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Sermon – Mathew 25.1-13, P27, YA, November 12, 2023

29 Wednesday Nov 2023

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I have never really liked this parable from Matthew.  Every time I hear it, I think of hundreds of reasons why Jesus gets the story all wrong.  Surely, Jesus does not mean that we should not share our bounty or at least figure out creative solutions to inclusivity.  Just two weeks ago we talked about loving our neighbor as ourselves, and loving means sharing your bounty.  And surely, Jesus does not mean that one moment of being unprepared means being kept from the heavenly banquet.  Even the sinner dying on the cross beside Jesus is gifted eternal life in the kingdom.  And surely, Jesus does not mean to advocate a theology of scarcity.  We are always talking about God’s abundant love, and hoarding our “oil” can only create a cold heart of scarcity that is rigidly stuck on self-preservation.  Nothing of this parable feels remotely like the Jesus I know, and yet here we are, on a Celebration Sunday studying a celebration that seems to be the antithesis of the Good News.

Though Matthew gives us this uncomfortable story, I am reminded of another uncomfortable story in John’s gospel.  Jesus is reclining with his friends, enjoying a relaxing meal.  And Mary, whose brother has recently been raised from the dead, kneels at Jesus’ feet, and pours this really expensive perfume all over Jesus’ feet.  Judas freaks out, exclaiming that the cost of that perfume could have been used to feed the poor – a group of people Jesus deeply cares about and argues that the kingdom of God holds dear.  Now, there is some commentary in John’s gospel about how Judas is a little shady and that he did not actually care about the poor.  But we know Jesus cared about the poor – a lot!  And yet Jesus shushes Judas and basically says there is a time for all things.  Certainly, they will always be time for serving the poor.  But in this moment, they only have Jesus a little longer and Mary’s undivided focus on Jesus is just the right thing to be doing, forsaking all the other good things she could be doing.  

One of my favorite theologians is Stanley Hauerwas.  There are many reasons why I love him – both personally and theologically – but Stanley has always been a theologian who has made uncomfortable arguments for followers of Jesus – always arguing that our lives must be lived radically differently than our capitalistic societies would have us live.  Following Jesus means sacrifice and valuing of the community over the self.  So, when I went to his writings about Matthew’s bridesmaid parable, I thought for sure he would have something to say about these stingy “wise bridesmaids.”  Surely Hauerwas of all people would have encouraged the wise bridesmaids to stand by the foolish ones, letting them benefit from their light.  Or surely Hauerwas would encourage the foolish bridesmaids to not go running around in the night, but to stand firmly before our God of mercy and wait for the abundant, merciful bridegroom to hold wide the door for unprepared sinners.

Sadly, that is not what Hauerwas argues.  Hauerwas says that if the bridesmaids who had thought ahead, “had shared their oil when the bridegroom had come, there would have been no light.  Those who follow Jesus will be expected to lead lives that make it possible for the hungry to be fed and the stranger welcomed, but the practice of charity requires a community prepared to welcome Christ as the bridegroom, for he alone makes possible hospitality to the stranger in the world where there will always be another stranger needing hospitality.”[i]

This parable today is not about us navigating some perceived ethical challenge about caring for the “less than.”  Today’s parable is instead about being prepared for Christ.  I may not like that the foolish bridesmaids return too late to enter the celebration, and I may not like that the groom closes the doors, and I definitely do not like that five women are left out in the cold.  I do not like any of those things, but they happen whether I like them or not.  “Windows close.  Chances fade.  Times runs out…  The opportunity to mend the friendship, forgive the debt, break the habit, write the check, heal the wound, confront the injustice, embrace the church, relinquish the bitterness, closes down.  Opportunities end.”  As Debie Thomas says, “We tell ourselves that there’s always tomorrow.  That we’ll get to it – whatever “it” is – eventually.  Because there will always be more time.” But, “what if there isn’t?  What if this parable is telling us to be alert now, awake now, active now?  What if [this parable is] inviting us to live as if each day – singular and fleeting – is all we have?  Tomorrow, if [tomorrow] comes, will be its own gift, its own miracle, its own challenge.  Don’t presume that [tomorrow] belongs to you.  Do what is needful now.”[ii] 

That is our invitation on this Celebration Sunday.  Hickory Neck offers the vehicle of your time, talent, and treasure to help you see whether you have arranged your resources to reflect your preparation for Christ the bridegroom.  That is likely the most accessible way for us to step back and look at all the things we are holding – that oil for our lamps – and see if we are using that oil in a way that allows us to welcome Christ so that Christ can make possible hospitality to the stranger in the world.  There will always be strangers for us to welcome, but today, our invitation is to ensure that we have first welcomed Christ in our lives in such a powerful way that we are invited to dance into the banquet hall with Christ, ready for the dance that will take its light back out into the world.  Amen.

[i] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew:  Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 209.

[ii] Debie Thomas, Into the Mess and Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections on the Life of Christ (Eugene, OR:  Cascade Books, 2022),162.

Sermon – Matthew 18.21-35, P19, YA, September 17, 2023

20 Wednesday Sep 2023

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One of the tricky things about Jesus’ parables is where to situate ourselves, especially when the parable is a familiar one.  As soon as we hear the words, “…the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts…” our brains jump ahead, “Oh, this is the one where the guy is forgiven of his debts and then two seconds later turns around and refuses to forgive someone else’s debt.”  We may have felt pity for the first slave who owed so much, we may have been shocked by his poor behavior toward the other slave, or we may have even thought, “That guy deserved what he got!”  But the thing that is the hardest to do when reading this familiar parable is to situate ourselves in the shoes of the first slave.  And yet, that is the entire reason Jesus tells the parable today. 

We know where to situate ourselves because of what happens before the parable.  If you remember our gospel last week, we talked about Jesus’ conflict resolution plan.  In the very next verse after Jesus explains how the community of faith is to handle conflict, Peter asks a question in today’s text.  The question is a fair one, and when we’re really honest with ourselves, one we may have asked God ourselves.  Peter asks, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive?  As many as seven times?”  The parable Jesus tells today is in response to Peter’s question about conflict, sin, and forgiveness in the community of faith.  Essentially, Jesus says, “Let me tell you a little story about forgiveness.”  So, we, who have resisted forgiveness ourselves like Peter, can situate ourselves with not just Peter, but with the slave who fails so miserably at forgiveness. 

Now, before you get too defensive about how you would never treat a fellow human being like the first slave treats the second, we need to think about Peter’s question first.  Theologian Stanley Hauerwas explains, “Peter’s question presupposes that he is the one who has been sinned against.  He assumes that he is in the position of power against the one who has wronged him.  But Jesus’s reply reminds Peter that he is to learn to be the forgiven.”[i]  Before we begin to think about offering forgiveness, we operate from one foundational truth:  we are a people who have first been forgiven.[ii]  Our forgiven status is at the heart of our ability to be a people of forgiveness.

But before we even talk about being a people of forgiveness, we need to talk a little bit about what forgiveness is not.  Some of us believe that forgiveness means excusing or overlooking the harm that has been done to us and saying that everything is okay.  For those who hold that belief, forgiveness can be equated with stuffing our feelings down deep inside or downright lying in order to keep the peace.  Others of us believe that forgiveness means allowing those who have hurt us to persist in their behavior.  For those who hold this belief, forgiveness is so important, that we become recurring victims of offenses.  Still others believe that forgiving means forgetting what happened.  For those who hold this belief, forgiveness is pretending an old hurt does not still hurt.  Finally, others see forgiveness as something that we can do at will, and always all at once.  For those who hold this belief, forgiveness must be immediate and offered quickly.  The problem with all these models of forgiveness – of overlooking the harm, saying everything is okay, of allowing recurring behavior, of trying to forget, or forgiving once and for all – is that these models of forgiveness would have been totally foreign to Jesus.  According to author Jan Richardson, in Jesus’ teaching about forgiveness, “…nowhere does Jesus lay upon us the kinds of burdens we have often placed upon ourselves—burdens that can make one of the most difficult spiritual practices nearly impossible.”[iii]

So, if we know what forgiveness is not, we need to know what forgiveness is.  I like what scholar Debie Thomas has to say about forgiveness.  She says, “I think forgiveness is choosing to foreground love instead of resentment. If I’m consumed with my own pain, if I’ve made injury my identity, if I insist on weaponizing my well-deserved anger in every interaction I have with people who hurt me, then I’m drinking poison, and the poison will kill me long before it does anything to my abusers. To choose forgiveness is…to cast my hunger for healing deep into Christ’s heart, because healing belongs to him, and he’s the only one powerful enough to secure it.”  She goes on to say, “Secondly, …forgiveness is a transformed way of seeing.  A way of seeing that is forward-focused.  Future-focused.  Eschaton-focused.  …abuse and oppression are [n]ever God’s will or plan for anyone.  But I do believe that God is always and everywhere in the business of taking the worst things that happen to us, and going to work on them for the purposes of multiplying wholeness and blessing…Because God loves us, we don’t have to forgive out of scarcity. We can forgive out of God’s abundance.”[iv]

So how many times are we to forgive?  Not seven times.  Not even really seventy-seven times or seventy times seven, as some translations say.[v]  The forgiveness that first slave receives is hyperbolically abundant – the forgiveness by the king of ten thousand talents (or the equivalent of 150,000 years of labor)[vi] is almost ludicrous in its generosity.  But that is how abundantly God loves us.  We are invited today to love with that kind of ludicrous abundance too.  For our health, for our faith in the better world God is creating, we pray for the strength to ask God to “forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.”  We are a forgiven people, who, because God loves us, can forgive not out of scarcity, but out of God’s abundance.  Amen.  

[i] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew:  Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 166.

[ii] Hauerwas, 166.

[iii] Jan Richardson, “The Hardest Blessing,” September 9, 2014, as found at http://paintedprayerbook.com/2014/09/09/the-hardest-blessing/#.VBOogcKwKi0 on September 16, 2023.

[iv] Debie Thomas, “Unpacking Forgiveness,” September 6, 2020, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2748-unpacking-forgiveness on September 16, 2023.

[v] Lewis R. Donelson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 69.

[vi] David Lose, “Pentecost 14A: Forgiveness and Freedom,” Sept. 7, 2014, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/ 2014/09/pentecost-14-a/.

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.

Sermon – Lk 11.1-13, P12, YC, July 24, 2010

05 Wednesday Oct 2022

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The single most common topic I have been asked about in the course of my ministry, year in and year out, through crisis, through joys, through transitions, and change, young and old have approached me asking for one thing:  teach me how to pray.  The request is simple, yet complicated all at the same time.  You see, when someone asks me how they can pray a reel begins in my mind, flashing all the experiences of prayer I have seen in my lifetime:  the healing prayers that splayed someone to the ground in the Pentecostal church of my early childhood; the United Methodist prayers spoken extemporaneously from the heart; the hippy campus minister who always started prayer with silence so long you wondered if he had fallen asleep; the prayers written to accompany the prayer beads my fingers strung together; the stiff Episcopal collects that seem at the same time formulaic and beautiful; saying the Lord’s Prayer in Spanish, trying to keep up with the native speakers; silent prayers in the middle of the night as I seethed in my anger at God, with no words left; praying into a telephone that doubled as a speaker in the retirement home’s dining room; resorting to digital Pop-Up Prayers when a pandemic forced us into isolation.  When asked, “teach me to pray,” where can I possibly begin?!?

When the disciples ask Jesus to teach them how to pray, Jesus’ mind seems to be all over the place too.  Jesus begins his lesson with the actual text of the Lord’s Prayer.  Jesus says, “When you pray, say this…”  But Jesus does not stop his lesson there.  Jesus goes on to teach the disciples through three small vignettes. 

In the first vignette, the disciples hear about the man who refuses his friend bread in the middle of the night because he has already gone to bed.  The disciples learn through this funny battle of wills that their posture in prayer is to be persistently inquiring.  In fact, the word used in our translation today for “persistent” is also translated by some scholars as “shamelessness.” [i]  In the second vignette, the disciples are told in the instruction to ask, seek, and knock that God responds to their inquiries.  They learn here that their posture in prayer is a posture of action.  Prayer is to express their need to God, to search out God when they feel abandoned, and to cry out to God with a loud knock.  The final vignette compares the care of a parent with the care of God for the disciples.  The disciples learn that God’s love for them is greater than the instinctual, caring love of a parent for a child.  The disciples experience that abundance when they enter into a prayerful relationship with God. 

A vulnerable, active, abundant relationship with God sounds wonderful and easy enough.  The problem is the relationship Jesus describes is not easy.  We find it difficult to be continuously vulnerable, active, and overwhelmed by God in prayer.  In fact, we find simply remaining in prayer with God difficult.  When I was in seminary, I had a group of lay persons from my field education parish who met with me once a month to help me reflect on my ministry at the church.  One of my committee members, Joe, was notorious for keeping me on the spot in these meetings.  “So, Jennifer, how is your prayer life?” Joe would always ask me.  The first time he asked me that question, I stammered through some sort of reply about corporate and individual prayer.  But Joe wanted to know the specifics of what my prayer life entailed.  Joe’s monthly prodding was the first real experience I had with accountability in my prayer life.  Finally, after about a year of asking me about my prayer life, I asked Joe about his prayer life.  Joe explained that the reason he always asked me about my prayer life was because he struggled with his own prayer life.  His pushing me was a way of also pushing himself.  He knew that if I struggled to keep an engaged prayer life, he could gain some camaraderie in his own struggle; and if I was feeling particularly connected to God in prayer, he would be challenged to engage God with more intentionality.

The mutual support that Joe was unknowingly creating is the promise of our Gospel lesson today.  First Jesus gives the disciples words:  the Lord’s Prayer.  Once they own those words, they have an assuring entry into dialogue with God.  And once the disciples have that entry, they are assured of God’s presence in the prayer relationship.  God is the faithful friend, who gets up in the middle of the night to answer prayer.  God is the responding God who will answer, be present, and open doors through the prayer relationship.  God is the parent that our parents can never fully be because God’s love is more abundant than the disciples, as humans, can ever be.  Jesus does not promise that God will respond to the disciples’ prayers in a particular or specific way.  The disciples are not promised riches or earthly gain through a life in prayer.  But Jesus does promise that God will respond, will stay present with the disciples, and will love the disciples abundantly. 

Despite all the modes of prayer I have witnessed over time, perhaps the best advice is to start where Jesus does with the words of the Lord’s Prayer.  Jesus affirms for us today that if all you can pray is the Lord’s Prayer, then pray the Lord’s Prayer.  The vehicle of the Lord’s Prayer has the power to take us to that point of vulnerability with God.  The vehicle of the Lord’s Prayer has the power to push us to action, seeking God by asking for those basic needs, knowing that God provides beyond those needs.  The vehicle of the Lord’s Prayer has the power to remind us of the abundance we already experience – of daily food, of forgiveness of sins, of salvation.  Jesus’ words for you today are words of encouragement.  Your relationship through prayer with God is going to require you to be vulnerable and to engage, but your relationship through prayer with God will be marked with abundance.  And if you feel overwhelmed by that promise, then start today with these words, “Our Father, hallowed be your name…”  Amen.

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

Sermon – Luke 6.27-38, EP7, YC, February 20, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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Last week, we talked about the differences between Matthew’s version of Jesus’ famous beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount and Luke’s version of the same beatitudes from the Sermon on the Plain.  If you recall, in Luke’s version, Jesus comes down to a level place, and speaks to the disciples eye to eye, conveying an intimacy to his instructions with the disciples.  In Luke’s beatitudes, the epiphany we have is not so much about Jesus’ identity, like in the visitation of the magi, his baptism, or in the wedding of Cana, but instead is an epiphany about what living with Jesus will be like:  loving our neighbor, seeking and serving Christ in others, striving for justice and peace, and respecting the dignity of every human being – the very promises we make in our baptismal covenant.

In today’s lesson, Jesus goes from making eye contact with us to turning our eyes to make eye contact with those around us.  When we love our neighbor, seek and serve Christ in others, strive for justice and peace, and respect the dignity of every human being, Jesus tells us those neighbors and those others must include our enemies.  And this is where this week’s epiphany becomes more difficult.  This passage often hits us in the gut by that simple word, “enemies.”  Our minds go to the worst:  the violent murderer, the manipulative sexual offender, the blatant endorser of racial discrimination, or the oppressive governmental dictator.  But the harder enemies are those “little” enemies much closer to home:  the disruptive neighbor who disrespects common space, the colleague with whom you avoid certain topics of discussion to keep the peace, the student at school who is so subtle with their bullying no one else sees her as a bully, or that anonymous writer in the Last Word whose opinion makes you seethe with anger.  When we consider those “little enemies,” Jesus’ instruction to not judge, not condemn, to forgive, to share, and to love become a checklist of good behavior we are not sure we can keep. 

A few years ago, the Greater Williamsburg area kicked off a commitment to becoming a community of kindness with a rallying event.  The former Mayor of Anaheim, California, Tom Tait, who had run on a campaign of kindness, was the keynote speaker.  Mayor Tait talked about his time on City Council in Anaheim, how part of his work felt like a game of whack-a-mole.  Each month, some crisis or community problem would arise – violence in the community, the prevalence of drugs, problems in the public schools.  And the City Council’s response felt trying to put a Band-Aid on another problem – to whack at the problem to temporarily knock the problem out.  But those solutions never really made a deep impact.  What Mayor Tait saw was all those problems were like symptoms – symptoms of a city that was facing an internal sickness.  The only way to heal the internal sickness was to commit as a city to transform their entire way of operating.  Mayor Tait believed transformation would occur by committing to kindness.  To many, the idea sounded a little too pie-in-the-sky.  But once elected, Mayor Tait was forced to try to live out the reality of kindness.  With every decision, every major action, the community wondered together what would reflect kindness.  And slowly, the illness in the system began to heal.  Kindness was not a Band-Aid, but a system-altering antidote to a host of problems.

In a lot of ways, that is what Jesus is talking about today.  Yes, the things Jesus is talking about are commands – a list of ways to love one another – even our enemies.  But Jesus is not just talking about commands.  As one scholar describes, “Jesus isn’t offering a set of simple rules by which to get by or get ahead in this world but is inviting us into a whole other world.  A world that is not about measuring and counting and weighing and competing and judging and paying back and hating and all the rest.  But instead is about love. Love for those who have loved you.  Love for those who haven’t.  Love even for those who have hated you.  That love gets expressed in all kinds of creative ways, but often come through by caring – extending care and compassion and help and comfort to those in need – and forgiveness – not paying back but instead releasing one’s claim on another and opening up a future where a relationship of …love is still possible.”[i] 

What Jesus is doing is trying to, “inculcate, and illustrate, an attitude of heart, a lightness of spirit in the face of all that the world can throw at you.”  We are to assume this new way of being because “that’s what God is like.  God is generous to all people, generous…to a fault:  [God] provides good things for all to enjoy, the undeserving as well as the deserving.  [God] is astonishingly merciful…”  As N. T. Wright adds, “…this list of instructions is all about which God you believe in – and about the way of life that follows as a result.”[ii]  When we take Jesus seriously, and embrace this new way of being, the way that leads to love, life can be “exuberant, different, astonishing.  People [will] stare.”[iii]

That is our epiphany invitation today:  to loosen our grip on love and allow love to flow as freely as the abundance of God’s love for the world.  This is not an invitation to grin and bear niceness, like a grumbled “bless his heart.”  Instead, this is an invitation to live in way that is contrary to our very human nature.[iv]  As you imagine all those little enemies you may be feeling today’s invitation is impossible.  And on your own, loving those little enemies is impossible.  But you are not on your own.  Not here at Hickory Neck.  You have a community of faithful seekers – of people who long to follow Jesus – and who have just as many little enemies as you – in fact some of them may even be in this room.  But with Christ and this community of the faithful, we leave this place knowing that the Holy Spirit will enable us to let go of our desperate, possessing grip on God’s love, and instead allow that love to flow through us to everyone – because there is more than enough love for us all to share.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Epiphany 7 C:  Command or Promise?” February 22, 2019, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2019/02/epiphany-7-c-command-or-promise/ on February 19, 2022.

[ii] N.T. Wright, Luke for Everyone (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 73-74.

[iii] Wright, 74.

[iv] Charles Bugg, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 384.

Sermon – Luke 5.1-11, EP5, YC (Annual Meeting), February 6, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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As we reflect back on a year of ministry here at Hickory Neck, we see two realities.  On the one hand, we are tired.  After almost two years of a pandemic, I like to say we have been pivoting so much there is a significant divot in this sacred ground.  We have been in and out of in-person worship, in and out of tightened and lessened restrictions, we have had moments of renewal where it felt like things were getting close to normal, and then moments where the rug was snatched out from under us, and we felt like we were back to square one.  We miss our friends, we want to get back to the work of ministry that has fed us in the past or that drew us to Hickory Neck as a newcomer, we want to experience deepened relationships that come from coffee hours and parties and crowded worship spaces.  We are weary emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

I think that is why I love our gospel lesson so much today.  Jesus and the disciples have been out on the boat all day and night, and the disciples have been working through the night to catch fish to feed their merry band of followers.  When they catch nothing, Jesus says to Simon Peter, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.”  Now what Simon actually says is, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing.”  But what I like to imagine is Peter’s tone – or even what Peter was really saying in those eleven words.  In my mind, what Peter is really saying is, “Look, sir.  I get that you are trying to help, and I get that you are wise enough for us to be following you.  But I am the fisherman, and I think I know a little bit more than you on this one.  And quite frankly, I’ve been at this all night.  I am exhausted and weary, and not really interested in your next big idea.”  Of course, what he says instead (with I suspect not only skepticism but also a bit of insincere, sarcastic, feigned respect) is, “Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.”

We have all slipped into Peter’s attitude at times in the last year.  Sure, we’ll keep meeting on Zoom.  Sure, we will put the masks back on.  Sure, we’ll wait to schedule the funeral, or the baptism, or the wedding.  Sure, we’ll keep watching online worship.  That sense of frustration is totally normal and we’re lucky if it doesn’t happen more often than not.  But what that frustration can do is blind us to abundance.  If Peter had held his ground and not put down the nets, he would have missed the brilliant thing that happens next in the story.  After trying all night long, using all their gifts and talents and finding nothing, they had no logical reason to say yes to Jesus – to follow Jesus’ invitation to try again.  But when Simon Peter and the other disciples do, they catch so many fish their nets almost break.  Saying yes to Jesus leads to shocking, life-giving abundance.

That is the second reality of this past year for Hickory Neck.  As wearying as this last year has been, there have been so many incredible moments of overflowing abundance.  Whether when we tasted communion for the first time after a long hiatus, whether we were able to sing together after months of silence or lonely singing with a computer screen, whether we were able to safely embrace for the first time in a long time, or whether we were able to see someone’s face on Zoom – hearing the sound of their beautiful laughter – those moments have been abundant.  That deep divot from pivoting on this sacred ground has meant that we have reached isolated aging church members online, by phone call, or by card.  That deep divot has meant that people we had never met before the pandemic have found us online and come to know us in person, bringing us the gift of joy and renewed community.  That deep divot means that we have reconnected with Jesus, being confirmed, received, and reaffirmed by our Bishop.  That deep divot means that even with restrictions we have celebrated lives lived, consecrated new marriages, and baptized babies and toddlers.  That deep divot means that families in our neighborhoods have come to learn that Hickory Neck loves them and understands how hard being a parent and a student is right now.  That deep divot means those who are hungry and homeless have come to know comfort.  That deep divot has been filled to the brim with the abundance that we can only know by answering the call of Jesus over and over again – even when we are weary and want to tell Jesus to back off.

That is our invitation for 2022.  When Simon Peter and the disciples get back to land, they don’t take all those fish and eat a big feast.  They do not sell the fish and take the saved treasure for whatever might come.  No, they leave the overflowing abundance behind, and they follow Jesus.  The abundance was not simply a reward for good, faithful service.  The abundance was a reminder of what life with Jesus is all about.  That is our invitation today too.  When we look at that deep divot of 2021, seeing the ways that deep well overflows with the goodness of this past year, we are invited not to linger by the well of comforting abundance, hoarding it for ourselves.  We are invited to see the abundance and walk confidently into another year, knowing that continuing to follow Jesus will lead to more divots and much, much more abundance.  I could not be more excited to see how Jesus will use Hickory Neck for goodness this year.  We are emboldened today by all that God has done thus far in these hard times.  And now, we are asked to trust that the Holy Spirit has many more good things in store as we seek to care for one another and as we seek to care for those outside our walls.  Our invitation is to trust God with boldness and follow Jesus into this next year with Hickory Neck.  Amen.

On Merry, Messy Christmases…

22 Wednesday Dec 2021

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Photo credit: https://myharvestchurch.ca/messy-christmas/

Christmas as a pastor is not really like Christmas for most people.  Just ask any preacher’s kid.  While their peers are taking long road trips, fun vacations, or at least doing fun activities like making gingerbread houses, going to the movies, or baking cookies, the fun in a pastor’s home does not really begin in earnest until all the church services are done – and after a requisite nap for said pastor. 

But that is just surface stuff.  The harder part for clergy is holding in tension the reality of Christmas.  The secular world would have you believe Christmas means perfectly decorated trees stuffed with tons of perfect presents, hearths dressed in elaborate greenery, family traditions that always bring joy, and gatherings around meals with people who are happy to be together. 

But clergy are the ones who hear throughout Advent about those dealing with health crises, those struggling with the pending death of a loved one, those whose marriages are crumbling, those struggling to make ends meet, and those who are in the fog of depression and anxiety.  Clergy are also the ones who celebrate weddings, the births of babies, the good grade on an exam, the new relationships or reconciled family member, and the unbounded joy of a child waiting to open gifts.  The juxtaposition of the messy, horribleness of life and the joyful, abundance of life is never sharper than at Christmas – where societal and personal expectations are high, and where reality never reaches perfection. 

The irony, though, is that the actual Christmas story is just about that – a juxtaposition of messy horribleness and joyful abundance:  where governments are oppressing the poor financially, where pregnancies are scandalous, where birthing rooms are inadequate; all while the poor receive good news, where the lowly birth the mighty, and where community and goodness is shared among strangers.  This year, still slogging through a long season of pandemic and political strife, I pray that you might see the Christmas story clear-eyed – taking off the rose-colored glasses, and seeing with fresh eyes the messy, ugly, beautiful story of Christmas.  Christmas blessings my friends!  I see you, I love you, and more importantly, so does Jesus.

Sermon – Mark 10.17-31, P23, YB, October 10, 2021

27 Wednesday Oct 2021

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This Sunday, we kick off our stewardship season, whose theme is “Every Perfect Gift.”  I know a lot of people hear we have entered stewardship season and internally groan, knowing full well that we will have to spend the next few weeks talking about how we are sharing our time, talent, and treasure.  This can be especially hard for those of us who were raised to believe that there are certain taboo subjects in public – and money is definitely on the banned list.  I’m not sure why:  money is one of the topics Jesus talks about more than any in scripture.  But even Jesus seems incapable of eliminating Southern hospitality mores. 

Knowing our predisposition to loathe talking about money, imagine my own groan when I read today’s gospel lesson earlier this week.  This is the lesson we get on the kickoff of stewardship season?!?  A lesson about how the only proper relationship with money is to give money away to the poor and follow Jesus; a lesson that asserts getting a camel through the eye of a needle is easier than the rich to get into the kingdom of God.  And just in case any of us were hoping for an out, I already checked, and yes, we are considered “rich” by Jesus’ standards.  We might like to think ourselves exempt because we know plenty of people who have more than we do.  But given global standards, we certainly fall in the same category as the rich man in this text.

So, if your shoulders are already tensed, your foot is nervously tapping the ground, or your arms are crossed over your chest, I want you to take a deep breath in, and as you slowly exhale, allow the tension in your body to slowly release.  As you take in and release a second breath, I want you to clear you mind and listen to the text again with me with an open mind.  A man of deep faith runs to Jesus and throws himself at Jesus’ feet – he is already a faithful follower of God, and yet we see in him a yearning for deeper relationship, to align himself with the goodness of this man named Jesus.  He is a seeker, he is humble, he is passionate.  And, the text tells us, Jesus looks at him and loves him.  This is not a dependent clause.  This is a declarative, gracious, merciful statement of deep, abiding love.  Jesus looks at him and loves him.  Period. 

Many have described the next part of the story as an incisive judgment or a condemnation.[i]  But I see the next part of the story is an invitation – for the wealthy man, for the disciples, and for us.  The invitation is to contemplate the nature of our relationship with wealth.  Jesus never condemns wealth.  Jesus just knows that wealth has the power to corrupt: to corrupt our generous spirit, to corrupt our sense of self-worth, to corrupt our ability to see that every perfect gift comes from God – not from our hard work, our intelligence, or even our good looks. 

One of my favorite children’s sermons from my dad involved an apple.  He sat down with a paring knife and asked us kids to think of the apple as the money that we have.  He asked us, “What are some of the things we have to spend money on in life.”  The answers started flying:  housing, clothes, school supplies, food.  With each answer, he would slice off a part of the apple.  Then he leaned in and whispered, “Now what are the things we like to spend money on?”  We had those answer too:  bicycles, TVs, video games, candy!  With the last suggestion, we realized he had cut every last part of the apple away.  Then he looked at his empty hands and said, “Uh oh.  Did any of us save anything for the church?”  That morning, both the kids and the adults had guilty looks on their faces.  Fortunately, my dad had stashed a second apple and suggested we start over, this time giving the first slice to God.  We were amazed how we still had room for both needs and wants, even losing that crucial first slice.

That is the invitation of our stewardship season too:  to take a look at every perfect gift in our lives, to look at every perfect gift within ourselves, and to look at every perfect gift in others and to understand all that abundance comes from God.  When we allow ourselves to see the magnitude of that abundance, we can then see what Jesus is inviting the wealthy man, the disciples, and us into:  a posture of abundance, that sees all the perfect gifts we receive, we have, and others around us have and to become agents of abundance who, with relaxed shoulders, untensed bodies, and unfolded arms long to share that abundance.  Amen.        

[i] Debie Thomas, “What Must I Do?” October 3, 2021, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2944 on October 8, 2021.

Sermon – John 6.1-21, P12, YB, July 25, 2021

25 Wednesday Aug 2021

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A few weeks ago, your Vestry engaged in a calendaring session – looking at the 2021-2022 calendar and deciding what events, programs, and services we want to offer.  This year’s calendaring session was a bit easier than last year’s, even though there is still some lingering lack of clarity about how much resumption of “normal” activities we should plan.  The most immediate concern was about our annual backpack and school supply drive.  We had not heard from our partner church with whom we have coordinated for years to support a local low-income-earning neighborhood.  We were not sure how we would coordinate assignments anyway since many people are still watching church from home, and not coming in for activities, and we were just not sure what people’s inertia would be like.  So, we hemmed and hawed and eventually landed on the idea of using Vacation Bible School as a forum for collecting backpack supplies for a different, smaller agency that could use our help.  The thought was we could at least help on a smaller scale with the outside help of Vacation Bible School attendees.

Then this week, the flood gates opened.  Our partnering church called and wants to do backpacks again for our immediate neighbors in need.  Suddenly there was a loaded silence among our community engagement leaders:  eyes widened as we processed the predicament.  We have certainly had support of the backpack ministry in the past and managed to cover the needs for our neighbors.  But, managing to collect supplies and backpacks for two communities?  Could we even accomplish that?  And what about our current COVID fog?  Half of our traditional donors are not attending in-person worship on Sundays.  We certainly cannot use Sundays as our main recruitment center.  Who is going to call all our previous donors and coordinate assignments?  Are people still going to be willing to give?  What if they aren’t?  Should we check the Community Engagement budget and the Rector’s Discretionary fund?  And if we use those funds, who will procure the supplies with the redirected funds?  The panic was palpable.  Obviously, we want to support both efforts.  But we are not even sure we can.

Jesus creates a similar panic in our gospel lesson today when he asks the disciples where they can buy bread for the approximately five thousand people who have been following Jesus.  Phillip pipes up first, explaining they would need six months of salary to buy that kind of bread – and even then, each person would only get a little.  Andrew starts to get creative by noticing a boy in the crowd has five barley loaves and two fishes.  But then he realizes how ridiculous the numbers sound:  how could five barley loaves and a couple of fish feed five thousand people.  Any outside-the-box thinking is immediately squashed as the disciples go silent with panic.  They are not unconcerned with the crowd but come on!  They do not have the kind of cash necessary to feed that many mouths.  And they are all for creative problem solving, but even this kid’s food won’t feed more than a few families.  Jesus is asking for the impossible.

 Whether we are talking about bread or backpacks, our gut reactions to extraordinary requests are often rooted in a theology of scarcity.[i]  Now I know how that sounds:  weighing the methods and means of an effort is not about scarcity; weighing the methods and means is good stewardship.  We have limited resources.  The need out in the world is astronomical.  If we try to help everyone, we will not get very far.  Besides, giving out bread or backpacks is just piecemeal work – that kind of work is about feeding people, not teaching them how to fish.  And we are not just worried about money:  we must be realistic about the amount of labor to accomplish tasks.  What others call a theology of scarcity seems like judicious stewardship to us.   

Unfortunately, Jesus has never been big on realistic, measured stewardship.  Where we see scarcity, Jesus sees abundance.  First, the text tells us there is much grass on which the people can sit – a detail unique to John’s gospel.[ii]  Second, unlike in the three other gospels, in John’s gospel, Jesus does not have the disciples do the work.  Jesus distributes the bread himself.  As Karoline Lewis notes, Jesus knows “Life cannot be abundant if it is not grounded in intimacy and relationship and security….Not only is Jesus the source of abundant life, but it is being in relationship with him that is also the source.”[iii]  Third, John’s gospel is all about abundance – and the disciples have already seen this witness.  They saw the theology of abundance from Jesus chapters before at a wedding in Cana – where Jesus did not just produce wine, but he produced barrels of wine – and not just any wine, but the best wine.  Even before that miracle in Cana, John’s gospel tells us that Jesus is the Word made flesh, from whom we experience grace upon grace.  And later, Jesus will tell the disciples about how the Father’s house has abundant dwelling places, and how Jesus himself will go ahead of them to prepare a place for them in that abundant place.[iv]  And just in case the disciples are not sure about the validity of such a theology of abundance after seeing twelve baskets of leftovers, later in our reading today, when the disciples are terrified in a boat on rocky waters, Jesus calmly says, “It is I, do not be afraid.”  But the actual Greek translation is not just “It is I,” but “It is I AM.”[v]  As in, all that you have seen, all the abundance you have witnessed is of God, of Yahweh, of the great I AM. 

The good news is that Jesus does not ask us to make abundance in the world.  In fact, as Debie Thomas explains, “Jesus’s feeding miracles are his self-revelations.  He gives bread because he is Bread.  He makes possible the gathering of the body so that we might become his body, the church.”[vi]  Our invitation is to do just that.  Whether we participate in the theology of abundance by adding some school supplies to our shopping list, whether we start looking for abundance when our gut instinct is to wisely worry about scare resources, or whether we participate in Jesus’ abundance by saying “yes,” to whatever new scary adventure Jesus invites us into, the miracles of Jesus are not just something to marvel at from a distance.  Our invitation is to become Jesus’ body, knowing full well that Jesus will give the bread because he is Bread.  Amen.

[i] H. Stephen Shoemaker, “Bread and Miracles,” Christian Century, July 5-12, 2000, vol. 117, no. 20, 715.

[ii] Karoline Lewis, John (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 83.

[iii] Lewis, 83.

[iv] Charles Hoffman, “More than Enough,” Christian Century, July 25, 2006, vol. 123, no. 15, 18.

[v] Lewis, 85.

[vi] Debie Thomas, “The Miracle of Gathering,” July 18, 2021, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2944 on July 22, 2021.

On Barriers and Saying Yes…

05 Wednesday May 2021

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Photo credit: https://aleteia.org/2020/03/30/how-laypeople-can-baptize-in-an-emergency/

On Sunday, we heard the story of the Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch.[i]  At one point in the story, the eunuch says, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?”  The question is simultaneously wonderful – how amazing to hear someone so inspired by the witness of Jesus that they want to baptized right away – and anxiety-making.  Episcopalians are very clear about our identity and our liturgical ways of doing things.  So certain is our identity, that I could imagine an Episcopalian responding to the eunuch, “Well, we need to sign you up for baptism class, and then find out when the next best baptismal feast day is on the liturgical calendar.  Once we get everything lined up, we’d be thrilled to schedule your baptism!”  Somehow, that response from Philip would not have made for such an enticing story about the power of evangelism and discipleship.

The eunuch’s words were ringing in my ears when I received a similar request recently.  One of our young parishioners lost her godfather to an unexpected death during COVID.  We were all devastated and grieved together.  But a few weeks ago, the family contacted me with a request.  They had already talked as a family about how her godfather would always be her godfather, even from heaven.  But they also wanted to appoint a new earthly godfather who could help their daughter grow in the life of faith.  And so, their question was, “Is there a way you can do that liturgically by Zoom?”

One answer could have been no; we do not have such a liturgy in our Prayer Book.  But the request was so pure and Spirit-led that I knew even a Prayer Book would not want to limit such grace and abundance.  And so, in consultation with some fellow clergy and liturgical resources, including the Book of Common Prayer, we cobbled together a beautiful liturgy.  We prayed for the godfather who had passed and the ways in which he would always be with us.  The godchild formally asked the godfather if he would be willing to be her earthly godfather.  We asked the normal questions we ask in a baptismal liturgy of the godfather, and then we all reaffirmed our Baptismal Covenant and prayed over the new “family” we had created – all via Zoom.  And although we were not in our beloved chapel, we created a profound, intimately sacred space together, where the Holy Spirit blessed us as a community.

When I think about those questions, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” and “Can we designate a new godparent?” these are questions of curiosity and longing.  These are questions inspired by those seeking Christ and wanting a deeper connection to God.  If this pandemic has taught us anything, we have learned the ways in which the Holy Spirit is unbounded and can act – whether in a building, alongside a road, or online.  This week, I invite you to ponder what limits you have placed around your own connection to God – what barriers or rules have hindered your connection to the sacred.  How might you begin lessening your grip to allow room for encounters with the sacred?

[i] Acts 8.26-40