Tag Archives: acceptance

Sermon – John 20.1-18, ED, YB, March 31, 2024

01 Wednesday May 2024

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The funny thing about clergy families is that they have a unique gift of not caring at all about your ego as the clergyperson.  This week, in the midst of nightly worship commitments, and school wrapping up before Spring Break, and me trying to wrap up commitments before our family takes some time off, I share with the family how I was still struggling a bit with my Easter sermon.  A beloved member of my family said, “You’re worried about an Easter sermon?” “Oh, yes!” I explained.  “It’s a big day.  The sermon needs to be good!”  Said unnamed family member looked at me, dumbfounded, and said to me, in a way that only a family member can, “You know nobody comes to church on Easter because of the sermon.” 

Now as a preacher, you can imagine my ego was a little bruised.  But the more I thought about the observation, the more I realized the observation was right.  We come to church on Easter for a whole host of reasons.  We come to church on Easter because that is what our family has always done, and the continued observation of Easter somehow connects us to the past, present, and future, creating a sense of belonging and identity.  We come to church on Easter, because we long for a good word – a reminder that even in a tumultuous world, there is the promise of resurrection life, joy, and hope.  We come to church on Easter because we love the music, the flowers, the crowded seats, the Easter attire, and the experience of being a part of a community.  And some of us are not sure why we come to church on Easter, but we suspect, or at least hope, we will find something that can revive our weary souls. 

I suspect what most of us are hoping for today is an experience like Mary Magdalene’s.  I am not sure Mary knew why she went to the tomb that fateful day.  In John’s gospel, Mary is not there with spices to anoint Jesus’ body.  She does not bring flowers or some memento to leave at the tomb.  In fact, she comes to the tomb in darkness, before the morning light has arisen, perhaps in a fog of knowing she needs something but not sure what that something might be.  And then, not unlike the chaos that may have been your morning to get here on time and half-way presentable, Mary’s life gets thrown into chaos.  An empty tomb means she and the disciples run around like chickens with their heads cut off.  Later, Mary finds herself bemoaning to angels and a stranger alike that she just wants Jesus’ body – a physical reminder of all the horror and love and pain that has happened.  And in the midst of this chaos, a simple, profound thing happens.  Mary is called by her name.[i]  And her world gets turned on its head.

There is something very powerful about being called by your name.  We will frequent restaurants or coffee shops because we love being recognized by name by our favorite barista or shop owner – not unlike that old show Cheers whose intro talked about going to a place, “where everybody knows your name.”  If you have ever received a blessing or healing prayer by a person who knew your name, you know the intimacy that is created between the two of you, and the power of hearing your name lifted up to God.  We even try to use nametags here at Hickory Neck because we know how wonderful being known by name feels.  Being known by name creates a sense of acceptance, affirmation, affection, and acknowledgement.[ii]  I can only imagine the rush of emotions when Jesus calls Mary by name today – not just the recognition of who Jesus is, but the reminder of how much he has loved her.

I suppose we should add that to the list of reasons why we come to church on Easter Sunday.  We want to be known too.  Perhaps we want to literally be called by name.  But perhaps we know just being here creates the same sense of belonging that being known by name creates.  When we sit in these seats today, we know that we are sitting next to someone who is longing for belonging too – who also rallied to get to church on time – maybe with kids in cute dresses, or maybe just pulling their aching bodies to church.  When we sit in the seats today, we know that we are surrounded by a group of people who also love having their senses overwhelmed – from the smell of fragrant lilies, to the joyous sound of song [laughter], to the taste of communion bread and wine, to the sight of fanfare and smiles, to the feel of another hand at the peace.  When we sit in these seats today, we know that we will be offered a word of joy, light, love, and hope – and we want our lives to be marked by that same sense of promise.

Now you may feel tempted today to take all that affirmation, encouragement, and joy, and go about the next days on your own personal high – as though the gifts you receive today are solely for you.  But what all this fanfare, acknowledgment, and hope are meant to do is to propel you out into the world.  When Mary is called by name, receiving the blessing of recognition and encouragement, she does not stay at the feet of the resurrected Jesus.  She becomes the first preacher in John’s gospel[iii].  “I have seen the Lord,” Mary says to the disciples.  Now I know some of you will go out from this place today and do just that – you will put on your Facebook page or your Instagram, “Alleluia, Christ is Risen!” or you will hug your neighbor and tell them what a joyous day you just had at church.  But for others of you, sharing today’s joy may take you a little more time, or may look a bit different than proclaiming, “I have seen the Lord,” to your favorite barista.  But what Mary invites us to do is find our own way of sharing the beautiful gift we receive today – to give someone else the gift of joy and hope, to quietly tell a friend what a cool experience this day was, or to simply call someone else by name – sharing that same sense of belonging and affirmation you receive today.   You came to church this Easter Sunday for something.  Mary invites you to give that something to someone else.  Amen.  Alleluia!

[i] Serene Jones, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 378.

[ii] D. Cameron Murchison, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 380.

[iii] Beverly Roberts Gaventa, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 381.

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.

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

Homily – Ruth 3.1-5, 4.13-17, P27, YB, November 11, 2018

14 Wednesday Nov 2018

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My intention today had been to talk about Emersyn, whose baptism we will celebrate today, and the gift that she is giving us through her baptism.  When we baptize someone into the family of faith, we also take time to remember our own baptismal covenant.  We remember the promises we make about how we will live our lives, promises we just renewed last week at another baptism.  One of our promises is to respect the dignity of every human being – to respect human life.

We respect human life because we learn to do so in Holy Scripture.  Today, Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz teach us how to respect life.  If you remember, Naomi is a widow who has not only lost her husband and her two sons, but who is left shepherding two foreign daughters-in-law; she is so shattered, she asks people to call her Mara, which means bitterness, instead of Naomi, which means pleasantness.  Ruth, one of those daughters-in-law, is equally bereft; having married into a foreign family, widowed herself, she pledges allegiance to a people who point out her foreign identity at every turn – in fact, she is regularly called, “Ruth, the Moabite from Moab” – or in common language, “Ruth, the foreigner from a foreign land (a land the people hated, by the way).  Boaz is an upright man, put into a precarious situation by Naomi, who sends Ruth to lay at his feet so that he might serve as their redeemer.  But despite the fact life is hard, life brings sorrow, and life treats us like a hated foreigner, Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz respect the dignity of each other.  They respect life.

We need people like Emersyn, Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz because we have been doing a pretty horrible job of respecting life lately.  In just the past two weeks, we have had four “soft target” attacks in our country.  “Soft targets” are attacks that happen in simple, everyday life – where people are having a cup of coffee, celebrating with friends over food and drink, picking up groceries, or worshipping in their house of worship.  In the last two weeks, 27 people were slain in soft target areas:  Two shoppers were gunned down in a Kroger parking lot in Kentucky; Eleven people were gunned down while worshiping in a synagogue in Pittsburgh; Two women were gunned down in a yoga studio in Florida; and twelve people were gunned down in a bar in California.[i]  We can pray for the victims, and attempt to find motives behind shootings, and even bemoan the mental health system.  But until we are willing to make concrete changes, we as Americans disrespect life.  We as Christians fail to respect the dignity of every human being when we do nothing to change our culture of acceptance around gun violence.

Our Veterans helped us understand this failure many years ago.  One-hundred years ago, this day was marked not as Veterans Day, but as Armistice Day – the day we were able to stop a war, to stop aggression, to stop the denigration of life on both sides.  Armistice Day was a day to honor the end of World War I, but perhaps even more powerfully, Armistice Day was a day to honor the dignity of every human being.  On that day, after 8.5 million soldiers had been killed, 100,000 of which were American, you could see the sheer joy in people’s faces as they flooded the streets, realizing death would be no more – that human life would be honored once more.[ii]

Today we have the opportunity to celebrate too.  We have the opportunity to honor and respect the sanctity of life – the life of beautiful baby Emersyn, the lives of our Veterans, and the lives of those shattered by unrestrained gun violence.  The question is whether we will accept the invitation.  Scholar Cameron Howard says in the book of Ruth, we do not experience God in the story as some divine physical presence, as a booming voice from heaven, or as a visible mover of events; instead, we experience God through the characters in the book – God is revealed to the world through the actions of the characters of Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz.[iii]  The world is not that much different today.  The world needs to see God through us too.  Emersyn needs to see God through us.  Our community, state, and nation need to see God through us.  The growing population of those scarred by gun violence need to see God through us.  The only question remaining is whether we will say “yes,” to the invitation, or at least, “I will with God’s help.”  I promise God’s help is waiting for you when decide to respect the dignity of every human being through your actions, revealing God’s presence in the world.  Amen.

[i] Eliott C. McLaughlin, “This is the 4th ‘soft target’ Attack in 2 Weeks,” November 8, 2018, as found at https://www.cnn.com/2018/11/08/us/soft-targets-thousand-oaks-bar-shooting/index.html on November 9, 2018.

[ii] Alexis Clark, “In Photos Unpublished for 100 Years, the Joy of War’s End on Armistice Day,” The New York Times, November 9, 2018, as found at https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/09/world/europe/armistice-day-100th-anniversary-photos.html on November 10, 2018.

[iii] Cameron B.R. Howard, “Commentary on Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17,” November 11, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3890 on November 8, 2018.

 

Sermon – Luke 1.39-45, A4, YC, December 20, 2015

05 Tuesday Jan 2016

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This time of year, seven years ago, I was about a month into pregnancy.  The season was one of expectation, disbelief, and excitement, but we were not telling anyone about the pregnancy for fear that something could go wrong.  Hiding one’s pregnancy in those first months is a common cultural practice for many women and families who are sensitive about the uncertainty of pregnancy.  But holding a secret like pregnancy can invoke a mixture of emotions.  You may feel anxious that someone will discover your secret.  You may feel afraid that something will go wrong and worry about how you would share the news.  You may feel guilty about telling white lies to hide your ultimate secret.  Holding a secret about ourselves can create an inner tension and an outer isolation that is unsettling and unnerving.

We do not know whether Mary had planned to tell Elizabeth about her pregnancy.  In Luke’s gospel, Mary never gets the chance to tell Elizabeth the news herself.  Luke only tells us that after Mary is told that she is pregnant with Jesus, the angel tells her that Elizabeth, who is past the childbearing age, is six months pregnant.  Mary immediately goes to Elizabeth.  Most scholars believe that Mary goes to Elizabeth to offer care for Elizabeth’s pregnancy.[i]  But we cannot know whether Mary planned to tell Elizabeth about her own pregnancy.  Mary had every reason not to tell her.  To an outsider, Mary’s pregnancy is not good news. She is unwed, young, poor, and pregnant.  This combination would make her an outcast, and typically no man would take her as a wife.[ii]  In Mary’s day, her pregnancy and her resulting un-marriable status is almost a death sentence.  Women in this time depended on a husband for financial support and social acceptance.  Although Mary’s pregnancy is good news from God, in the social context, that joy is negated and forced into silence.  Given her situation, we can imagine that Mary might have wanted to keep her pregnancy a secret.  Although she is rushing to Elizabeth to care for her, Mary may have been dreading the pending time of holding a secret and the inner tension and outer isolation that her secret will cause.

In modern times, we too struggle with sharing information within a community.  One of our most common greetings is, “How are you?”  And the usual response is, “Good.”  But our common greeting is rarely a genuine question about how someone is actually doing.  In fact, many of us have a short list of people with whom we avoid asking that question altogether because we know we will be there an hour later hearing about aches, pains, and their crazy neighbor.  We prefer our short greeting and response because not only do we not want to really hear about someone else’s problems, we do not want to tell others how we are truly doing either.  “Good” becomes our code word for, “I am mostly fine, but I don’t want to tell you how I really am.”  Sometimes “good” is a necessary response for keeping others from prying into our lives.

But sometimes “good” is a way of preventing authentic relationship.  While I was in seminary we were required to serve part-time in local parishes.  At the church where I was serving, Easter Vigil was a big deal.  We had many more acolytes, ushers, and Eucharistic Ministers than normal.  As we prepared to line up the large group for the procession, I noticed one of the acolytes was not as chipper as she usually is.  I asked her if she was okay, and she blurted out that she had had a fight with her parents on the way to church and was still in a bad mood.  I was surprised by her candor, especially in front of all the other acolytes.  But as soon as she shared her frustration, several of the acolytes gave her a pat on the shoulder, or commiserated with her experience.  Somehow, saying out loud why she was in a bad mood allowed her to release some of her tension and start fresh that night.

Preventing authentic relationship is not just something we do with each other.  We also struggle with sharing information with God.  During worship, we model corporate confession to God.  But how many of us really take our personal struggles to God?  Perhaps we have been so ashamed of something that we could not even talk to God about it.  Or perhaps we have been angry about how something is going in our life – the job that we did not get, the unhappiness we are having in a relationship, or the illness that is not healing.  Sometimes our anger about a situation clouds our emotions so much that we cannot imagine lifting the situation to God in prayer.  At times of heightened emotions, we feel the least capable of inviting God into our shame, anger, or grief.

The encounter between Elizabeth and Mary today offers a complete counter to our natural tendencies toward being guarded and resistant to authenticity and intimacy.  Before Mary can offer a veiled “I’m good,” Elizabeth immediately greets Mary with joy and blessing.  If Mary is at all concerned about Elizabeth’s judgment, shunning, or slandering within the community, Mary misjudges.  Instead of the expected judgment, Elizabeth offers Mary warm acceptance and praise.  Elizabeth not only blesses Mary for being the carrier of the Savior, she also blesses Mary for being faithful to God.[iii]  Elizabeth does not tentatively ask Mary if she is going to be okay or encourage her to be quiet about her shameful pregnancy.  Instead, Elizabeth sees the glory of Mary’s pregnancy, ignores cultural norms, and celebrates loudly the magnificence of what God will do through Mary.  Elizabeth proclaims, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.”  Elizabeth’s response is the exact opposite of what Mary may have expected.

The countercultural response of Elizabeth to Mary is the same countercultural way that God operates among us.  God chooses Mary, a young, poor, unwed woman to be the bearer of God.  God chooses Elizabeth, a woman far beyond the age of conception, to be God’s prophet.[iv]  God lifts up the poor and oppressed and calls them blessed.  God takes on human form in Jesus, lowering God’s self to come and be among us.  God’s way is almost always countercultural.  God has a way of turning things upside down and shaking up our thinking.  Through the brief encounter between Elizabeth and Mary – two marginal women – God reveals the earthy, authentic, countercultural way that God calls us to be in relationship with one another and with God.  Looking through this very human interaction between two women, we are able to anticipate the very human child of Jesus who will transform all our relationships in a countercultural way.

As we anticipate the celebration of Christ’s birth and we await the coming of Christ again, we are reminded through Elizabeth and Mary of the invitation that we have into authentic, Christian relationship with one another and with God.  Mary and Elizabeth’s encounter reminds us that our church community is a gift.  Our community is a place where we can be vulnerable with one another, share our hopes and dreams with one another, and share our shame, guilt, and fear with one another.  Our community is a place where when someone asks you how you are, we really want to know how you are.  Our community is a place where we can expect beautifully, and often brutally, shared honesty.  Our community helps us model the kind of relationship that Elizabeth and Mary have.

Elizabeth and Mary also invite us into authentic relationship with God.  Most Sundays we open our worship with a prayer called the Collect for Purity.  We pray: Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid…”  Weekly we admit that despite the fact that we do not want to take our shame, our anger, our fear, or our secrets to God, God knows them anyway.  God is the Elizabeth for us Marys.  God greets us with joy and blessing before we can even share our secret.  God already knows and God loves us.  God wipes away tension and isolation and throws upon us the cloak of love.  As we enter into a time with family, friends, and church to celebrate Christ’s birth, I invite you to let go of anxiety and isolation.  I invite you to consider the warmth of Elizabeth toward Mary and God toward us, and to give that anxiety and isolation to God.  Give those feelings to God because perhaps this year, you will find an Elizabeth in your life who can warmly embrace you into the love and acceptance of Christ.  Amen.

[i] Robert Redman, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 94.

[ii] Judith Jones, “Commentary on Luke 1:39-45, (46-55),” December 20, 2015 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2723 on December 12, 2015.

[iii] Stephen A. Cooper, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 95.

[iv] Charles C. Campbell, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 95.