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Sermon – Mark 16.1-8, ED, YB, April 4, 2021

28 Wednesday Apr 2021

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You know how when a group of friends go out for an adventure, and when they come back and try to share the story with you, but you can never quite get “THE story”?  Someone will remember the night happening one way, someone else will add another detail, another person will contradict or question that detail or embellish the story.  You get the gist of what happened, but the exact details may be a bit fuzzy.  

 On Easter Sunday, that is kind of what happens to us.  Each Gospeller – Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John – tells “THE Easter story” a little differently – different characters doing different things.  We know the basics:  the tomb is empty and Jesus is risen from the dead.  But the details make the story different and fresh every year. 

This year, we get Mark’s version.  In that group of friends trying to tell the same story, Mark would be the one known for brevity.  His version would be something like this, “The women went to anoint Jesus in the tomb, like we always do with the dead.  But when they got there, the big rock was already moved, and Jesus was gone.  Some guy was there and said Jesus has been raised.  It was terrifying.”  There are no embellishments to the story – no running around, no pronouncements of the Good News, no disciples doubting women, no victorious preaching.  Just a stunning revelation and news so shocking it leaves people afraid. 

This may not be “THE Easter Story,” as you remember.  But Mark’s version of the Easter story may be exactly the Easter story we need this year.  I do not know about you, but Easter is usually this spectacular day for me.  We journey through Lent, reflecting on our relationship with God.  We trudge through the drama and emotional labor of Holy Week.  Then, on Easter, the alleluias feel well deserved and the joy is hard to contain.  But this Easter, I am not totally there.  This pandemic is still hanging over our heads, our worship is wonderful but not all we know Easter worship to be, and our lives are still in a holding pattern as we work toward herd immunity and even hear talk of cases spiking.  I know this is a day for rejoicing, but there is still so much grief all around us, I am having a hard time fully embracing the alleluias this year.

That emotional tension is why I love Mark’s gospel this year.  The women at the tomb are coming out of a deep grief too.  The only reason they are at the tomb this morning is to do the work grieving people do – tend to the body, handle the practical details, do the things that begin the journey of healing.  So, although the news from the man in white is incredible, the news is unsettling, confusing, and a bit scary.  The women are going to need time to process this mind-blowingly good news before they can rejoice, before they give thanks to God, before they can muster up the nerve to say the good news aloud. 

What I hear in Mark’s gospel are two words of promise for us today.  First, no matter how we receive the Good News of Jesus Christ’s resurrection and triumph over death, the good news is there for us and for all anyway.  Our reaction to the news does not negate the goodness or the radical love and redemption of the resurrection.  Second, the man in white says something seemingly inconsequential that means the world.  He says, “…go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”  If you remember, Peter denied Christ when Christ needed him most.  But today, the resurrection promise is specific:  go tell his disciples AND PETER…and you will see him.”  No matter if we have been faithful, no matter if we have actively denied Jesus, no matter if we cannot muster a joyful response to the resurrection, we will see Jesus.  The Good News of Jesus is not just for the faithful – the good news of Jesus’ resurrection is for the broken, the sinful, the despondent, and the fearful alike.  And on a day when you may or may not be feeling our alleluias 100%, the Good News is God is with you anyway, loving you and promising to carry you until you are 100%.  Thanks be to God!  Alleluia. 

Sermon – Mark 5.21-43, P8, YB, July 1, 2018

04 Wednesday Jul 2018

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I once had a parishioner who was both the best and the worst storyteller.  He was the best because his stories were always fascinating, funny, and fantastic.  Not only did he have an intriguing life, he also just had a real gift for telling stories in ways that brought them to life in your mind’s eye.  But he was also not the best storyteller because he was easily distracted.  He would be in the middle of a story and then veer off course, “Which reminds me of the time…” he would say, and off he would go.  Sometimes he would go back to the other story, but you had to really pay attention to remind him of where he had started.  Sometimes the dropped ending on a story would come back to me days later and I would wonder, “I wonder what happened after he dropped that note to his secret love…”

Mark’s storytelling today is a bit like that parishioner’s way of telling stories.  After the fantastic stories of the calming of the sea, and the healing of a demon-possessed man, Mark tells us of Jesus’ next dramatic moment.  Jairus approaches Jesus and falls at Jesus’ feet, begging him to heal his dying twelve-year old daughter.  This whole event is a big deal because if you remember, many of the other synagogue leaders were suspicious of Jesus, and even plotting against him.  For a synagogue leader to approach Jesus for help is a huge break in rank.  Jesus goes with Jairus without comment, but before we can find out what happens, Mark basically says, “Speaking of which, there was this woman who approached Jesus without Jesus knowing.  You won’t believe what happened…”  And off Mark goes telling another fantastic story.

This time, we learn of a woman who is a total outcast.  She has been hemorrhaging for twelve years, she is destitute because she has spent all her money on doctors – to no avail, and let’s not forget she is a woman.  We can almost imagine the clandestine approach of this triple outcast weaving her way into the crowd just to touch Jesus’ garment.  To her credit, the simple touch works!  Now, the story really could end there, but Mark tells us something even more fascinating – Jesus stops dead in his tracks, demanding to know who touched him.  In a crowd of thousands, he wants to know which person touched him?!?  The woman comes forward for what should be a great castigation and humiliation.  Instead, her honesty and vulnerability open Jesus up to giving even more blessing.  Not only has her faith in him made her well, he offers her the peace, health, and wholeness that will allow her full integration back into society – a double gift!

Now the good news is that Mark is not as bad of a storyteller as my former parishioner.  Mark jumps back to Jairus’ story – but the news is bad.  The daughter has died!  Everyone thinks the cause is lost, but Jesus encourages Jairus to believe.  So off they go, but this time with only Peter, James, and John.  The gathered crowd mocks Jesus’ assertion that the girl is just sleeping.  But when the six of them go in, Jesus quite simply takes her by the hand, calls the girl to get up, and then asks them to give her some food – dying can really take a toll after all!

You might be shaking your head at Mark at this point, wondering if we can’t just focus on one of these stories – truly either is powerful enough on its own.  But Mark is not really like my former parishioner – he does not simply tell stories because he is good at telling stories, or because he likes to entertain guests.  In fact, Mark does this more than once in his gospel.  The biblical critics call this practice “intercalation,” but many people just call this a Markan sandwich.[i]  As N.T. Wright explains, by sandwiching the stories together, “The flavour of the outer story adds zest to the inner one; the taste of the inner one is meant in turn to permeate the outer one.”[ii]

So what do we learn about Jesus through Mark’s sandwiching these stories together?  Well, let’s start with how they are different.  Jairus is an insider – as a male synagogue leader, he is well-known and respected in the community, presumably with some power and influence.[iii]  Meanwhile, the bleeding woman is an outsider – a female, impure, impoverished outcast.[iv]  Jairus publicly invites Jesus to touch his dying daughter; the woman secretly touches Jesus’ cloak herself.  Jairus’ daughter is just a girl, but the woman has lived a longer life.  More interesting though is how the two stories are alike.  Both Jairus and the woman kneel before Jesus.  “Both victims of illness are female and ritually unclean, one as a result of death and one as a result of hemorrhage; both represent the significance of the number twelve in Jewish tradition (the twelve years of hemorrhage and the twelve-year old girl); and both are regarded as ‘daughters’ (the little girl being Jairus’s daughter and the woman who is addressed by Jesus as ‘Daughter’).  An act of touch restores both women to new life even as those surrounding them lack understanding.”[v]

Mark uses these two stories together because we need their differences and similarities to teach us something about Jesus and about ourselves.  We learn from Mark’s sandwich that Jesus is present with both the powerful and the powerless alike.  Both requests, despite the baggage both a synagogue leader and an impure woman bring, are honored by Jesus.  What we note though is Jesus tends the woman first.  Now some scholars might argue the pause in the story, and the death of the girl before Jesus gets there, are meant to build suspense.[vi]  But equally important is that Jesus stops for the person without power first[vii] – even taking precious time to not just heal her but demand to be in conversation and relationship with her.  He could have kept walking, knowing that his power had flowed out but staying the course with the good deed he was about to perform.  But instead, he stops everything, everyone, and demands a connection – one that leads not just to healing but total restoration within the community – shalom.[viii]  Jesus also shows us about the wideness of family.  A few weeks ago, we read the gospel lesson where Jesus questioned the crowd about who his mother and brothers and sister were.  Today he keeps expanding the circle.  The powerful and persecuting are his family; the most ostracized outcasts are his family; even the vulnerable children are his family.  Finally, Jesus teaches us that healing or the good works we do are meant to be within the context of relationship.  That Jesus tends the bleeding woman and the young girl is much less important than how he tends the two females.  Jesus’ help is not about an impersonal exchange – a few coins dropped in a hat or a check written to a charity – though those are necessary too.  Equally important to dropping a coin in a hat might be stopping to talk to the person asking for a handout.  In addition to contributing to a favorite charity, knowing the stories of specific clients is equally important.

What is hidden in these two tales about Jesus is the “flash of precious intimacy between two human beings who are socially very distant from each other.”  As one scholar explains, what Jesus brings alive for us today is “Our relationships – in the church, in friendships, and in marriage – are not just something extra added on to life for distraction and entertainment, as if we would be complete human beings in individual isolation.  Relationship, ‘touch,’ if you will, makes us human and whole.  As the contemporary Scottish philosopher John Macmurray once phrased it, ‘I need “you” in order to be myself.’”[ix]  What Jesus’ actions and Mark’s adept way at combining stories do today is invite us to consider not what we do, but how we do what we do.  Jesus invites us to slow down – to take those moments when someone’s pain is presented to us, and not just offer help, but stop long enough to make a connection – to develop intimacy with others.  “A teacher once remarked, ‘You know…my whole life I have been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I discovered that my interruptions were my work.’”[x]  Jesus also invites us to care for everyone – rich, poor, young, and old – but he especially wants us to start with those most in need.  Finally, Jesus invites us today to see, really see, where people are, and to be a people of compassion, healing, and love.  Before you know it, you may be the one at coffee hour, veering off one story to tell yet another story, all highlighting the wonderful, lifegiving, challenging ways that stepping into relationship with others has changed your walk with Jesus.  I can’t wait to try to track your stories!  Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, “A Lesson from Mark,” June 25, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5184 on June 28, 2018.

[ii] N.T. Wright, Mark for Everyone (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 58.

[iii] Efrain Agosto, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 189.

[iv] John R. Donahue, S.J. and Daniel J. Harrington, S.J., The Gospel of Mark, Sacra Pagina Series, vol. 2 (Collegeville:  The Liturgical Press, 2002), 174.

[v] Beverly Zink-Sawyer, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 191.

[vi] Lamar Williamson, Jr., Mark, Interpretation:  A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 1983), 108.

[vii] Mark D. W. Edington, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 192.

[viii] Williamson, 109.

[ix] Michael L. Lindvall, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 192.

[x] Williamson, 112 (quoting Henri J.M. Nouwen, Reaching Out, p. 36).

Sermon – Mark 9.2-9, TRNS, YB, February 10, 2018

14 Wednesday Feb 2018

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A couple of months ago, we entered into a new liturgical year.  When Advent started, we began another year of discovery, this year focusing on Mark’s gospel and Mark’s depiction of who Jesus is and what that depiction means for our journey with Christ.  Back in December, we began the journey with the very first words of Mark – the first verse of the first chapter of Mark.  Mark says, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”  Now, I never thought much of Mark 1.1.  The line, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God,” has always sounded to me like, “Once upon a time…”  But we know that Mark is the shortest gospel, and that Mark is the tightest writer of Jesus’ story.  So, what I should have remembered is that Mark does not throw away words.  Mark would never introduce his gospel with “Once upon a time.”  As a writer who does not mince words, instead Mark tells us everything we need to know about Jesus in one simple sentence:  The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

So what does Mark tell us, and why I am taking us back to the beginning when our assigned reading is about the Transfiguration?   Because we need Mark’s first words before we can understand anything as dramatic as the Transfiguration.  When Mark says, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God,” Mark tells us right away who Jesus is:  Jesus is the Christ, and Jesus is the Son of God.[i]  Jesus is the Christ, and Jesus is the Son of God.  First, Mark tells us Jesus is the Christ:  the Messiah, the person the people of God had been awaiting, the victorious redeemer of the people, the mighty restorer of the kingdom of God.  Since that day in December when we heard this brief introduction by Mark, we have been celebrating the Messiah.  We heard of a mother, shepherds, and kings who reveal this truth to us – a Messiah is born.  Then, Jesus is baptized, and disciples follow him, and miracles happen.  In Mark’s gospel, when Jesus asks who the disciples say that Jesus is, Peter boldly proclaims, “You are the Messiah.”  Even today, as Jesus’ clothes turn dazzling white, and Elijah and Moses appear, we are filled with anticipation:  this is what we have been waiting for – Jesus the Messiah!!

And yet, somehow in the birth stories, and the epiphanies, and the dramatic healing stories, we forget the other half of Mark’s introduction:  The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  You see, Mark needs us to know that Jesus is the Messiah, the Christ.  But Jesus is equally something else:  the Son of God.  Now the Son of God is not just an honorific title.  Mark tells us something powerful when Mark tells us Jesus is the Son of God.  If you remember, in a few chapters beyond our reading in Mark today, Jesus will tell that familiar parable of some wicked tenants – tenants who are entrusted with the Master’s vineyard, but who kill the son of the landowner when the landowner sends his son to collect the harvest.  The Son of God is not a title of honor so much as a reminder of what will happen to Jesus.  The Son of God is destined to lay down his life for the people of God.  Jesus is the suffering servant we hear about in Isaiah – the one who makes the ultimate sacrifice so that new life might come.

So what does any of this have to do with the Transfiguration?  Pretty much everything.  You see, in this victorious Messiah-like last epiphany moment before we head into Lent, when the disciples are so overwhelmed by the drama of their Messiah gathered with Moses and Elijah, God says something simple to the disciples, “This is my Son, the Beloved.”  You see, just days before the Transfiguration of Jesus, Peter had insightfully proclaimed that Jesus is the Messiah – the same thing that Mark proclaims from the beginning of Mark’s gospel.  But Peter forgot the other part of Mark’s introduction.  The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.  Jesus is both the Christ, the Messiah, and the Son of God, the suffering servant.  Jesus is always both.

I remember in my very first interview with the Commission on Ministry – the group who helps those discerning a call to ordained ministry – in that first interview, the Commission asked me this question:  Who is Jesus to you?  I remember at the time thinking what a weird question that was.  I mean, we have the whole of the New Testament that tells us who Jesus is.  But since I was sitting before a body of people who could determine my fate, I figured I had better come up with something better than, “That’s a weird question.”  And so I started to ramble on about the things that were enlivening my faith journey – Jesus’ preference for the poor, his passion for justice, and his call to being in community.  Not once did I remember Mark’s simple words – that Jesus is the Christ and the Son of God.  I did what Peter does today – what we all do in our faith journey.  I looked at Jesus and pulled out the stuff I liked:  the advocate for justice.  Peter pulls out what he likes:  the Christ, the victorious Messiah.  But what the Transfiguration today reminds of is that we can never pick and choose what we like about Jesus.  Jesus is always both the Christ, the Messiah, and the Son of God, the suffering servant.

So why does any of this matter?  Well, in part, this fundamental clarity about Jesus is important because we are at a fulcrum in Mark’s gospel.  We have journeyed with Jesus, experienced epiphanies, ascended the mountain and seen the radiance of our God.  All of that excitement could lead us to think we have arrived, that our victory has already come, that Christ is simply the Messiah. The temptation is for us to linger on the mountain, to stay with the Jesus who makes us feel good, who makes us feel powerful, who makes us feel victorious, who dazzles us with shiny clothes.  And in some ways, that is what today is all about.  We celebrate the Feast of the Transfiguration because we need to know Jesus is the Christ – the Messiah.

But as we begin Lent this week, we descend this mountain and walk our way to another mountain – the mountain of Calvary that reminds us of the other truth of Jesus:  that Jesus is the Son of God, sent to redeem us through the darkness of the cross.[ii]  Even on the mountain of Transfiguration, God reminds us of this truth.  God does not shout to the disciples, “Jesus is the Messiah!!”  Instead, God whispers the gentle reminder, “This is my Son, the beloved.”  Even God knows we will want to linger on the goodness of who Jesus is – the brilliance of a Messiah.  But as Mark tells us from the beginning:  The beginning of the good news of Jesus the Christ, the Son of God.  Jesus is both the Christ and the Son of God.

This week we will begin the long journey of Lent.  We will be reflecting on our relationship with Jesus, our failings and faults, and our gifts and goodness.  The work will feel hard and tedious at times, and on those days we are feeling particularly low, we may want to have Jesus the Christ stand up for us, and bring in a mighty victory.  But as we walk from today’s mountain to Good Friday’s mountain, we also hold in tension with Jesus the Christ, Jesus the Son of God.  In our weakness, we find a savior who is also weak.  In our dark days, we find a savior mired in darkness.  In our despairing, we find a savior lost in despair too.  Jesus’ identity as the Son of God gives us as much comfort as Jesus’ identity as the mighty Messiah.  When we hold all of who Jesus is in our hearts, we can be more tender with all of who we are.

I am eager to walk the Lenten walk with you.  I am eager to hear about your struggles and victories, your darkness and light.  I am eager to be surrounded by a community of people working through valley of two mountains so that we can come through the redemption of the resurrection.  Today’s Feast of the Transfiguration offers you sustenance for the valley, fuel for the work, fire for the renewal.  This is the beginning of the good news of Jesus the Christ, the son of God.  Amen.

[i] This understanding of Jesus’ identity was presented by Thomas P. Long at a lecture on February 9, 2018.

[ii] The idea of framing Lent between two mountains come from Rolf Jacobson, in the Sermon Brainwave podcast, “#585 –Transfiguration of Our Lord,” February 3, 2018, http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=977, as found on February 7, 2018.

Sermon – Mark 1.14-20, Jonah 3.1-3, 10, EP3, YB, January 21, 2018

24 Wednesday Jan 2018

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What is fun about our lessons from last week and this week is we get two different gospellers’ versions of Jesus’ first call to the disciples.  Last week, in John’s gospel, we got that great story of Philip and Nathaniel.  When Philip is asked to follow Jesus, he runs to find Nathaniel.  They have this great conversation about whether anything good can come from Nazareth.  Nathaniel reluctantly comes, and when he finally speaks with Jesus, he is amazed at what Jesus knows about him.  In the midst of community, conversation, and collaboration, both Philip and Nathaniel are able to say yes to Jesus’ invitation to discipleship.  On the other hand, Mark’s gospel paints a very different picture of the calling of the disciples.  Mark tells us Jesus passes two sets of brothers by the seashore, and instructs them to follow him.  Both sets of brothers drop what they are in the middle of doing.  In fact, the second set of brothers wordlessly abandon their father to follow Jesus.  No conversations or discernment; no collaboration or goodbyes.  In Mark’s gospel, Jesus invites, and disciples drop everything immediately and go.

I do not know about you, but I am actually in the John camp when we are talking about discipleship.  As an extrovert, I tend to process things aloud.  I need to talk through a problem with others to figure out what the best option might be.  I like to get input from others, using them as sounding boards to make sure my decision will have a positive impact.  I like to marinate on the feedback, pray a bit, share my leanings with a confidant or two, and then act.  So the idea of Nathaniel hemming and hawing, expressing his initial doubt with Philip, and then challenging Jesus when he seems to have some insight about Nathaniel seems totally relatable to me.  I need conversation, community, and collaboration, especially if I am going to drop everything important in life and follow someone in a new direction.

In some ways, I may even be closer to Jonah when we are talking about discipleship.  We hear only a small part from Jonah’s riveting story today, but what we might all remember is Jonah is a terrible follower of God.  The first two chapters of Jonah are filled with Jonah saying “yes” to God, and then totally running in the opposite direction.  He even endangers some total strangers when he boards a boat in the opposite direction of Nineveh.  He needs to be swallowed by a large fish, facing death and shame before he is willing to do what God has asked Jonah to do.

Many of you have heard this before, but my own call narrative was neither immediate nor direct.  When I first sensed a call to ministry in college, I avoided it.  I figured, maybe I could just volunteer for a year instead.  I loved working at a Food Bank that year, but figured, maybe I should work at a faith-based non-profit instead.  That would certainly count as serving God, right?!?  And then, when that did not feel totally right, I started to look at going to school – not for a Masters in Divinity, but maybe to study theology.  You know, try to learn about God, but not to be a minister.  Even when my priest suggested ordination it took me another whole year of talking to other people, reading countless books, prayer, and going on retreat before I could say yes.  Clearly, my identification with Nathaniel and Jonah is not unfounded.

But today’s lessons are nothing like my tendencies.  The portion of Jonah that we get today does not highlight any of Jonah’s dramatic avoidance and foibles.  Instead, when Jonah offers the shortest sermon ever, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown,” immediately, the people of Nineveh believe God, proclaim a fast, and everyone – everyone great and small – puts on sackcloth.  To understand the significance of this response by Nineveh, we need to remember that Nineveh is no saint.  They are a great kingdom of people who have been oppressing God’s chosen for ages.  They are tyrants, powermongers, and bullies.  No one scares Nineveh.  And yet, with Jonah’s sermon of judgment, they stop immediately, take on a fast, and repent of their ways.  No debates, no town hall meetings, no consultation with the king.  In fact, in the verses we do not read today, the king even proclaims that the livestock need to be put in sackcloth.  The repentance of Nineveh is total and immediate.

We see the parallels in Mark’s gospel today.  The two sets of brothers we read about, Simon and Andrew and James and John sound very similar.  They are both in the fishing industry, they are both working on nets, and they both respond immediately to Jesus’ invitation to follow him.  But there are some subtle differences that make their stories even more powerful.  You see, Simon Peter and Andrew are fishing from the shore with leaded nets.  They are fishermen, but not very wealthy ones.  Meanwhile James and John are from a higher socioeconomic status.  James and John have a boat and hired workers.  They are fishing by dragnet method, which means they are able to harvest much larger catches.[i]  Their father is also mentioned, which likely means their family has been at this business for generations.  And yet, despite the fact that James are John are in the midst of a long-standing, thriving business, both James and John and Simon Peter and Andrew have the same response to Jesus.  They drop everything immediately and go.

I wonder when you have similarly acted with immediacy to God’s call on you.  The moments do not have to be as dramatic as walking out of the classroom, office, or house without a word to anyone.  Maybe they were moments around giving to the church or a cause.  Maybe they were moments when you offered help to a stranger, knowing full well you were going to be late to your next engagement.  Maybe you called a Congress member or State Representative because your faith could no longer tolerate inaction on an issue.  Maybe you heard the volunteer sexton was retiring, and you said, “Here I am.”  Or maybe your immediacy was in getting out of bed one day and finally stepping in the doors of a church – because you needed a community to help you figure out this voice that was calling you to something new.  At some point all of us hear Jesus say, “Follow me.”

Now you may be sitting there thinking, “I have never said yes to that voice,” or “Most of the time I feel like a failure in following Jesus.”  The good news is that you are not alone.  Despite the fact that Simon Peter, Andrew, John, and James all behave exemplary today, we know as we read more of Mark’s gospel, that these are the same men who will fail time and again in their faith.  These are the same men who will deny Jesus, will argue about feeding five thousand people, will try to hold on to Jesus, and will vie for favor with Jesus.  Yes, today, they say yes immediately and they drop everything they have ever known and step out and follow Jesus.  But tomorrow they stumble, and keep stumbling their entire journey with Christ.

What our texts remind us of today is, as one scholar puts it, “Becoming a faithful Christian disciple takes both a moment and a lifetime.”[ii]  We are not going to feel emboldened to follow Jesus every day.  We are not going to abandon our families and our way of life every day.  There will be moments, hard days when we need courage and reassurance.  On those days, we can remember the moments when we said yes and answered the call.  We can recall with encouragement, on those days when we do not feel very faithful, the days when in fact we were entirely faithful.  And if we are struggling to hold onto those “yes” moments, we remember that we are called in community.[iii]  Whether the entire city of Nineveh was acting together, or disciples were called in pairs, our ability to answer God faithfully is usually done within the context of community – within a group of people who can remind us of our faithful days, and let us go when we need follow.  We are not alone in this adventure of following Jesus.  And that is good news!  Amen.

[i] Daniel J. Harrington, ed., The Gospel of Mark, Sacra Pagina Series, vol. 2 (Collegeville, MN:  The Liturgical Press, 2002), 76.

[ii] Elton W. Brown, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 286.

[iii] Karoline Lewis, “You are Never Alone,” January 14, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5044 on January 18, 2017.

Sermon – Proverbs 31.10-31, Mark 9.30-37, P20, YB, September 20, 2015

23 Wednesday Sep 2015

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There are some Sundays when the scripture lessons appointed for the day are just right.  They speak truth to power or relate to a spiritual crisis in the community.  They shed light on a current event or they give pastoral words to aching hearts.  On those days, I am so grateful for the ways in which I see the Holy Spirit moving through the Church through the vehicle of scripture.  Today is not one of those days.  I read both our Old Testament and Gospel lessons this week, and my first reaction was, “Really?!?  THIS is what we needed to hear this week, God??”

The Old Testament lesson from Proverbs is actually one of my favorites – even though the lesson takes some deconstructing.  This passage is often referred to as the passage about the capable wife.  Now anytime the church starts talking about how women need to be wives and how those wives need to be “capable” I start getting defensive.  The good news is that the title is more the problem than the lesson itself.  The Hebrew word often translated as “capable” is better translated as powerful, strong, or even warrior-like.  This woman is a superhero.  She rises before dawn; manages a staff, ensuring her family has food and security; she purchases property and plants a vineyard with her own hands; she runs a thriving business, providing fine clothing for her family and the community; she is known for her wisdom and is happy and satisfied; and in her spare time, she is a shining example of philanthropy.  When you think about the traditional role of women in the patriarchal society of the time,[i] this woman is on fire.  She is an empowered woman, an equal partner to her husband, and is the master of both her home and her work outside of the home.[ii]  She is like Martha Stewart on steroids.

In the Gospel lesson, we find the disciples struggling yet again.  Jesus meets with the disciples and explains to them his fate.  And instead of asking Jesus what he means, they remain silent because they are too afraid to ask.  Actually, they do not remain silent.  Instead, they start bickering among themselves about who will be first in the kingdom.  I suppose that if the world is going to end, we might be similarly distracted.  But Jesus catches them arguing and shames them into true silence.  Not only does Jesus tell the disciples that they must strive to be last – servants of all; but also, Jesus tells them that in order to be a part of Jesus’ kingdom, they need to welcome children like they would welcome Jesus (which really could be interpreted as welcoming the poor, widowed, or disenfranchised).  So basically, Jesus tells the disciples they are a mess.  Not only are they not listening, they are distracted by their egos, and they are not attending to the one ministry he has called them to do.

So here is the challenge with these two lessons.  Basically, we take from the lessons that we are all too full of ourselves, we are distracted by the wrong things, we are not doing the work Jesus has called us to do.  And if we want to correct all of that behavior, we need to become warrior women and men – Martha Stewarts on steroids, showing everybody how it’s done.  Now I am not arguing that any of those points are not inherently truthful and are not lovely goals toward which we should strive.  What I am arguing is that I just did not want to hear them this week.  Here we are busting our buns to do the massive amount of work needed to pull off the Fall Fair.  Here we are busy kicking off the program year, with teachers preparing lesson plans, the choir readying music, and all our ministries being back on deck.  Here we are putting together last minute receptions for the bereaved, trying to complete a major construction project, and trying to ensure that we have enough funds to run our operations and enough energy to evangelize in our community.  And that is on top of all the work we are doing to get kids back to school, to reconnect with our community commitments after a summer hiatus, to make sure we are still performing well at work, to get our homes tidy and prepared for fall, and to squeeze in some football games.  In the midst of that chaos, the last thing I need to hear from church today is that my priorities are all wrong and that I need to work harder – a lot harder.  Thanks, but no thanks, Holy Scripture!

The good news is that there is good news.  For all the overwhelming work of the warrior-like woman in Proverbs and for all the scolding the disciples receive, the message from both lessons is clear and surprisingly manageable.  In Proverbs, the lesson concludes, “a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”  Now this is not the kind of fear we get when we talk about horror films, phobias, or abject worry.  The fear the passage is talking about is “awe, wonder, gratitude, and reverent humility before the Creator.”[iii]  Now fear of the Lord may sound like one more thing to add to the to-do list, but actually, fear is where the lessons are calling us to start.  You see, the disciples lacked a genuine fear of the Lord.  They were afraid in the more traditional sense – of what Jesus was talking about, of what would happen to them, of how they would ensure their own security.  They got wrapped up in themselves.  But if they had been wrapped up in awe, wonder, gratitude, and humility, all of the things Jesus had to instruct them to do would have come more naturally.  If they were in awe of Jesus, they would have easily been able to see how grateful they should be to have a Messiah who would sacrifice himself for them.  If they had been in wonder of Jesus, they would have simply been happy to be called a disciple, without worrying about their place or status.  If they had been full of gratitude, they would have already been welcoming children – and the poor, and the outcast, and the stranger.  The same sort of reversal is true for the warrior-like woman in Proverbs.  All of those amazing things she seems to accomplish in 24 hours happen only because of her reverence for God.  She is not favored because of all that she does.  She is able to do all that she does because she starts in a place of gratitude.  The rest flows easily out of that vantage point.

Today’s lessons are not about scolding us for how we get everything wrong, or about setting some impossible standard of perfection for us.  Instead, today’s lessons are about checking our baseline.  When our baseline is about awe, wonder, gratitude, and humility, we find living into Jesus’ instructions much easier.  When our baseline is about awe, wonder, gratitude, and humility, those astounding to-do lists and projects do not seem like burdens but gifts.  When our baseline is about awe, wonder, gratitude, and humility, church is not only a place we want to be, church is a place to which we are lovingly drawn.  That’s when that piece you were writing about stewardship doesn’t seem scary or even hard.  That’s when those sacred moments happen in Sunday School when a child or teen says something profound that stays with you all week.  That’s when you are up to your ears in stress about the Fair, and something funny – really funny – happens, and you and the other volunteers laugh so hard that you cry.  Holy Scripture today is not directing us down a path of guilt and shame.  Holy Scripture today is inviting us onto that path less travelled – the one that starts with awe, wonder, gratitude, and humility, and ends with grace, joy, companionship, and satisfaction.  I may not have wanted to hear our scripture lessons today.  But I needed to hear them.  My hope is that you can hear them in the spirit in which they were intended too.  Amen.

[i] Brent A. Strawn, “Commentary on Proverbs 31.10-31,” September 20, 2009, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=390 on September 18, 2015.

[ii] Telford Work, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 78.

[iii] Kathleen M. O’Connor, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 79.

Sermon – Mark 4.35-41, P7, YB, June 21, 2015

22 Monday Jun 2015

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A long time ago, we got on a boat.  We were not really sure what was going to happen while we were out to sea, but we got on the boat because we were curious.  We had an experience, or maybe multiple experiences with a man named Jesus, and something about those experiences compelled us to get on the boat.  Maybe the experience happened as early as Sunday School, maybe the experience happened when we were confirmed, or maybe the experience happened as an adult.  We may not even be able to articulate the reason why we got on the boat.  But all of us, at some point, step onto the boat, however tentatively or boldly, and we sail with Jesus to the other side.

The disciples have that same experience in today’s gospel lesson from Mark.  After a long day of preaching and teaching, during which Jesus pulls them aside and explains parables to them, Jesus says, “Let us go across to the other side.”  Now if the disciples had been smart, they would have asked some questions: “What is on the other side?  What if a storm comes?  Can’t we just stay here and get a good night’s rest?  This place is familiar and comfortable.”  And they should have asked questions.  The “other side” of that body of water is exactly that – other.  The other side is Gentile territory, the land of the Gerasenes.  Jesus is taking his first journey into what might be considered dangerous, and even inappropriate.  Jesus is beginning a ministry beyond just the Jews.[i]  “Let us go across to the other side,” is no “Hey, let’s mix things up this year and go to Cabo.”  Yes, the disciples should have asked a lot more questions.[ii]

But they do not.  Something about this Jesus compels them forward, stepping on and manning that boat without question.  That’s the funny thing about Jesus.  We too got on a boat because of him, probably having no idea what we were getting into.  Suddenly we find ourselves cooking casseroles, watering gardens, and bringing in men’s undergarments for our needy neighbors.  Suddenly we find ourselves getting asked by the Rector to serve on some committee.  Suddenly we find the news of the day is not so simple when we remember all those words we said in our baptismal covenant about seeking and serving Christ, loving our neighbor as ourselves, and sharing the Good News.  We really should have asked more questions before we got on that boat to follow Jesus.

I have been thinking about that boat a lot this week.  You see, some of our fellow disciples were murdered this week – nine to be exact, in Charleston, South Carolina.  They were praying and reading Holy Scripture – just like we do every Thursday.  They even welcomed in a stranger that night – like Jesus always tells us to do.  That very stranger turned out to be crazy, filled with racist rage, and willing to kill nine people before fleeing.  At least that was how I saw the episode at first.  At first, this was another instance of a crazy person, senselessly killing other people.  But then the prophets of our time began to speak.  The prophets reminded me that violence proliferates in our society.  The prophets reminded me that because we cannot agree on a reasonable gun policy, more and more people die in our backyards.  The prophets reminded me that our African-American brothers and sisters in this country experience very fragile and virtually non-existent safety – they cannot even be safe in church.  There was a part of me that wanted to stay on the shore this week and say, “Oh, Jesus, that was just an isolated event by a crazy kid with extremist views.”  But I had already gotten on the boat.  It was too late.  And a storm began to rage.

That storm for me was the storm of our time:  a storm of violence, racism, and suffering.  No longer could I contain each story:  Trayvon Martin, Ferguson, Sandy Hook, Baltimore, Columbine, Selma, Charleston.  One story bled into another, and as I was reminded of each one, I felt the buckets of water dousing my face.  As I thought about every conversation I have had about how racism is not dead, I felt the water creeping up to my waist.  As I thought about the historical shadow of the oppression of others in our country, I wanted to cry out to God.  And all I could think about was Jesus on that stupid boat, asleep on a cushion in the stern.  Who can sleep at a time like this?  Doesn’t Jesus care about us at all?  Why couldn’t we have just stayed on the shore in that comfortable, familiar place instead of getting on the God-forsaken boat with a man who does not seem in the least bit bothered by our suffering?

The disciples know that feeling.  They are experienced at life on a boat.  At least when they get on the boat, they knew how to manage a boat.  They know the dangers and the perils, and have learned to navigate them for the necessity of survival.  But even these experienced fishermen are scared.  They have tried to control the boat, they have scooped out as much water as they can, and they know they have met their match.  And so they go to their last resort.  They wake up Jesus and shout, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?!?”  When they got on that boat, this is not what they were expecting.  They were expecting the fulfillment of a promise – the fulfillment of a different life and a different world:  the kingdom of God here on earth.  Instead they were going down fast with a man who could not even stay awake and fight the good fight with them.

I shouted those words this week too.  Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?  Maybe we brought all this violence on ourselves, but surely you care?  Surely you did not lure me onto this boat – into this relationship with you – only to watch us perish?  Though I wanted more than anything to think this was an isolated event of a crazy person doing something ungodly, I could not ignore the storm swirling around.

I struggled to find hope today in our gospel lesson.  All I saw was Jesus scolding the disciples for their fear and their lack of faith.  And then I saw disciples even more afraid than before – which is saying something given the awfulness of that storm.  Straining for some strand of hope – some glimmer of redemption – I came back to that invitation from Jesus, “Let us go across to the other side.”  Jesus does not tell the disciples to go to the other side alone.  Jesus does not say, “Go to the other side without me.”  Jesus says, “Let us go to the other side.”[iii]  Whether the disciples felt like Jesus was with them during that storm or not, Jesus was with them.  That may not seem like much, but that may be the biggest miracle of all in this story.  As one scholar writes, “God’s power isn’t in the control of creation or of people, but in being in covenant and relationship with them.  [God’s power] isn’t in imposing the divine will or insisting on its own way but in sojourning with us as we fumble around and make our way in the world.  God’s power is not in miraculous interventions, pre-emptive strikes in the cosmic war against suffering and evil, but in inviting us to build a kingdom out of love, peace, and justice with God.  God’s power is not in the obliterating of what is bad in the world, but in empowering us to build something good in this world.”[iv]

A long time ago, we got on a boat.  We did not know where we were going, what we would see, or who we would encounter.  All we knew was that Jesus was inviting us into a different life, and we felt compelled by this passionate, nonsensical man.  Oh, we had clues.  We knew that the “other side,” was not a place we wanted to go.  We knew that going there might change us, and change our entire worldview.  We knew that getting on that boat would mean stepping away from the familiar, comfortable coastline, and sailing into something different and scary.[v]  But Jesus said he would go with us.  Jesus invited us on a journey with him and something deep inside us, despite the little devil on our shoulder telling us to stay put, told us to step onto that boat.

I am still scared of the storm.  In fact, I am a little afraid of Jesus too.  But what brings me comfort this week is that Jesus is with us.  Jesus does not invite us onto a boat and let us sail alone.  And though Jesus may have an ability to sleep through a storm, with complete confidence in the direction of God, I also know that Jesus will wake up and respond to me when I call out his name.  He may not say what I want to hear.  He may leave me feeling more uncomfortable than getting soaked in a storm.  But he is here.  Jesus is here on our boat, and can make things right.  We just have to be prepared to go to the other side.  Amen.

[i] Beverly Zink-Sawyer, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 165.

[ii] This train of thought comes from Karoline Lewis’ writing “The Other Side,” June 14, 2015 as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=3645 on June 18, 2015.

[iii] Lewis.

[iv] David R. Henson, “When God Sleeps through Storms (Lectionary Reflection for Mark 4:35-41),” June 15, 2015 as found at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson/2015/06/1804/ on June 18, 2015.

[v] Lewis.

Sermon – John 18-1-19.42, GF, YB, April 3, 2015

15 Wednesday Apr 2015

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This week we have heard two accounts of Jesus’ passion.  What I am drawn to in both accounts is Peter’s denial.  Both the gospel of Mark and the gospel of John detail Peter’s denial, but the denial of Peter is a bit different in Mark than in John.  On Palm Sunday, we heard Mark’s version.  In Mark, when the servant girl and others ask Peter if he is with Jesus, Peter three times denies Jesus, saying, “I do not know the Man.”  The denial is bitter to us, since we know that Peter not only knew him, but seemingly loved him intimately.  To proclaim that he did not know Jesus is akin to erasing Jesus’ presence in his life.  Peter’s denial of that intimate knowledge seems like the ultimate betrayal.

But then we read John’s passion narrative today.  Although Peter denies Jesus three times again, this time the denial is a little different.  This time, Peter is not asked whether he knows Jesus, but whether he is a disciple of Jesus.  To this question, Peter responds, “I am not.”  The denial in John’s gospel sounds less personal and less offensive.  Whereas in Mark, Peter’s denial feels more like a lie – to state that Peter did not know Jesus when in fact he did.  In John’s gospel, Peter’s denial feels more like a smoothing of the denial.  He does not deny that he knows Jesus, only that he is not a disciple of Jesus.  The trouble with this kind of denial – the denial of Peter’s discipleship –  is that in some ways this denial is much worse.  By denying his discipleship, Peter denies his relationship with Jesus – all that they have been through, all that he has professed, all that he has learned and grown to love.  Peter is denying how Jesus gave him his name, Peter.  He is denying the times that he professed his faith in Jesus – in fact the time that he said he would lay down his life for Jesus.  He is denying that intimate moment when Jesus washed his feet, and he longed for more – that his whole body be washed.  He is even denying how he passionately cut off a slave’s ear just to protect Jesus.  In John’s gospel, Peter not only denies Jesus, he denies an entire relationship.  He denies his discipleship.[i]

As I was thinking about Peter’s denial this week, I was reminded of popular movie.  Though the movie is a pretty cheesy romantic comedy, the movie Thirteen going on Thirty reminded me of Peter.  In the film, the main character, Jenna, is frustrated that her life has not turned out how she would like at age thirteen.  She is not popular, she is not a part of the cool crowd, and her best friend is a rather chubby, unattractive, but sweet boy named Matt.  And so, in order to reach what she thinks will give her the most happiness, she ends her lifelong friendship with her best friend, Matt, remakes her life, and when she magically wakes up at the age of thirty, she has everything she wants – friends, a job in fashion, an athlete boyfriend, trips around the world – basically the glamorous, comfortable life she always wanted.  All she had to do was deny her relationship with her best friend – even when that denial involved mocking him in front of others to gain status.

What makes that movie so relatable is that we all remember how monumental life seemed as a teenager.  One slight, one suggestion that we did not quite fit in could make our self-worth plummet.  Unable to see beyond what felt like ultimate importance at that age, we all said and did things that we look back upon now and feel shame for doing.  And although most of us would like to think we grow out of that undiscerning teenage phase, the truth is that we continue to struggle with those impulses into adulthood.  When put on the spot, we can waiver between the right thing to do and the most advantageous thing to do.  We can struggle with what our conscious would have us do and what we know will make us the most comfortable or safe.  When we are really honest with ourselves, we can admit that we are creatures who seek comfort.  We regularly choose the path of least resistance so that we can avoid conflict, keep the peace, or just remain in a comfort zone.  The phrase, “don’t rock the boat,” is a phrase that we use when we are encouraging people to just keep things as smooth as possible.  In fact, the only time we want to rock the boat is to toss over the person who is causing us discomfort, so that our boat can get back to smooth sailing – despite the cost.  That impulse is in every one of us, and controlling that impulse is more difficult than most of us like to admit.

That is why reading John’s version of Peter’s denial is so hard today.  Though we have heard the story a hundred times, there is some part of us that always hopes the story will end differently this year.  When we hear Peter answer the question about whether he is Jesus’ disciple, our heart breaks again when he says quite simply, “I am not.”  We mourn Peter’s response, not only because Peter’s response is a denial of all the goodness of his relationship with Jesus, but also because Peter’s denial reminds us of the times that we have denied Christ in our own lives.  We recall today the times when we have downplayed our faith to make others more comfortable; the times when we have avoided caring for the poor when we know that is what Jesus would have us do; the times when we have wrested control of our lives from God because we think that we know better; or maybe the times when we have simply stepped away from faith, or God, or Church because we just could not offer that part of ourselves anymore.

The good news is that in the face of denial, Jesus is ever strong when others cannot be.  When Peter is questioned, his response is, “I am not.”  When Jesus is questioned, his response is, “I am.”  When the crowds say they are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, Jesus says, “I am he.”  When they seemed stunned into silence, and Jesus again asks who they are looking for, Jesus says, “I told you that I am he.”  When Peter is faced with the heat of confrontation, he crumbles with an “I am not.”  But Jesus calmly, strongly, steadfastly faces the heat with, “I am.”  Of course, Jesus’ response is not just a response of strength.  His response is a claiming of the divine name.  Jesus takes the same name that God gives to Moses when God says, “I am who I am.”[ii]  Jesus is faithful, strong, and bold because Jesus is the one through whom God is revealed.  Though Peter is not, Jesus is.

In the midst of our failings, in the midst of our shame for the ways in which we deny and betray our Lord, Jesus’ words, “I am,” are what give us comfort today.  When we cannot be who we are called to be, when we fail in our discipleship, or when we deny our relationship and commitment to Jesus, Jesus firmly remains the great “I am.”  Jesus in John’s gospel steadily steps forward to his death, constantly in control of his death.  He carries his own cross, he dies with his mother and beloved disciple with him, and he determines when his mission is “finished.”[iii]  When we are weak, he is strong.  When we fail, he succeeds.  Jesus’ strength, his clarity in his identity, and his determined focus to the very end is our stronghold.  We will never be the as great as the great “I am.”  But by holding fast to Jesus this day – our strong, beloved, crucified Jesus – perhaps we too will be able to turn our “I am not,” into an “I am.”  And in the meantime, Jesus will lead the way.  Amen.

[i] The concept of the differences in John and Mark’s version of Peter’s denial presented by Karoline Lewis, in her Sermon Brainwave podcast at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=610 on March 27, 2015.

[ii] Guy D. Nave, Jr., “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 305, 307.

[iii] Nave, 309.

Homily – Mark 16.15-20, St. Mark the Evangelist, April 25, 2013

01 Wednesday May 2013

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Today we celebrate St. Mark the Evangelist, author of the Gospel according to Mark.  I have always loved Mark’s gospel.  His writing is so succinct that you have to run to keep up.  He gives very little detail at times, leaving the reader to use their imagination.  Mark feels like the Gospel for the 21st century:  quick snippets that you have to catch before they are gone.

What’s funny about celebrating Mark is that he is the same Mark who bails out on Paul in the book of Acts.  Paul, Barnabus and Mark were to go on a missionary journey, but Mark decided not to go.  Paul was so upset that he refused to travel with Mark on the next trip.  They eventually made up, but Mark is always that guy who turned his back on a missionary journey with Paul and Barnabus.

What I appreciate about this flaw is that Mark gives us all permission to be human, something we do not always give to ourselves.  We are a people who strive to be good Christians, to use the gifts God has given us.  When we fail, we beat ourselves up and wallow in guilt.  We can take more time to forgive ourselves than we take to forgive others.  And we see all our flaws with a magnifying glass – we know our failures better than anyone.

How perfect is it then that we get the gospel lesson for today?  Mark, the guy who bailed on a missionary journey, writes about Jesus’ commission to share the good news.  Mark’s inclusion of this text shows both his humility and his redemption.  If an abandoner of mission can be “Mark the Evangelist” and can write one of the four gospels about Jesus Christ, then there must be plenty of redemption for all of us.

When we were potty-training our daughter, we watched a Sesame Street video about potty training.  One of her favorite parts was a song by Elmo and Grover.  The chorus goes, “Accidents happen and that’s okay.”  Just the other day, I caught my daughter doing something she wasn’t supposed to.  When caught, she looked at me and said, “Accidents happen Mommy, and that’s okay.”  She took a lesson about using the potty and could make it a much larger concept about forgiveness and redemption.  If only we could do the same!  Amen.