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Sermon John 4.5-42, L3, YA, March 19, 2017

22 Wednesday Mar 2017

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This past week I was invited to attend a conversation and action meeting with local clergy.  I was not looking forward to the meeting.  In fact, I almost did not go to the meeting.  We were going to be talking about a controversial topic, and based on the invitation, I knew I would be on the opposing side.  What I did not know was whether I would be the only voice of opposition, which made the meeting all the more scary.  The thing is, I have been in those types of conversations before – where two interpretations of Holy Scripture seem diametrically opposed, and one or both parties feel so passionate about their understanding that they say really nasty, awful things to one another.  The very validity of one’s faith can even be questioned.

So I began to do what we always do in those situations.  First, I thought I could just send an email.  Then I thought that maybe I could just not attend the meeting, and engage in oppositional advocacy instead.  I even thought not going might be a valid form of protest.  But the Holy Spirit, and a few good friends, had other things to say.  They were not going to let me skip this meeting.  And so I went, rehearsing in my head the biblical roots and theology behind my positions.  I put on my New York tough exterior, bracing myself for whatever was thrown at me.  And just in case, I made sure to wear my best outfit and a smile so as to throw people off their game.  But my stomach was still in knots as I opened the door – full of what-ifs, worrying about consequences, and feeling extremely vulnerable.

A little over two thousand years ago, a woman – an outcast among her own people, getting water alone at midday, encounters a man at Jacob’s well.  He, a Jew with sociopolitical power, asks her for water.  She has a choice.  She can walk away.  But she engages in a conversation between unequals.  At first, Jesus tells her some extraordinary things – about thirst and living water, about his own powers, about his identity.  But then the conversation shifts.  Jesus exposes her vulnerability to its core.  Not only is this a woman with power differential, this woman is an outcast in her culture.  She is a double outsider, having had five husbands and living with a man who is not her husband.  Now, Jesus does not point out this reality as a way of telling her she is sinful – in fact, Jesus says nothing about sin.[i]  Scholars seem to think her marital history would have nothing to do with her sinfulness either.  It could have been that she was a multiple-time widow, passed down through levirate marriage, or it could be that she was barren, and multiple husbands abandoned her.[ii]  We do not know.  But we do know how we feel when someone exposes our deepest places of insecurity and self-doubt.  And this is the woman’s second opportunity to walk away.

But she stays.  I imagine she squares her shoulders, swallows a hard gulp, takes in a deep breath, and keeps talking.  And so does Jesus.  Ever so gently, they engage in a pretty hefty conversation, about prophesy, proper worship, the Messiah, and identity.  Not bad for a Jewish male and a Samaritan woman in broad daylight, for everyone to see.

At my meeting this week, a curious thing happened.  We read scripture together.  We prayed together.  And we talked – sharing openly about our own theologies and biblical interpretations.  But also, we listened – listened for commonality, listened for God’s guidance, and listened in respectful disagreement.  The conversation did not go at all how I expected.  The responses were not what I expected.  My own spirit was not at all in the place I expected my spirit to be in the end.

There is a lot going on in the story between Jesus and the Samaritan woman – probably enough for multiple sermons.  But today, in light of my experience this week, and in light of our country’s currently political climate, I am mostly drawn to the power of conversation.  Biblical scholar Karoline Lewis argues, “…frequently overlooked is that this interaction is a conversation.  Jesus suggests that conversation matters for theology.  That conversation is essential for faith.”  She goes on to say, “The church can be the place that shows society what theological conversation can sound like. The church can be the place that demonstrates how dialogue about faith and the Bible might result in religious respect and tolerance.”[iii]

So how do we do that?  Lewis proposes a method based on the interaction between Jesus and the Samaritan woman.  She gleans five key elements of holy conversation.  First, holy conversations begin with mutual vulnerability.  Jesus is thirsty, and the Samaritan woman needs the living water he provides.  Truthful conversations begin with reciprocal vulnerability because that is at the heart of God.  Second, questions are critical to holy conversations.  Of course, these cannot be questions for which we already have answers – these are true, curious questions.  The woman’s questions lead Jesus to reveal his identity.  God wants us to ask questions because they strengthen relationship.  Third, holy conversations involving intentional, genuine interest in the other take time.  The sheer length of the gospel text today tells you that this was not a quick conversation on the way to coffee hour.  But over the course of the long conversation, misunderstandings are clarified, lives reformed, and God’s abundant love is revealed.  Fourth, when we are talking about conversations with Jesus, be prepared to be surprised.  The woman at the well receives the first I AM statement in John’s gospel – Jesus reveals himself not to an insider, but to an outsider!  Finally, expect to be changed in holy conversations.  As Lewis says, “The woman at the well goes from shamed to witness.  From dismissed to disciple.  From alone to being a sheep of Jesus’ own fold.”[iv]  So holy conversations involve mutual vulnerability, questions, time, surprise, and change.

This week, no one gathered changed their minds on the presenting issue.  I doubt we ever will.  But something else did happen.  Through our conversation, something holy emerged.  Two groups, opposed to each other, were able to stay in the room, were able to articulate their own theologies, and were able to see Christ in the other.  What I took from that meeting was that maybe, just maybe, there is hope for us after all.  Maybe the church can do what the church has needed to do for some time – model what holy, Christ-like conversations look like for the good of the community.  Now, that does not mean holy conversations are easy.  Though I stayed in my seat, there were certainly times I wanted to get up and leave.  Though they were subtle, there were several clear digs at my ability to interpret scripture and the will of God.  There were several arguments that I disagreed with and had to bite my tongue to maintain the openness of the conversation.  But as I left the meeting, I knew something holy had happened.  Glimpses of the kingdom of God were breaking into that room.

Our invitation this week is to look around our own lives and examine where we have been avoiding holy conversations:  those times when we have run when someone pointed out the brokenness of our lives; when we have made quick judgments and assumptions about others without ever taking the time to ask the curious questions; when we have cut off opportunities for connection without remembering the surprise and change at the end.  The promises are tremendous.  Look at the healing the woman at the well receives – not just the lifting of societal shaming, but a position of power as a witness and disciple of Christ.  Look at the affirmation the woman receives – not only does Jesus validate her through an engaging, respectful conversation, the whole town responds to her without question.  Look at how the commitment to stay in the conversation leads the woman to a place of deep transformation and change.  But also look at how Jesus is changed too – he finds a surprisingly worthy partner in ministry, to whom he can confess his deepest identity.  I am not saying holy conversations will ever be easy.  In fact, sometimes the rejection we experience from attempts at those conversations will linger for a long time.  But when we keep putting ourselves out there, keep listening for those opportunities for holy conversation, the rewards are tremendously life giving.  The well is waiting for you!  Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 95.

[ii] Osvaldo Vena, “Commentary on John 4:5-42” March 19, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3189 on March 16, 2017.

[iii] Karoline Lewis, “Holy Conversations,” March 12, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4839#comments on March 15, 2017.

[iv]Lewis, “Holy Conversations.”

Sermon – Jonah 3.1-10, Psalm 51.11-18, and Luke 11.29-32, Ecumenical Lenten Worship Series, March 8, 2017

15 Wednesday Mar 2017

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I have always loved Jonah’s story.  He is probably one of the most juvenile characters in the Hebrew Scriptures.  When God tells him to go to Nineveh, he runs in the opposite direction.  Only when God makes the seas roar, and he is swallowed by a fish, does Jonah call out for God’s mercy.  Jonah finally submits to God and goes to Nineveh as he is told, but then he throws a temper tantrum at God when God forgives Nineveh.  He is angry God doesn’t punish the city, and so he storms off to pout.  When a bush giving him shade withers, he ramps up his tirade.  God asks if Jonah has any right to be angry, and Jonah, in classic toddler style, whines, “Yes! Angry enough to die!”  You can almost imagine him stamping his foot, pouting his lower lip, and furrowing his brow.

Jonah is easy to make fun of because his behavior is so incredibly immature and self-centered.  We laugh at his adult-sized temper tantrum because we all know adults are too old for that sort of behavior.  But that is what is tricky about Jonah too.  Deep down, in places we do not like to talk about, we know Jonah’s experience all too well.  When we are really honest, we can confess that may or may not have thrown an epic temper tantrum in our adult lives too.  Whether over the reoccurrence of an illness, the death of a loved one, a lost cause, the job we did not get, or the love that was not returned, we have all had our Jonah moments.  Though we publicly all can say, “Silly Jonah, when will he learn?!?”, privately, we all think, “That sounds uncomfortably familiar.  I hope no one noticed my temper tantrum!”

Of course, at the end of the day, Jonah does what he is told – witnesses to the people of Nineveh, as God requests.  But in the drama of Jonah’s story, we often forget one minor, and yet central component of Jonah’s story.  Nineveh is the Rockstar of this story.  Nineveh, for all its sinfulness and shame, has no problem admitting Nineveh is wrong.  When Jonah tells Nineveh the city will be overthrown if Nineveh does not repent and change its ways, the people immediately believe God.  They proclaim a fast, and everyone – adults, elders, and children, put on sackcloth.  Even the king of Nineveh immediately rises from his throne, puts on sackcloth and sits in ashes.  He decrees that everyone in the city – humans and animals – will fast, be covered in sackcloth, and cry out their repentance to God.  He declares, “All shall turn form their evil ways and from the violence that is in their hands.  Who knows?  God may relent and change God’s mind; God may turn from God’s fierce anger, so that we do not perish.”

The king of Nineveh and the people of Nineveh are quite unlike most modern recipients of judgment.  In Nineveh, no one holds a press conference to defend their motives and actions.  No one holds a counter-protest to the judgment.  No one even argues with Jonah or asks, “Are you sure?”  Nineveh is told a cold, hard, ugly truth that exposes their deep sinfulness and grievances, and instead of getting defensive, Nineveh drops everything.  They stop in their tracks and change their ways.  They take the judgment with sobriety and honesty, and they make a change.  Though we like to give Jonah the attention, the real heroes in this story are the king and people of Nineveh.

When Jesus talks about repentance in Luke’s gospel today, and when the Church talks about repentance in the season of Lent, this is the kind of repentance we are talking about.  Jesus basically shares that he is to the people of Israel as Jonah was to the people of Nineveh.  He is their sign that repentance is needed.  The people of God are to use Nineveh as their guide for what true repentance looks like.  Jesus’ instruction and Nineveh’s example come at an opportune time for us.  We have managed to work ourselves into a time of finger pointing and name calling.  Our division is found on the political scene, between denominations of churches, and even in our families.  We have presumed that we are Jonahs and everyone else is Nineveh.  The reality, though, is much scarier.  We are not Jonahs.  We are Ninevehs.  Jesus is the Jonah of our time, calling us into repentance and renewal.  We can follow the model that Nineveh set for us, dropping everything to evaluate our sinfulness and changing our behavior immediately.  We can sit in sackcloth and work to deeply understand the role we play in sinful behaviors.  We can invite our neighbors to sit with us as we both work toward repentance.  That is what Lent is all about.

So how do we repent?  How do we take this time of Lent as a time for intentional, dramatic, meaningful change in our lives?  The psalm appointed for today gives us a few clues.  “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.  Cast me not away from your presence and take not your holy Spirit from me.  Give me the joy of your saving help again and sustain me with your bountiful Spirit.”  First, we ask God for help.  We ask God for help, because we know our God will enable us to do the work God has given us to do.  The psalm also tells us to bring others into our journey, “I shall teach your ways to the wicked, and sinners shall return to you.”  We not only bring our broken, sinful, hurtful selves to God, we witness our work to others, using our own vulnerability and humility as an entry to shared journey.  And then we sing.  “Deliver me from death, O God, and my tongue shall sing of your righteousness, O God of my salvation.  Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.”  We use our mouths to praise our God – a God who can change course, who can see the repentance of God’s people and take away the horror of judgment.

That’s why I am grateful that we are together tonight.  We come to God across denominational differences and we sit together in worship.  We hear the witness of Nineveh tonight, and then we start the work of emulating Nineveh.  First, we hear Jonah and Jesus’ word of judgment, letting God create in us clean hearts and renewing right spirits in us.  Then, we turn to our neighbor, and work on creating a community of repentance, working to love the Lord our God and our neighbor as ourselves.  Finally, we turn to those not gathered here tonight – those who may not have a church home, and we share our witness.  We share our witness of how we have been a people of sin, and how we are hoping to change our ways.  And we ask if they might help us on that journey – not taking the judgment of Jonah out into the world, but taking the repentance of Nineveh out into the world.  Listening to our neighbors, working together for meaningful change, and creating a city that is humble enough to know that God may relent and not let us perish.  God will renew a right spirit within you, will give you the joy of God’s saving help again, and will sustain you with God’s bountiful Spirit.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

Is this me?

20 Wednesday Jul 2016

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Changing room

Photo credit:  www.womansday.com/style/fashion/a6531/dressing-room-tips/

Those of you who know me well know that I am not a fashionista.  Though I manage to look pulled-together, that comes with a lot of help – mostly from my patient, much more fashionable husband.  I am constantly asking if things match, if certain shoes go with a particular outfit, or if certain accessories are right.  Over the years, my husband has learned to push me out of my comfort zone (as much as I will allow).  But in trying new looks or styles, invariably the question arises, “Is this me?”

As I have gotten older, I have begun to realize that I am the only one who can answer that question, “Is this me?”  Sometimes the answer is an obvious, “No!”  If I do not like the message the outfit sends, or if I know I will be fidgeting from discomfort, then I will never be confident in the look.  But sometimes the answer is, “It could be – if you want it to be.”  An outfit that obviously fits into your comfort zone does not need analyzing.  It is safe.  But one that is neither safely in the comfort zone nor way out of the comfort zone is in that sweet spot where you have to decide how bold and creative you want to be.  Because sometimes those new shoes bring out something adventurous in you.  Sometimes that new dress makes you a bit more self-assured.  And sometimes that accessory pulls out something inside of you that you did not realize was there.

That question, “Is this me?” is the same question Hickory Neck has been asking in these last months.  We have been through a pretty tremendous transition in leadership and identity.  When I started in April, many of you wondered what having a female rector with young children would look like.  Holding on to the memories of our two most recent rectors, and looking at this new rector, many of us wondered, “Is this me?”  And, then, just this past Sunday, we tried on something else – a Curate.  Now, Hickory Neck has been a two-clergy parish for many years in its past.  But the financial strain of transition and the uncertainty about identity has caused many to wonder if being a two-clergy parish is who we are now.

As our new curate has been settling into his office, I have been thinking that sometimes, the only way to answer the question, “Is this me?” is to just go for it.  Part of the equation will necessitate us being bold enough to live into a new identity under new leadership.  Like with a bold new outfit, we have to put our minds to living fully into the path we have chosen for our future.  But the other part of the equation is remembering how, like putting on a bold new outfit, sometimes our confidence will rise in spite of ourselves.  Just by living into our new identity, our sense of adventure, creativity, and confidence will grow.  Change is hard, and I know many of us this week may be wondering, “Is this me?”  For those of you asking that question, I encourage you to trust that God is at work for goodness among us – pushing us into that sweet spot where tremendous ministry can happen.  I don’t know about you, but I am pretty excited to live into our new look!

On Big Changes…

08 Wednesday Jun 2016

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The Reverands Jody Burnett, Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly, and Charles Fischer III, Cathedral Church of St. John, June 24, 2009

Later this month I will celebrate the seven-year anniversary of my ordination.  What most people remember about that day was that I was very pregnant.  I confess that my large belly in an alb and a stole were rather extraordinary.  But what I remember about that day was a brief, but profound encounter.  I had gotten to the Cathedral early to make sure everything was in place and everyone knew where to go.  I was bustling around, managing logistics, when I ran into my boss, who was the rector of the church where I was serving.  She saw that I had my clergy shirt on but that I had not yet put on my collar.  You see, although you are not technically ordained until midway through the liturgy, you put your collar on before the liturgy starts.  The idea seemed strange to me to put it on before the bishop laid hands on me.  And if I am really being honest, I was really nervous about the whole endeavor.  My rector put her hands on my shoulders, looked me square in the eye, and said, “Jennifer, it’s time.  Go put on your collar.”

When we talk about ordination, we talk about the newly ordained experiencing an ontological change – a change in who the person is and in the nature of her existence.  It sounds rather dramatic because the change is dramatic.  When we ordain someone, we forever set them apart for a specific role in the church.

This Saturday, we will join our new curate, Charlie Bauer, as he is ordained to the transitional diaconate.  Charlie will be facing a similar ontological change – committing the rest of his life to this new way of being in and for the church.  Ordained persons do not simply start a new job.  Their whole person and existence is changed.  That is why an ordination is so special – because it is a day set apart for honoring this tremendous change.

Of course, all people in the church have access to ontological change.  Both baptism and confirmation are considered similar ontological changes – something profound happens in those moments, moments that only happen once in a lifetime.  We are marked as something different, and the way that we live our lives changes forever.  Because that change for all of us is so profound, the church sets apart days that we reaffirm our baptismal covenant and ordination vows.  We want to remember those tremendous moments when we put on a collar or stole, when water was poured over our heads, when a bishop placed heavy hands on our heads, and when we felt the Holy Spirit whisk through the room.  I hope you will join us as we celebrate this ontological change with Charlie.  But I especially hope you will take a moment to remember your own change and how the Spirit invites you to reclaim your changed identity.

 

 

 

Sermon – Acts 16.9-15, E6, YC, May 1, 2016

06 Friday May 2016

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One of the things that the Search Committee, Vestry, and I all talked about during our time of discernment was church growth.  Now church growth is a loaded topic because inherent in the conversation are a lot of assumptions.  One assumption is that we can talk about church growth without talking about change.  Many churches say they want to grow, but what they mean is that they want to find fresh meat for volunteer positions and new pledgers for the budget.  But inherent in church growth are not just bodies to fill out needs:  church growth means incorporating new people who will have new ideas, new dreams, and new ways of doing things.  The second assumption when we talk about church growth is that we can go about church growth passively.  In other words, as long as we have a good website, we have good programs, a shiny new Rector, and we are nice to people once they arrive, we will grow.  While those things are important and necessary, those things do not fully address how we get people to step on our property, how we encourage people to come back after a first visit, or how we incorporate newcomers fully into the life and ministry of the church.  The final, and my personal favorite, assumption is that church growth is done by the Rector.  The Rector can certainly help lay the foundation of a strong system of invitation, welcome, and incorporation.  But the primary way that church growth happens is through Church members inviting others to church.

All that is to say that my response to the Search Committee and Vestry went a little like this:  I am more than happy to give Hickory Neck all of the infrastructure Hickory Neck needs to grow; but Hickory Neck is going to have to work, be open to change, and get real comfortable with talking about their faith in the neighborhood.  Now I know many of you may be sitting here right now, cursing the Search Committee and Vestry for signing you up for some hard, scary work ahead.  But let me let you in on a little secret:  church growth (or evangelism, if we are feeling really sassy) is not that hard or scary.  That is the great thing about the readings from the Acts of the Apostles during Eastertide:  they are all about the growth of the church.  Last week we heard about how Peter began to understand that God was calling him to share the Good News with the gentiles.  Today, we hear about how Paul is diverted to Europe to share the Good News with the people of Macedonia.

Many of us get a little uncomfortable talking about apostles spreading the Good News because the stories about Peter and Paul seem strange and foreign.  They involve dreams or visions in which God tells them what to do.  They involve going to foreign lands to talk with strangers.  And they sometimes involve, as we will hear next week, getting arrested and sent to jail.  Most of us hear these familiar stories and assume that the stories do not really apply to us because they are historical, ancient stories.  But after the drama of being diverted to a foreign land and searching for a place to join with sympathetic people, what happens to Paul in our text today is not actually all that foreign or unrelatable.  The story tells us that on the Sabbath day, Paul and his companions go find where faithful people are gathered and simply start talking.  The text does not say that Paul gives a presentation about the merits of converting to Christianity.  The text does not say that Paul leads a worship service, with music and the holy meal.  The text simply says that Paul sits down among those gathered, and starts talking.  While Paul is talking, a woman in the group, Lydia, who we understand from the text is an independent woman of wealth[i], overhears what Paul is saying and is so compelled by what Paul says that she and her household are not only baptized, but insist that Paul and his companions come stay with her during their stay in Philippi.

Soon after I became a rector for the first time, I realized I had a lot to learn about church growth.  I read books, poured through research, and talked with experts in the field.  One of my favorite conversations about church growth was with a friend who does church consulting on growth.  In her formation, she had a professor who insisted as part of her training that she needed to go out into town and just start talking to people about Jesus.  She was terrified.  For the first few weeks of class, my friend, now a priest, lied to her professor.  Each week he would ask her how the project was going, and she would tell him that the project was going well.  Finally, the professor called her bluff and insisted that she immediately go somewhere and do her assignment.  So my friend went to a coffee shop, wrote on a piece of paper, “Talk to me about Jesus and I will buy you a cup of coffee,” and then set up her laptop in the hopes that no one would take her up on the offer.  Much to her chagrin, a patron came up to her and said, “I’ll talk to you about Jesus, but I’ll buy the coffee.”  The conversation that ensued was full of the stranger’s story – about how she used to go to church, how she still believes, how the church hurt her, but how she still misses having a church community.  My friend listened to the story, honored the stranger by acknowledging how hard her journey had been, and then did the one thing that is key when talking about church growth.  My friend acknowledged where she saw the presence of God in this stranger’s journey.  And, for good measure, my friend told her that if she ever wanted to try church again, she knew a great place that might just work.

That is the funny thing about church growth.  Church growth happens through real people having real conversations in real time.  Paul sits down with a bunch of women and starts talking.  My friend sat down with a stranger and listened and reflected back on the stranger’s journey.  That is the same invitation that I will be giving us to do over and over again in my time here at Hickory Neck:  that we start having real conversations with real people in real time.  Now I know what some of you may be thinking.  First, you may be thinking, “I cannot believe the Search Committee and Vestry decided to hire this priest who is going to make me do this!”  Second, you may be thinking, “I have no idea how to have real conversations with real people in real time!  What does she expect me to do?  Start talking to strangers at the coffee shop, on the golf course, and at the Little League game?”

Before you get too anxious, I want to give you a little piece of comfort from scripture.  In Peter’s story last week, in Paul’s story today, and in the texts coming up next week and at Pentecost, we learn that all of these encounters happen with the Holy Spirit going before, making a way for the encounter to happen.  In today’s story, Paul has no intention of going to Macedonia.  In fact, in the verses we did not read today, Paul and his crew actually had plans and made attempts to go to other places, but their plans were thwarted by the Holy Spirit.  Finally, Paul has a vision that he was supposed to go to Macedonia.[ii]  Once he and the group decide to follow that vision, everything becomes smooth.  Their travel is not thwarted, they easily find their way to Philippi, they stumble onto a group of women who are believers, and out of nowhere, just through conversations about faith, Lydia steps up and not only desires baptism, she demands that Paul and his company accept her hospitality.  That is the reality about growth:  yes, growth involves putting ourselves out there to have hard conversations, and yes, growth involves being vulnerable and uncomfortable, and yes, growth will even involve change to us personally and to our community as a whole.  But God shows us through the story of scripture, that the Holy Spirit is ever before us, making the way smooth.  When our intentions are simply to share our story, to listen to the stories of others, and to honor the ways in which God is already active and blessing us, then the rest flows smoothly.

We are probably going to be talking about church growth a lot in the years to come.  We will talk about how to grow, we will make changes that will create a strong foundation for invitation, welcome, and incorporation, and we will get out there and talk to our neighbors.  But at the heart of all that work is the promise that the Holy Spirit is ever before us, making the way smooth, calming our nerves so that God can work in spite of us, and showing us how our holy conversations will be a source of blessing to us as much as those conversations are a blessing to others.[iii]  We will do this work together:  you, me, and the Holy Spirit.  The work will be hard, scary, and beautiful.  The work will be a blessing to us all and allow us to be a blessing to this community.  We can do this work together, because the Holy Spirit goes before us.  Amen.

[i] David G. Forney, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 476.

[ii] Brian Peterson, “Commentary on Acts 16:9-15,” May 5, 2013, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1627 on April 27, 2016.

[iii] Peterson.

On change…

20 Wednesday Apr 2016

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A baby crying it out.

Photo credit:  www.slate.com/articles/double_x/the_kids/2013/07/clinical_lactation_jumps_on_the_dr_sears_bandwagon_to_say_sleep_training.html

Once upon a time, I had a parishioner complain to me, “I knew you were going to change things.  I just didn’t know it was going to be all at once!”  At the time, her complaint seemed unwarranted to me.  I did not feel that the changes were all at once at all.  In fact, I was careful not to change things all at once, but made changes slowly and methodically.  Though we talked through her concerns, I remember thinking flippantly that no one really likes change and perhaps that was the real source of her complaint.

This week, I have a lot more sympathy for that parishioner.  My family’s life has been upended by change.  Most of the change has been good – new jobs, new schools, and a new home.  There has been a flurry of activity, and the excitement of a move has carried us through.  Of course, I had forgotten how hard and time-consuming unpacking can be.  I also totally forgot that our young children would be having their own reactions to the move.  But we hit a breaking point Sunday night.  Our two-year-old decided it would be a great time to finally figure out how to get out of her crib.  So for about two hours we went back and forth trying to figure out ways to cajole her into going to sleep.  Of course, the developmental milestone of getting out of one’s crib was to be expected.  But that change on top of everything else made me want to cry, “I knew things were going to change.  But does it have to be all at once?!?”

The truth is, I do not think that the pace of change really matters.  I think what really matters is who gets to make the decision about the change.  When we are making changes ourselves or when we have control over the decision among a group, change does not feel so unsettling.  By having decision-making authority, we feel some modicum of control over the situation.  But when someone else is making decisions that impact us and that change what we are used to, we feel powerless, even if the change is for the better.

Having had the experience with my two-year-old, I am reminded of my need to be sensitive to others’ feelings about change and control as I begin a new pastoral relationship at Hickory Neck Episcopal Church.  Knowing how it feels to have everything changing at once, I will try to be more intentional about communicating, educating, and getting buy-in.  Change is most certainly coming – for me and for the community.  My hope is that we can love one another through the change and trust God and one another in the process.  There will be times when change feels like it is happening all at once.  But there will also be moments when we look back and say, “I guess that wasn’t so bad!  In fact, it was really good.”  Here’s to an exciting, supportive, and encouraging journey!

Sermon – John 13.1-17, 31b-35, 1 Corinthians 11.23-26, MT, YC, March 23, 2016

29 Tuesday Mar 2016

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As I was writing the sermon for tonight, I realized that maybe we have structured our evening all wrong.  We actually started off on the right foot.  We gathered over a common meal, assembled by dishes from each of our homes (or from the deli you swung by on the way here).  Our meal was a feast made by many hands, and completely organic – shared out of the varying gifts we bring.  In fact, we even did things in a way that was more in line with what Paul wanted for the Corinthians.  The passage that we read tonight from First Corinthians is mostly just the familiar text that includes Jesus’ institution of Holy Eucharist.  But in the verses before what we read tonight, Paul admonishes the Corinthians.  Instead of a true Eucharistic meal, where bread and wine are shared equally and intentionally, the Corinthians have gotten into the habit of having communal meals, but everyone fends for themselves.  In other words, their meal would be like if Kathleen had made a homemade casserole, Kim had grabbed Chinese takeout for her and the kids, Lois had brought the finest filet mignon with a glass of wine from a local fine dining establishment, and I showed up empty-handed.  Except in Corinth, you eat what you bring.  If you show up empty-handed, you leave hungry.  Unlike the Corinthians, at least we got that part right tonight.

But if I had been thinking, instead of coming up here to our beautiful worship space, we would have stayed downstairs.  Mid-meal, I would have taken off my jacket, rummaged around for a towel and bowl from our kitchen, and started washing your feet.  As I moved from table to table, we would have talked about what I was doing, and why Jesus did the same for his disciples.  You see, tonight, we hear the story that is only found in John’s gospel about how Jesus teaches the disciples to love and serve one another and their neighbors.  In order to love, which is going to be their primary mission, they will need to be able to get down on the floor among the crumbs and the remains of the festivities, and tenderly care for one another.

And further, had we been feeling really countercultural, I would have grabbed a loaf of bread that someone got at Stop-N-Shop, and some wine sitting on the beverage table, and we would have talked about how on the night before Jesus is betrayed, he breaks bread with his friends, telling them that the bread is his body, and the wine is his blood – given for them.  We would have passed the loaf around, tearing the bread into bite-sized pieces, dropping blessed crumbs everywhere, and looking into each other’s eyes as we pass the bread, reminding each other that this is the body and blood of our Lord.

If I had been thinking, that is what we could have done tonight – because that is what happens on this last night for Jesus:  a downhome, shared, messy meal, with uncomfortable, intimate moments, and a meal that does not necessarily feed our bellies but feeds our souls.  But Jesus’ words and experiences that night are not just for the disciples.  His words are words for the future.  He knows his death is coming.  In the face of death, he longs to remind the disciples what they will need to do after his death.  This last night is all about Jesus’ final instructions to the disciples.

That is why we call this day Maundy Thursday.  Maundy comes from the Latin word for mandate.  On this night we remember Jesus’ mandate to love one another as he has loved us.[i]  We remember Jesus’ mandate to serve.  And we remember Jesus’ mandate to eat together, feasting on the holy meal.  Where we remember that mandate does not actually matter – whether we remember among the old stones of a Cathedral, in the cozy, board and batten sanctuary of St. Margaret’s, or in the bustling, laughter-filled, sometimes messy Undercroft.  The location matters much less than the intentionality with which we listen to Jesus’ words.

Tonight I invite you walk through the last night of Jesus experiencing the tangibility of this night:  a meal with fellow believers, the washing of feet, Holy Communion, and the stripping of the altar as we head into the night watch.  But I also invite you to remember Jesus’ final mandate:  to love as he has loved us, to serve others, and to sustain our work through the holy meal.  The actions of this night are important, but even more important is the way that this night changes us tomorrow.  Amen.

[i] Mike Graves, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 271.

On love and change…

17 Friday Jul 2015

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

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

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

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

Sermon – Mark 1.21-28, E4, YB, February 1, 2015

03 Tuesday Feb 2015

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I have often joked that of all the people in the world who needed to become a parent, I was one of them.  I say this because I am a person who likes routine and order.  I like things done a certain way, and prefer to have a sense of control over things.  Of course, this is one of those areas in life with which God and I often struggle.  Jesus even teaches about the need to let go of control and trust God.  Whenever I read that passage I nod in assent, remembering the many times God has proven God’s self to be trustworthy.  I put up my hands in defeat, and try to trust God.  And then about 48 hours later, I am sneaking back to grab the reins again.

That is why parenthood has been so good for me.  Parenthood challenges this weakness over and over again.  My eldest is at the age where she wants to do things herself.  This is a good and natural development.  But for someone who likes a sense of control, this good and natural development can be maddening.  I cannot count the number of times I have had to literally bite my tongue instead of jumping in with some explanation about a better way to do a task.  I cannot count the number of times I have had to clinch my hands to prevent myself from just taking over a task, so that the task would be done the correct, and often faster, way.  Sometimes I wonder whether God is chuckling to God’s self when God sees me fumbling through this reality with my children over and over again.

The people who had gathered at the synagogue in Mark’s gospel lesson today have a similar experience.  They are not unlike most of us here.  Every week they go to temple, following the same pattern of worship, expecting the same experiences.  There is a certain comfort for them knowing what to expect.  They have learned to watch how the scribes debate and have a dialogue about the traditions.[i]  This is how they learn and decipher truth and is a natural part of their weekly experience at temple.  But today is different.  Today there is a new teacher in synagogue, and he is doing things all wrong.  His teaching style is more declarative than deliberative.[ii]  For some reason he teaches with tremendous authority, as if he really is sure of what God would say or think about certain things.  Jesus is not following the rules, and those gathered at the temple have no idea what to make of him.  He even is able to exorcise an unclean spirit out one of the worshippers who is present.  They had not even realized the man had an unclean spirit, and here Jesus is, casting the spirit out.  How did he know?  Where did Jesus get the idea that he had the power to do such a thing?

If ever we doubted that we come from a long line of faithful Jews, today is the day we realize how closely related we are.  I cannot count the number of times I have heard this same conversation at Church.  Why did the priest use that prayer today?  We never use that prayer.  Why did the Vestry make that decision?  We never used to do things that way.  Why did the Activities Committee change that event?  We never do the event that way.  I have sat in many a meeting discussing a change or a new way of doing something and invariably someone will say, “If we change this someone might get upset.”  After many years of experience, my response has finally become, “When we change this, someone will definitely be upset.”  That statement may sound obvious or maybe even sound judgmental or harsh.  But what I have come to find is that expecting that change is unsettling and makes people upset actually makes the wave of resistance to that change not a frustrating thing, but a happily expected reaction.  In fact, a wise old priest once told me, “If you are not upsetting people, you are not doing your job.”

Just the other day, my oldest daughter and I were making scrambled eggs.  She was fumbling through breaking the eggs.  I must have picked out two or three shell pieces that day.  Then she was stirring the eggs so haphazardly, my tongue started hurting again.  My clenched hands had to strain to stay at my sides to avoid “just taking over this one part.”  We all do it – and not just with children.  We think we know a better way to accomplish a task, so instead of inviting someone to help us, we do the work on our own.  We know the historical way something has been done and we forcefully teach a volunteer that way instead of hearing their idea of how to do something differently.  Instead of a shared, collaborative ministry, we take over a task ourselves because we can get the task done faster and more efficiently if we do not have to sit around a talk about the many options available.

But you know what happened when I bit my tongue and pinned my hands to my sides that day?  The eggs tasted just as good as they always do.  Though I could have had a stress-free cooking process otherwise, you know what else happened?  My daughter had a big, proud smile on her face when we devoured those yummy scrambled eggs.  I have seen the same thing happen here at St. Margaret’s.  When I started team teaching with other adults, we gained some tremendous and transformative teaching material.  When we let some excited volunteers start a community garden, we not only fed the hungry in our neighborhood, we also made some new friends by letting our neighbors, AHRC, help water the garden.  When we revamped our family Christmas Eve service, we found that the service attracted new people, and in fact has become more popular than our once favored midnight mass.

I have been thinking this week about that man with the unclean spirit in today’s gospel.  The funny thing is that no one seemed to notice the man beforehand.[iii]  Had the leaders of worship and learning been in control that day, the man might have come to temple and left temple equally tortured.  He may have come hoping someone would notice his pain and suffering and left realizing that no one could really appreciate the depths of his struggle.  But because Jesus is there, teaching in a way that only the Holy One of God can, the unclean spirit reveals himself, and is cast out by Jesus.  Had Jesus not been there, doing things the “wrong” way, the poor afflicted man may have never been cleansed and given new life.

I wonder what ways we are not like the scribes and those gathered at the temple.  I wonder how our way of insisting on the familiar blocks us from seeing unmet needs.  I wonder how our reliance on ourselves and our guarding of control forbids new life from breaking in and shining new light into our community.  Today we will pray the Litany for Healing.  Every month we make space for people to come forward for healing prayers.  Most of us come forward for some physical ailment we are facing or for healing prayers for a loved one.  But our healing prayers do not just have to be prayers for the healing of our bodies.  They can also be prayers for healing our spirits.  If an unclean spirit has taken over you – like a spirit of control or manipulation – perhaps today is the day you ask God to release that spirit from you.  Or perhaps you have lost a sense of joy or connection.  God can heal that brokenness today too.  Or perhaps you know that you need God’s healing, but you cannot articulate the brokenness, even to yourself.  Our healing prayers can be for you too.  Much like Jesus could see the unclean spirit when others could not, my guess is that Jesus knows what is troubling your heart today too – even if you cannot articulate that pain yourself.  And much like that day at the temple, albeit in a way that was unusual, uncomfortable, and unexpected, Jesus can work in you, casting out the darkness and blasting through with light.  Amen.

[i] Matt Skinner, “Commentary on Mark 1.21-28,” as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2343 on January 28, 2015.

[ii] Skinner.

[iii] Ofelia Ortega, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 310.

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, Epiphany (transferred), YB, January 4, 2015

15 Thursday Jan 2015

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At St. Margaret’s, one of the things we talk about a lot is being a seeker.  In fact, our motto is that we are a community of faith seeking, serving, and sharing Christ in Plainview.  Though we talk about being seekers or being a people who are seeking Christ, sometimes I am not sure we are all on board about what that actually means.  That is why I love this story of the magi today in our gospel lesson.  Though we may not feel like we have much in common with wise men from the East who have expensive gifts, the gift of the wise men for us today is that they show us what the experience of being a seeker is really like.

First, the magi show us that being a seeker means being observant.[i]  The text from Matthew today says that the wise men observe the king’s star at its rising.  Now, in order to observe a star, one must be paying attention.  One must be on the lookout for the movement of God in order to have an encounter with God.

We have a group within our parish who has taken to looking at the stars too.  Our Praying with the Stars offering is a way for us to connect with God through the observation of the stars.  That offering is one more way that St. Margaret’s helps us seek Christ in creation.  But the truth is that Praying with the Stars is about more than astrology.  Praying with the Stars is about creating space to observe the movement of the Holy Spirit.  If stars are not your thing, that is fine.  Perhaps movies or books or music is more your thing.  The point is that one can never really be a seeker unless one is attuned to the movement of God – or at least creates opportunities to open oneself to the movement of God.  The magi offer us that gentle push to create space in our own spiritual lives for observing, watching, and listening for the movement of the Spirit.

Next, the magi show us that being a seeker means that our journey will be eventful.  In this story alone, the wise men have two very different encounters.  First, they encounter those who are resistant to their journey.  King Herod on the surface seems quite inquisitive and eager to hear about the magi’s journey.  But we learn from the text that Herod acts more out of fear for his own power and control.  What was good news to the wise men was not seen as good news by all.  Second, the wise men experience being overwhelmed by joy.  When they encounter the Christ Child, the wise me are so overwhelmed that they are brought to their knees, pay homage, and pour out abundant gifts.  Experiencing Christ is so overwhelming that these men find themselves doing things they may not have expected.

Many of us know exactly what this experience is like.  We get roped into volunteering for a workday at Habitat for Humanity, and in the middle of the workday, as we are hanging drywall with a prospective homeowner, the homeowner says something that stops us in our tracks.  We are so overwhelmed by the encounter that all we can do is marvel at God working in our midst.  Or we are sitting in worship for the millionth time, hearing the same Eucharistic prayer again, when a word or a phrase catches us up short.  Suddenly, what we are doing at the Eucharistic table takes on a fresh, jarring perspective.  Or maybe we are having a simple conversation with a fellow parishioner about the way that their sacrificial giving has changed their walk with Christ.  The next time we write our pledge check, something is changed in us forever – even the sensation of the pen on the paper of our check feels different.

Finally, the magi show us that being a seeker means that our lives will be changed.  When the wise men are done with their visit with the holy family, they do not simply return home the same way that they came.  They do not even return to Herod as Herod had asked them to return.  No, in the midst of their visit, the wise men have a dream that warns them to go another way.  And so, they return home, but by a way that is not familiar.  The magi teach us that when you meet Christ, “Nothing is ever the same.  You don’t take the old road any longer.  You unfold a new map, and discover an alternate path.”[ii]

For those of us who have assumed the life of the seeker, we know this truth all too well.  If we commit our lives to truly seeking God, not idly going through the motions, we experience things that are just too transformative to leave us the same.  We can no longer be the old selves that we once were.  My friends who are vegetarians all have a story.  Whether they read The Jungle in high school, or they saw Fast Food Nation after college, some experience led them to disavow the eating of meat.  Whatever they learned or experienced, they could not unlearn.  And so they were transformed and their eating life was transformed.  The same is true for us.  When we seek and experience Christ – whether in our experiences with the poor, in our experiences with fellow parishioners, or even as we taste Christ in the holy meal – we too are transformed into something that cannot be undone.

That is the gift of the magi for us today.  They show us how to be seekers:  seekers who are observant, seekers who expect eventfulness, and seekers who realize they will be forever changed.  As the drama of their journey unfolds, they invite us to allow our own spiritual journey of seeking to unfold.  The promise is that the Holy Spirit will transform us, over and over again.  We only need to take the first step.  Amen.

[i] Steve Pankey, “Are You Paying Attention?” December 29, 2014 at https://draughtingtheology.wordpress.com/2014/12/29/are-you-paying-attention/.

[ii] James C. Howell, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 216.