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The Grace of Seasons…

01 Wednesday Jun 2022

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Photo credit: Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly. Reuse with permission.

I have been working on some continuing education classes for about a year and a half.  I just had a three week break and during that time was able to quickly read three fluffy novels.  The funny thing is, during that same time, I kept watching friends talk about the most recent book they were reading and feeling jealous, thinking, “I never have time to read!”  But I realized during this break between semesters that I will eventually have time and I do still love to read; this is just a season of life when my reading is a little limited to the academic variety. 

That realization got me thinking about seasons of life.  I remember a season with newborns when I did a ton of reading because I was hooked up to a breast pump for about 2 hours a day.  I remember a season before COVID when I traveled distances for meetings and was able to catch up on podcasts and phone calls, feeling more knowledgeable and caught up on the day’s news.  I remember multiple seasons of parenthood when I thought I would never survive something, only to look fondly upon that season later. 

Our faith journey can be a lot like that too.  We all have seasons – seasons when we feel a bit too busy for regular church attendance (thank goodness for those recorded livestreams!); seasons when everything is clicking and some piece of scripture we read totally connects with something happening in our life; and seasons when we are too angry, sad, or unsure to even engage God in prayer.  The nice thing is when we can recognize that we are in a season, we can remember the hard stuff will not last forever, and good stuff will change and shift into new and different good stuff. 

I do not know what kind of season you are in right now.  Maybe you are in a season of grief, of feeling a lack of control, or in a rut of what feels like failures.  Maybe you are in a season of new life, of exciting possibilities, of new opportunities.  Maybe you are in a season of stability and are hoping nothing rocks the boat.  I invite you to talk about that season with God.  Whether you need to curse the season, give thanks for the season, or plead for a new season, somehow just naming the experience of the season is enough to lift its power and help you see grace in it.  That is my prayer for you today.

Sermon – John 17.20-26, E7, YC, May 28, 2022

01 Wednesday Jun 2022

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On this last Sunday of Eastertide, we finally arrive at what is referred to as the High Priestly Prayer in John’s Gospel.  We have heard the stories about the empty tomb, Jesus’ appearances to the disciples, stories about how they are to be a people of love, and Jesus’ ascension into heaven.  As our final lesson, as is true for every seventh Sunday in Eastertide in the three-year lectionary cycle, we hear the final prayer Jesus says before his trial and crucifixion.  In this year’s section of the High Priestly Prayer, Jesus asks for one thing:  unity.  He prays the disciples and all the people who will become believers may be one.

As I have watched our country over the last week, we as Americans, and most definitely we as followers of Christ, have been showing anything BUT unity.  You would think a mass shooting of children would have brought us together.  And maybe for a moment, we were united in action – deep grief and despair at the loss of young life.  We all seem to be of one mind in one area only – that none of us wants our young school children to die.  But as soon as the tears subside and we open our mouths, any conversation about what our response should be sends us flying to opposite camps, no one staying in the same room to talk about a uniting action to protect life.

I have always been so very proud of the ways that Hickory Neck is a place where people of all political persuasions gather at a common table.  You only need to take a look around the bumper stickers in the parking lot to know we are not of one mind when talking politics.  But we are of one mind about Jesus – and so we sit next to people who likely voted for a different political candidate than we did, we pray next to people who go to opposite rallies than we do, and we kneel at the altar rail, rubbing elbows with someone who we, outside of church, might refer to as “those people.”  I cannot tell you the number of people who have asked me, “How in the world can you do that?  How do you even preach the gospel in such a diverse room?”  Usually my answer is pretty simple – we focus on what unites us – the one thing we all long for:  a place at the Table where all are welcome.

Now, I say that all that time, and usually people leave me alone about that answer.  But I think secretly, they are thinking, “Ok!  That sounds all well and good but just wait – there is no way you can keep up that ruse.  Something is going to give!”  And in many ways, they are right.  We live and witness in a precarious reality.  That’s why I think what Jesus does in this prayer today is so very important.  We often define “unity” as everyone being of the same mind.  But that is not what Jesus means in John’s gospel.  As scholar Karoline Lewis explains, “Their unity is not a made-up concept but is based on the unity between the Father and the Son.  Answering the question of what this unity looks like gives us the definition of what unity is.  For this Gospel, unity with God means making God known.  [Unity] means being the ‘I AM’ in the world.  [Unity] means knowing that, in the midst of all that would seek to undermine that unity, you are at the bosom of the Father.”[i]

So how can we be the “I AM” in the world?  What does being at the bosom of the Father look like when we all want to protect life but cannot seem to find a way forward?  Scholar Meda Stamper qualifies that unity comes through love.  She says, “This love clearly cannot depend on feelings of attraction, desire, affection or even liking.  [Love] is a behavior-shaping attitude toward the world, which is both a gift we cannot manufacture and a choice to live into the promises of that gift that is already given.  We cannot paste [love] onto ourselves.  Like branches of a vine, we live in something larger than ourselves, in which we are nurtured to bear fruit by the Spirit dwelling in us (about which we read in the Pentecost passage for next week).  But because we are more than vines, we also become more loving by choosing to follow Jesus’ model and teachings (13:14-15) about what love is: tending, feeding, bearing witness, and breaking barriers for love—societal barriers and also barriers we set up for ourselves, including some that we may think make us rightly religious but which do not make us loving.”[ii]

The way forward to be a people of unity through love starts here at Hickory Neck.  We certainly have taken the first step by assembling a group of people who are united in relationship with God even though we are not united in political persuasion.  But that is the tremendous blessing:  we have a place to start.  The only way we are ever going to make our way to the unity Jesus wants for us is to gather in our dis-unity and find a way forward through our relationships.  The reason we are facing a carbon copy of Sandy Hook ten years later is because we never sat down with people of a different mind about gun control.  We simply did what we always do – we divided into camps about the right solution, and then locked horns in a stalemate that led to little change.  Our gospel this Sunday invites us into a different way.  Our gospel invites us into true unity through our relationship with God and one another.  Only when we agree to not just rub elbows at the altar rail, but also rub elbows at houses of legislature will we find a way of tangibly witnessing the love of Jesus  – so that we are one as the Father and Son are one.  Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, John: Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 213.

[ii] Meda Stamper, “Commentary on John 17:20-26,” May 29, 2022, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/seventh-sunday-of-easter-3/commentary-on-john-1720-26-5 on May 27, 2022.

How long, O LORD?

25 Wednesday May 2022

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Photo credit: https://www.kcrg.com/2021/11/08/prayer-vigil-planned-fairfield-high-school-spanish-teacher-found-dead/

Early this morning, I put my middle schooler on a bus.  She still lets me take her to the bus stop (as long as I stay in the car).  Everyday I pray as the 20 kids board the bus that they will be kind to one another and to themselves.  They are long-time experts in active shooter drills.  We acknowledge them, but I tend to minimize them because their normalcy breaks my heart. 

Later this morning, I put my second grader on a bus.  We still hold hands on the walk to the stop, she still plays with her classmates once we arrive.  Almost 30 kids board the bus everyday – from tiny kindergarteners to lanky fifth graders.  She is becoming an expert in active shooter drills too.  But because she is the age of some children who were shot to death yesterday in Texas, I couldn’t help calculating that the number of kids who didn’t come home last night in Uvalde was about 2/3 of the children on our bus.  I kept thinking about how sad my second grader is for school to be ending soon because she loves her teacher so much – and how traumatized my daughter would be if her teacher had died shielding my daughter and her classmates.  The more I picture standing outside that school waiting for news of my child’s fate, the closer I feel to crumbling in sobs of grief.

Yesterday, I did what we always do after a tragedy.  I quoted scripture on social media in the wake of the news.  “How long, O LORD, must I call for help? But you do not listen!  ‘Violence is everywhere!’ I cry, but you do not come to save.” (Habakkuk 1.2)  This morning as the bus pulled away, those words echoed in my ears, “How long, O LORD?” 

The response from God was stark, “I don’t know.  You tell me!”  I cried out to God yesterday and this morning for help to end this awful system of violence. In response, God reminded me I am God’s feet and hands in this world.  If I want the violence to stop, I can and should certainly pray.  But my prayer must in part be a prayer to summon political courage to actually do something.  And not just for me, but for all of us – those who would have us get rid of every gun in this country and those who would fight to the death for their guns – and everyone in between.  This problem is for all of us.  We are all to blame for massive shootings.  How?  Because in doing nothing, in finding no common ground at all, we are simply praying until the next massive shooting happens.  Whether you need to imagine your own children or your own childhood teacher in the faces of those who have died, allow the utter sorrow and pain to pierce your soul today so that tomorrow you do something – anything – to make a change.  And if you really want to make an impact, find someone whose opinion on gun control is different from yours and start talking about what you can do together to make a change.  That’s my prayer for us today.  That we start answering the question, “How long?” with “I change it today with you.”

Sermon – Acts 9.36-43, John 10.22-30, E4, YC, May 8, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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The imagery from scripture today is so powerful that the fourth Sunday in Easter – in all three years of the lectionary cycle – is unofficially called “Good Shepherd Sunday.”  The metaphor of God as our shepherd is strong in the church; most of us know the image from the twenty-third psalm we heard (sang) today, “The Lord is my Shepherd.”  Jesus refers to himself as the shepherd in John’s gospel three times in chapter ten alone, including in today’s text.  The Good Shepherd text from John is often read at funerals.  The Good Shepherd lesson in Godly Play is one of the most popular – and likely what our children are hearing today in Children’s Chapel.  Even the National Cathedral has a Good Shepherd Chapel.  The carving of Jesus holding a sheep in the Chapel is so beloved the hands and arms of Jesus are a different color stone because so many people have laid their hands on the statue as part of their private devotions in the Chapel.[i]

Countless artists have rendered paintings, sculpture, and stained glass of Jesus with a lamb over his shoulder or cradled in his arms.  But the vulnerability of the sheep Jesus holds makes me uncomfortable, not comforted.  I know this confession says WAY more about me and my extreme desire for independence and control.  Lord knows we all have seasons in life when we need to be scooped up by the shepherd – the last two years of pandemic and national turmoil being a classic example.  But I would much rather be a shepherd for others than to be shepherded. 

I think that is why I liked last week’s gospel so much.  Over the charcoal fire, Jesus offered Peter reconciliation asking him three times whether Peter loved Jesus, and then telling Peter to feed his sheep.  As we talked about last week, Jesus told Peter he would have to reimagine discipleship, and become the I AM, the good shepherd, for Jesus in the world when Jesus could no longer play that role.  As much as we independently minded disciples might prefer this commission, feeling a sense of empowerment over vulnerability, this new role will not be easy.  Anyone who has raised a child or watched a child grow over time knows there’s a point in their development where we can no longer scoop them up when they are in the middle of a meltdown.  No longer able to physically overpower them (or throw them over your shoulder like those beautiful paintings show Jesus doing), we must find other ways to get through the meltdown to the other side of wholeness.

That is why I am so grateful for our story from the Acts of the Apostles today.  If we Jesus is inviting us to be the good shepherd in his stead, and if that does not mean literally wrestling sheep (or toddlers…or people who act like toddlers), what does being shepherds mean?  Peter shows us through his encounter with Dorcas, also known as Tabitha – depending on whether you were using the Greek or Aramaic of her name.[ii]  The reading from Acts tells us Tabitha is a disciple of Jesus – in fact, she is the only woman in scripture to be labeled a disciple.[iii]  We are also told she devotes her life to good works and acts of charity.  Her shepherding discipleship is so powerful that when she dies, disciples send for Peter and tell him to come at once.  Widows – the most vulnerable of society – regale Peter with stories of Tabitha’s faithful leadership, showing him the garments Tabitha had made for them – garments they are literally wearing today!  Peter, understanding that Joppa needed Tabitha’s ministry a bit longer, raises her from the dead so that she can continue her work of shepherding a little longer.[iv] 

Now I know some of you may be thinking, “I don’t want to do so good of a job of discipleship that I can’t be left to die in peace when my time comes!”  Fortunately, most of us will not be that good!  But what our scripture lessons today are inviting us to do is to consider where the world’s (or even our immediate community’s) greatest needs and our greatest gifts intersect – and then how can we use that intersection to be Christ’s disciple, or shepherd, for those around us.  How can James City County or even how can Hickory Neck, use our help to show the love of Jesus to a world that would really rather not be scooped up in loving arms?  The work is not likely to be glamourous – manhandling sheep and making clothes for those who need them is not glamourous work.  But shepherding done well is the kind of work that builds up others, that makes them so whole and full of love they are willing to testify to that love – and hopefully become shepherds themselves.  Being a shepherd is not about control or power, but instead about mutual journey and care.  If that statue in the National Cathedral is any evidence, we all long for loving shepherds in our lives.  Our invitation this week is to see how God can use us to walk through the valley of the shadow of death with others and help them, and consequently ourselves, find refreshment.  Amen.

[i] As explained by the Rev. Patrick Keyser in the Cathedral’s video, https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=263&v=ERQAL9j6xvQ&feature=emb_logo, April 29, 2020.

[ii] Robert Wall, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 429.

[iii] Wall, 429.

[iv] Stephen D. Jones, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 431.

Sermon – Luke 24.1-12, EV/ED, YC, April 16, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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For anyone who has grown up where there is significant snow or ice, you learn a new way of walking during wintery weather.  You cannot just boldly and carefreely step out of the house or car.  You learn a technique that admittedly looks silly from afar but can save many a bruised bottom.  You sort of extend your leg and toe and test out the asphalt.  If that feels steady, you put more of your weight on the foot.  If you are not entirely sure, you can lean back a bit to keep search for an ice-free zone.  Like I said, the technique looks a bit ridiculous, but saves you more often than not.

I have been entering into this new era of pandemic in the same tentative way.  Much of our life has begun to resemble what we remember as “normal”:  no masks required in most places, the elimination of social distancing, the occasional handshake or hug – even the church has reintroduced the common communion cup.  But even with all the changes, I still feel a deep-seeded hesitancy in my being.  I thought when all these things changed, I would want to party and celebrate.  Instead, I find myself leaning back and tipping my toe into the new normal.  My body has been on a rollercoaster for far too long to trust this new, exciting time.

A similar thing seems to be happening in our Easter story today.  The women are initially terrified about the news of the empty tomb.  As they remember Jesus’ foretelling of the event, they excitedly embrace the resurrection – only to have the disciples not believe them.  Peter must go see the empty tomb for himself before he will believe the women.  But his response to the empty tomb is to go home – amazed, certainly – but quietly returning home.  They are not singing the alleluias like we do today.  They are not running around town sharing the Good News.  The are gingerly dipping their toes into Christ’s resurrection, still not sure they can trust the joy of Easter.

Sometimes we are like that.  Last night, we spent an hour retelling the salvation narrative of God – story after story of God’s faithfulness and commitment to save the people, no matter how grave their sinfulness or disloyalty.  Last night, we reaffirmed all the good things about our baptism – the very things that make us faithful Christians – even though we struggle everyday to live into our Christian identity.  Today we are saying countless alleluias, proclaiming the tremendous news of the empty tomb, despite the fact we have sometimes felt far away from God during these last two years.  We are in this sacred place together with people who believe, or want to believe, maybe in new garb, maybe with festive meals waiting for us, and yet there is a hesitancy deep inside us – an unwillingness to fully let go of the weight of all that has been in our lives and believe the alleluias our liturgy has us say.

For us, today, the promise is we are in good company.  What God does in the resurrection of Jesus is unfathomable in Jesus’ day – of course the disciples thought the women were telling an idle tale (and their doubt was not just because they kept forgetting Jesus treated women as equal leaders).  When you have watched your whole life crumble, every dream of what you thought life with Jesus would be disintegrate in 24 hours, pivoting to news this tremendously good is not easy.  And besides, there is a lot more to happen – appearances by Jesus, more teaching, and finally the empowerment to share the Good News from the Holy Spirit.  The toe dipping into Easter joy today is totally reasonable and human.

So is your toe dipping today.  If you are not ready to throw off your outer garment and shout at the mountaintops, “Jesus is Risen!  All is well in the world!” that is totally reasonable and human.  The Church is here to keep telling you the story, to send women with a fantastic tale, to remind you hope is still possible, and joy is inevitable.  But the Church is also here to sit with you in quiet rooms, holding your hand, and whispering Good News until you are ready to step firmly onto the ground without hesitation.  Spring has melted the ice, Easter has brought promise, and Jesus lives.  We are here to take the first steps together.  Amen.

Sermon – Luke 13.1-9, L3, YC, March 20, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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As I have been watching the news about Ukraine, I find that I am in equal measures blown away by the fortitude and commitment of Ukrainians – who by all accounts had no chance in beating powerful Russia, and devastated by the suffering of Ukrainians – starving and trapped inside surrounded cities, attempting to protect children by writing the word “children” outside a safe house, only to have that safe space bombed, and even having maternity wards being fair game for destruction.  As my heart ached the question, “Why?” this week, I was so grateful when I read today’s gospel and see those gathering around Jesus asking Jesus the same question.

In Luke’s gospel today, the people come with two concerns to Jesus.  They want to know why Galilean Jews have suffered at the hand of Pilate, and why many were killed when the tower of Siloam collapsed.  I feel a solidarity in their painful questions, and I have a hopeful longing when Jesus opens his mouth.  But what comes next feels like Jesus has not heard us at all.  In answer to their question of why there has been suffering, Jesus tells this story:  Once upon a time, there was a fig tree that was not bearing fruit and had not borne fruit for three years.  Fed up, the vineyard owner decided to cut down the unproductive tree.  But before the vineyard owner could touch the tree, the gardener made one last plea.  The gardener asked for one more year.  In that year, the gardener would dig around the tree, spreading manure at the roots of the tree.  If after a year of such care the tree still did not produce fruit, then the owner could chop down the tree. 

Now maybe you hear Jesus’ parable today, and you can immediately see the correlation between the question why there is suffering in the world and the parable of the unproductive fig tree.  I was not so lucky this week.  In fact, I found myself staring blankly at this text for days.  Certainly, I understand the question the people ask, since I have been asking that same question for weeks.  And I think I somewhat understand the parable – I mean, what better parable for Lent than one about repentance.  But what I did not understand was why Jesus told this parable to answer our question of why there is suffering in the world.

Fortunately, I stumbled on the work of a biblical scholar.  She describes the idea by poet and healer Pádraig Ó Tuama of the “Buddhist concept of ‘mu,’ or un-asking.  If someone asks a question that’s too small, flat, or confining, Ó Tuama writes, you can answer with this word mu, which means, ‘Un-ask the question, because there’s a better question to be asked.’  A wiser question, a deeper question, a truer question.  A question that expands possibility, and resists fear.”[i]  I think what the poet and the scholar are pointing to is a little like that movie The Karate Kid from the 1980s.  In the movie, the main character wants an old man to teach him karate so he can stand up to the high school bully.  And so, what are the first things the old teacher has him do?  Paint a fence, wax a car, and sand a wooden walkway.  This desperate teen asks for help, and at first glance, the wise teacher is responding in a totally disconnected way.

Of course, in the movie we learn that the teacher’s method is anything but disconnected.  Painting, waxing, and sanding all incorporate the skills needed to master karate.  Jesus is a similar sensei in his telling of this cryptic parable.  In order to help us shift our work of repentance on this third week of Lent, when we ask why, Jesus says “mu.”  As Debie Thomas argues, Jesus “…says “mu” because “why” is just plain not a life-giving question.  Why hasn’t the fig tree produced fruit yet?  Um, here’s the manure, and here’s a spade — get to work.  Why do terrible, painful, completely unfair things happen in this world?  Um, go weep with someone who’s weeping.  Go fight for the justice you long to see.  Go confront evil where it needs confronting.  Go learn the art of patient, hope-filled tending.  Go cultivate beautiful things.  Go look your own sin in the eye and repent of it while you can.  In short: imagine a deeper story.  Ask a better question.  Live a better answer.”[ii] 

Jesus is not unfeeling about our angst about suffering in the world.  I suspect Jesus is grateful for our empathetic hearts.  But this cryptic parable this week is meant to shift us a quarter turn so that we move out of empathetic paralysis and into repentant productivity.  We learn from the parable we will not do this work alone.  We unproductive, rooted trees cannot exactly fertilize and aerate our own soil.  God, the gardener, who graciously asks for more time, will do that work as we focus on moving from being empathetic fig trees with no sustaining fruit, to humble, repentant fig trees who work on improving our own sinful behavior before becoming overwhelmed with the rest of the sinful world.  God will likely have to shovel a lot of manure to help transform our unproductive soil.  But as we weep with others, grab our own spades, confront evil in our own life, and fight for justice through hope-filled tending, we begin the work of asking better questions and living better answers.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, “What Are You Asking?” March 13, 2022, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2944 on March 19, 2022.

[ii] Thomas.

Sermon – Genesis 7.1-5, 11-18, 8.6-18, 9.8-13, UJCCM Lenten Series, March 9, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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This Lent, we as an ecumenical body in Upper James City County are retelling the “salvation narrative” – or at least that is the fancy phrase we use to describe the body of stories that show us time and again God’s saving deeds in history, and how those stories inform how we understand what will happen on Easter Sunday – how the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus will bring the fullness of redemption.  We started last week with the story of creation – the ways in which God lovingly called the created order good and made us in God’s image.  Tonight, we shift to another of the legendary stories – the story of the flood.

This is a story we know and love:  we use Noah’s ark as artwork in babies’ nurseries, I have Noah’s ark in the form of Christmas ornaments, we even sing songs about how God told Noah to build an “ark-y, ark-y” made of “bark-y, bark-y.”  I think we love this story so much because of the good news at the end.  But before we get to the end, we have to wade through a whole lot of a horrible beginning and middle.  You see, despite the goodness of creation, of the ways in which we were made in God’s image, we humans fall into sinfulness.  We do not hear much of that part of the story tonight.  Despite all the verses we did hear, what we do not hear is how horribly sinful humanity has become in Noah’s time.  This sinfulness grieves God so very much that God set God’s mind to do a terrible, awful thing[i].  Those waters out of which God formed the earth – those waters that God used a dome to separate – separate the waters from the waters, God uses to destroy the beautiful creation God has made.  God removes the dome, and the waters came down from the skies and the waters rise up from the ground.[ii] 

From the beginning of this horrible decision, God makes a choice – a choice to save some life instead of recreating life again[iii].  And so, on that ark that Noah builds, floats the people who will repopulate the earth, and the animals that will restore the created order.  We hear very little in scripture what those days are like[iv]:  the panic of rising waters, the death all around them, the solitude and silence of watery chaos, the noise of a bizarrely filled boat.  We have only our imagination to fill in what those desperate days may have been like. 

In some ways, I think Lent is a lot like those days on the boat.  There is the obvious forty days connection, but more telling is the stark reality of sinfulness and judgment.  Imagining the depravity of those days that would drive God to destroy most of creation is not as hard as we might like to think.  Sometimes, I wonder if God is not similarly grieved by us today.  Here we are after two years of a pandemic where our own country spent more time arguing over the supremacy of personal freedom over the call to love one another.  Here we are, for likely the millionth time debating whether there is such a thing as a just war as we watch civilians and children slaughtered in Ukraine.  Here we are divided by political party, divided by socioeconomic status, divided by race, divided by theology into denominations and faiths.  Here we are, refusing as individuals to love all our neighbors as ourselves, and love the Lord our God.  Lent is our season to float in the lapping waters of our sinfulness, wondering whether we should be on that boat or not.

But here’s the funny story about the flood.  This story is not about you.  This story is not even really about Noah, or the animals God saved, or even the rainbow at the end of the story we like to cling to so desperately.  This story is not about our sinfulness and brokenness and inability to live into the image of God in which we are created.  No, this is a story about God.  Everything in this story that we value, that makes this story a “salvation narrative,” is about God’s actions.  The reason we do not hear all the gory details about the lead-up to the flood – the details that even movies have been made about – is because this is a story about salvation, not judgment – on what God does to preserve creation.[v]

One of the exercises I have done with young adults is to talk about images of God.  We create a safe space where we can talk about those images – not just the ones the church likes us to see – of the shepherd caring for the flock, even at times with a lamb on his shoulders, or of the saccharine-y Jesus’ we hang around that look more like an American Jesus than a Middle Eastern Jesus.  Instead, we try to get real with the youth.  The images they often have are of a foreboding man on a throne, an intimidating father figure, or a judge behind a bench.  And when we adults are honest, our images are pretty similar.  But the images of God in this story, as one scholar writes are “striking:  a God who expresses sorrow and regret; a God who judges, but doesn’t want to, and then not in arbitrary or annihilative ways; a God who goes beyond justice and determines to save some creatures, including every animal and bird; a God who commits to the future of a less than perfect world; a God open to change and doing things in new ways; a God who promises never to do this again.  The story reveals and resolves a fundamental tension within God, emphasizing finally, not a God who decides to destroy, but a God who wills to save, who is committed to change based on experience with the world and who promises to stand by the creation.”[vi]

That’s the funny thing about this story.  The flood seems like a story for Lent because we find ourselves as sinful as Noah’s world, and we know we need to change our ways.  Lent is all about repentance after all – a turning from our sinfulness and returning to God.  But here’s the thing: even after the flood (and let’s be honest, even after this Lent), the people will keep going back to sinning.  I mean, we’re just in chapter nine of Genesis:  there is a whole lot more sinning left in the Old Testament for us to read.  Scholars argue, “The flood has effected no change in humankind.  But [the flood] has effected an irreversible change in God.”[vii]  This salvation narrative tells us more about God than ourselves.  God establishes the covenant with humanity and creation to never flood the earth again.  Certainly, there may be judgment again, but never the kind that annihilates the earth.  That rainbow that we love is not meant to remind us of God’s promise, but to remind God of the covenant – the restraint God promises to keep in the midst of well-deserved judgment.[viii]  Every promise God makes, all the salvation narratives we will hear the rest of this Lent, are made possible by the foundation of the promise God makes to Noah.[ix]

So, if this salvation narrative is not about us, does that mean we get a free pass for Lent?  Not exactly.  The real question for us tonight, based on everything we just learned (or remembered) about God, is “So what?”  Professor Patricia Tull argues, “Scripture says that a good and wise God created us good.  We’re capable of great evil, as the flood story says and as we know every day.  But God means for us to be transformed, just as the flood transformed God’s intentions.”[x]  Lent is our opportunity to mirror God’s transformation of intention.  What in your life this year needs transforming?  What have you been holding on to – a grudge, a hurt, an anger, a self-righteous indignation – needs to be released?  God learned in the flood that God could not change humanity – but God could change God’s relationship with humanity.  Our invitation this Lent is not necessarily to change ourselves, and certainly not to try to change others (which never goes well), but to transform our relationships – our relationship with God, our relationships with others, and even our relationship with ourselves.  Use the watery chaos of this Lent to listen through the noise of animals around you to hear the promise of the rainbow come Easter.  Amen.

[i] Leander E. Keck, ed, The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 1 (Nashville:  Abingdon Press, 1994), 394.

[ii] Keck, 392.

[iii] Keck, 394.

[iv] Keck, 389.

[v] Keck, 389.

[vi] Keck, 395.

[vii] Keck, 395.

[viii] Keck, 400.

[ix] Keck, 401.

[x] Patricia Tull, “Commentary on Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18; 8:6-18; 9:8-13,” April 15, 2017, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/vigil-of-easter-3/commentary-on-genesis-71-5-11-18-86-18-98-13 on March 9, 2022.

Sermon – Luke 4.1-13, L1, YC, March 6, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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Having grown up in the mostly Methodist and Baptist South, I grew up a culture that had no problem talking about the devil or Satan.  If you are starting to doubt yourself or are feeling abandoned in some way, a Methodist or Baptist would easily declare, “That’s just the devil trying to pull you away from the Lord.”  My experience with Episcopalians is we are not as comfortable talking about the devil and labeling the devil’s work in our lives.  I am not sure why we get so skittish talking about the devil.  Even the Great Litany, which we [prayed] sang this morning had a lot of “devil” references.  My suspicion is our hesitancy is a fear of sounding superstitious, a general lack of understanding or comfort with talking about the devil, or maybe a little disbelief.  But I must admit, when I have been told that my current troubles were due to the devil meddling in my relationship with God, I have felt oddly better.  There is something quite freeing about naming the devil in the midst of our lives.

Our gospel lesson today highlights why we are so skittish about the devil.  The devil works in the thin space between good and evil.  The three temptations of Jesus from the devil are just ambiguous enough that Jesus could reason his way into responding positively to the devil.  First the devil asks Jesus to turn a stone into bread.  Now if Jesus decides to do such a thing out of self-serving relief, we might align his actions with the devil.  But if Jesus turns the “abundant stones that cover Israel’s landscape into ample food to feed the many hungry people in a land often wracked by famine,”[i] then in good conscience, he might begin to consider the devil’s tempting offer. 

Next, the devil tempts Jesus with the power to rule over all the kingdoms of the world.  Now if Jesus decides to take such authority out of a desire for power and greed, we could easily deem his action as rooted in self-serving sin.  But, if Jesus agrees to take that authority so that he can rule the world with justice, then the deal with the devil becomes a bit murkier.  All we need to remember is heavy hand of Rome in Jesus’ day[ii] or the suffering in Ukraine today to wonder about the devil’s offer of turning suffering to justice.

Finally, the devil tempts Jesus to prove God’s protective care.  Now if Jesus were jumping from the pinnacle of the temple just to show off how protected he is, then we could judge Jesus to be behaving in a sinful way.  But Jesus is committing to a tremendous journey.  Seeking some assurance God will care for Jesus does not seem like that much to ask.  The devil’s work is to constantly keep picking away at trusting relationships with God, fostering mistrust between God and God’s people.[iii]

Several years ago, the film Doubt received several Oscar nominations.  The movie explored a Catholic Church and School where the head nun accused the priest of sexual misconduct.  But the story is presented so ambiguously that even by the end of the movie the viewer is not sure if abuse took place or not.  This is that thin place between truth and lies, between trust and mistrust where the devil thrives.  And truthfully, even in the movie, with whom the devil is cooperating is unclear.  This is the danger in all our lives today – the lines between God’s work and the devil’s work are so close that we have a hard time naming the devil in our lives.

Luckily Jesus’ responses to the devil give us some guidance today.  In each of the three temptations, Jesus leans on his deep understanding of Holy Scripture.  We see how powerful Jesus’ scriptural responses are because the devil attempts to distort this strength as well.  In the third temptation, the devil quotes scripture himself, trying to lure Jesus back into that thin place.  But Jesus cannot be fooled.  Jesus knows that the devil is using partial scripture citations that can be misleading out of context.[iv]  Jesus knows a dependence on Holy Scripture will support him in his weakness.

As we begin our Lenten journey, today’s gospel lesson gives us much to ponder.  First, we are invited into a time of pondering how the devil might be acting in the thin spaces between our faithfulness and sinfulness, manipulating our mistrust of God for the devil’s gain.  To understand how the devil might be acting, we will need to first label the areas of our lives with which we do not entrust to God: a particular relationship, a big decision, something challenging at work or at home, or an uncertain future.  These are areas that are most susceptible to the devil squeezing his way into our lives.  Next, Jesus invites us into a deeper relationship with Scripture this Lent.  We have already seen how Holy Scripture sustains Jesus at his weakest hour.  Whatever your Lenten practice, consider how you might incorporate some Scripture reading into your week, whether on your own or with one of our Lenten offerings.  You may be surprised at the parallels in scripture and your own life.  Finally, we are invited this Lent to lean into one another and to God.  If Jesus can lean on God in his weakness, we can lean on God in our weakness too, even if we are not totally ready to trust God with all of ourselves.  Just admitting our hesitancy is the first step to kicking the devil out of our thin spaces.  Amen.

[i] Sharon H. Ringe, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 47.

[ii] Ringe, 49.

[iii] David Lose, as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/dear_wp.aspx?article_id=668 on February 15, 2013.

[iv] Darrell Jodock, “Antidote for Temptation,” Christian Century, vol. 112, no. 6, Feb. 22, 1995, 203. 

Sermon – Luke 6.27-38, EP7, YC, February 20, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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Last week, we talked about the differences between Matthew’s version of Jesus’ famous beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount and Luke’s version of the same beatitudes from the Sermon on the Plain.  If you recall, in Luke’s version, Jesus comes down to a level place, and speaks to the disciples eye to eye, conveying an intimacy to his instructions with the disciples.  In Luke’s beatitudes, the epiphany we have is not so much about Jesus’ identity, like in the visitation of the magi, his baptism, or in the wedding of Cana, but instead is an epiphany about what living with Jesus will be like:  loving our neighbor, seeking and serving Christ in others, striving for justice and peace, and respecting the dignity of every human being – the very promises we make in our baptismal covenant.

In today’s lesson, Jesus goes from making eye contact with us to turning our eyes to make eye contact with those around us.  When we love our neighbor, seek and serve Christ in others, strive for justice and peace, and respect the dignity of every human being, Jesus tells us those neighbors and those others must include our enemies.  And this is where this week’s epiphany becomes more difficult.  This passage often hits us in the gut by that simple word, “enemies.”  Our minds go to the worst:  the violent murderer, the manipulative sexual offender, the blatant endorser of racial discrimination, or the oppressive governmental dictator.  But the harder enemies are those “little” enemies much closer to home:  the disruptive neighbor who disrespects common space, the colleague with whom you avoid certain topics of discussion to keep the peace, the student at school who is so subtle with their bullying no one else sees her as a bully, or that anonymous writer in the Last Word whose opinion makes you seethe with anger.  When we consider those “little enemies,” Jesus’ instruction to not judge, not condemn, to forgive, to share, and to love become a checklist of good behavior we are not sure we can keep. 

A few years ago, the Greater Williamsburg area kicked off a commitment to becoming a community of kindness with a rallying event.  The former Mayor of Anaheim, California, Tom Tait, who had run on a campaign of kindness, was the keynote speaker.  Mayor Tait talked about his time on City Council in Anaheim, how part of his work felt like a game of whack-a-mole.  Each month, some crisis or community problem would arise – violence in the community, the prevalence of drugs, problems in the public schools.  And the City Council’s response felt trying to put a Band-Aid on another problem – to whack at the problem to temporarily knock the problem out.  But those solutions never really made a deep impact.  What Mayor Tait saw was all those problems were like symptoms – symptoms of a city that was facing an internal sickness.  The only way to heal the internal sickness was to commit as a city to transform their entire way of operating.  Mayor Tait believed transformation would occur by committing to kindness.  To many, the idea sounded a little too pie-in-the-sky.  But once elected, Mayor Tait was forced to try to live out the reality of kindness.  With every decision, every major action, the community wondered together what would reflect kindness.  And slowly, the illness in the system began to heal.  Kindness was not a Band-Aid, but a system-altering antidote to a host of problems.

In a lot of ways, that is what Jesus is talking about today.  Yes, the things Jesus is talking about are commands – a list of ways to love one another – even our enemies.  But Jesus is not just talking about commands.  As one scholar describes, “Jesus isn’t offering a set of simple rules by which to get by or get ahead in this world but is inviting us into a whole other world.  A world that is not about measuring and counting and weighing and competing and judging and paying back and hating and all the rest.  But instead is about love. Love for those who have loved you.  Love for those who haven’t.  Love even for those who have hated you.  That love gets expressed in all kinds of creative ways, but often come through by caring – extending care and compassion and help and comfort to those in need – and forgiveness – not paying back but instead releasing one’s claim on another and opening up a future where a relationship of …love is still possible.”[i] 

What Jesus is doing is trying to, “inculcate, and illustrate, an attitude of heart, a lightness of spirit in the face of all that the world can throw at you.”  We are to assume this new way of being because “that’s what God is like.  God is generous to all people, generous…to a fault:  [God] provides good things for all to enjoy, the undeserving as well as the deserving.  [God] is astonishingly merciful…”  As N. T. Wright adds, “…this list of instructions is all about which God you believe in – and about the way of life that follows as a result.”[ii]  When we take Jesus seriously, and embrace this new way of being, the way that leads to love, life can be “exuberant, different, astonishing.  People [will] stare.”[iii]

That is our epiphany invitation today:  to loosen our grip on love and allow love to flow as freely as the abundance of God’s love for the world.  This is not an invitation to grin and bear niceness, like a grumbled “bless his heart.”  Instead, this is an invitation to live in way that is contrary to our very human nature.[iv]  As you imagine all those little enemies you may be feeling today’s invitation is impossible.  And on your own, loving those little enemies is impossible.  But you are not on your own.  Not here at Hickory Neck.  You have a community of faithful seekers – of people who long to follow Jesus – and who have just as many little enemies as you – in fact some of them may even be in this room.  But with Christ and this community of the faithful, we leave this place knowing that the Holy Spirit will enable us to let go of our desperate, possessing grip on God’s love, and instead allow that love to flow through us to everyone – because there is more than enough love for us all to share.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Epiphany 7 C:  Command or Promise?” February 22, 2019, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2019/02/epiphany-7-c-command-or-promise/ on February 19, 2022.

[ii] N.T. Wright, Luke for Everyone (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 73-74.

[iii] Wright, 74.

[iv] Charles Bugg, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 384.

Sermon – Luke 6.17-26, EP6, YC, February 12, 2022

25 Wednesday May 2022

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Today’s gospel lesson is Luke’s version of what is called “the beatitudes” or set of blessings from Jesus.  Most of us are more familiar with, or maybe even prefer, Matthew’s version of the beatitudes.  Matthew’s version has eight blessings as opposed to Luke’s four.  Matthew’s version happens on a mountain and is part of a larger section called the “Sermon on the Mount.”  Matthew’s full sermon is 107 verses, whereas Luke’s is just 32.  Matthew’s version of the Beatitudes within the Sermon on the Mount is more poetic and flowery – claiming the “poor in spirit” are blessed, making us all feel included, whereas Luke simply says “blessed are you who are poor.”  Matthew’s version has been set to music by masters like Sweet Honey in the Rock.  However, some scholars argue that Matthew’s Beatitudes “domesticate the radical pronouncement so that it comfortably fits ‘us’ who by no means meet its criteria,” and that over generations “the prophetic word became hollow and even more watered down than Matthew had rendered it.”[i]

Luke’s version we hear today is quite different, and often sits with us much more uncomfortably.  Luke’s version of the Beatitudes is not delivered from high on a mountain, but instead on the plain, or on “‘a level place’ with the disciples and the multitude, not on a mount above them.”[ii]  Aesthetically, Luke’s version is more plain, more abrupt, and quite frankly, a little “judge-y.”  Whereas Matthew has eight blessings, Luke pairs his four blessings with four woes.  So, if the poor are blessed and to whom the kingdom of God belongs, woe to the rich, for they have received their consolation.   Whereas the hungry are blessed and promised full bellies, those who are full now are promised hunger later.  Even those laughing and honored in their communities are promised tears and shame.  There is no sentimentalizing Luke’s beatitudes.  Most of us read Luke’s gospel and know that we are in for a lot of woe!

Of course, there is a reason we get Luke’s beatitudes this Epiphany season.  In this season of revelations about Jesus’ identity, the beatitudes follow a long run of epiphanies.  We started with the Magi in early January; heard of Jesus’ baptism and the pronouncement of Jesus’ blessedness (and shared that same pronouncement with our beloved Reed and Zenora); we heard of the changing of water into wine in Cana; the pronouncement of Jesus as the coming of the Messiah – a message so strong he was almost pushed over a cliff; and last Sunday, of an instruction by Jesus that led to so much fish nets almost broke. 

Today’s beatitudes from Luke are another epiphany – but not an epiphany of who Jesus is:  more an epiphany about what life with Jesus is.  As we look at Luke’s beatitudes this week, I do not think Jesus is being all that judge-y after all.  We already see in this version that Jesus is not speaking down to us but speaking among us in the level plain.  We also find that although Jesus opens his mouth in Matthew’s version, in Luke’s version, Jesus focuses his eyes.[iii]  The text says, “Jesus looked up at his disciples…”  There is an intimacy to Luke’s version of these blessings.  But perhaps more telling is looking at the word “woe” itself.  Karoline Lewis tells us that the word “woe” in the Greek lexicon is an interjection.  “Jesus, is not about pitting blessings against curses or favor against judgment.  Jesus is trying to get the disciples’ attention.  He is trying to get our attention.”  And so, as Lewis argues, perhaps instead of reading these “woes” as curses – or as the word W-O-E – we should read the woes as “whoas” – W-H-O-A.[iv] 

“Whoa!  Listen closely,” Jesus says as he gets down to our level and looks us in the eyes.  Whoa, you who are comfortable.  “The poor and the hungry know the reality of their situation.  They are totally dependent on God and therefore are disposed to entrust themselves to God’s care and mercy, which is the foundation of grace and a right relationship with God.”  Us, however, whoa!  We are “disposed to take comfort in [ourselves] and [our] resources, thereby finding it more difficult to trust [ourselves] to the mercy and grace of God.”[v]  Jesus is not telling us to glorify suffering and persecution with the hope of a future reward.  Jesus is saying, “Whoa! It’s time to ‘reorient relationships and reverse social, economic, and political injustices so that [we] gain right standing in the eyes of God.’[vi]

Our invitation today is to hear what whoas God has for us today.  Maybe we have gotten a little too comfortable with our creature comforts, maybe we have forgotten the hungry, maybe we have ignored those who are grieving and struggling – especially in this pandemic, or maybe we have begun to believe the hype about ourselves – resting in the respect people grant us instead of earning that respect.  Jesus’ whoa today is not a curse.  Jesus’ whoa today is an intimate pulling aside and an invitation to remember what following Jesus is all about:  loving our neighbor, seeking and serving Christ in all persons, striving for justice and peace, and respecting the dignity of every human being.  We made those promises just a few short weeks ago.  Jesus is simply telling us, “Whoa!  Remember who you are as a disciple – as a baptized child of God.”  And I like to imagine, since we are on a level plain, Jesus gives us solid pat on the shoulder, and tells us to get back out there and share those blessings with others:  because he knows we can.  Amen.

[i] David L. Ostendorf, “Theological Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 356.

[ii] Ostendorf, 358.

[iii] Gay L. Byron, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 359.

[iv] Karoline Lewis, “Woes and Whoas,” February 6, 2022, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/woes-and-whoas on February 12, 2022.

[v] Howard K. Gregory, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 358.

[vi] Byron, 361.