Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, EP, YA, January 8, 2023

11 Wednesday Jan 2023

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When I first read our Isaiah text today, I had not remembered that Isaiah had predicted kings coming to the Messiah with gold and frankincense.  I was thrilled to see the pairing of Isaiah and Matthew today, thinking of how wonderfully the Old and New Testaments’ stories were being woven together.  And since Matthew is known for emphasizing the idea of Jesus being the fulfillment of the Hebrew Scriptures, I thought we could not have a better invitation today than to “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.”

But the more I read this week, the more I realized that the math is not so simple.  We do not simply get “Isaiah plus Matthew equals fulfillment.”  In fact, the introduction of Isaiah 60 helps us see that Jesus’ story is much more complicated than Jesus’ story appears at first glance.  Isaiah 60 is written about the city of Jerusalem.  About 600 years before Jesus is born, the people of Israel return to Jerusalem after exile, to a ruined city.  To these disheartened peoples, Isaiah writes this poem to encourage them and to predict the ways in which Jerusalem will return to Jerusalem’s former glory.  The poet believes that Jerusalem will be a hub of international trade, becoming once again a prosperous, productive city where, “Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” 

The wise men from the East in Matthew’s gospel likely knew of Isaiah 60.[i]  They journey to Jerusalem because they know about this text, and they bring their gold, frankincense, and myrrh because Jerusalem is where they expect to find this king of peace and prosperity.  But when they finally arrive to inquire of Herod about this new king, Herod panics.  Herod runs to his own advisors, demanding an explanation of Isaiah 60, wanting to hear all about these multitudes of camels and these extravagant gifts.  That is when the story takes a twist.  According to Herod’s chief priests and scribes, Isaiah 60 is not where these wise men should be looking at all.  Instead, the prophecy they seek comes from Micah 5, which says, “And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.”[ii]  Herod calls for the wise men, tells them the actual location of this new king, and the rest is history.

What is interesting in this switch within Matthew are the differences between Jerusalem and Bethlehem.  Jerusalem is the city that Isaiah promises will be the thriving, prosperous city – where the king of kings could easily make his home.  And yet, Bethlehem is where the king actually appears.  Not in the thriving, bustling, shiny city, but in a rural, dusty, unpretentious town.  No one expects such a place for their king.  They expect their king to live in the beautiful, prosperous city they have developed, not in some shabby town that does not hold the same prestige as their glorious, revitalized city.

I have been wondering in what ways we too might be like most of the characters in this story – expecting to find greatness in our lives in the obvious places as opposed to in the less likely places.  As we emerge from the pandemic, we find ourselves tentatively trying to return to a sense of normalcy.  But the trauma of these last few years sometimes fills us of with longing about pre-COVID times instead of wondering what our new reality can be.  Yes, the pandemic hurt and continues to hurt many people, sending more people into unemployment, to food pantries, and to government assistance.  But in those supposed glory days before the pandemic, many of us were spending more than we had, assuming lives we could not afford, and forgetting the poor in the process.  In some ways our prosperity gave us permission to forget each other and encouraged us to focus solely on ourselves.  We got lost in the prosperity instead of finding the kind of people that God invites us to be.

What is interesting to me in our story from Matthew is the reaction of the wise men.  They do not scoff at Herod’s insight.  They do not hear about Bethlehem and begin to ponder whether they really want to see this journey through or not.  They, as learned intellectuals and powerful men, do not second-guess Herod’s new interpretation through Micah over Isaiah.  Instead, “rather than hesitate or resist, they reorganize their wealth and learning, and reorient themselves and their lives around a baby with no credentials.”[iii]  The funny thing is that Bethlehem is about nine miles south of Jerusalem.  These men, who have done numerous calculations, a detailed study of prophecies, and have already made a long journey following a star, have missed their mark by nine miles.  Though Herod shares the insight about Micah for personal gain, imagine how different the story would be had Herod’s chief priests and scribes not remembered Micah 5, let alone if the wise men had been too proud not to hear this fresh insight. 

The response of the wise men is one of letting go of one’s own expectations and trusting that God continues to reveal truth that may not be congruent with what hard work and experience would lead one to anticipate.  As one scholar explains, what the wise men learn is that the journey with God is “not about security and prosperity, but about vulnerability, neighborliness, generosity, a modest future with spears turned into pruning hooks and swords of plowshares.”[iv]  The wise men show us that the truly wise are always willing to accept that God may reveal truth that is counter to anything else we know, but that is full of greatness and joy.

Our invitation today is an invitation into the same boldness of the wise men.  Our invitation is to let the vulnerability of Micah disrupt the self-congratulation of Isaiah, realizing that although we might expect God to redeem us in the way we anticipate, granting us favor and privilege, we might instead experience that God redeems us through much more simple, humble ways.  Our invitation is to be bold enough to keep journeying with God, even when we are presented with information that might steer our journey in a direction we never expected or desired.  Our invitation is to remember that nine miles may not be a lot, but nine miles can be the difference between a manipulative, power-hungry king, and a humble, vulnerable king who can transform our lives into ones focused not on ourselves but on our neighbors and the greater good of all of us.  The question for us, both as individuals and as a community of faith, is what dusty road we have been avoiding.  The promise is that the dusty road will lead us to a connection with our Savior, who is so tremendous, that we too will drop everything and pay homage to our King.  Amen.          

[i] Walter Brueggemann, “Off by Nine Miles,” Christian Century, vol. 118, no. 35, December 19-26, 2001, 15.

[ii] Matthew 2.6

[iii] Brueggemann, 15.

[iv] Brueggemann, 15.

On the Blessings of Family – Biological and Chosen…

05 Thursday Jan 2023

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Graphic Credit: https://www.thecolonygroup.com/introducing-your-children-to-your-family-wealth/

This past week, I spent hours delighting in my children’s relationships with their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.  Whether it was their uncontained excitement about a sleepover with their aunt and uncle, the deeply contented smiles of grandparents engaging in conversation with our children, the similarly-aged cousins who have never met but act thick as thieves within minutes of time together, or the admiration of the older new favorite “cousin” (a girlfriend who my children are desperately hoping marries into the family – no pressure though!). 

Living relatively far away from our family, I find watching my children with their grandparents and aunts and uncles in person to be a tremendous blessing.  I get to see our children through fresh eyes, watch their behavior transform, and see healthy relationships being forged that are totally separate from their relationship with me.  As our children age, I see how important these separate and special relationships are for all of us:  for me as a parent, for the children as individuals growing into adults, and for the extended family members.  I never lived close to my own grandparents and extended family, so perhaps others experience that blessing all the time.  But as I come off some holiday time with family, I am acutely aware of the importance of these relationships beyond what I and their father can provide.

I am usually quite loathe to call churches “families” because families also bring lots of baggage.  In fact, for some, church provides a safe haven their biological families did not.  However, churches can do what families do when at their best.  Part of why I am so committed to having my own children in church (even though it may appear obligatory as the community’s priest) is because we live so far from our biological families.  I want the elders of our church to dote on my children the same ways in which their grandparents do – in part because I know those relationships are just as life giving for the seniors as they are for the children.  I want the mid-age parents to be the cool aunts and uncles that my children can go to when they are tired of their own mom and dad – in part because those same parents may sometimes feel like parenting failures with their own children but can use the reminder that they are beloved and needed beyond their immediate family.  And I want my children to feel a sense of kinship with the other children of church – the cousins they rarely see, but for whom they can serve as role models at church.  The very intergenerational nature of church is a major reason why church is so important to our lives.

We live in a time when families are often dispersed, where work or service calls us from our extended families, or where, if we are blessed with immediate family nearby, we have neighbors who are not.  That reality became painfully poignant during the pandemic, when our sense of isolation grew, families with children felt unbearable weight as they became teachers, parents, and a little of everything else, and elders missed gathering with their own biological families.  As we emerge from this pandemic, if you have yet to come out of that internalized, isolated state, I invite you to engage (or reengage) with a church community.  It certainly will not be perfect – no community or family is.  But it will be a place of life and light, of encouragement and engagement, and of purpose and pleasure.  You are welcome here!

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YC, December 24, 2022

05 Thursday Jan 2023

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When our girls were very small, our favorite book was Goodnight Moon.  We read that book so many times, I could have recited the book to you from memory.  “In the great green room there was a telephone, and a red balloon, and a picture of – the cow jumping over the moon…”  I read to our girls to calm them for bedtime, but truth be told, the cadence of a familiar book calmed me too.  Reading Goodnight Moon for the hundredth time became like taking a deep, steadying breath.

The same thing happened to me this year as I heard tonight’s gospel.  “In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered…”  As I kept listening, I could feel my body physically relaxing, my breath slowing, and a sense of peace and comfort settling in me. 

In all honesty, the reaction is a bit strange.  Nothing about Luke’s birth narrative is all that soothing.  Governments are forcibly moving people, accommodations are extremely cramped, childbirth in such conditions is anything but luxurious, we are transported to far off fields with the smells and discomforts of tending animals, and angels are sharing wonderful, terrible news, and mysteries are being introduced that delight and terrify.

So why in the world did my body have such a viscerally peaceful reaction to these familiar words despite the discomforting story?  Because Christ’s birth happens in the middle of disruption, chaos, shame, and messiness is perhaps the reason why the story is so comforting.  Our lives have been full of disruption, chaos, shame, and messiness these last few years.  Whether it was the global upending of a pandemic, economic and political upheaval, the denigrating, objectifying, or persecuting of other humans, or something closer to home – like death, divorce, job loss, or even lost sense of purpose, there is something tremendously familiar and contemporary about this story.  Of course, the government is causing disruption and chaos.  Of course, Mary is laying her baby in a manger.  Of course, strange, dirty men are interrupting an exhausted family in the middle of the night.  “Of course!” is the exclamation we have all assumed of late.

The “Of course!” though is not why we are here and is certainly not why my body heaved a sigh of relief.  What causes that relief is the “And…” of our scripture.  And, God came among us in the form of a child.  And, angels came and sang stunning songs of reassurance, promise, and deliverance.  And, strangers became friends and praised and pondered this magnificent God.  We came here burdened with our “Of course!”s.  Maybe the cookies burned before you got here.  Maybe there were some tempter tantrums in the car – or before you even got in the car.  Maybe the storms are cancelling the plans of you or your loved ones. 

And, you are here, hearing a familiar, reassuring story.  And you are among others just like you – who long for peace, comfort, and joy.  And you will be fed at the Eucharistic table, a food more glorious than the best roast beast!  We are here for our “and…” tonight.  But not just for our own sense of peace – we are here for the “and…” that God gives us to take out into the world.  And, hearing the story of the Christ Child reminds us of our bountiful blessings.  And, singing familiar songs reminds us of what really matters in life.  And, having reconnected with a community of believers, we are given a chance to go back out into the world and be harbingers of peace, shepherds of joy, caregivers of love.  That is the gift of this familiar story tonight.  You will likely experience some “Of course!”s on the way home tonight or in the coming days.  But now you have your, “And…”.  Amen.

On the Perfectly Imperfect…

21 Wednesday Dec 2022

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Photo credit: Hickory Neck Episcopal Church. Reuse with permission only.

This Christmas will be the first Christmas I am able to spend time with my husband’s family in five years.  We used to travel there more regularly, but about the time we would have visited, the pandemic hit, and here we are years later returning to something that feels comfortingly familiar.  I find a deep sense of relief knowing the familiar faces that will greet us, the warmer temperatures and beautiful landscape that will refresh us, the smells and tastes that will delight us, and the love and acceptance that will overwhelm us.

In some ways, I think attending church on Christmas Eve is a lot like that comforting familiar experience.  We know the lessons we will hear, the songs we will sing, the greenery we will find, and the hospitality we will experience.  In what has been a time of disorientation, suffering, grief, and struggle these last years, nothing feels as enticing as the promise of a warm, welcoming womb in which to gather.

What’s fascinating about the Christmas story and experience is that the first Christmas had little other than a womb in common with our modern experience.  Mary and Joseph are likely still recovering from the rocky beginning to their relationship – nothing like an unorthodox pregnancy to bring on marital strain!  Mary and Joseph also join hordes of their kin in being displaced by the government, only to find accommodations entirely unsuited for childbirth.  Strangers of ill repute show up sharing stories quite unfathomable, inserting themselves into the chaos of that night.  And Mary is left overwhelmed, trying to figure out what is happening to her life.  Why, of all the stories we could hear, is this crazy, disorienting story the one we want to hear year after year?

I suppose, in part, we breathe in a comforting deep breath on Christmas Eve because no matter where our journey has taken us over the last year – or years – knowing the imperfection of that perfect night helps us bless and honor our own imperfection.  Perhaps we revel in Christmas at church because we know that every year, no matter how off-track our lives have become, we have a place where we can go, a family with whom we can journey, and a Savior who is just as vulnerable as we are.  This Christmas, I hope you know there is no imperfection in you that is not perfectly welcome at the Table.  You are welcome here.

Sermon – Matthew 1.18-25, A4, YA, December 18, 2022

21 Wednesday Dec 2022

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I have always loved stories and images of Mary and the Christ Child.  Mary is revered around the world, a patron saint to many, an intercessor for others (just think of all the “Hail Mary”s said globally), and a spiritual companion to some.  I remember in the Holy Land visiting a chapel honoring Mary, the mother of Jesus.  The chapel commissioned artists from around the world to depict their unique cultural version of Mary and Child.  The walls are lined with these floor-to-ceiling renderings of the sacred pair.  I was so taken with the images that I now have my own collection of Mary and Child paintings in my office. 

I also remember that same day in the Holy Land, after spending what felt like hours meditating with these stunning paintings, then going down the road to a chapel dedicated to Joseph.  The chapel was much smaller, rather nondescript, and quite frankly, easily forgettable.  The only real memorable thing about the chapel is how distinctly different the Joseph chapel is from the Mary chapel. 

I am struck this year, particularly as we baptize little Melody, how glad I am that we get Joseph’s story this Advent as opposed to Mary’s.  On baptism Sundays with children, we have two realities.  The first reality is the adorable, belovedness of the child, the glossy photos with family and fonts, the perfect hopefulness of initiating a child of God into the family of faith.  We often skim over the second reality.  We will hear right at the beginning of the baptism some questions for the family about renouncing Satan, evil powers of the world, and sinful desires.  I often joke with the family how inappropriate talking about evil seems at a child’s baptism until you remember those painful sleepless nights of new parenting.  But the reason we talk about that second reality is because we are initiating someone into the life of faith, and for those of us who have been at the life of faith for a while, we know the life of faith is not all roses, glossy photos, and cake.  There will be real struggles.

And that is why I love that we start off Melody’s journey with a story about Joseph.  We are told Joseph is a righteous man.  He is devoted to God and lives an ethical life.  He represents reality number one of baptism.  But then, Joseph is presented with reality number two.  When he learns Mary is pregnant before their marriage is consummated, he has three options:  the harsh one would be to have her publicly held responsible, most likely by stoning; the generous one he plans to choose of quietly divorcing her, which saves her life, but will leave her in poverty with child in tow; or the unheard of third one, especially for a righteous man, of marrying her anyway and living forever in scandal.  As one scholar explains, “In choosing Joseph to be Jesus’s earthly father, God leads a righteous man with an impeccable reputation straight into doubt, shame, scandal, and controversy…[God] requires Joseph to embrace a mess he has not created, to love a woman whose story he doesn’t understand, to protect a baby he didn’t father, to accept an heir who is not his son.  In other words, God’s messy plan of salvation requires Joseph – a quiet, cautious, status quo kind of guy – to choose precisely what he fears and dreads the most.  The fraught, the complicated, the suspicious, and the inexplicable.”[i]

I would much rather Melody start her faith journey off with a story that lets her know, honestly and unequivocally, how messy this journey will be.  We have a hint of that messiness in Matthew’s gospel from the beginning.  In the verses before what we heard today, is a long list of Joseph’s forefathers: from Abraham, who almost kills his son Ishmael and twice risks the life and safety of his wife Sarah, to Jacob, the trickster who steals his inheritance and livelihood twice, to David, who steals another man’s wife and has her husband murdered, to Tamar, who pretends to be a sex worker, and Rahab who is one.  The genealogy of Christ is a “long line of broken, imperfect, dishonorable, and scandalous people.”  As Debie Thomas explains, “The perfect backdrop, I suppose, for God’s relentless work of restoration, healing, and hope.”[ii]

That’s what telling Joseph’s story does for Melody and all of us today.  Joseph reminds us that our faith journey will be messy.  Our faith journey will not take us where we think our journey will.  Our faith journey will invite us to love people we never thought we could.  Our faith journey will sometimes seem meaningless or small, like that Joseph’s chapel in the Holy Land.  But as the angel tells Joseph, so the angel of the Lord tells us today, “Do not be afraid.”  Do not be afraid of the messiness of this journey.  Do not be afraid of going where society may deem too messy.  Do not be afraid to love with abandon, even if your loving is not seen by the crowds, or recognized all over the world.  When we come out of the waters of baptism, we walk right into the mess – because the mess of the world is where God is.  And we want to be there too.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections on the Life of Christ (Eugene, OR:  Cascade Books, 2022), 12.

[ii] Thomas, 13.

On Not Feeling so Merry and Bright…

15 Thursday Dec 2022

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Content Warning:  This post addresses mental illness and death by suicide. 

Yesterday, I received the news that Stephen “tWitch” Boss died by suicide.  I first encountered tWitch on the show So You Think You Can Dance.  He was full of life, talent, and entertainment.  He became beloved, and I was thrilled to see him on other seasons of the show.  Several years later, he joined The Ellen Degeneres Show as her DJ and co-host and later as a co-executive producer.  It seemed the perfect television match as I couldn’t imagine two people fuller of joy.

Perhaps talking about someone in showbusiness seems frivolous, but I can’t help thinking about the contraction of someone who exuded and brought forth so much joy also being one who struggled with mental health.  But that is the danger with mental illness:  so often we think mental illness is obvious.  Mental illness is just as hidden to the naked eye as heart disease or cancer.  Mental illness is just as much of an illness as any other:  requiring treatment, medication, and medical help.  And yet, somehow, we often blame mental illness patients for their illness in ways we would never blame a cancer patient. 

I am especially mindful of tWitch’s death because I can imagine the pressure this time of year places on those with mental illness.  We have been through a tremendously hard and isolating two and a half years, and now that the “most wonderful time of the year” is upon us, we all feel pressure to feel, do, and be certain ways.  Equally tragic to tWitch’s death is the impact of his death on his wife and little children.  I suspect Christmas joy will be quite hard to muster this year for all of them.

That is why I am so grateful for services like our church’s “Blue Christmas” service.  The emotional pressure to feel, do, and be certain ways is at its highest at Christmas time.  We are living up to external pressures to be “merry and bright,” all while experiencing loss, pain, sadness, suffering, loneliness, unfulfilled expectations, and grief.  Some of us are better at putting on our happy faces, but most of us bring to Christmas a whole other set of emotions that we do not talk about in polite circles.  Our Blue Christmas service provides a different circle.  Call it “impolite” if you like, but I find it a most sacred circle of trust where people can lay down their burdens and be reminded that they are not alone.  If you need such a sacred circle, I hope you will join us on December 21 at 7:00 pm (the service will be livestreamed and archived should you need it at another time and/or place).  You do not need to say or do anything while you are here.  We will not ask you any questions about why you are here.  You are simply welcome to the space, to gather in with the Holy Spirit, and to feel a sense of love and acceptance, as we remind you how you are a beloved child of God. 

If you’re thinking about suicide, are worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and Crisis Textline is available 24/7 across the United States.  They are available for everyone, free, and confidential.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:

(800) 273-8255

Crisis Textline:

Text ASKUS to 741741

On Living into the Dream…

23 Wednesday Nov 2022

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Photo credit: https://www.cccnz.nz/intergenerational-ministry_cfm/

I served in a parish once whose strategic initiative was to grow the church.  At a leadership retreat, when the facilitator asked us about our intention to grow, a key leader said, “Well we want to grow.  But not too much.”  His words were a shock to my system.  Something I had seen as a common goal that everyone supported and for which I was working suddenly seemed to be in question.  I was left doubting how we could possibly move forward if we were not together in our sense of direction.

When I came to Hickory Neck, I was regaled with stories of this parish’s love for children.  The stories of children sitting in the window wells in the Historic Chapel (before there was a New Chapel), and toddlers crawling under the pews only to be captured and passed back overhead to mom and dad slowly became my stories.  As I learned about our surrounding community, which draws both young families and recent retirees, our collective identity and purpose became clear.  We are a multigenerational church whose entire sense of purpose is bringing together the generations to experience, glorify, and serve God in community.

So, you can imagine my shock recently when I was told that one of our families was made to feel as if they were not welcome at Hickory Neck because their children were too loud.  My dismay was two-fold.  First, I am deeply sympathetic to our families with young children.  That they have their children dressed and in church by the time worship starts is a feat so laudable they should receive gold stars at church.  Despite a desire to bring one’s family to church, I promise you, getting there and staying there is no small feat.  It can be stressful enough to make you wonder why you do it at all.

But second, I could not reconcile something so contradictory to our core values and sense of purpose.  As a church that values hospitality and living fully into its multigenerational identity, we know those things are inherently messy.  But every squeal, cry, and wiggle are the sounds of life for the church.  Every child who is loved in our space comes to know the love of Christ, every parent who is encouraged in our space comes to experience God’s grace, and every surrogate grandma, grandpa, auntie, or uncle who experiences the “noise” of church has the opportunity to know the Holy Spirit.

Claiming an identity is the easy part.  Living that identity is the hard part.  We will all have days where we fail miserably and succeed fabulously.  Just this Sunday, the same day as the other incident, a visitor intimated to me, “You know, I can tell your church really supports young families.  When my children were that age, I found most churches were not welcoming.  Honestly, it made it hard to go to church.”  This week, I encourage us to live into the reality we have claimed and that, most days, others experience.  It will not be easy.  It will be loud, messy, and some days frustrating.  But it will also be heart-warming, sacred, and beautiful.  This is the Christian witness into which we are called.  But we can only achieve it together:  young and old, loud and quiet, energized and exhausted.    

Sermon – Luke 23.33-43, CKS, YC, November 20, 2022

23 Wednesday Nov 2022

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If the foyer of our house is a painting of the crucifixion by an artist from Tanzania.  The painting is hauntingly beautiful, with deep reds, purples, and blacks.  For some reason this week, our younger daughter noticed the painting and asked who the other two men on crosses were.  “Why are there three crosses?  Wasn’t just Jesus on a cross?” she asked.  I offered a short explanation, including why people were crucified in Jesus’ time.  Her rage was immediate.  “That’s not fair!  We should crucify those people who crucified others!”

I confess her reaction was not what I expected and led to a rather pedantic conversation about The Golden Rule.  But the more I thought about her reaction, the more I though she was simply reflecting those base feelings we all have.  In her mind, justice is retribution:  a consequence equal to the offense.  Her reaction is why twenty-seven states still have the death penalty.  In fact, there are whole political science courses on the concept of what constitutes justice. 

That’s why today’s feast day, Christ the King Sunday, is tricky.  The people of Jesus’ day had notions of what a king should be – in particular, what the messianic king should be.  The messianic king was to be about justice – righting the wrongs of a people who have been subjugated by the Romans, establishing power, authority, and control, and running out anyone opposed to the rule of the Lord.  Suddenly why Jesus is on a cross is more obvious – the Messiah whose “triumphal entry into Jerusalem,” instead involves riding into town on a lowly donkey, who seems more focused on healing people than on establishing a new political order, who questions the authority and motives of the religious leaders.  This is why a mocking sign, “King of the Jews” hangs over his head, this is why religious leaders and soldiers are taunting him, this is why a thief condemned to the same fate, hanging in agony, channels his anger toward Jesus.

And yet, here we are, reading this text of seemingly failed leadership while simultaneously celebrating the crucified Christ as the king.  We modern Americans know what successful leadership looks like.  We have spent the last two weeks anxiously awaiting who will control the House and Senate in Congress.  Presidential hopefuls are revealing themselves.  Political pundits have been explaining the consequences of split leadership, and what we can anticipate in the next two years.  Given the chaos of the times, a traditional messianic king might be kind of nice.

But here’s how we know why we prefer Jesus’ version of kingship.  In the midst of this chaos are those two men my daughter saw in that painting.  According to tradition, the one on the right, who defends Jesus, is named Dismas; the one on the left, who insults Jesus, is named Gestas.[i]  Both men are likely political criminals, since crucifixion was reserved for the most extreme political crimes.  And since they are both on a cross, we can imagine that both their political dreams did not come to fruition.  And so Gestas, bitter and angry mocks Jesus.  He’s often called the “bad” or “unrepentant thief,” so we have our cues about how to judge his behavior.  But who among us, especially when our dreams or political hopes have been dashed, is not bitter?

Meanwhile, Dismas is equally defeated.  He does not presume to plead his case to Jesus – he has surrendered his dream.  He asks the only thing left to ask, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.”[ii]  His plea is a defeated, vulnerable plea.  But here’s where the beauty of Jesus’ version of kingship comes in.  Jesus, as scholar Debie Thomas says, “tolerates the terrible tension between despair and hope, absorbing both into his heart…”  Jesus offers, “a hope so paradoxical, [the hope] transforms our suffering and changes our lives.”  “Today,” he says to Dismas, “You will be with me in Paradise.”[iii]

Today we celebrate the king who remembers us, who hangs “in the gap between our hope and despair…who carries our dreams to the grave and beyond.”[iv]  No matter what is happening in our political lives, Christ the King Sunday invites us to follow this third way of Jesus.  We will not always feel like victors.  In fact, our defeats may be the only thing that help us see the way out of the world’s suffering.  The way is not on gallant horse, flag in hand, proclaiming victory.  Ours is the quiet victory of a man who hangs in the midst of hurts and declares a new way of the cross.  Our invitation is to follow that kind of king.  Because today – today – we can realize the kingdom with Christ our King.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections on the Life of Christ (Eugene, OR:  Cascade Books, 2022), 184.

[ii] Luke 23.42

[iii] Thomas, 184-185.

[iv] Thomas, 186.

Sermon – Luke 6.20-31, AS, YC, November 6, 2022

23 Wednesday Nov 2022

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Holy Scripture can be a real downer sometimes!  Maybe that sounds petulant, defeatist, or even a little like someone who just wants a saccharine-y Savior, but when I read passages like Luke’s gospel today, I get more than a little discouraged.  In Luke’s Sermon on the Plain, we hear Luke’s version of Jesus’ beatitudes.  They start off encouragingly enough.  Who wouldn’t want blessings for the poor, hungry, weeping, and persecuted?  But then come the woes.  Woe to the rich, those who are full, the laughing, the respected.  Woe to us, really.  I don’t know about you, but I had breakfast this morning, I was able to pay my bills this month (including my pledge), I certainly have received compliments on my work before, and you all know I have laughed recently – my laugh is the one marker that can help you find me in any room!  According to scripture, I am in a lot of woe! 

Of course, sometimes All Saints Day can feel like a day of woe anyway.  From early in the Church’s history, saints were those “persons of heroic sanctity, whose deeds were recalled with gratitude by later generations.”[i]  All Saints Day now is one of the seven principal feast days in the Episcopal Church, and the only one that can be transferred to a Sunday.  All Saints Day is also one of the prescribed days for baptism.[ii]  In other words, we value the life and witness of extremely pious, holy people so much we want the newly baptized to understand that sainthood is the goal. 

The good news is the original Greek may help us find our way out of deflation and into encouragement.  Because of the ways the “Blessed are…”s are paired with the “Woe to”s, we might interpret “woe” to mean “cursed.”  Cursed are those who are rich, have full bellies, are laughing, or are respected.  But that is not exactly what woe means.  According to scholar, Matt Skinner, “In this context, ‘woe’ functions as a sharp contrast to ‘blessed,’ yet the Greek word ouai does not mean ‘cursed’ or ‘unhappy.’  Certainly not ‘damned.’  Like the English word “yikes,” woe is more of an attention-getter and emotion-setter than a clear characterization or pronouncement.  Jesus therefore promises relief to some groups, to those people who suffer in this life.  To others, to folks who find existence rather enjoyable or easy, he cries, ‘Look out!’”[iii]

Another scholar echoes Skinner’s argument, reminding us that Jesus is not so much concerned that people are wealthy, well-fed, have pleasure, or enjoy respect; Jesus is very concerned with how those wealthy, well-fed, pleased, respected people treat the poor.  Amy-Jill Levine reminds us that the disciples are not destitute.  Four of them own boats and one of them is a tax collector.  And the majority of the minor figures in Luke’s gospel are not poor either:  “the ruler Jairus and his wife; the centurion with the sick child, Mary and Martha the householders, the various Pharisees as well as sinners and tax collectors with whom Jesus banquets, Zaccheus the chief tax collector…”[iv]  The existence of resources, blessings, and pleasure are not sinful in and of themselves.  The “woe” or the “yikes” is simply a reminder that what we do with those resources, blessings, and pleasure matters – a lot. 

 I am not sure any of us will ever be called saints in our day.  That is why I love so much how we honor all those faithful departed who have gone before on All Saints Day.  As we tie ribbons or type out names of mothers, brothers, lovers, children, and friends who have gone before, we honor not that they were saints, but perhaps that they were saint-like in their trying.  For all their foibles, the moments where they lacked compassion, where they got caught up in their selfishness, they also taught us how to love abundantly, how to care for others with empathy, and how to find moments of selflessness. 

Jesus’ woes are not meant to send us home with the mantra, “Woe is me!”  Jesus’ woes are meant to be our yikes!  Yikes, look at all the abundance in our lives.  Yikes, look at all the moments of pure joy and laughter.  Yikes, look at the ways others look up to us (even if they cannot verbalize their respect).  When we find ourselves in this life cocooned in goodness, the life of faith, the life of the saints, is to share our abundance, to use our abundance for good, to be agents of abundance in the world.  We will not always succeed.  But, yikes!  Our invitation today is to be saint-like in our trying.  Amen.

[i] Holy Women, Holy Men:  Celebrating the Saints (New York:  Church Publishing, 2010), 664.

[ii] Holy Women, Holy Men:  Celebrating the Saints (New York:  Church Publishing, 2010), 662.

[iii] Matt Skinner, “Commentary on Luke 6:20-31,” November 3, 2019, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/all-saints-day-2/commentary-on-luke-620-31-4 on November 5, 2022.

[iv] Amy-Jill Levine and Ben Witherington, III, The Gospel of Luke:  New Cambridge Bible Commentary (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2018), 177.

On Ghosts, Goblins, and Community…

03 Thursday Nov 2022

Posted by in reflection

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Sometimes, when parenting children, you tend to operate in a haze.  In trying to harmonize work, family life, and everything else, you can become partially present in the parenting moment.  Halloween can be one of those instances.  In the rush of everyday responsibilities, you need to decorate the house, sweep off the driveway, purchase and prep candy for distribution, ensure your kids have all the costume parts they need (sometimes mending, gluing, pinning them at the last minute, or figuring out how to do their makeup), oh, and find that trick-or-treat bag they want from last year.  There is coordinating with other parents so your kid can walk with their friends, the needed photos, and the constant reminders to say “trick or treat!” and “thank you!” 

Fortunately, the Holy Spirit is always at work, giving us moments of the sacred in even the most hectic secular experiences.  This Monday, I was in that Halloween haze myself, trying to send off my older child, praying she made good choices, and accompanying my younger child, soaking up the chance to enjoy the night with her.  As we made our way from house to house, the sacred was slowly revealed.  I noticed as parents walked with their children, they connected more meaningfully than in our quick hellos at the bus stop and coordinating texts for playdates.  As homeowners emerged from their homes, I watched older adults light up with the chance to interact with children, I saw parents of older children wistfully watch the littles as their older children were too far past this precious time, and I noticed singletons relishing a chance for social interaction.  I was in the midst of community at its finest:  strangers extending hospitality, cross-generation lovingkindness, and deeply felt smiles. 

I know Halloween has pagan roots, and the Church, as it always does, worked to Christianize the day of All Hollows Eve.  We even have some neighbors who do not participate in the ritual of trick-or-treating out of Christian protest.  But when you strip away all the scary characters, fear-inducing movies, and sacrilegious legends, what remains is one of the best of examples of genuine Christian community.  Somehow, political differences fade, generational biases are set aside, and interpersonal anxieties ease, and what remains is an activity that allows for humble, gracious, affirming hospitality and care.

I wonder how we might foster those same sorts of conditions in our Church communities.  My church’s mission is focused on intergenerational ministry.  Sundays often demonstrate those values as intergenerational ministry blooms.  But the experience of trick-or-treating this year has me wondering what more we can do to create space where strangers can enjoy loving, affirming moments of intimacy and care with neighbors.  My prayer is the Holy Spirit works through our busy hazes to reveals those opportunities for all of us.