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Homily – I Kings 18.20-39, P4, YC, June 2, 2013

05 Wednesday Jun 2013

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Having gotten through Pentecost and Trinity Sunday, we now enter the season the church calls “ordinary time.”  But there is nothing ordinary about the lessons we get during this time.  This Sunday’s Old Testament lesson is a classic example.  King Ahab is one of the worst kings the Israelites have had.  He encourages worship of Baal, the god who is supposed to bring water to fertilize the soil, in addition to the God of Israel.  But there has been a three-year drought in the land, and Elijah is going to use this opportunity to prove the Israelites wrong about Baal.  So he challenges the prophets of Baal to a duel.  Whoever can get their god to rain fire upon the bull sacrifice will be the true God.  So the Baal prophets spend all day praying to Baal, dancing around the altar, going to extremes such as cutting themselves to get Baal to perform.  The whole time Elijah mocks them.  Then Elijah dramatically gets his sacrifice ready, and even has the Israelites pour water all over the wood, just to prove how awesome Yahweh is when Yahweh rains a fire down that consumes the whole thing.  One could argue that Elijah is being a bit rude, if not pompous, in this story.  But what Elijah is actually revealing is an intense, deep trust in God – a trust that is so profound that he is willing to make bold statements without hesitation about God in front of everyone.

One of the things Elijah accuses the people of is limping along with two different opinions – not entirely sure that God will care for them, so investing devotion to Baal just in case.  Too often we are like the Israelites.  We too can be found only sort of trusting God, and putting our trust in other things – just in case.  We lack Elijah’s boldness because we are just not as sure as he is.  I have seen that lack of total trust just in these last several months.  Since I came here about a year and a half ago, we have been working hard, making lots of changes.  But I see the hard work is taking a toll.  We are getting tired and I am not sure we are convinced all our work will pay off.  And so we are beginning to hold back.  I noticed the reaction first in myself.  The questions started bubbling up:  Can we make this work?  Will we have the money?  Will we have the energy?  Do we have the same chutzpah that Elijah has?  I have noticed us starting to eye one another, as we peer over what feels like a cliff.  There is this sort of stand-off:  If you jump, I’ll jump.  We are like the Israelites.  Elijah says to them, “How long will you go limping with two different opinions?  If the LORD is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him.”  The text says that the Israelites do not answer him a word.

In contrast to all of this is Elijah.  He has a brazen trust in God.  He is so bold that he mocks others; he has water poured on the wood, not just once, but three times; only then does he call down the fire from God.  Even after three years of draught, Elijah does not doubt that God will give a sign to the people – he trusts that God does not abandon God’s people.

In the midst of our silent stand-off, I see a glimpse of Elijah in all of us too.  Just watching us at the Parade last week gave me hope.  Over twenty of us gathered to walk – even those of us who have told me that they do not feel comfortable with evangelism at all.  And when we gathered, I watched us talking to friends and strangers, having meaningful conversations, handing out our business cards, smiling, and waving.  These are actions that show a bold trust in God.  Our invitation is to hold on to that trust, to stop limping along with two opinions, and to just jump off that cliff with each other.  I am willing to make that jump, and I know that God will enable us to jump together.  And when we do, we will say those same words that the Israelites proclaim when they witness God’s power:  The LORD indeed is God; the LORD indeed is God.  Amen.

A spark…

29 Wednesday May 2013

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One of the things we have been looking at as a parish is how to more intentionally engage in evangelism.  The conversation has not been easy.  We have all been victim of an overzealous religious person who has made us feel uncomfortable.  A few of us have hidden behind closed curtains from someone knocking at our door to share their testimony.  Some of us have crossed on the opposite side of the street from the guy with a Bible, a loud voice, and a handful of tracts.  And of course, we ourselves have begun to overcompensate, avoiding talking about our faith altogether in non-church circles for fear of becoming “that guy.”

But we have been prayerfully working on seeing evangelism not as uncomfortable, out-of-touch haranguing, but as a grace-filled conversation about the goodness and grace of God in our lives.  We have been prayerfully considering how we can create the environment for such conversations.  And we looking at ways to meet people where they are, knowing that we cannot expect to share the Good News if we stay closed up in our church.

Perhaps without even realizing it, this week we did just that.  Last Wednesday, we gathered with people of faith throughout the Plainview-Old Bethpage community and made 495 sandwiches to feed our hungry neighbors.  We shared the work together, we got to know people from other faith traditions and communities, and we prayerfully thought of the men and women whose lives would be touched by our strokes of peanut butter and jelly.

Then, on Monday, over twenty of our parishioners gathered to walk in the Plainview Memorial Day Parade.  I watched as parishioners, clad in St. Margaret’s gear, shook the hands of old friends, had conversations with strangers, and waved with gusto.  As we walked, I overheard onlookers wondering about our Garden of Eatin’ (check out our Facebook page for our fun shirts, props, and banners), talking about where we were located, and not-so-subtly realizing I was the priest.

After the walk, parishioners re-gathered at the church, and planted our Grow to Give Garden.  Our garden is located near the road that our church faces, and I can see that the garden might be a great invitation into our property.  The garden already has brought young and old together.  I am hoping it might also bring parishioner and non-parishioner together too.

handshakeThis week, we started the work of evangelism.  My hope is that the experience gives us some energy around keeping it up.  I am already considering what local establishments I might begin to frequent when I do my sermon preparation.  The Vestry is beginning to ask some of our committees and groups to consider moving off campus to better be seen by and to encounter our community.  Our work is just beginning, but this weekend gave me the spark to keep it up.  See you at a local Starbucks, Cosi, or Panera soon!!

Sermon – John 16.12-15, TS, YC, May 26, 2013

29 Wednesday May 2013

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When I was in seminary, I audited a class entitled, “Living Biblically:  Money, Sex, Power, Violence, and The Meaning of Life.”  The title alone made me want to take the class.  The class spent the quarter studying Jesus’ words and actions for some clues.  Of course, I did not leave the class with all the answers.  But the one thing that stuck with me from the class was this:  when looking for answers to “What would Jesus do?” you have to look at not only what Jesus says, but also what he does.  That may sound simple and obvious enough, but what we slowly began to realize is that what Jesus says and what Jesus does are often opposites.  So, if you look at what Jesus says, you find some pretty harsh words about how to live life and who is to be judged.  But if you look at what Jesus does, you find him living in a much more permissive and forgiving way.  We came to see Jesus as one with high standards and a low threshold for forgiveness and grace.  Of course, that did not mean we got all of our answers to our 21st Century questions about money, sex, power, violence, and the meaning of life, let alone answers to our questions about science, technology, and our modern world.

That is why I find our gospel lesson today so comforting.  Our lesson from John today is part of Jesus’ farewell speech with his disciples – his last words during that Last Supper.  You can imagine the hushed room, the feeling of something ominous approaching, the questions by the disciples, and the ever-patient Jesus trying to explain all the things they need to know.  Finally, Jesus utters these words today, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.”  You can almost hear the frustration in his voice, as if he is saying, “I wish I could explain everything to you now fully, but I just can’t.”  In the midst of the weight of such a conversation, Jesus promises something better than they could possibly imagine:  the Holy Spirit.  Jesus explains that Holy Spirit will come and will continue to guide the disciples.  All of the things that they cannot understand now, all of the things Jesus cannot say, will be revealed to them through the Holy Spirit in the years to come.  Though Jesus will be physically absent from them, Jesus will be continually present with them through the Holy Spirit, revealing truth and perhaps even revealing what Jesus would do.

I think why I find this passage so comforting is not simply because we are promised the presence of God with us.  What I find comforting about this passage is that truth is not locked away in some book or some person from two thousand years ago.  Truth is accessible here and now through the Holy Spirit.  We call our scriptures the Living Word because the Holy Spirit enlivens the Word and speaks truth to us, even today.  This is also why we still have the community of faith– because the Holy Spirit creates for us fresh encounters with the revelation of Jesus.[i]  Jesus knew that our changing circumstances would bring new questions and challenges that would require us to think afresh, and Jesus promises the Holy Spirit will get us through.

On this Trinity Sunday, I am grateful that we get this passage.  Although we just had Pentecost, the Church is not always great about talking about the Holy Spirit.  Sure, we regularly say the Trinitarian combination “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” liturgically, but rarely do we give the Holy Spirit the credit the Holy Spirit is due.  I think the challenge is that we fear the Holy Spirit a little too much.  When we hear talk of the Holy Spirit, we are afraid someone is going to start acting strangely and then claim they were slain in the Spirit.  We are afraid that “the movement of the Holy Spirit” is just code for the movement that a particular person or group wants.  We are afraid our worship will become some seventies, hippie version of God to whom we cannot relate.  I know we are afraid or at least uncomfortable because I cannot remember the last Episcopalian I know, including myself, who began a prayer addressing the Holy Spirit as opposed to God or Jesus.

But this is how I know that the Holy Spirit is still present among us, guiding us to all truth.  One of the primary areas I see the movement of the Holy Spirit is in the practice of preaching.  I always say that somewhere between the preacher and the congregation is the Holy Spirit.  Preaching does not work without the Holy Spirit.  I cannot tell you the number of times I have sat down after preaching a sermon and thought that the sermon was probably the worst one I have ever preached.  But without fail, the sermons I think are the worst often receive positive feedback.  I also cannot tell you the number of times I have gotten into the pulpit with a specific message in mind, only to have a parishioner speak to me later about how something I said was so meaningful to them – only I swear I never said what they think I said.  Somehow the Holy Spirit helps the preacher to glean truth, and the Holy Spirit helps the congregation to glean truth.  Those truths may not be the same truths, but they are truths that lead us closer to God – which is what Jesus promises in our gospel lesson anyway.

Now, I do not mean to insinuate that this revelation only comes through preaching.  Revelation comes throughout our lives together.  The revelation of the Holy Spirit comes in that friend, coworker, or schoolmate who says something so profound that their words stick with you for weeks, and leads you into deeper prayer.  The revelation of the Holy Spirit comes in Bible Study or in an outreach activity when some experience leaves you with a profound sense of the holy in your life.  The revelation of the Holy Spirit comes in the mouths of our children, who say the most sacred and surprising things that open up new truth in unexpected ways.

This is why we dedicate an entire Sunday to celebrating the Trinity.  Without the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit, we would not experience our spiritual journey in the same way.  Perhaps we are not truly comfortable labeling the Holy Spirit in our lives or praying to the Holy Spirit, but that does not mean that the Holy Spirit is not ever present in our journey – in fact, making that journey possible in the first place.  We take today to celebrate the mysterious nature of all three persons who make up the one substance of the Trinity[ii] because only through this relational nature of the Trinity is our faith enlivened and is truth revealed.  So today, your invitation is to figure out your invitation.  Perhaps your invitation is to pray with a person of the Trinity that you have been avoiding for a while.  Perhaps your invitation is to listen for the ways that the Holy Spirit is revealing truth to you.  Or perhaps your invitation is to see the movement of the Holy Spirit through others this week.  On this Trinity Sunday, there is no way of avoiding invitation.  The question is which invitation is for you?  Amen.

[i] Eugene C. Bay, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 46.

[ii] Philip Turner, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 44.

Homily – Genesis 1.14-19, Nicolaus Copernicus and Johannes Kepler, May 23, 2013

29 Wednesday May 2013

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Today we celebrate Nicolaus Copernicus and Johannes Kepler.  Both lived in the 1500s, although they were born about a century apart.  If you remember, Copernicus was the first to put out the theory that the sun, rather than the earth, was the center of the universe, around which the planets rotated.  Kepler helped solidify this theory.  Both men saw no conflict between their theory and their faith.  Copernicus dedicated his work to the Pope, and Kepler saw in the relationship between the sun and the rotating planets the image of God.  But as you may also remember, religious thought was uncomfortable with this idea.  A great debate ensued, as though science and religion could not operate together.

Truthfully, I am not sure we have ever recovered from this debate.  There are still Christians who believe faith and science are not compatible.  Many centuries after Copernicus and Kepler, we are still pushing scientific minds away from the church.  I think part of the challenge is that our favorite stories from Scripture, especially like the part of the creation story we heard today, do not always make logical sense.  As we become older, we fear that if we start questioning those stories, our whole faith might unravel.

But the saints of God have been telling us differently for centuries, if we are willing to hear.  Copernicus saw no conflict between his theory and the authority of Scripture.  Kepler was able see the image of God in his work.  “Both men, through their life’s work, testified to the extraordinary presence of God in creation and maintained, in the face of both religious and scientific controversy, that science can lead us more deeply into an understanding of the workings of the Creator.”

Just over our vacation, we had coffee with an old friend.  She had been struggling with her faith because she saw so many discrepancies between what she knew as a scientist and teacher and as a woman of faith.  In our conversation, I was reminded of a campaign the Episcopal Church ran many years ago.  It said, “Jesus died to take away your sins, not your mind.”  Like the beauty and wonder of this place we live in that God created, God also created us in God’s image.  God invites us every day to live fully into the gifts, talents, and mind that God has given us.  Amen.

 

Seeds of hope…

22 Wednesday May 2013

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Planting This weekend our parish will plant the vegetables in our Garden of Eatin’ – a Grow to Give Garden that will feed our neighbors in need.  As we prepare for the day, I am overwhelmed with emotion – pride, satisfaction, joy, and hope.  A garden to feed others may seem simple enough, but this project has been a bit of a microcosm of what our parish is facing in general.  We are a tough parish that has survived some hard times.  The tenor of our parish has been transformed in the last couple of years into a place of hopefulness and joy, but our history has not left us unscarred.  Out of our history, and perhaps with a little human nature sprinkled in, change has become something to dread rather than to eagerly anticipate.  Of course every church, and probably every individual, does not actually like change, but I believe our tenacious will to survive has resulted in a deeper desire to control, and therefore a fear of change.

From that perspective then, you can see why I am so excited about this garden.  This garden represents the best and the worst of us.  At our worst, we worry about using our property in an alternative and perhaps detrimental way.  If there is to be change, we want to make sure every single detail has been considered by every single person.  We fear the long-term impact of taking on a project that will need long-term care.  But at our best, we see the wealth of our eleven acres and want to share that wealth in a new way.  We see neighbors who need food that we can grow.  We know we will get to know each other a lot better with dirty hands and sweaty brow than we might in our Sunday best.  And we dream that our labor might be a tangible witness to the power of God’s love in our community.

So for me, digging into that dirt, and planting those seeds and seedlings this weekend, is a proclamation that we will be the best version of ourselves.  We will take the uncertain road, we will submit to change, and we will open our hands to our God who will use those hands for good.  A garden may not seem like a big deal to others, but to me, this garden is a bold statement about who we have been, who we are, and who we want to be.

Homily – Psalm 71.1-8, Bishop Athanasius, May 2, 2013

10 Friday May 2013

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Today we honor Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria.  Athanasius is a major figure in Church history and in the theological world.  Rarely in the history of the Church has the course of its development been more significantly determined by one person than by Athanasius in the forth century.  Called “the pillar of the Church” and “the God-given physician of her wounds,” Athanasius was a key voice at the Council of Nicea in 325 as they debated the divinity of Christ.  Athanasius was the one who crafted the words from our Nicene Creed, “of one Being with the Father.”  When he became bishop in 328, he fearlessly defended Nicene Christology – five times he was exiled for his efforts.  We are indebted to Athanasius for his theological work – some of the most accessible I have read – and yet all of that work came at great personal cost.

I wonder if Athanasius ever prayed the Psalm we prayed today, “in you, O LORD, have I taken refuge; let me never be ashamed.  In your righteousness, deliver me and set me free; incline your ear to me and save me.  Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe…”  Surely once or twice in exile Athanasius cried out those words to God.

Of course, few of us know the desperation of being exiled from our country for defending a theological truth.  But we do know what it feels like to call out to God – to call out to God when we know we are doing the right thing, but we are paying for it.  When friends cut us off or family members shut us out, we too may have asked God to incline God’s ear to us.  We know what it feels like to only feel assurance through the God that is our strong rock.

What I like about Athanasius’ story is that during this last exile, the Emperor had to bring him back because the citizens threatened insurrection unless Athanasius was returned.  When Athanasius stood his ground, staked his claim on Truth, God, even in exile, was a castle to keep him safe.  What Athanasius’ experience reminds us of is that even in times that seem hopeless (like a fifth exile), God is with us, keeping us safe and making things better all the while.  Our invitation today is to remember that God is our strong rock and to let our mouths be “full of God’s praise and God’s glory all the day long”…even in exile!  Amen.

A confession…

01 Wednesday May 2013

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One of the things I find fascinating about teenagers, especially as a priest, is how difficult it can sometimes be to have a deep conversation.  I do not know if it is the collar, if I am particularly uncool, or if my timing is off (I suppose right before a Sunday 8:30 am Eucharist might not be the best time!), but there are times when I get one-word answers or blank looks.  Even in our confirmation class this year, I found that the teens were willing to ask big questions, but my responses did not evoke much extended dialogue.

So imagine my pleasant surprise this Sunday to see how our confirmands led worship.  They read scripture, served as ushers and chalicists, prayed the prayers of the people, and preached with confidence.  I was particularly nervous about the sermon because the preacher did not seem to want much guidance from me in her preparation.  But her sermon blew me away.  I found myself nodding at her insightful words, wanting to say aloud, “Yes!”  Her words were prophetic, perceptive, and powerful.

After service on Sunday, my perspective shifted a bit.  First, I began to realize that the way I judge meaning may not be a true indicator of meaning.  Just because I feel like I am not getting the feedback I am looking for from a teen does not mean that something meaningful is not happening.

But second, and much more importantly, I think that teens are getting a bad rep from people like me.  The truth is that I know an equal amount of adults who are unable or unwilling to have deep, meaningful conversations.  We are all a bit guarded about the things that make us uncomfortable, and our faith is probably one of the biggest areas in our lives that make us feel uncomfortable – because we are not sure how to explain some of the things we believe, or we worry someone will point out some basic biblical or theological concept that we do not know.  In fact, one of the major reasons that adults give for not wanting to teach teens is that they are afraid the teens will ask a question that they don’t know how to answer.

multi-generationalIn order for us to have deeper, more meaningful, and more authentic conversations about our faith, our invitation today is to do a little more listening and a lot less judging.  Our invitation today is to let go of the fear we have of embarrassment and be honest about what we are still figuring out about the mystery of God.  Our invitation today is to remember that only through our collective sharing – from our three- to our thirteen- to our thirty- to our sixty-three-year-olds – will we begin to hear the fullness of God’s voice among us.

Finding joy in exhaustion…

24 Wednesday Apr 2013

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hands_teamThis month has been one of those months at church that has been super busy.  Three out of four Saturdays have had events, and Sundays have been full too.  That alone can be exhausting, as many of us have commiserated.  But I was thinking about it today, and the truth is that all of the things we are doing are a big deal.  I think that some of our exhaustion is not just because our weekends have been full, but that the things that have been filling our time are emotionally and spiritually significant.

Two weekends ago, our Vestry had our annual retreat.  During that time we were exploring our evangelism efforts here in Plainview and imagining how we might reinvent some of our space to welcome visitors.  Both think about going out into the community and rearranging our own house raised all sorts of apprehensions and anxieties.

Last weekend, we put the soil in our new Garden of Eatin’ – a Grow to Give garden that will allow us to feed our hungry neighbors this summer.  The work was fun, took a physical toll, and brought on a mixture of emotions.  Like any new project, this project has brought a whole host of conversation and at times, conflict.  So in some ways, seeing things moving was completely refreshing and life-giving.  But we still have a ways to go before emotions are completely settled.

Later that afternoon, we held our Annual High Tea.  What I loved about the event was that the attendees ranged widely – total strangers to our church, friends of parishioners, and then a good dose of parishioners.  Now if only we can be as bold to invite those folks on Sundays as we are to invite them to our tea, we would be heading in the right direction.  But thinking about that practice can bring anxiety too.

Finally, this coming weekend, we have two major events.  First six of our teens are being confirmed at the Cathedral.  Although this comes at the end of months of preparation, I really see this as a beginning for them.  They declare on that day that they are ready to take more intentional steps in their journey with God.  It is a declaration made without certainty, but faith that God will be with them along the way.

On Sunday, our confirmands will lead us in worship as they serve in various roles.  We will conclude that service with a parish wide conversation about our ministry and mission here in Plainview.  This is a conversation that parishes throughout the diocese are having.  I am excited to see where the conversation goes, but I know that even this conversation will lead to some tough questions and uncomfortable answers.

What makes me happy about all of this is that this is all good stuff.  That does not mean all of it is easy or does not make us spiritually or emotionally drained.  But if we are not feeling drained, then we are not letting this work really do what it needs to do among us.  So as tired as we are, I hope you can hang in there with me.  I think God is doing great things among us.

Sermon – Psalm 23, E4, YC, April 21, 2013

24 Wednesday Apr 2013

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One of the most familiar pieces of scripture is the 23rd Psalm.  Today we hear the BCP version of the psalm, but most of us know the psalm in the King James Version.  In fact, the Prayer Book even has the King James Version printed within the Burial office because that translation is so familiar and comforting to us.  This is the psalm we turn to when we are steeped in anxiety.  This is the psalm we turn to when a loved one is facing serious illness.  This is the psalm we turn to when death finally comes.

I have been particularly grateful for this psalm this week.  This week has felt like a tremendous “valley of the shadow of death.”  We started the week with the horrible bombing in Boston.  Not only did we lose lives, and were many people horribly injured and maimed, but also something of the innocent joy of that sporting event was taken away.  But the week just kept getting worse.  After powerful testimonies from the Newtown families, the Senate still could not pass legislation around background checks for guns.  I know that gun control is a sensitive political topic, but for many people, the Senate’s not passing this bill felt like an acquiescence to the violence in our country.  Then just a day later, a horrible explosion happened in Texas, killing many.  After the past six months, which have included Hurricane Sandy and Newtown, this week makes our valley of the shadow of death seem more and more barren, and perhaps unending.

Of course that is only our own American valley of the shadow of death.  That valley does not include the hundreds of places around the world where bombings happen every day.  The American valley does not include the places where villages are ravaged by HIV/AIDS, where children are starving, and where violence threatens whole ethnic groups.  Just this week, the night one of the Boston bombers was killed, a bomb went off in Baghdad in a coffee shop, killing 27 people and injuring over 50.  If we really tracked the worldwide and domestic news everyday, we may not feel as though we are just walking in the valley of the shadow of death, but instead our entire world has been exiled to a permanent valley of darkness and death.

But the reason I have been so drawn to the 23rd Psalm this week has not only been because of the poignancy of the valley.  I have also been drawn to this psalm because of the richness of comfort, blessing, and peace in this psalm.  In fact, in some ways, the valley is mentioned in passing to highlight the ways that God cares for us so abundantly.  Frederick Buechner wrote about a worship service that happened immediately after September 11th, in which a speaker said, “At times like these, God is useless.”  Buechner writes, “When I first heard of it, it struck me as appalling, and then it struck me as very brave, and finally it struck me as true.  When horrors happen we can’t use God to make them unhappen any more than we can use a flood of light to put out a fire or Psalm 23 to find our way home in the dark.  All we can do is to draw closer to God and to each other as best we can, the way those stunned New Yorkers did, and to hope that, although God may well be useless when all hell breaks loose, there is nothing that happens, not even hell, where God is not present with us and for us.”[i]

This is why we are all drawn to this piece of scripture.  All that we want to believe about God, all that we hope is true about God, is found here in this brief psalm.  Our longing for words like these is why this psalm is so popular and prominent.  The 23rd Psalm is so well-know that the psalm has been called “an American secular icon,” because even people who do not attend church have come to know this psalm.[ii]  We all want a God who leads us beside still waters, who restores our souls, who takes away all fear, and who comforts us.

I think this is why so many artists and biblical scholars are drawn to this psalm.  Because this psalm captures for so many people not only who we believe God to be, but also who we desire God to be, many have been inspired to rephrase the language of this psalm to capture our imagination in new and fresh ways.  Probably the most familiar is the hymn “The King of Love my Shepherd Is.”  This hymn breathes air into the psalm, describing our God as a God, “whose goodness faileth never; I nothing lack if I am his.”  Just this week I stumbled on an a cappella version of the 23rd Psalm that uses feminine language to refer to God – “She makes me lie down in green meadows; beside the still waters she will lead.”[iii]  For those of us who struggle with the overly masculine language we have about God, this version of the psalm broke open the psalm yet again for me.  All of the things we hear about God in this psalm – one who comforts, cares, and cradles – are all stereotypically feminine qualities.  When God can be both feminine and masculine, then God truly is bigger and more whole.

But the one translation that really grabbed me this week is from the New Jerusalem Bible.  The verse that we typically recall as, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,” in the New Jerusalem Bible is translated as, “kindness and faithful love pursue me every day of my life.”  The “mercy” or “faithful love” we hear translated is the hesed of God in Hebrew – God’s loving-kindness.  This is the kind of overflowing love, loyalty, and lavishness that God shares with God’s people.  In fact, when people show hesed, that loving-kindness is sometimes translated as “godly love.”  But what really grabbed me about this translation is that God’s hesed does not simply follow us in life.  God’s hesed pursues us in life.  God chases after us, actively, even frantically, attempting “to reach us with the gift of life and the resources which sustain life.”[iv]  We hear the strength of this verb because this is the same verb in scripture that is often used to describe what enemies do – they pursue.  So to use the strength of this word to describe what God does to us is to say that God ferociously desires and drives to give us God’s hesed.

Our invitation today is to allow these new images to work on us as we continue to journey with God, even in what feel like valleys of the shadow of death.  Even when we feel like God is useless or that darkness may overwhelm us, God’s love never fails, God’s motherly care is for us, and when we feel most abandoned by God, God is chasing us down to rain God’s hesed upon us.  This is the beauty of our spiritual journey – our words are ever trying to help us understand this God with whom we journey.  Our language will never fully capture God, but each new attempt awakens our journey and invites us into deeper connection.  Our blessing this Eastertide is the myriad voices that help us get just a little closer to God when we need God the most.  Amen.

[ii] J. Clinton McCann, Jr., “Preaching the Psalms: Psalm 23,” Journal for Preachers, vol. 31, no. 2, Lent 2008, 43.

[iv] McCann, 46.

A few of my favorite things…

10 Wednesday Apr 2013

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AlleluiaBWWhen I went on a choral pilgrimage in England a couple of years ago, I remember finding that each day I had a new favorite sacred space.  Not once did we visit a place and I say, “Oh, well that one wasn’t as good as yesterday.”  They all blew me away, and I had such a hard time naming a favorite when I returned home.

In some ways, Holy Week this year was like that for me.  Every liturgy of Holy Week brought its own unique gifts and made me feel like the next liturgy could not possibly top the one I had just experienced.  At St. Margaret’s, we began Holy Week a day early with our Cemetery Memorial Service on the Saturday before Palm Sunday.  I am always amazed at how our Cemetery manages to create a community of faith, despite the wide variety of Christian backgrounds present, and I am grateful for the honor of helping that community remember their loved ones every year.

The next day, on Palm Sunday, we began our second service at the Cemetery cross and processed our way into the church.  The sun was shining down on us, and our procession captured some of the joy of that day in Jerusalem for us.  It was the perfect setup for our Passion Narrative.

We came back together Monday night for compline.  I was amazed at how such a brief service could be so profoundly spiritual.  As we chanted “Jesus remember me,” I could hear the echoes of our Passion Narrative from the day before.  The next morning, I renewed my ordination vows with the clergy of our Diocese, and then came home for evensong led by our guitar group.  We hosted the local Lutheran church, and I loved the musical selections of our music leaders.  Their music brought a new flavor to Holy Week.

Wednesday, we headed over to the Lutheran church for a healing service.  There is something quite sacred about laying hands on both parishioners and complete strangers that is entirely humbling as a priest.  I really am so blessed to be entrusted with this ministry.  That same humility overwhelmed me during our footwashing service on Thursday.  The experience of both washing and having your feet washed is a profoundly intimate and sacred practice.  Leaving the church with the bare, stripped altar that night brought a deep quiet over me that lasted until Saturday.

Our Good Friday liturgy electrified the experience of silence.  Without music and adornments, the silence left us with nothing but ourselves to face.  Though we did not sing at that service, I could hear the words from that favorite hymn, “sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble…”  That night, our confirmands led our Stations of the Cross service.  We used a devotional stations of the cross, and I was so proud of our confirmands.  Despite their initial nerves, they led as confident young adults, and invited us into deeper reflection on Jesus’ journey to death.

Saturday morning, we took a brief break from the solemnity of Holy Week, and welcomed tons of children to our campus for our Easter Egg hunt.  The laughter and enthusiasm of the children – whether with crafts, egg hunting, sack hopping, or simply running around – brought me back to why this life that Christ gives us is so precious.  Their energy brought me back to my favorite liturgy of all time – the Easter Vigil.  I cannot say enough about this service.  From hearing the haunting music and words of the Exultet, to listening to our salvation stories in darkness, to ringing in the alleluias, to feasting once again on the Eucharistic feast, that service is one of the most powerful service the Episcopal Church offers.

And after all of that, you might think Easter would be a let-down.  But looking at those much fuller pews just reminded me that no one can contain Easter joy.  Our alleluias are louder, and our hearts explode with love for Christ and one another.  There is no greater joy for us that day.

So you see, picking a favorite from Holy Week is actually quite difficult.  I think the difficulty in choosing a favorite is that each service captures an experience with God – and no one can rank or rate experiences with God.  They are all special in their unique ways, and would each suffice for spiritual strength for weeks.  So imagine my joy in experiencing them all in one week.  If going away for a pilgrimage is not an option for you, I invite you to consider using Holy Week as your spiritual pilgrimage next year.  I guarantee you, you won’t be able to pick a favorite!