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Homily – Luke 12.2-12, Bernard Mizeki, June 18, 2014

25 Wednesday Jun 2014

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afraid, Bernard Mizeki, homily, Jesus, martyr, witness

Today we honor the life and work of Bernard Mizeki.  Bernard was born in 1861 in what is now known as Mozambique.  In his teens, he escaped from his native land and fled to Cape Town, South Africa.  There he was converted by Anglican missionaries and baptized.  In 1891, he volunteered as a catechist for the pioneer mission to Mashonaland.  In 1896, an uprising of the native people happened against the Europeans and their African friends, making him a target.  Bernard was warned to flee, but he refused to desert his converts.  He was stabbed to death, but his body was never found, and the site of his burial is unknown.  There is a shrine near the place of his martyrdom, and he is honored as a native martyr and witness.

Bernard must have been familiar with Jesus Christ’s words from Luke’s gospel today.  Jesus is preparing the disciples for a great ordeal.  When Jesus says, “Do not fear those who kill the body …”, Jesus takes the disciples somewhere quite scary.  The disciples will be persecuted, put on trial, and even killed.  In the face of such a serious commitment, Jesus says, “Do not be afraid…the Holy Spirit will teach you what to say.”  Jesus Christ warns the disciples that this will be no easy journey – at least not easy in all the conventional ways.  As long as they can give up their fear of death, persecution, and humiliation, they will be fine.  Not hard at all, huh, Jesus?!?

When we hear Jesus Christ’s counsel today and when we hear of martyrs like Bernard, I am sure most of us tune out.  We are unlikely to face a similar fate in our lives.  And yet, their witness is still strong for us today.  What Jesus and Bernard highlight are those moments of clarity, those moments of utmost importance: when our bodies are wracked with illness and nothing else is clear but our love of God; when a loved one is near death and the holy is all that matters; when an injustice is so grave to us that we cannot sit idly by.  Those are the moments in life that define us, that define our faith and our relationship with God.  Jesus and Bernard remind us that those are the moments where we find true meaning in life – and no matter how scary they seem now, we will not be afraid.  Amen.

Homily – Luke 6.17-23, John Johnson Enmegahbowh, June 12, 2014

24 Tuesday Jun 2014

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blessed, homily, Jesus, John Johnson Enmegahbowh, suffering

Today we honor the life and ministry of John Johnson Enmegahbowh.  John is recognized as the first Native American priest in the Episcopal Church, serving until his death in 1902.  John was an Odawa Indian from Canada who was raised in the traditional healing way of his grandfather and the Christian religion of his mother.  He came to the U.S. as a Methodist missionary in 1832.  At one point, he tried to flee his missionary work and return to Canada, but was turned back by storms on Lake Superior.  He had a Jonah-like vision with God and got back to work among the indigenous in Minnesota.  He was a man known to consistently support peace, even when it made him enemies.  He helped train deacons for the Episcopal Church and was able to use his understanding of Native traditions to spread Christianity and enrich the mission work of the Episcopal Church.

When I think about John Enmegahbowh’s ministry, I imagine a scene much like the scene from our gospel lesson today.  Jesus comes down to the plain, gathering disciples and a great multitude, and teaches the Good News.  “Blessed are you who are poor…Blessed are you who are hungry now…Blessed are you who weep now…Blessed are you who when people hate you, …exclude you, revile you, and defame you…”  Jesus encouraged those gathered with the good news that life in Christ is different – that there is hope and promise. I imagine John Enmegahblowh thought much like Jesus, gathering downtrodden Native Americans, sharing the Good News with them in a similar fashion.

So what about us, who are not from an indigenous group, and who rarely find ourselves surrounded by a multitude of people?  Jesus’ message to us today is two-fold.  First, Jesus’ message is for us.  Though we may not suffer poverty or hunger, we have all known suffering.  Jesus Christ promises that laughter and joy are ours in the Kingdom of God.  Second, Jesus’ message is for others, to be shared by us.  Jesus and John invite us to be teachers in the ways only we can – through our unique stories, our unique gifts, and in our unique lives.  When we live into that call we will know the experience of being blessed.  Amen.

Sermon – Matthew 28.16-20, TS, YA, June 15, 2014

18 Wednesday Jun 2014

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church, community, disciples, God, heresy, Holy Spirit, Jesus, Trinity Sunday, triune

There have been many jokes around the Andrews-Weckerly household this week about why in the world I chose this Sunday, of all Sundays in the liturgical year, to return from maternity leave.  Trinity Sunday is sort of a dreaded Sunday for most preachers.  This is the Sunday that rectors give to seminarians, curates, and deacons because they feel overwhelmed by the prospect of preaching the doctrine of the Trinity in the pulpit – perhaps out of a fear of committing heresy or just out of a fear of producing a theologically correct, but pastorally unengaging sermon.  And trust me, the thought crossed my mind to let our beloved Deacon Anthony pinch hit today.

The truth is, we all struggle a bit with the Trinity, even if we do not realize that we struggle.  Think about your prayer life and whether you tend to favor one person of the Trinity in your petitions.  I know people who habitually pray to God, but somehow get tripped up on saying Jesus’ name in a prayer.  I know others who feel awkward praying to the Holy Spirit, not really sure what language to use.  Still, there are others who do not like the masculine images associated with God the Father, and so they are more likely to either pray to the Holy Spirit, or use feminine language for God.  And that is just our prayer life.  Have you ever tried explaining the Trinity to a four-year old?  Words like “coeternal” and “holy, undivided,” are difficult to explain to a kid who has learned the stories of the Bible, but does not quite know how to make sense of the fact that Jesus is both the Son of God and coeternal with God – or that the Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus like a dove, but is also the same God as God and Jesus.

Confused yet?  The good news is that you are not alone.  The Church took over a hundred years of debating to finally be able to articulate a coherent theology of the Trinity.  Theologians Arius and Athanasius debated long and hard over the persons of the Trinity, who they were, how they related to one another, and what the implications were for those theological conclusions.  Though we are quite used to the Creed we say every Sunday, and the use of the Trinity in blessings and other parts of the liturgy, those creeds and liturgies did not just develop overnight or without a great deal of arguing and prayerful consideration.

And yet, here we are today, celebrating Trinity Sunday and reading Jesus’ instruction to baptize in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Jesus’ instructions today are not just for the disciples – those instructions are for us too.  So how are we supposed to baptize in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost authentically if we do not even really understand or feel comfortable with the idea of the Trinity?  Does our lack of understanding matter?  The first answer is yes.  We do need a working understanding of the Trinity, because a fuller understanding of the breadth of God helps us to engage in fuller worship of and relationship with God.[i]  We cannot go out into the world without understanding that, “The same God who is God over us as God the Father and Creator, and God with and for us as the incarnate Word and Son, is also God in and among us as God the Holy Spirit.”[ii]  In fact, our God is so big, so strong, and so mighty that we take an entire Sunday, Trinity Sunday, to celebrate this awesome God who is relational, self-giving, and full of love.  So, yes, our lack of understanding about the Trinity matters.

But the gospel lesson today tells us something else too – our lack of understanding does not matter.  The lesson from Matthew begins, “The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them.  When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.”  This group of disciples – a group who is already down to eleven – in their final encounter with Jesus still have some doubts.  Though they worship, they still struggle with questions, uncertainty, and confusion.  Jesus even has to tell them, “All authority in heaven and earth has been given to me,” because he wants them to understand who he is in relation to the God they know and love – a fact that they clearly still do not fully comprehend.  To this shrinking group of confused, doubting, questioning disciples Jesus declares, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.”  Jesus trusts them to go and to make disciples and to baptize and to teach, even if they do not fully understand this Trinity business.  Jesus’ affirmation of the disciples even in the midst of their doubt is an incredible affirmation for us today too.

So if our understanding of the Trinity both matters and does not matter, how do we live into this ambiguity?  How do we faithfully live as disciples in this tension?  Well, the disciples tell us that too.  We live into the tension in community.  While I was on maternity leave, I gained a new appreciation for the value of community.  I watched this community from afar as you took on new responsibilities in my absence, as you ministered to one another, and as you shared the Good News, even when you did not realize that you were.  As you baptized a baby, buried a matriarch, and worshiped outside in God’s creation.  As you visited the sick, prayed for the weary, and fed the hungry.  As you taught our children, learned from one another, and walked the streets of Plainview as members of this church.  You did all of those things probably with a sense of the triune God, but also probably with a healthy dose of doubt as you worshiped and worked.

Many of you have asked me whether I missed being away from church during maternity leave.  Though there were certainly things that I enjoyed taking a break from, I realized palpably how much I missed our community of faith during Holy Week.  As I watched each day of Holy Week passing, I felt a sense of deep longing and absence.  I had not realized how strongly I am marked by the ritual and presence of this community.  Even when I struggle to define the Trinity, I have a community of faith that always gathers and makes meaning in my life.  Being absent from the community during that time was almost like losing an arm or being a foreigner in a foreign land.

This day that we celebrate is certainly about the creator, redeemer, and sustainer God that we sort-of know.  This day is also a day that we celebrate the wonderful gift of a community of faith with which to worship and doubt together in a beautiful dance before our triune God.  If you have not taken a moment recently to fully appreciate the gift of this community, I invite you to do that today.  If you have been so busy with renovation projects, running a ministry, or just trying to get to church, take a moment today to appreciate the gift of this community.  Or if you are relatively new to this community, or just do not feel like you have found your own ministry in this place, I invite you to take that next step, and to find a way to connect more deeply to the life and ministry here at St. Margaret’s.  I think you will find a wonderful set of companions who do not have “it” all figured out, but who worship in the midst of their doubt – and who have a triune God who is with them always, to the end of the age.  Amen.

[i] Stephen B. Boyd, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A., Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 46.

[ii] Steven P. Eason, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A., Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 46.

On prayer and parenting…

10 Thursday Apr 2014

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child, conversation, desperate, God, grace, Jesus, love, methods, parent, prayer, sustains

Courtesy of http://marklovefurniture.com/blog/2013/08/30/prayer-is/

Courtesy of http://marklovefurniture.com/blog/2013/08/30/prayer-is/

One of the more regular inquires I get as a priest is about how to pray.  The truth is there are so many different ways to pray – ranging from formal methods to totally unstructured methods – that our conversations usually have to include what they have tried already and some teaching about what other options are available.  I usually send the person off with a couple of new things to try and encourage them to let me know how it is going.

Since the arrival of my second child, I have been thinking a lot about prayer – or rather, I have been doing a lot of it.  I delivered my child by caesarean section, and I found myself really nervous going into the operating room.  I am not entirely sure why, but I as I sat behind that tall white sheet, with my lower body numb, waiting for the doctors to prep for surgery, I could feel my stress level rising.  That nervousness only heightened once the operation began.  And then, suddenly, before I was even conscious that I was doing it, I found myself praying the Trisagion.  The Trisagion is a prayer found in the Book of Common Prayer.  The words are, “Holy God, Holy and mighty, Holy Immortal One, Have mercy upon us.”  The prayer is traditionally sung or said three times.  I lost count of how many times I said the prayer, but it became a way for me to focus all my nervousness and give it back to God.  Later, I remember thinking about how many times I have taught about mantra prayers, and yet this might have been the first time I really “got” how mantra prayers can be a source of connection to God.

Later, about the time that my daughter was a week old, and I was stealing as much sleep as I could on the couch, I noticed that the blanket I had blindly found in the middle of the night was one that had been gifted to us.  It is a throw blanket with the Lord’s Prayer stitched on it.  As I looked at the words, I started praying the words.  I have always loved the Lord’s Prayer because I can pray it when I have nothing left.  When I am bone-tired, weary, or just feeling overwhelmed, those words have a power over me and whatever situation I find myself in.  It occurred to me, as that blanket was wrapped around my body, how I was metaphorically enveloped in prayer during this unique time.

But to be fully honest, much of my prayer life these last two weeks has included prayers of desperation.  “Please, dear God, let her fall asleep this time.”  “Sweet Jesus, help her to stop crying.”  In my mind, these are not what I have traditionally called prayers that “count.”  They are more calls of despair and bargaining, which is not really how I imagine things “work” with God.  But as I have thought about it this week, I think these are totally legitimate prayers.  Part of a healthy prayer life is an honest, vulnerable conversation with God.  My being honest about how sleep deprived and frustrated I might be at 2 a.m. is not unreasonable – and in fact, God already knows how I am feeling and what I need.  Though I would not argue that this kind of prayer is the only kind of prayer one should utilize in their relationship with God, I think these prayers open up a path to more honest conversation – and hopefully more honest listening to God.

As I think back to all those times I have “taught” others about prayer, these last couple of weeks have certainly shifted some of my thinking about prayer.  The beauty of prayer is that the variety of options is truly a gift to us, and there are certainly different times that different forms of prayer will sustain us.  Whether we pray beautiful, ancient prayers or we offer up desperate ramblings to God, our loving, gracious God is simply happy that we are there – for once remembering Who sustains us, feeds us, and gives us strength.  Thanks be to God!

Sermon – Matthew 6.1-6, 16-21, AW, YA, March 5, 2014

06 Thursday Mar 2014

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Ash Wednesday, discipline, God, humor, Jesus, Lent, piety, Sermon, spiritual

As many of you know, Lent is my favorite season of the liturgical year.  I love the spiritual discipline Lent encourages, I love the liturgical uniqueness of Lent, and I love the ways that Lent encourages us as a community live life differently, even if only for a little while.  By Ash Wednesday every year, I usually have a set discipline in place, and I am eager to get going.  But this year, I find myself in a situation in which I have never been.  With the pending birth of our second child, I find myself hesitant to commit to any spiritual discipline this Lent.  I have no sense of how tired I will be, or how upended my home routine and family life will be; I have no idea whether I will be too exhausted to stay connected digitally to the world, or whether technology will be my way of escape when everything else is disjointed; and besides the desperate prayers of an exhausted, weary mother, I have no idea how to tend to my spiritual life once I step away briefly from my churchly life.

I confess this sense of being lost about Lent because I imagine some of you may be feeling that same sense of being lost as well.  We have been buried in an awful winter, longing more for spring and the joys of Easter, than preparing for burrowing deeper into the depths of penitence and discipline.  Our news feed is full of local and global disaster, making even the normal joy of international events like the Olympics feel a bit hollow.  And we have a growing itch to be more settled here at Church – as we trip over one another trying to find adequate space for normal activities while our undercroft is under construction, as our Vestry makes changes to better equip us for ministry, and as our Rector steps away for a time, making us all have to assume responsibilities that burden our already full plates and sparking concern about how we can thrive without our leader at the helm.  Who has time for figuring out a Lenten discipline when we feel like we are just barely managing our lives?

Into this sense of discombobulation, Jesus comes at us in the gospel lesson today with a scathing critique of our spiritual lives.  Jesus wants us to give alms, but to do so with such secrecy that even our own selves are unaware of our sacrifices.  Jesus wants to take our prayer to our private rooms, so we are not tempted to bring attention to ourselves in public.  Jesus wants us to gussy ourselves up daily so that no one notices the longing and discomfort our fasts are creating for us.  To be honest, his words are a bit confusing and seem contradictory to Jesus’ other messages.  This is the same Jesus who later in Matthew says, “What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops.”[i]  So which are we supposed to do?  Are we to keep our faith humbly hidden so as not to be seen as braggadocios, or are we to shout about our God on the mountaintop, or at least in the local diner, so that others might see the goodness of what God has done for us, and want to join us in that joy?

Perhaps a better place for us to begin is to imagine Jesus offering this teaching with a bit of sarcastic humor.  This past stewardship season we showed a video about the ways in which people give to church with muddled intentions.  The video has a series of clips with people doing things like using their generous giving to garner the decisions they want made in church or dramatically holding up their pledge envelopes before dropping them in the plate.  Imagine the person who would rather put coins in the offering plate for the noise they make than put in bills which silently but strongly support ministry, and you have the idea.  This is the kind of ribbing Jesus is doing when he describes the showy alms giver.

In high school, I was friends with a girl whose father was an evangelical pastor.  I remember going out to dinner with her family once, and being mortified before our meal began.  Once our plates of food arrived, her father stood up in the middle of the dining area, and very loudly began a prayer that, I promise, was easily five minutes long.  My cheeks began to redden as he went on and on.  I could feel the shifting of people near us as they became equally uncomfortable.  As I peeked mid-way through his prayer, I could see a waitress approach our table for drink refills and the recoil back to her station.  I was so relieved the next week at school when my friend apologized for her dad and made a joke about how much she actually hates eating in restaurants because her food is always cold by the time the prayer is over.  This is the kind of prayer Jesus jokes about too when he sends us to our rooms to pray.

And we all know examples of that complainer who has taken up fasting or whatever form of denial they have chosen for Lent.  They regale you with stories of how they almost fainted, or how they had to avoid their favorite activities in order to stay faithful.  You almost want to give them a handkerchief so that they can more dramatically tell their tale of woe as the lift their hand dramatically to their heads.  These are those whom Jesus teases when he says to put some oil on your face – so that even if you cannot keep your mouth quiet with complaints, at least you will look good.

The challenge with us in Lent is not that our spiritual disciplines need to be so rigidly hidden away.  The danger comes when our disciplines become more about ourselves than about our relationship with God and one another.  Jesus is not telling us not to exercise our piety.  Jesus is trying to jokingly help us to see the ways in which our piety can become a stumbling block to others seeing the goodness of God.[ii]  Think of the person who gives generously, who prays prayers that always seem to touch you, or who shares with you what fasting has done for them in a way that inspires you.  Jesus is telling us to be more like them:  not to dramatically hide away our almsgiving, prayer, and fasting, but to do that almsgiving, prayer, and fasting with a genuine humility that invites others to want to know more.  And at the end of the day, Jesus is also telling us to chill out – to enjoy whatever discipline you have chosen and not to worry so much about performing that discipline, but humbling trying that discipline within a community of people who can laugh at themselves as they try to do the same.

This Lent, as I begin this journey with you, my discipline is going to be about giving myself a break, and not taking myself so seriously.  I am trusting that by not pushing myself to take on some discipline that will only make me feel like a failure by week two of newborn sleep deprivation, that God will be present, revealing God’s self to me and showing me that God can work in spite of me and in spite of what promises to be a very unique Lent in the life of a priest.  I am trusting that God, the faith of this community, and my intentional letting go this Lent will work in harmony to make this time a time of holy connection to God.  Jesus invites you into the same trusting release this Lent.  No matter what discipline you assume, or what battles you face in the coming forty days, God will give you moments of insight and blessing, and even a bit of humor to keep you going.  Amen.


[i] Mt. 10.27

[ii] Patrick J. Willson, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A., Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 25.

Sermon – Matthew 17.1-9, LE, YA, March 2, 2014

06 Thursday Mar 2014

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divinity, God, humanity, Jesus, Sermon, touch, Transfiguration

As many of you know, I really enjoy movies.  I like dramas, comedies, independent films, documentaries, and action films.  But what I rarely admit is that I also enjoy my share of cheesy romantic comedies.  One of those romantic comedies, Notting Hill, tells the story of a famous American actress who is filming in England.  She stumbles into the shop of a normal Englishman and the two of them begin an awkward, but sweet romance.  Unfortunately, the actress’ fame keeps interrupting their relationship – whether with the surprise appearance of paparazzi, a planned date foiled by a press junket, or the confusing boundaries between the public version of the actress and the private version of the actress.  After a hiatus, the actress returns to England to see if the couple can make a go of things one more time.  The Englishman is extremely reluctant, but in her final plea, the actress reminds him that although everyone knows her as this famous actress, she is also just a girl who would like to have the love and companionship of a boy.

In some ways, I read today’s gospel with that same sense of tension between the extraordinary and the ordinary.  Today, on this final Sunday of Epiphany, we find one more manifestation of the identity of Christ.  On this Transfiguration Sunday, we hear the incredible story of Jesus’ transfiguration.  All the drama is there.  Peter, James, and John are up on a mountain – our first clue that something powerful is about to happen.  While they are there, Jesus transforms into an array of light:  his face shining like the sun, and his clothes shimmering in dazzling white.  And as if that were not shocking enough, the great prophets, Moses and Elijah appear, and begin talking to Jesus.  Finally, a thundering voice comes from a blinding cloud with new revelation, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased.”  Now Jesus had heard these words at his baptism, but this is the first time the disciples are actually hearing them.  Jesus is not a prophet just like Moses or Elijah.  Jesus is the divine son of God.  If the disciples had in any way questioned the identity of Jesus, those questions are put to rest.  In response, the disciples fall to the ground, overcome with fear.

When I was a parishioner at the Cathedral in Delaware, I helped teach Rite 13, a class for middle school students.  In one of the sessions we talked about our images of God.  The prevailing images among the young people were of a distant God, one who is Lord over us, perhaps one who sits in a throne, and who is a bit inaccessible.  One even admitted that God was a bit scary.  I do not think those young people’s images of God are that far off from our own images of God.  We often see God as distant, transcendent, full of mystery, and far from our reality.  God is that not-so-relatable father who we may love, but also feel a certain sense of being so different from that we could never fully connect.  God is that famous movie star we have even met, but because of our differences, cannot fully connect with.

Into this reality comes Jesus, whose transfiguration today reveals the fullness and the incredible nature of Christ.  When we say that Jesus is both fully human and fully divine, today’s gospel lesson gives us a picture of that dual nature.  Jesus is all those things that we know about God – mysterious, transcendent, and “other.”  As the Son of God, he can be nothing other than fully divine.  And yet, when the disciples are cowering in fear on the ground, overwhelmed by their brush with celebrity, Jesus comes, in his full humanity and touches them.  He gently touches them and says, “Get up and do not be afraid.”  That distant, “other” God we know could never do that.  That distant God had never taken on human form in order to physically touch us.  And yet, that distant God is present in Jesus Christ, doing just that – gently touching overwhelmed disciples and allaying fears.  God in Jesus is that everyday person, simply wanting to love us.

This week I read a reflection by a priest friend of mine.  He was at his Diocesan Convention recently, an event at which he rarely speaks.  But an important issue arose, and he felt as though he could not avoid speaking.  He stood up, argued his case, and faced a heated confrontation.  In the end, the assembly agreed with him and his opinion won over.  As he sat back at his table, a friend quietly whispered in his ear, “You’re shaking.  I’m going to touch you for a little bit.”  As the friend laid his hand upon his shoulder, my friend could feel his blood pressure lowering and the tension releasing from his body.[i]  In a world that has become extremely and wisely cautious about touch, we sometimes forget the power of touch.  We all have had powerful experiences with touch:  whether we received a similar hand on the should as reassurance that all would be well; whether we received a hug that was just slightly longer than normal, but much needed, after confessing some bad news; or whether someone just held our hand for a while, as a silent, encouraging gesture.

Our liturgies understand the power of touch.  When someone lays their hands on us – in ordination, in confirmation, or in healing – something about the weight of those hands stays with us.  Maybe the sensation of that touch stays with us as a reminder of a powerful experience; maybe the weight of the touch becomes a release of something held inside for a long time; or maybe something holy passes between the person laying on hands and the person who has hands laid on them.  For those of us who have gone to Ash Wednesday services, we know the powerful experience of the gritty feel of ashes being rubbed across our foreheads.  That combination of touch and grit has a power to evoke all kinds of images – from the dust of creation, to the coarseness of this life, to the inevitability of our dirt-filled grave.  Or perhaps your most familiar experience with touch comes in the Eucharistic meal – the weight of the wafer as the priest presses the wafer into your hand, or the feel of the weighty chalice as you direct the chalice to your mouth.

Both our experiences with touch and the disciples’ experience with touch point us to the magnificence of what happens on Transfiguration Sunday.  As God takes on flesh in the person of Jesus, God is both that transcendent, mysterious, “other” God, and God is that earthy, fleshy, gentle God who can place a comforting hand on our shoulders, tell us to get up, and not be afraid.  That is what we have been celebrating in these weeks since Christmas – the miracle of what God accomplishes in the incarnation and the impact of what God made flesh means in our lives.  As one scholar writes, “This is the way that God comes into the world:  not simply the brilliant cloud of mystery, not only a voice thundering from heaven, but also a human hand laid upon a shoulder and the words, ‘Do not be afraid,’  God comes to us quietly, gently, that we may draw near and not be afraid.”[ii]  God is both the untouchable, but revered celebrity and the very real person through whom we are touched, comforted, and emboldened to get up and not be afraid.  For that reality, we celebrate our God with our final alleluias of this season, with the touch of healing, the embrace of the peace, and the weight of Christ’s body and blood in our hands.  Amen.


[i] Steve Pankey, “The Power of Touch,” as found at http://draughtingtheology.wordpress.com/2014/02/27/the-power-of-touch/ on February 27, 2014.

[ii] Patrick J. Willson, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A., Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 457.

Homily – Hebrews 2.10–18, Frederick Douglass, February 20, 2014

06 Thursday Mar 2014

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faith, Frederick Douglass, God, help, homily, Jesus, slavery, suffering

Today we honor Frederick Douglass.  Douglass was born as a slave in 1818 and separated from his mother at age eight.  His new owner’s wife tried to teach Douglass to read, but the owner put a stop to the practice.  Douglass learned to read in secret, earning small amounts of money when he could to pay people to teach him.  At the age of fourteen, he experienced a conversion to Christ in the AME Church and the spiritual music sustained him in his struggle for freedom.  In 1838, at age twenty, he escaped slavery.  An outstanding orator, Douglass was sent on speaking tours of the Northern States by the American Anti-Slavery Society.  His renown made him a target for recapture, so in 1845, his friends raised enough money to buy out his master’s legal claim to him.  Douglass was highly critical of churches that did not disassociate themselves from slavery.  He was an advocate of racial integration, and edited a pro-abolition journal.  Douglass died in 1895.

In thinking about Douglass and our country’s relationship with slavery, I have often wondered about the presence of Christianity in the mix with slavery.  Christianity was at times seen as a way to subdue slaves; at other times, Christianity was seen as a threat that could stir rebellion.  Of course, I imagine many slaves were attracted to Jesus and the story of God’s people more deeply than we will ever understand.  The epistle lesson asserts that, “Because Jesus himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.”  Surely that message was both one of comfort and of liberation for slaves in our country.  In fact, Douglass even once said of the old spiritual humans that they followed him, deepened his hatred of slavery, and quickened his sympathies for his fellow slaves in bonds.  For Douglass, his faith strengthened him, emboldened him, and gave him a passion for helping others.

This is the invitation for us as well.  Though we will never fully know the pain of slavery, we do know the power of suffering.  What scripture and Douglass do today is remind us that, first, Jesus Christ suffered as we do to help others, and, second, our faith can strengthen, embolden, and give us a passion for helping others.  We may not affect change on the grand scale of Douglass, but his life reminds us that we still have work to do – that we can be a positive voice for change.  Our suffering will never be as great as Jesus’ or of slaves in this country – but any suffering we encounter can make us agents of change and help us to help others who are suffering.  Amen.

On discomfort…

26 Wednesday Feb 2014

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

discomfort, God, Good News, hypocrite, Jesus, need, neighbor, scripture, uncomfortable

I have regularly told people that when I preach, I am preaching to myself.  I find that my messages often resonate with others, but first and foremost, I make sure they resonate with me.  This has led to me needing to be honest about my faith struggles, to be vulnerable about how I still need to grow, and always seeking how God is speaking in fresh ways to me, calling me into deeper relationship with God.

This Sunday though, I found myself with a profound sense of conviction that I have yet to experience.  My sermon was about Matthew 5.38-48, and can be found here.  But what you would not know is that between our 8 am service and our 10 am service, a neighbor in need stopped by to ask if for financial assistance.  I had spoken with this neighbor before, and helped by covering the neighbor’s rent within the last month.  In general, I am able to help neighbors in similar situations because of my discretionary fund – a fund supported by the church and by contributions when I perform weddings or funerals.  But the fund is not large, and so my general policy is to keep within a certain range for each distribution of funds and to only offer assistance to the same family once every six months.  The idea behind the policy is that this allows me to help more families, and keeps enough monies in the fund for emergencies.  So when this neighbor came on Sunday, asking for further assistance, nowhere near the normal six-month wait period, the case seemed cut and dry to me.  I could not offer him what I would not offer to others.  Instead, I gave the neighbor some referrals for additional help, and we lit a prayer candle and prayed together before the neighbor left.

Courtesy of http://catholicworkeraustin.org/mercy.html

Courtesy of http://catholicworkeraustin.org/mercy.html

But the tricky part was getting back in the pulpit at 10 am.  I had just read aloud Jesus’ words from the gospel lesson, “Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.”  And I preached about seeing others with God’s loving eyes.  And though I felt like I was preaching the right message, and I know that ultimately I did the right thing with our neighbor, I still felt a little sick to my stomach.  As one who proclaims the Gospel, I felt like a hypocrite.  I remember wondering how if our neighbor had stayed for worship, whether the neighbor would have thought I was a hypocrite too.  And yet, I also felt an overwhelming sense that any kind of exceptions I had made that day would have undermined my ministry in our community.

I still have not come to peace about the situation.  I do not have some clean, clear answer that makes the situation feel resolved or redeemable, even if I still feel I made the right decision.  But in these last days, I have been thinking that perhaps my discomfort is the point.  I try regularly to find the Good News in scripture – to find where the hope might be in seemingly challenging or bad news.  But perhaps this week it is okay if I am just uncomfortable.  Perhaps we all need to dwell in the discomfort that the Gospel creates from time to time – only then can we be more authentic followers of Christ.

Sermon – Matthew 4.38-48, E7, YA, February 23, 2014

26 Wednesday Feb 2014

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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Tags

enemy, eyes, God, Jesus, love, power, see, Sermon, transformation

Julio Diaz has a daily routine.  Every night, he ends his hour-long subway commute to the Bronx one stop early so he can eat at his favorite diner.  One night, as Diaz stepped off the Number 6 train and onto a nearly empty platform, his evening took an unexpected turn.  He was walking toward the stairs when a teenage boy approached and pulled out a knife.  The boy demanded his money, and Diaz gave him his wallet, simply saying, “Here you go.”  As the teen began to walk away, Diaz shouted out, “Hey, wait a minute.  You forgot something.  If you’re going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm.”  The robber gave Diaz a confused look and asked, “Why are you doing this?”  Diaz simply said, “If you’re willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money.  I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner.  If you want to join me … hey, you’re more than welcome.”

The teen tentatively followed Diaz to the diner and they sat in a booth together.  As they sat there, the manager, the dishwashers, and the waiters came by to say hi.  The teen then said, “You know everybody here.  Do you own this place?”  “No, I just eat here a lot,” Diaz replied.  “But you’re even nice to the dishwasher,” the teen said incredulously.  Diaz replied, “Well, haven’t you been taught that you should be nice to everybody?”  “Yea,” responded the teen, “But I didn’t think people actually behaved that way.”

Toward the end of dinner, Diaz asked the teen what he wanted out of life.  The teen reacted with a sad look on his face, but did not respond.  Either he couldn’t answer – or he didn’t want to.  When the bill arrived, Diaz told the teen, “Look, I guess you’re going to have to pay for this bill because you have my money and I can’t pay for this.  So if you give me my wallet back, I’ll gladly treat you.”  Without hesitation, the teen returned the wallet.  Diaz opened his wallet and gave the teen twenty dollars, figuring the money might help him somehow.  However, in return, Diaz asked for the teen’s knife.  The teen gave the knife to him.[i]

Today’s gospel lesson is often taken in a couple of ways.  The words from Jesus about turning the other cheek and loving our enemies either sound so passive that we dismiss them immediately or they sound admirable, but totally impossible.  All we need is the last verse, which says, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect,” before we throw our hands into the air, defeated before we have even begun.  In fact, if we are really listening, we can almost become angry with Jesus’ words.  All we have to think about is a victim of abuse and we bristle at Jesus’ instructions to simply turn the other cheek or go a second mile.  Or maybe we think of a lifetime of pressure to be perfect and all we want to do is angrily add Jesus to the list of people who are perpetually disappointed in us – including ourselves.  Of course we would never say those things aloud because this is supposed to be a beautiful text about loving your neighbor as yourself.  But really, who among us wants to love our enemies or pray for those who persecute us?

We are really good at hating our enemies.  As a country we demonize those with whom we go to war.  And depending on which news outlet you prefer, the Democrats, the Republicans, or the Tea Party are enemies of any progress we want to see in our country.  I am pretty sure the Republicans and Democrats in Congress have not been praying for each other over this past year.  And that does not even compare to the more personal enemies we have.  All we have to think about is that bully at school or work, that family member who is always trying to put you down, let alone that teen who looks like he might be ready to pull a knife on you and demand your wallet.  We are schooled to be empowered people who do not allow ourselves to be doormats.  We are not to turn the other check but to protect ourselves.  We are not to offer more of our stuff to someone threatening to take our stuff.  And we certainly are not schooled to give to every single person asking for a handout.  Surely, in turning the other cheek, we become a victim; in offering our cloak, we are enabling bad behavior; and in giving to beggars, we are simply perpetuating social problems.  We build strong, fortified walls around ourselves in the name of safety, protection, or wisdom.

The challenge for us is seeing what Jesus is really trying to do.  Our way of being demonizes others and simplifies quite complicated relationships.  Jesus way of being invites us to see with God’s loving eyes.  That is what Jesus means when he says to be perfect as God is perfect.  He does not mean for us to achieve some sort of moral or even everyday perfection; Jesus means for us to love as God loves.[ii]  God’s love does not allow us to use labels like “us” and “them.”  God’s love means looking at that enemy who hurts us, threatens us, or even scares us, and seeing the humanity lying beneath those ugly layers.  God’s love means transformation through the simple act of praying for our enemies.  Perhaps your prayer begins without words – just the mental image of the person.  But you may find that as you continue to pray for that individual, slowly you begin to see with God’s eyes.  What should you pray for?  What is redeeming in them?  What could God do to soften them and our relationship with them?

I think of Julio Diaz on that fateful night in the Bronx.  When Diaz told his mom what had happened that night, she said, “Well, you’re the type of kid that if someone asked you for the time, you gave them your watch.”  Clearly Diaz had this “loving your enemies” thing down.  In fact, maybe Diaz saw what Jesus could see – that in God, there are no enemies.  There are just people for us to love.  Diaz does not use Christian language to describe his philosophy.  He simply explains about his story, “I figure if you treat people right, you can only hope that they treat you right.  It’s as simple as it gets in this complicated world.”  Of course we would say, love your neighbor as yourself or do unto others as you would have them do unto you.  Today, Jesus says, “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

What is not obvious in either Diaz or Jesus’ stories is the subtext of what is happening.  In neither story is passivity the theme.  Instead, both are advocating for active transformation.  What Jesus is talking about is quietly resisting evil.  When he says to turn the other cheek, he is saying startle the person into the decision of whether to hit again.  When someone sues you for your coat, you giving them your cloak actually embarrasses them instead of you.  Though the person suing may have had a right to the coat, your offering your cloak too, being stripped down in front of everyone, humiliates the one suing more than being stripped down humiliates you.  And by walking that second mile, you claim ownership of your own being.  The one forcing you to walk a mile loses her power when you walk the second mile.[iii]  Diaz understood this.  By offering his coat and by inviting the teen to a meal, he shifted the power in the encounter.  By engaging that teen in conversation, and by probing further with him, he began to unravel the mystique of the thief, and found a vulnerable, desperate young man underneath.

The work that Jesus invites us into this week is not easy.  Shouting after a thief on an empty platform, trying to give him your coat and a meal is probably not that instinctive for most of us.  Quiet resistance is a lot harder than passive acceptance or violent retaliation.  Loving your enemies will not feel natural.  So maybe you start with prayer this week.  Maybe you simply start by praying for an enemy and see where the spiritual practice leads you.  That first step will begin the journey to seeing as God sees:  with eyes of love – difficult, radical, transforming love.  Amen.


[i] Story, slightly edited, as told in “A Victim Treats His Mugger Right,” March 28, 2008.  Found at http://www.npr.org/2008/03/28/89164759/a-victim-treats-his-mugger-right on February 21, 2014.

[ii] Barbara J. Essex, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A., Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 384.

[iii] Walter Wink, “How Turning the Other Cheek Defies Oppression,” May 4, 2009, as found at http://www.ekklesia.co.uk/node/9385 on February 20, 2014.

Sermon – Matthew 5.21-37, E6, YA, February 16, 2014

21 Friday Feb 2014

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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Tags

actions, God, intention, Jesus, law, relationship, Sermon, uncomfortable, words

Today is one of those Sundays when you hear the gospel and your response is, “Whoa there, Jesus!”  If there is not something in the gospel lesson that makes you uncomfortable, I would be shocked.  All the hard stuff is here today: conflict between family members and neighbors, lustful thoughts, divorce, and even oaths.  That last one may not sound all that upsetting, but wait until we talk about oaths, and you will start to get uncomfortable about that one too.  As modern-day Christians, there are parts of the Bible that we would just prefer to skim over – those tough lessons that we either do not abide by or totally disagree with – but that we try to ignore so that we can still claim to believe in Holy Scripture.  In fact, just last week in Adult Forum we were talking about how preachers in the Episcopal Church never get to choose the scripture for a given Sunday.  That is both the beauty and the challenge of being an Episcopalian.  By following the assigned lectionary, we hear the beautiful breadth of scripture, and are also forced to deal with the tough stuff of scripture.

Let’s review the tough stuff first.  First Jesus says that before the people of God offer gifts at the altar, they should make sure they are reconciled with their sister or brother.  Now if each of us had to make sure that all of our relationships were reconciled before we came to the Eucharistic table, I would imagine most of us would rarely receive Eucharist.  Think about that family member, that fellow parishioner, or that friend from school or work with whom you just had an argument.  Did you reconcile with them before coming to church today?

Next Jesus tells the people that avoiding adultery is not enough – they must even avoid lustful thoughts because that is as sinful as committing adultery.  You would have to be pretty immune to our entire culture not to face lust today – in advertising, in entertainment, and throughout media.  That does not even account for the lust we experience in spontaneous encounters with strangers, let alone with acquaintances and friends.

Then Jesus adds that anyone who divorces or who marries a divorcee is committing adultery.  With over half of marriages ending in divorce today, each one of us here is impacted by a divorce: if not our own, then the divorce of a family member or a friend.   I have a distinct memory of studying a Bible passage like this in Sunday School was I was in high school.  My teacher at the time had been divorced, but was thriving in a second marriage.  I asked her if we really believe Jesus’ words nowadays, and she insisted that we do.  I demanded to know how that could be since she and her husband were so happy and faithful.  She stated matter-of-factly that she and her husband would be judged for their lives.  To be honest, knowing how faithful she was, and how judged she felt by scripture, I began to question my faith altogether.

Finally Jesus instructs the people of God not to take oaths.  This one may sound a little strange, but basically Jesus is saying that you should never have to swear an oath because people should always be able to trust your word.  Your “yes” should mean yes, and your “no” should mean no.  So when your teacher asks you if you did all the reading or your boss asks you if you have completed a particular task, your “yes” better mean yes.  When you insist that you have not done something, you had better be sure that that “no” can be trusted.  In essence, there should be no need for you to swear at any point in life because your word can always be trusted.  You should not have to promise to not tell anyone else a secret because you have never told another person’s secret.  I do not know about you, but that makes me think a lot harder about what words come out of my mouth, sometimes even out of habit.

So are you uncomfortable yet?  Is your mind spinning from all the ways in which your behavior is contrary to what Jesus instructs today?  The good news is that there is actually good news.  Jesus does not offer these four rules as a way of making faithful living harder than faithful living already is.  As Jesus says in the verses preceding what we hear today, Jesus does not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill the law.  In other words, Jesus is still preaching the law of God, but Jesus is trying to get the people to see the intention behind the law.  So Jesus says, “Yes, do not murder, but really beware of anger altogether.”  Anger erodes not just our relationships with others but anger erodes our relationship with God.  Instead, by being a person who seeks reconciliation, we can be people bringing about the reign of God in our midst.[i]  Jesus longs for us to have the peace that comes in living a life that strives for reconciliation as opposed to the life that is willing to tolerate brokenness.  Of course, God knows relationships are complicated, and that some relationships are downright harmful.  But what Jesus is trying to get at is that longing for peace and reconciliation is the first step in healing not only specific relationships, but in healing the community of faith.

Jesus also affirms the original law about not committing adultery and not coveting; but he adds lust as being equally offensive.  Now I know this one is tricky because we are sexual beings and our sexuality is a gift from God.  But what Jesus wants us to acknowledge is that lingering on lust takes our attention away from healthy, loving relationships.  Furthermore, Jesus also affirms the dignity of every human being by affirming that no one should be treated as a sexual object.  Jesus is not saying deny your sexuality; Jesus is simply reminding us to celebrate healthy expressions of that sexuality.  I am reminded of a couple of music videos put out by pop-star Beyonce recently.  My first response to the videos was that they were pretty sexually explicit.  But when you listen to the words and see that her husband is the male counterpart in the video, you can see that Beyonce is simply celebrating the gift of healthy sexual experiences within the covenant of marriage.  Though the idea might be a stretch, perhaps what Beyonce is trying to communicate is not that she should be an object of sexual desire, but that we all should celebrate the gift of sexuality experienced within covenanted relationships.

Next, what Jesus says about divorce is not much different than what was already understood about divorce.  But what Jesus adds is a sense of accountability, particularly for men, to tend to the well-being of their wives, who are made the most vulnerable in divorce in Jesus’ time.  We all know the devastating effects of divorce; and fortunately, many of us have come through the other side to see the health and wholeness that come from ending unhealthy relationships and even in finding new thriving ones.  But what Jesus is really talking about here is being more attentive to the way that our actions impact the most vulnerable in society.  Our life decisions and actions are not made in a vacuum.  Jesus is encouraging us to be thoughtful and intentional about how we make those decisions and then how we handle their implications.  In the end, that sees to the welfare of a much broader range than simply ourselves.

Finally, what Jesus says about oaths is not as legalistic as it sounds, even though there are faith traditions that refuse to swear oaths.  Ultimately, what Jesus is trying to get us to see is that our words and our integrity matter.  If we are truthful people, then we have no need for oaths.  Jesus’ invitation is for us to be thoughtful about our words, not only being a people who actively tell the truth, but also being people who do not flippantly use words or make promises without considering their implications.

So ultimately, Jesus tells us today that our actions, our words, our relationships matter.  As followers of Christ, we do not get to be independent agents who care only for ourselves – a concept that is pretty counter-cultural in the United States.  Jesus’ words and their implications do put a burden on us and sometimes make us feel uncomfortable.  But in the end, Jesus words and their implications also make for healthier relationships, a healthier community, healthier relationships with God, and ultimately, a healthier version of yourself.  So embrace the uncomfortable, and know that Jesus has your back!  Amen.


[i] Marcia Y. Riggs, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A., Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 358.

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