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Homily – John 11.21-27, Cemetery Memorial Service, March 19, 2016

29 Tuesday Mar 2016

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“Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.”  These are the words Martha says to Jesus in our gospel lesson today.  The weight of that phrase, “if only,” is heavy.  We all know that weight.  If only he hadn’t caught pneumonia.  If only she hadn’t taken the car out that day. If only we had known about the cancer earlier.  If only they were here now.  We know the sickening power of “if onlys.”

One of my favorite movies is a movie called Sliding Doors.  The movie follows a woman who is fired from her job.  As she makes her way home she has seconds to catch a train.  The movie divides into two at that point.  In one storyline she catches the train home only to find her boyfriend cheating on her at home.  In the other storyline she misses the train and is none the wiser about her boyfriend’s affair.  The two stories unfold in parallel, letting her life unfold from that one moment of a missed or caught train.  Her story is the ultimate “if only” story.

Martha knows the feeling of “if only.”  She knows that if only Jesus had been there, he would have healed Lazarus.  She also knows that if only Jesus had not taken so long, he probably could have made the trip in time.  That phrase, “if only,” hangs in the air for Martha.  But Jesus does not let Martha linger in the past, dreaming about what might have been.  Instead, he points Martha to the future – reminding her that her brother will rise again.  Martha already knows this.  Resurrection life was standard Jewish teaching in their day.  By Martha’s quick response to Jesus, we know that his reminding her about the future of resurrection doesn’t offer Martha much comfort.  But then Jesus does a funny thing.  He twists time all around, telling Martha that “the future is suddenly brought forwards into the present.”[i]

When Jesus says to Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life,” he is not just talking about a doctrine.  He is not just talking about a future fact.  The resurrection is a person, standing here and now in front of Martha.  Jesus invites Martha to exchange her “if only,” for an “if Jesus…”  As one scholar explains, the “if” changes:  “If Jesus is who she is coming to believe he is…If Jesus is the Messiah, the one who was promised by the prophets, the one who was to come into the world…If [Jesus] is God’s own son, the one in whom the living God is strangely and newly present…if [Jesus] is resurrection-in-person, life-come-to-life…”[ii]  You see, when Jesus changes Martha’s mourning to a pondering about what resurrection means, Jesus pulls her out of the past, with an eye on the future, that bursts into the now.

The last time we gathered, we did so in the darkening days of winter.  We watched Christmas approach, and the grief of “if only,” was heavy upon us.  But today, out tone shifts.  Spring is trying to emerge, the days are gifting us with more light, and Easter is approaching.  We have journeyed through a season of darkness.  The Church now invites us to journey toward the light.  The way that we make that transition is not by mourning the “if onlys,” but cultivating the joy of the possibility of “if Jesus.”

Isn’t that how we ever truly face death, though?  That is the eternal gift of our faith in Jesus Christ.  We are promised eternal life through the Savior who came among us, who taught us, loved us, died for us, and rose again.  And through his existence, resurrection is no longer a future longing, but a promise for the here and now.  Our loved ones are celebrating in the resurrection life, because as Jesus says, everyone who believes in Jesus Christ, even though they die, will live and everyone who lives and believes in him will never die.[iii]

As we approach Holy Week and Easter next weekend, I invite you to journey with Christ through the last bits of darkness, holding fast to the promise of the light of Easter – when we shout our joy to the world for the Savior who makes resurrection life possible in the here and now.  The church will journey with us as we loosen our grips on the “if onlys” of life and we attempt to embrace the “if Jesus” ponderings of life.  Today we recognize the ways that the “if onlys” try to haunt us.  But today we also lean on the church for support to hold fast to the “if Jesus” part of our loved ones’ stories.  When we hold on to the power of the future made present, we are able to rejoice this Easter with fullness and joy.  Amen.

[i] N.T. Wright, John for Everyone, Part 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 6.

[ii] Wright, 7.

[iii] John 11.25-26

Homily – Mark 10.35-45, P24, YB, October 18, 2015

23 Friday Oct 2015

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Most of you know that father was a Methodist minister.  One of my favorite children’s sermons he gave was about an apple.  He gathered us all around and he had an apple and a carving knife.  He said that the apple represented all the money that our families had.  Then he asked us what were all the things that our family needed that we had to spend our money on.  We all shouted out our answers:  clothes, food, our houses, cars.  With each answer, he cut out a chunk of the apple.  When were down to about 1/3 of the apple, he invited us to answer what else we spend our money on.  We had answers for that too:  toys, games, vacation, movies.  By the time we finished, there was nothing left of the apple.

Suddenly, my father gasped.  “Oh, no!  We forgot something.  We forgot to give some of our money to God!”  There was good news though.  My dad had another apple.  He suggested we try to do things a little differently this time.  “How about we give some of our money…say 10%…to God?  Okay?”  Then we carved out all those things we need.  Then we still had a little left for all the stuff we like – maybe not as much, but there was still some there.

Thirty years later, I think the point of his children’s sermon was that if we start by returning some of our wealth to God, we’ll have plenty for everything else.  But as I was thinking about that apple this week, something else occurred to me.  That apple – that apple that represents “our” money that we get to choose how to divvy up – is not really ours.  That apple actually belongs to God entirely.  We have money because we work for it, right?  But how do we get jobs in the first place?  We could argue that we have jobs because we worked hard to get there, or we went to school.  But in Eucharistic Prayer C, one of the things we say is that God blessed us with “memory, reason, and skill.”  So yes, we work hard, but we are able to do that work through the blessings of God.  God blesses us with abilities and talents.  God blesses us with good health and a sense of forbearance.  God blesses us with shelter, food, and clothing so that we can rest, build up strength, and fit in socially at work.  God blesses us with support systems, like friends, neighbors, and family who help us stay emotionally stable enough to do the work God has given us to do.  All that money that is “ours” that we “earn” on our own is not really ours when we are honest.

Now, no one is more uncomfortable with this notion than me.  When I was growing up people always said I was smart, but I always insisted that it was because I was a hard worker.  Nothing came easy to me and I worked for everything I got.  So imagine my discomfort when I had to think about my apple – all my income – and realize I didn’t have that apple because I worked hard to earn that apple.  I had that apple because God blessed me with all the things I needed to be able to work hard and earn.  When I insist that I should get to choose who gets what slices of my apple, I get lost in a sense of entitlement instead of gratitude about where the apple comes from in the first place.

The sons of Zebedee had the same struggle with a sense of entitlement.  In fact, the sons of Zebedee sound almost impish today.  “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.”  They try to manipulate Jesus into the answer they want before they even ask us the question.  “Jesus, promise us you’ll do this one, tiny little favor.”  And then they ask a most ludicrous question – to be at Jesus’ right and left hand in his glory. In essence, they want the most favored spots in the kingdom of God.  Jesus chides them, “You do not know what you are asking.”  The other disciples are enraged – either because they think the Zebedee brothers are being selfish, or because they are mad that they didn’t think of the idea first.

But at the heart of their request is something bigger – a sense of entitlement.[i]  Their question indicates that they think they are owed such a privilege.  And maybe in their eyes they were owed.  They left everything to follow Jesus.  Jesus keeps talking about how they are going to suffer anyway, so they want some guaranteed reward for that suffering.  And they have already proven themselves – look at how loyal they are to Jesus and the cause.  Their request is not just a reward – they earned those places of honor.

But what Jesus does today is what he always does – he turns everything upside down.  The Zebedee boys will be honored – but not with cushy titles or offices.  They will be honored by enduring the same suffering – sharing in Christ’s cup – that Jesus endures.  Honor, Jesus explains, does not come from earning and amassing wealth.  Honor comes from serving others – from emptying ourselves of wealth and serving others.

This week, I was reading an article about a couple who lives on 6.25% of their income.[ii]  They earn just under $245,000 a year, and yet they live on just over $15,000.  They give about $100,000 to charity.  And not just this year, but every year since 2008.  Now, I don’t know whether this couple is Christian, but I tell you what they do seem to understand – that apple isn’t fully theirs either.  And in fact, giving about 40% of their apple away has brought them a sense of freedom and joy that is hard to find elsewhere.

In these weeks of discernment about your giving to St. Margaret’s, I invite you to consider your own relationship with your wealth – with your apple.  I am not suggesting you need to give 40% of your apple to the Church – though I also would not stop you.  But what I am inviting you to consider is how God – God the Giver – gifted you with that apple.  I am inviting you not just to consider the wealth that the apple represents, but also all the other blessings that even enable you to possess the apple.  My guess is that the more you pray on those blessings, the more and more overwhelmed you will become about the abundance God has showered upon you.  Sit in that spiritual space of being overwhelmed by God’s abundance this week and listen for how the Spirit is calling you to use your apple.  Amen.

[i] Stephen B. Chapman, “Sons of Entitlement,” Christian Century, vol. 123, no. 21, October 17, 2006, 20.

[ii] William MacAskill, “Giving to Receive,” October 9, 2015 as found at http://qz.com/515655/this-couple-lives-on-6-of-their-income-so-they-can-give-100000-a-year-to-charity/ on October 14, 2015.

Homily – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis, October 4, 2015

07 Wednesday Oct 2015

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I once led a book group that read the book The Prison Angel.  The Prison Angel is the story of Mother Antonio, a woman of privilege from California who had a mid-life crisis, took on the role of a nun, went to the largest prison in Tijuana, Mexico, and began a ministry of transforming guards, inmates, and families connected to the prison.  Her work was amazing – the way that she was able to love everyone equally, the way that she was able to harness resources and get them where they needed to be, and the way that she was able to devote her life to this system – even living in her own prison cell for a while – were all examples of her awesome witness.  As we finished the book, I had hoped that people in our book group would be inspired, and might even consider their own contribution to a prison ministry.  Instead, the response was more like this:  Mother Antonio is truly amazing.  But let’s be honest.  I can’t be like her.  I’m not going to drop everything – my family and life – and become totally devoted to a ministry.  And just like that, I lost them.  No longer was Mother Antonio inspiring.  She was impossible.  And once she was impossible, no one felt compelled to do anything.  I definitely felt like I failed my mission of inspiration leading to action.

As I was preparing for today’s celebration of St. Francis, I ran across this quote:  “Of all the saints, Francis is the most popular and admired, but probably the least imitated.”[i]  You see, we have a sanitized version of Francis in our minds.  He was nice to animals and took care of the poor.  He devoted his life to Christ as a monk.  We even put up statues of Francis in our gardens and outside our churches.  When we think of Francis, we think of a gentle man gingerly allowing a bird to perch on his finger, and we smile.  We like our sanitized version of Francis because the real version is a little scary.  When Francis renounced his rather significant wealth, he stripped naked in front of his father and the bishop.  Francis didn’t just help the poor, he became poor, begging on the streets.  He worked with lepers – people no one wanted to touch, touching them with his bare hands and kissing them.  Barefoot, he preached in the streets about repentance.  He preached to the birds, and is rumored to have negotiated with a wolf.  If we met St. Francis today, most of us would not imitate or venerate him.  We would just see him as another homeless beggar with a serious case of mental illness.

That is the challenge for us when trying to live a holy life.  St. Francis is the obvious example today.  Though we love and admire St. Francis, few of are comfortable with his total identification with poverty, suffering, and care for our creation.  The same can be said of Jesus.  Though we profess that Jesus is our Lord and Savior, we regularly fail to live in the ways that Jesus taught – in fact, some of us have given up even trying.  Even looking toward a modern-day example of holy living trips us up.  When we watched Pope Francis come through last week, we marveled at his radical witness.  We loved what he had to say – except when he had something to say that made us uncomfortable or that we disagreed with.  When thinking about the radical life that is following Jesus – whether through the Pope, through St. Francis, or Jesus himself – most of us stumble and feel like giving up.

Luckily Jesus offers us a promise today.  Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  My yoke is easy and my burden is light.  When we look at St. Francis’ witness and we think about the poverty, the preaching, and the penitence, we get nervous.  We like our stuff, we like being comfortable, and we like being Christians without having to be too loud about it.  When we think about St. Francis, we think of a yoke – but not a light one – one that is heavy and onerous.  But Jesus harkens us back to his original words.  My yoke is easy and my burden is light.

One of the reasons I am a proponent of international missions is that they help you experience reality in a totally different way.  When we go on local missions, we can keep our smart phones, we have access to clean, accessible health care, and we can always find a McDonalds for a burger fix.  But when we are in a rural town in a third world country, things change.  We may not get to shower everyday, we may have to boil our water before drinking it, we will eat food that you are not so sure about, and we pray that we don’t get too sick while abroad.  And forget about a cell phone and internet access.  Most of us don’t even take a watch or jewelry to ensure they do not get lost.  Now that may sound like torture to most of you.  But here is what we learn when we are stripped of comforts and living and working in a foreign setting:  We learn to appreciate your massive wealth comparable to the poor in the third world; we learn what hospitality – real hospitality in the face of nothing – really feels like; we forget about email, phone calls, and even stop obsessively checking the time, because those things do not really matter that week; we hear birds and other creatures in a way that we never have before – maybe because of their proximity, or maybe because we normally distract ourselves with a hundred other things; and – now this is the crazy one – we talk about Jesus and no one is uncomfortable (well, except maybe us because we haven’t done that very much).  When stripped of everything familiar, we discover that Jesus’ burden really is easy and his yoke truly is light.  And sometimes we need to be stripped of the familiar so that when we are back in our comfort zone, we can more tangibly remember how easy that burden was and how light that yoke felt.

You may not be able to go on an international mission trip.  But each of you has some experience – a heartfelt expression of gratitude when you cared for the poor, a prayer with someone who was really hurting, or surprisingly easy conversation in a coffee shop about church and your faith.  Though Jesus, St. Francis, and even the Pope sometimes go to extreme measures, they all ultimately are trying to do the same thing.  To remind us that Jesus’ burden is easy and his yoke is light.  And then they all invite us to get comfortable with discomfort or even with the label of being crazy – and to go and do likewise.  Amen.

[i] Holy Men, Holy Women:  Celebrating the Saints (New York:  The Church Pension Fund, 2010), 622.

Homily – Exodus 1.15-21, Matthew 5.13-16, Emily Malbone Morgan, February 26, 2015

11 Wednesday Mar 2015

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Today we honor Emily Malbone Morgan, founder of the Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross.  Born in 1862 in Hartford, Connecticut, Morgan came from a prominent family with deep Anglican roots.  Through a friendship with a homebound friend who looked to Morgan for spiritual companionship, Morgan began to gather a small group of women for prayer and companionship; this group evolved into the Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross.  Morgan worried about working women who were tired and restless but had little hope for a vacation.  She formed summer vacation homes for the working women and their daughters for physical and spirit renewal.  She also formed a permanent home in Massachusetts, which is still the headquarters and retreat center for the Society.  Today the SCHC has 31 chapters and over 700 Companions in six countries.  The Society lives a life of prayer and contemplation rooted in tradition and has led to commitments to social justice for women.

What I love about Morgan is that she comes from a long line of strong women.  We hear about some of these women in scripture today.  First we hear of Shiphrah and Puah, the midwives who clearly disobeyed the king and saved many children.  Then we hear of Martha and Mary, who both witness to the full and complete spectrum of the ways women participate in the life of faith.  What I love about all three sets of women is that they boldly lived into their faith, sometimes taking on risks, thinking outside the box, and ultimately shaking up expectations of what men and women can do.

These last couple of years, the issue of the way women are treated around the world has become a hot issue.  Wage discrepancies, and susceptibility to violence, oppression and societal limitations have all come under criticism.  As legislation around women’s bodies arises, many women have fought back.  What I love about our lessons today is that both God and Jesus praise the women who step out to seize power and equality.

For the midwives, Shiprah and Puah, God rewards them for their loyalty and bravery.  For Mary, Jesus praises her for taking what was usually only given to men – the privilege of sitting and listening.  Today our lessons and Morgan’s witness invite us to consider our own role in inequality and God’s invitation to be an agent of change.  Amen.

Homily – John 15.1-11, Martin Luther, February 19, 2015

11 Wednesday Mar 2015

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Today we honor Martin Luther.  Born in 1483, Luther’s intellectual abilities were evident at an early age.  Though his father wanted him to go into law, Luther at age 22 entered a monastery and was ordained a priest two years later.  After five years, Luther became professor of biblical studies at the University of Wittenberg.  His academic work led him to question the selling of indulgences by the Roman Catholic Church.  On October 31, 1517, he posted on the door of the castle church in Wittenberg the notice of an academic debate on indulgences, listing 95 theses for discussion.  The Pope and Luther went back and forth, but Luther refused to recant.  Three years later, Martin was excommunicated.  When Luther was threatened with arrest, his own prince put him in a castle for safekeeping.  There Luther translated the New Testament into German and began to translate the Old Testament.  He also worked on worship and education for the church. He introduced congregational singing of hymns, composed hymns, and put together liturgies.  He also assembled catechisms for education.  He wrote prodigiously and died more than 20 years later.

A lot of us think of Luther today and remember him as being victorious.  Luther was a key leader of the Reformation and we think of him only as a winner.  But we forget that much of his life was lived under threat.  Though excommunication might seem like no big deal to us today, Luther’s very life was in danger because he stood up to the corrupt church.  And even though he evaded the authorities, the only “life” he had was while being hidden away in a castle – basically an imprisoned life without the ill treatment.  We remember Luther as being the victorious reformer, but that work was not without some suffering.

What Luther learned was that life is a constant time of pruning.  Jesus says in our gospel lesson, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower.  He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit.  Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it a bear more fruit.”  Branches that are not bearing fruit, God removes.  But even those branches that are producing are trimmed back.  No branch is free from the cutting process – all will be affected.

In many ways, that is what Lent invites us into today:  a time of clearing and pruning.  There are certainly things in our lives that are not bearing fruit.  Though it may feel painful, those parts of our lives need to be cut off.  But even where we see hints of growth, we need to do some uncomfortable trimming to get to real productivity.  We many not write songs, produce liturgies or write education catechisms like Luther did in his pruning time in the castle.  But if we can endure the clearing and trimming, imagine how much greater our flourishing can be!  Amen.

 

Homily – Deuteronomy 15.7-11, Charles Freer Andrews, February 12, 2015

11 Wednesday Mar 2015

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Today we honor Charles Freer Andrews.  Born in Birmingham, England, in 1871, Andrews was ordained a priest in 1897.  Turned on to social justice efforts in college, Andrews became interested in the cause of social justice throughout the British Empire, especially in India.  In 1904, he began to teach philosophy in Delhi, where his students and colleagues began to refer to him by an Indian name which means “Friend of the Poor.”  Andrews openly criticized the racist treatment of the Indian people by British officials, and in 1913 he successfully mediated a cotton worker’s strike which could have become violent.  He travelled to South Africa to help Indians there.  While there, he met Gandhi.  Andrews was impressed by Gandhi’s teaching of non-violence, knowledge of Christian faith and practice of peace.  Andrews and Gandhi worked together to negotiate matters of Indian authority with the British government.  Andrews also took up the Indian cause in Fiji, and eventually returned to England where he taught about social justice and radical discipleship.

I am sure Andrews was no stranger to our text from Deuteronomy today.  The passage is all about the sabbatical year, where debts were forgiven.  The passage warned the faithful against scheming around the rules of the seventh year.  Knowing that year was approaching, people were hesitant to give to those whose debts would be quickly forgiven.  Instead, the people of God are told, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.”

In many ways, St. Margaret’s is a faithful witness to opening our hands.  We are constantly collecting food and basic toiletries, giving gifts to the less fortunate and growing produce to feed the hungry.  We give liberally and ungrudgingly, as the text suggests.  But in all our good works, I sometimes wonder whether we could be labeled “Friend of the Poor,” as Andrews was.  It is one thing to give good or money to the poor, a necessary and important effort, but giving to the poor is not the same as being their friend.  Being a friend means getting involved, hearing their stories, finding out how they got to where they are today.  That work is much harder and messier, yet more meaningful.

Last week a story broke about Pope Francis and the Vatican opening up a new set of showers and a barber shop for the homeless of Rome.  The facility is beautiful and the homeless are treated with dignity and care.  The Vatican is trying to live into a life that embraces the poor and recognizes their humanity.  Now whether they become “friends of the poor” is something that is yet to be seen.  We all have that same invitation – to see the dignity of every human being and then to try to be their friend.  Good luck with your work!  Amen.

Homily – 1 Kings 17.1–16, Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson, February 8, 2015

16 Monday Feb 2015

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Today we honor two prophetic witnesses:  Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson.  Born in London in 1603, Roger Williams was a priest in the Church of England.  He found that he could not abide by the rigorous, high-church policies of Archbishop William Laud, and in 1630 he sailed to New England in search of religious liberty.  Once he arrived in Boston, life did not go as expected.  The civil authorities were punishing people for religious offenses.  Because Williams felt church and state powers should be separate and that individuals should be able to follow their consciences in matters of religious belief, he left Massachusetts and founded a settlement in Providence and formed the colony of Rhode Island.  Rhode Island formed a new constitution that granted wide religious latitude and freedom of practice.  Though he founded the first Baptist church in Providence, Williams refused to be tied to an established church.

Anne Hutchinson also immigrated to Massachusetts in hope of finding religious freedom.  She was an outspoken advocate of the rights and equality of women, challenging the dominant views of Puritan leadership.  Hutchinson held women’s Bible studies, where she welcomed critical examination of the faith.  In 1638, she was tried by the General Court of Massachusetts and branded a dangerous dissenter and banished from the colony.  She eventually relocated to the Bronx, where she and members of her family were killed by Siwanoy Indians in 1643.  Both Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson are remembered as early champions of religious liberty and prophets of individual freedom.

What I like about Williams’ and Hutchinson’s stories is that their lives did not end up how they expected.  Both Williams and Hutchinson came to Massachusetts with the expectation of finding their ideal freedom – and while both were disappointed, both kept at it, continuing to seek where the Spirit was moving and revealing truth.  Their spiritual journeys remind me of Elijah’s journey.  When Elijah flees to the wilderness, the LORD sends ravens to provide sustenance.  When the water dried up, Elijah could have felt defeated, but he kept on going and then has an profound experience with the widow in Zarephath.  In the face of impossibility, of failure, of abandonment, God keeps showing up.

I think that is what Williams, Hutchinson and Elijah remind us of today – to never give up.  The journey will likely not look how you expect, but God will be with you, making a way.  And it may be that in that scary in-between, God finds new and fresh ways to reveal God’s self.  The trick is to hang with God in the meantime.  Amen.

Homily – 2 Corinthians 2.14–17, Matthew 6.19–23, Andrei Rublev, January 29, 2015

16 Monday Feb 2015

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Today we honor the life and work of Andrei Rublev.  Generally acknowledged as Russia’s greatest iconographer, Andrei was born around 1365 near Moscow.  At a young age he became a monk in an orthodox monastery.  There he began to study iconography.  Icons are central to orthodox spirituality.  They are used both in liturgies and in personal devotion.  Icons are not physical portraits, but instead are images of someone meant to provide access to the spiritual and divine.  For Andrei, painting an icon was a spiritual exercise. As he worked, he would reportedly say the Jesus Prayer (Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me).  His icons were ways of accessing God in a unique way.

I first encountered icons in college.  Having grown up in the United Methodist Church, the devotional use of icons was a foreign experience.  But on my ecumenical mission trips, I was introduced to modern icons of Martin de Porres and Oscar Romero.  The images were jarring and gave me small window into the lives of these modern-day saints.  These stories, in turn, inspired in me a new sense of passion for the Gospel.  This is what icons are supposed to do – jar the senses in such a way that one experiences God in new and fresh ways.

Our lessons for 2 Corinthians and Matthew highlight the ways our senses play a role in our faith.  2 Corinthians talks about the aroma or fragrance of Christ.  At first, that language sounded foreign to me, but then I remembered the many times incense has stirred something in my faith.  That one fragrance can totally change a worship experience, opening up the holy in unexpected ways.  Meanwhile, our gospel lesson talks about the eye and how the eye can be a source of light – like the experience of praying with icons, our visual cues are what bring most of us to a more focused place of worship – whether seeing a crucifix, the drama of the Eucharistic prayer, or the flickering of a candle, these visuals bring our focus back to God who is trying to connect with us in new and fresh ways.

Our invitation today is to find which senses might be out of touch with God.  Maybe we haven’t been really paying attention to the taste of the Eucharistic meal.  Maybe we haven’t been listening to the power of music to lift us up.  Maybe we have not been seeing the beauty of this space and all that the space inspires in us.  These are the gifts God gives us every day – sensing ways of making our faith fresh and engaging.  How might God be inviting reconnection with you?  Amen.

Homily – Luke 12.4–12, Vincent, January 22, 2015

16 Monday Feb 2015

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This past week I was able to visit the Rite-13 class.  They were discussing the call narrative of Moses.  We talked about the many ways Moses tries to avoid his call and the excuses he gives.  We talked about how God knows Moses well and has intimate conversations with him.  And then an interesting question came up.  We wondered whether God cares about each one of us in the same way God seems to have cared about Moses.  The responses were varied, but the one that stuck with me was the skeptic who wasn’t sure that God really cared about each of us – especially when there are about 6 billion of us in the world.  How could God know and care about each little thing about each one of us?  And then I recalled the gospel lesson we heard today: “even the hairs of your head are all counted.”  When we did the math about the numbers of hairs on all the billions of people in the world, we were all a little stunned into silence.

That is the hard part of our gospel lesson today.  Can we really believe that God is so infused in our lives – and that God cares what is going on with each and every one of us?  The question is one that Christians have been asking for centuries – is our God big enough to really know and love each one of us?  I am sure Vincent, who we honor today, asked that same question.  Vincent was a native of northwestern Spain, born in the late 200s or early 300s.  He was ordained deacon by Valerius, the Bishop of Saragossa.  In those years, the fervent Christian community in Spain suffered great persecution by the Roman emperors Diocletian and Maximus.  The governor of Spain had Bishop Valerius and Deacon Vincent arrested.  According to legend, the bishop had a speech impediment and Vincent often preached for him.  When the two prisoners were challenged to renounce their faith or else be tortured and killed, Vincent turned to his bishop, willing to make a stand.  Vincent’s bishop encouraged him to defend the faith.  Vincent’s passionate defense angered the governor.  The bishop was exiled and Vincent was tortured and finally killed.  Vincent is venerated as a bold and outspoken witness to the truth of the living Christ.

I am sure there were days, especially at the end, that Vincent wondered whether God really knew the hairs on his head.  To Vincent and even to us in our lesser trials, Jesus says, “Do not be afraid, you are of more value than many sparrows.”  Then and now, Jesus affirms that none of us is forgotten by God.  When we question God, when we feel forgotten by God, or even when we forget God, God is still there valuing the hairs of our head.  That is God’s profound promise every day.  Even when we flounder, or when, like Moses, we try to avoid our call or feel unworthy for the work God gives us to do, or when the pain of life feels overwhelming – God is with us, guiding us, valuing us, loving us.  Thanks be to God for God’s abundant care and grace and the reality that we are of more value than many sparrows – each one of us!  Amen.

Homily – Luke 6.27-36, Martin Luther King, Jr., January 15, 2015

21 Wednesday Jan 2015

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Today we honor the life and work of The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  Born on Jan. 15, 1929, Dr. King was the son and grandson of Baptist preachers.  After earning his Ph.D. in Systematic Theology from Boston University, he became pastor of a church in Montgomery, Alabama.  A year later, Dr. King was catapulted into national prominence as the leader of the Montgomery Bus Boycott initiated by Rosa Parks.  He was able to rally both whites and blacks with his nonviolent demonstrations and his ability to be an articulate prophet.  Dr. King’s work was instrumental to the passage of three Civil Rights acts in the 1960s.  He was constantly threatened, attacked, and jailed, but Dr. King refused to back down.  He was assassinated in Memphis in 1968 while advocating for local sanitation workers.

Dr. King was a man of tremendous faith, and I imagine he read the passage we heard today from Luke many times.  Jesus teaches those gathered to love:  love their enemies; love through non-violence; love by giving freely without expecting anything in return.  In a time when he had plenty of reasons to hate and be bitter, Dr. King chose love, over and over again.  When he was arrested, he loved; when he was stabbed, he loved; when he was threatened and his home bombed, he loved.

Malcolm X, a contemporary of Dr. King, disagreed with him on this point.  He did not believe in nonviolence.  He had seen too much pain, suffering, and degradation.  As his people were beaten, abused, and murdered, Malcolm X wanted to fight back.  Many people judge Malcolm X, saying he should have embraced nonviolence like Dr. King.  I think we judge because we have a hard time admitting that there is a part of us that is a fighter, too.  Nonviolence sounds fine until you are slapped in the face; nonviolence sounds romantic until your children are threatened; nonviolence sounds noble until you watch your brothers and sisters beaten and murdered.

What Dr. King does is inspire us – inspire us to live a Christ-like life in modern times.  We may be past segregation and legal oppression of people of color, but there is still racism and oppression, as seen by many recent cases in the news.  Jesus and Dr. King today invite us and remind us to be agents of love.  In a world that needs less violence, we can be agents of love, mercy and grace.  Amen.