads today, Jesus comes off as heartless and dismissive. But if we are really honest, Jesus can come off as heartless and dismissive through much of the gospels. We like to remember the lovey-dovey stuff about Jesus: the healings, the tender moments of compassion, or the motivational parables. But like any good marriage, with all the love that comes from Jesus, we must also take the hard, uncomfortable stuff too. Yesterday, two of our parishioners got married. The day was a day for love and joy. But the day was also a day for honesty and reflection. You see, the bride and groom had both lost their first spouses to disease and death. Between them, they have enjoyed over 90 years of happy marriages. Though both of them are thrilled to have found love and companionship again, they entered their marriage yesterday with the sobriety that can only come when you really know what you are getting into. I can do all the premarital counseling I want with a young couple getting married for the first time. But eventually they will have to learn for themselves that marriage is hard and love is even harder. Love is not all roses and champagne. Love is working through tough times, making sacrifices, and living with a partner who can sometimes be as cranky as Jesus.

The reason we stay in committed, loving relationships is that we understand the ultimate goal: to love and care for one another for the long run. Jesus is probably cranky in our vignettes today because he too has an ultimate goal: his love for us which leads to the cross. At the beginning of our story today, the text says, “When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.” This is our cue about Jesus’ seemingly bad mood. Jesus does not have time for teaching and coddling. He does not have energy for a leisurely stroll, where he can tell long parables and then explain their meaning. No, Jesus has turned his face to Jerusalem. We can hear in that one sentence, “When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem,” an indicator of Jesus’ demeanor.[i] I am not sure Jesus would have ever made a savvy politician anyway, but he certainly would not have done so at this point in his ministry. Where we are in Luke’s gospel is a turning point – a dramatic shift in the narrative. When Jesus turns his face toward Jerusalem, everything else fades away. He takes on a “singlemindedness of purpose that is prompted by God’s profound love for humanity and all the world.”[ii]

In his epistle to the Galatians we read today, Paul has become a bit cranky too. The Galatians are fighting and Paul tells them to “stand firm,” or, in other words, to be single-minded in their love for one another. Paul says, “…through love become slaves to one another. For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” As one scholar argues, “Being good at love, …requires a fair share of determination. Loving another is not the easiest of commitments to make. Love, it ought not surprise us, is going to require a little crankiness along the way. Everything that has value does, and love is what has ultimate value for, of course, it is the only thing that lasts. According to Paul and Jesus, it really is the only commandment, the only thing life is really about.”[iii]

Though both Jesus and Paul sound cranky and harsh today, I do not think they are either. Why Paul asserts that the Galatians stand firm and why Jesus condemns those who put their hand to the plow and then look back is because both of them know our tendencies. “Perhaps Jesus recognizes our tendency to put off the moments in time that might actually make a difference in what we say about him. Perhaps Jesus sees that we come with ready excuses to defer our proclamation because we think we need to be in a better place, a better time, a time when the stars align so as to make our experience of the Gospel the perfect it was never meant to be. Perhaps Jesus simply says stop making excuses and start imagining experiences that invite ‘let’s see what happens’ instead of ‘I need all my stuff figured out.’”[iv]

That is what happens when we really love one another. We do not worry how savvy our political campaign is. Instead we worry about what really matters – our call to love one another as Christ loves us. Once we start doing that, party affiliation and grandstanding matter very little. In fact, politics becomes a lot easier when we use the Jesus standard of love. When we single-mindedly focus on love, our actions fall less into one political party or another of this world, but instead fall into focus on the kingdom of God.

Now, like our newlyweds will you tell, loving our neighbor is not easy. Love as a political campaign will be frustrating and at times will make us quite cranky. But by focusing on love, we allow ourselves to let go of all the extraneous stuff of life and focus single-mindedly on God’s purpose for us. Sorting priorities becomes easier, caring for one another becomes more satisfying, and living into our purpose in this life comes more naturally. Perhaps that would be the slogan that Jesus’ campaign manager would eke out of all Jesus’ interactions today: All we need is love. Amen.

[i] Elaine A. Heath, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 190.

[ii] David J. Lose, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 195.

[iii] Stacy Sauls, “Cranky Jesus,” June 30, 2013, as found at http://day1.org/4897-the_cranky_jesus on June 23, 2016.

[iv] Karoline Lewis, “Every Moment Counts,” June 19, 2016, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4679 on June 22, 2016.

Seeking and Serving

~ seek and serve Christ in all persons

Category Archives: Sermons

Sermon – Habakkuk 1.1-4; 2.1-4, P26, YC, October 30, 2016

Homily – Matthew 11.25-30, Feast of St. Francis, October 23, 2016

Sermon – Luke 17.11-19, P23, YC, October 9, 2016

Sermon – Luke 17.5-10, 2 Timothy 1.1-14, P22, YC, October 2, 2016

Sermon – Luke 15.1-10, Jeremiah 4.11-12, 22-28, P19, YC, September 11, 2016

Sermon – Luke 12.49-56, P15, YC, August 14, 2016

Sermon – Luke 12.13-21, P13, YC, July 31, 2016

Sermon – Luke 11.1-13, P12, YC, July 24, 2016

Sermon – Luke 10.1-11, 16-20, 2 Kings 5.1-14, P9, YC, July 3, 2016

Sermon – Lk 9.51-62, Gal 5.1, 13-25, P8, YC, June 26, 2016