Tag Archives: Jesus

Sermon – John 18.33-37, P29, YB, November 21, 2021

01 Wednesday Dec 2021

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When I say the word “king,” the words that usually pop in our minds include:  ruler, power, authoritative, supreme, distant, dictator, or my personal favorite, Elvis.  Kings are a mixed bag for us, since Hickory Neck closed for over a hundred years after supporting one.  Equally messy was the king before the Revolutionary War who had a lot of impact in our lives – King Henry VIII.  If you remember, King Henry was the king who wanted to divorce his wife so that he could remarry.  When the Pope refused the King’s request, King Henry not only divorced his wife anyway, but he also started a revolution that led to the Anglican Church – our mother Church as Episcopalians.  If that is not power, I do not know what is!

Today, the Church celebrates Christ the King Sunday.  You would think on such a day, we would be hearing a text that glorifies Jesus, or that marks Jesus’ victory – such as the triumphal Palm Sunday lesson or an Easter or Ascension text.  Instead, we get the story of Jesus on trial with Pilate.  Jesus does not really look victorious in this passage – he has been humiliated, beaten, and is now being mocked by Pilate.  This is not exactly the image of Christ we may have had for Christ the King Sunday.  In fact, between Jesus and Pilate, Pilate plays the more stereotypical role of king.  Pilate uses power and authority for selfish ends with no concern for building community.  He hoards power and lords his power over people even to the point of destroying them, on a cross or otherwise.  Meanwhile, Jesus empowers others and uses his authority to wash the feet of those he leads.  He spends his life on them, and he gives his life to bring life.  Pilate’s rule brings about terror, even in the midst of calm.  Meanwhile, Jesus’ rule brings peace, even in the midst of terror.  Pilate’s followers imitate him by using violence to conquer and divide people by race, ethnicity, and nations.  Jesus’ followers put away the sword in order to invite and unify people.  Pilate’s authority originates from the will of Caesar and is always tenuous.  Meanwhile, Jesus’ authority originates from doing the will of God, and is eternal.[i]

So, if Jesus as a king is so different from any kings that we know, and our relationships with kings is tenuous at best, why do we celebrate Christ as King?  Christ the King Sunday is not that ancient of a concept in Church history.  In 1925, in the face of growing nationalism and secularism following World War I, Pope Pius XI established the feast of Christ the King.  The feast was meant to be a way of declaring where allegiances should be – not to a country, but to God.  Our allegiance should be to Jesus – our only ruler and power.  In a time of national pride, the Church boldly proclaimed, “We have no king but Jesus.”  Proclaiming Jesus as King is a fascinating reappropriation of the title “King.”  When the Church invites us to proclaim Christ as King, not only does the Church ask us to put Christ above any earthly ruler, the Church also asks us to redefine the concept of a king.  Jesus is a king who lays down his life for the sake of others; who endures humiliation and death for the salvation of people; who humbly cares for the poor, oppressed, imprisoned, and suffering.  This image does not sound anything like Henry VIII or even modern day presidents; and yet, this is what we proclaim today. 

So what does proclaiming Christ as King really look like today?  If Christ is King, then we are Christ’s people.  Those who have been baptized into Christ Jesus are, as the psalmist says, the people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand.  “Christ has made of us a people with his kingship.  And that kingship is unique, unlike any earthly kingship that is bound by geographic borders…  All are welcome, especially the chronically unwelcome ones.”[ii]  When we say that we are Christ’s people, we do not imply that we elected Jesus or that we hired Jesus as CEO.  We belong to Christ as his subjects – sharing the Eucharistic meal, sharing our lives, serving Christ as one, and resting our hopes in Christ.  Being the people of Christ impacts how we treat one another in this place, how we treat others outside of this place, and how we treat ourselves.    

At the end of another Church year, having lived through another cycle of hearing the stories of Jesus’ life, of being taught again through his miracles and parables, we come together to proclaim the truth of Christ’s kingship.  After another year of living our own lives – burying our loved ones, baptizing our children, celebrating marriage, mourning broken relationships, welcoming new families and ministries, struggling and thriving, surviving a pandemic – we bring all of our own experiences to the climax of this day as well.  We lay down all of this past year at the feet of the crucified, enthroned Christ, and we give thanks.[iii]  We are blessed to be a people ruled by a king who rules with love and mercy.  Being so blessed, we extend that kingly love and mercy to each other, to our neighbors, and to ourselves.  Amen. 

[i] Jaime Clark-Soles, as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching_print.aspx?commentary_id=1490 on November 23, 2012. 

[ii] Mary W. Anderson, “Royal Treatment,” Christian Century, vol. 120, no. 23, November 15, 2003, 18.

[iii] Anderson, 18.

Sermon – John 11.32-44, Isaiah 25.6-9, AS, YB, November 7, 2021

17 Wednesday Nov 2021

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Most Sundays we talk about Jesus’ life and witness and how we can emulate the Son of God.  Many years ago, there was even a campaign with the letters WWJD:  What Would Jesus Do.  But what we rarely talk about is how incredibly hard that ideal is – how hard as everyday humans emulating the Savior, who was both fully human and fully divine, really is.  So, in theory, a day like today should be a relief.  All Saints Sunday is a day we shift gears and talk about emulating people who were fully human.  Of course, that notion is tricky too.  By “saints” the church means those “persons of heroic sanctity, whose deeds were recalled with gratitude by

later generations.”[i]  These are people like St. Francis who shed his every earthly possession and obtained the stigmata, Mother Teresa who nursed this sickest of the sick and poorest of the poor, or even St. Margaret, who slayed her way out of a dragon after being tortured for her faith. 

I think that is why we often conflate All Saints and All Souls Day – the latter being a day when we remember all of those who have died in the hope of the resurrection.  These are the saints or souls who may not have been marked by heroic sanctity, but certainly had an impact on our lives.  These are the moms and dads, the spouses and friends, the children and lovers who may not have always been holy, but certainly taught us about the Christian faith and who we entrusted to the hope of the resurrection as we sat by their deathbeds or mourned their sudden deaths from afar.

We conflate the notion of All Souls Day into All Saints Day because there is something more human about All Souls Day – not only because we can relate to ordinary human life and death, but because the celebration today makes us feel like our humanity can be enough too.  That’s why I love the gospel lesson we get today.  In all the texts about Jesus’ healings, outwitting the challengers, and his ultimate sacrifice for us on the cross, today we get a text about Jesus being very human.  Before the amazing miracle of raising Lazarus from the dead, we are told, very simply, Jesus wept.  Caught up in the grief of his friends Martha and Mary and lost in his own overwhelming sense of loss, Jesus cries; not just a single, artistic tear, but a full-on bout of weeping.  In that solitary moment of grief, Jesus feels deeply, tangibly human.

I do not know about you, but that is what I need from Jesus today.  Later in our service we will list the names of the beautiful souls from Hickory Neck who died in the last year – those who made us laugh, sometimes made us angry, who put a smile on our face, and sometimes made us weep.  In the Prayers of the People, we will pray for the over 750,000 people who have died of COVID in the United States, mourning not just their loss, but the loss of our old “normal” and all that this pandemic has taken from us.  We mourn the ways in which many of the funerals we celebrated in the last year cheated us from each other’s presence – a reality that has still not be fully remedied.  In the midst of what has been a time of significant trauma, we need a Savior who weeps with us – and not just for the dear friend who has died, but also for the fact that his raising Lazarus will soon mean his own death.[ii]

That very gift of Jesus’ humanity today is what empowers us to boldly proclaim hope[iii] in the midst of sorrow, in the midst of trauma, in midst of this strange in-between time.  The words of Isaiah remind us of the promise, the promise that, “the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.  And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.  Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.  It will be said on that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us.  This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”  On this All Saints Sunday, that is our hope for the week – the promise that the Lord God will wipe away tears – because God’s Son has known our tears – and that we will enjoy that rich feast with our loved ones again.  This in-between time is just that – a time in-between where the promise of new life is a rich promise indeed; one that gives us strength for the not-yet time.  Thanks be to God!

[i] Holy Women, Holy Men:  Celebrating the Saints, (New York:  The Church Pension Fund, 2010),664.

[ii] Debie Thomas, “When Jesus Weeps,” October 28, 2018, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/1999-when-jesus-weeps on November 5, 2021.

[iii] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Mourn Loss, Proclaim Faith,” November 1, 2021, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/mourn-loss-proclaim-faith on November 5, 2021.

Sermon – Mark 12.28-34, Deuteronomy 6.1-9, P26, YB, October 31, 2021

17 Wednesday Nov 2021

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In preparation for a mission trip to Honduras, we did a lot of study on the history, politics, and economic development of the country.  Part of that preparation included reading Don’t Be Afraid, Gringo, the story of Honduran woman Eliva Alvarado.  Her story is the story of all campesinos – the poor and oppressed in her country.  Her story is the kind of story that stirs up righteous indignation and makes you want to hop on a plane to go fight for justice.  But in the conclusion of her story, she says to the reader that her ultimate desire is for us to stay where we are.  She does not want her story to inspire us to come there and “fix” things.  Instead, she implores us to fix ourselves – explore our own country’s policies and practices that abet the oppression by the privileged in her country. 

I remember when we got to her conclusion, the team sat in silence for a long time.  You could see the wheels churning in each of our minds – surely, we know what is best, surely we can fix things if we can just get there, surely there is a way around the way this woman has made us feel impotent.  And yet, there was profound truth in her words, and an understanding that to not listen to her final request would be worse than to have not read her words at all.  And so, we sat in pained silence, letting her charge sit uncomfortably with us.

Jesus creates a similar silence at the end of our gospel lesson today.  Jesus has been poked and prodded by one group after another at this point in Mark’s gospel.  In chapter 11, the chief priests, scribes, and elders question Jesus’ authority.  Early in chapter 12, the Pharisees and some Herodians try to trap Jesus with a question.  Finally, some Sadducees question Jesus about a theological issue.  Then today, a scribe asks a “palpably disarming” question – not one to test Jesus, but as one scholar says, an “invitation to the table of theological discourse.”[i]  The conversation today is about the greatest of the commandments. 

Jesus’ response is not new.  In fact, Jesus quotes the shema, the classic text we heard just this morning from Deuteronomy, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.”  This is a text the Israelites have emblazoned in the minds of their children, and repeated for generations, “Shema Yisrael, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai echad.”  “Hear, O Israel, The Lord is our God, the Lord alone (or the Lord is one).”  Jesus tweaks the answer only slightly from the original shema, adding that we should love the Lord our God with all our mind in addition to all our heart, soul, and strength.  And he adds that we should love our neighbor as ourselves.  But that notion is true to the original commandments as well.  When the scribe agrees with Jesus, saying loving God and neighbor as self is more important than any other ritual of the faith, the crowd falls silent, and we are told “no one dared to ask him any question.”  In other words, “Jesus’ critics were silenced and the effect was momentarily deafening.”[ii] 

So why is the crowd suddenly and dramatically silenced?  What’s the big deal about loving God and neighbor as self?  We talk about these commands all the time.  I mean, Bishop Curry has preached these words more times than I can count.  So why do Jesus’ words shock the room into silence?  One scholar suggests that the silence is so deafening because those gathered understood something about the reality of love that we modern Americans sometimes neglect.  As one scholar explains, “…sometimes — especially in western Christianity — we focus so hard on the emotive and affective aspects of love that we forget its rigor, its robustness, its discomfort.  We assume that loving God and our neighbors means expressing friendly sentiments to God in Sunday worship, and exchanging warm pleasantries with the people who live near us during the week.  We forget that in the scriptures, the call to love is a call to vulnerability, sacrifice, and suffering.  It’s a call to bear a cross and lay down our lives.  Biblical love is not an emotion we feel, it’s a path we travel.  As the children of God, we are called to walk in love. Think aerobic activity, not Hallmark sentiment.”[iii]  An invitation into that kind of radical love – the love of neighbors we would rather not love, the love that is as powerful as the natural, preserving love of self[iv], the love that is a response to the overwhelming love of God for us – that kind of invitation is sobering. 

I remember having read Elvia’s disinvitation to come to Honduras and “fix” things felt like a disempowering, painful rebuffing of love.  But I think I felt that way because we do not get to dictate what love of neighbor looks like.  True love of neighbor is not self-designed but is responsive – responsive to our love of God, and respectfully responsive to the self-articulation of needs by others.  Elvia’s self-articulation was deafeningly silencing the way Jesus’ invitation is too.  As scholar Debie Thomas explains, “Silence is the appropriate first response to the radical love we’re called to.  We dare not speak of [love] glibly.  We dare not cheapen [love] with shallow sentiment or piety.  Rather, [we] ask for the grace to receive [love] as the wise scribe received [love].  In awed and grateful silence.”[v]  Only when we have sat in the uncomfortable silence that recognizes the true love of God and neighbor as self are we ready to take up every perfect gift God has given us and travel the path of love.  Amen.

[i] Cynthia A. Jarvis, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 262.

[ii] Jarvis, 364.

[iii] Debie Thomas, “Walk in Love,” October 24, 2021, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2944 on October 29, 2021.

[iv] Victor McCracken, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 262.

[v] Thomas.

Sermon – Mark 10.17-31, P23, YB, October 10, 2021

27 Wednesday Oct 2021

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This Sunday, we kick off our stewardship season, whose theme is “Every Perfect Gift.”  I know a lot of people hear we have entered stewardship season and internally groan, knowing full well that we will have to spend the next few weeks talking about how we are sharing our time, talent, and treasure.  This can be especially hard for those of us who were raised to believe that there are certain taboo subjects in public – and money is definitely on the banned list.  I’m not sure why:  money is one of the topics Jesus talks about more than any in scripture.  But even Jesus seems incapable of eliminating Southern hospitality mores. 

Knowing our predisposition to loathe talking about money, imagine my own groan when I read today’s gospel lesson earlier this week.  This is the lesson we get on the kickoff of stewardship season?!?  A lesson about how the only proper relationship with money is to give money away to the poor and follow Jesus; a lesson that asserts getting a camel through the eye of a needle is easier than the rich to get into the kingdom of God.  And just in case any of us were hoping for an out, I already checked, and yes, we are considered “rich” by Jesus’ standards.  We might like to think ourselves exempt because we know plenty of people who have more than we do.  But given global standards, we certainly fall in the same category as the rich man in this text.

So, if your shoulders are already tensed, your foot is nervously tapping the ground, or your arms are crossed over your chest, I want you to take a deep breath in, and as you slowly exhale, allow the tension in your body to slowly release.  As you take in and release a second breath, I want you to clear you mind and listen to the text again with me with an open mind.  A man of deep faith runs to Jesus and throws himself at Jesus’ feet – he is already a faithful follower of God, and yet we see in him a yearning for deeper relationship, to align himself with the goodness of this man named Jesus.  He is a seeker, he is humble, he is passionate.  And, the text tells us, Jesus looks at him and loves him.  This is not a dependent clause.  This is a declarative, gracious, merciful statement of deep, abiding love.  Jesus looks at him and loves him.  Period. 

Many have described the next part of the story as an incisive judgment or a condemnation.[i]  But I see the next part of the story is an invitation – for the wealthy man, for the disciples, and for us.  The invitation is to contemplate the nature of our relationship with wealth.  Jesus never condemns wealth.  Jesus just knows that wealth has the power to corrupt: to corrupt our generous spirit, to corrupt our sense of self-worth, to corrupt our ability to see that every perfect gift comes from God – not from our hard work, our intelligence, or even our good looks. 

One of my favorite children’s sermons from my dad involved an apple.  He sat down with a paring knife and asked us kids to think of the apple as the money that we have.  He asked us, “What are some of the things we have to spend money on in life.”  The answers started flying:  housing, clothes, school supplies, food.  With each answer, he would slice off a part of the apple.  Then he leaned in and whispered, “Now what are the things we like to spend money on?”  We had those answer too:  bicycles, TVs, video games, candy!  With the last suggestion, we realized he had cut every last part of the apple away.  Then he looked at his empty hands and said, “Uh oh.  Did any of us save anything for the church?”  That morning, both the kids and the adults had guilty looks on their faces.  Fortunately, my dad had stashed a second apple and suggested we start over, this time giving the first slice to God.  We were amazed how we still had room for both needs and wants, even losing that crucial first slice.

That is the invitation of our stewardship season too:  to take a look at every perfect gift in our lives, to look at every perfect gift within ourselves, and to look at every perfect gift in others and to understand all that abundance comes from God.  When we allow ourselves to see the magnitude of that abundance, we can then see what Jesus is inviting the wealthy man, the disciples, and us into:  a posture of abundance, that sees all the perfect gifts we receive, we have, and others around us have and to become agents of abundance who, with relaxed shoulders, untensed bodies, and unfolded arms long to share that abundance.  Amen.        

[i] Debie Thomas, “What Must I Do?” October 3, 2021, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2944 on October 8, 2021.

Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, Feast of St. Francis, YB, October 3, 2021

06 Wednesday Oct 2021

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Occasionally I wander the Hickory Neck property as a way of clearing my head.  I often end up over in the St. Francis Memorial Garden, reveling in the quiet in that remote corner behind the Historic Chapel.  The bucolic scene and the St. Francis statue make me imagine the peaceful walks he took in his journey to commune with God and God’s created order.  The funny thing is our celebrations of St. Francis today are nothing like those peaceful moments.  There is the chaos of the drive-thru, as confused pets worry they are headed toward the dreaded veterinarian or are confused by the people in clerical garb.  There is the hubbub of owners calming pets inside the New Chapel, the curiosity of what unique pets one may see, and the endless giggles and chuckles about unpredictable animals in an enclosed space.  The whole morning is a morning of contrasts.

The contradictions of this day are equally evident in our Gospel lesson.  Our gospel lesson closes with one of our favorite invitations from Jesus, “Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you … and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Those words describe a loving, gentle Jesus, who enfolds us in a calm, affirming embrace.  At least, they should.  But if we read the words critically, there is more contrast in them than we might like to admit.  Yes, Jesus taking our heavy burdens and recognizing our weariness is balm for the soul.  But the last time I checked, yokes were not exactly tools for rest.  And even though Jesus promises his yoke is easy, the yoke is still a yoke – a tool for directing, guiding, ensuring productive work is done.  Having listened to the gospels these last weeks, we know this work is anything but light.  In the last few weeks in Mark’s gospel, Jesus told us we would have to take up our cross, suffer, and die; that discipleship would mean being servant of all; and that if our hand or eye were causing us to stumble, we should just cut them off!  That does not really sound like an easy yoke to me!

Part of what we appreciate about St. Francis, and why we celebrate him every year – besides having an excuse to have a day to honor our beloved animals – is St. Francis understood Jesus’ words in a tangible, personal way.  Francis grew up in the life of luxury.  He grew up in a privileged home, lived a life of young adult revelry, and could have easily assumed his father’s wealth in adulthood.  But there were these poor people everywhere he looked around town.[i]  And there was the day everything changed at the church of St. Mary of the Angles[ii], when Francis heard different words from Matthew’s gospel, just a chapter before what we heard today.  Jesus says, “Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons…Take no gold, or silver, or coper in your belts, no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff…”[iii]  For Francis, Jesus’ yoke felt light because the yoke of keeping up appearances, the yoke of ignoring the poor to enjoy your own wealth, the yoke of never feeling like you have enough was indeed a heavy yoke.  The yoke of another way – of the way of Jesus – helped Francis reframe his entire life.

That is what we celebrate too.  St. Francis, in his faith conversion, and in his ability to see the sacred in all of God’s creation, saw the truth of our gospel lesson today.  As one scholar explains, “The proper ordering of our relationship to Father and Son can be deemed ‘light’ and ‘easy’ because an improper relationship to them surely makes for a much harder and more restless life!”[iv]  Whether in the pure love between animals and owners, whether in peaceful moments with God’s creation, or whether in today’s gospel lesson and in Francis’ example, our invitation today is to let go of the hard and restless life and to take up the light burden of Jesus’ easy yoke.  The more we practice taking on that yoke, the more we find work that is meaningful, life-giving, and blessed.  And that is a yoke we can all enjoy!  Amen.

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

[ii] Hilarion Kistner, O.F.M., The Gospels According to Saint Francis (Cincinnati:  Franciscan Media, 2014), 6-7.

[iii] Matthew 10.7-10

[iv] Colin Yuckman, “Commentary on Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30,” July 9, 2017, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-14/commentary-on-matthew-1116-19-25-30-4 on October 1, 2021.

Sermon – Mark 9.30-37, P20, YB, September 19, 2021

29 Wednesday Sep 2021

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This spring I took a class on Design Thinking.  Technically speaking, “Design thinking is a non-linear, iterative process that teams use to understand users, challenge assumptions, redefine problems and create innovative solutions to prototype and test.”[i]  In layman’s terms, design thinking is a non-traditional way of getting to innovative idea.  Within design thinking are several methods to help people get out of their traditional ways of thinking.  One of my favorites is The Five Whys Method.  You start with a problem, and you ask why the problem is happening.  Then you look at the first “why?” and ask the question again.  Why is that answer happening.  And on and on until you get to the root of the issue[ii] – almost like peeling layers off an onion.  At first, the Five Whys feel a little silly.  But the more you play with the method, the faster you realize the problem you are looking at is not the actual problem.  And when you finally hit the right answer, you may be surprised by how uncomfortably honest the answer is.

 In our gospel lesson today, the disciples clearly have never heard of the Five Whys Method.  In fact, when Jesus, privately teaching the disciples, tells them he will be betrayed, killed, and will rise again on the third day, the disciples say nothing.  The text tells us they do not understand Jesus, and they are “afraid to ask him.”  They are afraid to ask why.  They are afraid to go beyond that first layer of the onion because they do not even like the layer in front of them.  We talked last week about how Peter tried to discourage Jesus from this same fate:  because a Messiah is not supposed to suffer and die – a Messiah is supposed to free them from oppressive power.[iii] 

We can understand their fear.  When taking that class on design thinking I practiced the method using a challenge we were facing at Hickory Neck.  To be honest, I do not even remember the actual presenting problem.  But what I do remember was getting the answer to the third why.  When I answered why to that third question, the answer took my breath away.  I was mortified and ashamed:  surely that was not the answer to the problem.  As I stood stunned at the words that had just come out of my mouth, and after some awkward silence, my partner asked me again, “Okay.  But why?”  As I shook off my paralysis and answered the fourth why, I started getting some more honest clarity.  By the time I got to the fifth why, I was sold on the method.  The method helped me name the thing I could not name just staring at presenting problem.

After the conversation with the disciples, Jesus introduces a child into the teaching with the disciples.  Scholars have many theories about the introduction.  Thousands of years ago, children were not regarded with honor.  As Sharon Ringe explains, “A child did not contribute much if anything to the economic value of a household or community, and a child could not do anything to enhance one’s position in the struggles for prestige or influence.  One would obtain no benefit from according to a child the hospitality or rituals of honor or respect that one might offer to someone of higher status…”[iv]  Most scholars agree Jesus does not introduce children because they are cute and to be loved (even if they are!).  But I wonder if Jesus, having known a few children, knew that children are particularly adept at asking, “why?”  Any of you who has known a preschooler has known the incessant way they can ask the question, “why?”  And as children age, the question does not stop:  the question just gets increasingly uncomfortable.  I think Jesus knew the disciples were stuck on their own conceptions of the Messiah and their role in the divine narrative, and Jesus wanted them to start probing why that narrative mattered to them.  Jesus wanted them to start peeling back the narratives, but saw they were afraid of truth.

That is our invitation today.  Our gospel scene is an invitation for us into deeper, more honest, more probing relationship with Jesus.  Instead of taking our relationship with Jesus at face value, instead of being afraid of hard questions, instead of being afraid of scary answers, our invitation today is to engage in our faith in the same way we engage in innovative thinking:  to keep asking the whys over and over again.  The good news is we have a community of seekers who can ask those whys with us and hold us in the uncomfortable answers until we get clarity.  The good news is we have tools to help overcome our fear and silence, and kids in our community who will keep us honest.  The good news is we have a Savior who is willing to engage with us in a brutally honest, yet radically salvific relationship.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

[i] Teo Yu Siang, “Design Thinking,” Interaction Design Foundation, as found at https://www.interaction-design.org/literature/topics/design-thinking on September 18, 2021.

[ii] iSixSigma-Editorial, “Determine the Root Cause: 5 Whys,” as found at https://www.isixsigma.com/tools-templates/cause-effect/determine-root-cause-5-whys/ on September 18, 2021. 

[iii] N.T. Wright, Mark for Everyone (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 122.

[iv] Sharon H. Ringe, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 97.

Sermon – Mark 8.27-38, P19, YB, September 12, 2021

15 Wednesday Sep 2021

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Our Gospel lesson today is pretty harsh.  We read with sympathetic ears for Peter:  partly because, objectively speaking, Jesus is being rude.  But we are also sympathetic because we can identify with Peter more than we might like to admit.  Peter has decided that he knows what being a Messiah is, that Jesus is that same Messiah, and that Jesus is not acting how he should.[i]  So he rebukes Jesus in front of everyone.  Peter’s desire to control Jesus makes sense.  His life has been out of control since the moment he left his boat to follow this crazy man.  Trying to control Jesus is the natural response of someone desperate for some normalcy.  For Peter, Jesus being the conquering Messiah will validate Peter’s decisions – but only if Jesus acts in accordance with the definition of a Messiah.  If Jesus starts redefining the concept of Messiah, Peter will be left floundering, his life spinning even further out of control than his life already feels.  Anyone who has been paying attention during this pandemic knows what having little control over life around you feels like.

One of my favorite book and film series is Harry Potter.  In the first movie, while trying to save the Sorcerer’s Stone, the main characters, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, fall into a pit.  At the bottom of the pit is a bed of vines that cushions their fall.  But they soon find that the vines are magical vines, which start weaving themselves around Harry and the others’ bodies.  The more they struggle, the tighter the vines wrap around their bodies.  Hermione remembers from class that the only way to escape one these plants is to totally relax your body – to surrender.  She relaxes, and her body sinks into the bed of vines, disappearing.  Harry and Ron freak out, but Hermione shouts from below that they just need to relax and they will reach the floor.  Harry listens to Hermione and relaxes his body and is also sucked in and released.  Ron, however, totally loses his cool.  He completely panics, and thrashes about so much that the vines wrap themselves around his screaming mouth.  After losing the battle of trying to convince Ron to relax, Hermione has to use a special spell to get the plant to release him. 

Sometimes I think our relationship with God is a lot like Ron’s relationship with that strange plant.  We are creatures who want to be in control.  We want to control how our careers develop, what our relationships will be like, our plans for retirement, and the timing of major life events.  Although we are rarely successful, we try to control other people too – our family members, our friends, our co-workers.  And most of all, we try to control God.  We see this desire most readily in our prayer lives – we ask God for things, we pray for specific solutions to our problems, and we get angry with God when things do not go our way.  We rarely say those words that Jesus says, “Not my will but yours be done.”[ii]  And even more rarely do we sit in prayer with God and just listen.  When we examine our relationship with God, we are more likely to find our hands grasping tightly for control than to find ourselves with open hands, willingly ceding control to God.[iii]

The unfortunate thing about our desperate need for control is that we miss what God is trying to do in our lives – just like Peter.  By being so controlling with Jesus, Peter is unable to really hear Jesus, and unable to understand the radically wonderful way that Jesus will not only redefine the concept of the Messiah, but will do so much more than the expected Messiah could do.  But that is not the scariest part.  The challenge for us today is not just the ceding of control; the challenge is when we finally cede control with Peter, there is more to the story.  In our gospel lesson, Jesus tells us that once we understand what a Messiah really is, we too must behave like a Messiah.  We too must follow the way of Christ – the way of the cross that leads to death.  That cross up there over our altar, the one that we hang everywhere, including around our necks, is not just a symbol for what Christ did for us.  That cross is a symbol for the life that we take up too.  The cross is not simply Jesus’ cross, but the cross is our cross. 

But, if we can trust Jesus, trust God, if we can relax our bodies in those tangled vines that are trying to squeeze the life out of us, we might just fall into the place where we need to be.  We might just realize that taking up our cross does not only lead to suffering; taking up our cross also leads to a glorious life of greater joy than we can imagine, and salvation beyond our wildest dreams, where death and suffering have no power over us.  When we move our hands from being tightly closed fists of control to open hands of trust and acceptance, we create space for God to rest in our hands, to show us the way.  The other side of those tangled vines of our desire for control is a glorious place.  All we have to do is let go and let God.  Amen.

[i] Martha L. Moore-Keish, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 70.

[ii] Luke 22.42. 

[iii] Patrick J. Wilson, “Cross Culture,” Christian Century, vol. 111, no. 5, Feb. 16, 1994, 165.

Sermon – Mark 7.1-8, 14-15, 21-23, P17, YB, August 29, 2021

08 Wednesday Sep 2021

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My mom and stepdad have been longtime members of what many of us would call a megachurch – a very large United Methodist Church in Alabama. Having worshiped with them many times, the church truly is “mega”:  multiple services of varying styles, a professional band, a TV production company, a large youth center, an indoor playground, a coffee shop, a gym with fitness classes, and a big campus.  But the thing that impresses me most about their church is their clear sense of identity.  When my family started attending regularly, two people came to visit them in their home, and they had a very frank conversation about expectations for membership.  At that meeting my mom and her husband were asked to commit to at least one ministry each, were asked about what kind of education they wanted to join, and they were asked to tithe – to make a commitment to give 10% of their earnings to the church, as is the Biblical tradition. 

I remember when my mom told me this story having a visceral reaction:  that would have felt WAY to “pressure-y” for most Episcopalians.  But as time has passed, I have come to admire their church’s clarity.  The Episcopal Church does a poor job of defining membership.  Our commitment to professing “All are welcome!” seems to translate into no defining characteristics of membership.  In fact, as a priest, one of the questions I dread the most is “How do I join your church?”  That should be a very easy question, and yet when I talk to new members, the answer has to be two-fold:  the technical answer (as long as you attend three services a year and are a financial contributor, you’re considered a member – the answer from the wider Episcopal Church which I loathe!), and the more practical answer we have crafted here at Hickory Neck:  you fill out a form, you commit to supporting the church financially, you commit to feeding yourself (through study, prayer, regular worship), and you commit to feeding others (through giving your time to the church and to the wider community on behalf of the church). 

Our gospel lesson today seems to be wading through a similar debate.  The Pharisees and scribes are totally perplexed by how some of Jesus’ disciples are not washing their hands before eating – a totally valid concern in these days of COVID!  But handwashing was not just about hygiene.  The ritual washing of hands was about identity, or “membership” as we understand it today.  The Jews of this time are in an “oppressed minority, living in an occupied land.”  Their question is asked with the backdrop of colonialism, cultural and religious diversity, and competing claims on identity.[i]    Their question is both simple and complex:  why aren’t the disciples living like members of our community? 

For many a reader of this text, all sorts of erroneous conclusions have been drawn – primarily the antisemitic understanding that the laws of the Jews are superseded by laws of Jesus.[ii]  But that is not what is happening in this text.  Jesus does not have any issue with ritual cleansing:  he of all people understands the consequences of following God.  But Jesus is saying something more nuanced about identity and membership.  Jesus is saying that no matter how we traditionally mark ourselves as “other,” even if something is “the way we’ve always done it,” what is more important is how we live our faith.  So, if we are doing all the right things:  washing our hands the right way, bowing at all the right times, crossing ourselves when we’re supposed to, saying “Amen” during the sermon – or avoiding saying “Amen” during the sermon – none of that matters if our insides are defiled.  As Jesus quotes from Isaiah, “This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me…”[iii] 

Today’s invitation is to ponder what membership in this body of faith means.  Are we honoring Jesus with our lips, but our hearts are far from Jesus?  Are we following the external “rules” but fostering evil intentions in our heart?  Our work this week is making sure that when we go out into the world to love and serve the Lord, we love and serve the Lord in ways that show people Christ through our words and actions; that when we wash our hands, we do not wash them simply to keep ourselves safe, but to keep our neighbors safe; and that when we talk about how much we love this church on the hill, we do so in a way that does not show mask our individual struggles with avarice, deceit, slander, pride, and folly.  Telling the world you are a proud member of Hickory Neck Episcopal Church is just fine; but our invitation is to be clear with others that, as that old tune says, “He’s still working on me,” is also a part of membership in the body of Christ.  Amen. 

[i] Debie Thomas, “True Religion,” August 22, 2021, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2944 on August 27, 2201.

[ii] Idea suggested by Matt Skinner on the Sermon Brainwave podcast, “#799: 14th Sunday after Pentecost (Ord. 22B) – Aug. 29, 2021,” August 22, 2021, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/799-14th-sunday-after-pentecost-ord-22b-aug-29-2021 on August 25, 2021.

[iii] Mark 7.6b.

To Everything There is a Season…

25 Wednesday Aug 2021

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Photo credit: https://www.amazon.com/Ecclesiastes-Everything-Season-Unframed-Inspirational/dp/B08FMDFBTK

Having finally sat down to write a blog post, I was shocked to realize it had been two months since my last post.  Writing has always been a source of pleasure, joy, and learning for me – a way to reflect on the happenings of life in light of my faith and Holy Scripture.  Blogging for me is akin to preaching and spiritual direction:  an exercise in translating our daily, seemingly secular life into the sacred.  Nearly weekly postings for most of my ministry has been an outlet for me and a ministry to many others.

As I contemplated why there was such a big gap this summer, two theories percolated.  One was the more obvious.  I took some time for vacation, we were searching for and then training a new staff member, I was a part of a bishop’s search (which some argue is like a second full-time job), I was tending my family in a pandemic, I was investing time in continuing education, and I was trying to serve my beloved parish.  My plate was quite obviously full. 

But the second, perhaps more revealing reason came to me through scripture.  I was reminding of that familiar passage from Ecclesiastes, chapter 3:  For everything there is a season.[i]  Honestly, I think more people are familiar with this passage through The Byrd’s song “Turn! Turn! Turn!”  This summer has felt like a different season for me.  Instead of writing about life around us and interpreting it in light of our faith, I spent the summer doing that work orally with two faith communities – talking through what God is doing in the Church, what God has done through us in this time of pandemic, where the Church is going, and who Jesus is calling all of us to be.  In some ways those conversations have been very similar in content to what I write.  But experientially, it was significantly more vulnerable.  Instead of hiding behind the written word, I was engaging in deep, hard, thoughtful conversations in real time, being probed, questioned, and challenged – and all of that experience being broadcast in recorded and live videos for anyone and everyone to see.  I described it to a dear friend as a time of feeling naked before the world.

This summer has been a season for discernment, for deep reflection, for vulnerable pondering.  And just like the scripture writer says, for everything there is a season:  a time to plant, a time to break down, a time to laugh and dance, a time to embrace, a time to seek and a time to lose, a time to speak, and a time to love.  Now, I enter into another season:  a time to reconnect with the Hickory Neck community that loved me through this process – even though it was difficult for them.  A time to write again:  about where we see God in the midst of this season of pandemic that we wish were over.  A time to dream and a time to innovate:  about where God is calling us now.  A time to laugh, dance, and embrace:  even if we have to go back to doing that all virtually.  No matter what the season, God is with us.  I’m honored to journey in this season with you.

[i] Ecclesiastes 3.1-8 reads:  For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:  a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to throw away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.

Sermon – Joshua 24.1-2a,14-18, John 6.56-69, P16, YB, August 22, 2021

25 Wednesday Aug 2021

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The film Remember the Titans tells the story of the integration of the football team at TC Williams High School in Alexandria, Virginia in 1971.  Bringing together an all-white and an all-black team, the new head black coach has to be very clear about the rules – how and who they will be, how they will comport themselves, what is acceptable.  The rules are strict – if you’re on-time, you’re late.  The rules disrupt the norms – interracial roommates at camp for starters.  The rules are non-negotiable – break them and you are out.  In some ways, there is no other way for the head coach to be.  He is trying to do the impossible at a racially charged time in a racially charged town in a racially charged system.  Any lack of clarity about identity, purpose, and posture could lead to a collapse of the entire system.

This past week, we baptized another child into the household of God.  When the church celebrates a baptism, we are similarly clear about identity, purpose, and posture.  The parents and godparents promise to raise the child in the Christian faith and life, praying and witnessing for the child how to grow into the full stature of Christ.  Further, we claim that the child is marked as Christ’s own forever.  We are clear about identity.  We are also clear about purpose.  The community gathered promises to confess the faith of Christ crucified, to proclaim Jesus’s resurrection, and to share in the eternal priesthood.  We promise to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers.  We are also clear about posture.  We will resist evil and when we fail, we will repent and return to the Lord.  We will proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.  We will seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves.  And we will strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.  We are clear about identity, purpose, and posture:  who we are, what we are made for, and how we go about our faith. 

Of course, what we do in baptism is not that extraordinary among people of faith.  As people of faith, we have constantly handed down our sense of identity, purpose, and posture.  We hear some of that in the Hebrew Scriptures today. Joshua pulls the people of God together and demands they proclaim their identity:  they are the people of God who will serve the Lord.  They respond by telling their story – the way God led them out of slavery, protected and provided for them.  The people proclaim their purpose:  They are to serve the Lord.  And finally, they define their posture:  they will put away false gods, the gods of the ancestors to free them to serve only the Lord. 

What’s interesting is Jesus does the same thing in the gospel lesson today.  Jesus is trying to explain his identity, his purpose, and his posture – the same he expects from his followers.  In response, we are told many people walk away.  Not unlike that football team in Remember the Titans, some are just simply unwilling to get on board with the identity, purpose, and posture Jesus demands.  The text tells us, “Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him.”  Those disciples hear about Jesus’ identity, purpose, and posture, and they walk away – Jesus’ way of life is just too difficult.  But Jesus does not judge or condemn; in fact, Jesus gives an out.  He asks if those remaining wish to go too.  But those who remain are clear.  They know no other way but to follow Jesus now, the one who has the words of eternal life, the Holy One of God. 

You know, sometimes I think we take for granted how difficult being a Christian can be.  One of the things I consistently talked about in the bishop search was how proud I am to be a part of a Church who can gather people of all political persuasions around the Eucharistic Table peacefully.  But in my pride in our identity, purpose, and posture, I sometimes forget how much work that common table really is.  Just this week I read a blog post of epidemiologist who happens to be a preacher’s wife.  She writes of her sympathy for pastors making decisions about gathering the church during the escalation of the Delta variant of the Coronavirus, especially as pastors weigh all the sides.  She argues, “This is not a debate though.  There are no sides.”[i]  She argues that how we handle the church’s response to the pandemic is not political but a matter of faith.  But that is the rub today.  Everything these days is politicized:  how we handle the prevention of the spread of a pandemic, whether we go or stay in Afghanistan, what the extents of humanitarian aid and support should be, and on and on.  When people ask me how I handle politics in the pulpit, I usually say I just preach Jesus and let everyone figure out the rest.  But even Jesus is political.  His clear defining of his identity, purpose, and posture has people deserting him.  Walking with God has always been political.  The Israelites are given a similar choice by Joshua – to be with him and his house as they serve the Lord, or to serve the gods of the locals. 

Our invitation this week is to take a similar hard look at our lives and the difficult teachings of Jesus and to decide which god we will follow.  As Jesus gives the disciples a choice, we too have a choice; although, I suspect your answer may be similar to Simon Peter’s, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”  The question this week is just what Simon Peter’s declaration means for our daily lives.  How will we embrace our baptismal covenant this week, respecting the dignity of every human being, seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves?  These are not just pretty words and lovely concepts.  They are difficult markers of identity, of purpose, and of posture.  Our work is to reclaim the baptismal promises together the only way we know how:  by promising, “I will, with God’s help.”[ii]  Amen.   

[i] Dr. Emily Smith, “Delta and Church:  Three questions: Is it truthful, faithful, and loving?” August 20, 2021, as found at https://emilysmith.substack.com/p/delta-and-church?r=aezlb&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&utm_source=facebook&fbclid=IwAR0JMkDQ07Z1OHcV-ec0Z8s0lFQlyGMe8VdL-DDrvVbcF0txJi0LnyUncZM, on August 21, 2021.

[ii] BCP, 304-305.  This is the repeated response to the five baptismal covenant questions.