Tag Archives: Jesus

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YA, December 24, 2013

08 Wednesday Jan 2014

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How many of you know the story of your birth?  My mother tells me that I came three weeks late!  Doctors will not even let mothers go that late nowadays.  Even at three weeks late, my mom still had to be induced, have her water broken, and then eventually have a c-section.  My sister-in-law, on the other hand, came very early.  She was so early that she had to stay in the hospital for a very long time.  She had a long tough road, including having her brother give her chicken pox while she was in the NICU.  But eventually, she came home and grew into a healthy child.  There are countless other stories like this:  kids who came so fast that their mothers delivered in a car, kids delivered at home before even a midwife could arrive, or even kids being born on a plane.

We all have a birth story.  Some are more dramatic than others, but all are unique to us and usually our parents tell us the story year after year.  What is funny is that many would argue that our birth stories tell us a little about who we will become later in life.  My late birth and my refusal to come even when encouraged has led many people to insist that my stubbornness was obvious from a very early age.  My sister-in-law, who survived for months in the NICU proved to be a fighter for the rest of her life – determined to make her own way.  Some of the children born of exciting births tend to be adventurers or to be spontaneous and full of surprises.  I often wondered if the child born of a woman whose water broke during our prenatal yoga class ended up being very Zen-like in life.  Regardless of your story, my guess is that your family believes your birth story says something about who you are and how you behave.

Today we celebrate a particular person’s birth story.  Jesus’ birth story is another one of those exciting stories.  You can almost imagine how Jesus’ family recounted the details every year.  They knew Jesus was going to be trouble when Mary showed up pregnant while she and Joseph were betrothed.  They probably reminded him of how when the government crack-down happened, poor Mary had to travel with Joseph on that donkey while nine months pregnant all the way to Bethlehem to be registered.  Surely they told Jesus how when they finally survived that long journey, the town was so full that they had stay with the animals; Mary even gave birth to Jesus in a stable and he had to sleep in a manger!  To top that all off, these filthy shepherds came later than night ranting and raving about how angels had appeared to them and told them that Jesus was the Messiah.  I imagine the family laughed and laughed about that crazy night.  I also imagine his family kept a wary eye on him – such a dramatic start is usually a sign for more drama to come.

So if our birth stories say something about us, I wonder what Jesus’ family thought his birth story said about him.  First, they must have known that Jesus would be no stranger to scandal:  his conception was scandalous and he would continue to scandalize the faithful with his radical teachings and way of life.  Second, they could probably see that Jesus and the government would be in constant conflict.  That suspicion is immediately confirmed when his family has to flee to Egypt to avoid persecution.  We know that later Jesus would have many a run-in with leaders who do not like people calling Jesus a King.  Third, Jesus’ family probably imagined that Jesus would always be very grounded and a friend of the poor.  His birth was about as poor as you can get, including those first visitors, the poor, lowly shepherds.[i]  Finally, perhaps Jesus’ family believed that Jesus would inspire others.  The clues were many:  from his mother who ponders things in her heart, to shepherds who praise and glorify God for all they see and hear, to angels who come in multitudes with a glorious song.

Although we know how Jesus’ story ends, we do not really celebrate his entire life story today.  Instead, we celebrate his birth, and the hope that comes along with that celebration.  We celebrate the hope that, in fact, Jesus’ life will be so radically different, welcoming, and forgiving that we will be glad to call him our Messiah.  We celebrate the hope that Jesus really will be a different kind of King than our earthly kings.  We celebrate the hope that Jesus really will continue to be a friend to the poor – because that means that we all have the chance to be loved by Jesus, no matter what our lot in life.  And we celebrate the hope that Jesus will inspire us to greatness too.  Tonight we celebrate the hope and the promise of this Savior who begins life as we all do – a child born to a family who will retell his birth story over and over again.

But tonight we also celebrate our own birth stories and the promise that our own lives have.  No matter what your birth story is, those initial signs about identity can always be used for good.  That fighter for survival in childbirth might end up to be a fighter for others’ survival later in life.  That adventuresome baby’s birth might lead to a life of reaching out of one’s comfort zone to share the Good News with others.  Even that stubborn kid might find a way to push back when others tell her something is impossible.  Our birth stories might point to the types of people we will become, but we determine how those traits will be used.  God intends for all those traits – the Zen-like person and the person always in a rush – to be used for goodness.  Our invitation this Christmas is to consider how God is calling us to use our own birth story for goodness. The birth stories themselves can never change; but how they are interpreted, what we do with them, is always open for reinterpretation.  Amen.

[i] Charles M. Wood, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 118.

Homily – John 10.11-16, Cemetery Memorial Service, December 21, 2013

08 Wednesday Jan 2014

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Last week I attended the funeral of a parishioner’s mother.  As I sat in a cold pew, on a messy, snowy day, I remember thinking how hard Christmas would be for the family this year.  When death is so fresh at your door, hearing songs that proclaim this to be the “most wonderful time of the year,” do not exactly ring true.  When the loss is so new, finding the energy to send cards or get presents sometimes feels half-hearted, if not impossible.  When the absence is so overwhelming, even preparing a favorite recipe of the lost loved one can feel like ripping open one’s heart as you measure, stir, bake, and taste the memories.

I would love to tell families that coping with the loss gets easier over time, but my experience is that no matter how long ago your loved one passed away, the loss still creates an ache in your heart that never really goes away – especially during Christmas time.  Society, and even the Church, tells us that the Christmas season is supposed to be filled with joy, light, and hope.  But for those with grief, Christmastime just reminds us of all the Christmases that we enjoyed with our loved ones – the memories we have, the traditions we enjoyed together; even the bickering and disagreements would seem preferable to not having our loved one at all.  As time goes on and the family grows, you mourn all the new life that they will never see.

Part of the reason we gather today is to honor the shadow side of Christmas.  We acknowledge the pain, suffering, and grief that Christmas can bring.  We acknowledge the incompleteness, however slight, of the joy of this season.  We acknowledge that we might relate more to the Jesus who is in the tomb this season than the happiness of the Jesus born in a manger.  Today, on this winter solstice – the one day of the year with the least amount of light – we honor the fact that there are times of darkness in our faith.  And the Church stands with us, giving us permission to claim the darkness because, ultimately, we know that the light and the darkness cannot be separated.

That is why I find the gospel lesson today so affirming.  In John’s gospel, Jesus tells the disciples, “I am the good shepherd.  I know my own and my own know me.”  This is the reason why the Church encourages us to acknowledge grief today:  because Jesus already knows the hurt is there.  That is what makes him such a good shepherd.  There is no need to hide the fullness of who we are.  There is no need to try to fake good cheer.  There is no need to pretend to be constantly festive if we are not.  All we have to do is look around this room to realize that not only is Jesus with us in our memories or grief, our brothers and sisters gathered here today are also struggling with the conflicting nature of this season.

Acknowledging that hurt, we come together today to shine a little bit of light into that shadow side of Christmas.  Though we name the shadow side of Christmas, we also reclaim the light we find in Christmas.  Both in our gospel lesson and in the 23rd Psalm we proclaim the Lord to be our Good Shepherd.  We remember that the Lord is with us, that God’s rod and God’s staff comfort us.  We remind one another that we are not alone.  And we light a candle as we leave this place.  In the midst of darkness, we cling to that light – even if only a small flicker from our one candle.  We take that candle to our loved one’s grave remembering all the light that they brought to us.  But that flame goes with us too.  Perhaps we will find that just naming our pain today allows that flame to shine slowly, but steadily, in us.  Perhaps as we see the candles flicker at Christmas services in a few days or in our homes over this next week, we will remember the light of Christ reaching out to us, inviting us to remember that the darkness will not overwhelm us.  Or perhaps that flame will remind us of a deeper joy – not the joy of presents, eggnog, and parties – but the joy of a Good Shepherd who knows us, who loves us, and who will continue to shine a light onto our path.

On this winter solstice, I invite you to remember that after today, our days start claiming more light.  No longer will our days keep getting shorter.  Our days will slowly start to lengthen.  The light will refuse to let the darkness take over.  That is the good news that we proclaim today as we remember our loved ones.  Though there may always be a part of us that hides in the shadows of Christmas, Christ still shines a bit of light in our lives too – sometimes only as little light as is found on the winter solstice – but sometimes as much light as we find in the summer solstice.  So hold fast to the Good Shepherd.  Hold fast to the light.  Hold fast to the promise of resurrection life that is for our loved ones and for us.  Those promises can make even the shadow side of Christmas a little brighter.  Amen.

Sermon – Matthew 11.2-11, A3, YA, December 15, 2013

19 Thursday Dec 2013

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This sermon was only preached at the 8:00 am service, as our Bishop delivered the sermon at our 10:00 am service on Sunday.

Today marks fifty years of ministry by St. Margaret’s in Plainview.  On this day we remember our very rough beginnings at the Plainview American Legion Hall – a place where we often had to clean up empty beer bottles and ash trays before worship.  We remember the many people who have come in and out of lives and the ways in which they have made our ministry and life together richer.  We remember the pastoral leadership of the parish, and the ways in which each priest challenged and comforted us.  And we remember our own journey here – what brought us to this place, the ways that we connected, the ministries that we joined, and the reasons why we stay.  We take all these memories and we together say, “Thanks be to God for all that has been.”

Earlier this week, the bishop visited with our Vestry to talk about the work we are currently doing in Plainview.  We shared with him our new initiatives in outreach – the ways that we have adopted local families in need, the food we grew this summer in our Garden of Eatin’ to feed our neighbors, and the sandwiches we make with our interfaith brothers and sisters to feed those who do not know from where the next meal will come.  We shared with the bishop our evangelism efforts – our new website, blog, and Facebook page.  We talked about our efforts to spread the word about St. Margaret’s in our community – our mailings, signage, community presence at events, and even our challenge to get off campus more.  And we also shared with the bishop our ministry to spiritually feed everyone who comes through our doors – through education programs for adults and children, for spiritual offerings here and off campus, and through prayer and pastoral ministries.  The bishop was pleased with our efforts to reach beyond our walls and to find community partners in the process.  Together, we all said, “Thanks be to God for all that is.”

But the bishop did not let us off so easily.  He reminded us that we still had work to do.  He reminded us that this community is a largely un-churched community – full of people who have fallen away from the church or who have never known church.  He also reminded us that our mission field is not just in Plainview.  Our mission field is also in every place that each parishioner lives.  We are all agents of sharing the good news of Christ Jesus, and that our work more about welcoming people into a relationship with Christ than to grow the church.  The bishop also reminded us that there are still potential partnerships available to us.  There are ways that we can feed our current ministries through partnering with others, and we should not shy away from that work.  In many ways, I understood the bishop to be saying, “You have already made some great changes and are thinking outside of the box.  Now, keep making changes and keep thinking outside of the box.  Your work is not yet done.”  And so, with the bishop, together we prayed, “Thanks be to God for all that is yet to come.”

In many ways, I see parallels between what we are doing today and what is happening in our Gospel lesson today.  We are looking back, looking at today, and dreaming about tomorrow.  John the Baptist is in a similar situation.  As he sits in his cold jail cell, he thinks back to the prophets of old – of Isaiah who proclaimed that there would be one crying out in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”  He recalls all that was said about the coming of a Messiah, and what the people of God could expect from the Messiah.  As he thinks about this rich past, he also looks at the current time.  He remembers how Jesus comes to be baptized by him, and how John feels unworthy to tie the thong of his sandal, let alone baptize him.  He begins to feel that his prayers have been answered, and God is finally acting in human history.  But he also feels those cold floors, those shackles on his limbs, and the permanence of those prison bars.  Is he mistaken?  Is Jesus not the Messiah?  If Jesus is the Messiah, surely his messenger, John, would not be sitting in this cell.  Perhaps there is more waiting in John’s future – perhaps the time is yet to come.

I have been thinking a lot this week about John’s jail experience and the many other prophets we know who have spent time imprisoned.  Of Dietrich Bonhoeffer who just a few months before the Nazis hanged him wrote, “Who am I?”  Though he eventually wrote, “Whoever I am, thou knowest, O God, I am thine,”[i] I imagine Bonhoeffer could relate to John the Baptist’s prison questioning.  I also think about Nelson Mandela in South Africa, Aung San Suu Kyi in Burma, or Martin Luther King, Junior in the United States who all sat in confinement fighting for a world ruled by equity and justice.  Though we admire them, surely they had dark nights of the soul during that time.  That is the funny thing about expectations though.  When things do not work out as we planned, we sometimes wonder whether God is acting at all.  John surely wondered whether God was present in Jesus.  Dietrich, Nelson, Aung San, and Martin must have wondered whether they were on the right track too.

I am sure that sitting in a jail cell leads one to wonder and dream about the future.  But when John inquires of Jesus what the future holds, all Jesus says is to look around.  He does not give John definite answers.  He simply points him toward the movement of the Holy Spirit all around him.  In some ways, as we look at the next fifty years we could also wonder about where we are going.  We too could wonder if the changes we are making are the right ones.  We could wonder if God will come in and light a blazing fire that will spark a renewal of ministry and blessing in this place.

And so today, in the midst of celebration and anticipation, we are given the wonderful collect of third Advent.  “Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us…”  We do not pray for reassurance, for confirmation, or for hope.  Instead, we pray that God will come among us and stir things up.  Now I do not know about you, but stirring things up is not exactly the reassurance I was hoping for today.  It is not the “well done, good and faithful servant,” I might have wanted to hear on our 50th anniversary.  But in some ways, I think this prayer is better.  This prayer, “Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us,” is a prayer focused more on the future than the past.  The prayer is our way of saying, “Okay, Lord.  We have been good and faithful servants.  Now, come among us and keep stirring our pot – because, as our bishop reminds us, our work is not yet done.”  We ask God to stir us up – to give us a new fire, a new spark for the work Christ has given us to do.  We know that in the stirring, we may come out looking differently than we expected.  We know that in the stirring, we may find ourselves disoriented or even trying life together new ways.  But we also know that in the stirring, the Holy Spirit moves in us to make us a better people for God.  Today we are grateful for all that has been and all that is.  And now we ask God to stir us up so that we can celebrate all that is to come.  Amen.

[i] John P. Burgess, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 72.

Anniversary advice…

13 Friday Dec 2013

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Whenever I meet a couple celebrating their 50th anniversary, my question is usually the same, “So, any advice?”  The answers have varied widely: advice about whether or not it is okay to go to bed angry; varying ways of decision-making; and my personal favorite, to only argue in the nude.  As a child of divorce, in a generation of divorce, those couples who make it to fifty years garner a deep level of respect from me.  I find myself drawn to them, watching how they care for one another, wondering what rough patches they faced along the way that could have led to the dissolving of the marriage, but that they managed to survive.  As someone who has been blessed with twelve years of marriage, I am already amazed at the vast changes that have impacted my marriage.  I can only imagine what lies ahead in the next 38 years.

My parish celebrates fifty years of ministry this Sunday.  Over the course of the year, I have heard stories of times past and the joys of a long life together.  But this week, I find myself wondering what advice we might offer to anyone considering the next fifty years of ministry here.  Having listened to and watched my parish for the last two years, I see a few nuggets of wisdom emerging.  First, change is inevitable.  We often joke around here that we sometimes do things because that is the way we have always done them.  But the truth is many, many things have changed in our history.  Whether it was a particular clergyperson’s way of doing the liturgy, a particular party that “always” happens, or a group that has functioned for a long time, change is the one constant in our history.  Over the last two years of my tenure with St. Margaret’s, many have commented on the sheer volume of changes in our life together.  But from all the stories I hear, change has been a constant for the last fifty years of our life together.  So if we know change is constant, perhaps our task is not to prevent that change, but to find the best ways to be flexible in the midst of change, knowing some change with stick, and some will not.

Second, what feeds us today will not necessarily feed us tomorrow.  This bit of advice comes out of the wide variety of programs I have seen come and go over our fifty year history.  I have heard many people speak longingly about programs that have fed us over the years – a bowling team, a youth program, or a prayer ministry.  But just like we age and change over time, our spiritual needs and the needs of each generation changes over time.  This realization gives us two pieces of freedom:  first, we can let go of the idea that any one program is sacred because programs will come and go; second, we can keep dreaming and expecting that there are programs that are going to come along that dramatically impact our lives – even though we have yet to experience them.

Finally, though people, ministries, and systems come and go, one thing remains constant:  our love and longing for Jesus Christ.  Jesus is the one constant for every person who walks through our doors.  We may all experience Christ differently or may be at different points in our walk with Christ – whether at the beginning, in the midst of a deep relationship, or even questioning how we feel about him altogether – but Jesus and a longing for an experience with the sacred is what keeps us coming back to this place and keeps us inviting others into the joys we have experienced in this place.  Clergy will come and go, long-time parishioners will move or pass away, and life changes will bring people in and out of our parish.  But Christ is always with us – challenging us, feeding us, and forming us into better versions of ourselves.  Remembering that constant grounds us more than any of that stuff that inevitably changes over time.

As we gather this weekend, to worship, to feed on the Eucharistic feast, and to dance the afternoon away, I look forward to observing our parish – watching, wondering, and reveling in all that has been, all that is, and all that is to come.  I cannot wait to see what the next fifty years teaches us!

Homily – John 6.57-63, Clement of Alexandria, December 5, 2013

13 Friday Dec 2013

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Today we honor Clement of Alexandria, priest and philosopher in the mid-to-late second century.  Clement was originally a Greek philosopher who sought truth in many schools until he met Pantaenus, head of a Christian school in Egypt.  Clement later became head of that school and was for many years an apologist for the Christian faith to both pagans and Christians.  His background and abilities helped him to commend Christianity to the intellectual circles of Alexandria.  He had a liberal approach to secular knowledge and his work prepared the way for Origen, one of the most eminent theologians of Greek Christianity.

We honor Clement today because he did what so many of us simultaneously hope to do and fear to do.  We long to share our faith experiences with both the Christians and non-Christians in our lives.  We have had some incredible encounters with God and we want to share that experience with others.  And yet we fear sharing because we worry that people may ask us questions we cannot answer.  We worry we do not have the intellectual acumen of Clement to tie together our experiences in a logical way.

Perhaps we feel a bit like the disciples in John’s gospel today.  As Jesus explains that he is the bread of life meant to be consumed, the disciples complain, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?”  Their complaint is not hard to understand – I am sure any of us hearing Jesus’ metaphor for the first time would be especially baffled.  All we need is one hearty experience trying to explain to a child that a wafer is Jesus’ body and we all get a little nervous about this crazy faith of ours.

In the midst of our hesitancy, we find encouragement through Clement.  Clement gives us permission to interweave our sacred and secular worlds.  Clement used his gift – the gift of a brilliant secular mind – to interpret his faith and make it accessible to the faithful and those without faith.  God gives each of us similar gifts too.  God empowers us with “spirit and life,” as Jesus Christ says.  God gives us a unique spiritual journey that can speak truth because ultimately we, too, are a mixture of sacred and secular: who better to interpret this crazy world and our crazy faith than us?  Clement invites us to share our own truths with others – knowing that our truth is a part of the bigger truth of Jesus Christ.  Though we may not have everything figured out, we have experienced enough of God in us, and we have been given gifts to enable us to share that truth with others.  Amen.

Homily – Matthew 6.25-33, TG, YC November 28, 2013

05 Thursday Dec 2013

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Our gospel lesson today is one of my favorites.  Jesus’ instructions not to worry are a soothing ointment for the constant itch of worry in my life.  His words calm my nerves and remind me of the need for perspective.  I can almost imagine Jesus as a yoga instructor, calmly affirming a room of people who are trying to take in deep breaths and to relax their tight muscles.  As I think about the heavenly Father who knows my every need, I am given a sense of perspective and calm that I can rarely muster on my own.  Because I am a person prone to worry, this passage truly is one of my favorite passages from scripture.

That being said, this passage is also one of my least favorite passages.  We tend to think of ourselves as having a certain amount of responsibility in this life – a responsibility to use the talents God has given us to care for ourselves, and even to care for others.  But who among us has not had times when that was just not possible – either from being laid off or furloughed from work, not being able to find a job in unemployment, or having an injury that has made our work impossible.  Besides, what does Jesus expect us to do?  Just go about life, expecting everything to be handed to us – clothing, food, and drink?  The proposition seems naïve and ultimately frustrating.

But even harder than a basic frustration with Jesus is the underlying message of what Jesus is saying:  that through our behavior of worrying, we are implying that we have ultimate control over life, and that God plays little, or at least a superficial, role in our lives.  The presumption of worry is the presumption that we have the ability to fully control what happens and then fix things when they go awry.  Our worrying is a way of saying to God, “I do not trust you to handle things in my life.  I am not willing to give up that control to you.”  One question from Jesus summarizes this conflict for us, “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?”  Jesus really knows how to get to the heart of the matter, and when he does, his words feel like a stab to the heart.

Truthfully, there really could not be a better lesson for us today on Thanksgiving Day.  I imagine every one of us has had a worry about this day in the past week or more.  Talk about worrying about what you will eat!  We stress about what food to serve, how to accommodate our gluten-free friends in the menu, what items can be prepared in advance, how to get the moistest turkey, and whether we have made enough for those gathered.  Some of us have worried about what outfit to wear, knowing there will be countless photos trying to capture the happiness of this day.  And what to drink?  I know parties where the host has purchased copious amounts of wine, despite delegating wine to guests, for fear that there will not be enough to cover the gathering.  And those worries do not even cover the other worries of the day – how to fit in Eucharist while the turkey is still cooking, whom to sit near our cranky aunt, and what kind of arguments might erupt between family members.  For those hosting meals, many of us barely have a chance to catch our breath after the meal before the clean-up process begins.

But that is the beauty of this lesson today:  like our eternal battle between worry and control, this special day also has the potential for lost focus.  Our country, with all its flaws, gives us a day that is almost sacred in nature – a day set aside for gratitude and thanksgiving; a day when we can pause, and remember the abundant blessings of our lives and the incredible gift of this life.  And if we are at all considering what we are grateful for, our minds inevitably end up with God – the one from whom all blessings flow.  The simple act of thanksgiving melts away tensions, and turns our worry-hardened hearts to hearts overflowing with gratitude.  When we really think about all that we have to be grateful for, the list gets longer and longer – even if we are not even in much of a mood to celebrate.

I was wondering, then, how we might incorporate the lessons we learn today from the gospel and from Thanksgiving Day into a rule of life beyond this day.  Then I remembered the last line of the gospel, “But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”  We have been singing these very words since September, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness.  And all these things shall be added unto you.  Alleluia.”  I have been singing these words every Sunday, and I took until today, with today’s gospel and today’s celebration to finally connect the dots.  The answer is not to throw up our hands, naively trusting God to put food on the table.  The answer is changing our pursuit – not pursuing the things that we think we want and need, but instead pursing the kingdom of God.  The rest is just gravy.  Amen.

Sermon – Luke 23.33-43, P29, YC, November 24, 2013

27 Wednesday Nov 2013

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Today we celebrate Christ the King Sunday.  This is the last Sunday in the liturgical year, before we start the Church’s new year with Advent.  You would think on this last Sunday of the liturgical year, after having marked the birth of the Christ Child, journeyed through Epiphany, waded through Lent and Holy Week, celebrated Eastertide, and learned through Christ’s ministry during the season of Pentecost, that this very last Sunday would be some sort of culminating day – where we celebrate what the life in Christ is really about.  So what is our gospel lesson today?  A story of Christ on the cross, being ridiculed and humiliated.  Not exactly the happiest way to end the year, and certainly not the text most of us would choose to summarize a cycle celebrating Christ or even the way we might prepare ourselves for entering into Advent.

I have been thinking about Christ as King all week.  Not being able to shake that grim image of a bloodied, battered, berated king hanging on a cross, I began to think about what else we know about kings in Scripture.  The people of God never really had a king until they reached the Promised Land.  They saw the neighboring countries with their armies and their admirable kings, and they wanted one for themselves.  That was their first mistake.  God granted them a king to rule over them, but inevitably, the kings, like any humans, were flawed – some more than others.  Hence, there are four books in the Hebrew Scriptures about the kings who ruled and the judges who tried to correct their behavior.  Most of the kings were corrupted by power, money, and greed.  Many abused the people.  Even the most revered king, King David, was a bit of a mess.  He was the one who coveted Bathsheba, slept with her, and then killed her husband when he got her pregnant and realized he would not be able to get away with it.

Having been through a horrible patch of awful kings, the prophets predicted the coming of a Messiah – the king of kings and Lord of lords[i].  This king would be triumphant and would make the people of Israel dominant at last.  You can imagine that with such a great promise, the people of Israel are not too pleased with the man who finally claimed be the Messiah.  Nothing about Jesus says “king.”  He is nonviolent, hangs out with sinners of all sorts, and travels with a sorry band of misfits.  Even his grand entrance into Jerusalem where he is heralded as a king is not so grand – he rides in on a donkey, for goodness sake!  This could not possibly be the king that Yahweh had promised them.

And yet, this is exactly the king that God sends.  The Lord, who never wanted God’s people to have an earthly king anyway, makes a king that represents everything that is kingly:  a man who loves the poor and cares for the sick, a man who sees through the pretenses of the temple and calls for authenticity, a man who loves deeply and forgives infinitely.  So why are the people of God not excited about this king?  Why can they not love this countercultural king as much as the king they think they need?

When I was in college, one of the first Political Science classes I took was called Political Theory.  When we started reading the first book, I knew I was in trouble.  We read John Rawls’ A Theory of Justice.  In the book, he presents the best way to get to a just political system.  He imagines gathering a random, diverse group of people who are blind about what their lot in life will be.  They have no guarantees about whether they will be old or young, rich or poor, male or female, member of a minority group or not.  In the midst of this blindness, the people gathered are required to make up a set of rules to govern society.  Rawls’ basic argument is that if those people were truly blind about what their lot in life would be, they would be more likely to come up with a system of governance that is the fairest for all – since no one would want to take a chance on being the one victimized by an unfair system.  Though I appreciated what Rawls was saying, I was immediately annoyed at his argument.  How could we ever recreate a system of justice from scratch, and truly blind anyone enough to create such a system?  Since that seemed impossible, the whole premise was frustrating to me.  Needless to say, my focus in Political Science was not Political Theory!

That being said, many years later, I think I may finally understand what Rawls was trying to communicate.  Our political system, or even this earthly life in general, is governed by a set of human-made standards that do not look out for the poor, that create injustices, and that benefit very few.  This is why so many of us get frustrated when we talk about justice or trying to make a difference – we see the system of injustice that fights against us and we can end up feeling helpless.  This is the very injustice that our king – Jesus – comes to fight.  In fact, I am now curious to know whether John Rawls and Jesus were perhaps acquainted.  Though he professed to be an atheist, early in his life Rawls considered becoming an Episcopal priest.  Perhaps this world that we can only achieve through blindness is the same world that Jesus could see through God’s eyes.

In Rawls’ argument, when the blinded people make the rules, and then have their blindfolds removed, some are relieved to be well-off and others are dismayed to see themselves in poverty or at a disadvantage.  But all have some sense of acceptance because the rules they made do not make rich-life as advantageous and do not make poor-life as horrible.  This is the kind of fairness Jesus invites us into.  Jesus shows us a world where a humiliated man can look at his persecutors and forgive them.  Jesus shows a world where a man is willing to suffer for the salvation of others.  Jesus shows us a world where even a criminal can see truth in the last hour, can admit his guilt, and turn to Christ for leniency.

This is why we celebrate Christ as King today:  not because he is victorious in putting us in control over others, but because he invites us into that life that evens the playing field – the life of the kingdom of God.  There are certainly going to be days when we just wish that Jesus would mount a mighty horse and triumph over evil.  But most days we realize that what we really need is a king who enables us to create a world of fairness here and now – a world that is much more similar to the kingdom of God than the kingdom of humankind.

So why do we honor this not-so-kingly king today on the last day of the liturgical year?  I think the very best reason we close one year and prepare to start another with today’s gospel lesson is so that as we can more humbly approach the Christ Child.  If we can imagine ourselves gathered around that manger on that most holy of nights, not eager for vindication, but instead humbled by the path we will all walk with this king, then we enter into Advent with more reverence, less arrogance, and a healthy dose of gratitude.  This king – Christ the King – is the most sobering, challenging, merciful, joyous, steadying king for which we could hope.  He is not the king we always want, but he is certainly the king we always need.  Today we celebrate the wise gift by God of a true King – a king who makes us all better versions of ourselves.  Amen.

[i] Revelation 19.16.

Sermon – Luke 21.5-19, P28, YC, November 17, 2013

27 Wednesday Nov 2013

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“Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning:  Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.”[i]  So on this day, when we celebrate Holy Scripture, praying one of my favorite collects, a day that we hear, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest, imagine my intense dissatisfaction when I opened up the gospel lesson for this week.  I have been reading, marking, learning, and inwardly digesting all week, and this text still makes me uncomfortable.  On this day of celebrating Scripture, who wants to hear of collapsing houses of worship; false prophets that can lead us astray; wars, natural disasters, famines, and plagues; great persecution, including being betrayed by our very own family members?  And what is our reward for all this suffering?  All of this calamity will give us an opportunity to testify.  I do not know about you, but after having my church destroyed, navigating false prophets, fighting disasters, and dealing with persecution, testifying would be about the last thing on my mind.  In fact, I know a few Episcopalians who might even add testifying as one of the major types of tortuous, painful experiences. 

At Diocesan Convention this weekend, we watched a video about the Diocese of Long Island’s response to Hurricane Sandy one year ago.  The video began with news coverage leading up to the storm, during the storm, and immediately after the storm.  I have no idea why, but I found myself tearing up during the coverage.  I had forgotten all of the anxiety and stress that came from that storm.  I forgot about the utter despair and the feelings of helplessness – having friends try to contact me about how they could help, and yet, not even having power to be able to watch the news and see what was going on all around us.  I remember wanting to know what had happened to churches in the areas most impacted by the storm, but the Diocesan offices being crippled by their own lack of power and employees’ inability to get to work.  I remember wanting to help, but not being sure how to do that without electricity ourselves.  I remember being so cold at night without heat, and yet knowing that I was lucky to have an undamaged roof over my head.  I remember anxiously watching my car’s gas gauge approach empty – knowing the panic of gas lines, and how quickly stations ran out of gas.  The video brought all of those emotions bubbling up to the surface. 

But the video also offered a testimony.  After the storm, churches began opening doors for collections, housing, and powering stations.  Teams from churches headed to devastated areas to help demo and begin repairing homes.  Those too far from the action, offered up their space to electrical workers who had volunteered to help, but had been given no place to stay at night.  Our hospital in the Rockaways treated patients for three weeks solely on generator power.  A year later, people are still being helped as they repair homes, find new places to stay, and deal with the emotional ordeal.  In a time of great darkness, the Episcopal Church on Long Island began to find a way out of the darkness and into the light. 

One of the coordinators of the effort from the Diocese said that one of the things the Church had to learn to do was not to go into areas telling them how they were going to help – but instead had to simply show up and ask what people needed.  The representative said that this model made the work and efforts much more chaotic, but in the end, brought about the change that people really needed.  I could hear echoes of today’s gospel lesson in his words.  Jesus says, “Make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance, for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict.”  This strange gift of being able to testify is made even stranger by Jesus’ words – not only is our gift to testify in the midst of suffering, we are to force ourselves to not even prepare the testimony on the way – no thinking of anecdotes, no making outlines, no trying to even think about what we might say.  We must simply show up and trust that God will give us the words.

One of my favorite hymns is “Precious Lord.”  “Precious Lord,” is one of those songs that I can close my eyes to and just overflow with love and gratitude toward God.  Of course, my favorite version is not the version sung out of the hymnal, but by the great Al Green.  He breathes a life and joy into the song that we can rarely muster in church.  But this week, my appreciation for this favorite song grew infinitely when I heard the story behind the song.  The song was written by Thomas Dorsey.  Born in 1889 in rural Georgia, Dorsey was a prolific songwriter and excellent gospel and blues musician.  As a young man, he moved to Chicago where he worked as a piano player in churches as well as in clubs and theaters.  After some time, Dorsey finally devoted his talent exclusively to the church.  In August of 1932, Dorsey left his pregnant wife in Chicago and traveled to be the featured soloist at a large revival meeting in St. Louis.  After the first night of the revival, Dorsey received a telegram that simply said, “Your wife just died.”  Dorsey raced home and learned that his wife had given birth to a son before dying in childbirth.  The next day his son died as well.  Dorsey buried his wife and son in the same casket and withdrew in sorrow and agony from his family and friends.  He refused to compose or play music for quite some time. 

While still in the midst of despair, Dorsey said that as he sat in front of a piano, a feeling of peace washed through him.  That night, Dorsey recorded this testimony while in the midst of suffering:

Precious Lord, take my hand,

Lead me on, let me stand;

I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;

Through the storm, through the night,

Lead me on to the light;

Take my hand, precious Lord,

Lead me home.[ii]

In the midst of that darkest of times, Dorsey did not sit at that piano with a song all planned out.  In fact, if you had asked him to testify at that moment, he might have railed at the way that God and the world were treating him.  And yet, empty and vulnerable, God filled Dorsey with words that would touch people eighty years later, and would be sung by countless famous people over the years.

In the midst of darkness – of destruction, pain, suffering, persecution, even betrayal by those we love most – God gives us a testimony too.  And even more than a testimony, Jesus promises that we do not even have to prepare this testimony.  God will provide the words and the wisdom when we need them.  Our only mandate today is to hold fast to God in the midst of trials, to remain open to the movement of the Spirit, and to speak those words of truth and wisdom when we feel them spilling out of our mouths.  That time of testimony may not be before some king or governor demanding to hear about our faith.  But our testimony might spill out with a grieving widow or mother, a traumatized victim of natural disaster, or a friend who has felt disenfranchised by the Church.  We cannot prepare the testimony.  We cannot even try to craft a basic testimony story to be ready whenever we need the story.  Jesus tells us to “make up our minds not to prepare.”  This is perhaps one of the hardest challenges Jesus will give us, and yet, as we see in Dorsey’s testimony and the many other testimonies we have heard, when we yield that power to Christ, the real, vulnerable beauty of our story gives life to others and to us.  Amen.

[i] BCP, 236.

[ii] Story of Dorsey take from Nancy Lynne Westfield, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 312.

Sermon – Luke 20.27-38, P27, YC, November 10, 2013

14 Thursday Nov 2013

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About a year ago we lost one of our parishioners after a sustained battle with illness.  If you remember, at that time we were still recovering from Hurricane Sandy.  Though many of us finally had our power back, we faced an early snow storm.  The storm delivered just enough snow to knock out power in some of the local schools and to muck up roads that were already struggling to be freed from fallen trees.  My daughter’s school was cancelled, and I had anticipated just trying to stay warm at home for the day.  But when I got the call that Mina had died – I was dumbfounded.  There was no doubt in my mind that I would go join the family for prayers, but I had no idea how to incorporate my daughter into the visit.  With the weather conditions such as they were, there was no way she could stay anywhere else.  And so began a ten minute drive during which I tried to explain to my three-year old daughter what death meant, what heaven is, and what God’s role in all of this is.  Of course, I totally forgot to factor into my explanation the fact that Mina’s body would still be present, and how her body figured into my three-year-old-appropriate explanation of heaven.  Needless to say, a year later, I am still fielding questions about death, heaven, and God.

The truth is that I think adults have as many questions about death, heaven, and God as young children do.  When we hear the complicated question of the Sadducees to Jesus about the woman with seven husbands, we find ourselves morbidly curious too.  What does happen to this woman in the afterlife?  Would she have wanted to be with one over another in heaven?  Of course her scenario makes us think of all the stories of loved ones we know – or even of ourselves.  What happens to the widow who remarries in the resurrection?  What about the couple who divorces and later remarries?  Surely they will not have to be reunited with their exes!  Or what about that abusive father, that mean uncle, or that estranged sister?  Do we face them in the afterlife?  Since we do not really have anyone to give us an insider’s perspective, these are the questions that we really wonder about.  And if we have ever held the hand of a loved one approaching death, we may have asked these questions to God, to our priest, or to a friend.  So when the Sadducees ask this question of Jesus, we perk up, hoping for some real clarity from Jesus, and secretly praying for the answer that we think is best.

The trouble with this text though is that the Sadducees are not really asking Jesus a practical question about what happens in the resurrection.  In fact, the Sadducees do not even believe in the resurrection.  If you remember, the Sadducees are the group of people who believe the Torah – those first five books of the Hebrew Scriptures – to be the only authorized scripture.  None of the other books that we know from scripture – the prophetic writings or the Psalms – are considered valid scripture by the Sadducees.  Because there is neither a doctrine of resurrection of the dead nor a belief in angels in the written Torah, the Sadducees refuse to believe that there is life after this earthly life.  The Pharisees along with Jesus and his disciples, on the other hand, believe in ongoing interpretation of Torah handed down by word of mouth, and so, they have no problem with the ideas of resurrection presented in other Hebrew scriptures.[i]

So this question by the Sadducees about the resurrection is not really a question for which the Sadducees are looking for answers.  Instead, this is a question meant to both ridicule Jesus,[ii] and to trap Jesus in an impossible question.  Though we may feel some sense of camaraderie in shared curiosity, the Sadducees are not simply a curious bunch with a heartfelt question.  They are trying to manipulate Jesus and embarrass him in front of the crowd.  Luckily for us, Jesus offers an answer anyway.  Of course the answer is not as specific as we might like, but the answer does offer hope and mercy in a roundabout way.

What Jesus basically tells the Sadducees and those gathered around him is that the resurrection is not like life here on earth.  Life after earthly life is not “Earthly Life, Part II,” where everything is the same, but better.  In the resurrection life, rules of this life – and in particular, rules that applied to Levirate marriage, like a brother taking on a widowed sister-in-law – are not the same as the rules in the afterlife.  Jesus does not explain exactly what this looks like or how this plays out, and Jesus does not fully satiate our curiosity.  But Jesus does give an answer that is full of mercy and love.  Jesus basically tells those gathered that the beauty of the resurrection is that the strictures and limitations of this life are lifted in the life to come.  Things like women being treated as property to be managed, infertility, and grief are erased in the afterlife.  Things like disappointment in marriage, pressure to be married, and even death itself are no longer present in the afterlife.  Things that define us here, limit or frustrate us, or pain us here in this life are absent in the afterlife.  Jesus will never concede to the Sadducees that resurrection life does not exist.  But Jesus does try to kindly invite the Sadducees into seeing that resurrection life is so much more than they can imagine, and so much more full of true life than this earthly life that they know.  Jesus does not answer their question fully, but Jesus does say that the Creator God of Torah is still revealing truth, and that the truth is full of mercy, grace, and love.

I am reminded of the scene from the movie The Matrix where the main character, Neo, goes to visit a woman called the Oracle to find out if he is “the one,” a messiah-like figure to save the world.  Neo goes to the Oracle with a clear-cut question, “Am I the One?”  But the conversation that ensues is complex and layered with meaning.  She seems to be telling Neo he is not the one, but we later learn in the movie that she was actually telling him that he is not the one if he will not claim his status as the One.  The scene is as complicated as my rudimentary attempts to explain the scene.  But what the scene reminds me of are our conversations with God about ultimate things.  We often come to God with basic questions and concerns that are rarely answered directly.  But that does not mean we do not get a response.  In the end, the response is loving, full of compassion, and ultimately full of truth when we are ready to understand and interpret that truth.

This is all that Jesus can offer us today.  Jesus is not offering an exclusive interview a top news source to tell us everything we want to know about resurrection life.  We will not be able to watch with bated breath as Jesus answers every question we want answered.  Instead, Jesus offers us a promise to take home.  His promise is that we have resurrection life beyond this earthly life.  His promise is that resurrection life is not some two-dimensional repeat of this life, with the limited happiness we can find here, but instead is a three-dimensional life beyond our knowing because of our limited earthly experience.  His promise is that God is ever revealing truth to us, showing us the most important truth:  that God loves us, shows us exquisite mercy, and offers us unfailing grace.  Jesus’ words today may not be the 60-Minute special we were hoping for, but Jesus’ words today give us something to hold on to in the midst of this crazy, chaotic world that is our earthly home.  Hold fast to the Lord who loves you, shows you exquisite mercy, and offers you unfailing grace.  Amen.

[i] Vernon K. Robbins, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 285.

[ii] Eberhard Busch, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 286

Homily – Luke 19.1-10, P26, YC, November 3, 2013

06 Wednesday Nov 2013

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I have always loved the story of Zacchaeus.  I am sure part of my love for Zacchaeus began when I learned that song from Sunday School:  “Zacchaeus was a wee little man, and wee little man was he…”  Perhaps I have also always loved Zacchaeus because I too am a bit “short in stature,” and so I have always felt a sense of kinship with Zacchaeus.  I can totally relate to not being able to see in a crowd.  The one time we went to the Macy’s Day Parade, I could only see the tops of floats as I strained to see on tiptoe.  What I wouldn’t have given for a sycamore tree that day!  Plus, Zacchaeus’ story ends so joyfully, that his story seems like a happy little adventure between Jesus and this eager, short man.

But the more I thought about Zacchaeus this week, the more I began to realize that Zacchaeus is not exactly a sweet, innocent, short man trying to see Jesus.  Zacchaeus is actually a pretty bad guy in the story.  Tax collectors are pretty notorious in those days.  First, they are considered traitors by most Jews because they willingly are employed by the occupying Romans.  Second, and perhaps worse, tax collectors make a great deal of money because part of the arrangement of being a tax collector is being able collect as much as they want over the Roman tax to pad their own wallets.[i]  Considering Jericho is a big city, and major center of taxation, we should not be surprised that Zacchaeus is not just doing well – he is rich.[ii]  We should also not be surprised when the people in the crowd grumble when this man, who betrays his people and extorts money from them, is welcomed so warmly by Jesus.

We know Zacchaeuses in our lives – those guys who always cheat their way to the top and seem to be rewarded for their cheating.  They do not even have to be attractive to get their way – they might even be some short guy with no physical appeal.  We much prefer stories like the man with the bigger barn who dies before he can enjoy his wealth, or the rich man who burns in hell without the help of Lazarus, because we like people to get what they deserve.  We like the stories of ultimate justice because we have some sense of justice as fairness ingrained in us.  So when someone is consistently rich, and consistently the recipient of favoritism, we sense justice is being violated.

Over the years, my understanding of wealth and what it does to people has varied over time.  In general, I think money has the potential to be corrupting, and so we all have to be careful about our relationship with wealth.  But I have also met many wealthy people who give away a LOT of money.  Whether the person is a wealthy alum from my college, a generous board member for a non-profit, or a wealthy parishioner at church, I have come to see the powerful way that the wealthy can turn their blessing into a blessing for others.  We hear in scripture all the time how hard life is for the wealthy, how money can lead to sinfulness, and how money can curse someone to suffering in the afterlife.  So we tend to prejudge the rich as being a group who has a lot of work to do – almost as if they must atone for something.  But what that kind of judgment does is allow us to judge others without seeing what in our lives is separating us from God too.  Money can certainly separate us from God and lead us to sinfulness; but so can envy, lust, jealousy, and drunkenness.

When we can see Zacchaeus as a man – not just a wee, little man or a rich, manipulative man – but simply a man who is a sinner just like each of us, then we can really begin to see the magic of Zacchaeus’ story.  The magic of Zacchaeus’ story is that despite his sinfulness, Jesus’ uncompromising love changes him.  The last part of the gospel today is where we see the magic unfold.  When Jesus shows Zacchaeus unconditional love and acceptance, Zacchaeus is entirely transformed.  Zacchaeus does not simply say he will start living his life in a different way.  Instead, Zacchaeus pledges to give half of his possessions to the poor.  Furthermore, he pledges to repay fourfold anyone whom he has defrauded – which given his position was probably quite a lot of money.  And in return for Zacchaeus’ overflowing generosity and repentance, Jesus’ love flows even more, as he declares Zacchaeus to not only be saved, but to be considered a son of Abraham – a member of the family of God!  The story almost becomes comical as Jesus and Zacchaeus try to one-up each other in showing love and grace, abundance and blessing.

For those of you who have ever given generously to church, you may have experienced this Zacchaeus phenomenon yourself.  Making a generous gift to the church actually feels really great – like you are a part of some cycle of gratitude.  When you give out of blessing and gratitude, you end up somehow receiving even more blessing and gratitude.  And somehow giving that generous amount – whether a tithe or some other amount makes you more generous in other areas too.  Somehow, that request at Christmas for needy Plainview families seems easier to accommodate; giving to charities and institutions outside of church feels like the right thing to do.  And giving your money generously makes you want to give your time generously too – because somehow in the midst of giving, you receive so much more.

This cycle of gratitude between us and Jesus is what we celebrate today.  When we bring our pledge cards forward a little later in the service, we bring them with a light heart, an overwhelming sense of blessedness, and a joy that almost makes us dance down the aisle.  This is Zacchaeus’ gift to us today – to help us reclaim the joy that only comes from generosity.  Zacchaeus’ joy can be your joy today too.  Amen.

[i] Laura S. Sugg, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 260.

[ii] E. Elizabeth Johnson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 261.