Tag Archives: doubt

Sermon – John 20.19-31, E2, YB, April 7, 2024

01 Wednesday May 2024

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Photo credit: Hickory Neck Episcopal Church. Reuse with permission only.

For those of you who have worked with me for a while now, you know that I am easily excited by new ideas.  So, when Ed and Tyler suggested the Sunday after Easter for Quinton’s baptism, I excitedly said, “Yes!”  I knew we would be still experiencing the high of Holy Week and Easter from last week, I knew that baptisms are traditionally celebrated throughout Eastertide, and I knew having another reason to celebrate this Sunday would be fun.  What I failed to double-check was the lectionary.  As soon as I saw the gospel for today, I groaned.  Who wants to talk about Doubting Thomas when we are performing a sacrament of belief and belonging?!?

At first glance, John’s Gospel text today, is in fact, a terrible text for baptism.  First of all, the disciples are making a very poor showing about what the community of faith is supposed to look like.  You would think after seeing the empty tomb and hearing Mary Magdalene’s testimony, “I have seen the Lord,” the disciples would be hitting the ground running, doing the work of spreading the good news, or at least throwing a raucous party.  Instead, we find the disciples huddled in a locked room, cowering in fear.  The text says they are afraid of the Jewish leaders, perhaps afraid the same people who killed Jesus would try to kill them too.  But I think there is more to their fear.  I think they are afraid to face others, because they feel they have failed.  Perhaps they believe their pick for Messiah did not seem to be the Messiah after all.  I think they are also behind those locked doors because they are ashamed that they failed to protect Jesus, to keep him alive.[i]   Those locked doors are not just for safety – those locked doors are for hiding the shame, the disappointment, and the fear of facing others that the disciples have. 

And then we have the famous Doubting Thomas.  That we even call him “Doubting Thomas” is indication enough of the communal disapproval of his behavior.  Why couldn’t he just believe?  If not Mary Magdalene, at least his fellow disciples, who use the same words as Mary’s own testimony, “We have seen the Lord.”[ii]  Even Jesus seems to disapprove when he asks, “Have you believed because you have seen me?  Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”[iii]  We do not exactly seem to be setting the stage well for little Quinton, or anyone new to the Church today.

But the more I thought about this text, and the more I read, the more I realized this is actually the perfect text for someone new to the community of faith.  As little Quinton grows up, I do not want him to think that faith is about perfectly believing, perfectly behaving Christians, who perfectly go to Church.  And although I want Quinton to know about doubt and to have a super healthy sense of curiosity and questioning, the truth is our labeling of Thomas as “Doubting Thomas,” gets in the way of what John is trying to teach new believers.  Instead, New Testament scholar Karoline Lewis explains, “The primary definition of the term doubt, however, has to do with uncertainty.  Uncertainty, as a category of belief, does not really exist in the Fourth Gospel.  One is either certain or not certain; in the light or in the dark.  Jesus invites Thomas to move from darkness to light, from lack of relationship to intimacy.  There is no middle ground with it comes to believing in Jesus.”[iv] 

Now, stay with me on this, because I realize that dichotomy sounds even worse than doubting.  Instead, what John’s gospel is doing is not about exclusion, but about radical inclusion.  John is not conveying something about belief but about incarnation:  “to be incarnated demands relationship.  As a result, you are either in one community or another, but you cannot be not in community.  Life, especially abundant life, is dependent on the reality of multiple expressions of connectivity and belonging, whether that be on-on-one or in various sizes of communities…Even God was not alone in the beginning…”  So, when Thomas says, “My Lord and my God,” he is not talking about his own belief or even an individualized theology, but rather “the intimacy this Gospel imagines between believer and Jesus…”  As Lewis goes on to say, “To give witness to a personal relationship with Jesus is immediately to enter into a community of intimacy between Jesus, God, the Paraclete (a fancy word for Holy Spirit[v]), and the believer and between the believer and the new community, the flock, that Jesus as the Word made flesh has made possible for the world.”[vi]

One this day, when Thomas the Twin teaches us all about what belief really means – that is, incarnate, intimate relationship with God and with one another – I cannot imagine a better word for us today.  When we baptize Quinton today, we invite him into the relationships already present in this community – the real ones that sometimes cower in shame and doubt – but also the ones that lead to abundant life and blessing.  When we pour water over his head and rub oil on his forehead and commit to supporting him and one another in this journey of faith, we are claiming him not as someone who will always have things figured out – because we do not always have things figured out.  But we do commit to the intimacy of relationship:  with the three persons of the Godhead, with one another, and with the community of faith.  I cannot think of a better reminder on this second Sunday in Easter as we deepen our own intimacy with the risen Lord than to baptize and reaffirm our baptisms – as we acclaim today, “I will! (with God’s help).”  Amen.

[i] M. Craig Barnes, “Crying Shame,” Christian Century, vol. 121, no. 7, April 6, 2004, 19. 

[ii] Karoline M. Lewis, John:  Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 248.

[iii] John 20.29.

[iv] Lewis, 249.

[v] My words, not Lewis’ words.

[vi] Lewis, 250.

Sermon – Luke 24.1-12, ED, YC, April 21, 2019

01 Wednesday May 2019

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Easter is one of my favorite days in the church year.  I love how no matter whether we come to church every Sunday or if we haven’t been to church in ages, something about Easter draws us to the Church.  I love the celebration:  the Easter outfits, the fragrant flowers, the boisterous music, and the family of faith gathered at the communion table.  I love the sweet feeling of having emerged from the penitential season of Lent, and counting how many times we can say, “Alleluia.”  There is a loudness to Easter, an unbridled joy, a sense of victory.

What is funny about our experience today though is very little of the boldness of this day is present in Holy Scripture.  In fact, Luke tells a story that is quite the opposite of our experience today.  While we sing loud alleluias and hosannas, all of the characters in our gospel lesson today are in a totally different place.  They are mired in grief, lost in confusion, unsure about what has happened to them.  In a quiet, almost mechanical, numb way, the women who have been beside Jesus his entire ministry and were the only ones remaining at his death, come to the tomb in the fog of dawn, to do the work of tending to the dead body.  In their haze, no sense of closure comes.  Instead, more confusion comes.  Not only is the tomb empty, the angelic figures tell them Christ is risen.  The angels remind them Jesus had explained this to them, and things start to make sense.  But when the women return to tell the men, the men are so resigned and defeated, they mock the women.  Peter goes to check out the story, but even he does not come back with profound clarity.  He is lost in amazement – in awed confusion.  This story tells us very little about what this all means, what we should do, or how we should respond.  Very little about the gospel today is loud, triumphant, or jubilant.

Though I have been begging our musician for years now for more sound at Easter – a timpani to accompany the brass – the truth is, I kind of like how our gospel lesson today takes us in another direction.  Much of what we boldly proclaim today – that Christ is risen, his resurrection brings eternal life, and everything we know has changed – is pretty difficult stuff to believe.  Any of you who has spent time around an inquisitive child or a doubtful friend knows how difficult explaining the resurrection can be.  For our rational, twenty-first century selves, the theology of Easter is not only difficult to articulate, Easter is almost unbelievable.  And when we are really honest with ourselves, in the quiet of our own homes, we sometimes have moments when we are not really sure why we believe what we believe about Christ.

That’s why I love today’s gospel.  Today’s gospel reminds us of how unbelievable the resurrection of our Lord really was.  Sure, Jesus had said he would be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.  But his words sounded crazy at the time.  Now that Jesus’ words have come true, the women are perplexed, terrified, and rejected when they share their truth.  The men are paralyzed, doubtful, and downright mean.  On this early morning, the followers of Jesus only have their experiences of Jesus, their uncertainty of faith, and their attempts to believe the unbelievable.

To me, that is very good news indeed.  On this day as we sing songs about Jesus’ resurrection, and as we hear Peter preach with certainty in the book of Acts, and as we, with joy, proclaim, “Christ is risen!  The Lord is risen indeed!” our gospel story reminds us faith is a journey full of doubt, questions, and confusion.  We come on this festival day not because we are absolutely certain about Jesus.  We come on this festival day because in our foggy dawns, we have had encounters with the risen Lord – even when we did not know how to articulate the encounters.  We come to this festival day because in our pain, suffering, and questioning about life – we have had moments when something from scripture or our faith life suddenly connected and made sense.  We come to this festival day because even in our doubts, there is some small part of us that cannot extinguish hope, that suspects Christ might have actually changed the world.

On this day, the Church does not want our theological explanations of the resurrection.  On this day, the Church invites us to recall those moments, however fleeting or miniscule, where we have encountered, or suspected we encountered, the risen Lord.  Our bold singing of alleluias only needs that small flicker of hope – or maybe our desire for that flicker of hope.  Our celebrating today only needs our presence – our willingness to be here, encouraged by others walking through the fog.  Our proclamation today that the Lord is risen, only needs our willingness to say the words.  The community gathered here today will do the rest.  We will say with you, “The Lord is risen indeed,” until someday we can all claim the astounding love and grace of our Lord Jesus Christ ourselves.  Amen.

Sermon – Luke 4.1-13, L1, YC, March 10, 2019

13 Wednesday Mar 2019

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After Ash Wednesday services this week, Father Charlie caught me in my office eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  “Guess we’re not observing that whole fasting thing, huh?” he joked with me.  We then talked about how both of us struggle with fasting.  Prone to being what some call “hangry,” or in my case of low-blood sugar, even faint, neither of us is particularly good at fasting.  When I was finally diagnosed with having low-blood sugar many years ago, a great mystery was solved.  Upon hearing the news, all of my friends would, with relief, say, “Oh!  That explains soooo much!”  Only then did I discover my friends had been involved in a huge coping conspiracy.  Jennifer is acting weird or annoying or cranky – who has food?  I may even be the inspiration behind those Snickers commercials where cranky people are suddenly transformed back to their lovely selves as soon as they get the candy bar.

The trouble with people like me, or maybe even most of us, is that we hear the temptations of Jesus today and we immediately see ourselves in them.  We think about the times we have been hangry or desperate for food, and we know the difficulty of the devil’s temptation to turn stones into bread.  Or maybe we relate more to the temptation of the ego to be all powerful, or to temptation to test God, just to be sure we are secure in God’s protection.  Because the temptations in the gospel lesson are so relatable, we can almost too easily see ourselves in them and miss the point.  You see, the temptations of Jesus aren’t really about bread, power, and safety.  Just like the Lenten disciplines we take up are not really about chocolate, scripture reading, or prayer.  The temptations of Jesus are about something much deeper:  they are about identity.

In Luke’s gospel, Luke has already described Jesus’ baptism by John, when God declares, “You are my Son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  Then, just before this passage, Luke articulates the genealogy of Christ, emphasizing the importance of who Jesus is based on his ancestors.  So, when Jesus goes into the wilderness, the devil is not actually trying to tempt Jesus with bread, power, and safety.  No, Jesus is being tempted to deny his identity.  As Karoline Lewis says, “the identity test for Jesus is not so much a test of who he is, but how he will live out his identity as Son of God.  The devil knows perfectly well who Jesus is.  The devil does not question who Jesus is, but tries to get Jesus to question who he is…”[i]

And that is a temptation we understand all too well.  “…temptation is not so often temptation toward something – usually portrayed as doing something you shouldn’t – but rather is usually the temptation away from something – namely, our relationship with God and the identity we receive in and through that relationship.  Too often Christians have focused on all the things we shouldn’t do, instead of pointing us to the gift and grace of our identity as children of God.”[ii]  In the end, the temptations Jesus faces could be anything.  They could certainly be “Bread, power, and safety.  But [the temptations] just as well might have been youth, beauty, and wealth.  Or confidence, fame, and security.”  The devil does not care about the content of the temptation.  The devil seeks “to shift our allegiance, trust, and confidence away from God and toward some substitute that promises a more secure identity.”[iii]

In part, that is why we take on disciplines during Lent.  We fast, pray, and study Scripture not because we need to imitate Jesus’ temptation.  We give up chocolate, coffee, or wine, or we take up kindness, fitness, or quiet not to simply push ourselves into new patterns.  We take on disciplines in Lent because we need to remind ourselves of our genealogy – to remind ourselves that we too are beloved children of God.  We know that when we claim that blessed status as beloved children of God, the devil will try to make us doubt the abundant, enduring, graceful love of God for each of us.  Because only when we doubt or forget our identity do we really fall into the temptations of this world.

No matter what our spiritual discipline, our invitation this Lent is to reclaim our identity.  Our invitation is to use these forty days to reaffirm, to recover, to reassert we are beloved children of God.  In yoga speak, when we have distracting thoughts, we are encouraged to acknowledge the thought, and then let the thought go.  Our invitation is to do the same this Lent.  As the devil puts distracting thoughts of inadequacy, unworthiness, and insecurity in our minds, we acknowledge them for what they are, and let them go.  Because we are beloved children of God.  Because when we boldly remind the devil that we are beloved children of God, we are empowered to remind others they are beloved too.  Together, affirmed in our identity, renewed in Christ’s love and light, we can do the real work of Lent – not just showing the world we are beloved children of God, but transforming that same world through our beloved status.  Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, “Identity Test,” March 3, 2019, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?m=4377&post=5294 on March 7, 2019.

[ii] David Lose, “Lent 1C:  Identity Theft,” March 7, 2019, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2019/03/lent-1-c-identity-theft/ on March 7, 2019.

[iii] Lose.

On Love and Basketball…

21 Thursday Feb 2019

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As we headed into the Duke-Carolina game tonight, my daughter asked me if I thought Duke would win.  She’s finally starting to pay attention to my passion for Duke Basketball, and so I sat her down to explain the phenomenon of the Duke-Carolina basketball rivalry.  I told her what every Duke or Carolina fan knows:  no matter what ranking either school has (including if one of the teams in unranked), no matter how well one team or the other has been playing against other teams, no matter which team’s arena they are in, when Duke and Carolina play you NEVER know who will win.  The rivalry is so intense that every time the two teams play, either team could win.  I am not sure whether the rivalry is so intense and so long-standing that both teams get inside their heads too much, or whether there is some weird psychological reason why this rivalry produces so much uncertainty.  All I do know is that when Duke and Carolina play, it truly is any team’s game.

As I was thinking about the game today, I was realizing how we often have people or entities in our lives that get in our heads and make us second-guess our gifts and talents.  We may be full of confidence, doing what we are born to do, and all we need is skeptical relative or an old high school rival to say something and our confidence stutters.  We may have thoughtfully prepared our next steps forward, consulting experts and resources, and in the middle of executing our well-thought-out plan someone raises a question we did not think of that makes us question our abilities or even the whole process.  Criticism can be tough, but what is worse is when we allow that criticism to erode our strong sense of self and purpose.

This coming Sunday, we will hear the story of when Joseph’s brothers discover that Joseph is alive and thriving (Genesis 45.3-11, 15).  Often when we read this story, we read it from the perspective of Joseph – being thrilled to have the persecuted one redeemed.  But more often, I think we are a little more like Joseph’s brothers – filled with jealousy, impulsive, and longing for love and affirmation.  In a moment of hateful weakness, the brothers sell Joseph into slavery; and in our lesson from Sunday, their reckoning happens.  As they come to pharaoh for help in their weakness, they are confronted with the one person who has every right to punish them.  But instead, Joseph is filled with love.  Joseph is able to see goodness.  Joseph is able to offer redemption.

Now I am not saying Duke and Carolina fans should just turn their hearts to love (I cannot look at that Carolina blue without feeling a bit nauseated).  But what we can all stand to remember from rivalries is that when we root ourselves in God’s love, when we live and operate out of love, things like criticism, self-doubt, and challenges have less power over us.  When we root ourselves in love, we are able to love ourselves the way God love us.  And, when we root ourselves in love, we can also see past ugliness of others and instead see God in them too.

So whatever you are facing this week, whomever is trying to tear you down (or beat your team), I offer you the collect for this Sunday:  O Lord, you have taught us that without love whatever we do is worth nothing:  Send your Holy Spirit and pour into our hearts your greatest gift, which is love, the true bond of peace and of all virtue, without which whoever lives is accounted dead before you.  Grant this for the sake of your only Son Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.  Amen.  (BCP, 216)

On Adventures and God…

09 Wednesday Aug 2017

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Photo credit:  Elizabeth Shows Caffey

One of the themes of this summer for me has been new adventures.  This summer I tried aerial yoga for the first time – a practice of yoga that involves being suspended from the ceiling with silks.  I also rode a bike for the first time in over 20 years.  And last night, for the first time ever, I represented our church by throwing one of the first pitches at our local minor league baseball games.  In each of those instances, I was nervous, skeptical, or downright scared.  I know I yelped at least once in aerial yoga.  When I first started riding the bike, I was so stressed out that my hands started hurting from gripping the handlebars.  And as I waited to throw that first pitch, my stomach was doing flip-flops.

Those examples may not sound all that thrilling to you.  I certainly did not skydive, bungee jump, or walk a tightrope.  But those adventures were all experiences I normally would have declined – coming up with a hundred reasons why the adventures would be a bad idea:  pulled muscles, skinned knees, or a bruised ego.  But in each instance, I could see in the eyes of the people asking me to take the adventure a sense of longing, hopefulness, vulnerability.  They were inviting me into adventure, and saying “no” would have meant a crushed spirit of enthusiasm.  And so, against my better judgment, I said “yes.”  And you know what?  In every instance I had a ton of fun!

I was thinking this morning about that weighty pause when someone invites you into adventure – when you can either say “yes” or “no,” with the person left eagerly anticipating your response.  I think we experience that same weighty pause with God all the time.  God is constantly inviting us to take on new adventures:  stepping through the church doors for the first time in a long time, hoping not to be judged or hurt; going to a church study group, unsure about how your doubts or questions may be received; serving dinner at the homeless ministry, wondering what you can possibly say to or have in common with someone who lives on the streets.  If you do not have a relationship with Christ, saying “yes” can be hard.  But even when you do have a relationship with Christ, responding positively to an invitation from God can be hard.  Taking on new adventures with God means trusting, letting go of fear, and making yourself vulnerable.

I wonder what invitations to adventure God has been inviting you to try this week.  What invitation might you say “yes” to that you have been delaying or refusing altogether?  The risk is that you might pull some muscles, skin some knees, or bruise that old ego.  But the payoff is that you might find meaning, purpose, and renewed relationship with God.  And I suspect that you might also have a bit of fun!

Sermon – Genesis 18.1-1, 21-1-7, P6, YA, June 18, 2017

21 Wednesday Jun 2017

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Today we get one of my favorite stories in scripture – Sarah’s laughter at God’s promise.  The story is perfectly crafted.  The story with a flurry of activity.  Abraham is sitting in his tent in the heat of the day when three guests suddenly appear.  As soon as Abraham sees them, he runs to greet them, begging them to stay.  Then Abraham sends the entire household into a tizzy.  He barks orders about baking cakes, grabs a calf and commands the calf be prepared for the guests.  He gets curds and milk and rushes to plate the feast for the guests.  We can almost imagine Abraham panting as he finally delivers the meals to the guests.

But then the story comes to a screeching halt, with a question that tells us what is really important.  “Where is your wife, Sarah?”  And slowly, the promise of a child to a barren, post-menopausal woman unfolds.  Abraham and Sarah were promised long ago to be the parents of a great nation.  But Sarah had given up on that dream.  She had already asked Abraham to go to her slave-girl and have a child with Hagar as a representative child for her.  Her action with Hagar had been a desperate move, but what else could she have done?  So when this guest, or God, as the text later tells us, says that Sarah will conceive herself, after years of longing, hoping, feeling devastated and powerless, Sarah does what we all might do.  She laughs.  She laughs at the prospect of pleasure in her marriage when she and Abraham are so advanced in age.  She laughs at the impossibility that their pleasure might lead to progeny.  She laughs at the promise because believing the promise would mean opening herself up to unfilled dreams yet again.

Sarah’s laughter has long been used as a criticism for a lack of faith in God.  When God asks, “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” and when Sarah quickly denies her laughter, countless readers have wagged their fingers at Sarah as if to say, “Oh ye of little faith.”  And I can see how we get there.  The exchange between Sarah and God – the laughter that bubbles out from years of hurt and disappointment, the scolding by God, the attempt to lie to cover up embarrassment, and the scolding yet again when God calls Sarah on her dishonesty – is all too familiar to us.  What the accusation of lacking faith forgets is how terribly vulnerable and resigned Sarah is.  I cannot tell you the number of people I have counseled who at the end of second marriage have begun to doubt God’s presence.  I cannot tell you the number of people I have sat with after receiving a bad diagnosis for themselves or their loved one who has begun to whether God has abandoned them.  I cannot tell you the number of people have received yet another rejection letter who have begun to question God’s call on their life.  When Sarah laughs, I do not feel justification for judgment against her level of faith.  When Sarah laughs, I hear the ache of countless believers who know how ludicrous God’s promises can be.

What gets me about the judgment of Sarah is the short memory of scripture readers.  In the chapter before what we heard today, Abraham is given the same promise that Sarah hears – a child by Sarah.  And his reaction?  He does not simply laugh quietly to himself as Sarah does in that tent.  He falls on his face and laughs full-bodied at God.  The only difference in laughter between Abraham and Sarah is that Abraham laughs in front of God where Sarah tries to hide her laughter.  Both are an acknowledgement of doubt about what God can do.  Both take all their disappointment, pain, and hurt, and dissolve into laughter because, quite frankly, sometimes God is laughable.  Sometimes God makes no sense at all, and laughing is the only release and protection from more hurt.  Humans questioning God is a natural part of a genuine God-human conversation, a conventional motif we see throughout the Old Testament.[i]

This week, I stumbled on an Old Testament scholar, Kathryn Shifferdecker, who suggests that God may not be a God of judgment in this passage.  In fact, she sees God as fully understanding the comedy of the situation.  She sees a God with a sense of humor, who when God says, “Oh yes you did laugh,” says so with a twinkle in his eye.[ii]  The theory totally shifted the reading for me.  Suddenly the pieces all fit together.  Instead of an angry or disappointed God, who judges disbelief, our God is a God who understands that God’s promises are sometimes laughable – even if they are true.  Why else would God tell Abraham to name his son Isaac, which means, “he laughs,” in Hebrew?[iii]  As Schifferdecker explains, “Abraham falls on his face in a fit of laughter.  Sarah laughs behind the tent door.  And the LORD (I believe) laughs with them at the divine, wonderful absurdity of it all.  Given the humor of the scene under the oaks of Mamre, and the comedy of a God who acts in unexpected ways to fulfill God’s promises, it is entirely appropriate that the child of the promise should be named ‘Laughter.’”[iv]

The image of the three of them laughing – Sarah, Abraham, and God, makes a lot of sense once we hear the final words of Sarah.  In chapter 21, Sarah, perhaps initially embarrassed or doubtful of God, now says, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.”  This story is not a story of shame for those of us who struggle with doubt, anger, or frustration with God.  This is not a story of an unfaithful follower of God.  This is a story about a woman and a man who look at the absurdity of God’s promise with the fullness of their humanity and laugh – hard, belly-shaking, on-the-floor laughter that only comes when the divine finally breaks through our disappointment, shame, and anger, and brings us to laughter.

I love this story even more as I think about the trinity of Abraham, Sarah, and God laughing.  Their laughter affirms our own incredulous walks with God.  Their laughter takes those moments when we no long trust God’s promises, and transforms them.  No longer do we need to hide away our deepest doubts, but instead we honor them.  We share them.  And we create communities of laughter with them.  Amen.

[i] Leander E. Keck, ed., New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, vol. I (Abingdon Press, 1994), 465.

[ii] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Commentary on Genesis 18:1-15 [21:1-7],” June 18, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3301 on June 14, 2017.

[iii] Tamara Cohn Eshkenazi, ed., The Torah:  A Women’s Commentary, (Women of Reform Judaism URJ Press, 2008), 97.

[iv] Schifferdecker.

Sermon – Matthew 4.1-11, Genesis 2.15-17, 3.1-7, L1, YA, March 5, 2017

08 Wednesday Mar 2017

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On this first Sunday in Lent, I usually like to talk about Lenten disciplines.  The season of Lent is one of the few times in the Church that we take a hard look at our faith life and then actually commit to doing something tangible to strengthen our walk with Christ.  When I hear about your disciplines, I get some clue as to what feeds each of you spiritually – whether you long to connect with Holy Scripture, or hope to deepen your prayer life; whether you know that denial of certain parts of your life will create a needed discomfort or disruption, or instead find taking up something to create needed transformation; whether you are motivated by something fun and engaging (like Lent Madness), or you prefer something more philosophical (like our Lenten study group focusing on the spirituality of the Eucharist).  Lenten disciplines also give me a tiny clue about what sinful behaviors have been pulling you away from God.  As we prayed the Great Litany today, there were countless options:  pride, vainglory, hypocrisy, envy, hatred, malice, desires of the flesh, and hardness of heart.  Or, perhaps you are inspired to help one of those we prayed for in the Litany:  the lonely, the sick, the homeless, the imprisoned, broken families, the oppressed, or those suffering injustice.  There really is no wrong way to approach Lenten disciplines – that we are taking them on demonstrates a commitment to enriching our faith and growing closer to God.

Given the beginning of those practices, the text of Jesus’ temptation every year on this first Sunday in Lent has always seemed most appropriate.  How better to encourage us to engage in repentance and reformation than to remember that Jesus too was tempted – tempted to ease the discomfort of hunger, tempted to test God’s loyalty and support, and tempted to take on power – even if ill-gotten – for the greater good?  And even better that this year in Lent, we get that powerful lesson from Hebrew Scriptures of Adam and Eve’s temptation – the temptation to eat beautiful fruit, to learn what God knows but won’t tell us, to take control of our destiny.  And all of those temptations would be plenty.  But what has been striking me more powerfully this year has been what is at the root of the temptations of Satan.  You see, in all of those tests for Jesus, and even in the simple offering of forbidden fruit, Satan does something even more insidious.  Through his temptations, Satan works to undermine our relationship with God – to sow the seed of mistrust that promises to unravel the very foundation of our faith.

We can talk all we want about deepening our faith, working on our sinful behaviors, or becoming better Christians in Lent.  But much scarier to talk about is the power of evil to undo our faith altogether.  Many of us know the darkness of this power from Satan.  If we have not had a spiritual identity crisis in our lives, someone we know has.  Enough people around us die, enough suffering happens in the world, enough pain comes our way that slowly we begin to wonder if God cares at all.  We watch what Christians do to one another or how they fail to care for one another, we see the misdeeds of the Church, or the Church’s clergy disappoint us, and slowly, slowly, we begin to doubt God is even present.  As I have been watching the news, as our country becomes more deeply divided, as suffering seems to be epidemic, and as we dehumanize one another, sometimes institutionalizing that dehumanization, I see the power of evil planting seed after seed of mistrust.  Who hasn’t asked, “Where is God?” in the last year?  Who hasn’t thought, “Maybe I should stop trusting God, and start taking care of things myself.”?  Who hasn’t wondered if God is slipping into irrelevance as the world falls apart around us?

As I have pondered the temptations of Adam, Eve, and Jesus, the power of evil to corrupt has been much more powerful, potent, and pressing this year.  The “crafts and assaults of the devil” and the desire to “beat down Satan under our feet”[i] we heard in the Great Litany are much more powerful in our current climate.  I am much less worried about Adam and Eve’s original sin than I am worried about their original insecurity.  The serpent comes along and sews mistrust among Adam and Eve.  He starts out with a simple question, “Did God really say…”  And so begins the serpent’s assault on their relationship with God – misrepresenting and undermining God’s instructions, suggesting God is keeping something from them.  And as scholar David Lose suggests, once this primary relationship is undermined, Adam and Eve are “susceptible to the temptation to forge their identity on their own, independent on their relationship with God, and so take and eat the forbidden fruit… [They] forget whose they are and so lose themselves in the temptation to secure their identity on their own.”[ii]  Though Adam and Eve’s sin is grave, how the serpent gets them there is much scarier to me.

Satan attempts to do the very same thing with Jesus.  “The devil also tries to undermine Jesus’ relationship with God by suggesting [the relationship] is not secure, that he should test [the relationship] by throwing himself off the mountain, or that he should go his own way by creating food for himself, or that he should seek the protection and patronage of the devil rather than trust God’s provision.”[iii]  Satan is good!  He even tries to twist Jesus’ use of scripture to convince Jesus of God’s unworthiness of trust.  What is frightening about Satan’s tactics is that he is not just about tempting us to do bad things.  He is meddling in our relationship with God, sewing distrust, confusion, questioning our identity as beloved children of God.  And that kind of meddling leads to much worse problems than poor behavior.  Satan tries to upend who we are.

Last week, we baptized two members into the household of faith.  We talked about how baptism marks for us who and whose we are.  We gave thanks for the reminder and celebrated as a community.  We were not unlike Adam and Eve, who upon their creation, God says it is very good.  We were not unlike Jesus, who at his own baptism, which occurs immediately before his temptation today, God says, “This is my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”  But Satan takes goodness and blessedness, and tries to taint that goodness and blessedness with doubt, mistrust, and insecurity.  He tries to confuse us, making us forget who and whose we are.

Several years ago, the movie The Help debuted.  In the film, there is a maid who cares for a child who gets a lot of verbal abuse from her mother.  In several key scenes, the maid takes the child aside and teaches the child a mantra of sorts.  In her rough grammar, she reminds the child, “You is smart, you is kind, you is important.”  Eventually the maid is fired, and the audience is left hoping that the mantra she taught the child will remind her that no matter what verbal abuse she receives, she can remember who she is – smart, kind, and important.

We do not always have caretakers in our lives who will instill in us a mantra that holds us in the face of adversity.  But we do have a church.  We have a church that will tell us we are made in the image of God, that our very creation is rooted in goodness, and that we are beloved children of God.  When we begin to be assaulted by the power of evil, which would rather us question our identity, the church reminds of us of our baptismal covenant, our identity-making set of promises, which tells us we are enough, there is plenty to go around, and we need not live in fear.  While the forces of evil will try to isolate us and send us into questions of identity, the church comes together every week to remind us that we are beloved children of God – a people of value, worth, and purpose.[iv]

I do not know what spiritual discipline you are taking up for Lent this year.  But if you do nothing else this Lent, come to church.  Come gather with the community that reminds you who and whose you are.  Come be with a people who are also assaulted by the doubts, questions, and fears of the day, but who ground themselves in their identity, and find meaning, encouragement, and purpose in this place.  Come.  Together, we will stamp down Satan under our feet as we shine light on our God who redeems, reveres, and renews us.  Amen.

[i] BCP, 151-152.

[ii] David Lose, “Lent 1A:  Identity as Gift and Promise,” February 28, 2017, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2017/02/lent-1-a-identity-as-gift-and-promise/ on March 2, 2017.

[iii] Lose.

[iv] Lose.

Sermon – Mark 5.21-43, P8, YB, June 28, 2015

01 Wednesday Jul 2015

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Today we are surrounded by some powerful women.  Many of you do not know Charlotte and Piper, who we are baptizing today, but they came into the world fighting.  While they were in the womb, their lives were threatened.  Doctors were able to operate in the womb at twenty-one weeks to ensure their survival.  Despite that help, they were born early and very tiny, but amazingly, had to have very little medical support.  Once they gained weight, they were able to come home and enjoy a healthy infancy.  My guess is that the strength these two children of God harnessed is what has pulled them through – a strength that their parents might regret when they hit their teenage years!

When we baptize Charlotte and Piper, we will baptize them into a communion full of strong saints – women who have paved the road before them, who have shown great faithfulness and strength, and who will serve as mentors and guides in their earthly pilgrimage.  We meet a couple of those women today.  First we meet Jairus’ daughter through her father.  Now, we might not think of her as a strong woman, since she is near death, but this young woman was powerful nonetheless.  She evokes such devotion in her father that he, a synagogue leader, is willing to bow down to the controversial Jesus and beg for healing for his dying daughter.  Jairus’ love for this powerful young woman made him willing to cross boundaries, to show vulnerability, and put great faith in Jesus.  We also know that Jairus’ daughter is twelve, about the age that women start menstruating, making them capable of producing life – one of the most powerful gifts of nature.  Though she is at death’s door, her power as a woman and as an individual bring people like Jesus to her, so that she might be restored to wholeness of life.

Of course, we also meet another strong woman today.  By all accounts, this woman should not have been strong.  In those days, menstruation alone meant that women had to be separated from the community for a period of time for ritual impurity.  But to have been bleeding for twelve years means that this woman has been ostracized from others for as long as Jairus’ daughter has been alive.  Furthermore, she spent all her money trying to obtain healing from doctors.  Her poverty and her impurity make her a double outcast.[i]  But this woman will not quit.  She boldly steps into a crowd (likely touching many people that she ritually should not) and she grabs on to Jesus’ clothing, knowing that simply by touching Jesus she can be healed.  She does not ask Jesus to heal her or mildly whisper among the crowds, “Excuse me Jesus, could you please heal me?”  No, she takes matters into her own hands, and though Jesus demands to speak with her, her own determination and faith make her whole.

In many ways, the baptism that we witness today is a same expression of strength and faith.  When we are baptized, we (or in the case of infants our parents and godparents) boldly claim the life of faith.  We renounce the forces of evil and we rejoice in the goodness of God.  We promise to live our life seeking and serving Christ, honoring dignity in others, and sharing Christ in the world.  This action is not a meek or mild one.  This action is an action of boldness – one in which we stand before the waters of baptism, and stake our claim in resurrection life.

Now, here’s the good news:  even though we are surrounded by powerful women today and we are doing and saying powerful things, we do not always have to be strong.  All the women we honor today are strong – but they have moments of weakness too.[ii]  I am sure over the course of twelve years, the hemorrhaging woman has doubts.  As bold as she is today, I am sure there are moments when she fears – maybe even that day – whether she could really reach out and claim Jesus’ power as her own.  And as Jairus’ daughter feels the life fade from her, I am sure she doubts.  I am sure she wonders whether she will ever be able to claim the life-force that is budding inside of her or to live a long life honoring her parents.  And though Charlotte and Piper have been warriors thus far in life, they will both have their own doubts and weaknesses.  In fact, that is why we as a congregation today promise that we will do all in our power to support them in their life in Christ.  That is why her parents and godparents promise by their prayers and witness to help them grow into the full stature of Christ.  That is the good news today.  For all the moments of strength that we honor in one another, we also honor the doubts, fears, and weaknesses.  God is with us then too, and gives us the community of faith to keep us stable until we can be strong witnesses again.  Amen.

[i] Mark D. W. Edington, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 190.

[ii] David Lose, “Come As You Are,” June 24, 2012 at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1493 found on June 25, 2015.

Homily – John 20.24-29, Habakkuk 2.1-4, St. Thomas the Apostle, December 19, 2013

12 Wednesday Feb 2014

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We hear from Thomas several times in the gospels.  When Jesus insists on going to Judea to visit friends in Bethany, Thomas declares, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” (John 11:16)  At the Last Supper, as Jesus tries to prepare the disciples for his departure, Thomas interjects, “Lord, we do not know where you are going; how can we know the way?” (John 14.5)  And as we hear today, after Jesus’ resurrection, Thomas will not accept the disciples’ account without seeing Jesus’ wounds.  When he finally does see Jesus, he declares, “My Lord and my God.” Thomas was thoughtful, passionate, and loyal.  But Thomas was also skeptical, had doubts, and asked questions.

Though we often refer to Thomas as “Doubting Thomas,” I actually really love Thomas.  His passion is overwhelming and inspiring.  But even more compelling to me are his questions and his doubts.  Thomas feels very real to me: he openly exposes his doubts and questions – something we all have done at some point in our lives, even if we are not as bold as Thomas to admit it.  Thomas shows me how hard believing was even in the presence of Jesus Christ – how much more reassuring to know that our doubts are that much more to be expected.

But perhaps what I love most about the Thomas stories is Jesus’ reaction to him.  Though Jesus may sound like he is scolding Thomas today, Jesus still comes, knowing that Thomas needs reassurance.  When Thomas asked his panicked questions, Jesus also responds pastorally.  Jesus’ relationship with Thomas is even more inspiring to me than Thomas himself.  We find in their relationship a Godhead who is patient, open to question, giving, and kind.  Of course, Jesus pushes Thomas, too – but any good relationship with God involves both challenge and grace.

In some ways, that relationship is revealed in our Old Testament lesson today.  The author says, “I will stand at my watch post … I will keep watch to see what he will say to me, and what he will answer concerning my complaint.”  God responds, “Write the vision; make it plain …”  Through relationship with God, we know that we have a God who responds – maybe sometimes with grace and sometimes with challenge.  But the promise of a responsive God is ours.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

Homily – John 20.24-29, St. Thomas, December 20, 2012

23 Sunday Dec 2012

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In the wake of the tragedy in Newtown, I am grateful for the feast of St. Thomas.  “Doubting Thomas” is how most of us remember him.  When the disciples tell Thomas of their post-resurrection encounter with Jesus, Thomas refuses to believe unless he sees it himself – and not just sees, but touches Jesus’ wounds.  Talk about a literal, tangible faith!

Sometimes I think Thomas gets a bad rep.  Everyone likes to wag their fingers at Thomas, shaking their heads at his silly lack of faith.  Not only does this behavior disregard how utterly unimaginable Jesus’ resurrection was, this behavior also ignores the times when we too have been doubters.

Just this past week alone, in the face of unimaginable cruelty and suffering, many of us have doubted God’s presence.  Our faith took a real hit as we struggled to make sense of the tragedy.  We all struggle with doubt from time to time – even if we are embarrassed to admit it.  In fact, I think most of us are embarrassed, which is why we do not talk about doubt enough and why we finger wag at someone like Thomas instead of ourselves.

The gift of Thomas today is his permission.  Thomas’ witness is that struggling with our faith is okay.  In fact, Jesus will stay in relationship with us and will help us along the way.  I don’t think Jesus just happens to stop by the second time – he knew Thomas needed to see him.  Thomas’s life and witness encourages us to be fully human and honest in our faith journey – acknowledging those times when doubt is our overriding experience.

There is a modern cartoon floating around the Internet that recalls the story about “Footprints in the Sand.”  The man asks why there is only one set of footprints, as though Jesus left him – but Jesus clarifies that he was carrying the man then.  But in the cartoon, Jesus also says, “That long groove over there is when I dragged you for a while.”  The cartoon is meant to be funny, but I think it further highlights how infinitely accepting and patient Jesus is with our faith journey – including the doubts.  Being honest about the fullness of our faith experience is the invitation from Thomas today.  Thank you, Thomas, for encouraging us into an honest faith walk.