Tag Archives: love

Sermon – Matthew 5.21-37, Sirach 15.15-20, EP6, YA, February 12, 2023

15 Wednesday Feb 2023

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As a teenager, in my rural southern United Methodist Church, our Sunday School class each week was an in-depth Bible Study of some book of the Bible.  I have a distinct memory of one particular class where a condemning text arose about divorce.  My Sunday School teacher herself was divorced and was happily and healthily remarried.  I remember being aghast and indignant about the text, questioning my teacher about how divorce could be seen in such a condemning way, holding in my mind how beautiful my teacher’s current marriage was.  Her response to me was a defeated admission of judgement for herself and her husband that would not be remedied.

Once upon a time, I might have told you that faulty biblical interpretation like this is what drove me from the Methodist church to the Episcopal Church.  But the truth is, there have been many a times when Episcopalians do not fare much better.  When confronted with gospel lessons like we have today from Matthew, most Episcopalians are more likely to either brush hard texts under the rug, or minimize and point you to something shiny, like “It’s all about love, so don’t worry about that pesky Biblical passage.” 

Instead, today I invite us to acknowledge that Jesus’ words in Matthew’s gospel are hard.  When Jesus tells us we cannot approach the altar without being reconciled in our broken relationships, or that our natural urges are so destructive we should gouge out our eyes, or that divorcing or lying are gravely dangerous offenses, we get nervous and even defensive.  Where is that Jesus of love we like so much?  Is not this a place where we claim all are welcome?

In order to understand scripture today – in a way that is neither defeatistly resigned nor superficially glossed over – the discomfort we may be feeling today is actually a good thing.  The first thing you need to know about Jesus is that he was a skilled rhetorician.  Much of what you hear today about ripping eyes out and cutting off hands are used not literally, but figuratively to point to something very important:  the central importance of relationships in the community of the faithful.[i]  Jesus wants to shock and provoke, to unsettle and destabilize, because he wants to invite a reorientation.[ii]  I find theologian Stanley Hauerwas’ explanation the most helpful.  He argues, “Jesus does not imply that we are to be free of either anger or lust; that is, he assumes that we are bodily beings.  Rather he offers us membership in a community in which our bodies are formed in service to God and for one another so that our anger and our lust are transformed…Jesus is not recommending that we will our way free of lust and anger, but rather he is offering us membership in a people that is so compelling we are not invited to dwell on ourselves or our sinfulness…If we are a people committed to peace in a world of war, if we are a people committed to faithfulness in a world of distrust, then we will be consumed by a way to live that offers freedom from being dominated by anger or lust.”[iii]

Now I can tell you about how progressive Jesus words are about divorce since women were socially and economically marginalized by divorce at the time,[iv] or I could address anger, lying, or lust.  But all of these four vignettes are meant to point our attention not to the salacious nature of Jesus’ words, but what Jesus is trying to do for us.  Being a part of Hickory Neck or the wider body of Christ means our bodies are part of Christ’s body – that, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer suggests, we are so in communion with Jesus’ body that our infidelity is not just a sin against our own body, but against Jesus’ body.[v]  We come here not just to reassure our own selves, and to find restoration for our souls, but also to be a part of something bigger.  To become disciples, finding a purpose much bigger than our naturally self-centered ways, means becoming part of the larger body of Christ – a body that mends broken relationships, restores others to wholeness, and values the dignity of every human being.

The good news is that you do not join that body of discipleship alone.  Everyone of us here is on the journey to being a different kind of human than the outside world would have us be.  In fact, the reason we do this work together is we are better together than we ever could be on our own.  We hold each other accountable, we keep working on reconciliation when we fail, we offer grace and love in our very humanness.  The choice is ours.  As Sirach aptly describes today, the choice is always before us – the choice of life or death, of fire or water.  Our invitation today is to choose relationship – to choose the life of discipleship that joins us to the body of Christ, that roots us in the love of Christ, and enables our work of light in the world.  We cannot do the work alone.  Our invitation is to choose the love and light of Christ that we find his body, the Church, and in the relationships we find here.  Amen. 

[i] Ronald J. Allen, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 359.

[ii] Anna Case-Winters, Matthew.  Belief:  A Theological Commentary on the Bible (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2015), 84.

[iii] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew:  Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006),  69.

[iv] Case-Winters, 81.

[v] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, as referenced by Hauerwas, 70.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YC, December 24, 2022

05 Thursday Jan 2023

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When our girls were very small, our favorite book was Goodnight Moon.  We read that book so many times, I could have recited the book to you from memory.  “In the great green room there was a telephone, and a red balloon, and a picture of – the cow jumping over the moon…”  I read to our girls to calm them for bedtime, but truth be told, the cadence of a familiar book calmed me too.  Reading Goodnight Moon for the hundredth time became like taking a deep, steadying breath.

The same thing happened to me this year as I heard tonight’s gospel.  “In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered…”  As I kept listening, I could feel my body physically relaxing, my breath slowing, and a sense of peace and comfort settling in me. 

In all honesty, the reaction is a bit strange.  Nothing about Luke’s birth narrative is all that soothing.  Governments are forcibly moving people, accommodations are extremely cramped, childbirth in such conditions is anything but luxurious, we are transported to far off fields with the smells and discomforts of tending animals, and angels are sharing wonderful, terrible news, and mysteries are being introduced that delight and terrify.

So why in the world did my body have such a viscerally peaceful reaction to these familiar words despite the discomforting story?  Because Christ’s birth happens in the middle of disruption, chaos, shame, and messiness is perhaps the reason why the story is so comforting.  Our lives have been full of disruption, chaos, shame, and messiness these last few years.  Whether it was the global upending of a pandemic, economic and political upheaval, the denigrating, objectifying, or persecuting of other humans, or something closer to home – like death, divorce, job loss, or even lost sense of purpose, there is something tremendously familiar and contemporary about this story.  Of course, the government is causing disruption and chaos.  Of course, Mary is laying her baby in a manger.  Of course, strange, dirty men are interrupting an exhausted family in the middle of the night.  “Of course!” is the exclamation we have all assumed of late.

The “Of course!” though is not why we are here and is certainly not why my body heaved a sigh of relief.  What causes that relief is the “And…” of our scripture.  And, God came among us in the form of a child.  And, angels came and sang stunning songs of reassurance, promise, and deliverance.  And, strangers became friends and praised and pondered this magnificent God.  We came here burdened with our “Of course!”s.  Maybe the cookies burned before you got here.  Maybe there were some tempter tantrums in the car – or before you even got in the car.  Maybe the storms are cancelling the plans of you or your loved ones. 

And, you are here, hearing a familiar, reassuring story.  And you are among others just like you – who long for peace, comfort, and joy.  And you will be fed at the Eucharistic table, a food more glorious than the best roast beast!  We are here for our “and…” tonight.  But not just for our own sense of peace – we are here for the “and…” that God gives us to take out into the world.  And, hearing the story of the Christ Child reminds us of our bountiful blessings.  And, singing familiar songs reminds us of what really matters in life.  And, having reconnected with a community of believers, we are given a chance to go back out into the world and be harbingers of peace, shepherds of joy, caregivers of love.  That is the gift of this familiar story tonight.  You will likely experience some “Of course!”s on the way home tonight or in the coming days.  But now you have your, “And…”.  Amen.

On the Perfectly Imperfect…

21 Wednesday Dec 2022

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Photo credit: Hickory Neck Episcopal Church. Reuse with permission only.

This Christmas will be the first Christmas I am able to spend time with my husband’s family in five years.  We used to travel there more regularly, but about the time we would have visited, the pandemic hit, and here we are years later returning to something that feels comfortingly familiar.  I find a deep sense of relief knowing the familiar faces that will greet us, the warmer temperatures and beautiful landscape that will refresh us, the smells and tastes that will delight us, and the love and acceptance that will overwhelm us.

In some ways, I think attending church on Christmas Eve is a lot like that comforting familiar experience.  We know the lessons we will hear, the songs we will sing, the greenery we will find, and the hospitality we will experience.  In what has been a time of disorientation, suffering, grief, and struggle these last years, nothing feels as enticing as the promise of a warm, welcoming womb in which to gather.

What’s fascinating about the Christmas story and experience is that the first Christmas had little other than a womb in common with our modern experience.  Mary and Joseph are likely still recovering from the rocky beginning to their relationship – nothing like an unorthodox pregnancy to bring on marital strain!  Mary and Joseph also join hordes of their kin in being displaced by the government, only to find accommodations entirely unsuited for childbirth.  Strangers of ill repute show up sharing stories quite unfathomable, inserting themselves into the chaos of that night.  And Mary is left overwhelmed, trying to figure out what is happening to her life.  Why, of all the stories we could hear, is this crazy, disorienting story the one we want to hear year after year?

I suppose, in part, we breathe in a comforting deep breath on Christmas Eve because no matter where our journey has taken us over the last year – or years – knowing the imperfection of that perfect night helps us bless and honor our own imperfection.  Perhaps we revel in Christmas at church because we know that every year, no matter how off-track our lives have become, we have a place where we can go, a family with whom we can journey, and a Savior who is just as vulnerable as we are.  This Christmas, I hope you know there is no imperfection in you that is not perfectly welcome at the Table.  You are welcome here.

Sermon – Matthew 1.18-25, A4, YA, December 18, 2022

21 Wednesday Dec 2022

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I have always loved stories and images of Mary and the Christ Child.  Mary is revered around the world, a patron saint to many, an intercessor for others (just think of all the “Hail Mary”s said globally), and a spiritual companion to some.  I remember in the Holy Land visiting a chapel honoring Mary, the mother of Jesus.  The chapel commissioned artists from around the world to depict their unique cultural version of Mary and Child.  The walls are lined with these floor-to-ceiling renderings of the sacred pair.  I was so taken with the images that I now have my own collection of Mary and Child paintings in my office. 

I also remember that same day in the Holy Land, after spending what felt like hours meditating with these stunning paintings, then going down the road to a chapel dedicated to Joseph.  The chapel was much smaller, rather nondescript, and quite frankly, easily forgettable.  The only real memorable thing about the chapel is how distinctly different the Joseph chapel is from the Mary chapel. 

I am struck this year, particularly as we baptize little Melody, how glad I am that we get Joseph’s story this Advent as opposed to Mary’s.  On baptism Sundays with children, we have two realities.  The first reality is the adorable, belovedness of the child, the glossy photos with family and fonts, the perfect hopefulness of initiating a child of God into the family of faith.  We often skim over the second reality.  We will hear right at the beginning of the baptism some questions for the family about renouncing Satan, evil powers of the world, and sinful desires.  I often joke with the family how inappropriate talking about evil seems at a child’s baptism until you remember those painful sleepless nights of new parenting.  But the reason we talk about that second reality is because we are initiating someone into the life of faith, and for those of us who have been at the life of faith for a while, we know the life of faith is not all roses, glossy photos, and cake.  There will be real struggles.

And that is why I love that we start off Melody’s journey with a story about Joseph.  We are told Joseph is a righteous man.  He is devoted to God and lives an ethical life.  He represents reality number one of baptism.  But then, Joseph is presented with reality number two.  When he learns Mary is pregnant before their marriage is consummated, he has three options:  the harsh one would be to have her publicly held responsible, most likely by stoning; the generous one he plans to choose of quietly divorcing her, which saves her life, but will leave her in poverty with child in tow; or the unheard of third one, especially for a righteous man, of marrying her anyway and living forever in scandal.  As one scholar explains, “In choosing Joseph to be Jesus’s earthly father, God leads a righteous man with an impeccable reputation straight into doubt, shame, scandal, and controversy…[God] requires Joseph to embrace a mess he has not created, to love a woman whose story he doesn’t understand, to protect a baby he didn’t father, to accept an heir who is not his son.  In other words, God’s messy plan of salvation requires Joseph – a quiet, cautious, status quo kind of guy – to choose precisely what he fears and dreads the most.  The fraught, the complicated, the suspicious, and the inexplicable.”[i]

I would much rather Melody start her faith journey off with a story that lets her know, honestly and unequivocally, how messy this journey will be.  We have a hint of that messiness in Matthew’s gospel from the beginning.  In the verses before what we heard today, is a long list of Joseph’s forefathers: from Abraham, who almost kills his son Ishmael and twice risks the life and safety of his wife Sarah, to Jacob, the trickster who steals his inheritance and livelihood twice, to David, who steals another man’s wife and has her husband murdered, to Tamar, who pretends to be a sex worker, and Rahab who is one.  The genealogy of Christ is a “long line of broken, imperfect, dishonorable, and scandalous people.”  As Debie Thomas explains, “The perfect backdrop, I suppose, for God’s relentless work of restoration, healing, and hope.”[ii]

That’s what telling Joseph’s story does for Melody and all of us today.  Joseph reminds us that our faith journey will be messy.  Our faith journey will not take us where we think our journey will.  Our faith journey will invite us to love people we never thought we could.  Our faith journey will sometimes seem meaningless or small, like that Joseph’s chapel in the Holy Land.  But as the angel tells Joseph, so the angel of the Lord tells us today, “Do not be afraid.”  Do not be afraid of the messiness of this journey.  Do not be afraid of going where society may deem too messy.  Do not be afraid to love with abandon, even if your loving is not seen by the crowds, or recognized all over the world.  When we come out of the waters of baptism, we walk right into the mess – because the mess of the world is where God is.  And we want to be there too.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, Into the Mess & Other Jesus Stories:  Reflections on the Life of Christ (Eugene, OR:  Cascade Books, 2022), 12.

[ii] Thomas, 13.

On Not Feeling so Merry and Bright…

15 Thursday Dec 2022

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Content Warning:  This post addresses mental illness and death by suicide. 

Yesterday, I received the news that Stephen “tWitch” Boss died by suicide.  I first encountered tWitch on the show So You Think You Can Dance.  He was full of life, talent, and entertainment.  He became beloved, and I was thrilled to see him on other seasons of the show.  Several years later, he joined The Ellen Degeneres Show as her DJ and co-host and later as a co-executive producer.  It seemed the perfect television match as I couldn’t imagine two people fuller of joy.

Perhaps talking about someone in showbusiness seems frivolous, but I can’t help thinking about the contraction of someone who exuded and brought forth so much joy also being one who struggled with mental health.  But that is the danger with mental illness:  so often we think mental illness is obvious.  Mental illness is just as hidden to the naked eye as heart disease or cancer.  Mental illness is just as much of an illness as any other:  requiring treatment, medication, and medical help.  And yet, somehow, we often blame mental illness patients for their illness in ways we would never blame a cancer patient. 

I am especially mindful of tWitch’s death because I can imagine the pressure this time of year places on those with mental illness.  We have been through a tremendously hard and isolating two and a half years, and now that the “most wonderful time of the year” is upon us, we all feel pressure to feel, do, and be certain ways.  Equally tragic to tWitch’s death is the impact of his death on his wife and little children.  I suspect Christmas joy will be quite hard to muster this year for all of them.

That is why I am so grateful for services like our church’s “Blue Christmas” service.  The emotional pressure to feel, do, and be certain ways is at its highest at Christmas time.  We are living up to external pressures to be “merry and bright,” all while experiencing loss, pain, sadness, suffering, loneliness, unfulfilled expectations, and grief.  Some of us are better at putting on our happy faces, but most of us bring to Christmas a whole other set of emotions that we do not talk about in polite circles.  Our Blue Christmas service provides a different circle.  Call it “impolite” if you like, but I find it a most sacred circle of trust where people can lay down their burdens and be reminded that they are not alone.  If you need such a sacred circle, I hope you will join us on December 21 at 7:00 pm (the service will be livestreamed and archived should you need it at another time and/or place).  You do not need to say or do anything while you are here.  We will not ask you any questions about why you are here.  You are simply welcome to the space, to gather in with the Holy Spirit, and to feel a sense of love and acceptance, as we remind you how you are a beloved child of God. 

If you’re thinking about suicide, are worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and Crisis Textline is available 24/7 across the United States.  They are available for everyone, free, and confidential.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:

(800) 273-8255

Crisis Textline:

Text ASKUS to 741741

Sermon – 2 Thessalonians 1.1-4, 11-12, P26, YC, October 30, 2022

03 Thursday Nov 2022

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I spent the last week at Princeton Theological Seminary, concluding an Executive Leadership certificate program called Iron Sharpening Iron.  For the past two years, the clergy participants and I have journeyed together, all facing the unique challenges of this liminal time for the Church, but also all hopeful that God is doing a new thing in the Church.  In the spirit of camaraderie that has developed over that time, we found ourselves asking each other this week, “So, how are you really doing?  How is your church?”  This is the kind of setting where clergy feel comfortable enough to let down their guard and share life with an honesty that we might not in other settings.  And I confess to you, every time that question was asked of me, and I took a moment to really think about the question, the answer was the same, “Things are actually really good.”  In truth, I think I was just as surprised by my answer as every other clergy person was.  I had no reason in that space to posture or try to make myself or our ministry look good, especially since most of the participants were not even Episcopalians.  I just knew when pondering how we are really doing, at the core of all that has happened in the last two to three years, we at Hickory Neck are doing really well.

I suppose I could have talked about how many of our longtime parishioners and many of our new members are online participants exclusively.  I suppose I could have talked about how many ministries are having shortages of volunteers, causing us to rethink what is possible because we cannot sustain the volunteer leadership.  Or I suppose I could have talked about how we stepped out on faith by hiring two part-time clergy associates this year, knowing that our financial giving would need to grow to support the programmatic needs of our growing church.  But those are realities I do not see as challenges; instead, I see them as opportunities to be the Church in new and creative ways as invited by the Holy Spirit.  Certainly, I want our in-person attendance in worship to grow – but I want our online ministry to grow and thrive concurrently.  Certainly, I would love some of our ministries to return to how we experienced them pre-pandemic – but I also see sacred invitations into new forms of ministry that may mean letting go of other forms.  Certainly, I want to be fiscally judicious within our budget – but I also want to create enough space in our budget to grow ministries that matter and make an impact both inside these walls and outside these walls. 

Perhaps what I mean is I look at Hickory Neck the same way that Paul, Silvanus, and Timothy look at their church in Thessalonians.  The writer of second Thessalonians, which some debate could be Paul or someone within the Pauline community, is writing to a community of believers facing persecution and afflictions.  The text is not clear what those persecutions and afflictions are, but we know the church of the Thessalonians is suffering.  In those days, persecutions and afflictions were often seen as signs of the end times, likely leading to a great deal of fear and anxiety.[i]  And so, we hear this letter meant to commend, encourage, and thank the community, and help them interpret meaning in the midst of suffering.  But the writer does not have to struggle too much to find that encouragement because what the writer has seen about this church is that they have developed an uncommon unity and love for one another.[ii]  And that gift of unity and love is a gift to be celebrated and honored.  That gift is something for which to give thanks.

And that is what we are doing today on this In-Gathering Sunday.  We are giving thanks for the ways in which Hickory Neck has experienced uncommon unity and love for one another, especially as we emerge from what has been a tumultuous couple of years in our community and the world.  We are giving thanks for the ways in which God has sustained us through afflictions and persecutions.  We are giving thanks for the bountiful abundance in our lives, when the world around us would want us to see scarcity, and we are returning that abundance in the form of our time, talent, and treasure.  And, so, friends, as we give thanks, I read to you our letter from second Thessalonians, paraphrased for today:

To the church of Hickory Neck:  Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.  I must always give thanks to God for you, brothers and sisters, as is right, because your faith is growing abundantly, and the love of everyone of you for one another is increasing.  Therefore, I myself boast of you among the churches of God for your steadfastness and faith during all your persecutions and the afflictions that you are enduring…To this end, I always pray for you, asking that our God will make you worthy of God’s call and will fulfil by God’s power every good resolve and work of faith, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ.  Amen.

[i] Guy D. Nave, Jr. “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 257.

[ii] Robert E. Dunham, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 257.

Sermon – Jeremiah 36.27-37.2, VTS Convocation Evensong, October 11, 2022

19 Wednesday Oct 2022

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This sermon was delivered to Virginia Theological Seminary on the occasion of our annual Convocation for alumni, faculty and staff, and seminarians.

Photo credit: The Rev. Matthew Tucker

I live in a pretty “purple” district in Southern Virginia.  My Congressman represents a different party than my own, but I make a point to stay on his mailing list as a way to remind him that he represents a politically diverse district.  Every month he sends out polls, and I dutifully respond to them.  But with every survey I find myself frustrated.  My Congressman either has never taken a class in crafting an unbiased survey or he is simply not interested in different opinions.  The questions are always phrased something like, “In your opinion, how bad of a job is our president doing:  terrible, really bad, pretty bad, or I’m not sure.”  Or without any nuance or explanation about the background of the issue, the poll will ask something like, “The Congress wants to pay illegal immigrants who knowingly broke the law hundreds of thousands of dollars.  Should we pay these illegal immigrant criminals, yes or no?”  Or, one of my favorites, “Which of these issues should be the priority of Congress?” (PS, none of the options listed talk about caring for the poor or our neighbor, and there definitely isn’t an “other” category).  But I dutifully take the surveys, hoping my voice is part of my representative’s decision making.

I have been pondering the ministry of Jeremiah and thinking his prophetic ministry is a bit like trying to engage my Congressman.  For those of us not taking Old Testament this semester, Jeremiah is prophesying in a time of political decline.  The northern kingdom, Israel fell to Assyria nearly a hundred years before, and Judah remains in a tenuous situation.  The Assyrians are still in control, but in the course of the book of Jeremiah, Babylon defeats Assyria and takes control of Judah.  There are rebellions against Babylon, in particular by King Jehoiakim who we hear about today, but they are eventually unsuccessful.[i]  Like any good prophet, Jeremiah is attempting to get the people and king to repent and return to the Lord.  And like all people of all time, the people refuse to listen to God.  King Jehoiakim is particularly egregious in this refusal.  In fact, just verses before our reading, the King has his attendant read Jeremiah’s prophetic scroll three or four columns at a time, then cuts those columns off the scroll and throws them in a fire.  King Jehoiakim is not alarmed by the prophecy, and certainly not repentant. 

But here’s the funny part.  In the verses we read today, the Lord tells Jeremiah to rewrite the entire scroll and add in a little final judgment.  Like me, sitting down with yet another poll from my Congressman, he sits down and does the same thing over again.  I have been of two minds about this passage.  On the one hand, and no offense toward the Lord’s prophetic practices and policies, but how many times are we to keep doing the same thing and expecting different results.  As if King Jehoiakim is going to receive the second scroll and say, “Oh, a second scroll?  Okay, I guess I won’t burn this one and will change my ways!”  If this pandemic has taught us anything this pandemic has taught us we cannot keep doing Church the way we always have and expect the Church to thrive (or in biblical terms, to repent and return to the Lord).  This pandemic has made us nimble, agile, creative, and versatile.  This pandemic made us stop thinking about hybrid ministries and digital relevance and demanded we start doing and being those things.  And God help us if our churches just want to “return to normal” after the pandemic – if we just want to write another scroll. 

But as I mentioned, I am of two minds on this passage.  On the other hand, despite what seems like poor strategy on the Lord’s part, God’s covenantal relationship with us has never really made sense.  The entire salvation narrative is about failure after failure on our part as the people of God to listen and respond to the Lord.  Promise after promise, covenant after covenant, even the sending of God’s Son has meant the Lord’s corporate strategy is a case study in what not to do to thrive in business.  But that’s what we love about the Lord, right?  God keeps writing another scroll, God keeps giving another chance, God keeps holding out hope and promise because God’s love is not meted out in a logical, economical way.  Despite all of the innovation which has been entirely life giving during this pandemic, in some ways, what we have offered to a hurting world is the same as what we have always offered:  a community of faith, redeemed by God’s grace, commissioned to love God, self, and neighbor.  Perhaps that is why I am of two minds about this text.  Although this pandemic has not changed who we are and what we offer a broken world, this pandemic has changed how we are.  Our core values as the Episcopal Church have not changed.  But throughout this pandemic we have learned that how we go about living into those core values certainly can, should, and hopefully has changed.  And, as the Genesis writer would say, “…it was very good.”

In this particular season of the Church, many of us are feeling a longing for rest, for relief from constant pivoting, for a sense of normalcy.  Many of us would like to sit down and just write the same scroll over again.  In Jeremiah’s day that second scroll meant suffering and exile, and there would be more than twenty years before the people of God would see God’s promise of restoration realized.[ii]  But I do not think that is the invitation from scripture today.  I do not think the Lord is inviting the Church to write another scroll or fill out another poll.  We have a whole Bible full of examples of how doing the same thing over and over does not lead to the fulfillment of the kingdom of God.  Instead, the invitation from scripture today is to see the patterns of the resistance to love, and find a new way to love.  God is not inviting us to change our “who” or our “what,” but to change our “how.”  Your “how” might be different from mine.  But Jeremiah shows us time and again that the same repeated “how” does not turn hearts.  Our work in this season is to listen to what new “hows” the Holy Spirit is showing us, and then be willing to be vulnerable enough to try them.  Because, Lord knows, we do not need another scroll.  Amen. 

[i] Josey Bridges Synder, “Jeremiah,” The CEB Women’s Bible, (Nashville:  Common English Bible, 2016), 953.

[ii] 953.

On the Ministry of Coffee…

05 Wednesday Oct 2022

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Photo credit: https://www.pexels.com/search/coffee%20cup/

In the Book of Common Prayer, the Catechism answers the question, “What is ministry?”  It defines ministry by orders:  lay, deacon, priest, and bishop.  For the laity, the Catechism says, “The ministry of lay persons is to represent Christ and his Church; to bear witness to him wherever they may be; and, according to the gifts given them, to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world; and to take their place in the life, worship, and governance of the Church.” (BCP, 855)  Sometimes, we get caught up and think ministry is only when we are serving the poor or leading worship.  But, in fact, the Catechism reminds us that our ministry is to represent Christ and the Church, bearing witness to Jesus wherever we may be.

Several years ago, we welcomed a childcare center onto our property.  The relationship was a beautiful one of getting to know one another, of building relationships with strangers, and bearing witness to Christ’s love.  When the center moved to a neighboring town to accommodate more students, our Church knew we wanted to keep the relationship going.  And so, we have sent cards, supported teachers, and once a month, we bring coffee and snacks for what we call “Joe to Go.” 

For some, this may seem like an odd form of ministry.  If we are going to use our resources and time, shouldn’t we be helping those hurting the most?  Unfortunately, that question creates a false dichotomy.  We should be helping those who are hurting most.  And, as our Catechism says, we also should be bearing witness to Christ wherever we find ourselves.  For this ministry, that means seeing the everyday burdens of families – the nights without sleep, the struggles to work to support the cost of childcare, the strain of raising up children to be well-adjusted, loving members of society.  If we learned anything in the pandemic, it was that the struggles of parenting in today’s economy are real, and hard, and regularly unnoticed.

And so, we bear witness to Jesus’ love with every snack and cup of coffee.  We represent Jesus when we offer an encouraging word to a weary parent.  We are being the Church when we show lovingkindness wherever we may be.  This is what ministry is.  How are you bearing witness to Christ’s love today?  How have you experienced Christ’s love today through someone else’s ministry?  I can’t wait to hear your stories of coffees, shared stories, and encouraging words. 

Sermon – Luke 9.51-62, P8, YC, June 26, 2022

05 Wednesday Oct 2022

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This past week Simone and I visited the National Center for Civil and Human Rights in Atlanta.  One section that caught our attention was about the Freedom Riders.  There is a wall of mugshots of those Freedom Riders who were arrested.  We began talking about why white people were riding buses down to the South, especially noting how many of those pictured were white male priests.  Then came the question, “Would you have ridden down as a priest?”  I have been pondering that question ever since.  Echoing in my mind was the recording of a woman’s voice who said something like, “I was excited about the cause and rode down with the others.  But when I saw those beaten and almost burned to death, I realized I could die.  I was so afraid.”  As her words brought home the reality of those Riders, I looked at the words right in front of me from Martin Luther King, Jr., written on the back of a bus seat, “No one really knows why they are alive until they know what they’d die for.” 

In our gospel lesson today, Luke tells us Jesus sets his face to go to Jerusalem.  These may seem like throw-away words, but they are at the crux of the entire tumultuous reading today.  In setting his face to Jerusalem, Jesus knows that he will die and, as brother Martin says, what he is dying for.  All the nonsense of everyday life fades away, and Jesus is alive, knowing he will die and why that death must come.  And so, when the Samaritans refuse to receive Jesus, Jesus turns and goes to another village – despite John and James thinking they should call down fire upon the offending Samaritans.  When others ask to follow him, Jesus tells them they will face rejection, the loss of a sense of home, even the privileges of tending to the sacred parts of life, like burying and caring for loved ones.  There is a cold-hearted laser focus that comes to knowing what you would die for.

Jesus’ followers are not to be blamed.  John and James are suddenly violent.  They have just seen Elijah on the mountain of the Transfiguration.  Elijah himself rained down fire upon those who rejected the Lord.  And the potential followers of Jesus are not off-base either.  That same Elijah, when asked in our Hebrew Scripture reading today if Elisha can kiss his father and mother goodbye, gives Elisha permission and waits for him to settle his affairs.[i]  Even without biblical precedence, these are normal human emotions.  When someone rejects me, my Savior, and everything I believe in, anger and even retaliation is a human reaction.  When I agree to sacrifice everything for Jesus, closure with family and a healthy parting is a normal human desire. 

But that’s the thing about following Jesus.  Jesus invites us out of the id part of our brain and into the super-ego.  The question becomes for us how we can manage to do that.  I go back to that quote from Martin Luther King, Jr.  “No one really knows why they are alive until they know what they’d die for.”  Jesus knew what he would die for.  To phrase that differently, Jesus knew for whom he would die.  As scholar David Lose says, there is a “single-mindedness of purpose that is prompted by God’s profound love for humanity and all the world…This emphasis on God’s all-encompassing love is highlighted in these passages by the rejection of violence against the Samaritans:  it is not simply contrary to Jesus’ vision but incompatible with his very identity and mission…Everything,” Lose argues, “friendship, familial connections, piety, discipleship – looks different when viewed through the lens of God’s sacrificial love.”[ii]

This week our US Congress and our US Supreme Court released some decisions that had some dancing with glee in support, and some who are ready to rain down fire.  And those opposing views are likely both in this room, maybe sitting beside you, certainly watching with you online, and very soon to be kneeling at this very altar with you.  I can guarantee that each of you holding opposing opinions believe that your opinion is the right one.  We can either sit here, or watch this space virtually, and begin raining down fire upon one another until we burn up all of us.  Or, we can remember to turn our faces to Jerusalem, to take on the single-mindedness of purpose that is prompted by God’s profound love for humanity and all the world.  We need to do that in this space because unless we can figure out how to make a way through division while being rooted in the profound love that is in this place, we will never be able to go out into the world and navigate friendship, familial connections, piety, discipleship through the lens of God’s love. 

This is our space, right next to the people we may have been vilifying as “them” this week, where we can find the single-mindedness of purpose that is prompted by God’s profound love for humanity and all the world.  This is the place where we can come alive because we know what we’d be willing to die for.  This is the place where Jesus can prepare you to go back out into the world with new lenses, provided by the people sitting beside you, who will help you see how to live in the world through love.  Amen.

[i] Amy-Jill Levin and Ben Witherington, III, The Gospel of Luke:  New Cambridge Bible Commentary (Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press, 2018), 271.

[ii] David J. Lose, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 195.

Sermon – Luke 8.26-39, P7, YC, June 19, 2022

05 Wednesday Oct 2022

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Today we will be commissioning five of our members into a new program at Hickory Neck called Stephen Ministry.  These individuals have gone through six months of training, with over 50 hours of class time, homework, and practice preparing for this new role.  Stephen Ministry uses the tagline, “Christ caring for people through people.” The idea is that a parishioner going through crisis or a major transition can be assigned a trained Stephen Minister, a person who will meet with them regularly for a season to offer support, care, and listening ear.  The Stephen Minister does not solve issues, but is a companion on the journey.  Care receivers may be looking for this confidential support through an illness, the death of a loved one, divorce or a job loss, or any number of painful life experiences.  The Stephen Minister walks with us, prays with us, listens and hears us, reminding us that we are all broken, and through Jesus we can be made whole.

I think that is why I love that we get the wonderfully bizarre story of the Gerasenes today.  The Gerasenes have become care providers of sorts, but in today’s lesson we learn they are scared.  They have developed a system for dealing with the possessed man of their village.  They know when to bind him and when to abandon him.  They know he is dangerous, and unclean, but they have figured out how to keep the town safe.  He is the identified patient of the town – the one who has the “real” problems.  By identifying the demoniac as the patient, no one else has to look at their own demons – the ways in which each of them are “vulnerable to forces that seek to take [them] over, to bind [their] mouths, to take away [their] true names, and to separate [them] from God and from each other.”[i]  So, when Jesus casts out the impossible demons, and sends them to their death through their herd of swine, and the townspeople find the demoniac healed, clothed, and sitting in his right mind at the feet of Jesus, they do not celebrate or thank God for healing.  Instead, they stand afraid of the power of God.  Now that the demoniac is healed, they are afraid this Jesus will see their demons or challenge their feigned health.  In response, they do not ask for an explanation, but ask Jesus to leave.  Their fear leads to paralysis.

To be fair, fear is a natural and sometimes necessary emotion.  Fear helps us develop a healthy sense of preservation.  Fear allows us to make necessarily cautious decisions.  Fear can keep us safe.  But fear can also lead to paralysis, and perhaps more importantly, to a lack of trust.  And when we are talking about God, a lack of trust evolving from fear gets us into trouble.  We start doubting the graciousness we know God intends for us.  We start avoiding the very work that will give us joy and fulfillment.  We start losing our sense of connection to God – who happily emboldens us when we allow God to do so. 

We see in the Gerasenes’ story the goodness that can happen when we work through our fear.  Despite the fact the townspeople are fearful of Jesus’ power, Jesus brings about healing anyway.  And knowing the people of Gerasene may continue to be fearful, Jesus has the former demoniac stay behind so he can testify to the salvific work of God.  As one scholar points out, “The story ends with Jesus commissioning the healed man to stay where he is and serve as the first missionary to his townspeople — the same townspeople who feared, shunned, trapped, and shackled him for years.”[ii]  Jesus does not scold, shun, or shame when he is asked to leave.  Jesus keeps holding out hope in the face of fear – Jesus holds hope that the townspeople might be healed like the demoniac is healed.  Jesus loves graciously and expects transformation in the face of hopeless fear.      

We commission lay ministers today who are more like the healed demoniac than the Gerasenes.  They have experienced brokenness and pain in their lives, and they stand in the light of Christ’s healing, ready to walk with us Gerasenes in our fear.  Maybe our fear is in acknowledging our brokenness, when we would much rather just ask Jesus to leave.  Maybe our fear is sharing our vulnerability, especially when we feel like we are coping “just fine, thank you very much.”  Or maybe our fear is the unknown path of what we may need to go through to get to healing, health, and wholeness.  If a man possessed with legions of demons can come out the other side whole and healed, sitting at the feet of Jesus, surely Jesus stands ready to handle whatever demons we have.  Whether we take a Stephen Minister along that journey with us, or we simply hear God longs to wash us with grace, kindness, compassion, and love, our invitation today is let go of all the scary brokenness around and in us.  Yes, letting go is scary.  But God shows us over and over again how when we let go of our fear, God is there with abundant, wonderful, powerful love.  And just in case we doubt that love, God offers us companions on the journey.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, “Legion,” June 16, 2019, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2259-legion, on June 18, 2022.

[ii] Thomas.