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On prayer and parenting…

10 Thursday Apr 2014

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

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

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

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

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

Homily – Deuteronomy 6.20-25, James Theodore Holly, March 13, 2013

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

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Today we honor James Theodore Holly.  Holly was born a free African-American in Washington, D.C., in 1829.  Though he was baptized and confirmed in the Roman Catholic Church, he later became an Episcopalian.  Holly was ordained a deacon in 1855 and a priest in 1856.  He served as a rector in Connecticut and founded the Protestant Episcopal Society for Promoting the Extension of the Church among Colored People.  He was a friend of Frederick Douglass and worked with him on many projects.  In 1861, he left his job in Connecticut to lead a group of African-Americans to settle in Haiti.  In the first year, his mother, wife and two children died, but Holly stayed on with his two small sons.  In 1874, Holly was ordained the first Bishop of Haiti – making him the first black man to be a bishop in the Episcopal Church.  Bishop Holly served the Diocese of Haiti until his death in 1911.  Bishop Holly had a passion for the gospel and wanted to ensure that the Gospel was accessible to all.

Our Old Testament lesson today reminds me of what Bishop Holly’s ministry might have been like.  Moses talks to the Israelites and tells them their children will be someday asking them, “What is the meaning of the decrees and the statutes and the ordinances that the LORD our God has commanded you?”  In other words, “Why do we have to follow all these rules?”  And Moses tells the Israelites not to explain the rules, but to explain their history.  Moses sounds like an old grandpa, “Now let me tell you a little story …”  The children of Israel probably rolled their eyes, but what Moses is trying to remind them of is who the God is who gave those laws.  When you know that God is a loving God, who freed them from bondage and delivered them to the Promised Land, the rules just became a natural response.  So, luckily, the law is not followed “because I said so,” but because we know no other way to respond to the LORD who loves and cares for us so much.

That is the message Holly took to Haiti.  He wanted them to know how much God loved them.  That is the same message we share with those we encounter, too.  When someone challenges us about the hypocrisy of the church, the ways we do business, or the challenges we face, all we have to do is say, “Now let me tell you a little story …”  Your story may be Moses’ story; your story may be about a man named Jesus; or your story may just be about your walk with your loving God.  The point is to tell the story so that others might come to know God’s love, too.  Amen.

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

26 Wednesday Feb 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Homily – Ephesians 3.14-21, Phillips Brooks, January 23, 2014

12 Wednesday Feb 2014

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We all have someone in our lives who has brought us a little closer to God.  Maybe it was an outstanding preacher, who opened up a connection between your everyday life and Holy Scripture.  Maybe it was a friend who always could see God moving in the midst of everyday events.  Maybe it was a public figure who seemed to live the life of faith in ways we can only dream to do.  For me, it was my Old Testament professor in seminary.  To be honest, I never really liked the Old Testament; I found it to be full of violence, an unfamiliar God, or even just books that were hard or cumbersome to read.  But then I had this professor, who seemed to come alive with every word in the Old Testament.  She overflowed with passion, joy, insight, and light.  She opened up the Hebrew text in ways I had never understood and made me fall in love with a set of books I had written off as irrelevant.

In some ways, Phillips Brooks, who we honor today, offered that same insight to others of his time.  Born in 1835, Brooks served as a priest in Philadelphia and Boston.  He was a dynamic preacher – in fact, he is often called the greatest preacher of the century.  Though his sermons are engaging to read, many say they don’t capture the warmth and vitality of his delivery – in fact, many say that he spoke to his audience as a person might speak to a friend.  Brooks inspired men to enter the ministry, and was able to appeal to conservatives and liberals alike.  In 1891, he was elected bishop of Massachusetts.  His personality and preaching, along with his deep devotion and loyalty, gave that diocese the spiritual leadership they needed.

The joy for God that Brooks seemed to have sounds a lot like Paul in our epistle lesson today.  Paul says, “I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”  What Paul wanted for the Ephesians is the same thing that Brooks wanted for the people of Massachusetts and my seminary professor wanted for that community – a taste of the love, grace, and abundance that can be found in our God.

Perhaps you already know this experience of God.  But if you are looking to reconnect with that experience or find that kind of experience with God for the first time, I invite you to take a look at the people God has already placed around you.  One of them, maybe even a stranger for now, is present already to show you the enormity of love that comes from the Lord our God.  Amen.

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

14 Thursday Nov 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

06 Wednesday Nov 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Homily – 1 Peter 4.7-11, Matthew 20.1-16, Gregorio Aglipay, September 5, 2013

26 Thursday Sep 2013

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Today we honor Gregorio Aglipay, priest and founder of the Philippine Independent Church, a church in full communion with the Episcopal Church and Anglican Communion.  Gregorio was born in 1860 and orphaned at an early age.  He worked as a boy in the tobacco fields during the Spanish Occupation and bore hard feelings toward the Spanish colonists.  He was eventually ordained a Catholic priest, but eight years later the Philippine Revolution began.  At that time the church and state were deeply intertwined, so any revolutionary activity impacted both.  Gregorio sided with the Filipino nationalists and rallied fellow priests to support the revolution.  Of course, he was eventually excommunicated from the Roman Catholic Church, but Gregorio formed a new national church that eventually came into full communion with the Anglican Church.

Gregorio’s story feels very familiar to Americans.  We too have fought against our colonist roots; we too have had to sort out the complexities of church and state, especially as Anglicans; and we even know the stories of people forced to work in the fields.  But those stories are from a long time ago, and many of us distance ourselves from the nastiness of those times.  This is why I find the Epistle lesson and Gospel lesson so interesting today.  Here you have two stories:  one of loving one another and one of a sense of justice.  The two are interrelated: had the early workers seen the late workers through the lens of love, their protest would have been nonexistent.  But the kind of love the epistle asks for is hard:  being hospitable without complaining; serving one another; looking not to oneself, but to God.  This kind of love is the most difficult – something we want to do, but rarely accomplish.

Part of me wonders how much Gregorio embodied this love.  He did revolt against the colonists and Roman Catholic Church – how much love did he really have for them?  But I think where he showed love was through his self-sacrifice.  The easy way would have been not to fight.  The Roman Catholic Church even offered him a bishop’s position with enormous resources at this personal disposal.  But Gregorio understood that true love meant sacrificing himself and the easy way of life for something much harder and scarier.

This is the sacrificial, non-self-serving life Jesus invites us into today.  It will not be easy or clean.  Our only assurance is that if we are all in this loving journey together, the journey is a lot less scary.  Amen.

Welcome Back…

12 Thursday Sep 2013

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This coming Sunday is what we call “Welcome Back Sunday,” at St. Margaret’s.  The Welcome Back is not meant to acknowledge that parishioners have been away all summer, despite the fact that I have heard anecdotally that Robin Williams once said that Episcopalians are the only people God trusts enough to take the summers off from Church.  No, Welcome Back Sunday is a time that we are welcomed back to the program year and all the fullness that the program year offers.  For us, Welcome Back Sunday means returning from one Sunday service to two services, the return of educational and formation opportunities, more fellowship activities, and generally more life and energy around the church.

To prepare for Welcome Back Sunday, invitations have been sent out to our neighbors, our website has been redesigned, a welcome breakfast has been planned, a full line-up for the fall is all set, and in general we are hyping up parishioners to get back into the swing of the program year.  We have been sharing videos about Welcome Back Sunday – my personal favorite being this one.  But despite the fact that I am energized and excited about what this program year has to offer, I am aware that for many, Church is still an experience that many keep at arm’s length.  Perhaps you never grew up in a church setting, perhaps you began to feel unwelcome in church, or maybe the Church has actively hurt or disenfranchised you.  Whatever the reason, for many Church is seen as an irrelevant experience to your everyday lives.

For those who have been hurt, I completely understand why you keep your distance.  Having been severely judged by someone who claimed to love the Lord, I understand why you would keep up your guard and be suspicious of any church enthusiasts like myself.  But I must say, there is a part of me that aches to share the joy, love, and sense of wholeness I have found through the Church.  Yes, the Church is flawed, and full of sinful people, but at its very best, the Church is a place where people can vulnerably step forward with their struggles with God and be invited along a spiritual journey in the context of a community of seekers.  I think that is why my heart aches when I hear songs like Macklemore’s “Same Love.”  In it, he sings about the ways that Church has deeply wounded our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters.  His words make me want cry out to the world that the Church has another way of being too – a way of love.

So this week, if you find yourself without a Church home, without a place to ask the hard questions about God, or without a community who lets you be you in the journey, come to Church.  If you are in Plainview, I hope that Church will be St. Margaret’s.  But if not, I hope you will look for a Church that lives into what Jesus dreamed of for the Church – a community of faith living the way of love.  Whether it has been a week since you have been to church, years, or you have never been to church, I say to you, “Welcome Back.”

While you were sleeping…

17 Wednesday Jul 2013

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I am in the stage of parenting where many parents with older kids look at me sympathetically and promise me that things will get better.  They lament about how it was the threes, not the twos, that were “terrible.”  They promise me that by age five, a certain shift happens.  And some days, those words are enough to help me take a deep breath as my child is screaming angrily for no apparent reason, or hitting, or kicking, or you name it.  I love my daughter dearly, but the last several months of her development have been challenging, to say the least.  And certainly, it feels like she brings out the worst in me too.  So what seems like the glorious bliss of parenthood is quite often a complicated, guilt-provoking mess.

But just the other night, as my daughter “attempted,” to fall asleep, she finally asked if I would come in and rock her to sleep.  Not getting the chance to cuddle her often, I agreed.  As we were rocking, she started lightly snoring, and as I looked at her relaxed face, my perception of her totally changed.  She seemed not like a temperamental, trying toddler, but just a sweet little kid.  The lull of sleep had smoothed out the anger and frustration from her face, and made her look peaceful and lovely.  And in that moment, my love for her exploded, my forgiveness of her craziness overflowed, and my own frustration faded quickly away.

It occurred to me that my perspective in that moment must be God’s perspective of all of us.  The God who loves us all so profoundly must only be able to do that if that God can see us for who we really are – that version of ourselves when we sleep:  utterly human, vulnerable, and lovable.  The anxiety is gone from our face and all that remains are the everyday functions of being human – breathing in and out, while our body is restored to refreshment and wholeness.

Having watched the news recently, especially the Zimmerman/Martin case, I have had some pretty hostile feelings about the people involved in the case, the people reporting on the case, and even toward people whom I know who seem unconvinced of the problems in our justice system.  And everyday, I deal with family, friends, and, yes, even parishioners who frustrate me to no end.  But I have been wondering about how I might begin to think of those objects of my frustration in their sleep.  If I could see them vulnerably, peacefully sleeping, might I begin to see them with the eyes of God?  I am not suggesting that forgiveness will come easily or even soon.  But what I am wondering is whether seeing others through God’s love might at least give me the patience to try one more day of walking in God’s love too.

Sermon – Luke 10.25-37, P10, YC, July 14, 2013

17 Wednesday Jul 2013

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Lisa had produced lots of stories like this over the last ten years.  They were human-interest stories for ESPN – the stories that drew people into the private pain and sacred celebrations behind their beloved sports.  Lisa loved her work, but she had never gotten as involved as she did four years ago.  In 2009 she met Leroy and Dartanyon – two high school wrestlers from a poor Cleveland school who were fighting against all odds.  Dartanyon was homeless and legally blind and Leroy had lost parts of both legs in a train accident.  Dartanyon often carried Leroy to classes up stairs, while Leroy helped Dartanyon with his homework.  Their story was so potent for Lisa that she could not walk away.  Over the course of four years, she would find herself doing everything from helping Dartanyon obtain his birth certificate, to ensuring they had food everyday; from helping them fill out financial aid forms for college, to connecting Dartanyon to a Paralympic coach.

When I saw Lisa’s story this week, I could not help but to think about the Good Samaritan from the gospel lesson today.  Most of us know this story well, and pretty much all of us want to strive to be a Good Samaritan; so much so that we spend time volunteering, we give money to aid important causes, and we even occasionally give a dollar to that guy on the corner.  But what struck me this week about the story of the Good Samaritan is that we often simplify the example of the Samaritan. We read this story and we know that we should not be like the lawyer or the priest or the Levite.  We should help others like the Samaritan.  The problem though with this simplified response to Jesus’ command to “Go and do likewise,” is that we skim over all the work the Samaritan did.  The text says the Samaritan, “went to [the victim] and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them.  Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him.  The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’”

Several things strike me about this account.  First of all, there is a longevity to the care of the Samaritan.  The Samaritan does not simply give the man some bandages, or a cloak, or even some money, and then leave.  The Samaritan does not simply help the man to a local hospital or inn and then carry on with his life.  The Samaritan does not even care for the man overnight, and then depart, having certainly done his duty.  No, the Samaritan even pays for the man to stay and promises to return and pay for whatever else is due.  This is not a one-time exchange, or even a short-term exchange.  This exchange is a commitment to the long haul – a dedication not just to help but to be in relationship.  This is what Jesus means when he says we are to “go and do likewise.”

What is tricky about this kind of relationship is that this kind of relationship is messy.  Though there is some debate among scholars, many seem to think that the victim on the side of the road was a Jew.[i]  So not only was this victim beaten, robbed, and abandoned by those who should have cared for the victim, he was helped and tended to by a Samaritan – a man who was his enemy.  The Jews and Samaritans had a long-standing conflict.  The Jews had a very low opinion of the Samaritans.  Samaritans were seen as second-class citizens to be avoided at all costs.  So imagine when the victim woke up at that inn to find a Samaritan nursing him back to health.

Not to mention how complicated this is for the Samaritan.  He knows how most Jews feel about him.  He may have even felt the same way about the Jewish people.  But somehow, his sense of pity gets the best of him, and he finds himself not just asking if the guy is okay, but spending his time and resources on this complete stranger who is his enemy as well.  This encounter between these two men is not simply a one-way, clean exchange of helper and helped.  This is a messy encounter that leaves the two in a strange relationship that can only be possible through God’s grace.  Whatever biases the Jew had against Samaritans had to have been called into question that next morning.  Hatred of another cannot remain when one is the recipient of love as deep as the Samaritan shows.  And whatever biases the Samaritan had against Jews had to have weakened that day too.  You cannot dress a man’s wounds, care for him overnight, and return to check in on him without some of your defenses coming down.  The kind of neighborliness that Jesus is inviting people into is messy, complicated, and a bit scary.

Lisa, Leroy, and Dartanyon knew a little about this kind of messiness.  Dartanyon and Leroy not only faced the challenges of their own physical limitations, they also lived in a world of struggle.  Their school was a school marked by violence and active police presence.  Books were handed out and locked back up after each class.  Less than forty percent would ever graduate and untold numbers were left pregnant.  And white people were not necessarily seen as allies.  Meanwhile, Lisa had grown up on the other side of Cleveland.  Her parents scraped together money just so that she would not have to go to school with those her parents would call, “those people.”  Lisa and Leroy and Dartanyon grew up knowing each other as “the other,” and any attempt at a relationship brought these biases, baggage, and burdens to the foreground.

The funny thing is that when we read our gospel lesson day, we can feel that Jesus is scolding the lawyer in some way.  But I think what is actually happening here is a bit of healthy challenge.  Jesus fully admits that if the lawyer simply does what the law calls for:  to love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself – then the lawyer will be fine.  Jesus is saying that even the slightest effort of loving God and loving neighbor is good and to be commended.  But in the story of the Good Samaritan, Jesus is hinting to the lawyer that there is a potential for more – a potential to know God more fully and to love more deeply than he could even imagine is possible.  And that kind of amped up grace and blessing can only come from messy, complicated, scary relationships with the other.

Recently, while Lisa, Leroy, and Dartanyon prepared for a follow-up story with ESPN, Dartanyon quietly asked Lisa the question that probably many others had wondered about but never asked.  “Why did you stay?”  Lisa’s response was automatic.  “I love you,” she answered.  “That’s what I thought you’d say,” he replied.  “But … why … why did you stick around and do everything you did?”  Lisa’s response was long and complicated because their relationship was messy, complicated, and at times maybe even scary.  But after much reflection, Lisa concludes, “I stayed because we can change the world only when we enter into another’s world.”[ii]  Though I have no idea whether Lisa is a person of faith, Lisa is preaching Jesus’ words today with her life.  She understands that being neighbors means not just helping people, but entering into their lives, and taking on whatever messiness that involves – because only then can we know the kind of love Jesus has for us.  In that sacred, vulnerable, tenuous reality that is relationship with the other is where we experience Jesus and the love Jesus has for all of us – even those we might label as the other.  Jesus knows how hard this will be.  But Jesus tells us to “Go and do likewise,” anyway because Jesus knows that we can.  Amen.

[i] Matthew L. Skinner, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 241.

[ii] Lisa M. Fenn, “‘Carry On’: Why I Stayed,” as found on http://espn.go.com/espn/otl/story/_/id/9454322/why-stayed on July 9, 2013.