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Sermon – Genesis 15.1-6, Hebrews 11.1-3, 8-16, Luke 12.32-40, P14, YC, August 10, 2025

27 Wednesday Aug 2025

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We have been in a season of Vacation Bible School.  As I watched our kids learning songs at Vacation Bible School this week, I found myself reminiscing about all the songs I learned as a kid at VBS – Deep and Wide, Jesus Loves Me, and, probably the most fun and robust, Father Abraham, complete with full-body motions and increasing speed.  Watching the joy of our children, and experiencing my own nostalgia for that innocent time of my life left me so grateful for our continued ministry with the children of our community.

Unfortunately, thinking about Father Abraham and his many sons and the admonishment “Let’s just praise the Lord,” collided with our lectionary readings this week.  Though we talk about God’s abundance with our children, our adult selves know all too well the rest of the story – both for Abraham and for ourselves.  Our lesson from Genesis sets the stage.  Abraham is still Abram at this point, and Abram, faithful follower of God who has been promised bountiful descendants is sitting empty handed with Sarai – who is far too old to be bearing children anyway.  Abram laments with God about his hopelessness that the promised abundance will ever come. 

Later we hear from the letter to the Hebrews a recounting of Abraham’s story as an example of what faithfulness means.  We are reminded that not only do Abraham and Sarah face infertility into old age, Abraham has had to leave everything familiar to him, journey to a place he does not even know, living in tents in a foreign land.  In fact, the letter to the Hebrews describes Abraham as “one as good as dead” – as in, given Abraham’s age, and the length of infertility in his marriage, and the data-based expectation that he would have no children – Abraham is as good as dead because there will be no one to keep his name alive.  Barren was not just the state of Abraham and Sarah – barren would have been a reasonable state of their faith in God.

There are times these days that I relate much more to the barrenness of Abraham and Sarah than to the jubilant songs about praising the Lord.  As I talk to workers whose employment is insecure, being reduced, or eliminated altogether, I hear echoes of Abraham’s complaints about barrenness to God.  As I listen to people of color express their vulnerability in these volatile times, I feel a sense of barrenness in our country.  As I hear stories of anxiety from those needing medical coverage or our nonprofits whose funding cuts threaten the very lives of their clients, I hear the barrenness of those who seem like “one as good as dead.” 

So where do we find hope in the bleakness of the barrenness of life?  How do we join the songs of our children, reminding us to “just praise the Lord”?  Some of that hope comes from scripture today too.  In Luke’s gospel, right at the very beginning, and so fast we might miss his words, Jesus says, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom… Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”  Of course, we know that truth – God promises Abraham abundance over and over again.  The community of the Hebrews celebrated the abundance of Abraham’s many sons when their own faith waivered.  And Jesus tells his followers the same, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” 

Now, I know words are easy to say, but sometimes hard to believe – even assurances from Jesus about God’s good pleasure of abundance for us.  So, today we are going to do something totally different and try a little exercise from pastor and theologian David Lose.  When you came in today you received a blank notecard.  I want you to take that out and write on one side these words:  God wants to give you all good things.  Got it? 

Now, I want you to turn the card over and write down one fear or worry or concern you would be willing to share – not aloud, and not with your name attached.  Just one fear, worry, or concern you are carrying right now.  As you are thinking about that and writing that fear, worry, or concern down, I will explain what we are going to do with your notecard:  when we get to the offering, the ushers will pass both the offering plates and a basket for your cards.  When you leave today, we will take those baskets, mix up the cards, and invite you to take out a random one.  Your homework for this “week ahead is simply to pray for whomever wrote down the concern on the card you [receive] on the way out.  You don’t need to know who it is, just that it’s a fellow member of the body of Christ who has this concern.  As you are praying for that person, you [will] also know that someone is praying for you.”

Do you have your fear, worry, or concern written down?  Hang on to your card until the offering.  [The hope today through this small exercise is that] you [will] realize that you are not alone.  We all have the promise that God wants to give us the kingdom; we all have trouble remembering and acting on that promise; [and] we all are praying for and supporting each other.”[i]  This is our tangible work this week – to be a community in prayer for one another, working through our resistance to God’s promise to give us the kingdom, and seeing the abundance that will allow us to “just praise the Lord.”  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Dear Working Preacher:  The Heart of the Matter,” August 5, 2013, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/the-heart-of-the-matter on August 7, 2025.

On the Risk of Anticipation…

12 Wednesday Mar 2025

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Photo Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/tango–761882461966749050/

So, what does a Dancing with the Williamsburg Stars competitor do after the competition?  Well, in my case, you get back in the studio!  Before the competition even began, I already knew I wanted to keep dancing.  I was having such a great time stretching my mind and body learning new things that I knew it was a good physical, and spiritual, discipline I wanted to maintain. 

Now, you may be wondering how in the world ballroom dancing can be categorized as a spiritual discipline.  The truth is, I encounter the sacred in ballroom dance all the time.  I talked about it once before HERE.  This week, as I started my first post-competition class, we went back to basics, learning the rumba and cha-cha.  There’s a certain humbling that comes with learning a new dance that I had forgotten from when I started months ago.  As we progressed through the class, I felt like I was slowly getting the hang of the technicalities – that is, until we started turns.  At one point, my instructor said, “Stop anticipating!”  He reminded me that he would show me where to go, but if I anticipated what he was going to do next, I would mess up our unique dance.

Those two words have been rattling around in my head.  Stop anticipating.  You see, I am a planner by nature.  Anticipation is my jam.  I am constantly thinking ahead, wondering about decision trees and the potential impact of each branch.  I like thinking about the larger system and strategically guiding my parish in our next steps.  So, the idea of stopping anticipation seems anathema. 

But the more I thought about it, every good thing that has come about in my ministry was nothing I actually anticipated.  In my current parish, I might have conducted a needs assessment with the community, listened to my parish’s desires, and researched a particular new ministry.  But what I didn’t anticipate was an outside group needing space to do the exact ministry we were contemplating.  I might have envied other parishes with digital ministries, but what I never anticipated was a worldwide pandemic that would launch my church’s own digital ministry.  I might be dreaming with my parish about alternative revenue streams and the repurposing of our spaces, but what I didn’t anticipate was three conversations that fell into my lap in the course of three weeks about potential partnerships.  When I finished the planning and stop anticipating, God happened each time.

I wonder in what ways your anticipation is blocking the movement of the Holy Spirit.  In what ways are you anticipating a left-hand turn, only to discover, God is over the to right, ready for you, if you can just stop anticipating?  For those of you who are lifetime planners, I know this is hard spiritual work.  Perhaps this Lent, you can join me in my prayer, “Lord, help me stop anticipating.” 

On Blooms of Hope…

13 Wednesday Nov 2024

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Photo credit: Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; permission required for reuse

I have written before about how I am not good with plants.  If the term “brown thumb” was invented for anyone, it was likely me.  I have been known to even kill a cactus.  I am so resigned to this reality that when someone gifts me a potted plant, even one with blooms already on it, my immediate reaction is guilt about how short a life the plant can expect in my care.

So, imagine my surprise when a similar gift from last Christmas, a Christmas cactus, began blooming today.  I was so shocked, that I went online to learn about the plant’s blooming practices.  It was in this research that I learned I have been doing everything wrong.  The research says the plant should never be in direct light (it is sitting in the full blast of the sunrise every morning); it says you should only water the plant when the top two inches are dry (I am pretty sure I water it weekly no matter what); and it says the plant should be kept in a cool, humid space (nope, and nope).  So, despite all my mistakes, despite how this plant should likely be dead by now, here this cute plant is blooming for the first time. 

That plant has reminded me of two things today.  First, that plant has reminded me of the ways that God can work for good despite me.  I do not have the gifts, interest, or time to lovingly help plants thrive.  But God has taken my measly offerings – the occasional remembrance to water the plant without any recollection how long ago I watered it last, the guilt that has kept me from throwing the plant away before now, and the half-hearted attempt to at least give the plant sunlight – God has taken these offerings and transformed them not just to survival, but to thriving.  I am humbled by a God who can produce good despite me.

Two, I am also struck by the fact that this plant is just one tiny example of the small goodness that surrounds us all the time.  The last week has been a rough one, especially in a congregation and a community that is very “purple” politically.  Though we are quite civil with one another, emotions have been all over the spectrum and I have been struggling to see where the hope is.  But the truth is hope and goodness have been around me this whole time.  I certainly see hope in this plant who is thriving despite me – and looking quite beautiful, indeed.  I see hope in the ways people are caring for one another – asking how people are really doing, and finding ways to offer solidarity and comfort where possible.  And I see hope as parishioners increase their giving to the church in a time when budgets are stretched and prices are rising.  We could find counter arguments for all those instances – reasons to be wary or suspicious or doubtful.  Or we can choose to notice the blooms opening slowly all around us.  I am not entirely sure what God is doing these days, but I have to tell you, I feel confident that God is here, bringing us comfort and signs of hope.  And that will suffice for today.

On the Business of Church…

19 Wednesday Jun 2024

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Photo credit: https://episcopalnewsservice.org/2020/11/20/80th-general-convention-postponed-to-july-2022-as-pandemic-disrupts-planning-of-triennial-gathering/

This weekend, Episcopalians will descend upon Louisville, Kentucky, for our General Convention.  The General Convention is the governing body of The Episcopal Church.  Every three years (or in this case, two years, due to a delayed GC during COVID), General Convention meets as a bicameral legislature that includes the House of Deputies and the House of Bishops, composed of deputies and bishops from each diocese.  In the House of Deputies, which includes elected lay and ordained deputies and alternates, over 1000 people will gather, and about 140 bishops will gather in the House of Bishops.  This year, we have a shortened Convention of six days of legislative sessions, covering everything from governance, justice issues, ecumenical and interfaith issues, evangelism and church vitality, liturgy, stewardship, formation, and mission.  In those six days, we will review over 275 pieces of legislation. 

Of course, General Convention is not all business.  It is a place of innovation and collaboration.  An exhibit hall of vendors is place of ideas, resources, and connection.  The legislative halls and common spaces are places of reunion with former seminary classmates, dioceses where one has served or worshiped before, and friends from professional connections.  It may be a chance to meet people in person that you have only known online, people you have admired the work of from afar, or a place to make new friends.  And then there are the opportunities to gather in worship in unfamiliar and familiar styles, the deep conversations and sharing of best practices, and the inspiration that can come from being steeped in the wideness of God’s church.

Ultimately, General Convention can be a place of great tension:  of trying to accomplish a great deal of business while honoring and developing relationships across difference, of challenging and trying to correct the failings of the Episcopal Church while learning and being inspired to renew our ministries, of taking a step back to clarify mission, purpose, and priorities while narrowing in and aligning decisions with that clarity.  Add in doing all that with over 1100 people, and that we get anything accomplished is a minor miracle.

Knowing all that, I invite your prayers for the Church as we gather:  that we root ourselves in God’s grace and power, that we ground ourselves in the love of Jesus and serve as faithful disciples, and that we undergird our work with the creative, life-giving, wise movement of the Holy Spirit.  And then ultimately, I invite your prayers that our work will mean something:  to the country church in rural America, to the beleaguered inner city church, to the bustling suburban church, and to churches whose primary languages are not English; to the churches who are shrinking and the churches who are thriving; to the person who is struggling with their faith, the person excited about a new ministry, to the person who is worried about the future of the church, and the person who is entirely unchurched.  We bring each of you with us in our prayers as we gather.  I hope you will surround us in prayer as well – that God is working for good in all of it.     

On the Blessing of No…

05 Wednesday Jun 2024

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Photo credit: https://toledoparent.com/online-exclusives/learning-to-say-no/

For weeks my fourth grader has been talking about running for Student Body President.  I was admittedly proud of her gumption, but also wildly (and quietly) nervous on her behalf.  She is a genial, vibrant, beloved individual and I feared what losing an election at her age might do to her self-esteem.  But even with gentle warning, she was determined.  So, we worked on her speech and filled out the paperwork.  The “primary” involved whittling down a group of 12 students to three – no speeches or posters, just a raw “popularity contest” among the fourth graders.  Last night she returned home only a little disappointed that she had not been elected to the final ballot. 

I do not know why I doubted her capacity to maintain her self-confidence in the face of such a loss.  I have been modeling the same for her for years – sometimes you win and sometimes you lose.  Sometimes you get a yes, and sometimes you get a no.  These lessons have certainly happened verbally and in low-risk ways, like in card games.  But the lesson has been learned in big ways too – like a lost bishop’s election.  Though I loathed the very public nature of a bishop’s search, I do not think I fully understood the power of letting my girls watch me not only be nominated, but make very public presentations, and then not be elected.

Without realizing it, I have been teaching my girls the power of a good “no.”  Almost all the good things that have happened to me – jobs, schools, auditions – were preceded by a solid no.  The student government election I did not win, the audition where I did not make the cut, the job I really wanted and did not get.  Every single one of those no’s profoundly taught me something about myself I did not know, and every single one of those no’s led to another opportunity that could only open up because of the no that happened first. 

The experience of no’s can be brutal to the ego.  But I wouldn’t be the spouse, mother, priest, or human that I am today without all those no’s.  And now I know that learning was not just for me – it was for my children too.  And maybe those no’s have been for some of you as well.  I wonder what no’s you are facing these days.  I wonder what you have learned from the times you received a no.  I suspect the Holy Spirit has been transforming you so that when you get a yes, you come to that yes as your most powerful self – the self that was made in God’s image and is beautiful and beloved.

Sermon – John 2.13-22, Exodus 20.1-17, L3, YB, March 3, 2024

15 Friday Mar 2024

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Today’s gospel lesson is one of those lessons in Scripture that is so vivid we find looking away difficult.  All four of the gospels have this story, and three of the gospels use this story to convey Jesus’ righteous anger about how the practice around temple worship and obligatory sacrifice has led to monetary abuses.  Matthew and Luke even have Jesus calling the whole enterprise a den of robbers.  The story evokes images of Jesus flipping tables, or in today’s version, swinging around a whip like Indiana Jones.  We often recall this text when looking for evidence of Jesus’ righteous anger at injustice. 

But John’s version of this story takes us down a different path from the other three gospels.  First, John places this story in a very different place in his narrative.[i]  Unlike the other gospels who place this story toward the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry, John places this incident in the second chapter, right after the miracle in Cana.  And in John’s version, Jesus does not lay into the moneychangers in quite the same way.  Instead of financial injustice, Jesus seems more concerned that those gathered have missed something critical – in the obligatory administering of sacrifices at the physical temple, they have missed the fact that God is no longer tied to the location of the temple – and instead is found in the temple of Jesus’ body.  For John, the incarnation, the word becoming flesh and dwelling among us, is central to the entirety of the good news and in this story specifically. 

We are in a season of flesh.  Lent is that season when we experience Jesus in deeply enfleshed ways.  What our Lenten disciplines or practices do for us is help us remember that we are a people of flesh and our God was willing to take on that flesh to transform our lives.  We do not often talk about the profound reality of an enfleshed God, but I recalled a hymn this week that opens up the reality.  Brian Wren’s hymn Good is the Flesh says, “Good is the flesh that the Word has become, good is the birthing, the milk in the breast, good is the feeding, caressing and rest, good is the body for knowing the world, Good is the flesh that the Word has become.”  The hymn goes on to say, “Good is the body, from cradle to grave, growing and aging, arousing, impaired, happy in clothing, or lovingly bared, good is the pleasure of God in our flesh, Good is the flesh that the Word has become.”[ii]  Now I do not know about your own spiritual language, but I cannot think of anything that talks about Jesus’ flesh so vividly.  The closest I have come has been in imagining the vulnerability of that enfleshed body in the cradle.  But capturing what being enfleshed means for all of life – from cradle to grave – somehow opens up John’s words about the temple of Jesus’ body.  God takes something we often associate with sinfulness – and transforms that flesh into something good.  “Good is the pleasure of God in our flesh,” are powerful words that shift how we experience the fullness of Christ’s humanity.

Once we reconnect with the goodness of God’s flesh – the incarnation of Christ – then we begin to see all of Jesus’ ministry immersed in the flesh of life.  Scholar Karoline Lewis reminds us Jesus’ fleshy life was important, “Because a woman at a well, whose body was rejected for the barren body it was, experiences the truth of neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem; because a man ill for 38 years, his entire life to be exact, whose body has only known life on the ground, is now able to imagine his ascended life; because a man born blind, is then able to see, and to see himself as a sheep of Jesus’ own fold; because Lazarus, whose body was dead and starting to decay, found himself reclining on Jesus, eating and drinking, and with his sisters, sharing a meal once again.”[iii]  Not only is Jesus’ incarnation good, making flesh good, Jesus’ ministry is about blessing, healing, and restoring physical bodies. 

Once we connect with the goodness of God’s flesh, and the power of Jesus’ fleshy ministry, we are forced to see something we do not always feel comfortable with – the goodness of our own flesh.  I do not know about your journey, but my experience in church has not been one in which the church tells me how good my body is.  In fact, today’s inclusion of the ten commandments, not once, but twice, usually reminds me of the opposite – of the myriad ways my body is sinful:  from the words that come out of my mouth, to the ways in which I hurt others and take things with my body, to the ways in which I covet things and other bodies.  And those sins do not even touch the ways in which I hear the message that my body is imperfect – how my body is not the right height or shape or gender, how my body is not fit or strong enough, how my skin color, hair, or nails are not quite the ideal.  But if God takes on flesh and says, “Good is the flesh,” and if that enfleshed God engages in a ministry of blessing flesh, then surely part of what we remember today is how good and blessed our own flesh is – how God made our flesh for good. 

Now, here comes the tricky part.  Once we realize “Good is the flesh,” that ministered to the flesh, that our flesh is beautiful and revered, then we are forced to make yet another leap – that the flesh of others is also beautiful.  Those bodies we would like to subjugate, regulate, and decimate are no longer able to be separated from the goodness of God’s flesh or our own flesh.  Barbara Brown Taylor argues in An Altar in the World, “‘One of the truer things about bodies is that it is just about impossible to increase the reverence I show mine without also increasing the reverence I show yours.’  In other words, once I value my own body as God’s temple, as a site of God’s pleasure, delight, and grace, how can I stand by while other bodies suffer exploitation, poverty, discrimination, or abuse?”[iv]

This week at Hickory Neck has been all about that kind of work.  As we welcomed guests through the Winter Shelter, we affirmed the goodness of all flesh – of God’s flesh, of our flesh, and especially the flesh of those who have no shelter, who work hard all day but cannot secure housing, who live lives of uncertainty, of insecurity, of scarcity.  Once we recall the incarnation of Christ, the dignity of our own incarnation, our work immediately becomes to honor the incarnation of others.  We certainly accomplished the work of honoring flesh this week through the Winter Shelter.  But as we keep walking our Lenten journey, we will struggle with our bodies.  Even our collect today says, “we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul.”  Our invitation this Lent is to struggle with claiming our body as good – and using the goodness of our flesh to bless other flesh.  Our repentance this week is not just of the sinfulness of the flesh, but we repent this week of the ways in which we do not honor how “Good is the flesh that the Word has become.”  Amen.

[i] Joseph D. Small, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 92.

[ii] I found this hymn in the commentary by Debie Thomas, “The Temple of His Body” in Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections on the Life of Christ (Eugene, OR:  Cascade Books, 2022), 63. 

[iii] Karoline Lewis, “Body Zeal,” February 26, 2018, https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/body-zeal as found on March 1, 2024.

[iv] Debie Thomas, “The Temple of His Body” February 28, 2018, https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=1675 as found on March 1, 2024.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YB, December 24, 2023

03 Wednesday Jan 2024

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Sometimes on Christmas Eve, we hear a bunch of strange words.  And instead of paying too much attention to them, our minds simply get cued that Christmas has begun.  But those funny words [that Chloe read so beautifully] – of Emperors, registrations, censuses, some guy named Quirinius, a bunch of town names, something about the line of David, and of a pregnant woman who isn’t quite yet married – all those words matter.  They matter because they set the stage for the birth of the Christ Child.  We often think of that birth as this simplified, sacred moment, where everything gets really still.  We’ll even sing Silent Night tonight.  But nothing about that night was remotely silent.  Joseph and a very pregnant Mary have journeyed over 90 miles[i] by donkey and foot.  The Emperor has created political chaos by forcing people from their residences to their ancestral homes – all likely in an effort to extort more money from strained peoples.  Into that upheaval and manipulation, we find the Bread of Life being born in the town, Bethlehem, whose name means House of Bread, in a bed that was literally used to feed. 

This year, I am especially grateful for the reminder that Jesus was born into the chaos of political manipulation, suffering, and tension.  Over the last many weeks, we have all been watching as the Holy Land has yet again fallen into chaos – as leaders fight over land, disregard human dignity, and desecrate all that is holy.  The images have been horrific:  from children standing in long lines with makeshift bowls hoping for enough soup to stave off starvation for themselves and maybe a little for their parents; to hospitals and other places that should be safe zones being decimated; to the Lutheran Church in Bethlehem whose creche this year placed the baby Jesus in a pile of rubble.[ii]  And although we associate Christmas with shiny lights, joyous songs, and abundant food and blessings, the reality of that first Christmas was much more similar to Christmas in the Holy Land this year.

Just this week, I read that Christmas in Bethlehem is cancelled – the very place that welcomed Jesus into the manger has once again had to close its doors to the Holy Family.  As Sophia Lee reports, “Typically, Bethlehem—a Palestinian city of about 30,000 people in the Israeli-occupied West Bank—is jammed with more than 3 million visitors coming from all over the world to celebrate the birth of the Messiah.  Marching bands and carol singers and dancers and fireworks would fill the city with loud cheer and festive energy.  Thousands would pack the Church of the Nativity, golden lights would twinkle across Star Street, and a giant tree with a ruby star would illuminate Manger Square.  Instead, the streets are dark and hushed.”  Christian leaders in Bethlehem report, “It will be a silent night this Christmas—but it’ll still be a holy night… Stripping Christmas of all its extraneous decorations and Western traditions,” they say, “will help them focus on the true meaning of Christmas.”  One pastor explained, “…if you look at the real story of Christmas, it was a story of pure hardship.  But God didn’t leave Mary and Joseph.  And they didn’t leave God.”[iii]

For weeks, I have been feeling like we would have to forego everything good and holy about Christmas – that celebrating this Christmas just did not feel appropriate or respectful of the devastation in the very land we are celebrating.  But the clergy of the Holy Land are paving the way to our Christmas celebrations this year.  Truth be told, Christmas was never about shiny lights, boisterous parties, and lots of presents.  Christmas was and always has been about the miracle of the incarnation – God taking on human form in order to bring us redemption and salvation.  And when God does something, God never does that something half-way.  If God was going to become human, God was going to become incarnate in super fleshy ways – not in shiny, idealized human ways, but in raw, earthy, messy ways.  Jesus came among us – not to the polished versions of ourselves we present to the outside world, but to the real, gritty versions of ourselves who actually need an incarnate God.  And I cannot think of better news than that.  This Christmas, in the midst of censuses, registrations, and funnily named places; in the midst of bombings, bloodshed, and loss; in the midst of anxiety, loneliness, and dissatisfaction, Jesus comes among us.  Jesus does not leave Mary and Joseph.  Jesus does not leave Palestinian or Jew.  Jesus does not leave you or me.  And that is good news for a merry Christmas.  Amen.     

[i] Timothy L. Adkins-Jones, “Commentary on Luke 2:1-14 [15-20],” December 24, 2023, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/christmas-eve-nativity-of-our-lord/commentary-on-luke-21-14-15-20-24 on December 20, 2023.

[ii] As found at https://www.facebook.com/christmaslutheranchurch on December 21, 2023.

[iii] Sophia Lee, “Bethlehem Cancels Christmas, But Local Pastors Still Expect a Holy Night,” Christianity Today, December 20, 2023, as found at https://www.christianitytoday.com/news/2023/december/bethlehem-cancel-christmas-christian-pastors-church-nativit.html on December 21, 2023.

Sermon – Exodus 1.8-2.10, P16, YA, August 27, 2023

30 Wednesday Aug 2023

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This likely comes as no surprise to you, but I come from a long line of strong women.  My paternal grandmother, the matriarch of the family, was so intimidating that most of us grandchildren were a little bit afraid of her.  But she was likely the only minister’s wife of her time who refused to play the stereotypical minister’s wife role, teaching one parish after another how to respect her personhood.  My maternal grandmother was widowed when she had five young children.  I knew her as a gentle, kind soul, but I know she must have been tough as nails to survive that time as a struggling single mother in the rural south.  My mother, who had to restart her own business every time my father was assigned to a new church, managed to help her children and herself thrive in every new place she was planted.  I, in my wisdom, married a man who also came from a long line of strong women – independent, fierce, wise women who navigated all sorts of challenges.  I suppose I should be grateful then for the fierce, smart, sometimes annoyingly stubborn young women we are raising in our own home.  I keep reminding myself that they come by their strength honestly.

But the story from Exodus today reminds us that we all come from a long line of strong women.  We all know the story of one of our most prominent forefathers, Moses.  Saved from a ride in a river basket, called by a burning bush, reigning down plagues until God’s people are freed from slavery, walking God’s people through the Red Sea, guiding the Israelite’s to the Promised Land, delivering our foundational Ten Commandments, and even appearing to Jesus on the Mountain of the Transfiguration.  But Moses would not be any of those things but for the strong five women we hear about today.

Before we hear Moses’ story, today we hear the story of his foremothers.  The reading from Exodus starts ominously, “Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.”  In other words, the new king, the new pharaoh, does not know the story of how Joseph saved Egypt from famine, and began a symbiotic, peaceful relationship with the Israelites.  Now, the new pharaoh only sees the sheer number of foreigners on his land and he is afraid.  He is afraid they will revolt; he is afraid of their strength in numbers; and in his fear he introduces chaos:  enslavement, oppression, and murderous, violent death.[i] 

In the midst of the chaos and violence Pharaoh causes for the Israelites, two midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, change the course of an administration.  Pharoah calls these two women – women who would normally never even meet a man of such power and influence – to conspire with him for evil.  Doing anything other than his wishes would surely result in not only their own deaths, but also maybe the suffering of their families and loved ones.  But Shiphrah and Puah – who if you notice the text lists by name, while leaving the pharaoh unnamed (a biblical signal of importance)[ii] – Shiphrah and Puah decide they will defy the pharaoh, refusing to murder the male children of the Hebrews.  But not only that, when the pharaoh calls them back into his presence, the women do not cave under pressure, or even seem to be afraid of Pharaoh. Instead, they defy Pharaoh again, making up some crafty story about Hebrew women’s vigorous birthing practices, manipulating pharaoh’s stereotypes and fears of the Hebrews to save children’s lives.

But they are not the only women standing up to the power of Pharaoh.  Moses’ mother knows all Egyptians have been told to cast male Hebrew babies into the Nile.  So, she builds a water-tight basket to shield her son, refusing to cast him off without protection.  Meanwhile, Moses’ sister Miriam refuses to stand by idly either.  She follows her brother’s path, ready to defy Pharaoh too.  Even the pharaoh’s own daughter, who acknowledges Moses must be a Hebrew child condemned to death, refuses to participate in her father’s violence and fear.[iii]  When lowly, seemingly powerless Miriam boldly approaches the royal suggesting a Hebrew woman nurse the child, Miriam secures Moses’ well-being and buys their mother 2-3 more years of relationship before Moses will be adopted into safety.[iv]  Miriam, Moses’ mother, and the pharaoh’s daughter all defy Pharaoh in unique ways.  Without any one of these women’s actions, Moses as we know him today would not exist.[v]  In fact, without any of these women’s defiance, none of us as the people of God would exist today. 

I do not know what kind of chaos to which your life is subject.  I do not know in what ways you may be feeling powerless or incapable of making a difference.  I do not know what fears – sometimes legitimate, life-threatening fears – you are facing today.  But what I can tell you is you are not powerless or incapable of making a difference.  Your fears are not experienced without the presence of God.  And your life has the capacity to be history altering – even if you feel like what you are doing is only one tiny act of change or defiance of the power of evil in the world.  Pharaoh underestimates “…the power of God to work deliverance through the vulnerable – and seemingly powerless – on behalf of the vulnerable.”[vi]  But you, you come from a long line of powerful women.  God is with you as you harness their power for good.  Amen.

[i] Terence E. Fretheim, Exodus:  Interpretation:  A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1991), 28

[ii] Alice Ogden Bellis, Helpmates, Harlots, and Heroes:  Women’s Stories in the Hebrew Bible (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 1994), 100.

[iii] Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Whispering the Word:  Hearing Women’s Stories in the Old Testament (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2005), 77.

[iv] Lapsley, 78.

[v] Bellis, 101.

[vi] Lapsley, 74.

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 – Malachi 3.1-4, A2, YC, December 5, 2021

22 Wednesday Dec 2021

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The professional choir at the parish I served as a curate would perform Handel’s Messiah every Advent season in preparation for Christmas.  I remember my first Advent the Rector told me about the performance with excitement and anticipation, and all I could remember thinking was, “Oh goodness!  Do I have to go??”  Do not get me wrong, I love Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus as much as anyone, but that piece is only about three-four minutes long and is only half-way into the three hours of singing that Handel’s Messiah takes. 

Music is a funny thing in Advent.  Most people I know do not really love Advent music.  Unlike familiar, comforting, endearing Christmas carols, Advent hymns are “discordant, unsung, and unpopular in many congregations.”[i]  I have known choir members whose skin crawls from Advent music, and I imagine many of you are here today because the idea of a whole service dedicated to Advent Lessons and Carols which we will hear at 10:00 am sounds like torture. 

The problem might be that Advent music is not as catchy as Christmas music.  But I think there is a deeper truth to our distaste of Advent music – the music of Advent points to the themes of Advent:  of apocalyptic demands to be alert, doing acts of righteousness to be right with God; of judgment so stringent to be compared to a refiner’s fire and fullers’ soap; of needing to bear fruit worthy of repentance so as not to be chopped down and thrown into the fire; and of bringing down the powerful from their thrones and lifting up the lowly.  None of that is quite as catchy as a holly, jolly Christmas.

Perhaps the issue is that Advent music tries to do the same thing scripture does.  In 1741, Handel wrote to a friend of his masterpiece Messiah, “‘I should be sorry if I only entertained them.  I wished to make them better.’  The composer challenges [us] to go beyond feeling good to doing good.”[ii]  The same was true for Malachi.  Malachi brings good news of a messenger coming to prepare the way of the Lord and that we will be purified enough that our offerings will be pleasing to the Lord as they once were before.  But Malachi also reveals the fearful questions of the people.  “But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?”  These are just two of the twenty-two questions in the fifty-five verses of Malachi.[iii]  But they are questions we all ask if we are paying attention during Advent.

I remember when I was pregnant with my first child, women poured pregnancy stories over me.  There was a camaraderie the stories built, the state of our friendship altered because we were now going to share something we had not before.  But what I always noticed about those stories is whenever I expressed my nervousness about labor, their eyes darted away, and they made wistful promises about how anything resembling pain would be forgotten.  The more their warm countenances shifted to wary, twitchiness, the more I suspected labor would be a painful reality.

The same is true for the infant we will welcome once again on December 24th.  As much as “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” as much as we sing of “Silent Nights,” and as much as we dream of “Joy to the World,” that celebration comes with a price – the price of preparation, of messengers making the way for joy, of fire burning away all that corrupts us.  Advent is not about entertaining us, but, much like Handel hoped, is to make us just and better, so that we might be right with God when that infant is placed in the arms of the Church.  Advent is for Malachis, for Zechariahs, the father of that coming messenger, and for you and for me.  And although we may feel like we have been refined enough to last a lifetime in this last year and a half, the refining God is doing now in each of us means, as one scholar assures, we will “be re-formed in God’s image, and [that re-forming] will be good.  No matter how we feel about it now.  No matter what we may be afraid of now.  When we are refined and purified as God promises, it will be good.”[iv]  As much as we may dread that awful music or loathe those heavy, foreboding stories of Advent, we do so together, knowing that we are being refined tougher, so that, together as a community, we will welcome the Christ Child with open, ready arms.  Amen.

[i] Deborah A. Block, “Pastoral Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1  (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 30.

[ii] Block, 30.

[iii] Block, 26.

[iv] Seth Moland-Kovash, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 1  (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 31.