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On Traditions and Routine…

08 Thursday Dec 2016

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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Advent, church, comfort, identity, liturgy, power, routine, tradition

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Photo credit:  https://scpeanutgallery.com/2013/12/01/1st-sunday-in-advent-isaiah-21-5-psalm-122-romans-1311-14-matthew-2436-44-suddenly-out-of-zion/

As I began personal preparations for Advent this year, I began to wonder if a change was in order.  The last few years, our family has used the same Advent calendar.  It has wonderful daily devotions, and fun, pop-out depictions to coordinate with each day.  It has suggested ways to pray as a family and how to make Advent through Epiphany Day meaningful.  But I wondered if my family was boring of the same old tradition, so I started to think about alternatives.  Right as I prepared to place my order, I mentioned something about the order to my husband.  My seven-year old immediately chimed in, “We’re getting the same calendar, right?!?  I want to do the devotions.”  Shocked by her commitment, I went back to the old order, and ordered a new calendar right away.

Just this past weekend we purchased our annual live tree.  Though I knew I had a day or two to let the tree settle, my husband was anxious for me to get the lights and ornaments on and to unpack our Christmas decorations.  I, on the other hand, was not as enthusiastic about the work it would entail.  As soon as my daughter heard that I would be unpacking ornaments, she begged to help, even though it was a school night.  So, we turned on the Christmas music and got to work.  Her enthusiasm was contagious.  As she unpacked various ornaments, she would declare, with glee, “I remember this one!!!”  She eagerly reminded me of how we strategically place delicate ornaments up high, out of reach of her younger sister.  She also worked to place all the ornaments that make noise down low so her sister could enjoy them too.  As I watched her revel in reliving Christmases of years past, I was flooded with memories of a similar routine with my own mother.

My interactions with my daughter this year have reminded me of why being a part of a liturgical church is so special.  Though “routine,” or tradition, may sound boring to some, the routine of liturgy is a tremendous source of comfort and belonging to those who participate.  Every Advent we hear of Isaiah, John the Baptist, and Mary the Mother of God.  Every Christmas we retell the Lukan nativity narrative.  Year after year, the pattern of the liturgical calendar, the repeating of holy scripture, and the weekly practice of Eucharist are our routine – our tradition.  Though we always want to keep church fresh and relevant, the routine is what grounds us.  The routine brings us comfort.  The routine gives us a sense of identity.

I am especially grateful for that grounding in identity this year.  In a year of political upheaval, of community and country divisions, and of raised awareness to the phobias and “isms” of our time, I am grateful for a liturgical pattern that reminds me of who I am, what is important, and what brings us peace.  Though I am always excited to try new experiments, I am reminded this Advent of the power of tradition – and it is anything but routine!

On Turning Down the Noise…

30 Wednesday Nov 2016

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Advent, breath, breathe, Christ Child, church, God, loud, noise, quiet

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Photo Credit:  www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/lucy-gaskin/playing-the-game-of-shh_b_7894332.html

I live in a noisy house.  We have tried teaching our children about volume control (we use a scale to help our oldest; e.g. “You’re at a 10.  I need you at a 6.”).  We have worked on the concept of taking turns while speaking.  We have tried yoga breathing (which more often sounds like hyperventilating that calming breaths).  And we use a lot of “time out.”  As a parent, most of the time I am used to the volume of our house.  But occasionally I spend time with families who have much more quiet homes, and the experience reminds me of how loud my house really is.

We are currently living in a culture of loud.  Every day I receive emails from some online store who promises that today’s sale is even better than yesterday’s.  When I try to work in public places on my laptop, either music or TVs are blaring loudly.  Our current political discourse feels more like a shouting match than a quiet discussion of issues.  And that does not even include the noise of Christmas preparation.  Our lives are very loud when we stop to listen.

I think that is why I love Advent so much.  It is the one church season that is almost always the total opposite of our secular season.  In a time when the secular world is getting louder and louder, the church invites us to be more and more quiet.  Our liturgies get simplified.  Our educational offerings focus more on quiet reflection than dynamic presentations or lively conversations.  Our calendar invites us to slow down.  We do all this not to be contrary, but because our church wants to give us space to ponder and savor the coming miracle of the Christ Child.

This morning I used on online version of Morning Prayer that I don’t usually use.  The nice thing about the website (or app if you use it on your phone), is the lessons are incorporated into the page so you do not have to find them separately.  Also incorporated are some hymns and canticles.  Today, the hymn was “Breathe on me Breath of God.”  I remember that old hymn from my childhood and it was just what I needed to help me stay engaged in the quiet of Advent.  My prayer for each of you today is not only that you feel God’s breath on you, filling you with life anew, but also that you breathe in God, allowing God to work through you so that God’s light might shine through you with renewed vigor.  Perhaps simply by breathing in God and allowing God to breathe on you, you might find some small way to combat the loudness of life today.

Sermon Luke 21.5-19, Isaiah 65.17-25, P28, YC, November 13, 2016

23 Wednesday Nov 2016

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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church, disagree, diversity, election, Episcopal Church, ethics, God, Jesus, kingdom of God, kingdom of man, love, Messiah, politics, Sermon, vote

One of the things you will learn about me as we grow together is that I generally avoid politics in the pulpit.  I avoid talking about politics because one of the blessings of the Episcopal Church is that we represent a wide range of political viewpoints.   Though some would like to categorize our church as liberal because of some of our national Church decisions, our membership is diverse.  Most of the time our diversity is a gift.  Our diversity means that we cannot become an echo chamber, always preaching to the proverbial choir.  We will have differences of opinion, we will argue and debate about how scripture is applied in modern life, and we will be forced to agree to disagree when we come to the table each week.  We are one of the rare denominations who walk that fine line well, and that ability is one of the things I love about the Episcopal Church.

The curse of our diversity means that we will rarely be on the same page about an issue on any given Sunday.  That reality is most glaringly obvious on a Sunday like this one:  the first Sunday after one of the most contentious elections in modern history.  As I step into this pulpit today, I am aware that there are people in this room who feel like we made a good decision on Tuesday – a decisive vote to do business differently on a national level.  I am aware that there are people in this room who are gravely disappointed by the decision we made on Tuesday.  They feel a range of emotions, including sadness, disappointment, hurt, anger, fear, and threat.  I am also aware that there are people in this room who do not put too much credence in what happened Tuesday.  They may have voted, but they did not feel like there were any good options, and so they were resigned to be dissatisfied with whatever the outcome would be.

The trouble with our scripture lessons from Luke and Isaiah today is that they tempt us to conflate what has happened in our political sphere this week with the kingdom of God.  Teaching at the Temple, Jesus predicts the destruction of the Temple.  When asked when this will take place and what the signs will be, Jesus’ answer is dire.  He warns of false prophets; wars and insurrections; nations rising up against each other; earthquakes, famines, and plagues; betrayals by family and friends; and personal arrests and persecutions.  Conversely, Isaiah prophesies of the coming kingdom:  where there will be no weeping or distress; people will live into old age; people will stay on their land and their fruits will prosper; and the wolf and the lamb will feed together.  We could look at these two worlds – the world of destruction and judgment and the world of the peaceful kingdom and easily say, “Well because my candidate won or lost, we will be dealing with either the day of doom or the day of the peaceful kingdom.”  The scripture today tantalizingly tempts us to look at these last five days and say with either dread or joy, “The kingdom of God has come near.”  But I would argue that that kind of conflating is not only false, but also ascribes too much power to humans.

Eight years ago, I voted for Barak Obama.  I remember feeling like he could bring us into a new era.  He talked about hope, and I felt filled with a sense of hope and renewal.  He made a lot of promises, many of which felt in line with what I would call gospel living.  When he took office, I remember holding on to that sense of hope.  I should not have been surprised years later when I became disappointed with some of Obama’s decisions.  My idyllic sense of hope began to deflate, and I remember several people talking about how disappointed they were – as if Obama was a false prophet or failed messiah.  As soon as that rhetoric surfaced, I realized the fatal flaw of my vote of confidence in Obama.  I had placed Obama in the role of Messiah – someone who would bring about the reign of God.  Suddenly, I realized how unfair, and quite frankly, unchristian, that expectation was.  Obama would never be the Messiah I wanted because I already had a Messiah.  No president could ever represent Christ effectively, because we only have one Messiah.  Not until I had that realization was I able to see politics a little differently.  Though I strongly encourage us all to be involved in the political life of our country, and I also strongly encourage us to use our Christian ethics as a moral compass in electing officials, I am also keenly aware that no political servant can ever be a messiah, because every political servant is a flawed human, just like you and me.  Likewise, I am also ever more aware that Jesus was not a Democrat or a Republican, because political parties are made up of flawed human beings with flawed abilities to fully represent the gospel of Jesus Christ.

So where does that leave us?  Are we supposed to step back from political activism if the political system is inherently flawed?  Scholars have debated this issue for centuries.  In their book Resident Aliens, Stanley Hauerwas and Will Willimon argued that Christians should be in the world, but not of the world.  They argued that, “The Confessing church does not take as its primary aim the transformation of the world through the political route of the State.  Instead, [the Church] seeks to transform the world by creating a counterculture of people who live under the reign of Jesus.  In this counterculture ‘people are faithful to their promises, love their enemies, tell the truth, honor the poor, suffer for righteousness, and thereby testify to the amazing community-creating power of God.  The confessing church has no interest in withdrawing from the world, but it is not surprised when its witness evokes hostility from the world’ (46).  In doing so this counterculture church becomes the people of the cross, demonstrating God’s love for the world.  The most ‘effective’ thing the church can do is to become the ‘actual creation of a living, breathing, visible community of faith’ (46) in a hostile world.”[i]

Here is what I know:  the kingdom of man is not like the kingdom of God.  I say that not as an excuse to hide in a bubble, but as a salve for our wounded spirits when we see how far apart the kingdom of man can be from the kingdom of God.  We could leave church today with our hands thrown up in the air, feeling like the two are different and there is nothing we can do to change it.  But that is not what Hauerwas, Willimon, or even Jesus want from us today.  In Jesus’ prediction of doom and personal persecution, Jesus also says something simple and almost comical.  He says, “This will give you an opportunity to testify.”[ii]  Our political system is not perfect.  We are not a perfect country.  We hurt each other and we suffer at the hand of one another.  But that lack of perfection and the presence of hurt is no excuse to not work on bringing about the kingdom of God here on earth.  The prophecy of Isaiah is not some pie-in-the-sky dream about what happens when we die.  The coming of Jesus meant the inbreaking of the kingdom here on earth.  In Christ’s absence, our work is turning this kingdom of man into the kingdom of God.  The vision from Isaiah is just that:  a vision for us to align our steps, and to do our work.  The vision of Isaiah is not a Republican vision or a Democrat vision.  The vision of Isaiah is the vision of God:  of taking “the original creation that the Divine called good,” and “transforming that creation into something new.”[iii]

After this contentious election, I would love to tell you that everything will be okay – that God will magically make things right.  But Jesus tells us today that he needs us to do our work.  When Jesus tells those gathered that they will have the opportunity to testify, he also tells them, “make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict.”[iv]  Things will be bad before the kingdom of God reigns over the kingdom of man.  Our political systems are not capable or perhaps even interested in bringing about the reign of God.  That work is ours to do.  But Jesus promises that he will be with us, giving us the words as we work, empowering us to right the ills of this world, strengthening us for work of kingdom making.  And you are in the right place this morning to prepare yourself for that work.  Today and every Sunday we offer you the chance to cry out to God, to confess your own complicity with sin, to learn and be formed into a disciple of Christ, to be strengthened with the holy meal, and then to get back out there in the work of bringing about the kingdom of God.  If you need to linger today a little longer at the altar rail, with your anger or your grief at what happened this week, by all means do it.  If you are emboldened by what happened this week, then take that sense of victory and turn it into kingdom work.  But before you leave today, remember that each of us, in all our diverse opinions and experiences are needed to testify and help each other testify.  We need each other and our Messiah, the Christ.  He will give us the words when the time comes so that we can create a world where the lion and the lamb feast together.  Amen.

[i] Steven Kopp, “Book Summary: Resident Aliens by Stanley Hauerwas,” August 21, 2015, as found at https://slasherpastor.wordpress.com/2015/08/21/book-summary-resident-aliens-by-stanley-hauerwas/ on November 11, 2016.  The page numbers are page citations from Hauerwas and Willimon’s book.

[ii] Luke 21.13.

[iii] Mary Eleanor Johns, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 290.

[iv] Luke 21.14-15.

On Saints, Elections, and God…

09 Wednesday Nov 2016

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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altar, church, election, God, liturgy, messiness, saints, worship

14917060_1270799702976287_658328143983009977_oThis past Sunday, I got to try on one of Hickory Neck’s traditions.  For the past several years, every All Saints Sunday, the congregation has been invited to tie a ribbon on the altar rail in honor of saints who have gone before.  To be honest, before our liturgies started, I was not sure how the liturgical action would go.  I had imagined all sorts of reasons it might be awkward:  I didn’t think our early, reserved worshipers would be that interested; I worried that the ribbons would be messy, making communion at the rail difficult; I wondered if the symbolism would work in our space.  Happily, I was wrong on all accounts.

Instead, the liturgical symbolism was potent.  As I watched countless people kneel at the rail, tying on the ribbons, many with tears streaming down their faces, I realized how easy it is for me to forget the pain of grief that people struggle with every day.  When we see a well-dressed person at church on Sunday, we forget that there is a unique, sometimes painful story underneath appearances.  As I looked at ribbons draped on the altar rail, I imagined the bodies of the saints, draped on the entrance of the heavenly banquet, having given their lives to love and witness.  As my mind struggled with the messiness of the rail, my heart could see the messiness of life, clinging to the very altar where we kneel not just for solace and pardon, but for strength and renewal.  The liturgical action created a beautiful moment that was overwhelmingly powerful.

Today, I woke up to the news of election returns. Being a pastor of a diverse congregation, I know there are hearts that are relieved, hearts that are satisfied, and hearts that are saddened, fearful, and disappointed.  As I process that reality today, I am reminded of those ribbons, dripping from the altar of church.  I am reminded of the saints that have gone before, who have waded through their own times of conflict.  I am reminded of the fact that on Sunday, each worshiper will be bringing a story to the altar that I will never know fully.  I am reminded of the fact that our church offers a rail where we all kneel or stand, in all of life’s messiness, longing for something bigger and with greater meaning than we can give each other in our limited humanity.

As I got ready for the day this morning, my two-year old sat in the floor of our bedroom with some books.  I was still processing that image of All Saints Day when I heard her singing from one of her books.  “He’s got my brothers and my sisters in his hands…he’s got the whole world in his hands.”  Her sweet voice brought me to tears as I realized the deep wisdom in her, perhaps unintended, words.  In this messiness of life, there will be days that are really complicated, confusing, and hard.  But as a person of faith, I also trust that the Lord our God is holding us in God’s hands, tending not just to me, but to my brothers and my sisters.  For today, that is all I can ask for.

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Photo credit:  He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands, Kadir Nelson.  Photo found at http://www.walkingbytheway.com/blog/picture-books-for-transracial-adoptive-families/

Getting Real and Giving Generously…

26 Wednesday Oct 2016

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budget, church, giving, journey, Living Generously, ministry, money, motivation, passion, pledge, real, resources

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Photo credit:  www.associationserviceswa.com/2016/08/value-of-a-well-prepared-budget/

The year after I graduated from college, I volunteered fulltime through the AmeriCorps program at a Food Bank in North Carolina.  In addition to working in the warehouse and monitoring agencies, my fellow volunteers and I also had monthly classes on a variety of topics.  My favorite was a budgeting class.  Though most of us were scraping by our living stipend, we still had income and expenses like everyone else.   Our homework was to track our expenses and income for a month and then come back to class to talk about what we noticed.  After that month, I realized that I had picked up a terrible habit.  I had worked very hard to save money during that year.  As a reward for saving money, every week I would treat myself to something small.  But when I did the math, I realized the amount I had saved was much less than the amount with which I was treating myself.  The realization was shocking and wildly disappointing.

On Sunday, we are submitting our pledge commitments for the coming year at Hickory Neck.  Part of our Living Generously campaign has been talking about the powerful ministries at Hickory Neck that mean so much to us.  We have read parishioner reflections, biblical reflections from national church leaders, and a great narrative budget that helps us see how our finances function.  My husband and I are inspired and expectant about the future of Hickory Neck, and we are overjoyed to join the pledging effort to support our ministry.

Inspiration has not been a problem.  In fact, my husband and I talked about how we want to increase our pledge this year.  But as we looked at the numbers, we realized in order to align our budget with our passion, we were going to have to adjust some things.  For us, that means at least a few less meals out each month.  It also may mean being a bit more discerning about wants versus needs.  It will certainly mean keeping an eye on making sure that we are able to keep our pledge next year by saving the amount needed for our increase and not “treating” ourselves disproportionally to our increased pledge.

As the Vestry talked about Stewardship, the Vestry all realized our church giving was motivated by different things.  For some of us, understanding the mission of the church and how our pledge would be used was critical.  For others of us, we needed our giving to be rooted in a theological or spiritual understanding of resources and our stewardship of those resources.  While for others of us, our giving was more motivated by looking around us, taking stock of all the things we like about church, and calculating how much those things cost.  My hope is that our campaign has addressed all of those approaches and that our journey through stewardship season has inspired and rooted you.  I look forward to hearing your story of our journey together and kicking off another great year!tens2016logo7x12webonly

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

12 Wednesday Oct 2016

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Discovering Home…

21 Wednesday Sep 2016

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church, church home, discovery, Episcopal, home, identity, invitation, Jesus, spiritual journey, transformation

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Photo credit:  John Rothnie, http://www.hickoryneck.org

When my husband and I were engaged, we relocated to Delaware.  One of the first things on our priority list was finding a church home – partly because we missed church back in North Carolina, but also because we were hoping to make some new friends in our new town.  “Church shopping” was hard – nothing felt quite right, and our old standbys were not working.  I was born and raised in the United Methodist Church, and my husband had nominally been raised in the Presbyterian Church.  After months of frustration, and the recommendation of a friend, we tentatively tried out the Cathedral in Delaware.  My husband was sold on the first Sunday; I took some time to come around.  For a long time, I thought that we were just United Methodists who happened to worship in an Episcopal Church.  But what I did not realize was that a transformation was taking place – I was discovering the Church home I didn’t know I was missing.

Every person who walks in the door of a church has a similar story.  Sometimes a person is what we call a “cradle Episcopalian” – born, raised, and stayed in the Episcopal Church.  Sometimes a couple or family is looking for a compromise in faith traditions.  Sometimes people leave their denomination out of frustration and are looking for something that feels closer to the Gospel as they experience it.  And sometimes a person has never before stepped a foot in a church.  That’s part of the beauty of the Episcopal Church – our members come from a diverse set of experiences, all of which feed our mutual ministry.

That is why we are kicking off a class called “Discovery Class” this week at Hickory Neck.  Whether you are new to Hickory Neck, the Episcopal Church, or you have been around forever, I find it is always helpful to review our roots.  No matter how many times I teach this class, I find that people learn something new, feel inspired to deepen their faith, or find themselves reenergized about their Episcopal identity.  The class also gives us a chance to reflect on and celebrate the unique way that our Episcopal identity is incarnate at Hickory Neck.

I hope you will take some time this week to reflect on your own spiritual journey.  Think back to the times when you felt inspired, fed, and reinvigorated in your faith.  Recall the way you felt when you knew, or suspected, that your current faith community began to feel like a spiritual home.  And if you cannot join us at Hickory Neck, share some of those stories with your neighbors – and invite them into the wonderful work Jesus is doing in your church home!

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

14 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Working Together to Make it Work

07 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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Christ, church, faith, family, generation, grow, love, multigeneration, witness

multigenerational

Photo credit:  https://www.indacoriskadvisors.com

Every year our family vacations at a place called, “Memorial House,” in Rehoboth Beach.  The house is owned by the Diocese of Delaware and is an 11-bedroom home used for retreats, meetings, and, in the summer, for family and church vacations.  Each family or individual has a private room, but the dining and living area is shared.  Each day in the summer, a full, hot breakfast and dinner is served buffet-style, and enjoyed at shared tables with the other guests.

This year, our family vacationed with another family with two children.  Joining us were a family with adult children, older couples, and some retired singles.  Our four children were the only children this year, making our eight-person dinner table the most raucous.  I lost count on how many tablecloths we changed, and the broom was never far from hand.  The other mom and I worried a bit that we might be disturbing what could have been a perfectly peaceful vacation for the others.

Luckily, I had two encounters that told a different story.  The first was with a grandmother who talked to us as we were preparing lunches.  She joked with us about how much work she saw us doing.  She confessed that she had already spent one week this summer at the beach with her own family – including children and grandchildren.  But she had done so much work that week that she decided to come to Memorial House so she could have an “actual vacation”!  Another grandmother talked to me at the end of our week.  She pulled me aside and said, “You know, I had forgotten how much work I did as a young mom.  You guys are doing a great job!”

What Memorial House does is a little like what Church does, when Church is at its best.  You see, Church is one of the few places that multiple generations gather to worship, learn, and grow together.  When the Church is at its best, grandmothers distract an inconsolable child when a mom or dad is at her or his wits end.  When Church is at its best, a retiree is teaching children his favorite Bible Stories in dramatic and fun ways.  When Church is at its best, youth know adults who might give them the same answers as their parents, but the youth can hear it better from someone else.  When Church is at its best, we are a multigenerational family, welcoming those from all walks of life, making sure we are all fed, nurtured, and empowered to go out into the world to witness the love of Christ.  This week, I am especially grateful for that gift!

Sermon – Jeremiah 1.4-10, P16, YC, August 21, 2016

07 Wednesday Sep 2016

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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called, calling, church, God, Jeremiah, ministry, priest, prophet, Sermon, vocation

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”  I have lost count of how many times we have asked that question to our oldest daughter.  The answer varies widely depending on what phase she is in or what they have been talking about in school.  I confess that there have been times when I was disappointed when she changed her mind – “author and illustrator” was my favorite, though “engineer” was a pretty good one recently.  But my all-time favorite conversation about what she wanted to be when she grew up was actually a conversation about priesthood.  I asked her my typical question, “So have you decided what you want to be when you grow up?”  She replied thoughtfully, “I can’t decide.  There are too many options.”  Sympathetically I said, “I totally understand.  It took me years to decide what I wanted to be.”  And without a beat, she replied, with disgust, “And you decided to become a priest?!?”

The thing is, I do not think my daughter’s reaction is all that different than most people.  Very few people ever imagine themselves being ordained.  The vocation seems too foreign, to require some mysterious amount of holiness, or to just be too weird.  All of that makes sense to me – not everyone feels called to the priesthood.  But too often acknowledging we do not want to be a priest means that we stop using “call” language altogether.  Instead of being able to talk about what we feel called to do in life, we instead talk about what we want to be when we grow up.  A calling, a ministry, or even a vocation is something that clergy people do, not what we all do.

At least, that is what the secular world would have us believe.  The church says something a bit different.  Throughout our liturgies and Prayer Book, we talk about the ministry of all people.  Our Catechism defines the ministers of the Church as lay persons, bishops, priests, and deacons.  The Catechism further states that the ministry of lay persons is to represent Christ and his Church; to bear witness to him wherever they may be; and, according to the gifts given them, to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world; and to take their place in the life, worship, and governance of the Church.”[i]  In the baptismal covenant, we all promise to proclaim, by word and example, the Good News of God in Christ, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, and to strive for justice and peace.  Now some of you may argue that you do those things – just not as your daily work.  You are happy to be involved in church, but you do not see your life as a student, a secular worker, or a retiree as a vocation.

And stories like the one we hear in Jeremiah do not help us in this distinction.  You see, we hear Jeremiah’s call today like we hear the call of most prophets – and rightly so, since Jeremiah is so similar to other prophets.  Like Moses, Isaiah, and Ezekiel, Jeremiah balks at the idea that God may be calling him to do something.  Jeremiah protests that he is too young.  Similarly, Moses tried to argue he was unskilled, Isaiah that he was unworthy, and Ezekiel that he did not know what to say.[ii]  When God calls people to do big things, they often push back and seek an out.  In most cases, their fear is legitimate.  Being a prophet is often a thankless job – which can certainly lead to suffering, if not death.  But invariably, God reassures the person being called.  In Jeremiah’s case, God tells Jeremiah that he was born for this job.  “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.”

All of that sounds nice. In fact, many of us love this verse from scripture because the verse gives us a sense of comfort, belonging, and affirmation – a sense that we are all known by God.[iii]  But what we forget is that in knowing Jeremiah so deeply, God also knows that Jeremiah will have to do a really hard job.  The touchy-feely part of the text starts to wane when we hear the part about being a prophet – especially a prophet who will need to fear others.  But here’s the real problem with Jeremiah’s call:  we do not think God similarly calls us.  Not even all priests see themselves as prophets.  Prophets, priests, deacons – those are jobs that other people do.  Those are not jobs we do.  We go to school everyday.  We are teachers, financial consultants, government workers, stay-at-home parents, or journalists.  We are retired and are done with the “job” part of our lives.  We hear stories like the call narratives of Jeremiah, Moses, Ezekiel, and Isaiah, and we can keep ourselves at a safe distance because those are the jobs that those people do.

But remember that catechism and baptismal covenant?  The truth is we are all called to something.  We all have a vocation.  That calling or vocation may be our jobs or what we do every day.  We may live out our vocation as a student when we stand up to a bully, play with the new kid who seems lonely, or help tutor the troublemaker clearly needs help.  We live out our vocations at work when we advocate for justice for our coworkers, when we offer an ear to a coworker who is struggling, or when we organize a volunteer day for our company.  We live out our vocations as retirees when we volunteer at the local homeless shelter, when we treat with dignity the workers we encounter who provide us services, and when we use our time to advocate for the poor.

But vocation is sometimes found outside of those typical confines.  Sometimes living into our vocation means calling that person who has been on our minds – only to discover how much they needed a word of encouragement.  Sometimes living into our vocation means helping the mom in front of us in the grocery store line who is clearly juggling children, groceries, and dealing with a cashier who has never handled food stamps or WIC benefits.  Sometimes living into our vocation means praising and giving thanks to a preschool teacher who just got chewed out by a parent who thinks their child is just fine (when you suspect the child is actually really hard for the teacher to manage).

This fall, we will be starting up an adult education series called Discovery Class.  The class is for newcomers and members alike, who want to learn more about our Episcopal Identity, the work of Hickory Neck, and how we can connect to a ministry.  In the final session, participants will take a survey to help us discern how our gifts might best tie in with a ministry at Hickory Neck.  The survey is a great resource because sometimes teachers are the best matches for Sunday School and Youth Group leadership.  But sometimes, best matches for Sunday School and Youth Group are retirees who have been around the block and get how hard the teenage years are.  Likewise, someone may have been may have been in construction or administration during their career, but really want to learn how to arrange flowers with the Flower Guild, or play with babies in the nursery.  Though many of us have vocations and callings out in the world, sometimes the church is another place where our vocations and callings feed us and others.

So if we are willing to agree that we all have a calling or vocation, recognizing that some vocations can change and evolve over time, how do we know if we are living into our calling?  The true test of a vocation might be something like this:  whatever in your life is the most intimidating, daunting, or even terrifying task (be it teaching teenagers, asking for money for church, or praying in front of a group), and yet, when you try doing that task gives you an odd sense of deep satisfaction and meaning, is probably your vocation.  Prophets would not go kicking and screaming if being a prophet was easy.  And yet, prophets would not say yes without the assurance that God is with them, empowering them to be God’s agents.[iv]

This fall, I hope we will all prayerfully consider what ministry God is calling us to do.  Paul says in his letter to the Ephesians, “I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, …The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.”[v]  Though Church is certainly meant to give us comfort and encouragement each week, Church is also the place that strengthens us and sends us out into the world to do the work Christ has given us to do.  One of my favorite church signs looked simple enough from the road – with the name of the church emblazed on front, as you drove into the parking lot.  But on the backside, as you were leaving church each week, the sign had a separate message.  The sign read, “Go in Peace to Love and Serve the Lord.”  That is our dismissal this and every week – to not just consume Church, but to use Church as our foundation to go out into the world to love and serve.  And our response is, as always, “Thanks be to God!”  Amen.

[i][i] BCP, 855.

[ii] Bruce C. Birch, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 367.

[iii] John t. DeBevoise, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 364.

[iv] Thomas R. Steagald, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 366, 368.

[v] Ephesians 4.1, 11-13.

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