Tag Archives: Jesus

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YC, December 24, 2012

27 Thursday Dec 2012

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When my daughter was first able to express her desire for a particular bedtime book, I found that she wanted to read the same book over and over again.  After a while, I knew the words and images of Goodnight Moon by heart.  Knowing them by heart meant that I always knew how many more pages we had to go, and what the next rhyme would be.  I knew which pages would be in color and which ones would be in black and white.  I remember several times trying to convince my daughter to try one of the other lovely books on her shelf, but she wanted the familiar.  Just the other day, I stumbled across Goodnight Moon at the bottom of a stack of books, and a broad smile spread across my face.  I sat down and turned the pages on my own.  Memories of rocking my much smaller daughter to sleep, of turning on her music mobile, and of tiptoeing out of the room flooded my mind.  Rereading those words and seeing the pictures again brought to mind a very happy time.

Sometimes I think the Christmas story from Luke is like that for all of us.  We have heard the words hundreds of times – from priests, in pageants, and even in “A Charlie Brown Christmas.”  We long for the familiarity of the words.  We close our eyes as the words wash over us, the familiarity giving us a sense of peace and calm.  This is why we came here tonight – to have the familiar story retold to us, to center and ground us in the story of our ancestors.

In truth, we all could use a familiar comforting story lately.  We have had a rough couple of months.  Between the mess of Superstorm Sandy and the tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut, we are emotionally exhausted.  Add on to that the normal stress of Christmas – traveling to be with family or hosting people, running around trying to get the perfect Christmas presents, making sure the kitchen is stocked with the ingredients for everyone’s favorite recipes, and getting out those Christmas cards.  The roads are crazy with traffic and our minds are in a hundred different places.  Although we come to Church nicely dressed on Christmas Eve, our appearance only masks the chaos within ourselves.  In the midst of all of this, we long for a familiar, soothing story.  We need a “once upon a time,” story where we can turn off our minds and settle into the goodness of God’s incarnate son.

The problem with this desire for comforting familiarity is that Jesus’ birth story is not exactly a comforting story.  We prefer to hear the story this way:  “Once upon a time, there were two people in love who were given the gift of birthing God incarnate.  And when this sweet baby was born, angels appeared to shepherds who came to celebrate the Christ Child.  And they all lived happily ever after.”  We do the same thing with our own family stories:  “Once upon a time, grandma and grandpa had mommy and daddy who had me.  Every Christmas we gathered together and celebrated with our whole family in great joy, peace, and harmony.”  We leave out the part where our drunk uncle always marred the celebration, our grandma always managed to insult our mother, and we always just wanted the day to be over so we could go home and sleep off weeks of Christmas anticipation finally fulfilled.

When we treat Christ’s story as a “once upon a time” story, we forget the real details too.  A very pregnant Mary and a troubled Joseph have just taken a long journey, bowing to the demands of the empire.  The city is so crowded, they are forced to sleep and birth their first child among hay and animals.  Later, angels in their astounding and shocking glory appear to shepherds – the lowest on the social strata – to share the news of Jesus’ birth.  These grubby men with their loud animals barge in on what is already a messy temporary home to share the angels’ story with Mary and Joseph.  In the framework of an oppressive empire, we find our savior being born not in the majesty due a king, but in a very normal, vulnerable, if not impoverished setting.  When the news is announced, the news does not come to the Temple priests or religious leaders of the time.  Instead, the news is given to nobodies, with little influence or power.  This amazing, incredible thing – God taking on human flesh, becoming incarnate to save us, happens in the form of a vulnerable baby in a nondescript setting.[i]  This version of the story does not have quite the same ring as the “once upon a time” version we most prefer.

The good news is that the messy, uncomfortable, tense version of this story has much more meaning than our glossy version of the story.  As strange as this may sound, Jesus’ birth happening in this un-peaceful setting is what makes this story so full of peace.  From the very birth of Jesus, we discover what this new life will be about – the poor, the marginalized, and the outcast.[ii]  Why would this kind of news be good news for us?  This is good news because not only does Jesus give us our mission from the very beginning of his life – to serve the poor, marginalized, and outcast – but also Jesus reminds us that we too are impoverished without God.  As Bede reminds us, “Though he was rich, yet for our sake he became poor, so that by his poverty we might become rich.”[iii]

You may not know this about me, but I am a big fan of religious art, especially art portraying Mary and child.  Certainly fine art depictions and iconography of Mary and Jesus are fascinating, but what I most like are renderings that catch me off guard.  One of my favorites is an icon from Cameroon, depicting a very African Mary and Jesus.  A more recent addition to my collection is of a dimly lit room, with a sweaty, exhausted Mary, messily splayed out on a make-shift bed, surrounded by women helping her recover from childbirth.  In the dim background, a baby is being held, without much detail, but a light halo around his head.  Something about the raw, gritty nature of the scene opened up for me something fresh about that night.

What I like about this painting is that it offers the raw, real version of the Christmas story.  The painting takes us out of the idealized “Silent Night,” version of Christmas, and throws us into a night that is much messier.  Besides, there was little about that night that was silent.  Surely Mary cried out in childbirth, Jesus screamed as a newborn, and there was a commotion with all those animals around.  Surely the heavenly host singing did not make for a silent night.  Surely that noisy night was as loud, noisy, and messy as our lives.

And that is where I find comfort in the birth story tonight.  Imagine your favorite aunt leaning over to whisper in your ear a story like this:  “Once upon a time, two scared young people said yes to God, and in the most socially unacceptable way, brought a young baby into this world.  They did not have a nice place to stay, but they made due.  Later, a crew of crusty sheep keepers came and told them a fantastic story of angels affirming what Mary and Joseph knew all along – their precious little son who had already caused so much trouble for them was actually going to save the world.  And as all those gathered around looked at one another – disrespected shepherds, a socially outcast couple, and a vulnerable little baby – they laughed.  The laughed because they knew the truth – God has a funny way of breaking into the world and bringing salvation to those of us who need saving!”

Now maybe this version is not the version you needed to bring you that sense of longed for familiarity.  Maybe you just want to hear, “And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.”  But this rougher version offers us the interpretation we need to understand why tonight’s familiar story is so full of hope.  For if God can redeem the messiness of the world, maybe God can redeem the messiness of our lives too.  Amen.

[i] Charles L. Campbell, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),121.

[ii] Robert Redman, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),120.

[iii] Redman, 120.

Sermon – John 14.1-6, Cemetery Christmas Memorial Service, December 22, 2012

23 Sunday Dec 2012

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Less than two weeks ago, I would have told you that St. Margaret’s was progressing nicely toward Christmas, ready to celebrate the birth of the Christ Child.  We have had a blessed Advent, and have been looking forward to some wonderful liturgies, including this service.  But then tragedy struck Newtown, Connecticut, and since that time, many of our parishioners have been struggling not only to find their “Christmas Spirit” again, but have even been struggling with God in all this.  I have heard all sorts of questions from our parishioners.  “What kind of God allows this to happen?”  “Where was God when those poor children were being slaughtered?”  “How are we to trust God now?”

I imagine the emotional state of those who are active here at St. Margaret’s is a bit close to what many of you have already been struggling with for months or even years.  Christmas is one of the hardest holidays in the face of grief.  Parishes around the country celebrate “Blue Christmas” services because despite what all the media hype tells us, Christmas can be very hard for many of us.  All of the forced happiness and gift giving masks the pain, loneliness, and heartache that Christmas can bring.  When we are blessed to have our family around, we are reminded of the deep dysfunction and hurt that families sometimes create.  When we are away from family, we long for some idealized version of Christmas we have imagined in our heads.  And when we have lost someone to life beyond this life, we are reminded of all the Christmases we had with them, wishing we could have just a few more.  When faced with the kind of death we saw in Newtown, Christmas can be a time when we would rather rage at God than meekly sit at the Christ Child’s feet.

And so, today we gather.  We gather to lift up our “blue” feelings, our pain and our suffering, our anger and our sense of loss back to God.  We come today to lift that back to God, because we really do not know what else to do with all of that “stuff” inside of us.  Of course, we all experience death differently.  For some of us, the death of our loved one is recent, and the pain is as fresh as the day we lost them.  For others, our loved one has been gone for a while, but the hurt still lingers and catches us off guard at times.  And for others, our loved one has been gone for a long time, but the hollow in our heart will never fully close.

We come to God with all of our “stuff” because somewhere in the depths of our beings we know that God – and only God – can handle our “stuff.”  God can handle our anger, our pain, and our grief.  God can take our frustration, our fickleness, and our fears.  God can handle our lost hope, our distant hearts, and our distrust.  We know all of this because we see how Jesus treats Thomas in the gospel lesson we hear today.  Thomas is the one among the disciples who is always brutally honest, saying what no one else is willing to say, even if what he has to say does not portray himself in the best light.  This Thomas is the Thomas who refuses to believe in the risen Christ until he touches his wounds.  And today, in our gospel lesson, this Thomas is the panicked disciple who worries about how to find the way to this spacious dwelling place that Jesus has just described.  Jesus does not rebuke Thomas for his questions or even for his implicit doubts.  Instead, Jesus stays in relationship with Thomas, teaching him patiently what he needs to learn.

Jesus is patient with Thomas because the words that Jesus offers that day are critically important for Thomas to understand.  Jesus is explaining to Thomas and the other disciples gathered what they can now expect about the experience of death.  Through Jesus, they are promised resurrection life.  They are promised a dwelling place with abundant rooms – a place where Jesus will take them himself.  “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”  Jesus words are like the words of a soothing mother, teaching the disciples that the experience of death is changed through the life and death of our savior Jesus Christ.

In times of grief, whether grief over violence against children, or the grief over our own loved ones, Jesus words are what we cling to this holiday season.  If we can hear those words, “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” we may use this as our mantra to get us through this challenging time.  Do not let your hearts be troubled.  But if we cannot hear those words today, then remember Jesus’ presence with Thomas, even in the midst of Thomas’ confusion and pain.  Jesus stays with Thomas, helping him through this news.  So even if we need to be angry with God or are not ready to let our hearts stop being troubled, Jesus will stay with us.  Jesus is infinitely patient, preparing the way for us.  May you find some peace this Christmas season from Christ’s presence with you.  Amen.

Homily – John 20.24-29, St. Thomas, December 20, 2012

23 Sunday Dec 2012

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In the wake of the tragedy in Newtown, I am grateful for the feast of St. Thomas.  “Doubting Thomas” is how most of us remember him.  When the disciples tell Thomas of their post-resurrection encounter with Jesus, Thomas refuses to believe unless he sees it himself – and not just sees, but touches Jesus’ wounds.  Talk about a literal, tangible faith!

Sometimes I think Thomas gets a bad rep.  Everyone likes to wag their fingers at Thomas, shaking their heads at his silly lack of faith.  Not only does this behavior disregard how utterly unimaginable Jesus’ resurrection was, this behavior also ignores the times when we too have been doubters.

Just this past week alone, in the face of unimaginable cruelty and suffering, many of us have doubted God’s presence.  Our faith took a real hit as we struggled to make sense of the tragedy.  We all struggle with doubt from time to time – even if we are embarrassed to admit it.  In fact, I think most of us are embarrassed, which is why we do not talk about doubt enough and why we finger wag at someone like Thomas instead of ourselves.

The gift of Thomas today is his permission.  Thomas’ witness is that struggling with our faith is okay.  In fact, Jesus will stay in relationship with us and will help us along the way.  I don’t think Jesus just happens to stop by the second time – he knew Thomas needed to see him.  Thomas’s life and witness encourages us to be fully human and honest in our faith journey – acknowledging those times when doubt is our overriding experience.

There is a modern cartoon floating around the Internet that recalls the story about “Footprints in the Sand.”  The man asks why there is only one set of footprints, as though Jesus left him – but Jesus clarifies that he was carrying the man then.  But in the cartoon, Jesus also says, “That long groove over there is when I dragged you for a while.”  The cartoon is meant to be funny, but I think it further highlights how infinitely accepting and patient Jesus is with our faith journey – including the doubts.  Being honest about the fullness of our faith experience is the invitation from Thomas today.  Thank you, Thomas, for encouraging us into an honest faith walk.

Sermon – Luke 21.25-36, A1, YC, December 2, 2012

05 Wednesday Dec 2012

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On the way to Simone’s school this week, Nat King Cole’s “Christmas Song” came on the radio.  As I tried to teach Simone the words of, “chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” I suddenly became teary-eyed singing the familiar song.  Something about Christmas songs on the radio can do that to me.  Whether Judy Garland is singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” or Mariah Carey is singing “All I Want for Christmas is You” a wave of nostalgia hits me and a sense of deep happiness washes over me.  The tricky part about these songs though is that they do not connect me to the reality of my lifetime of Christmases.  Instead they simply remind me of my idealized dream of Christmas – the glossy picture I have devised about the utter perfection of Christmas.

Our entrance into Advent is a lot like that contrast.  You might have come into church today totally excited about the hope and love of Advent as we await the perfect baby Jesus.  We imagine Advent as a sort of pregnancy, where we wait for four weeks to birth the Christ Child.  We cannot wait to hear those stories that are coming – of Mary and Joseph, of shepherds and angels, of wise men.  Advent in our minds is this great time of anticipation.

Of course, the actual gospel text does little to fuel this happy anticipation.  Instead, our gospel lesson from Luke is an apocalyptic text about signs and fainting and fear.  “Stand up and raise your heads…Be on guard…Be alert at all times,” says Jesus.  The words from Jesus are not soothing or encouraging at all.  In fact the kind of waiting Jesus describes does not sound like a joyful waiting for a birth, but sounds more like the dreaded waiting for judgment.

As modern Christians, we do not tend to enjoy apocalyptic scripture lessons for several reasons.  First, apocalyptic readings are usually weird.  We much more often associate these texts with crazy fanatics who make predictions about the end of the world that rarely come true.  We have friends who like the Left Behind series; and even if we find the idea intriguing, we cannot really watch without feeling like the whole idea is strange.  We even make jokes with silly bumper stickers that say, “Jesus is coming.  Look busy.”

The second reason we do not enjoy apocalyptic readings is that we often do not understand what apocalyptic readings mean or how to interpret them.  If you have ever read the Book of Revelation all the way through, you know that your eyes start to glaze over as the images become stranger and more disjointed.  That style of literature is totally foreign to us.  Even John Calvin, theologian and father of the Presbyterian Church, who wrote a commentary on every other book of the Bible, did not attempt to write about Revelation.[i]  If John Calvin cannot interpret apocalyptic literature, we do not have much hope for our own understanding.

Finally, we do not tend to enjoy apocalyptic readings because we find them exhausting.  Even Will Willimon argues that, “It’s hard to stand on tiptoe for two thousand years.”[ii]  We know that Christ will return, but how can we possibly keep vigilant constantly?  Our life is already full of anxiety.  Between the Fiscal Cliff, wars around the world, and our own financial, personal, and emotional anxieties, we have enough to worry about without having to also be anxious about Jesus’ return.

Fortunately, on this first Sunday of Advent, there is good reason for us to turn to this kind of text.  The season of Advent reminds us that we cannot anticipate the first coming of Christ without also anticipating the second coming of Christ.  The two activities are intimately linked.  We celebrate the birth of this child because we know what this child will be.  We do not simply anticipate the Christ Child because he will be a cute baby.  We anticipate him because we know that he will be the Savior and Redeemer of the world and that he promises to come again.  Our anticipation is two-fold because we know the rest of the story.  Our anticipation would be like if we knew that baby Martin Luther King, Jr. or baby Mother Teresa were about to be born.  We do not celebrate this birth for the everyday joy of life.  We anticipate this birth because of the joy of this specific person and God-head, in whom we have redemption.

In this time between the two advents, the Church invites us through Luke to live a little differently than normal.  Our everyday faith usually means business as usual for us.  We know about the second coming, but we do not think of the second coming often.  We go to church (most of the time) and receive the sacraments; we read scripture (sometimes) and pray; we try to live by the Golden Rule and the Ten Commandments; we have our version of Christian music (hymns, Christian pop, or gospels) that enliven our faith; and we faithfully spend money and time every week on what we might deem “kingdom causes.”  This is more than enough religion to keep us going in this in-between-advents time.[iii]

But this advent, we are invited to step back and look at the whole of our Christian faith.  Sure, we may not want to be on guard at all times, but being on guard from time to time is a good thing.  We can all use a little check-up from time to time – and not just during Lent.  As Lewis Smedes argues the hardest part of anticipating the second coming of Jesus Christ is in “living the sort of life that makes people say, ‘Ah, so that’s how people are going to live when righteousness takes over our world.’”[iv]  This is our work this Advent.  Not just to look busy because Jesus is coming, but to be busy.

There is a well-known story that happened in the colonial period of American history.  The Connecticut House of Representatives were going about their work on a sunny May day, when all of a sudden, an eclipse caught the entire legislature off guard.  Right in the middle of debate, everything went to darkness.  In the midst of panic over whether this might be the second coming, a motion was made to adjourn the legislature so that people could pray and prepare for the coming of the Lord.  In response, one legislator stood up and said, “Mr. Speaker, if it is not the end of the world and we adjourn, we shall appear to be fools.  If it is the end of the world, I choose to be found doing my duty.  I move you, sir, let candles be brought.”[v]  Those men who expected Jesus went back to their desks and by candlelight resumed their debate.

We too light candles in Advent.  We too move into a time of actively living in the time between two advents.  We too take on the intentional work of living as though righteousness has taken over the world.  Of course we do not do this work alone.  We do this work “prayerfully, depending upon God to give strength to persevere despite temptation or persecution.”[vi]  Jesus is coming.  With God’s help, instead of “looking busy” this Advent, we can be busy this Advent.  Amen.

[i] Cornelius Plantinga, Jr., “In the Interim,” Christian Century, vol. 117, no. 34, Dec. 6, 2000, 1271.

[ii] Will Willimon, as quoted by Plantinga, 1270.

[iii] Plantinga, 1270.

[iv] Lewis Smedes, Standing on the Promises, as quoted by Plantinga, 1272.

[v] Joanna M. Adams, “Light the Candles,” Christian Century, vol. 123, no. 24, Nov. 28, 2006, 18.

[vi] Mariam J. Kamell, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),25.

Anticipating Advent…

28 Wednesday Nov 2012

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Advent is a season that often gets lost in the buildup to Christmas.  For many of us, Advent is simply pre-Christmas.  Pre-Christmas entails buying gifts, juggling parties, meal planning and cooking, and generally running around at break-neck speed.

Unlike pre-Christmas, Advent invites us into a completely different posture.  Advent invites us into a quiet expectation.  We know that something incredible is coming – the birth of the Christ Child.  And we hold our breaths in anticipation, waiting to marvel at the miracle of Jesus’ birth.  Advent is the Church’s gift to us – a time for contemplation and prayer.

The funny thing about Advent is that the Church usually forgets to slow down too.  Like everyone else, we schedule Quiet Days, parties, and learning.  We squeeze in meetings before the end of the year, and we rush to keep up with the liturgies.  But this year, something is a little different at St. Margaret’s.  Because of the Hurricane, many things that were planned were either canceled or delayed.  Therefore we do not have a Quiet Day, there is no Diocesan Convention, and there are fewer meetings.  However, what is left seems right:  an Annual Meeting to review what has been an incredible year; a Movies with Margaret night that is light enough for us to learn and share easily; a Christmas party for us to gather in fellowship with the entire community; and some incredible liturgies, including Advent Lessons and Carols, our Cemetery Memorial service (a wonderful gift for those who find the Christmas holidays difficult), and two very different Christmas Eve services.

Given that St. Margaret’s has enabled us all to slow down a little bit, I invite us all to treat Advent like a spiritual discipline.  Come to Church every Sunday in Advent.  Find a devotional to direct your time daily (see resources below).  Carve out some time to just come to the Church and sit quietly with God.  Our intentional observance of Advent is a gift that we can give to ourselves this year and that we can share with a friend or neighbor.  During what can be a noisy season, Advent at St. Margaret’s might just become the best gift you give to someone else this year.

Resources for Advent

1)  Advent Calendar/Devotional:  Fling Wide the Doors

2)  Book:  Silence and Other Surprising Invitations of Advent, by Enuma Okoro

3)  Other Diocesan Suggestions:  Mercer School

Sermon – John 18.33-37, P29, YB, November 25, 2012

27 Tuesday Nov 2012

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When I say the word “king,” what words come to mind?  Perhaps these words would be on your list:  ruler, power, authoritative, supreme, distant, dictator, or my personal favorite, Elvis.  Kings are something of a foreign experience to us, since we are a country that was founded on getting rid of kings.  Our presidents are the closest things we have to kings, but the modern presidency is not really like a kingship.  Yes, the president is a ruler, but the president is elected and is balanced in power by the Congress and Supreme Court.  Yes, the president has power, but a president can also be impeached or not reelected.  So when we think of kings, we may have to think back to a king who did have some influence over our lives – King Henry VIII.  If you remember, King Henry was the king who wanted to divorce his wife so that he could remarry.  When the Pope refused the King’s request, King Henry not only divorced his wife anyway, he also started a revolution that led to the Anglican Church – our mother Church as Episcopalians.  If that is not power, I do not know what is!

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

So if Jesus as a king is so different from any kings that we know, why do we label and celebrate Christ the King?  Christ the King Sunday is not that ancient of a concept in Church history.  In 1925, in the face of growing nationalism and secularism following World War I, Pope Pius XI established the feast of Christ the King.  The feast was meant to be a way of declaring where allegiances should be – not to a country, but to God.  Our allegiance should be to Jesus – our only ruler and power.  In a time of national pride, the Church boldly proclaimed, “We have no king but Jesus.”  Proclaiming Jesus as King is a fascinating reappropriation of the title “King.”  When the Church invites us to proclaim Christ as King, not only does the Church ask us to put Christ above any earthly ruler, the Church also asks us to redefine the concept of a king.  Jesus is a king who lays down his life for the sake of others; who endures humiliation and death for the salvation of people; who humbly cares for the poor, oppressed, imprisoned, and suffering.  This image does not sound anything like the image we have of a king; and yet, this is what we proclaim today.  Our king could have easily overtaken Pilate and even Caesar for that matter – but our king humbles himself to the point of death on a cross – because our King’s rule is both here and in the age to come.  This kind of king – who can save us from our sins through his death on a cross – is the only kind of king we really need.

In some ways, celebrating Christ the King this Sunday is most appropriate.  We are at the end of our liturgical year.  In this liturgical year, we journeyed toward and celebrated Christ’s birth; walked through the years of his ministry, teaching and healing; journeyed through his passion and death; and celebrated his resurrection, ascension, and gift of the Spirit.  Ending the liturgical year by declaring Christ as King is the way that the Church summarizes the whole of Jesus’ life.  This Jesus, who was born in lowly manger, who lived a humble carpenter’s childhood, who cared for and tended the least of these, who taught the disciples how to live a different kind of life, who made the ultimate sacrifice for us, and who rose victorious from the grave – this Jesus is the Christ we call “King.”  This humble, humbled, humbling Christ is the only ruler we call King.

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

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

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

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

[iii] Anderson, 18.

Sermon – Matthew 6.25-33, Thanksgiving, YB, November 22, 2012

23 Friday Nov 2012

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Today is one of those Norman Rockwell days.  We pull out old family recipes, we gather in the kitchen to cook and share in reminiscences.  We watch the Macy’s parade, hoping to sneak a glimpse at The Rockettes.  We map out which football games we will watch.  The table is set in festive ware, and the food is not only delicious, but also brings back the memories of so many other Thanksgiving meals.  We smile, laugh, and our hearts are full of gratitude.  This is the day that the Lord has made.

Or at least that is how we always fantasize Thanksgiving will look.  Instead, we have been scrambling around, making sure we have all the ingredients we need, trying to figure out what to serve to Cousin Sam’s vegan girlfriend.  We worry that Uncle Fred will be as rude and obnoxious as he always is, and whether the kids will get too impatient and cranky before the meal begins.  We worry that the turkey will be dry or that the recipe that we entrusted to our sister will not be as good as Grandma’s.  We struggle to find just the right outfit that is flattering enough for pictures, but comfortable enough for the full belly we will have after the meal.  And quite frankly, having finally mostly recovered from the Hurricane, we have barely had time to turn our thoughts to Thanksgiving, and our nerves are a little frazzled.

So as we rush into Church today, our minds full of to-do lists and worries of the day, what do we hear from Jesus?  “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear.  Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?”  Jesus scolds those who are gathered for that very human experience of anxiety, implying that their worries are rooted in a lack of trust in the God who can just as easily care for birds and lilies as God can care for them.

I have always had a love-hate relationship with this passage.  I discovered this passage as a teen, and have returned to the passage time and again when I felt the waves of anxiety crashing over my head.  The passage is oddly comforting and frustrating at the same time.  The passage has a way of making me feel guilty about my anxiety – as though I should be ashamed of my worries and concerns.  I can almost hear the scolding tenor of Jesus, like a nagging mother.  But like most mothers who know best, the words are simultaneously comforting because I know that they are true at the deepest levels of my being.  I find comfort in these words because they force me out of the mire that is usually self-imposed, and turn my heart to where my heart belongs – to God.

Luckily, we are in good company.  Our modern consumerist society does not make us as different from those in Biblical times as we might think.  Clearly those following Jesus stressed as much as we do about putting food on the table and the latest clothing styles.  In fact, this fear is present throughout scripture.  How many times have we heard that command, “Fear not.”  “The order not to fear is perhaps not only the most reiterated in Scripture, but also the least obeyed.”[i]  What Jesus sees and why Jesus scolds is because Jesus knows that those anxieties pull us away from the work that God has given us to do.  When those doing God’s work get distracted by their worries and fears, they have little time or energy left to actually do God’s work.  This is what Jesus is trying to communicate – to redirect energy from that inner storm of worry, fear, and anxiety, to the productive work of God’s kingdom.  For, as Jesus explains, “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?”  Worry pulls us inward – which is completely the opposite direction that the Church sends us after every Eucharist.

Today, instead of letting myself wallow in guilt or seeing Jesus as a scolding parent, I will think of Jesus as a great yoga instructor.  In yoga, one of the primary goals of the practice is to clear your mind.  Any good yoga instructor will admit that you cannot clear your mind by willing your mind to be clear.  Thoughts and distractions will continue to invade your practice.  The trick is to acknowledge the thought, and let the thought go, returning your focus to your practice.  Uncle Fred worrying you?  Release the fear from your body.  Perfect Thanksgiving meal weighing on you?  Let go of the anxiety from your mind.  Rowdy children and messy dishes stressing you out?  Free your heart to love without limit.  These are the words I imagine Jesus, the yoga instructor, offering us today.  Today is not really about any of those things anyway.  All of those things – food, loved ones, and rest – are gifts from God:  the same God that desires for you to do the work of seeking and serving Christ in others.  The rest is gravy!  Amen.

[i] Jason Byassee, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 406.