Tag Archives: messy

On Justice, Kindness, Humility, and the Messy Middle…

28 Wednesday Jan 2026

Posted by in reflection

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Photo credit: Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission

I serve a parish located in a “purple” county whose political leanings are also quite “purple.”  The political views of our parishioners are widely ranging – conservative, liberal, and moderate; Republican, Democrat, and Independent – we all gather every week around the thing that binds us together:  the Eucharistic Table.  Being determined to stay together across difference is not easy.  But we feel an authenticity about that purple identity – that following Jesus and sharing the weekly feast with people we do not always agree with is a counter-witness to the deep divides we experience out in the world.  It keeps us honest, it forces us to humanize one another, and it definitely deepens our prayer life.

That conviction about identity and practice is under constant strain in these tense politically divisive days.  This past weekend as I learned of Alex Pretti’s death, I knew we were entering even more deeply into that tension.  I even had a fellow clergyperson ask me, “So how is your church handling Minneapolis?”  I confess, I wanted to be able to say that we were encouraging a single, clear response.  I wanted to lean into my personal convictions and comfort zone, and lean away from the messy middle that is being a part of a purple church.

Fortunately, our readings for this coming Sunday have teed us up perfectly for staying in the messy middle.  The prophet Micah in chapter 6, verse 8 says, “He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?”  I always argue that God is not affiliated with American political parties.  And I always argue that that does not mean following God is apolitical.  Now, telling my people to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God, does not mean that justice, kindness, and humble walking will look the same for every person.  But doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with your God does mean that we are required to stop defending political parties and start defending the dignity of every human being.  Doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly means that we cannot hide behind political policies and instead must look our fellow human beings in the eyes, seeing one another through God’s eyes.

Now I know many clergy who avoid “purple” churches because being in churches that align with their personal politics feels more authentic (and, if we’re being honest, easier).  But I love being a part of a purple church because it forces me not to assume political rhetoric blindly when faced with the turmoil of the day, but to pick up justice, kindness, and humility.  I want my parishioners to take action out of their sense of faithful commission.  And that action will look different for each person.  But I will remind them whose they are and what that Lord requires:  do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God. 

Sermon – Matthew 1.18-25, A4, YA, December 21, 2025

07 Wednesday Jan 2026

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

By the time we get to the fourth Sunday in Advent, most of us are on the Christmas train.  We have bought presents for loved ones, greened our homes and church (although we did hold back on any red to get us through Advent!), we have been singing along with Nat King Cole and Mariah Carey for weeks, and based on the crowd at the grocery store last night, we’ve bought tons of food for the big day.  So, on this fourth Sunday in Advent, when we hear of Jesus’ origin story – although not the fun version from Luke that we’ll hear in few days – most of our eyes glaze over and our ears tune out, thinking “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Joseph was a pretty cool dude to stay with Mary and claim Jesus as his own.”

This year, though, I am especially grateful for some time with Joseph and Matthew’s gospel.  Like many people of faith, I normally resonate more with Mary – I have multiple icons of Mary and Jesus in my office, I love to pray the Hail Mary, and given my gender, I simply relate to the physical experience of Mary more than Joseph.  But on a very practical, everyday level, Mary can seem a little otherworldly – a saint so saintly that she can be hard to emulate.  Instead, I like the earthy, realness of Joseph today.

Joseph had done everything by the books.  He is a righteous man, which means he follows the law to the letter.  Everything is heading in the proper direction, going as planned, according to schedule.  And then he gets the worst possible news.  Mary is pregnant.  Since Mary and Joseph are betrothed, but not yet in the stage of marriage where they have consummated the union, there is no way Joseph is the biological father of the child.  He can only assume Mary has been unfaithful.  Joseph has two options: he can have Mary stoned or he can divorce her.[i]  He is well within his rights to utilize either path, and would not receive criticism by other faithful Jews.  But Joseph is one of those rare treasures who not only knows the letter of the law, but also understands the spirit of the law.  Instead of a brutal, public punishment for Mary, he decides he will divorce her quietly, hoping to help her avoid the full force of cultural judgment.

Joseph makes a well-informed, respectable, and compassionate decision.  He makes his decision and then rests his weary mind and body.  That is when life changes yet again.  God appears to Joseph in a dream, and explains that Joseph’s decision cannot stand.  This child in Mary’s womb is special, and not only is Joseph not to divorce her, he is to legally claim the child as his own by naming the child.  So, what does Joseph do?  He bends even further than he already has, and takes Mary as his wife.

On the one hand, I like that this is a story of an ordinary man listening to and responding to God.  In that way, we hear the gospel lesson sharing a similar message to us today.  You don’t have to be some superstar like Mary, or have some band of angels come with messages, or even journey for months following a star.  You don’t have to be some holier-than-thou Christian, some uber-activist bringing on world peace, or even a sinless follower of God.  You just need to be like this everyday Joe – a Joseph who is willing to pay attention and to say a quiet yes – even if saying yes feels scary or scandalous.

Yes, on the one hand, I like that this is story of an ordinary man listing to and responding to God.  On the other hand, I like that Matthew’s gospel tells us that Joseph is not actually some ordinary man – some everyday Joe.  You see, Joseph is a direct descendent of not only Abraham, but also King David.  If we had read the 17 verses before the passage we read today, we would have gotten the genealogy of names that lead to Jesus – those hard names that every lector dreads reading.  But those names tell us so much.  Matthew, “…mentions Abraham – the patriarch who abandoned his son, Ishmael, and twice endangered his wife’s safety in order to save his own skin.  He mentions Jacob, the trickster usurper who humiliated his older brother.  He mentions David, who slept with another man’s wife and then ordered that man’s murder to protect his own reputation.  He mentions Tamar, who pretended to be a sex worker, and Rahab, who was one.  These are just a few representative samples.”  Scholar Debie Thomas asks, “Notice anything?  Anything like messiness?  Complication?  Scandal?  Sin?  How interesting that God, who could have chosen any genealogy for his Son, chose a long line of brokenness, imperfection, dishonor, and scandal.  The perfect backdrop, I suppose, for his beautiful works of restoration, healing, hope, and second chances.”[ii]

I like that Joseph is not just an ordinary man saying yes.  I like that Joeseph is a specific, special man, even if that specialness does not come from something he did.  In that way, Joseph is like every person in this room.  Like Joseph, your life is probably messy too.  You probably have misbehaving people in your family tree, that ancestor that people only talk about in embarrassed whispers, or that relative you do not want to introduce to anyone else for fear of guilt by association.  If God can use Joseph in all his messiness, specificity, and ordinariness, then you better believe God is likely inviting you, in your ordinary, messy, specificity into some scary, world-changing stuff too.  No wonder that the angel Gabriel’s first words to Joseph were, “Do not be afraid!”

I know you were hoping to hop onto the Christmas train and skip over this fourth Sunday in Advent.  But maybe this year isn’t supposed to be about some idyllic, picturesque Christmas.  As Debie Thomas says, “If we want to enter into God’s messy story, then perhaps [“Be not afraid” are] words we need to hear, too.  Do not be afraid.  Do not be afraid when God’s work in your life looks alarmingly different than you thought [God’s work] would.  Do not be afraid when God upends your cherished assumptions about righteousness.  Do not be afraid when God asks you to stand alongside the scandalous, the defiled, the suspected, and the shamed.  Do not be afraid when God asks you to love something or someone more than your own spotless reputation.  Do not be afraid of the precarious, the fragile, the vulnerable, the impossible.  Do not be afraid [to notice and embrace the] mess [of Christmas this year].  The mess is the place where God is born.”[iii]  Amen.           

[i] David Lose, “Matthew’s Version of the Incarnation,” December 17, 2013, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/matthews-version-of-the-incarnation on December 20, 2025.

[ii] Debie Thomas, “Into the Mess,” December 15, 2019, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/2484-into-the-mess on December 20, 2025.

[iii] Thomas.

Sermon – John 15.9-17, Acts 10.44-48, E6, YB, May 5, 2024

08 Wednesday May 2024

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

When I was curate, I served with two other full-time priests.  That meant after about two years, I got used to our very different styles of preaching, but also some of the themes of our preaching.  I remember at one point, my Rector was preaching and I had the distinct thought, “Here we go again.  Another sermon about love!  Ugh!”  I remember being almost irritated thinking, surely there were other topics to preach about.

Sometimes I think we experience John’s gospel in the same way.  John’s gospel is repetitive and circular from the very beginning, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the beginning with God.  All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.”[i]  But John is not the only one who is repetitive and circular – Jesus in John’s gospel is repetitive and circular too.  In the first five verses of John’s gospel today we heard the word “love” eight times.  “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.  If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.”[ii]  And the funny thing about the gospel today is this is not the first time Jesus talks about love.  As I was reading verse 12, which says, “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you,” I immediately thought, “Oh, we must be reading the same text we read on Maundy Thursday!”  But you know what?  On Maundy Thursday, we read a passage from two chapters before what we heard today.  The words there are strikingly similar though.  On that night of washing feet, Jesus says, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.  Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”[iii]

So what is the deal with Jesus talking about love over and over again?  Scholar Karoline Lewis argues that you cannot summarize Jesus in one sentence, so of course we have lots of sentences – even if they are repetitive.[iv]  But I think there is something deeper here.  I think Jesus knew that we, as humans, easily distracted.  “Yeah, yeah, yeah Jesus, I got it.  Love my neighbor! Oh look at that shiny thing over there!”  But even more importantly, I think Jesus knew that love – loving neighbor, loving self, loving God, loving others as Jesus loved is not easy.  Loving as Jesus loves means loving people that others (and even sometimes ourselves) would rather hate.  Loving as Jesus loves means mingling with people that society calls unlovable, difficult, and even evil.  Loving as Jesus loves means seeing dignity and worth in every human being – even when they hurt us, say awful things, or are just so different that they make us uncomfortable.  All we have to do is think about what we have been hearing in the lessons from Acts last week and this week to know that loving means letting people into your circle that you had no intention of letting in – breaking those boundaries that Father Charles talked about last week.  For Peter and the early disciples, that meant Jesus was not just for the Jews, but for Jew and Gentile alike.  And not just as charity, but as a way that transformed the entire community of Jesus followers – such that we find Peter dining and staying with Gentiles – who definitely are not kosher and might even be holding fast to other gods while committing to Jesus. 

So how are we supposed to do this really hard work?  How are we supposed to pull together the strength to love as Jesus loves?  I found comfort in words from scholar Debie Thomas this week.  If you remember, last week we heard the verses from John right before our Gospel lesson today, where Jesus declares he is the vine and we are the branches – he is the vine that we are to abide in.  Debie Thomas says, “My problem is that I often treat Jesus as a role model, and then despair when I can’t live up to his high standards.  But abiding in something is not the same as emulating it.  In the vine-and-branches metaphor, Jesus’s love is not our example; it’s our source.  It’s where our love originates and deepens.  Where it replenishes itself.  In other words, if we don’t abide, we can’t love.  Jesus’s commandment to us is not that we wear ourselves out, trying to conjure love from our own easily depleted resources.  Rather, it’s that we abide in the holy place where divine love becomes possible.  That we make our home in Jesus’s love — the most abundant and inexhaustible love in existence.”[v]

Yes, we will continue to hear about loving others because love is the most important message of Jesus.  And yes, loving will feel nearly impossible at times.  But as Thomas reminds us, “As is so often the case in our lives as Christians, Jesus’s commandment leads us straight to paradox: we are called to action via rest.  Called to become love as we abide in love.  In other words, we will become what we attend to; we will give away what we take in.  The commandment — or better yet, the invitation — is to drink our fill of the Source, which is Christ, spill over to bless the world, and then return to the Source for a fresh in-filling.  This is our movement, our rhythm, our dance.  Over and over again.  This is where we begin and end and begin again.  ‘Love one another as I have loved you.’ ‘Abide in my love.’  These are finally not two separate actions.  They are one and the same.  One ‘impossible’ commandment to save the world.  It’s all about love.”[vi] 

That is our invitation today – to become love and to abide in love.  Perhaps in reverse order:  maybe we need to abide in Jesus’ love in order to know how to love.  But either way, we repetitively and circularly are invited to love – to love as Christ has loved.  Loving will be hard, loving will be messy, loving will be wearying.  But loving will also be beautiful, loving will life-giving, loving will be transformative – certainly of the other, but mostly of ourselves.  We can do that hard, messy, beautiful, sacred work by returning to the source of love and strength.  We can love as Jesus loves because Jesus first loved us.  Amen.

[i] John 1.1-3.

[ii] John 15.9-10.

[iii] John 13.34.

[iv] Karoline Lewis, as explained in the podcast “#963: Sixth Sunday of Easter – May 5, 2024” Sermon Brainwave, April 28, 2024, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/963-sixth-sunday-of-easter-may-5-2024 on May 2, 2024

[v] Debie Thomas, “It’s All About Love,” May 2, 2021, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/3003-it-s-all-about-love on May 3, 2024.

[vi] Thomas.

Sermon – John 13.1-17, 31b-35, MT, YB, March 28, 2024

01 Wednesday May 2024

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Photo credit: https://lighthousesouthbay.org/resources/stories/maundy-thursday-family-worship-footwashing/

In my first year of seminary, we traveled to Burma for an Anglican Communion learning trip.  For a portion of the trip, we led an educational component for the theological students, which closed with a foot washing experience.  In my mind, the foot washing experience was so authentic:  those with empirically more power serving those with less; the leaders becoming servants; and certainly, the tangible re-creation of Jesus’ experience, since in Burma everyone wears those plastic flip flops, so their feet really are dusty in the ways that I imagine those disciples’ feet were.  The seven us of seminarians were feeling pretty good about ourselves – we were embodying the kind of love Jesus always talks about. 

But then something unexpected happened.  When we finished the last student, several students grabbed the arms of each us, and almost forcefully put us in the very chairs where we had been washing their feet – all with very little English to navigate the turning of the tables.  The role reversal felt all wrong – we were the ones who should be washing them, not them washing us.  Suddenly we were asked to be vulnerably touched, to humbly receive, and to ultimately right the balance of power between us.  The unplanned reversal left us shaken and uncomfortable, and a whole less sure of ourselves.

As I have been thinking about this Maundy Thursday service this week, that’s kind of what this service is:  messy.  Jesus, the one with power, lowers himself to the floor and washes the disciples’ feet – something not even servants would normally do, as they would simply provide the water for you to do the work yourself.  There are a few occasions where women might do this work, but certainly Jesus shouldn’t be stooping to women’s work.[i]  There is all kinds of messiness about the appropriateness of Jesus’ humble act that makes the disciples feel quite vulnerable.  But then there is the fact not only does Jesus do this humble, vulnerable act on his hands and knees, but also he does this for everyone, including Judas – his soon-to-be betrayer – and Peter – his soon-to-be denier.  Jesus washes the feet of the faithful follower and stumbling follower alike.  On the one hand, we can conceptualize how to humbly serve others – I imagine it gives us great satisfaction like we seminarians had in Burma.  But humbly serving those who literally betray you and shun you – that’s something else altogether.  All we have to do is imagine the politician who makes us the most angry, indignant, and rightly willing to protest.  And then imagine kneeling down and washing his or her feet – humbling yourself before them, willing yourself to tenderly touch the very human skin of your so-called enemy.

And so, by the end of this passage – where Jesus has argued his way through this lesson of foot washing, and as the verses that were edited out of our passage tonight would have told us, Judas leaves to betray Jesus, we are told a major kernel of truth – a command that this whole night is named for (Maundy literally means in Latin “command” or “mandate.”[ii]).  Jesus says, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.  Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.  By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”  Now we all LOVE to talk about this new commandment – we love to talk about love.  But those six words are the scary part of this commandment:  Just as I have loved you.  So that person who betrays us, denies us, works against goodness, who hurts us, who angers us – we are to love them just as much as the people we actually like.  Jesus is asking a lot tonight, folks. 

And so, in this service, in just a few minutes, we are going to do some messy things.  We are going to literally wash each other’s feet.  No matter how embarrassed we are by our imperfect feet, no matter how little we like being the recipient of care, no matter how much we might like the people in this room but we are not prepared to be really vulnerable with them – we will have the opportunity to both serve and be served tonight.  Then we will gather around the altar rail – with people we like and maybe people who frustrate us, with people who agree with our political opinions and people who really do not, with people we may not even really know all that well – and we will receive the blessed sacrament, elbow to elbow with everyone.  And then finally, we will watch as everything is taken away – the dishes from our feast, the adornments we love, the familiar things of comfort, even the light itself.  And the priest will scrub down the altar, with a sound that sounds like the scrubbing away of everything familiar and comforting. 

We do all these messy things because what Jesus asks of us is nothing short of messy.  “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”  That is what we leave here tonight – on this Commandment Thursday – to go out in the world to do.  To love – to messily, vulnerably, frustratingly, painfully do.  To love – just as Jesus has messily, vulnerably, frustratingly, painfully loved us.  That command is what we hold on tomorrow as we allow Jesus to walk to the cross.  That command is what we hold on to through Saturday as he sits in tomb.  That command is what we hold onto when we mourn the entirety of his life – “the whole witness of the Word made flesh.”[iii]  That command is what we hold onto even when we joyously and fearfully celebrate what happens on Easter.  But that command is especially what we hold on to in the days and weeks to come – in this year of 2024 as we try to love – just as Jesus has loved us.  Jesus knows loving will be messy.  But Jesus gives us the messy gifts tonight to help us love anyway.  Amen.

[i] Mary Lousie Bringle, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 279.

[ii] James E. Lamkin, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 280.

[iii] Karoline M. Lewis, John:  Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 179.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-20, CE, YB, December 24, 2023

03 Wednesday Jan 2024

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sometimes on Christmas Eve, we hear a bunch of strange words.  And instead of paying too much attention to them, our minds simply get cued that Christmas has begun.  But those funny words [that Chloe read so beautifully] – of Emperors, registrations, censuses, some guy named Quirinius, a bunch of town names, something about the line of David, and of a pregnant woman who isn’t quite yet married – all those words matter.  They matter because they set the stage for the birth of the Christ Child.  We often think of that birth as this simplified, sacred moment, where everything gets really still.  We’ll even sing Silent Night tonight.  But nothing about that night was remotely silent.  Joseph and a very pregnant Mary have journeyed over 90 miles[i] by donkey and foot.  The Emperor has created political chaos by forcing people from their residences to their ancestral homes – all likely in an effort to extort more money from strained peoples.  Into that upheaval and manipulation, we find the Bread of Life being born in the town, Bethlehem, whose name means House of Bread, in a bed that was literally used to feed. 

This year, I am especially grateful for the reminder that Jesus was born into the chaos of political manipulation, suffering, and tension.  Over the last many weeks, we have all been watching as the Holy Land has yet again fallen into chaos – as leaders fight over land, disregard human dignity, and desecrate all that is holy.  The images have been horrific:  from children standing in long lines with makeshift bowls hoping for enough soup to stave off starvation for themselves and maybe a little for their parents; to hospitals and other places that should be safe zones being decimated; to the Lutheran Church in Bethlehem whose creche this year placed the baby Jesus in a pile of rubble.[ii]  And although we associate Christmas with shiny lights, joyous songs, and abundant food and blessings, the reality of that first Christmas was much more similar to Christmas in the Holy Land this year.

Just this week, I read that Christmas in Bethlehem is cancelled – the very place that welcomed Jesus into the manger has once again had to close its doors to the Holy Family.  As Sophia Lee reports, “Typically, Bethlehem—a Palestinian city of about 30,000 people in the Israeli-occupied West Bank—is jammed with more than 3 million visitors coming from all over the world to celebrate the birth of the Messiah.  Marching bands and carol singers and dancers and fireworks would fill the city with loud cheer and festive energy.  Thousands would pack the Church of the Nativity, golden lights would twinkle across Star Street, and a giant tree with a ruby star would illuminate Manger Square.  Instead, the streets are dark and hushed.”  Christian leaders in Bethlehem report, “It will be a silent night this Christmas—but it’ll still be a holy night… Stripping Christmas of all its extraneous decorations and Western traditions,” they say, “will help them focus on the true meaning of Christmas.”  One pastor explained, “…if you look at the real story of Christmas, it was a story of pure hardship.  But God didn’t leave Mary and Joseph.  And they didn’t leave God.”[iii]

For weeks, I have been feeling like we would have to forego everything good and holy about Christmas – that celebrating this Christmas just did not feel appropriate or respectful of the devastation in the very land we are celebrating.  But the clergy of the Holy Land are paving the way to our Christmas celebrations this year.  Truth be told, Christmas was never about shiny lights, boisterous parties, and lots of presents.  Christmas was and always has been about the miracle of the incarnation – God taking on human form in order to bring us redemption and salvation.  And when God does something, God never does that something half-way.  If God was going to become human, God was going to become incarnate in super fleshy ways – not in shiny, idealized human ways, but in raw, earthy, messy ways.  Jesus came among us – not to the polished versions of ourselves we present to the outside world, but to the real, gritty versions of ourselves who actually need an incarnate God.  And I cannot think of better news than that.  This Christmas, in the midst of censuses, registrations, and funnily named places; in the midst of bombings, bloodshed, and loss; in the midst of anxiety, loneliness, and dissatisfaction, Jesus comes among us.  Jesus does not leave Mary and Joseph.  Jesus does not leave Palestinian or Jew.  Jesus does not leave you or me.  And that is good news for a merry Christmas.  Amen.     

[i] Timothy L. Adkins-Jones, “Commentary on Luke 2:1-14 [15-20],” December 24, 2023, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/christmas-eve-nativity-of-our-lord/commentary-on-luke-21-14-15-20-24 on December 20, 2023.

[ii] As found at https://www.facebook.com/christmaslutheranchurch on December 21, 2023.

[iii] Sophia Lee, “Bethlehem Cancels Christmas, But Local Pastors Still Expect a Holy Night,” Christianity Today, December 20, 2023, as found at https://www.christianitytoday.com/news/2023/december/bethlehem-cancel-christmas-christian-pastors-church-nativit.html on December 21, 2023.

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

21 Wednesday Dec 2022

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

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.

Sermon – Isaiah 58.9b-14, P16, YC, August 21, 2022

05 Wednesday Oct 2022

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Last night, we baptized Becky Breshears in the waters of the Chickahominy River.  When most of us think of baptism, we imagine the baptism of an infant or child, someone for whom godparents make promises to raise in the life of the faith, much like we did with baby Olivia a few weeks ago.  The sacrament of baptism for a child is certainly considered being fully initiated into the family of Christ, but we make pronouncements and promises on behalf of the baptized.  And as the baptized grows up, we continue to shepherd and guide her, answer her questions, and help her claim her faith as her own.  There is an endearing, almost romantic, notion to baptism, full of idealism and hope. 

At least, that seems to be true in Episcopal Churches, where we quite primly and gently pour water from beautiful fonts over the heads of babies – the messiest part being if the water accidently runs into the baby’s eyes.  Of course, adult baptism is totally normal in our tradition too, we just do not do adult baptism as frequently.  When we do adult baptism, we become much more like other denominations, who have always understood baptism to be a mature proclamation of one’s own faith.  In some ways an adult baptism is more exciting because an adult baptism is not about something we hope and pray will develop into a faithful life, but adult baptism is the fully developed proclamation now – a set of pronouncements and promises on one’s own behalf.  An adult baptism is bold, dramatic, and, especially in instances like last night, much messier!

But adult baptism, especially in the Episcopal Church, are not about proclaiming one has her faith life all figured out – that she has some sense of earned clarity and certainty that has led her to baptism, as if baptism is the end of a journey of discernment.  Quite the opposite; baptism is a beginning for Episcopalians.  The baptized does not proclaim she knows all there is to know about faith and salvation.  Instead, the baptized claims that she is starting a new journey with Jesus, with a community of faith who walks with her.  And part of the act of baptism is giving the newly baptized tools to walk that journey.

That’s why I love the lesson from Isaiah today.  Instead of scripture capturing a moment (like a baptism), scripture today tells us what the baptized journey will be like.  Isaiah describes five things that are critical to the life of baptism.  First, the faithful will “remove the yoke from among you” – or in modern language, be an agent of economic liberation for the oppressed, not taking advantage of others.  Second, the faithful will refrain from “pointing the finger,” or take responsibility for one’s own actions, not accusing others but acting to change the self.  Third, the faithful will “refrain from speaking evil,” because “speech, when it is careless or deceitful, can be destructive and injurious.”[i]  Our words have power and are to be used for good.  Fourth, the faithful are to “offer food to the hungry.”  The life of the faithful is a life of self-sacrifice and sharing what we have learned to call our own.  And finally, we are to “satisfy the needs of the afflicted” – not just helping others or solving their problems but letting the disadvantaged “define their own needs and letting them set the criteria for deciding whether our help is effective.”[ii]

What the prophet Isaiah tells us is that as the faithful, we structure our lives differently than the secular, self-interested world might have us live.  That includes honoring even the sabbath – this holy day, not as just a day to go to church (though I hope you all will regularly – either in person or online), but also to be a day of honoring God through letting go of the self and focusing on the Lord and on the cares of those in need.   That’s why in our gospel lesson Jesus’ actions of healing others on the sabbath is so controversial – because Jesus reminds us the sabbath is a day of selflessness, healing, and giving glory to God.

Last night, Becky committed herself to that life, and we, as fellow baptized recommit ourselves this very day, to a life lived differently – a life lived in the light of Christ.  The prophet Isaiah tells us that when we live faithful lives, our light shall rise in the darkness, the Lord will guide us continually, will satisfy our needs in parched places, make our bones strong, and we shall be like a watered garden – a spring – whose waters never fail.  We shall be repairers of the breach, restorers of the streets to live in. 

Earlier I used the language of self-sacrifice.  What the Holy Spirit does in baptism and what the Church tries to continue to do on every sabbath is relocate the self from the center of our universe and place us firmly within a community of faith who cares for one another while placing God in the center of our universe.  When we take that step in baptism or renew the step our parents took for us, and in gathering in weekly worship (whether gathering in person or gathering virtually), we commit not to having this faith thing figured out – but just that we want to live a life where our parched places are always quenched through the living waters of baptism, and where our lives become bigger than they have ever been – where our lives shine the light of Christ in the darkness.  Amen.

[i] Jon L. Berquist, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3, Supplement for P16 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 4.

[ii] Berquist, 4.

On Merry, Messy Christmases…

22 Wednesday Dec 2021

Posted by in reflection

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Photo credit: https://myharvestchurch.ca/messy-christmas/

Christmas as a pastor is not really like Christmas for most people.  Just ask any preacher’s kid.  While their peers are taking long road trips, fun vacations, or at least doing fun activities like making gingerbread houses, going to the movies, or baking cookies, the fun in a pastor’s home does not really begin in earnest until all the church services are done – and after a requisite nap for said pastor. 

But that is just surface stuff.  The harder part for clergy is holding in tension the reality of Christmas.  The secular world would have you believe Christmas means perfectly decorated trees stuffed with tons of perfect presents, hearths dressed in elaborate greenery, family traditions that always bring joy, and gatherings around meals with people who are happy to be together. 

But clergy are the ones who hear throughout Advent about those dealing with health crises, those struggling with the pending death of a loved one, those whose marriages are crumbling, those struggling to make ends meet, and those who are in the fog of depression and anxiety.  Clergy are also the ones who celebrate weddings, the births of babies, the good grade on an exam, the new relationships or reconciled family member, and the unbounded joy of a child waiting to open gifts.  The juxtaposition of the messy, horribleness of life and the joyful, abundance of life is never sharper than at Christmas – where societal and personal expectations are high, and where reality never reaches perfection. 

The irony, though, is that the actual Christmas story is just about that – a juxtaposition of messy horribleness and joyful abundance:  where governments are oppressing the poor financially, where pregnancies are scandalous, where birthing rooms are inadequate; all while the poor receive good news, where the lowly birth the mighty, and where community and goodness is shared among strangers.  This year, still slogging through a long season of pandemic and political strife, I pray that you might see the Christmas story clear-eyed – taking off the rose-colored glasses, and seeing with fresh eyes the messy, ugly, beautiful story of Christmas.  Christmas blessings my friends!  I see you, I love you, and more importantly, so does Jesus.

On Baptisms, Babies, and Blessings…

16 Wednesday Jun 2021

Posted by in reflection

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Photo credit: Kim Edwards; reuse with permission only

I was never really a baby person:  I did not do much babysitting as an adolescent; except for my little brother, there were not a lot of babies around me growing up; and I was just never all that jazzed about babies.  They seemed delicate, loud, messy, and mysterious.  I never had maternal urges in early adulthood, and my friends found constant amusement in any scenario where the question arose about who should take care of a baby in a pinch – obviously, the baby should not come my way.  But the time my husband and I were engaged, we were not even sure we wanted to have children.

Then in my early thirties, a switch flipped and I realized, in fact, I did want children.  I still was not sure about other babies, but I was excited about my own.  But then a funny thing happened.  I was ordained a deacon when I was about seven months pregnant.  What I did not realize was once you are ordained, you handle babies a lot – in baptisms, in walking moms through pregnancies and births, and even in the receiving line at church.  Once I went through babyhood with my own daughter, and she was no longer at that lovely, innocent stage, I realized my vocation included mothering a lot of other babies.  It has become one of my favorite parts of ministry because it is a glimpse into the wonder and mystery of creation and the grandeur of our God.

So, you can imagine, when this pandemic hit, among the myriad reasons my heart hurt was not being able to interact with babies.  Our church had babies born during the pandemic and it killed me to not be able to welcome the baby at the hospital and give the baby and family their first blessing.  My heart ached to see baby photos on social media and know the babies were growing up without the church surrounding them in love.  But mostly, my arms palpably felt the absence of holding babies, swaying to keep them calm, and smelling their unique baby scent.

As we slowly come out of this pandemic, I am keenly aware of the privilege of holding babies again.  At a recent wedding I tentatively asked a guest, who I did not know, if they would like me to hold their baby to give them a break.  When they quickly passed me the baby, my face lit up.  Last Sunday, when I finally got to hold the baby we had prayed for all during her time in the womb, I was elated.   And as we approach two more baptisms this weekend, I could not be more excited to make those special connections – even though they are not really babies anymore!  One of the blessings of the rise in vaccinations is enjoying the sacred honor of touch, of experiencing vulnerability and innocence, and of redefining the boundaries of family.  This week I give thanks for the abundance of love and joy.  May you all find your own encounters with the holy this week!

Sermon – Matthew 18.21-35, Genesis 50.15-21, P19, YA, September 13, 2020

17 Thursday Sep 2020

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Forgiveness is a funny thing.  Forgiveness is at the heart of our gospel proclamation.  We regularly talk about how Jesus the Christ died for the forgiveness of our sins.  We spend six whole weeks in Lent repenting of our sins, making the long journey toward Good Friday and the empty tomb, where our sins are forgiven.  We want to be forgiven.  We admire others’ displays of forgiveness – retelling stories of victims who should never have to forgive, but somehow valiantly do.  We sometimes condescendingly tell others they should forgive.  We even ardently require our children to accept apologies, without really explaining what forgiveness is.  But when we are facing an injustice, an injury, an event that pierces our heart when remembered, and we are told to forgive, our immediately response is, “Whoa, now!”

Perhaps that reaction is at the heart of Peter’s inquiry today.  The disciples and Jesus have been talking about reconciliation within the community of faith when someone has harmed another.  At the end of that conversation, Peter wisely asks, “Yeah, but how many times do I actually need to forgive someone.  Seven times should be plenty right?  That’s a good, holy number.”  And Jesus says, “Seventy-seven times,” or as some translators say, seventy times seven.[i]  Whichever number we use, Jesus is not just setting some higher number to track; Jesus is saying forgiveness must be offered constantly, in an ongoing way.

The problem when we talk about forgiveness is we can think of endless examples of things that should be unforgiveable.  In our news streams this week, we saw conversations about institutional racism, stemming from the centuries-long practice of slavery in our country; we remembered the horror of September 11th and the thousands of people who died, were traumatized by, or whose health was permanently impacted by that event; we saw cases of abuse by spouses or those in positions of power.  And that is just on the meta-level.  In truth, even on the micro-level, we struggle.  We struggle with those instances where someone hurt us personally – the breaking of our trust or the hurtful things said and done by friends, family, or even strangers.  When we need to be the agents of forgiveness, somehow our gilded concept of forgiveness begins to crack.

Part of the problem is our definition of forgiveness.  When we talk about forgiveness, we forget to talk about what forgiveness is not.  Debie Thomas does an amazing job of walking us through what forgiveness is not.  Forgiveness is not denial:  pretending an offense does not matter, the wound does not hurt, we should just forget, or our merciful God cannot be angered or grieved.  Forgiveness is not a detour or shortcut:  forgiveness cannot be offered without repentance, discipline, and confession – there is no grace without the cross.  Forgiveness is also not synonymous with healing or reconciliation:  healing can take a long time and sometimes reconciliation is not possible – in this way, forgiveness is a beginning, not the end.  Finally, forgiveness is not quick and easy:  forgiveness is a non-linear, messy process, that takes time.[ii]

When we let down our defensiveness about forgiveness, we can see those same lessons in Holy Scripture today.  In our Old Testament lesson, Joseph’s brothers come to him after their father’s death, fearing Joseph will finally enact justified revenge for them selling him into slavery.  Now, Joseph has already forgiven the brothers before his father’s death – and is explicit about his forgiveness.  But the brothers know what we just talked about – forgiveness is not quick and easy.  They fear Joseph’s forgiveness has limits.  And in our Gospel lesson, when Jesus uses a parable to talk to Peter about forgiving seventy times seven, he does not tell a story about someone forgiving again and again.  Instead he tells the story of a man forgiven an unimaginable debt – one he could never have paid off in his lifetime, who then refuses to show forgiveness to another in a much smaller, manageable debt.  The parable highlights how forgiveness is not denial – how God is merciful, but can still be angered by our actions.

As one scholar reminds us, “Forgiveness is hard, really hard.  But the good news is that where God calls, God also equips.  God gives us in Christ the gift of forgiveness and helps us to share that gift with others.  And in doing so, God opens doors that are shut.  God opens a future that is shut.  By forgiving those who have sinned against us, we do not allow the past to dictate our future.  Forgiveness breaks the chains of anger and bitterness and frees us to live new lives.”[iii]  The hard work of forgiveness is no joke.  Forgiveness takes time, is hard, and is a winding path.  But the cross of Christ enables us to keep going, enables us claim love – not a love that relativizes evil or negates the justice that is also of God – but a love that can transform both the oppressor and the oppressed – can heal both us and them.  And Jesus tells us today that despite the fact forgiveness is hard, forgiveness is also work we can do through him.  Thanks be to God.

[i] Lewis R. Donelson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 69.

[ii] Debie Thomas, “Unpacking Forgiveness,” September 6, 2020, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?fbclid=IwAR1uTVaenGNYgJX-mpph8V_97k_S-kIWEbuuSMwkzJKLohX0XbYvuveEk9k on September 11, 2020.

[iii] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Forgiveness is at the Core,” Setpember 6, 2020, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5454 on September 11, 2020.