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Sermon – John 11.32-44, AS, YB, November 3, 2024

13 Wednesday Nov 2024

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I imagine if you were to poll a group of priests, most of them would say that one of their favorite liturgies in the Episcopal Church is the burial office – not because of the painful journey of grief and loss that leads to such an office, but because of what the liturgy and its scripture lessons accomplish.  In the midst of personal pain and gut-wrenching bereavement, the Church shows up with scripture lessons that point us toward ultimate things – that remind us of the ultimate source of hope for the faithful:  the promise of resurrection and eternal life.  Grief can upend your entire center, leaving you feeling lost.  But scripture, the burial office liturgy, and our faith are like a tether that hold us steady – that hold us close to Christ when Christ can feel absent.

Our lessons today on this feast of All Saints are all lessons traditionally recommended for a burial office – ones that have given us hope as we have lost spouses, parents, children, friends, and spiritual mentors.  They are lessons that give us hope for that feast of rich food and well-aged wines, where death is swallowed up forever, and God wipes away our tears.  They are lessons that promise that death will be no more, mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.  They are lessons that depict a Jesus deeply disturbed and deeply moved by our suffering. 

So why all this focus on end things?  Why this focus on ultimate things?  For one, as we honor the saints who have gone before on All Saints Sunday, these are lessons that remind us of what the Church has always believed about life, death, and eternal life in Christ.  As we will later recall in the service those souls closer to our own journeys and tie ribbons on the altar rail in their memory, the Church wants us to be ever confident in where those souls are and where we will go too.  And as we reaffirm our baptismal covenant today – that reminder of how in baptism we go down into the baptismal waters and die to self and come up again born anew in Christ, we are reminded that we are a kingdom people, living in resurrection not just in eternal life but in the here and now.

I am especially grateful for this feast of All Saints, on this day of remembering ultimate things, as we head into a week that feels especially weighty and consequential.  Not only are we each feeling our own anxieties and fears about how this presidential election will go (probably not all agreeing about which way would be best), I was also reminded yesterday as I watched the investiture of our new Presiding Bishop Rowe, that the rest of the world joins in our anxiety.  As a primate from South Sudan reminded us, our presidential election this week does not just impact us, but has ripple effects in countries around the world. 

Into this global anxiety, in this conflicted country, commonwealth, and county, we are gifted the same thing the Church gifts us with at every burial and every reminder of the saints:  the reminder of ultimate things.  We are reminded that in celebration and catastrophe, God is with us, wiping away tears.  We are reminded that in victory and defeat, death holds no power over us.  But maybe most importantly, we are reminded in anxiety, in relief, in hope, and in hope vanquished, Jesus is by our side, deeply moved and ever ready to continue showing us God’s glory when God’s glory feels long lost.

Today our lessons and our liturgy are powerful reminders that we have a sacred duty to live into our baptismal covenant.  That may not sound like much of a balm – maybe the command to honor our baptismal covenant feels more like homework than comfort.  But we are never baptized just into comfort.  We are baptized through comfort to live radical lives as Christ’s disciples – where we share the good news of God in Christ, where we gather in weekly worship and communion, where we seek and serve Christ in all persons, and where we strive for justice and peace, respecting the dignity of every human being.

Yes, this time feels so weighty on our shoulders that we feel like we may collapse under the weight of this time.  But the Jesus who weeps for Lazarus is the same Jesus who told us his burden is easy and his yoke is light.  The Jesus who is deeply disturbed is also the Jesus who troubles the water – the waters in which we died in baptism and rose to new life.  The Jesus who walked alongside Martha and Mary is the same Jesus who walks alongside you and me.  Our invitation today is take that baptismal covenant seriously – with the heft of ultimate things like death and resurrection and eternal life.  We stand in those baptismal waters this week, and we invite others to join us.  Those waters are our source of strength this week.  Amen.

Sermon – Jeremiah 31.31-34, Psalm 51.1-13, L5, YB, March 17, 2024

27 Wednesday Mar 2024

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In just a couple of weeks, Hickory Neck will gather for what is my favorite service of the entire year:  the Easter Vigil.  Now I know, you may be thinking, “But what about Easter Sunday?” or even “But Christmas Eve is the best!”  For me, the very best of the Episcopal Church happens at the Easter Vigil.  The lights are turned down low, a fire erupts as we sing the haunting Exultet, we read stories from scripture that feel like the ones you would tell around a campfire, we baptize new Christians, and then, with bells and singing, the lights come up as we ring in Easter.  The rest of the service feels like celebrating Eucharist for the first time – with the news of the empty tomb and feasting at the family table.

Part of why I love the service so much is those stories we hear by the fire:  what we often refer to as the salvation narrative.  In these stories we hear how we were created in God’s image and made for goodness, and then we hear how time and again we fail to live up to that goodness, but time and again, God meets us where we are, renewing God’s covenantal relationship with us, forgiving us, and getting us back on our feet to serve the world in God’s name.  The repetition of God extending that grace again and again and again, no matter how grave our failings, can make any participant begin to think that maybe, just maybe, we stand invited to receive that hesed or as we translate the Hebrew, that lovingkindness, of God.

Although we do not hear the text from Jeremiah on Easter Vigil night, today, on this fifth Sunday in Lent, just a week before we start the descent into the cross and the grave of Holy Week, we get one last reminder of the kind of redemption that waits on the other side of Easter.  I do not how recently you’ve been reading Jeremiah in your spare time, but just as a refresher, Jeremiah is one of those books that is generally filled with bad news.  Israel disobeyed the law of God, and, as a consequence, they are overthrown by outside forces, the walls of Jerusalem fall, the temple is destroyed, and the Israelites themselves are banished to Babylon.  The situation is bleak, and the prophet Jeremiah has a lot to say in judgment of the people.[i] 

But today, all the way in chapter 31, we get what is called “The Book of Comfort,”[ii] in Jeremiah where, after much shame and judgment, the people are promised a new day where there will be a new covenant between God and the people.  This time, they won’t have to wait for teaching, and they won’t have to store the commandments in a holy place.  The holy word of God will be written on their hearts – able to go with them anywhere, to be not just in their minds or in their temple, but on their very souls – they will be God’s and God’s will be theirs.  For a people utterly destroyed, who have lost their spiritual home in addition to their literal home, this is good news indeed.

When I was in seminary, we went to Chapel everyday – sometimes multiple times a day.  The rhythm of regular worship meant that not only did the liturgy get written into your body, so did the space.  You began to know the particulars of certain seats – which ones experienced more of a draft and which pew had someone’s initials carved in and aged over.  You knew how certain steps would creak when someone would ascend the lectern and you have seen the pulpit sway with a particularly vigorous preacher.  But mostly, you had stared, for years at a time, at the window behind the altar, around which were painted the words, “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel.”  Consciously and maybe more subconsciously, those words became ingrained in our minds seeing them every day. 

A year and a half after I graduated, that chapel burned down, along with that wall that had been seared into my mind.  I remember feeling bereft – like a part of me had died with the loss of that building.  Even today, when I visit the campus, worshiping in the beautiful new chapel, I still grieve when I see the preserved ruins where an outdoor altar remains.  It took me a long time to realize that although my heart ached for the physical space, those words – those words that Jesus spoke, “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel,” were gone from the world – but not from my heart.  Though I might miss the building – in the same way so many of us missed the buildings of this campus in those early years of the pandemic, the experience of God is written in my heart.

As we walk this last week of Lent, and as we begin next week to walk steadily through Holy Week, perhaps with sins weighing on our hearts, or feelings of being a failure at faith or at life in general, or even just the restlessness that can come when we find ourselves disconnected from any kind of relationship with God, our worship today is all about renewing that covenantal relationship with God.  Even in our psalm today, we prayed, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” – those same words a priest prays before she consecrates the sacred meal.  The psalm tells us the very nature of our God is “steadfast love and abundant mercy, a God who is eternally ‘for us’ with the endless love of a mother for her child.  The God who is everlasting love will never abandon us, no matter what our guilt says.  Steadfast love and abundant mercy heal us not only of the stain of sin, but also of the lie of our worthlessness.”[iii]  So likewise, Jeremiah confirms that encouragement.  As one scholar explains, “God will write the capacity for keeping the covenant on the inward hearts of the people.  Hope for such transformed wills will lie with God’s grace, not in any hope for human perfection.”[iv]

Your promise today is blessing upon blessing – blessing of belonging, of permanence, of mercy and lovingkindness.  The invitation today is then up to you.  What will you do with that renewed covenantal relationship?  How will walk differently this week with the covenant of God written on your heart?  How will you treat your neighbors differently, yourself differently, and your God differently?  The blessing is yours to keep deep in your soul.  And the blessing is also yours to share with a world that needs that blessing so very deeply.  Your work this week is to find your unique place to share that blessing.  Amen.

[i] Woody Bartlett, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 123.

[ii] Jon L. Berquist, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 123.

[iii] Elizabeth Webb, “Commentary on Psalm 51:1-12,” March 17, 2024, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-in-lent-2/commentary-on-psalm-511-12-6 on March 14, 2024.

[iv] Samuel K. Roberts, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 126.

Sermon – Genesis 17.1-7, 15-16, Mark 8.31-38, L2, YB, February 25, 2024

15 Friday Mar 2024

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I remember in those first months of parenthood, an older mom and educator shared a bit wisdom with me.  “Remember, that your primary job as a parent,” she told me, “is to foster the independence of your child.”  At the time, her advice seemed a little strange – nothing about making the child feel loved, or reading to them every night, or creating safe space:  just fostering independence.  What I did not realize at the time was how incredibly difficult and grueling the work of fostering independence would be.  For starters, fostering independence in your children means giving up control – something I tend to like having.  And as if that is not hard enough, fostering independence means being the victim of your children’s own desire for control.  I cannot tell you the number of times I have been walking in my house muttering the words, “I am raising independent children.  I am raising independent children.  I am raising independent children.”

I think why this aspect of parenting is so tricky for me is parenting gets to the heart of one of the eternal struggles we have in life – and certainly with God:  our desire for control.  So, we should not at all be surprised to discover that during Lent, that is what both our Old Testament and our Gospel lessons are about:  ceding control.  We can start with Abraham’s story.  This is actually the third time Abraham has been promised a son – or at the beginning of our text, he is still Abram, not Abraham.  But we’ll get to that later.  Abram struggles like we do with control.  When he and Sarai are not pregnant at 75, or 86, or now 99 years old, he’s pretty sure God is not going to make good on God’s promise.[i]  So, Abram takes matters into his own hands and has a child with Hagar, Sarai’s servant, hoping he can make Ishmael the inheritor of God’s promise.  Abram and Sarai just could not trust and cede control to God about becoming pregnant themselves, especially since God’s promise is so ludicrously abundant.  In fact, in the verse immediately following what we read today, we are told Abraham falls on his face and laughs at God.  That is how ludicrously abundant God’s promise is for progeny. 

Of course, Peter is not much better when he needs to trust Jesus.  Jesus tells the disciples in Mark’s gospel that he will suffer and die to fulfill his role as the Messiah.  But Peter, and quietly the other disciples[ii], physically grabs Jesus and rebukes him.  The things Jesus is saying are not the way Peter or the others expected a Messiah to function for good.  As one scholar explains, they signed on for a crown, not a cross.[iii]  But Peter’s grasping rebuke of Jesus is about as literal of resistance as one can get:  an utter unwillingness to cede control of how salvation through the Messiah will work.  And so, Jesus says those stingingly harsh words, “Get behind me Satan!  You are thinking not as God thinks, but as human beings do.”[iv]  Peter and the disciples are no better at trusting and ceding control to God than Abraham is.

In some way or another, I think most of our Lenten disciplines, most of the sinfulness that we are praying about or working on in Lent is rooted in this very issue: our issues with control and trusting in God.  We are so deeply rooted in the American ethic of working hard, achieving your goals, of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps and realizing your own destiny that we leave very little space for God in our lives.  We love being endowed with free will, so the notion that we should just trust God or even give up control to God feels like a fool’s errand.  Having this ethic deeply seeded in our core identity, we, as one scholar argues, arrogantly “assume that we know what must be done, so that even a word from Jesus himself cannot dissuade us.  Blinded by our prejudices, presuppositions, and preconceptions of the way things must be, we would not be convinced otherwise, even were someone to rise from the dead!”[v]

Before we get slapped in the face five weeks from now, when Jesus actually rises from the dead, how might we begin to take a harder look at the illogical nature of our resistance to God?  I like to turn toward Abraham.  I’m going have you do what they do in my mom’s evangelical church, and turn back to the Word of scripture found in your bulletin, and grab a pen (or at least a pen in your imagination).  We’re going to look back over that text and literally or mentally circle every word of abundance in this Genesis text.  We find words like, “exceedingly numerous,” “multitude of nations,” “multitude of nations,” (again) “exceedingly fruitful,” “nations,” “kings,” “throughout their generations,” “everlasting covenant,” “offspring after you,” “bless,” “rise to nations,” “and “kings of peoples.”[vi]  Abram turned Abraham may not have much to say in how this covenant with God will unfold.  But everything we read about this covenant is not just blessing, but abundant blessing.  This covenant is oozing with generosity and indulgence.  The abundance of God’s covenant is embarrassingly, overwhelmingly over the top.  Even Abram’s name change is a marker of this abundance.  The Hebrew for Abram is “father;” the Hebrew for Abraham is “father of a multitude.”[vii]

I do not know what you are holding back from God these days.  I do not know where your lack of trust in God is making you grasp onto a sense of control, as though you know better than the Almighty.  But our texts today are inviting us to let go of the death grip on the way we think things should be, and to make space for the ways God is showing us how things can be.  We will not get our say in the matter necessarily – no amount of struggle will make things better.  But the promise is that when we give our lives over to Christ – when we put our trust in the God whose covenants are not just okay – or even pretty good – but are shockingly, unimaginably abundantly awesome, we are promised very good things indeed.  Some of those good things will be so good we find them laughable.  But that is just because our imagination and our abilities to produce abundant goodness are not like God’s.  But God gifts them to us anyway.  Our invitation is to open our hands and receive them.  Amen.

[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 51.

[ii] Jouette M. Bassler, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 71.

[iii] W. Hulitt Gloer, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 71.

[iv] NAB, NJB translations as provided by Bassler, 71.

[v] Gloer, 71.

[vi] This notion of abundance in the text presented by Karoline Lewis in “#950: Second Sunday in Lent – Feb. 25, 2024,” Sermon Brainwave Podcast, February 18, 2024, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/950-second-sunday-in-lent-feb-25-2024 on February 23, 2024.

[vii] W. Sibley Towner, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 55.

Sermon – Joshua 24.1-2a,14-18, John 6.56-69, P16, YB, August 22, 2021

25 Wednesday Aug 2021

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The film Remember the Titans tells the story of the integration of the football team at TC Williams High School in Alexandria, Virginia in 1971.  Bringing together an all-white and an all-black team, the new head black coach has to be very clear about the rules – how and who they will be, how they will comport themselves, what is acceptable.  The rules are strict – if you’re on-time, you’re late.  The rules disrupt the norms – interracial roommates at camp for starters.  The rules are non-negotiable – break them and you are out.  In some ways, there is no other way for the head coach to be.  He is trying to do the impossible at a racially charged time in a racially charged town in a racially charged system.  Any lack of clarity about identity, purpose, and posture could lead to a collapse of the entire system.

This past week, we baptized another child into the household of God.  When the church celebrates a baptism, we are similarly clear about identity, purpose, and posture.  The parents and godparents promise to raise the child in the Christian faith and life, praying and witnessing for the child how to grow into the full stature of Christ.  Further, we claim that the child is marked as Christ’s own forever.  We are clear about identity.  We are also clear about purpose.  The community gathered promises to confess the faith of Christ crucified, to proclaim Jesus’s resurrection, and to share in the eternal priesthood.  We promise to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers.  We are also clear about posture.  We will resist evil and when we fail, we will repent and return to the Lord.  We will proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.  We will seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves.  And we will strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.  We are clear about identity, purpose, and posture:  who we are, what we are made for, and how we go about our faith. 

Of course, what we do in baptism is not that extraordinary among people of faith.  As people of faith, we have constantly handed down our sense of identity, purpose, and posture.  We hear some of that in the Hebrew Scriptures today. Joshua pulls the people of God together and demands they proclaim their identity:  they are the people of God who will serve the Lord.  They respond by telling their story – the way God led them out of slavery, protected and provided for them.  The people proclaim their purpose:  They are to serve the Lord.  And finally, they define their posture:  they will put away false gods, the gods of the ancestors to free them to serve only the Lord. 

What’s interesting is Jesus does the same thing in the gospel lesson today.  Jesus is trying to explain his identity, his purpose, and his posture – the same he expects from his followers.  In response, we are told many people walk away.  Not unlike that football team in Remember the Titans, some are just simply unwilling to get on board with the identity, purpose, and posture Jesus demands.  The text tells us, “Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him.”  Those disciples hear about Jesus’ identity, purpose, and posture, and they walk away – Jesus’ way of life is just too difficult.  But Jesus does not judge or condemn; in fact, Jesus gives an out.  He asks if those remaining wish to go too.  But those who remain are clear.  They know no other way but to follow Jesus now, the one who has the words of eternal life, the Holy One of God. 

You know, sometimes I think we take for granted how difficult being a Christian can be.  One of the things I consistently talked about in the bishop search was how proud I am to be a part of a Church who can gather people of all political persuasions around the Eucharistic Table peacefully.  But in my pride in our identity, purpose, and posture, I sometimes forget how much work that common table really is.  Just this week I read a blog post of epidemiologist who happens to be a preacher’s wife.  She writes of her sympathy for pastors making decisions about gathering the church during the escalation of the Delta variant of the Coronavirus, especially as pastors weigh all the sides.  She argues, “This is not a debate though.  There are no sides.”[i]  She argues that how we handle the church’s response to the pandemic is not political but a matter of faith.  But that is the rub today.  Everything these days is politicized:  how we handle the prevention of the spread of a pandemic, whether we go or stay in Afghanistan, what the extents of humanitarian aid and support should be, and on and on.  When people ask me how I handle politics in the pulpit, I usually say I just preach Jesus and let everyone figure out the rest.  But even Jesus is political.  His clear defining of his identity, purpose, and posture has people deserting him.  Walking with God has always been political.  The Israelites are given a similar choice by Joshua – to be with him and his house as they serve the Lord, or to serve the gods of the locals. 

Our invitation this week is to take a similar hard look at our lives and the difficult teachings of Jesus and to decide which god we will follow.  As Jesus gives the disciples a choice, we too have a choice; although, I suspect your answer may be similar to Simon Peter’s, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”  The question this week is just what Simon Peter’s declaration means for our daily lives.  How will we embrace our baptismal covenant this week, respecting the dignity of every human being, seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves?  These are not just pretty words and lovely concepts.  They are difficult markers of identity, of purpose, and of posture.  Our work is to reclaim the baptismal promises together the only way we know how:  by promising, “I will, with God’s help.”[ii]  Amen.   

[i] Dr. Emily Smith, “Delta and Church:  Three questions: Is it truthful, faithful, and loving?” August 20, 2021, as found at https://emilysmith.substack.com/p/delta-and-church?r=aezlb&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&utm_source=facebook&fbclid=IwAR0JMkDQ07Z1OHcV-ec0Z8s0lFQlyGMe8VdL-DDrvVbcF0txJi0LnyUncZM, on August 21, 2021.

[ii] BCP, 304-305.  This is the repeated response to the five baptismal covenant questions.

Sermon – Jeremiah 31.31-34, L5, YB, March 21, 2021

24 Wednesday Mar 2021

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I do not know about you, but I entered Lent this year already done.  We talked about this reality five weeks ago, back on Ash Wednesday, when I told you that it was okay if you did not give up something this Lent – because we have already given up so much in the last year.  We have already fasted what feels like twenty Lents during this pandemic.  And then this week happened.  We started out with the words of the Vatican, declaring that although our LGBTQ brothers and sisters were still to be loved and welcomed in Church, their “sinfulness” would not be blessed within the covenant of marriage by the Roman Catholic Church.  I cannot tell you the pain and suffering those words created this week for so many who live in faithful, loving relationships and marriages.  Then, just a few days ago, a man in Atlanta murdered people of Asian descent, sparking off conversations about the rise of hate crimes against Asian Americans since this pandemic began.  Our own Sacred Ground circle, the group studying the institution of racism in our country – not just towards blacks, but towards indigenous Americans, Latinos, and Asians – just finished its ten weeks of work; and yet within the same week we are talking about racism yet again.  And then this week, as administered vaccines slowly rise in James City County, I see people becoming lax about masking and social distancing, some folks in public spaces barely covering their faces.  Even the test positivity rate – the one whose decrease has allowed us to enact regathering plans – is creeping slowly toward the numbers that will shut us back down again. 

That is why I found myself gravitating to Jeremiah this week.  Part of the attraction is the good news of the text, but a larger part of my attraction is empathizing with the Israelites.  Jeremiah writes in a time of desperation for the people of God. The Babylonians have razed the temple and carried King Zedekiah off in chains.  Effectively, the Babylonians have “destroyed the twin symbols of God’s covenantal fidelity.”[i]  Sometimes we talk about the exile so much that I think we forget the heart-wrenching experience of exile.  Being taken from homes and forced to live in a foreign land is certainly awful enough.  But the things that were taken – the land of promise, the temple for God’s dwelling, the king offered for comfort to God’s people – are all taken, leaving not just lives in ruin, but faith in question. 

But today, in the midst of the physical, emotional, and spiritual devastation, Jeremiah says God will make a new covenant.  God knows the people cannot stop breaking the old covenant, and so God promises to “forgive their iniquity and remember their sin no more.”  Instead of making the people responsible for the maintenance of the covenant, God goes a step further and writes the law in their hearts, embodies God’s way within the people.  The words of Jeremiah in the section called “the Book of Comfort,”[ii] and this new covenant by God, show a God whose abundance knows no limits.  God offers this new covenant to a people who surely do not deserve another covenant.  God has offered prophets and sages, has called the people to repentance, has threatened and cajoled, and yet still the people cannot keep the basic tenants of the covenant established in those ten commandments.  But instead of abandoning the people to exile, God offers reconciliation and restoration yet again.  And because God knows we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves, God basically says, “Here.  Let me help you.  Let me write these laws in your hearts so that you do not have to achieve your way into favor with me, but you will simply live faithfully, living the covenant with your bodies and minds.”  And when even that does not seem to work, God sends God’s only son.  God never gives up on us or our relationship with God.  Even all these years after Christ’s resurrection, God is still finding new ways to make our covenant work.  

That is where I find hope this week.  Despite how broken we may feel because of this pandemic, despite how our nation seems incapable of not harming one another due to the color of our skin, despite the ways we seek to limit God’s love and abundance, God is relentless with God’s lovingkindness.  In Jeremiah’s text, when the Israelites have hit rock bottom, God turns not to vengeance or even a notion of just desserts.  God picks up the covenant of love, not relying on our hard work to be faithful, but declaring how God will simply put God’s law within us, will write God’s law of love on our hearts, will be our God and we will be God’s people.  In essence, nothing we can do will drive God from us.  And that, my friends, is good news indeed.  God sees us in all our fullness – light and shadow alike – and loves us anyway.  In this continued time of strain and strife, in this long night of COVID, God gives us good news.  As one scholar affirms, “God will bring newness out of destruction.  God will bring hope where there is no hope.  God will bring life out of death.  God will make a way where there is no way.”[iii]  Thanks be to God!

[i] Richard Floyd, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 122.

[ii] Jon L. Berquist, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 123.

[iii] Floyd, 124.

On God, Scripture, and Politics…

02 Wednesday Sep 2020

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This week, our church will finish our summer 90-Day Bible Reading Challenge.  At the beginning of the summer, I wanted to find something we could do as a community.  I was also aware the Bible was being used as a prop and as a symbol for certain political opinions.  I figured if Hickory Neck is helping form faithful disciples who can participate fully in civic life, we should know what is in the Bible – all of it!  And so, we began a reading journey.

The days and nights were long.  Twelve pages a day does not sound like much, but for anyone who got behind (or who like me, is still behind), we learned that twelve daily pages of biblical text was no simple feat.  We journeyed through fun, familiar stories, we drudged through laws and genealogies, we read stories that were repeated in other books.  We asked questions, we struggled with cultural differences, and we found some surprises.  We realized the Hebrew Scriptures (Old Testament) comprises two-thirds of the Bible.  We fell in love with new books, laughed, and found modern parallels to life today.

This summer, I realized the gift of the 90-Day Bible Challenge was not just a reading journey – it was a journey into deeper relationship with God.  The Challenge did not allow us to dive deeply into our questions, particular stories, or even cultural issues.  Instead, the Challenge reminded us of who God is – a loving, forgiving, graceful God, whose commitment to covenantal relationship with God’s people is of utmost importance – even when we fail to be faithful over and over and over again.  In fact, watching the people God fail so many times helps us understand the tremendous depth of God’s love for us.  And seeing that overarching covenantal relationship from God’s perspective inspires in us a desire to reflect that abundant, forgiving, graceful love out in the world.

Thank you, Hickory Neck, for reminding me why the Bible is not a book that is to collect dust on the shelf or to only be consumed in small pieces during Sunday services, but a collection of books that speaks powerfully to this time – in ways that cannot be coopted by political agendas of the day, but whose witness of love does have powerful political consequences.  I am grateful for the reading journey that became a journey into deeper relationship with God and with neighbor.

Sermon – Matthew 10.40-42, P8, YA, June 28, 2020

01 Wednesday Jul 2020

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This summer, several parishioners are participating in our 90-Day Bible Reading Challenge.  In supporting each other in our reading, one of the patterns we have noticed is the break-neck pace of reading twelve pages a day means we do not have a lot of time for traditional Bible Study – looking at the original Hebrew or Greek, discerning the historical context of the book, studying the cultural norms of the community, or even delving into the literary devices of the book.  Instead we are drinking from the fire hose of Scripture – capturing the larger narrative God’s covenantal relationship with humankind, but not indulging in the intriguing details.

With a passage like the one we hear in today’s gospel from Matthew, we could easily do the same.  There are only three verses in the text, and they are somewhat repetitive in pattern.  A quick skim brings up an old adage we have learned by heart – welcome the stranger because you may be welcoming Christ himself.  Maybe your mind immediately leapt to a time you saw Christ in a stranger.  Maybe you began thinking about the ministry of hospitality, particularly how strong that ministry is at Hickory Neck.  Maybe you even started to wonder what you could do to be more hospitable, especially during this time of social distancing.

But here’s the thing:  when we slow down our reading, we realize Jesus does not say, “whoever welcomes the stranger welcomes me.”  Jesus says, “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me…”  Often when we think of hospitality, we think of hospitality from the perspective of the host.  Whether we acknowledge the reality or not, we are people of power and privilege, and our notion of hospitality is rooted in how we can offer hospitality to others.[i]  There is nothing inherently wrong with this dynamic – in fact, our sense of obligation to offer hospitality is an answer to Jesus’ call to love neighbor.  But Jesus is not talking about offering hospitality to others from a position of power.  Instead, Jesus is inviting us to give up power and receive others’ hospitality.

If you remember, we have been in the midst of Jesus’ Missionary Discourse[ii] the last several weeks.  Jesus told the disciples to go out, without resources, to do the work of discipleship.  He warned them they would face persecution, and family members would turn against one another.  And today, as Jesus concludes his discourse, he tells them whoever welcomes them, welcomes Jesus.  So not only are the disciples to make themselves vulnerable to the hospitality of others, they will be mirroring Jesus to others.  In other words, in every moment, every interaction, every relationship, encounter, conversation, and conflict among the disciples –the disciples will be witnessing Jesus.[iii]

I do not know about you, but that is a lot of pressure.  Making oneself vulnerable is hard enough.  Making oneself vulnerable means opening up all our flaws, weaknesses, and doubts.  And now, Jesus is saying while we are vulnerable, our homes, our marriages, our workplaces, our extended families, even our friendships are windows into Christ for others.  As Debie Thomas asks, “When we know Jesus is visible in and through us at every moment…[will] we tread more lightly on the earth?  Speak less and listen more?  Reconsider our grudges and grievances?  Choose our words with greater care?  Examine our motivations more closely?”[iv]

There is a lot about this pandemic that has been absolutely awful – devastating, painful, and full of death.  But one of the things that has happened to Hickory Neck in this pandemic represents new life too.  Before we closed our buildings in March, we offered hospitality from our comfort zone – hospitality unparalleled once you walked in those doors – hospitality that made most of us join this church.  But once we moved everything online, the doors and walls of this place lowered – we went out, showing who we are and what we are about to a much broader audience.  Here in this exposed setting, we are carefully, thoughtfully, intentionally showing others what Jesus looks like.  The work is hard and scary, but the reward is great too.  In letting down our walls, we are helping people to see Christ – the same Christ who redeems us, gives us strength, and makes us whole.  But the work of discipleship is not just happening on livestream.  I see this work happening in you – as you call to check in on people in the parish you have not met before because you attend a different service, as you don a mask and attend a rally in support of our African-American brothers and sisters during this raw time, and as you have socially-distanced conversations with neighbors about the power of Christ in your life.  The promise Jesus made at the beginning of his Discourse is still lingering today.  Christ is with us always, even to the end of the age.  His promised presence will allow us to keep letting down walls and being Christ’s mirror in the world.  Our job is to take up the challenge we will hear in our dismissal today:  Go.  Receive God’s love and hospitality.  Serve the Lord as Christ’s mirror.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, “Welcome the Prophet,” June 21, 2020, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay on June 26, 2020.

[ii] Eugene Eung-Chun Park, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 189.

[iii] Thomas.

[iv] Thomas.

Homily – Luke 10:25-37, P10, YC, July 13, 2019

17 Wednesday Jul 2019

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Last Sunday, a group of parishioners gathered to watch Won’t You Be My Neighbor, the documentary about Fred Rogers.  There were countless things I could tell you about this film, but one thing that really grabbed my attention was toward the end.  The film documented a criticism of Mr. Rogers as raising up a generation of people who feel and act entitled.  You see, one of the primary lessons from Mr. Rogers is he loves each individual, just as they are.  No changes are necessary; no fault is too big.  Mr. Rogers loves you just as you are.  You can hear the words of God in Mr. Rogers’ words – God too loves us unconditionally, and certainly loves us better than any human ever could.  However, Mr. Rogers’ critics would argue if everyone is loved just as they are, then surely they do not need to improve, or earn respect, or work hard.  But the film asserts something quite different.  The film asserts without being recipients of unconditional love, individuals cannot be givers of unconditional love.  In other words, to respect the dignity of every human being, one must first learn how sacred one’s own dignity is – one must be shown how she or he is a person with dignity to be respected in order to know how to respect the dignity of others.

That sense of each person having profound, sacred dignity is one of the main lessons of our gospel today.  The Good Samaritan is one of those stories that is so widely known all I need to do is say, “the Good Samaritan,” and we likely already know the story.  We might automatically recall, “Oh, that’s the story Jesus uses to tell us to be like the Good Samaritan – to be kind to others.”  In one sense, our recollection would be true – at the heart of Jesus’ story is a message to be kind to all.  But what that simple summary misses is the finer details to this story.

You see, those two people who separately pass the victim along the road, are a priest and a Levite.  These two people are not just people of faith – they are keepers of the faith.  They know the laws better than most people of faith.  You may have heard over the years the logic that priests or Levites could not risk being defiled by touching the body of the victim, and so that is why they went around the victim.  But the truth is, their avoidance had nothing to do with defilement – they were heading away from the temple and therefore were not in need of ritual purity, and any good priest or Levite knows they were expected to check on this victim; should he be dead, they should help bury him, and should he be alive, they should tend him.[i]  Basically, these are good, trained people of faith, not fulfilling their duty to love their neighbor as themselves.

But perhaps even more significant is the identity of the Samaritan.  The story does not say, a priest and Levite passed, but another faithful Jew came to the victim’s aid.  The story says, a priest and Levite passed, but a man whose people are mortal enemies of people of faith – who has persecuted, defiled, and subjugated people of faith – is the one who helps.  Saying “The Good Samaritan,” is like saying, “The Good Murderer.”[ii]  That this typically hated man is the one who shows mercy, kindness, and love is shocking.  The hearers of Jesus’ story are shocked, and our ears need to be similarly shocked.  Asking us to respect the dignity of every human being is already a monumental task; respecting the dignity of every human being is inconvenient, is humbling, and involves a willingness to be wrong about others.  Respecting the dignity of every human being means being willing to see how the best of the faithful fail at kindness, and how sometimes our worst enemies are better people of faith than we are.

Today we are baptizing a child of God.  Her parents, godmothers, and our community will make promises today – to raise her in the community of faith, to show her to love and respect, to fight for justice and peace, to share the word of God, and to repent when she messes up.  We say those words today as we reaffirm our own baptismal covenants; but sometimes we forget how revolutionary the covenant is.  We are agreeing to teach Selah to live a revolutionary life.  When we say we will teach baby Selah to respect the dignity of every human being, we are saying we will teach her the hard work being inconvenienced and humbled in order to care for others.  When we say we will teach her to love her neighbor as herself, we are saying we will teach her that even her greatest enemies are worthy of love.  When we say we will teach her to repent when she sins, we are saying we will teach her to be willing to admit when people who we have deemed unworthy of love and care show us what true kindness really looks like.

Today, when we hear Christ’s words to “go and do likewise,” we can be encouraged that Jesus empowers us to make some promises.  Today we look at Selah’s precious, innocent face, and we promise to walk with her as she discovers how hard this work of being a faithful follower of Christ really is.  Today, we promise to confess to Selah the times when we have failed to love our neighbors as ourselves.  Today, we promise when those we despise, those who hurt us, those we cast out because they are not like us, those we can no longer see humanity in ask us, “Won’t you be my neighbor,” we will say with Selah, “Yes.  You are my neighbor too.”  Amen.

[i] Amy-Jill Levine, Short Stories by Jesus (New York:  Harper One, 2014), 99-102.

[ii] Levine, 105.

On Neighbors, Kindness, and Baptism…

10 Wednesday Jul 2019

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This weekend our parish’s Faith & Film offering was Won’t You Be my Neighbor, the documentary about Fred Rogers.  My daughter had never seen a documentary before, and I was a bit anxious about her attending for fear she would be bored or the film would be too advanced for her.  Ultimately, it was a risk I was willing to take because although though I knew she had never watched Mr. Rogers, I also knew she would appreciate his message.

But the true test came on the drive home.  As we were riding along, my daughter said, “You know what, Mom?  I think if Mr. Rogers were alive today, he would be a part of WMBGkind.”  Right then, I knew that she got it – that she had been paying attention to the witness of Mr. Rogers and his ministry of teaching children about the dignity of every human being.  That is what kindness is really all about – honoring and respecting the dignity of other human beings – no matter their age, race, ethnicity, gender, sexual identity, socioeconomic status, ability, or even their own ability to show kindness in return.

This Sunday, we are baptizing a baby into the household of God.  As part of that ritual, we will make promises about our own spiritual journey.  We will promise to gather regularly in Christian community, breaking bread and praying together; to resist evil, and repent when we fail; to proclaim the Word of God in word and deed; to seek and serve Christ, loving neighbors as ourselves; and to strive for justice and peace, respecting the dignity of every human being.  We promise to do what Christ asked us to do:  love God, love your neighbor, love yourself.

I love that my daughter is affirming her baptismal identity at Hickory Neck – whether she sees Christian witness through Mr. Rogers or through her Sunday School teachers.  I love that our younger children and older youth are learning how to live into their baptismal identity – whether through nursery care providers or youth group leaders.  And I love that our adults are still learning to live into their baptismal identities – through preaching, teaching, and our children’s witness.  At Hickory Neck, we are working across generations to keep loving God, loving our neighbors, and loving ourselves.  If you are in need of a community to help you claim that same identity and purpose, know that you are always welcome here – won’t you be our neighbor?

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Photo credit:  Hickory Neck Episcopal Church; permission to use required

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

14 Wednesday Nov 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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