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Sermon – Luke 9.51-62, P8, YC, June 30, 2013

03 Wednesday Jul 2013

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This week, most of us will celebrate the fourth of July in some fashion or another.  Though the holiday is filled with words like independence, patriotism, liberty, and fireworks, mostly we are celebrating a sense of “home.”  Our celebration of the Fourth is really a celebration of the place that millions of us commonly call home.  Our songs celebrate this theme:  “God bless America, our home sweet home”; or “and the home of the brave.”  This is a day that we celebrate our home with a sense of pride, of belonging, and of identity.  Like any home, our country has faults and drawbacks, but our country is our home, and nothing else can replace the sense of comfort that home can bring.

Perhaps what we forget in our celebrations is that our “home” did not always feel that way.  Centuries ago, when the original settlers came to this country, the country felt nothing like home.  In fact, those settlers left what they knew as home, with all the comforts home offered, and came to this foreign place.  This was a place of newness and discomfort.  Nothing was familiar, and in fact much of what the settlers experienced was downright scary or dangerous.  Though settlers came here to establish a new home, that home-like feeling took a very long time to create.

Here at St. Margaret’s we have made a similar transition in the last fifty years.  I was just reading the rough draft of our fifty-year history this week, and I was thinking about the contrast of those early years with our experience of St. Margaret’s now.  Fifty years ago, St. Margaret’s was merely a group of people gathering.  We had no building, no clear identity, and certainly no sense of the familiar.  In fact, the story goes that when we would gather for Sunday worship in the American Legion Hall, the smell of smoke and beer lingered from Saturday night events at the Hall.  When people left their church homes to join St. Margaret’s, I am pretty sure smoke and beer on a Sunday morning was not exactly what they were dreaming of for their new home.

So as we Americans prepare to collectively celebrate our home, and as we at St. Margaret’s, in our fiftieth year of ministry, continue to celebrate our home, we find Jesus saying some pretty funny things about home in our gospel lesson today.  When someone along the road says to Jesus, “I will follow you wherever you go,” Jesus says to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”  Then, when Jesus calls others to follow him, and they first ask for some basic things, like burying their father or saying goodbye to their loved ones, Jesus refuses.  In other words, Jesus basically tells anyone considering following him that they will lose all sense of home – not only the literal place to lay one’s head, but also all the comforts and familiarity of home.  Following Jesus is a calling into a homelessness of sorts.  Jesus’ calling into homelessness is pretty scary.  Following Jesus means giving up control and trusting that all will be well, which is a lot to ask, considering Jesus has already told them that all will not be well.  Their new “home” will be a place of suffering, persecution, pain, and homelessness.  Jesus’ new home sounds a lot like the home those founding ancestors of our country and those founding members of St. Margaret’s faced years ago.

To be honest, I am not sure I would have been able to follow Jesus as those men and women did so many years ago.  I am sure you already know this about me, but I am a pretty big fan of control – or at least the illusion of control.  I do not like the feeling of things being out of my control.  So when Jesus asks me to let go of control – of a sense of home and familiarity – I am not sure I would have said yes.

The good news is that I do not think Jesus is actually asking us to cede control to him.  Jesus is not really offering the choice of either us being in control or him being in control.  As we well know, Jesus did not head to Jerusalem with the mission of taking control or charge.  Instead, he set his path to Jerusalem to throw himself fully and completely into our out-of-control lives and to come out on the other side.  That is the promise of this Gospel – “not that we can be in control, or even that God is in control, but rather that God in Jesus joins us in our out-of-controlness, holds onto us, and brings us to the other side.”[i]  This is the homelessness Jesus is really inviting us into – this commitment to giving up the illusion of control, to take some risks, and to throw ourselves into this turbulent life and world, trusting that God joins us in the adventure, holds us through the ups and downs, and brings us in time to the other side.  When Jesus offers his hand out to others to journey with him into homelessness, this is the underlining promise – that he is with us in the journey into homelessness and out-of-controlness.

On my mission trip to Burma, we had a day when we were supposed to go see working Elephants in the forest.  We loaded up our truck, crammed in way too close, as usual, and began the bumpy journey.  But an hour into our ride, our truck had some mechanical issues.  We pulled into to what seemed to be a local mechanic, although our version of a mechanic shop and the Burmese version of a mechanic shop are very different.  Sensing that this stop would take a while, our tour guide suggested our team take a walk.  The seven of us followed, happy for a distraction.  During our walk, we came upon a rice paddy, and could see workers out in the field.  Although the team was content to observe from a distance, our guide recommended crossing the dikes to get a closer view.  We found his offer shocking.  We worried about trespassing, encountering swarms of disease-carrying mosquitoes, or falling off the dikes, which looked quite tenuous.  Most of the team looked at the sturdy ground on which we were standing and decided that we should not test the swampy paddy.  When our tour guide realized most of us were not following him, he came back to the place where he jumped to the first dike.  First, he pleaded with the group as a whole.  Then, he called me by name.  “Jennifer, please come with me.  It’s okay.  You can trust me.”  I looked into his dark brown eyes, and saw a sparkle of adventure and joy.  I looked back at the dirty – but dry – road wistfully.  Then I turned back toward our guide and his outstretched hand.  His smile conveyed a sense of confidence and encouragement that warmed my heart, and I found myself jumping across the water to the dike.

We all know that sense of crossing into Jesus’ homelessness.  Certainly our country this week has at many times felt out of control.  Though we call this place home, we have been bitterly divided about Supreme Court decisions and Congressional bills this week.  Those decisions have left us wondering what sort of home we are creating now.  The same could be said for St. Margaret’s.  Though many of us know this place as home, our home seems to be ever changing.  There are new ways of operating, new projects underway, and new invitations.  There is an ambiguity about who we will be and how we will change.  But the promise in all of this, especially in the emerging sense of homelessness in our country and in our church, is that God is right here with us.  God continually promises to be on this crazy ride with us.  That reassurance by God today fills us with hope, and a renewed sense of courage and joy as we journey forward.  Today, as we look into Jesus’ sparkling eyes, he calls us by name, and says, “Come on.  Let’s go be homeless!”  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Out of Control,” as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2614 on June 28, 2013.

Homily – John 1.43-51, Gilbert Keith Chesterton, June 13, 2013

26 Wednesday Jun 2013

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Today we get the wonderful story of Philip and Nathanael’s calling.  I love Nathanael, partially because he is such a natural skeptic.  That may sound strange to say – who would want to idealize someone skeptical of our Lord and Savior?  I am not saying we should try to be more like Nathanael – I am saying we already are like Nathanael.  Somewhere deep inside of us, in places we don’t like to talk about, all of us have a little dose of skepticism about our faith.  Just think about the last time someone really tried to challenge you on your faith – the truth is, our story, the story of our faith is pretty fantastic and hard for our 21st-century minds to believe.  Nathanael’s skeptical and ultimately sarcastic tone can be found in all of us.

That is why we celebrate Gilbert Keith Chesterton.  Born in 1874, Chesterton was one of the intellectual giants of his day.  He was a writer of different genres, but he eventually focused on the defense of “orthodoxy” – the acknowledgement of the mystery and paradox of Christian faith in an age of increasing skepticism.  His writings utilized both his wit and religious fervor, and he often satirized those who saw faith as irrational and unnecessary.  Chesterton influenced many of the greats, like C.S. Lewis and Ernest Hemingway.

What both Chesterton and Jesus do today is a little light ribbing.  They tease those around them, who presume to know something about a God who, at the end of the day, is quite mysterious.  They remind others of their finitude and their limited knowledge, reminding them not to get too “puffed up” with their own assumptions.

I don’t think Chesterton or Jesus Christ are sending us a message to tear us down – quite the opposite, actually.  God endowed us with great minds that God expects us to use – much like Chesterton did.  But God also wants us to held in tension with our gifts a sense of humility and wonder.  Only when we hold our power and our humility in tension can we begin to fully engage the mystery of God and then share that mystery with others.  Amen.

Sermon – John 16.12-15, TS, YC, May 26, 2013

29 Wednesday May 2013

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When I was in seminary, I audited a class entitled, “Living Biblically:  Money, Sex, Power, Violence, and The Meaning of Life.”  The title alone made me want to take the class.  The class spent the quarter studying Jesus’ words and actions for some clues.  Of course, I did not leave the class with all the answers.  But the one thing that stuck with me from the class was this:  when looking for answers to “What would Jesus do?” you have to look at not only what Jesus says, but also what he does.  That may sound simple and obvious enough, but what we slowly began to realize is that what Jesus says and what Jesus does are often opposites.  So, if you look at what Jesus says, you find some pretty harsh words about how to live life and who is to be judged.  But if you look at what Jesus does, you find him living in a much more permissive and forgiving way.  We came to see Jesus as one with high standards and a low threshold for forgiveness and grace.  Of course, that did not mean we got all of our answers to our 21st Century questions about money, sex, power, violence, and the meaning of life, let alone answers to our questions about science, technology, and our modern world.

That is why I find our gospel lesson today so comforting.  Our lesson from John today is part of Jesus’ farewell speech with his disciples – his last words during that Last Supper.  You can imagine the hushed room, the feeling of something ominous approaching, the questions by the disciples, and the ever-patient Jesus trying to explain all the things they need to know.  Finally, Jesus utters these words today, “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.”  You can almost hear the frustration in his voice, as if he is saying, “I wish I could explain everything to you now fully, but I just can’t.”  In the midst of the weight of such a conversation, Jesus promises something better than they could possibly imagine:  the Holy Spirit.  Jesus explains that Holy Spirit will come and will continue to guide the disciples.  All of the things that they cannot understand now, all of the things Jesus cannot say, will be revealed to them through the Holy Spirit in the years to come.  Though Jesus will be physically absent from them, Jesus will be continually present with them through the Holy Spirit, revealing truth and perhaps even revealing what Jesus would do.

I think why I find this passage so comforting is not simply because we are promised the presence of God with us.  What I find comforting about this passage is that truth is not locked away in some book or some person from two thousand years ago.  Truth is accessible here and now through the Holy Spirit.  We call our scriptures the Living Word because the Holy Spirit enlivens the Word and speaks truth to us, even today.  This is also why we still have the community of faith– because the Holy Spirit creates for us fresh encounters with the revelation of Jesus.[i]  Jesus knew that our changing circumstances would bring new questions and challenges that would require us to think afresh, and Jesus promises the Holy Spirit will get us through.

On this Trinity Sunday, I am grateful that we get this passage.  Although we just had Pentecost, the Church is not always great about talking about the Holy Spirit.  Sure, we regularly say the Trinitarian combination “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” liturgically, but rarely do we give the Holy Spirit the credit the Holy Spirit is due.  I think the challenge is that we fear the Holy Spirit a little too much.  When we hear talk of the Holy Spirit, we are afraid someone is going to start acting strangely and then claim they were slain in the Spirit.  We are afraid that “the movement of the Holy Spirit” is just code for the movement that a particular person or group wants.  We are afraid our worship will become some seventies, hippie version of God to whom we cannot relate.  I know we are afraid or at least uncomfortable because I cannot remember the last Episcopalian I know, including myself, who began a prayer addressing the Holy Spirit as opposed to God or Jesus.

But this is how I know that the Holy Spirit is still present among us, guiding us to all truth.  One of the primary areas I see the movement of the Holy Spirit is in the practice of preaching.  I always say that somewhere between the preacher and the congregation is the Holy Spirit.  Preaching does not work without the Holy Spirit.  I cannot tell you the number of times I have sat down after preaching a sermon and thought that the sermon was probably the worst one I have ever preached.  But without fail, the sermons I think are the worst often receive positive feedback.  I also cannot tell you the number of times I have gotten into the pulpit with a specific message in mind, only to have a parishioner speak to me later about how something I said was so meaningful to them – only I swear I never said what they think I said.  Somehow the Holy Spirit helps the preacher to glean truth, and the Holy Spirit helps the congregation to glean truth.  Those truths may not be the same truths, but they are truths that lead us closer to God – which is what Jesus promises in our gospel lesson anyway.

Now, I do not mean to insinuate that this revelation only comes through preaching.  Revelation comes throughout our lives together.  The revelation of the Holy Spirit comes in that friend, coworker, or schoolmate who says something so profound that their words stick with you for weeks, and leads you into deeper prayer.  The revelation of the Holy Spirit comes in Bible Study or in an outreach activity when some experience leaves you with a profound sense of the holy in your life.  The revelation of the Holy Spirit comes in the mouths of our children, who say the most sacred and surprising things that open up new truth in unexpected ways.

This is why we dedicate an entire Sunday to celebrating the Trinity.  Without the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit, we would not experience our spiritual journey in the same way.  Perhaps we are not truly comfortable labeling the Holy Spirit in our lives or praying to the Holy Spirit, but that does not mean that the Holy Spirit is not ever present in our journey – in fact, making that journey possible in the first place.  We take today to celebrate the mysterious nature of all three persons who make up the one substance of the Trinity[ii] because only through this relational nature of the Trinity is our faith enlivened and is truth revealed.  So today, your invitation is to figure out your invitation.  Perhaps your invitation is to pray with a person of the Trinity that you have been avoiding for a while.  Perhaps your invitation is to listen for the ways that the Holy Spirit is revealing truth to you.  Or perhaps your invitation is to see the movement of the Holy Spirit through others this week.  On this Trinity Sunday, there is no way of avoiding invitation.  The question is which invitation is for you?  Amen.

[i] Eugene C. Bay, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 46.

[ii] Philip Turner, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 44.

Sermon – Acts 16.16-34, E7, YC, May 12, 2013

22 Wednesday May 2013

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If we were to break out a flip chart today and create two columns – one for those in bondage and one for those who are free – where would our main characters from Acts go?  At first glance, our “those in bondage” column might start with the slave-girl.  We are not even given her name.  She is simply called the slave-girl.  And we know from the story that she is a double slave – a slave to her owners who use her for money and a slave to the spirit of divination inside her.  Another addition to the “bondage” category might be Paul and Silas.  They are thrown into jail midway through our story, which clearly puts them in the bondage category.  Plus, the slave-girl calls them “slaves of the Most High God.”  The other column in our flip chart is those who are free.  We have several for that column.  There are those who own the slave-girl.  They are free to collect money for someone else’s performance, and they are free to get someone thrown in jail.  The judges who throw Paul and Silas into jail are also free – free to choose who is punished and who is not.  Finally, we might put the jailer into the free column as well.  He is a man with a steady, respectable job, who has power over those in prison.  So in the “bondage” column we have the slave girl, Paul, and Silas.  And in the “free” column we have the owners, the judges, and the jailer.

Most of us would certainly prefer to be in the “free” column on this chart.  The owners of the slave girl obviously have social capital and an income source.  They have influence and power, and up until Paul and Silas come along, they have the comforts of wealth.  The judges also have a great deal of respect and power in the community.  They are charged with keeping order in the community and protecting the community’s way of life.  Their roles in the community are admirable and secure.  Even the jailer has a clear sense of identity and purpose.  He may not have wealth and prestige, but he has a secure job and a sense of clear identity in the community.  He has a role that is understood and a vocation that is stable.  Meanwhile, the slave-girl is nothing like what we hope for ourselves.  Being possessed by a spirit and being owned by another individual do not usually make the top of our lists for happiness and fulfillment.  And in no way do we want to be like Paul and Silas, who not only seem to be homeless rebel-rousers, they also are physically brutalized and imprisoned.

The people in the “free” column are the people we most likely follow in our lives.  We want to be people with more money, with secure sources of income, and with power and influence.  We like independence and not being forced to rely on anyone else.  But we get so caught up in longing for these things in life that we sometimes forget the only desire that will make us whole – the desire for a deep relationship with Jesus Christ.  Even churches get trapped in desiring the wrong kind of freedom.  “If we just had as much money as St. Swithin’s, then everything would be fine.”  But the truth is that this kind of desire is never fulfilled.  Trust me, I have served at St. Swithin’s, and St. Swithin’s has just as many problems and stresses as we do every time budget talks come around.

Of course, like any good Bible story, appearances are not always as they seem.  The truth is that although we might put the slave-girl, Paul, and Silas in the “bondage” column, their true home is in the “free” column.  The slave-girl already knows the truth that no one else can see – that Jesus is the way to salvation.  And when she shouts that long and loudly enough, she is not only freed of her possession, she is free of the bondage of slavery – because her owners can no longer use her as they did before.  Even Paul and Silas, who are locked in jail, are in that “free” column.  What person, after being brutally whipped and thrown into a cold cell, can be found praying and singing praises to God in the middle of the night?  Only someone who is so free of the bondage of this world can be able to praise God in the midst of earthly suffering.

And of course, if those in our “bondage” column are actually in the “free” column, the same is true of those we originally put in the “free” column.  Those owners, who seem to have the earthly freedom of wealth, have actually become slaves to their wealth.  They are so enslaved to that wealth that when their source of income is freed, they lash out, bringing pain and suffering down upon others.  They cannot see the gift of freedom for the slave-girl; they only see the consequences for themselves.  The judges are no freer than the owners.  They are so enslaved to their rigid rules that they cannot see the inherent injustice that the slave-girl has faced for so many years.  Even the jailer is not truly free.  He is so caught up in his identity as a jailer that he is willing to take his life for his job.  He is ready to kill himself for what he thinks is a failure on his part than to see how this job has taken over his sense of identity.[i]

We do this too.  We are enslaved by our economies, our ways of doing things, and our senses of roles.  Think about the last party or gathering you attended.  What is one of the first questions someone asks to get to know a stranger?  “So, what do you do?”  We ask this question because our job or our role in society defines us in some way.  Several years ago, a friend of mine was going through a real low point in life.  She quit her job because she knew the job was not what she was called to do.  But she also had no idea what was next.  She was bold enough to say “no” to the old job, but was left clueless about what would be her next step.  This all happened when she was relatively new to a community, and still had not found a church home.  She confided in me that she had stopped looking for a church home because she got so tired of stumbling through an answer at coffee hour when she was repeatedly asked, “So, what do you do?”

So if we are enslaved by our ways of being, how can we get out of our bondage?  Our first cue comes from Paul and Silas.  Paul and Silas could have easily fled that jail when the earthquake happened.  They could have sped past the jailer, and been focused solely on their own self-preservation.  But we see that there is a peace in Paul and Silas that comes from true freedom.  Instead of weeping and plotting in that cell, they sing and pray to God.  Instead of running when the doors fling open, they ensure that the jailer is okay.  Instead of demonizing the jailer, they offer him baptism.  This is what true freedom looks like.[ii]

How do we get to this true freedom?  The jailer gives us the second cue.  The jailer asks Paul a simple question, “What must I do to be saved?”  In order to be saved, to gain that true sense of freedom, we must ask for help like the jailer asks for help that day.  Whether we ask a friend, a stranger, or God, we must ask for help.  This is not always easy for us.  We will have to risk our pride and we will have to trust others.[iii]  But asking for help is that first step in the journey out of the “bondage” column and into the “freedom” column.

Our invitation today is two-fold.  First, our invitation is to consider the ways in which we have become enslaved – the ways of being that we have assumed that have created a life of bondage.  That recognition leads to our second invitation – the invitation to ask for help, to trust in another to guide us into the freedom that can only come from Christ.  When we do those two things, we can know the peace of freedom that we see in scripture today.  Amen.

[i] David G. Forney, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 526.

[ii] L. Gregory Jones, “Come, Lord Jesus,” Christian Century, vol. 109, no. 16, May 6, 1992, 485.

Sermon – Acts 16.9-15, E6, YC, May 5, 2013

10 Friday May 2013

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This Eastertide, I have been thinking a lot about evangelism.  The bishop asked us to have a conversation about our mission and evangelism efforts here in Plainview during Eastertide.  The Vestry just started reading a book about evangelism as a spiritual discipline.  And our Vestry retreat in April was about the tangible practices of evangelism we could employ.  For a topic that makes most Episcopalians very uncomfortable, evangelism seems to be everywhere I turn.  But as I was thinking about the theme of evangelism this Eastertide, I realized that the theme’s prominence makes quite a bit of sense.  Eastertide is sort of the “so what?” of the resurrection.  Throughout Eastertide, we are hearing the stories of the disciples’ reaction to the resurrection, and what life was like after this pivotal moment.  What better time to think about evangelism than while the disciples are doing just that – taking the Good News of Jesus’ resurrection and sharing that Good News with others.

What I appreciate then about our lesson from Acts today is that the practice of evangelism in biblical times was not exactly precise.  You would think that the book of Acts would tell the story of how after Jesus’ death the disciples knew exactly how to spread the Good News.  You would think after all those years with Jesus, the disciples had clear instructions for moving forward, and were able to draw up a structured evangelism plan.  But our stories from Acts this year have included nothing of the sort.  So far we have heard stories of a brutal persecutor of Christians being dramatically converted, of Peter realizing that Gentiles should also be included in the Christian community, and today we hear of this foreign woman of power coming to Christ.  I am pretty sure if the disciples sat down and planned their target audience for the Good News, Paul, Cornelius, and Lydia would not have been on their list.  And yet, this is the story of evangelism we hear during Eastertide: a story of unlikely and unexpected people hearing and responding to the word of God.

On the surface, this sounds like good news to us.  These stories of conversion give a sense of confidence that no matter with whom we share the story of Jesus, they will be converted.  But looking at the end of the story glosses over the actual experiences of those on the evangelism journey.  If you remember, when Paul is converted, and his eyes are scaled over, the Christian who goes to talk with him is scared to death.  God tells him to go to Paul, but that is little assurance when that instruction means walking into the lair of a nasty murderer of Christians.  And for Peter, his interaction with Cornelius means that he must surrender all that has been familiar to him – the necessity of circumcision and all that he has known as being central markers of faithfulness – and let go of that familiarity.  Even with this interaction between Paul and Lydia today, Paul must take on a long journey based on a few words in a dream, only to find not a Macedonian man who is asking for help, but a foreign woman.[i]

These stories during Eastertide only highlight our own anxieties about evangelism.  As modern Christians, we have a hard enough time sharing the Good News with our friends and family.  Religion is one of those primary topics to avoid at dinner parties.  At the slightest hint of discomfort from someone else, we immediately drop the topic, not wanting to drive away a friend or colleague.  We do not want to become known as some Jesus freak who everyone avoids at parties.  Quite frankly, there are even times when we feel uncomfortable even talking about our faith within Church.  How in the world could we ever then expect ourselves to be able to talk to those who are hostile, unchurched, or strangers to us?

Before I went to seminary, I participated in a group at my parish called EFM – Education for Ministry.  The program was a four-year program where a small group of people gathered and each year covered a different topic – Old Testament, New Testament, Church History, and Theology.  During one of the scripture years, I was traveling by plane alone and I was sorely behind in my scripture reading.  I carried a large study bible with me, and that trip I found that I had more interesting conversation than you could ever imagine.  I had a slightly uncomfortable conversation with a young evangelical male who started telling me about his conservative views on scripture.  I had a businessman ask me if I was a minister or theology student.  When I told him no, he seemed bewildered as to why I would be reading the Bible, and kept eyeing me suspiciously the rest of that flight.  I had a middle-aged woman start telling me about her church and Bible Studies she had enjoyed.  And of course, there were tons of people who just stared at me warily trying to figure out what my angle was.  You would think the lesson from my trip would be, “Take a Bible with you, and see what evangelism opportunities it creates.”  But to be honest, I found myself wanting to never carry a Bible with me again in an airport.

I think why we get so uncomfortable about evangelism is we imagine evangelism as knocking on the doors of strangers, presenting some uncomfortable script, and then having doors slammed in our faces.  But our lesson from Acts today shows us a different model.  Our lesson from Acts tells us is that yes, evangelism will entail going places that may be uncomfortable or interacting with people you would not expect.  Paul goes on a long journey expecting to meet a man and gets something quite different.  Lydia goes seeking a place to pray with her familiar girlfriends and hears something entirely new.  But evangelism is not just about the evangelizer and the evangelizee.  The other major actor is the Holy Spirit.  The text tells us that the Lord opened Lydia’s heart to listen eagerly to Paul.  Evangelism is the intersection between human faithfulness and divine guidance.  “Paul would not have been guided to this place at this moment, were he not first of all at God’s disposal, open to being guided, sensitively attuned to being steered in one direction and away from all others.  Lydia would not have arrived at this place or time, had she not first of all been a worshiper of God, a seeker already on her way.  Peter does his part and Lydia hers, but it is God who guides all things and works in and through all things, not just for good but for what would otherwise be impossible.”[ii]

What is so liberating about this understanding of evangelism is that even if we thought we had to or could do evangelism on our own, we realize today that our work of evangelism only happens with God.  The book our Vestry is reading says that “Evangelism is a spiritual practice of expressing gratitude for God’s goodness and grace.”[iii]  That does not sound so bad, does it?  A spiritual practice of expressing gratitude for God’s goodness and grace.  He does not define evangelism as saving souls or self-righteously driving away your friends.  He says that evangelism is about expressing gratitude for God’s goodness and grace.  Knowing that definition of evangelism and knowing from scripture that evangelism happens as a partnership between our faithfulness and God’s guidance makes the whole enterprise seem a lot less scary.

I want you to take a moment to think about the best vacation you ever had.  Think about all the reasons why the vacation was wonderful and why you enjoyed yourself.  Think about the happiness and peace that the vacation brought you and the warm smile that just recalling the trip brings to your face.  Imagine the enthusiasm in your voice as you share that story with someone else and the great conversation your sharing might evoke.  Now, take a moment to imagine the same experience with a conversation about your faith journey.  Think about the great joy you have had in your relationship with God.  Think about the happiness and peace you have at times found in God.  And now think about the enthusiasm in your voice as you share that story with someone else and the incredible conversation your sharing might evoke.  That is all that happens between Paul and Lydia.  That is all that God invites you to do today.  Because the Holy Spirit will take care of rest.  Amen.

[ii] Ronald Cole-Turner, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 476

[iii] David Gortner, Transforming Evangelism (New York: Church Publishing, 2008), 29.

Homily – Luke 12.4-12, Bishop Alphege, April 18, 2013

01 Wednesday May 2013

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I have been thinking about the Boston Marathon a lot this week.  The more stories I hear, the worse it gets.  The story of the 8 year old who died has captured my attention the most – mostly because I cannot imagine losing a child, having a daughter lose a limb, and having a seriously injured spouse all at once.  For many of us, the tendency might be to shut down:  if it is not safe for us at even the Boston Marathon, an occasion of great joy and triumph, then maybe it isn’t safe anywhere.  Why risk the danger?  We tend to close ourselves off, moving into protection mode, even if only emotionally – and in so doing, cut off others as well.

Archbishop Alphege, who we celebrate today, could have done the same.  In the late 900s, he was a monk and abbot.  He could have stayed in that life, protected and cut off from others.  That would have been a respectable life.  And later, when he became bishop, he could have hidden from the Scandinavian invaders, hoping to save his own life or the lives of his parishioners and priests.

But instead burrowing into a hole, Alphege went out into the world.  He brought the Norse King to King Aethelred to make peace.  And when he was captured by the Danes in 1011, he refused to allow a ransom to be paid for him, knowing the financial burden it would put on his people.  He was brutally murdered seven months later.

Our gospel lesson today encourages this kind of boldness.  “Do not fear those who kill the body, and after that can do nothing more.”  Jesus knows our tendency to fear the wrong things.  We get so attached to what we know and the life we experience that we can become paralyzed with fear or even fight vigilantly to protect that life.  But Jesus knows there is much more to life than this earthly life.

This is our invitation today: a life of boldness.  Such a life will cost us.  But Jesus promises us the Holy Spirit will be with us at the very moment we need the Holy Spirit.  Our rewards for such boldness will be better than we can imagine!  Amen.

Sermon – John 21.1-19, E3, YC, April 14, 2013

17 Wednesday Apr 2013

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There are two layers to our gospel lesson today.  In one layer, there is a lot of movement and action.  We have disciples fishing, a man shouting about where to put nets, Peter leaping out of a boat to swim ashore, breakfast sizzling in a pan over a crackling fire, and Peter and Jesus having this strangely repetitive conversation.  This layer of the text is really distracting.  There is so much happening that by the time we get to Jesus telling Peter to feed his lambs, we forget the part of the story about Peter getting dressed to jump into water.  The frenetic nature of the text leaves us with more questions than answers.  Why is Peter fishing at a time like this?  Why is he naked?  Why do the disciples not recognize Jesus at first?  Why is Jesus cooking breakfast?  Why does Jesus repeat his question to Peter three times?

In truth, I think there is so much activity in our gospel lesson because the disciples are a little frenetic themselves.  They had all settled into certain identities in their lives – many of them were fishermen, many of them had families that they worked with, and all of them had homes where they resided.  Their lives were simple and predictable.  Then this guy came into their lives and their identity and purpose got totally out of balance.  They had no consistent daily routine, they left behind everything they knew, this man they were following was compelling but also completely confusing, and they were being asked to totally change their lives.  And just when they had found the rhythm of managing their unpredictable lives with Jesus, then everything turns over on its head again, and they lose everything – their leader, their purpose, and their identity.  So in an effort to find something to hang on to, the disciples become punchy with action.

We all do this.  I know that I am particularly stressed out when I find myself intently scrubbing something in the house.  I may not be able to solve some problem at work, or I might not be able to fix some relationship that needs mending, but I can have a clean floor.  I might not have responded to the forty-eight emails and the twenty-nine items on my to-do list, but my desk will be cleared of all clutter and looking freshly dusted.  My neurotic behavior is cleaning, but we all have some neurotic behavior.  Some of us need to find a mall to clear our minds of all the stuff going on inside of us.  Somehow finding the perfect dress or pair of shoes takes away our other anxieties.  Others of us get out in the garden and dig our way to peace of mind.  Something about a freshly weeded garden makes us feel like something was accomplished, even if the rest of us is in shambles.  Still others hit the gym.  There is nothing like sweating away anxieties or feeling the burn to take away the other feelings going on inside of us.[i]

What is interesting about all the activity and noise found in our gospel lesson is that there is another layer of this text that is completely quiet.  We start with the disciples silently staring at that Sea of Tiberias.  There is nothing left to say among them, because they have talked this whole resurrection thing to exhaustion.  Then we find the disciples on the boat fishing in the middle of the night.  I do not know the last time you went fishing, but fishing is one of the more quiet, uneventful activities you can do.  Despite the splashing of Peter to swim to Jesus, once they all gather on the beach, no one says a word.  The air is only filled with the quiet lapping of water and the sizzling of a pan over a fire.  The disciples have questions, but no one says anything.  Even the conversation between Jesus and Peter has a quiet tone to the conversation.

In some ways, I think this is where the text is really pointing.  The disciples, who have irritated Jesus to no end, finally fall silent.  No more asking about who shall be first, and nor more asking what Jesus means or who he is.  No more crazy proposals like building booths for Moses, Elijah, and Jesus, and no more insisting that Jesus wash all of their bodies, not just their feet.  No more insisting that they would never betray Jesus.  There is nothing left to say.  And so they stare quietly, they fish in silence, and they answer in hushed voices.

This layer is the most important because this layer marks a shift.  The disciples stop trying to muscle their way to discipleship, and they finally learn to let Jesus take the lead.  They have become so physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted that they stop trying to control everything, and they simply wait for Jesus to tell them what to do.  This is a critical moment in the disciples’ journey with Christ.

I think many of you know this about me, but I love to dance.  I grew up doing all sorts of dancing, but the most difficult form of dancing I stumbled into was formal partnered dancing – the fox trot, waltz, etc.  In the other forms of dancing I learned, I was responsible for myself, learning the steps, and making sure I knew the rhythm so that the dance looked beautiful.  But in partnered dance, especially as the woman, you have to learn how to follow.  As someone with pretty good rhythm and memory for steps, you have no idea how incredibly frustrating it is to follow a man who does not know what he is doing.  The tendency is to want to use your arms or legs to start guiding the man, or even to whisper the directions.  But the role of the woman is to follow where the man leads – perhaps the only time in a woman’s life that she is forced to do this!  But what I also found in this kind of dancing is that when you have a really good partner, he can make you feel like the most graceful, beautiful woman on the dance floor.  In fact, you stop worrying about the steps and the count, and you start moving with fluidity and ease.  The price for such a feeling is total surrender and trust.  But the payoff is that you find a joy so strong that you will hunt down that partner and beg them to save you a dance.

This is the kind of submission the disciples finally master on that beach.  No more trying to muscle Jesus into the way they want him to behave.  No more trying to talk their way through their relationship with him.  They surrender all they have to him, longing for the clarity that only he can give them.  And when they finally do that, in the quiet of that morning, they finally hear the words of purpose for their lives.  “Follow me,” Jesus says.  They are the same words Jesus said to them at the beginning of their relationship with him.  But now they finally hear.  And now they can finally respond with their whole being.  Jesus’ words are as clear as they can be.  Jesus’ words give their life meaning.  And their spirit is finally in the place where they can hear and respond.  They are truly and thoroughly ready to follow him.

This is what Jesus invites us to do as well.  This morning, as we sit in the sacred place, Jesus invites us to shove those piles off the desks of our minds, to rip out the weeds blocking our hearts, and to drop our armfuls of distractions and to listen to his simple words for us.  The words are there waiting.  The direction is clear.  The peace and comfort of clarity and purpose are ours for the taking.  So when you come to this table for the Eucharistic feast, quietly listening for Jesus’ words for you, you will be able to hear those words, “Follow me,” and do just that when you walk out those church doors.  Amen.

[i] Gary D. Jones, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 420.

Homily – Matthew 10.7-16, George Augustus Selwyn, April 11, 2013

17 Wednesday Apr 2013

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Today we honor George Augustus Selwyn, bishop of New Zealand and of Lichfield, England, in the mid-to-late 1800s.

Bishop Selwyn was best known for his work in New Zealand.  On his voyage there, he mastered the Maori language and was able to preach in it upon his arrival.  During a ten-year war between the English and the Maoris, he was able to minister to both sides with integrity.  His treatment of the Maori people was so tremendous that the Maoris still make pilgrimages to his grave in England today.

Bishop Selwyn seems to have taken our gospel lesson from Matthew to heart.  The sending out of the twelve is full of action.  They are to go and proclaim the Good News.  They are to cure, raise the dead, heal, and cast out demons.  They are to rely on the kindness of strangers – and brush off those who do not show them kindness.  They are to take nothing – no money, clothes, or staff.  Jesus’ instructions are full of work, but they are also stripped of all the creature comforts that might have enabled the disciples to do the work.  Much like Bishop Selwyn jumped on a ship to New Zealand, to a land whose language and culture he did not know, with obstacles like war to navigate, the disciples too are tasked with dropping everything and jumping into the unfamiliar.

Just recently I had a conversation with a local clergy person about a potential mission partnership.  There were many things about the partnership that intrigued me – but there were also many things that made me wonder if this was “the one.”  There were aspects of the mission relationship that made me think that this would not be an “easy relationship.”  In the middle of confessing my concerns to the other priest, I had to stop myself, and said, “You know what – this trip makes me a little uncomfortable – and that’s how I know we’re heading in the right direction.”

What I have learned, Bishop Selwyn knew, and the disciples found, is that doing Jesus’ work is not easy.  Jesus promises that the work will not be easy in the gospel lesson today.  But inherent in Jesus’ instructions are also promises of deep joy.  There will be people who welcome the disciples and they will develop deep, meaningful, profound ministries that they will be equipped to do.  They will be cared for, even when their natural tendency will be to care for themselves.  When we can trust Jesus to do all that he says he will do, then we can have incredible experiences with God’s people.  The adventure awaits!  Amen.

Sermon – John 20.19-31, E2, YC, April 7, 2013

10 Wednesday Apr 2013

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As Christians who just celebrated Easter last week, rejoicing in Jesus’ resurrection and all that his resurrection means in our lives, you would think our gospel lesson would be a little more victorious.  You would think the next step after the angels appear saying Christ is not in the tomb but is risen would be the disciples hitting the ground running, doing the work of spreading the good news or at least throwing a raucous party.  Instead, we find the disciples huddled in a locked room, cowering in fear.  They have not taken the good news from Mary Magdalene as reason to celebrate.  Instead, they are paralyzed by fear.

I have often wondered what the disciples were afraid of.  The text says they are afraid of the Jews, perhaps afraid that the same people who killed Jesus would try to kill them too.  But I think there is more to their fear.  I think they are afraid to face others, because they feel as if they have failed.  Perhaps they believe that their pick for Messiah did not seem to be the Messiah after all.  I think they are also behind those locked doors because they are ashamed that they failed to protect Jesus, to keep him alive.[i]  Those locked doors are not just for safety – those locked doors are for hiding the shame, the disappointment, and the fear of facing others that the disciples have.

We know a little about what the disciples feel like.  We all have things about ourselves for which we are ashamed.  There are things about ourselves that we lock away, praying that no one every finds out because we are not who we fully want to be or even who we pretend to be.  Garrison Keillor once said, “We always have a backstage view of ourselves.”[ii]  Most people only see the carefully arranged stage we have assembled for others to see.  But behind the curtain, in that backstage view that only we have, there are all sorts of things hiding: old failures, hurts, guilt, and shame.  And Eastertide is one of the most difficult times for this dichotomy because we feel like we should be at our best – wearing our best clothes, coming to church as perfectly functioning families, showing forth nothing but happy alleluias.  We are working overtime to ensure that our stage is especially carefully arranged at church.

But to this frenzied, harried behavior, what does Jesus say?  Peace be with you.  Jesus comes to those fearful, ashamed, embarrassed disciples, finding them behind their locked doors of protection and offers them peace.  Jesus barges backstage and says, “I see you in your fullness, and I offer you peace.  So forgive yourselves and now go and forgive others.”  This is why Jesus died on the cross – that their sins might be forgiven.  And so, before the disciples get too mired in wallowing in fear, shame, and self-pity, Jesus demands they recognize that they are forgiven – and that they share that good news with others.  For no one should be locked inside a room of shame and fear.  The peace Jesus offers is not some “greeting-card platitude about the sun behind the clouds.  [Jesus’ peace] is the beginning of a new world, the long-awaited world of God’s shalom.  [His peace] comes with freedom from fear, sin, and death.  Jesus opens the door that the disciples had locked…and he shows the way to resurrection reality.”[iii]

This is our invitation today as well.  Our invitation is to offer the same forgiveness to one another that Christ unabashedly offers to us.  In so doing, we invite not only ourselves, but others, to take down the pretty stage trappings, and to recognize that we all have backstage versions of ourselves, which are all in need of Jesus’ love and forgiveness.  This is good news for which we can really shout alleluia.  This is the kind of good news that makes us want to be in church.  Because this sacred space is not sacred because we made our stages look sacred; this sacred space is sacred because we are fully ourselves, and fully forgiven.  Peace be with you.  Amen.

[i] M. Craig Barnes, “Crying Shame,” Christian Century, vol. 121, no. 7, April 6, 2004, 19.

[ii] Barnes, 19.

[iii] Kristen Bargeron Grant, “No Joke,” Christian Century, vol. 120, no. 9, April 19, 2003, 18.

Sermon – John 20.1-18, ED, YC, March 31, 2013

10 Wednesday Apr 2013

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On that dark, damp, dreary morning, Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb expecting something.  Darkness clings to her like a cloak.  She was there at the foot of the cross two days ago.  She waited, hoping against hope that God would be victorious and Jesus would be miraculously saved.  And then she prayed that God would take Jesus faster, because despair was setting in and his suffering was overwhelming to witness.[i]  She cried so much that night, that her eyes ran dry.  After 48 hours of dazed despair, she drags her lifeless body through the darkness to tend to her beloved Jesus’ body.  Seeing his body one more time will only confirm her grief, but at least she has somewhere to go to mourn; at least his cold body will confirm his death, and begin a journey toward closure.  Mary Magdalene comes to that tomb in darkness expecting something.

We too come to church today expecting something.  Maybe we are expecting a word of joy, the release of the alleluias we have been holding in for weeks.  If we attended the myriad Holy Week services this week, maybe we are expecting a relief from all the darkness of the liturgies during these last holy days.  If we have not been to church in a long time, maybe we are uncertain as to what to expect.  We came here seeking something – some sort of connection, a sense of familiarity, or maybe a place that will accept us as we are, letting us take things as slowly as we need.  Or perhaps you were dragged to church today by a family member, and the most you are expecting is an hour of your time taken away – and that certainly feels like a period of darkness for you too.

If Mary came expecting one thing, what she gets is altogether different.  The absence of Jesus body puts her over the edge.  The first thing she does is run to get the disciples.  But even they only confirm the awful truth that keeps compounding.  Humiliating him, torturing him, and crucifying him were not enough.  Now they have taken his body too?  Having the disciples leave Mary Magdalene alone again starts the downward spiral that seems endless.  This is why she cannot see the angels in their glory – she only mutters a response to them and turns away from the tomb, her vision blurred by her tears again.  This is also why, when a man appears, she desperately begs the man to tell her where he has taken the body.  And then the unexpected happens – or at least perhaps what she had hoped might happen, but would never let herself say aloud.  Rabbouni!  Her teacher is back!

But Jesus only partially fills her expectations.  “Do not hold on to me,” Jesus says.  His words must have felt like a slap to Mary’s fragile self.  In the instant that she recognizes Jesus, a whole new set of expectations arrive.  Surely, they can flee to Galilee again and keep Jesus safe.  But Jesus changes things yet again; Mary Magdalene’s expectations cannot be fulfilled.  Things cannot return to normal.  What Jesus invites is not a return to the way things were, but to a way that is even better than the way things were; a way in which she can develop new expectations for her life in Christ.

When I graduated from college and relocated to Delaware, I was looking for a United Methodist church.  I had experienced a particular style of worship in my hometown, and was looking to replicate that experience.  After six months of frustrated looking, I stumbled into the Episcopal Cathedral.  Parts of my expectations were met – the Cathedral had one of the most diverse populations I had ever seen – racially, socioeconomically, ethnically, by household definitions, and by sexual orientation.  They were doing some incredible urban ministry, and seemed to have an inspiring commitment to the poor.  But the worship killed me.  It was so formal and the music was so uptight, that I wondered how such a progressive church could be so rigid.  I remember hearing an offertory anthem one Sunday that was so good that I said a very loud, “Amen!” at the end.  I realized right away that that was not what was expected of me.  Ultimately, after several Sundays, I decided that I would stay, but only temporarily.  When we moved again, I would just look for another United Methodist church.  But God had other expectations for my life.

That is the funny thing about expectations.  Both the realistic expectations Mary Magdalene has – the expectation to remain in bitter darkness – and the hopeful expectation Mary has – that everything could go back to normal – are not met.  But that does not mean that Jesus does not make a way out of the darkness.  We have heard from the very beginning of John’s gospel about Jesus and the light.  “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it,” says John’s gospel[ii]  The later, John says, “Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, ‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.’”[iii]  Jesus, then, this light of the world, cannot meet the expectations of Mary; because Mary’s expectations are smaller than God’s.  Mary cannot go back to the way things were.  But the way things are going to be is infinitely better.  “God gives a new kind of life, a life that is still worth living, a new kind of aliveness toward God and the world…”[iv]

Mary’s interaction with Jesus invites us to consider our own expectations of this day.  If we came here today, only seeking joy without transformation, then our expectations might go unmet today.  If we came here expecting to rub out all the darkness of these last days, then our expectations will only be partially met today because we cannot celebrate the resurrection, without the cross ever with us.  If we came here as seekers, expecting to just sit in the pew and then go back to our lives, then our expectations might not be met either.  Once we learn that this room is full of seekers just like us, who want us to enrich their journey, this place cannot be seen in the same way.  Even for those of you who just hoped to survive this hour of forced worship will not have your expectations met.  Because even if you are not touched today by Christ’s light, those who brought you here are being touched by the light; your relationship with them will be changed because they are being changed.

So the polite Southerner in me wants to say, “I am so sorry we did not meet your expectations today.”  But at the end of the day, I am glad that our expectations are not met today.  God is doing bigger and better things than we can imagine.  Our job is to trust that the light of the world will lead the way into the new resurrection journey that awaits us.  Amen.

[i] Joan Gray, “Beyond Rescue,” Journal for Preachers, vol. 22, no. 3, Easter 1999, 51.

[ii] John 1.5

[iii] John 8.12

[iv] Gray, 52.