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Sermon – John 21.1-19, E3, YC, May 4, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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Our gospel lesson today utilizes two overlapping modes of storytelling.  The primary mode has a lot of movement and action.  We have disciples fishing, a man shouting about where to put nets, Peter leaping out of a boat to swim ashore, breakfast sizzling in a pan over a crackling fire, and Peter and Jesus having this strangely repetitive conversation.  This mode of the text is a little discombobulating.  There is so much happening that by the time we get to Jesus telling Peter to feed his lambs, we forget the part of the story about Peter getting dressed to jump into water.  The frenetic nature of the text leaves us with more questions than answers:  Why is Peter fishing at a time like this?  Why is he naked?  Why do the disciples not recognize Jesus at first?  Why is Jesus cooking breakfast?  Why does Jesus repeat his question to Peter three times?

In some ways, the frenetic nature of storytelling reflects the frenetic nature of the disciples.  Before they met Jesus, they had all settled into certain identities in their lives – many of them were fishermen, many of them had families with whom they worked, and all of them had homes where they resided.  Their lives were simple and predictable.  Then this guy comes into their lives and their identity and purpose get totally out of balance.  They have no consistent daily routine, they leave behind everything they know, this man they are following is compelling but also completely confusing, and they are being asked to totally change their lives.  And just when they find a rhythm of managing their unpredictable lives with Jesus, everything turns over on its head again, and they lose everything – their leader, their purpose, and their identity.  So, in an effort to find something to hang on to, the disciples become punchy with action.

We all do this.  My family has learned that something is going on with mom when they find me intently scrubbing something in the house.  I may not be able to solve some problem at work, or I might not be able to fix some relationship that needs mending, but I can have a clean floor.  I might not have responded to the forty-eight emails in my inbox and the twenty-nine items on my to-do list, but my desk will be cleared of all clutter and looking freshly dusted.  My frenetic coping mechanism is cleaning, but we all have some frenetic coping behavior.  Some of us need to find a shopping center or online store to clear our minds of all the stuff going on inside of us.  Somehow finding the perfect dress or newest gadget takes away our other anxieties.  Others get out in the garden and dig our way to peace of mind.  Something about a freshly weeded garden makes us feel like something was accomplished, even if the rest of us is in shambles.  Still others hit the gym.  There is nothing like sweating away anxieties or feeling the burn to take away the other feelings going on inside of us.[i]

What is interesting about all the activity and noise found in our gospel lesson is that there is also a mode of storytelling present that is completely quiet.  We start with the disciples silently staring at that Sea of Tiberias.  There is nothing left to say among them, because they have talked this whole resurrection thing to exhaustion.  Then we find the disciples on the boat fishing in the middle of the night, silently absorbed in the mechanics of navigating waters and fishing nets.  Despite the splashing of Peter to swim to Jesus, once they all gather on the beach, no one says a word.  The air is only filled with the quiet lapping of water and the sizzling of a pan over a fire.  The disciples have questions, but no one asks them.  Even the conversation between Jesus and Peter has a quiet, sober tone.

I think this quiet space is where the text is really pointing.  The disciples, who have irritated Jesus to no end, finally fall silent.  No more asking about who shall be first, and nor more asking what Jesus means or who he is.  No more crazy proposals like building booths for Moses, Elijah, and Jesus, and no more insisting that Jesus wash all of their bodies, not just their feet.  No more insisting that they would never betray Jesus.  There is nothing left to say.  And so, they stare quietly, they fish in silence, and they answer in hushed, humble voices.

This mode is the most important because this mode marks a shift.  The disciples stop trying to muscle their way into discipleship, and they finally learn to let Jesus take the lead.  They have become so physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted that they stop trying to control everything, and they simply wait for Jesus to tell them what to do.  This is a critical moment in the disciples’ journey with Christ.

If you didn’t know before this past winter, you certainly know by now that one of my loves is dance.  I grew up doing all sorts of dancing:  ballet, jazz, tap, hip hop.  But the most difficult form of dancing I stumbled into was formal partnered dancing – the fox trot, waltz, cha-cha.  In the other forms of dancing, I am responsible for myself, learning the steps, and making sure I know the rhythm so that the dance looks beautiful.  But in partnered dance, especially as the woman, you have to learn how to follow.  As someone with pretty good rhythm and memory for steps, you have no idea how incredibly frustrating following a man who does not know what he is doing can be.  The tendency is to want to use your arms or legs to start guiding the man, or even to whisper the directions.  But the role of the woman in partnered dancing is to follow where the man leads – quite a challenge for many of us who consider ourselves liberated women!  But what I also find in partnered dancing is that when you have a really good partner, he can make you feel like the most graceful, beautiful woman on the dance floor.  In fact, you stop worrying about the steps and the count, and you start moving with fluidity and ease.  The price for such a feeling is total surrender and trust.  But the payoff is that you find a joy so strong that you will hunt down that partner and beg them to save you a dance.

This is the kind of submission the disciples finally master on that beach.  No more trying to muscle Jesus into the way they want him to behave.  No more trying to talk their way through their relationship with him.  They surrender all they have to him, longing for the clarity that only he can give them.  And when they finally do that, in the quiet of that morning, they finally hear the words of purpose for their lives.  “Follow me,” Jesus says.  They are the same words Jesus said to them at the beginning of their relationship with him; he has already called them into discipleship.[ii]  But now they finally hear.  And now they can finally respond with their whole being.  Jesus’ words are as clear as they can be.  Jesus’ words give their life meaning.  And their spirit is finally in the place where they can hear and respond.  They are truly and thoroughly ready to follow him – they are ready and able to be disciples.

This is what Jesus invites us to do as well.  This morning, in this sacred place, Jesus invites us to shove those piles off the desks of our minds, to rip out the weeds blocking our hearts, and to drop our armfuls of distractions and to listen to his simple words for us.  The words are there waiting.  The direction is clear.  The peace and comfort of clarity and purpose are ours for the taking and the world needs our discipleship now more than ever.  So, when you come to this table for the Eucharistic feast, quietly listening for Jesus’ words for you, you will be able to hear those words, “Follow me,” and do just that when you walk out those church doors.  Amen.

[i] Gary D. Jones, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 420.

[ii] Karoline Lewis, Sermon Brainwave:  #1021: Third Sunday of Easter – May 4, 2025, April 24, 2025 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/1021-third-sunday-of-easter-may-4-2025 on May 1, 2025.

Sermon – Matthew 5.17-19, UJCCM Ecumenical Service, March 26, 2025

18 Wednesday Jun 2025

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Several years ago, I was in a Bishop Search process.  Ordinarily, I do not recommend the process – in fact, I often actively discourage the process, because in our Episcopal tradition, the search is very public, exacting, and takes a toll on your parish, even when they are cheering you on and supporting you.  But if I enjoyed anything from the experience, I enjoyed the opportunity to take a wider look at the Church – a wider look at this endeavor we are all undertaking, called being Christian.  One of those defining identity moments happened in one of the public interviews.  A church member at one of the local churches said to me, “Our current bishop is very active politically.  Would you as a bishop continue that political activity, or would you focus on following Jesus?” 

Now we all know that the county our ecumenical group is situated in is decidedly “purple” politically.  I haven’t really asked your clergy about your individual churches, but I know Hickory Neck is also a very “purple” congregation – I often joke that if you took a look at the bumper stickers in our parking lot you would wonder how in the world we peacefully worship every Sunday.  In fact, my own church members have often heard me say that we don’t preach politics, we preach Jesus.

The trouble with that dichotomy is that although Jesus was not a democrat or a republican, he was inherently political.  He lived and breathed in a politically loaded time – something with which we are very familiar.  And although he may not align with our current political parties in the United States, his actions and words have political ramifications on how we live as Christians. 

Now why in the world, on this Wednesday right in the middle of Lent, in the middle of our beloved peacefully ecumenical gatherings would I bring up something divisive?  Well, I blame Jesus.  The gospel lesson we just heard from Matthew is only three verses long.  But in order to understand what is going on, we need to step back just a bit to recall where we are in Matthew’s gospel.  Chapter five of Matthew starts with the beatitudes, and is just the beginning of what we call the Sermon on the Mount – Jesus’ sort of treatise on how to be a Christian – or even more clearly, the answer to “What would Jesus do?”  So, Jesus sits down for an extra long sermon (or at least long for Episcopal standards – I know some of your traditions love a good 30-minute to hour-long sermon!).  He starts with those beloved beatitudes, letting us know where true blessing lies.  He then moves on to talk about being salt and light as disciples in the world.  And then he talks about the law in the portion we heard tonight.

Before we get too far, we have to remember that conversations about the law (not the Roman law, but the very law we heard about in Deuteronomy tonight) – conversations about the law needs to be very careful.  Many a scholar has tried to use this passage to argue the supersessionism of the Chrisitan Church over the Jewish people – as though by Jesus saying he came to fulfill the law that now Christians supersede the Jewish people as God’s chosen.  Jesus has been confusing followers for centuries by this statement – theologians as distinguished at Thomas Aquinas tried to separate the types of law, arguing that we need to follow the moral law, but not the juridical or ceremonial law of the Old Testament.[i]

That is not what Jesus is arguing in these three short verses.  Jesus never intended to bifurcate the faithful in such a way.  Just like Jesus was not saying be a republican or be a democrat, Jesus is saying be a person of faith.  In the verse following what we read today, Jesus says, “For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”  Just like in our day, the faithful of Jesus’ day lived in a politically charged time.  As Stanley Hauerwas explains, “…too often Israel sought to be faithful in a manner that would not challenge the powers, and in particular the power of Rome.  The Pharisees quite understandably tried to observe the law without that observance being recognized as subversive to those who ruled them.”  Like in our day, they were not claiming a particular party, but claiming the faith.  Not preaching politics, but preaching Jesus.

But here’s the problem with that way of life – and quite frankly, the dichotomy that the person in that interview asked me about.  The kingdom of God cannot avoid being subversive.  We know this because Jesus was so subversive that he was crucified – because instead of “…violently overthrowing the old order Jesus creates a people capable of living in accordance with the new order in the old.”[ii]  What does that mean exactly?  Stanley Hauerwas tells us that fulfilling the law means creating a way of life that is unlike the world.  That way of life is voluntary:  you cannot be born into it, but can only join by repenting and freely pledging allegiance to its king (Jesus).  And the next generation is not automatically admitted – every member joins of their own volition.  Two, that way of life creates a mixed community:  racially, religiously, economically.  And finally, that way of life is, well, a new way of life.  Jesus, “…[gives] them a new way to deal with offenders – by forgiving them.  He [gives] them a new way to deal with violence – by suffering.  He [gives] them a new way to deal with money – by sharing it.  He [gives] them a new way to deal with problems of leadership – by drawing upon the gift of every member, even the most humble.  He [gives] them a new way to deal with a corrupt society – by building a new order, not smashing the old.  He [gives] them a new pattern of relationship between man and woman, between parent and child, between master and slave, in which [is] made concrete a radical new vision of what it means to be a human person…”[iii]

I do not know what your Lenten discipline has been this year.  Given the weight of the political environment, the anxiety floating around in the atmosphere, and the sense of radical challenge, doing things like giving up chocolate or screen time or meat has not felt, well, meaty enough for me this year.  I think part of the challenge has been the sober, somber nature of Lent has felt so congruent with the sober, somber nature of everyday living these days.  Perhaps why Lent feels so heavy is because I can see no way to answer that dichotomy of a question, “Will you be political or will you follow Jesus?” 

I do not think our invitation tonight is to leave this place planting our red or blue flags.  In fact, our invitation might just be carrying our purple flags out of this space while helping others see and experience Jesus.  The new way of life that Jesus laid out for us – of forgiving, suffering, sharing, empowering, building, relating – is not unique to one political party.  Our invitation is to support that new way of life through Jesus in all political parties – republican, democrat, independent, or whatever else you may be feeling tonight.  That new way of life is so subversive that members of your own party may challenge you, and like a Pharisee, you may want to be a Christian while not rocking the boat.  But following Jesus means rocking the boat.  Following Jesus means loving neighbors, caring for the less than, respecting the dignity of others.  Following Jesus means sometimes following him out of the boat into some scary, stormy waters.  But if we can sit together in this room – as Presbyterians, Methodists, Lutherans, Episcopalians, Baptists, Mennonites, Roman Catholics, and Disciples of Christ – surely we can step into those waters together outside of this room, witnessing another way…together.  Amen.

[i] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew: Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 65.

[ii] Hauerwas, 67.

[iii] Hauerwas, 67-68.

Sermon – Luke 9.28-43, TRS, YC, March 2, 2025

05 Wednesday Mar 2025

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As I spend time with parishioners, staff, clergy leaders, and folks outside the community one common question keeps emerging, “What do we do?”  As we watch divisions deepen – something that seemed impossible given how deeply divided we already were, and as we watch a dismantling of how our country has operated for ages, and as we argue about what is best for our country, I have heard us asking, wondering, struggling with that question, “What do we do?”  The question is mirrored in the story of the transfiguration in Luke’s gospel today too.  Sleepy disciples who are supposed to be praying with Jesus on top of a mountain are jolted into alertness upon seeing Jesus in dazzling brightness, talking with long-gone Moses and Elijah, saying something about Jesus departing.  John and James are stunned into silence, but Peter answers his own question of “What do we do?” by proposing they build some dwellings – for surely remaining here in God’s glory is what he thought they should do.

Though we tease Peter about his not fully “getting it” when we wonder what we should do, I find myself mimicking Peter these days.  When I am asked, “What do we do?” my immediate and probably over-simplified answer is “follow Jesus” – not follow Republicans or follow Democrats; not follow supporters or follow opposers; not follow these Christians or follow those Christians.  Simply follow Jesus.  The problem with my answer of following Jesus is that the answer is so simple the answer leaves us with more questions than actual answers. 

That is why I am so grateful for Luke’s gospel today.  What this passage from Luke’s gospel does is tell us that following Jesus means, One, “…we must be clear about our identity;” two, be “resolute in our mission;” and three, be “intentional in our spiritual formation.”[i]  So, clear on our identity, focused on mission, and intentional about our spiritual formation.  Let’s dig in to this passage to find more clarity.

To follow Jesus, we need to be clear about our identity.  As scholar Jeffery Tribble argues, in Luke’s gospel, “The transfiguration bears witness to the identity of Jesus Christ.  By God’s action in the transformation itself and in the words of the voice of heaven, a theological statement is made.  Jesus Christ is declared to be the Chosen Son of God.  The disciples heard the declaration:  ‘Listen to him!’  The Christ event – his incarnation, passion, death, resurrection, ascension, gift of the Holy Spirit, and promised second coming – is the defining script for our local performances of the gospel.”[ii]

So what does that mean?  What is our identity here at Hickory Neck?  We define that identity using the acronym HNEC.  H stands for Hospitality:  We are committed to creating an environment where all experience an on-going sense of welcome, acceptance, and belonging.  Our hospitality is responsive to the unique needs of each generation, creating a community of mutuality, respect, dignity, and connection.  N stands for Nurture:  We are committed to nurturing the unique ministry of every individual so they can fully realize their baptismal covenant and participate in the life of the church, using their God-given gifts both within and outside the parish.  E stands for Engagement and Evangelism:  We are committed to responding to the needs of the wider community, sharing the love of Christ with our neighbors, and shining Christ’s light in the world.  And C stands for Curiosity:  While cherishing our particular history and Anglican identity, we are committed to being open to the movement of the Holy Spirit, being playful with one another and the wider community, while taking joy in one another.  So, our identity is about hospitality, nurture, engagement, and curiosity. 

So, being clear first about our identity, we must secondly be resolute in mission.  The transfiguration reveals the redemptive mission of Jesus Christ.  With Moses’ presence pointing to the exodus event and the communal responsibly to teach the statutes and ordinances, and with Elijah’s presence pointing to the end times, Jesus’ work of continued redemption is clear.  As Tribble says that “…in the transfiguration event Jesus is clear about his mission, which continues the redemptive work of God from the exodus through the end times.”[iii]

What about us, then?  Hickory Neck actually has a mission statement.  The mission statement reads, “We foster a loving, welcoming Christian Community with a uniquely intergenerational approach to worship, fellowship, and formation, helping us to develop a relationship with God and each other.  Nourished in community, we share the love of Christ Jesus by caring for each other, serving neighbors in need, and seeking justice and peace for all people.”  If I had to “make it plain,” I would use these eight words, “Love inside these walls, love outside these walls.”  When we are puzzling our way through what we should be doing in these profound times, our mission is simple:  love inside these walls and love outside these walls.  Now I know that sounds very pie in the sky – I have been known to roll my eyes a few times when someone says, “It’s all about love!”  But here’s the thing:  no matter what political or theological view you have, I can guarantee you that someone in this room disagrees with you.  How will you love them?  And when you are out in the world, all kinds of policies and moves are being made that may feel like they do not matter because they do not impact you directly – at least not yet.  How will you make sure that you and we as wider community are making sure love reigns?  There is a lot happening outside these walls that are done in the name of the redemptive Christ.  Your work is to discern which of those activities are actually following the identity and mission of the Jesus we are talking about this very day.

And that leads us to the third thing we invited to do to follow Jesus:  to be intentional in our spiritual formation.  I don’t know if you noticed, but Jesus took James, John, and Peter up that mountain not to heal, or to work, or even to witness the transfiguration.  Jesus brought them up to pray.  Whether in this passage or in the many verses to come, we know from holy scripture that “throughout his ministry Jesus was faithful in spiritual disciplines that would bring him into the presence of his Father.”[iv]

Tribble reminds us that “Professing faith in Christ in one thing, but living our Christian faith requires greater depth and breadth in our spiritual formation.”[v]  If we are in fact a congregation that doesn’t preach politics but instead preaches Jesus, then our work collectively is to know Jesus.  That means if you are not already in Bible Study, or reading scripture at home, or listening to a podcast about scripture, now is the time to dust off that book (or app) and get going.  That means if you are not one who is too comfortable with prayer, or only use prayer when you have an emergency, now is the time to start flexing your prayer muscles – whether you work your way through the Book of Common Prayer, whether you set aside daily time for prayer, or whether you start using those prayer beads, now is the time to step away with Jesus in prayer.  I remember reading about a conversation between His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu in which the two of them were competing about who got up the earliest for prayer.  Both of these deeply spiritual men knew that the only way they could do any good work was to deepen their spiritual formation.

The good news is that we are heading into a season in the church where all of this work is enriched, supported, and encouraged.  In the season of Lent, we are encouraged to be intentional about our spiritual formation.  In Lent we work to become very clear about our identity.  In Lent we become resolute in our mission.  If you are feeling that overwhelming sense of “What do I do?” in these times, the Church invites you to follow Jesus.  The Church invites you to be focused on identity, mission, and formation.  And this Church specifically creates the structure for you to do just that.  Your invitation is to join us!  Amen.

[i] Jeffery L. Tribble, Sr., “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 452.

[ii] Tribble, 452.

[iii] Tribble, 454.

[iv] Tribble, 454.

[v] Tribble, 456.

Sermon – John 21.1-19, E3, YC, May 1, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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One of the things I found fascinating about the pandemic was the coping mechanisms people developed.  For some coping took the form of fitness or wellness – instead of exercising a couple days a week, a daily run or walk was the way many kept their sanity.  For others, picking up new hobbies, like baking bread, did the trick.  We even had shortages of flour and yeast so many people were baking.  For others they turned to less healthy outlets – shopping (online, of course), drinking one more glass of wine, or binge watching one more show, sacrificing sleep and anything else productive.  All those coping mechanisms did just that – helped us cope with a world that was falling apart around us.  And since we could not control the availability of vaccines, the mandates for masks, the requirements to isolate, what we could do was the familiar – go for a run, use our baking skills, escape into the familiar.

Coping is exactly what Peter does in our gospel lesson today.  His world has been upended, his hope destroyed, his shame irrecoverable.  The finality of the cross breaks him, the empty tomb leaves him dumbfounded, and the resurrected Lord standing with his wounds before him has him in shock.  And so, he mumbles to the other disciples, “I am going fishing.”  The other disciples go with him – likely relieved for the sense of familiarity, grateful for something to do that they are actually good at, and likely a bit afraid to stay where they are doing nothing. 

We did a similar thing here at Hickory Neck during the pandemic.  In March of 2020, as the bishop was closing all church campuses for the first time, I was in a hospital waiting room, cancelling a Vestry Meeting, messaging our staff, and trying to listen to post-operation care for my daughter from the nurse.  The world was imploding and like a dazed Peter I said, “Let’s worship anyway.  I mean, I know how to use Facebook Live.”  And so that is what we did:  we worshipped online – not just one day, but every day; we offered pastoral care – not in person, but on the phone, by text, by email, and by card; eventually, we figured out how to help others and began offering to pick up groceries, care for the sick remotely, and deliver prescriptions. 

But a funny thing happened along the way.  As we dove into our coping mechanisms, albeit in creative ways, we started reaching new people.  When Pop-Up Prayers started, people we had never met before – sometimes people who are literal next-door neighbors – started tuning in to our prayers.  People who had always wondered about us were finally able to take a peek without having to cross our threshold; and they liked what they saw so much they started coming in person long before our longtime members ever did.  People who moved here during the pandemic and were longing to find a new community of support were able to come here – either virtually or masked and distanced.  They were willing to sacrifice discomfort just to find a sliver of comfort here.  What initially felt like a coping mechanism suddenly transformed our ministry altogether.

One of the more dramatic parts of today’s gospel is the conversation between Peter and Jesus over a charcoal fire.  The only other time a charcoal fire is mentioned in John’s gospel is the one Peter warms himself by as he denies Jesus three times.  In the synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Peter denies that he knows Jesus; in John’s gospel, he denies his very discipleship.[i]  “Aren’t you one of his disciples?” was the question they had asked him three times.  And so, Jesus asks Peter three questions as a mirror to those three questions Peter was asked.  Many scholars argue this interaction is Jesus’ way of forgiving Peter, or Jesus’ way of reinstating Peter as a disciple, or even Peter’s rehabilitation after a failure of loyalty.  But as Karoline Lewis argues, “None of these summaries adequately recognizes the significance of Jesus’ request of Peter.  Peter is not simply restored to his role as disciple, but he will have to imagine discipleship in an entirely different way.”[ii]

Our work this week is to figure out how, in the midst of a post-pandemic Eastertide, how are we being invited to redefine our discipleship.  I know as we have returned to the altar rail and begun to share the common cup, many of us have sighed with relief.  Some of us have been begging to drop the annoying gift of Zoom, and some have wondered if we really have to keep thinking about livestreaming everything.  And yet, when Jesus asks Peter to feed his sheep, “Jesus essentially asks Peter to be the good shepherd for the sake of God’s love for the world when Jesus cannot be…the demands of discipleship take on a more acute and critical role.”  In other words, as Lewis says, “Jesus is asking Peter to be the ‘I AM’ in the world.”[iii]

That is our invitation too.  Just this week I experienced two church and diocesan meetings where people would not be able to participate without Zoom.  Just this week, I visited and spoke with suffering parishioners who said the livestreamed services are their lifelines right now.  And just last week, a visitor explained how perusing our website helped in the decision to take the next step through our door.  This pandemic has stretched us, challenged us, and invigorated us.  But the reward of getting through to the other side is not to go back to “normal.”  The reward is we have learned a new way to be disciples of Jesus – and Jesus is asking us to consider how we – corporately and individually – can be the “I AM” in a world that wants to know God.  Jesus promises today to help us along the way – showing us where to cast our nets again, feeding us abundantly, and reminding us again and again how to be love in the world.  Our invitation is to consider how Jesus is already transforming our coping mechanisms into gifts of love for the world.  And then, in our discomfort, to stand up and follow him.  Amen.

[i] Karoline M. Lewis, John: Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 255.

[ii] Lewis, 256.

[iii] Lewis, 256-257.

On Nudges and the Holy Spirit…

12 Wednesday May 2021

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Photo credit: https://www.ibelieve.com/faith/what-is-discernment-ways-grow-more-discerning.html

Discernment is a topic we talk a lot about in church.  Some of our most beloved biblical stories, often called “call narratives,” are about discernment.  They all have a pattern:  God calls the individual to some bold action, the person resists (sometimes repeatedly and comically), but when the person eventually acquiesces, God equips the individual for the work. 

I love these call narratives mostly because they are so human and relatable.  But I sometimes wonder if the dramatically entertaining nature of these stories makes us think “calls” are something that only happens to certain, singled-out people.  In truth, that is why we talk about discernment so much in the life of the church:  because we want people to know that discernment is not just about major life transitions.  Discernment happens repeatedly throughout life – sometimes at expected moments, like a school graduation, in response to a spouse’s new job, or even retirement.  But discernment also happens in the times when we are plugging away at the calls we have already discerned:  when a volunteer opportunity stirs something in us; when a friend makes an off-handed comment about a gift we should be honoring; or when we just feel a little discomforted but do not know why (as a spoiler, that discomfort is usually the Holy Spirit!).

In my ministry setting, we talk about discernment a lot.  It is the topic of one of the six sessions in our Discovery Class (a newcomer/confirmation class).  We talk about discernment from the pulpit – even when there is not some big call narrative in the lectionary.  We talk about discernment in Bible study, in pastoral visits, and even over coffee.  We have come to understand that “call” is not static, and that even within a call, or vocation, the Holy Spirit continues to move and nudge us in ways that enrich our own journey and the journey of those around us.  Following Jesus means just that – continuing to follow wherever he may lead.

This week, I announced to my parish that the Spirit had been nudging me too.  In this unique situation, it may be a nudge that does not come to fruition.  Even in those cases, God is doing something too.  But it may also lead to something new and different.  That is the risk we take when we listen to the Holy Spirit.  I cannot authentically encourage my community into constant discernment if I am closed to the possibilities of the Spirit – especially when I would be perfectly happy to stay right where I am.  And so, this week I join you in that gloriously off-centered life that is the life of following Jesus.  I do not know where it will lead, but I am grateful for a community who journeys with me!

Sermon – Matthew 16.21-28, P17, YA, August 30, 2020

02 Wednesday Sep 2020

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I have to tell you, I have been dreading this gospel text all week.  We are in a season of life that feels completely out of our control:  whether we direct our attention to the looming presidential election in just ten weeks, the fires and hurricanes bearing down on our neighbors, the impending start of a new school year – whose daily schedule is still unclear, or the ever pervasive global pandemic and the way the pandemic has disrupted our physical, emotional, spiritual, and financial lives.  Even planning this year’s church calendar with our Vestry this past month felt like a game of pin the tail on the donkey – as we tried to guess where our lives would be in two, four, or even six months.

As experts in living an out-of-control life, we can totally understand Peter’s actions in our gospel lesson today.  An impending sense of doom and the anxiety-provoking lack of control lead Peter to rebuke Jesus, declaring vehemently that Jesus must never experience the great suffering and death Jesus predicts for himself.  Peter, who literally two verses before this text is praised for his bold proclamation of Jesus’ identity as the Messiah, is severely scolded by Jesus.  “Get behind me, Satan!” Jesus yells.  Peter, who has just been called the rock on which Jesus would build his Church, is now a stumbling block, getting in the way of Christ’s mission.  We understand Peter’s actions though.  When Peter declares Jesus the Messiah, he means a triumphal, redeeming Messiah, not one heading to death.  Peter’s Messiah is not supposed to behave this way, and Peter will not stand idly by and let his Messiah self-destruct.

Our tendency is to look at Peter and shake our heads.  Poor Peter – always getting things wrong:  sinking in the water when walking to Jesus, misunderstanding what Messiahship means, getting confused at the Transfiguration, insisting he will never abandon Jesus at the end.  But we have to be really careful with Peter because Peter is not that much different than each of us.  We have all had those instances where we rebuked God for one reason or another.  We too have faced hurricane forecasts and have rebuked God.  As we have watched our political life crumble, we have rebuked God.  As colleges close, mandated technology gets delayed two weeks after school starts, and school schedules are still unknown, we have rebuked God.  As friends are infected, lose jobs, or die from the pandemic, we have rebuked God.  Like Peter, we too have yelled out, “God forbid it!”  We have seen the darkness and pain looming ahead and have desired with every inch of our being to stop the suffering.

And yet, suffering is what Jesus predicts for all of us.  Jesus says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.  For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”  Jesus’s words make us very uncomfortable and confuse our notions of a loving, grace-filled God who beckons us to come to God when we are weary.  We hear these words about suffering, recalling all of the pain in our lives – the loss, the heartache, the loneliness – and we cannot imagine that God plans for us to suffer in these ways.  Predestined suffering does not fit our understanding of who God is.  And yet, here we are with Jesus’ words today.

What helps me with this text is to go back to Peter.  What is interesting about Peter’s rebuking of Jesus is that he seems to rebuke all of what Jesus says without actually listening to all of what Jesus says.  Jesus says he, “must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”  Peter hears the suffering and the killing part and seems to totally miss the part about being raised on the third day.  If Peter had been listening, he would have heard the good news imbedded in Jesus’ words.  He would have heard the promise of resurrection, the promise of everlasting life, the promise of resurrection life for all of us.  Yes, the road will be dark and painful – maybe even unbearable – but there is goodness at the end of that road.  God’s promise of salvation, of resurrection on the third day, is good news for Peter.  Suddenly Jesus’ scolding of Peter seems much more justified.

The invitation for us today the same:  to listen.  Listen to the entirety of what Christ is saying to us.  If we get lost in the words about suffering and death, then we become like Peter.  Now I am not arguing Jesus is encouraging us to go recklessly surfing in this hurricane of life.  Instead, Jesus is inviting us into a life that matters – a life lived not inwardly guarding our own comfort, but a life that lets go of control, not worrying about the cost for self, but a life that is poured out for others.  We can enter into that ambiguous place because God promises us that even if our lives end in the process, God has more life in store for us.  Jesus’ invitation to take up our crosses is not an invitation into death, but an invitation into life.[i]  This week, boldly take up your cross; knowing that on the third day, Christ will be raised.  Resurrection life awaits!  Amen.

[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven: Sermons on the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 80.

Sermon – Mark 8.31.38, L2, YB, February 25, 2018

28 Wednesday Feb 2018

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Last week, as Lent Madness started up, the first matchup was between Peter and Paul.  Our family had a lively debate about which saint we preferred, including how cool it was for Paul to change his mind so radically.  But I advocated for Peter because I love how human he is – always being both the Rock on which Christ will build his Church, and the “Satan” who gets so tripped up in his own desires that he forgets what Jesus is trying to do.  Sometimes Peter’s praise and condemnation happen within verses of each other.  Today is just such a day.  In the few verses before the gospel reading from Mark we heard today, Peter boldly professes that Jesus is the Messiah when none of the other disciples are able to do so.  But then today, as soon as Jesus starts talking about suffering, rejection, and death, Peter slips again.  Like a celebrity’s manager, Peter quietly pulls Jesus aside to remind him that talking about suffering, rejection, and death is not going to help his ratings with the crowds.

I imagine many of us here have had similar conversations with God.  Like Peter, we have taken certain risks in our lives to follow Christ.  We have been mocked by non-believers, we have had to defend our God when the news feed seems to suggest God is absent, we have given up countless invitations for brunch or simply sleeping in because we agreed to read scripture in church or teach Sunday School.  We have taken jobs out a sense of call or we have loved an enemy when we did not want to love her.  We have made sacrifices for our faith.  And like any relationship where we have committed time and energy, we become invested in the outcomes.  So, when someone does not recover from an illness, or when a child is lost too soon, we get angry with God.  When another shooting happens, or when we hear reports of genocide, we voice our frustration with God.  Even when we follow politics, we become convinced that God would want a particular outcome or a particular party to win.

But here’s the trouble.  You see, when we follow Jesus, when we give up things and commit to the relationship, we become invested.  The process is natural – any relationship in which we commit our time is one in which we become invested in the results.  But that is the scary thing about following Jesus.  Not only does Jesus want us to follow him, Jesus also wants us to let go of control in the relationship.  That’s where Peter stumbles today.  You see, he is a faithful follower of Jesus.  But somewhere along the way, his faithfulness is not offered out of a total trust in whatever Jesus has to offer, but is rooted in a conviction that Jesus will behave in a particular way:  the conquering Messiah – the one who will bring redemption.  His rebuking Jesus is because what Jesus says today does not jive with his expectations of the Messiah.  And because he has a relationship with Jesus, because he is invested in his relationship with Jesus, he tries to exert his will over Jesus – to convince him to look like the Messiah he wants.

I once served at a parish that had a longtime missional relationship with a village in the Dominican Republic.  When I got involved with the program, the relationship had been floundering.  The church had worked with the village to build a community center.  Once that was done, not wanting the relationship to end, the church tried some other efforts, including microfinance and teaching different industries.  Most of those efforts failed, and the teams that would travel to the village began to feel like they were wasting their time or were doing busy work.  The more the church tried to control the relationship, the less satisfying the relationship became.

I remember on one of our last nights in the DR talking to the local priest.  I shared with him our concern – that we feared the relationship had accomplished all it could and everything we were trying to do in the village was forcing the relationship to be something the relationship could not be.  The priest understood our predicament, and gave us his blessing to do whatever we needed to do.  I went home convinced the church would gracefully end the relationship.  Instead, years later, I found out the relationship was still going strong – but not because the church had done something.  Instead, when the church was finally willing to let go, to stop trying to control the relationship, and force their own outcome, the relationship took off.  The village came to the church with a new proposal.  Instead of one more coat of paint, or one more attempted microbusiness, the village wanted to build more buildings.  But this time, the buildings would not just service the village – they would serve as a high school for the region.  Last I heard, the government finally noticed what the village was doing, and began to support the school with infrastructure and teachers.

What the church had to learn, what we need to learn, what Peter eventually learns is taking up our cross to follow Jesus means being open to death.  Perhaps that sounds obvious to those of you who have read Jesus’ words time and again.  But this week, when I think about what being open to death means I think Jesus means being open to the death of our self-interest – of our will – of our desperate need for control.  Once we allow that to die, we start to find life – life in Christ as Christ would have us live life.  We find ourselves able to keep our minds on divine things, not on human things.

This past week of dealing with the aftermath of another school shooting, I have been struggling.  Every time our country faces another mass shooting, I feel like I need to do something, to change something, to push our leaders to do something different.  Every time we face another tragedy, I join Christians in prayer and grief.  But, as one Christian theologian points out, “There is something deeply hypocritical about praying for a problem you are unwilling to resolve.”[i]  And so this week, instead of just looking to like-minded people about what to do or whom to blame, I tried something else.  I called up a friend who has very different feelings about these things and asked him to help me understand his point of view on guns in our country.  Instead of trying to convince him of my view, I let go of my own stuff, and listened.  When I let go – when I was open to the death of my self-interest or longing for control, I found that we got a lot closer to a common solution.  We began to discover ways forward.

And then, as I found myself loosening my own grip on a solution, our young people started speaking up.  Instead of the adults in this country trying to tell students how to feel or behave, the students began to teach us.  If we can deny ourselves, let go of our death grip on this issue on either side, our young people are inviting us into a new way of entering this problem – of listening differently to one another and responding in a way that transforms both sides of the aisle.

I cannot imagine a better time for us to grapple with our relationships with God and with one another.  Many of you have already shared with me the ways in which you have taken on Lenten disciplines to help you deepen your relationship with Christ.  What Peter’s experience this week invites us to consider is how we might not simply deepen our relationship, but also how me might cede our self-interest in our relationship with Christ – not simply following Christ, but letting go of how we think that journey should look; not simply taking up our cross, but being open to the fact that we do not know what that will mean or what we will encounter.  If we can engage in that kind of relationship with Christ, then we might just be able to engage in that kind of relationship with one another – no longer maddeningly holding on to what we want in our relationships, but trusting that God is working among us when we let go.  Then we are finally taking up our crosses and following Christ – together.  Amen.

[i] Attributed to Miroslav Volf by Kirsten Powers, “Why ‘thoughts and prayers’ is starting to sound so profane,” Washington Post, Nov. 6, 2017, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2017/10/03/why-thoughts-and-prayers-is-starting-to-sound-so-profane, as referenced by Karoline Lewis, “Open Speech,” Feb. 19, 2018, http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5066, as found on Feb. 22, 2018.

Sermon – Mark 1.14-20, Jonah 3.1-3, 10, EP3, YB, January 21, 2018

24 Wednesday Jan 2018

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What is fun about our lessons from last week and this week is we get two different gospellers’ versions of Jesus’ first call to the disciples.  Last week, in John’s gospel, we got that great story of Philip and Nathaniel.  When Philip is asked to follow Jesus, he runs to find Nathaniel.  They have this great conversation about whether anything good can come from Nazareth.  Nathaniel reluctantly comes, and when he finally speaks with Jesus, he is amazed at what Jesus knows about him.  In the midst of community, conversation, and collaboration, both Philip and Nathaniel are able to say yes to Jesus’ invitation to discipleship.  On the other hand, Mark’s gospel paints a very different picture of the calling of the disciples.  Mark tells us Jesus passes two sets of brothers by the seashore, and instructs them to follow him.  Both sets of brothers drop what they are in the middle of doing.  In fact, the second set of brothers wordlessly abandon their father to follow Jesus.  No conversations or discernment; no collaboration or goodbyes.  In Mark’s gospel, Jesus invites, and disciples drop everything immediately and go.

I do not know about you, but I am actually in the John camp when we are talking about discipleship.  As an extrovert, I tend to process things aloud.  I need to talk through a problem with others to figure out what the best option might be.  I like to get input from others, using them as sounding boards to make sure my decision will have a positive impact.  I like to marinate on the feedback, pray a bit, share my leanings with a confidant or two, and then act.  So the idea of Nathaniel hemming and hawing, expressing his initial doubt with Philip, and then challenging Jesus when he seems to have some insight about Nathaniel seems totally relatable to me.  I need conversation, community, and collaboration, especially if I am going to drop everything important in life and follow someone in a new direction.

In some ways, I may even be closer to Jonah when we are talking about discipleship.  We hear only a small part from Jonah’s riveting story today, but what we might all remember is Jonah is a terrible follower of God.  The first two chapters of Jonah are filled with Jonah saying “yes” to God, and then totally running in the opposite direction.  He even endangers some total strangers when he boards a boat in the opposite direction of Nineveh.  He needs to be swallowed by a large fish, facing death and shame before he is willing to do what God has asked Jonah to do.

Many of you have heard this before, but my own call narrative was neither immediate nor direct.  When I first sensed a call to ministry in college, I avoided it.  I figured, maybe I could just volunteer for a year instead.  I loved working at a Food Bank that year, but figured, maybe I should work at a faith-based non-profit instead.  That would certainly count as serving God, right?!?  And then, when that did not feel totally right, I started to look at going to school – not for a Masters in Divinity, but maybe to study theology.  You know, try to learn about God, but not to be a minister.  Even when my priest suggested ordination it took me another whole year of talking to other people, reading countless books, prayer, and going on retreat before I could say yes.  Clearly, my identification with Nathaniel and Jonah is not unfounded.

But today’s lessons are nothing like my tendencies.  The portion of Jonah that we get today does not highlight any of Jonah’s dramatic avoidance and foibles.  Instead, when Jonah offers the shortest sermon ever, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown,” immediately, the people of Nineveh believe God, proclaim a fast, and everyone – everyone great and small – puts on sackcloth.  To understand the significance of this response by Nineveh, we need to remember that Nineveh is no saint.  They are a great kingdom of people who have been oppressing God’s chosen for ages.  They are tyrants, powermongers, and bullies.  No one scares Nineveh.  And yet, with Jonah’s sermon of judgment, they stop immediately, take on a fast, and repent of their ways.  No debates, no town hall meetings, no consultation with the king.  In fact, in the verses we do not read today, the king even proclaims that the livestock need to be put in sackcloth.  The repentance of Nineveh is total and immediate.

We see the parallels in Mark’s gospel today.  The two sets of brothers we read about, Simon and Andrew and James and John sound very similar.  They are both in the fishing industry, they are both working on nets, and they both respond immediately to Jesus’ invitation to follow him.  But there are some subtle differences that make their stories even more powerful.  You see, Simon Peter and Andrew are fishing from the shore with leaded nets.  They are fishermen, but not very wealthy ones.  Meanwhile James and John are from a higher socioeconomic status.  James and John have a boat and hired workers.  They are fishing by dragnet method, which means they are able to harvest much larger catches.[i]  Their father is also mentioned, which likely means their family has been at this business for generations.  And yet, despite the fact that James are John are in the midst of a long-standing, thriving business, both James and John and Simon Peter and Andrew have the same response to Jesus.  They drop everything immediately and go.

I wonder when you have similarly acted with immediacy to God’s call on you.  The moments do not have to be as dramatic as walking out of the classroom, office, or house without a word to anyone.  Maybe they were moments around giving to the church or a cause.  Maybe they were moments when you offered help to a stranger, knowing full well you were going to be late to your next engagement.  Maybe you called a Congress member or State Representative because your faith could no longer tolerate inaction on an issue.  Maybe you heard the volunteer sexton was retiring, and you said, “Here I am.”  Or maybe your immediacy was in getting out of bed one day and finally stepping in the doors of a church – because you needed a community to help you figure out this voice that was calling you to something new.  At some point all of us hear Jesus say, “Follow me.”

Now you may be sitting there thinking, “I have never said yes to that voice,” or “Most of the time I feel like a failure in following Jesus.”  The good news is that you are not alone.  Despite the fact that Simon Peter, Andrew, John, and James all behave exemplary today, we know as we read more of Mark’s gospel, that these are the same men who will fail time and again in their faith.  These are the same men who will deny Jesus, will argue about feeding five thousand people, will try to hold on to Jesus, and will vie for favor with Jesus.  Yes, today, they say yes immediately and they drop everything they have ever known and step out and follow Jesus.  But tomorrow they stumble, and keep stumbling their entire journey with Christ.

What our texts remind us of today is, as one scholar puts it, “Becoming a faithful Christian disciple takes both a moment and a lifetime.”[ii]  We are not going to feel emboldened to follow Jesus every day.  We are not going to abandon our families and our way of life every day.  There will be moments, hard days when we need courage and reassurance.  On those days, we can remember the moments when we said yes and answered the call.  We can recall with encouragement, on those days when we do not feel very faithful, the days when in fact we were entirely faithful.  And if we are struggling to hold onto those “yes” moments, we remember that we are called in community.[iii]  Whether the entire city of Nineveh was acting together, or disciples were called in pairs, our ability to answer God faithfully is usually done within the context of community – within a group of people who can remind us of our faithful days, and let us go when we need follow.  We are not alone in this adventure of following Jesus.  And that is good news!  Amen.

[i] Daniel J. Harrington, ed., The Gospel of Mark, Sacra Pagina Series, vol. 2 (Collegeville, MN:  The Liturgical Press, 2002), 76.

[ii] Elton W. Brown, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 286.

[iii] Karoline Lewis, “You are Never Alone,” January 14, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5044 on January 18, 2017.

Sermon – John 18.33-37, P29, YB, November 22, 2015

25 Wednesday Nov 2015

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Every once in a while, I am reminded of how bizarre our faith can sound to others.  When a child asks a seemingly basic question, or when a non-believing stranger asks me a question that is not easy to explain, I can imagine how strange my responses sound.  But having been raised in the faith, the strangeness never bothered me.  And if I really was not sure about something, I found myself comfortable with the explanation, “It’s a mystery.”

But lately, I have been barraged by incidents where “It’s a mystery,” just does not cut it!  The first instance was the First Holy Communion class I did with David and William a few weeks ago.  David and William actually went pretty easy on me.  But those classes are always challenging because they do not allow you to simply experience Holy Eucharist – I have to explain Holy Eucharist:  from why we process and reverence an instrument of death (the cross had the same purpose as our modern-day electric chair); to what to do when we don’t necessarily believe everything in the Nicene Creed; to why the priest holds out her hands during the Eucharistic prayer.  The second instance of “It’s a mystery,” not cutting it was in Bible Study class last week.  The group is reading John and John’s rather gory discussion of eating flesh and drinking blood.  The group wanted to know what Episcopalians believe about what happens to the bread and wine when the priest consecrates the elements – and how that differs from what other denominations believe.  I am fairly certain that if I had told the group that what happens in Eucharist is a mystery, they would not have let me off the hook so easily.  The final instance of “It’s a mystery,” not cutting it has been in reading the book, The Year of Living Biblically.  In this past week’s assignment, our author, A.J. Jacobs finally makes his way into the New Testament.  As an agnostic Jew, the author discusses his fears about trying to live the Bible literally if he cannot get behind the idea of Jesus as the Messiah and the idea of Jesus being both human and divine.  As a cynical New Yorker who confesses he has no desire to convert, I am sure my “It’s a mystery,” explanation would get him nowhere.

The challenges of our faith are not limited to worship, Eucharist, and Jesus’ divinity.  Today we celebrate yet another bizarre element of our faith – Christ the King Sunday.  On this last Sunday of Pentecost, before we enter into the season of Advent, we declare Christ as our King.  On the surface, that is not a bizarre claim, I realize.  Many communities have kings, and the way we venerate Christ is not unlike the way many kingdoms venerate their kings.  Given the familiarity of that image, we might imagine that Christ the King Sunday is about regal processions, festive adornments, and praise-worthy songs.  In fact, we will do some of that today.  The problem though with Christ the King Sunday is not that Jesus is our King.  The problem is what kind of king Jesus is.

We have seen evidence of what kind of king Jesus is.  Most famously would be the Palm Sunday procession.  Jesus does not ride into Jerusalem on horseback with a sword and an army.  No, he rides into town on a borrowed donkey, accompanied by a little crowd – nothing newsworthy really.  There are other clues too.  There is that time when the Samaritans refuse housing to Jesus and his disciples.  The disciples ask, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?”[i]  But Jesus just rebukes the disciples and keeps on going.  Even when Jesus knows Judas is going to betray him, he does not stop Judas.  Instead of stopping Judas or outing Judas, Jesus quietly lets Judas leave to betray him.

So we should not be surprised today at the interaction between Pilate and Jesus and why this passage, of all passages, should be selected for Christ the King Sunday.  Pilate is perplexed by this man who is being labeled (or more accurately, is being accused of having claimed to be) the king of the Jews.  So Pilate asks repeatedly whether Jesus is indeed the king of the Jews.  Jesus mockingly explains that if he were a traditional king, his people would be fighting to save him – which they are decidedly not doing.  Jesus cryptically further explains that his kingship does not look like kingship in the traditional sense – and in fact, his version of kingship is the only kind of kingship that can save anyone.  Violence, retaliation, and revenge will not work.[ii]  A battle of wills will not win control.  The only thing that will win is sacrifice, selflessness, and ceding.  Jesus will not overcome the evil of the world by matching wills with rulers like Pilate.  Jesus will only overcome by allowing himself to be overcome.  When we really think about Jesus’ kingship, his kingship is yet another bizarre thing about our faith.  Who pins their faith on a weak, non-violent, forgiving man?

Given the multiple terrorist attacks we have witnessed over the past week, the irony of Christ the King Sunday is not lost on me.  Just this past week, at Lunch Bunch, we were discussing the challenges of engaging in war to stop terrorism verses isolationism.  The discussion we had was the same discussion that hundreds of theologians have had for centuries.  I have even witnessed top scholars debate the ethics of intervention versus non-violence.  We watch Jesus turn the other cheek – in fact, Jesus tells us to turn the other cheek, give away our tunics, go a second mile, give to borrowers, and love our enemies.[iii]  But we watched what happened in World War II when we stayed out of the war as long as possible – a genocide happened.  And we have seen what sanctions do in foreign countries – though they are non-violent, the brunt of the restrictions hit the poorest of the country.  And yet, we are also only one country.  We cannot possibly fight every force of evil, have troops in every country, and wage war every time evil emerges.

This is one of those times when I would love to say, “It’s a mystery!”  We say that phrase because the answer is beyond our knowing – or because we just do not know the answer.  Any kind of guessing about “What Would Jesus Do,” is not likely to get us very far.  We know that Jesus does not fight Pilate today, and has no intention of answering evil for evil.  But we also know that Jesus is wholly other – the Messiah, the Savior, the sacrifice for our sins.  His death is different from our deaths, and the kingdom he brings is both already and not yet.

Despite the fact that I cannot give you answers about what we should do about ISIS, about terrorism, or about violence, what I can tell you is that the ambiguity of Jesus’ identity as Christ the King is actually good news today.  Now I know ambiguity does not sound like a gift.  But in this instance, I believe ambiguity is where we can put our faith today.  Ambiguity is a gift today because ambiguity makes us uncomfortable.  Because we do not have definitive answers, we are forced to stay in prayer and keep discerning God’s will in this chaotic world.  Because we do not have a king who answers violence for violence (which is quite frankly, a very easy black-and-white formula to replicate), we are forced to contemplate our faith in light of the world.  Because we follow Christ the King, we do not get to say, “It’s a mystery,” as an excuse not to wrestle.

As I think about the conversations I have had with David and William, with our Thursday Bible Study Group, and even the conversation I would have with A.J. Jacobs, I realize ambiguity is the most honest, vulnerable, real way we can start any conversation about faith and Jesus Christ.  And if we ever want a young person, a non-believer, or even someone wise beyond their years to trust that they can have an authentic, meaningful conversation with us about faith, then we have to be willing to step into the ambiguity of faith.  One of Jacobs’ advisors talks about the “glory of following things we can’t explain.”[iv]  That is what Christ the King offers us today – the opportunity to follow things we cannot always explain.  Jesus invites us share our ponderings and struggles with knowing this king who is sometimes counterintuitive.  He invites us to relinquish our angst about the ambiguity, and instead to celebrate the King of ambiguity.  Amen.

[i] Luke 9.54.

[ii] David Lose, “Christ the King B:  Not of this World,” November 16, 2015 as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2015/chirst-the-king-b-not-of-this-world/ on November 19, 2015.

[iii] Matthew 5.39-48.

[iv] A. J. Jacobs, The Year of Living Biblically (London:  Arrow Books, 2009), 203.

Sermon – John 21.1-19, E3, YC, April 14, 2013

17 Wednesday Apr 2013

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There are two layers to our gospel lesson today.  In one layer, there is a lot of movement and action.  We have disciples fishing, a man shouting about where to put nets, Peter leaping out of a boat to swim ashore, breakfast sizzling in a pan over a crackling fire, and Peter and Jesus having this strangely repetitive conversation.  This layer of the text is really distracting.  There is so much happening that by the time we get to Jesus telling Peter to feed his lambs, we forget the part of the story about Peter getting dressed to jump into water.  The frenetic nature of the text leaves us with more questions than answers.  Why is Peter fishing at a time like this?  Why is he naked?  Why do the disciples not recognize Jesus at first?  Why is Jesus cooking breakfast?  Why does Jesus repeat his question to Peter three times?

In truth, I think there is so much activity in our gospel lesson because the disciples are a little frenetic themselves.  They had all settled into certain identities in their lives – many of them were fishermen, many of them had families that they worked with, and all of them had homes where they resided.  Their lives were simple and predictable.  Then this guy came into their lives and their identity and purpose got totally out of balance.  They had no consistent daily routine, they left behind everything they knew, this man they were following was compelling but also completely confusing, and they were being asked to totally change their lives.  And just when they had found the rhythm of managing their unpredictable lives with Jesus, then everything turns over on its head again, and they lose everything – their leader, their purpose, and their identity.  So in an effort to find something to hang on to, the disciples become punchy with action.

We all do this.  I know that I am particularly stressed out when I find myself intently scrubbing something in the house.  I may not be able to solve some problem at work, or I might not be able to fix some relationship that needs mending, but I can have a clean floor.  I might not have responded to the forty-eight emails and the twenty-nine items on my to-do list, but my desk will be cleared of all clutter and looking freshly dusted.  My neurotic behavior is cleaning, but we all have some neurotic behavior.  Some of us need to find a mall to clear our minds of all the stuff going on inside of us.  Somehow finding the perfect dress or pair of shoes takes away our other anxieties.  Others of us get out in the garden and dig our way to peace of mind.  Something about a freshly weeded garden makes us feel like something was accomplished, even if the rest of us is in shambles.  Still others hit the gym.  There is nothing like sweating away anxieties or feeling the burn to take away the other feelings going on inside of us.[i]

What is interesting about all the activity and noise found in our gospel lesson is that there is another layer of this text that is completely quiet.  We start with the disciples silently staring at that Sea of Tiberias.  There is nothing left to say among them, because they have talked this whole resurrection thing to exhaustion.  Then we find the disciples on the boat fishing in the middle of the night.  I do not know the last time you went fishing, but fishing is one of the more quiet, uneventful activities you can do.  Despite the splashing of Peter to swim to Jesus, once they all gather on the beach, no one says a word.  The air is only filled with the quiet lapping of water and the sizzling of a pan over a fire.  The disciples have questions, but no one says anything.  Even the conversation between Jesus and Peter has a quiet tone to the conversation.

In some ways, I think this is where the text is really pointing.  The disciples, who have irritated Jesus to no end, finally fall silent.  No more asking about who shall be first, and nor more asking what Jesus means or who he is.  No more crazy proposals like building booths for Moses, Elijah, and Jesus, and no more insisting that Jesus wash all of their bodies, not just their feet.  No more insisting that they would never betray Jesus.  There is nothing left to say.  And so they stare quietly, they fish in silence, and they answer in hushed voices.

This layer is the most important because this layer marks a shift.  The disciples stop trying to muscle their way to discipleship, and they finally learn to let Jesus take the lead.  They have become so physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted that they stop trying to control everything, and they simply wait for Jesus to tell them what to do.  This is a critical moment in the disciples’ journey with Christ.

I think many of you know this about me, but I love to dance.  I grew up doing all sorts of dancing, but the most difficult form of dancing I stumbled into was formal partnered dancing – the fox trot, waltz, etc.  In the other forms of dancing I learned, I was responsible for myself, learning the steps, and making sure I knew the rhythm so that the dance looked beautiful.  But in partnered dance, especially as the woman, you have to learn how to follow.  As someone with pretty good rhythm and memory for steps, you have no idea how incredibly frustrating it is to follow a man who does not know what he is doing.  The tendency is to want to use your arms or legs to start guiding the man, or even to whisper the directions.  But the role of the woman is to follow where the man leads – perhaps the only time in a woman’s life that she is forced to do this!  But what I also found in this kind of dancing is that when you have a really good partner, he can make you feel like the most graceful, beautiful woman on the dance floor.  In fact, you stop worrying about the steps and the count, and you start moving with fluidity and ease.  The price for such a feeling is total surrender and trust.  But the payoff is that you find a joy so strong that you will hunt down that partner and beg them to save you a dance.

This is the kind of submission the disciples finally master on that beach.  No more trying to muscle Jesus into the way they want him to behave.  No more trying to talk their way through their relationship with him.  They surrender all they have to him, longing for the clarity that only he can give them.  And when they finally do that, in the quiet of that morning, they finally hear the words of purpose for their lives.  “Follow me,” Jesus says.  They are the same words Jesus said to them at the beginning of their relationship with him.  But now they finally hear.  And now they can finally respond with their whole being.  Jesus’ words are as clear as they can be.  Jesus’ words give their life meaning.  And their spirit is finally in the place where they can hear and respond.  They are truly and thoroughly ready to follow him.

This is what Jesus invites us to do as well.  This morning, as we sit in the sacred place, Jesus invites us to shove those piles off the desks of our minds, to rip out the weeds blocking our hearts, and to drop our armfuls of distractions and to listen to his simple words for us.  The words are there waiting.  The direction is clear.  The peace and comfort of clarity and purpose are ours for the taking.  So when you come to this table for the Eucharistic feast, quietly listening for Jesus’ words for you, you will be able to hear those words, “Follow me,” and do just that when you walk out those church doors.  Amen.

[i] Gary D. Jones, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 420.