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Sermon – John 1.43-51, E2, YB, January 18, 2015

21 Wednesday Jan 2015

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church, come and see, disciple, evangelism, favorite, God, invite, Jesus, Nathanael, passion, Philip, Sermon, share, testimony

I have lots of friends who swear that Wicked is their favorite musical.  They know all the songs, they have seen the show multiple times, and they reference lines from the characters.  The cult around the musical feels just like that – a cult.  When I confessed that I had not ever seen the show, my friends were aghast.  “You HAVE to see the show!” they would exclaim.  To be honest, they were so passionate about Wicked that I had almost decided that there was no way the show could be that good – surely I would be underwhelmed.  But finally, after much cajoling, I went to see the show with some friends.  And all of a sudden, I got it:  the witty humor, the creative back story, the emotional narrative, and the moving music.  I could not stop thinking and talking about the show for weeks.

Though we have all had encounters with people who are passionate about something – the latest show, a newly released movie, or a favorite restaurant – I imagine that few of us are as passionate about church.  We just do not have the same fervor about church as we do about other passions in our life.  Somehow, being publicly passionate about those other things seems more socially acceptable than being publicly passionate about church.  Our initial concerns are usually about social stigma.  We do not want to become that person that people avoid because we are always babbling on about church.  Our fear may also be about what to say.  How do we explain to others what draws us to this place and makes us spend a good portion of our time here?  Or maybe we have lost some of our passion about church.  Perhaps we come to church out of habit or some longing, but we are not so jazzed about church that we are rushing around, telling friends and strangers alike, “You have to come and see my church.  It is awesome!”

Though we may not be running around like excited new Christians, the disciples of Jesus did in the early days.  In our gospel lesson today, we are told that when Philip meets Jesus and begins following him, he finds Nathanael and says, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.”  And when Nathanael scoffs, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip is undeterred.  Philip excitedly insists, “Come and see.”  You can almost imagine Philip’s big grin and irresistible enthusiasm.  “Come and see,” he says.  This is his simple invitation.  Come and see.  The words are warm and inviting.  The words are gentle and hospitable.  The words, “Come and see,” are not some forceful demand or even a judgmental threat.[i]  There is no, “or else,” at the end of Philip’s invitation.  His invitation is light and easy:  Come and see.

That is our greatest fear when we talk about evangelism.  Because we have such a meaningful relationship with God and the church, we do not want to be associated with Christians who judge and condemn.  We would never be that Christian on a street corner telling people that they are going to hell unless they repent.  In fact, those are the very people who sometimes make us paranoid to even admit our faith in public.  Or maybe we have friends or family who were hurt by the church, and although we still feel drawn to the church, we want to respect their pain.  I have lost count of the number of my own friends and family who have had those negative experiences:  divorcees who felt judged or downright excluded when they wished to be remarried, women who wanted to be priests but felt that sense of call when the church did not affirm the ordination of women, or lesbian and gay friends who just did not feel welcome or treated as equals in the church.  The list is extensive and even if our church experience is not like that, we fear being associated with “those Christians.”

The challenge for us is that we get so caught up in the “what ifs” of sharing our faith that we forget the really wonderful things about our faith.  Philip reminds us today of the simple joy of our faith and our relationship with Christ.  Take a moment to think about your favorite thing about the life we share in this faith community.[ii]  I do not want you to worry about some elaborate theological explanation of your faith.  I just want you to think about your favorite thing about your experience here at St. Margaret’s.  Maybe your favorite thing is the community, and the warm welcome and inclusion you have felt here.  Maybe your favorite thing is the way that the worship experience connects you to God or opens up new truth for you.  Maybe your favorite thing is the way church is like an oasis, a place where you can breathe in the midst of the chaos of life, and find some sense of peace.  Or maybe your favorite thing is something else altogether.  But think about that favorite thing that keeps you coming back here week after week.

Now, imagine sharing that favorite thing with someone else, and inviting them to come and see for themselves.  Before you panic, I want to reassure you.  I am not asking you to go to someone and persuade them to become a Christian.  I am not even asking you to “prove” the truth of the Christian faith.[iii]  I am simply inviting you to invite someone you know to come and see that aspect of our congregational life that you enjoy.  When we have talked about evangelism before, many of you have told me about how you do not really have any friends you can invite to church.  Actually our excuses are numerous (and yes, I say “our” because I have the same excuses too).  We may worry that our friends live too far away, or maybe they already have a church community, or maybe you just do not like to mix your friends community with your church community.  Many of you have turned to me and either said, “Well, isn’t it the priest’s job to grow the church,” or “That is what our website is for.”  And the answer to those things is yes.  Yes, the rector plays some role in people’s attraction to a church and certainly many seekers find us through our website.  But the number one way that people come to a church is by personal invitation.  Every study I have read says that the number one way to attract people to your parish is through personal invitation.

The good news is that the personal invitation is not as scary as the invitation sounds.  Just look at Philip.  When Nathanael scoffs and says, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip could have had any number of responses.  As one person argues, “Philip could have given Nathanael some of his own opinions.  He could have said, ‘This Jesus knows a lot about the Bible.’  Or he might have said, ‘There is something about this man Jesus that draws me to him.’  Even when Nathanael expressed skepticism about ‘anything good coming out of Nazareth,’ Philip might have listed some successful people from Nazareth.”[iv]  But Philip does none of that.  His offer is warm, simple, and gracious.  Come and see.

The beauty of our gospel lesson is that Philip’s testimony to Nathaniel is not that impressive.  His testimony would not win any academic awards or even impress most people.  But his invitation does get Nathanael to in fact, come and see.[v]  And that is what our gospel is inviting us to do today too.  Not to come up with some master plan or some convincing argument.  But to think about the one thing that draws you to this place, and then simply share that one thing with someone else.  Your closing argument will then be easy.  Come and see.  I cannot imagine a better gift that you can give to those you know than to let them see the one thing that gives you life, gives you joy, and gives you passion; and then to invite them to come and see.  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Epiphany 2B:  Come and See,” January 12, 2015 found at http://www.davidlose.net/2015/01/epiphany-2-b/.

[ii] Lose.

[iii] Michael Rogness, “Commentary on John 1.43-51,” as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2314 on January 14, 2015.

[iv] Rogness.

[v] Ted A. Smith, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 263.

Homily – Ecclesiasticus 39.1-10, Bernard of Clairvaux, August 21, 2014

05 Friday Sep 2014

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abide, Bernard of Clairvaux, commandments, God, homily, joy, love, passion, seeking, time

Today we honor Bernard of Clairvaux.  Born in 1090, Bernard was given a secular education.  In 1113, he entered a Benedictine Abbey.  His family was not pleased with his choice of a monastic life, but Bernard convinced four of his brothers and about 26 of his friends to join him in establishing a monastery at Clairvaux, France, in 1115.  Bernard had a real power for persuasion – his preaching and letters were so persuasive that sixty new Cistercian abbeys were founded through him.  His writings have made him one of the most influential figures in Christendom.  A fiery defender of the Church, he was known for his passion and message about the abundant love of God.

We can almost hear a description of Bernard’s passion and commitment in our lesson from Ecclesiasticus.  The reading says, “He seeks out the wisdom of all the ancients … he seeks out the hidden meanings of proverbs … He sets his heart to rise early to seek the Lord who made him …”  You can almost imagine Bernard rising early, studying scripture, meditating on the Lord.  In fact, Bernard was known to forego sleep and even his health because he was so absorbed in the Church.

The truth is, I am not sure Bernard’s life pattern is exactly what our lesson or even God has in mind for us.  Though most monastics have time to absorb themselves in prayer, study and meditation, we do not expect to maintain the same pace and stamina.  Most of our reaction to Bernard or Ecclesiasticus is, “Oh, that’s lovely, but not for me,” or we dismiss both as irrelevant to our lives.

Where we find grounding is in the rest of the story.  Bernard did all that he did because he was alive with the love of God.  The love of God was so overwhelming that he just wanted more.  Though we may not be able to immerse ourselves as fully as Bernard, we can take a cue from Jesus Christ.  Jesus says in the gospel, “Abide in my love,” “Keep my commandments … abide in my love.”  Jesus says this because, as he says, he wants his joy to be in us, so that our joy might be complete.  Living into God’s love, keeping God’s commandments, seeking God in the ways that we can are not overwhelming tasks – and when we know that they are for our complete joy, the invitation feels much lighter.  So abide in God’s love – so that your joy might be complete.  Amen.

Homily – Psalm 63.1-8, Lancelot Andrewes, September 26, 2013

05 Saturday Oct 2013

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God, homily, Lancelot Andrewes, passion, seeking, thirst

Today we honor Lancelot Andrewes, Bishop of Winchester in the early 1600s. Andrewes was the favorite preacher of King James I.  His eloquent sermons were admired by many, and known as witty, grounded in Scripture, and exhibiting his massive learning.  Andrewes was a distinguished biblical scholar, and one of the translators for the King James Version of the Bible.  He was dean of Westminster, educating many noted churchmen, including poet George Herbert.  He was also known for his piety, for defending the catholicity of the Church of England, and for generally being a model bishop.

What is challenging for us today is accessing Andrewes as modern readers.  His eloquent sermons were so academic that they make difficult reading for modern people.  I remember reading Andrewes for a theology class in seminary – and though I loved his work, I did have to slow down significantly to read his work. That often happens to us – something gets so academic or heady that we stop reading or listening, cutting ourselves off from the potential for learning.  As a church that praises learning, sometimes we are not always diligent with challenging ourselves beyond our comfort zones.

That is why I love our Psalm lesson today.  The psalmist says, “O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, as in a barren and dry land where there is no water.”  The psalmist knows a kind of pursuit of God that is passionate, all-consuming, if not desperate.  The psalmist longs for refreshment from parchedness, because the psalmist knows how incredibly satisfying finding God can be.

This kind of passion for seeking God is the same passion Andrewes had for God. This is the passion that the psalmist and Andrewes would want for us too.  We may not seek God in the same ways or through the same books or experiences, but the psalmist and Andrewes invite us into a more passionate seeking of God in our lives.  When we say we are a community seeking, serving and sharing Christ, this is the kind of passion with which we do that work.  May your soul thirst for God today.  Amen.

Homily – Psalm 78.3-7, John Henry Hobart, September 12, 2013

26 Thursday Sep 2013

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faith, God, homily, John Henry Hobart, passion, scripture, story

The portion of the psalm that we read today tells a familiar story from Scripture.  From the beginning of our being a people of God, we have been instructed to tell the story – to pass from one generation to the next the salvation story of our God.  In the early days, before there were written Scriptures, I think it was actually easier.  People communicated through oral histories – the stories were burned in their brains and were as natural and familiar as breathing.  Even once the histories were written down, only a few could read, so the oral histories were essential.

Today we have lost that sure familiarity with Scripture.  It is a rare Episcopalian who can quote Scripture to anyone.  Though we have multiple copies of the Bible lying around, very few of us have ever read the Scriptures cover to cover – and if we have, we are surprised when we hear certain stories.  So given our lack of familiarity with Holy Scripture, it is no wonder that our ability to share the Good News is difficult for us.  We struggle not only to pass along the story to our children, but especially to pass along the story to total strangers.

John Henry Hobart, whom we celebrate today, had no such reservations.  Born in Philadelphia in 1775, John became a priest in 1801.  After serving in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Long Island, he was eventually consecrated Bishop of New York in 1811.  In his first four years as Bishop, John doubled the number of clergy and quadrupled the number of missionaries in the diocese.  Before his death in 1830, he planted churches in almost every major town in New York State.  He helped found General Theological Seminary and helped name Hobart College. John revitalized the church, and his zeal was respected by all.

Though John lived more than 200 years ago, his story still speaks to us today.  Along with our scriptural ancestors, these figures invite us to remember with zeal the God who loves us, who gives us life, and who saves us.  John and our ancestors invite us to reignite our passion for Christ and to let that passion overflow without self-consciousness or fear.  Why wouldn’t we want to share the Good News of all that God has done for us?  Our invitation is to remember, reconnect, and revitalize our faith today.  Amen.

Sermon – Luke 19.28-40, PS, YC, March 24, 2013

25 Monday Mar 2013

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Holy Week, Messiah, Palm Sunday, parenting, passion, prophecy, Sermon

palm-sunday-australiaWhen I was in third grade, I had one of those classic rite-of-passage moments.  The day started out simply enough.  At school, my friend, Buffy, who normally sat right behind me, was out sick that day.  On the way to lunch, another friend, Holly, lamented how much she missed having Buffy there.  I agreed, but casually mentioned that I was getting more work done because Buffy was not distracting me by talking so much.  The comment was a rare, blatantly honest comment about how, although I loved my friend Buffy, Buffy did tend to talk a little too much.  That moment of rare, brutal honest cost me dearly.  That night, Holly called to tell me how upset Buffy was that I said she talked too much.  I was devastated and embarrassed.  I could not believe Holly had betrayed my confidence and told Buffy what I said.  Now I was forced to call Buffy and figure out how to meaningfully apologize.  This was a tall order for a third grader.

What I remember most about that interaction is the presence of my mother.  Before I got up the courage to call Buffy to apologize, I came to my mother weeping.  I was weeping out of remorse, I was weeping out of embarrassment, and I was weeping because I felt like I had no legitimate excuse for my words.  How could I keep Buffy as a friend with her knowing how I felt about her talking habits?  My mother stood by my side, encouraging me to face my fears, assuring me that everything would eventually be okay.

As I look back at that day now as a parent, I can only imagine how my mother must have felt.  She must have felt awful for me, knowing how painful removing one’s foot from one’s mouth can be.  She must have known that this kind of grievance would take a long time to forgive, and that I would have to maintain a tone of repentance, without the assurance of forgiveness.  She must have anticipated how difficult my apology would be and how vulnerable offering that apology would make me.  But my mother must have also known that all of those experiences are a part of growing up and being in relationship with others.  She could not navigate my mess for me.  She could not take away my discomfort.  She knew I just needed to go through the experience, and would be transformed in the process.  I remember my mother being infinitely supportive; but years later, I imagine my mother must have felt impotent and helpless as I navigated the realities of growing up.

In some ways, I think that Holy Week leaves us with that same sense of impotence and helplessness.  We would love nothing more than to finish our worship today with Jesus’ story on that blessed Palm Sunday.  Everything is there.  The prophecies are being fulfilled:  Zechariah already foretold of how the Messiah would come triumphantly, but humbly, riding on a donkey.[i]  Everyone is already singing those words from the Psalms, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”  There is no mistaking that the pieces of the puzzle are all present – Jesus is the long awaited Messiah and the people finally get it as they lay down their blankets and celebrate their king.  We should be able to say, “The end,” today and all go home, ready to celebrate again next week.

Unfortunately, we do not get off so easily.  Like a mother who wants to shield her children, we want to shield Jesus and ourselves from the pain that will come this Holy Week.  We want to skip the Passion Narrative – or at least save the narrative for Good Friday – delaying the inevitable.  But our liturgy today does not let us avoid the uncomfortable remainder of the story.  I have long been told that the reason we read the Palm liturgy along with the Passion Narrative is because so few church-goes actually attend Holy Week services.  But I think there is more to today’s liturgy than cramming everything into one Sunday.  I think we hear the Passion Narrative with the Palm liturgy because the Palm liturgy can only be understood in light of the Passion.  If we try to claim victory today with our palms, we miss the work of the Messiah.  We forget the rest of prophecy if we stop with the palms.  The palms simply mark our acknowledgment of Jesus’ identity as the Messiah.  The Passion gives us the consequences of Jesus’ identity as the Messiah.

Using the parenting lens this year has helped me with my normal disappointment in Palm Sunday.  Normally, Palm Sunday makes me feel like a failure.  Here I am in one moment singing, “All Glory, Laud, and Honor,” joining the festival procession with my palms, and the next moment shouting “Crucify him!”  This liturgy has always made me feel like a failure.  But the parenting lens changes things for me.  If I think of this day not as a failure on my part, but as the experience that Jesus must live through in order to free us from our sins, somehow I feel less impotent.  Somehow I am better able to sit with Jesus today, knowing that I cannot change his journey, but also knowing that his painful journey will lead to greater things.  Without the recognition of Jesus’ identity in the palms liturgy, and the shameful death of Jesus in the passion narrative, we cannot get through to the other side – to the Easter resurrection that awaits us.

So today, we take on the role of supportive parent.  We sit in the kitchen, pretending to read a magazine, while intently listening to the painful journey of Jesus.  If we are good parents, we let the drama unfold as the drama needs to unfold.  But we also keep watch, waiting to be called into the fray to offer our love and support.  We cannot control Jesus’ journey, and in the end, that is for the best – because the end of Jesus’ story is much better without our meddling ways anyway.  Amen.


[i] George W. Stroup, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 152.

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