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Sermon – Luke 11.1-13, P12, YC, July 24, 2016

27 Wednesday Jul 2016

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This morning I have a little confession.  When I look at the texts for the upcoming Sunday each week, I rarely am excited about what lessons are presented.  Invariably, Jesus will say or do something controversial or, like today, the Old Testament lesson will say something super provocative that I do not want to think about addressing in the pulpit.  But this week was a bit different.  When I read today’s gospel, and heard the disciples asking Jesus to teach them how to pray, I wanted to cry, Yes, yes, Jesus!  Tell us what to do.  Teach us how to pray.  Because lately, my prayers seem hollow.  Whether I am praying about the nastiness and disrespect within this year’s political campaigns, whether I am praying about the sinfulness of racism in our country, whether I am praying about the way we dehumanize one another enough to think it is okay to shoot each other, or whether I am praying about someone who is not likely to recover from their illness and is facing the reality of mortality – I need Jesus to teach me how to pray.  I need Jesus to teach me how to pray, because I do not feel like my prayers are working.  “Lord, teach us to pray,” the disciples beg with a spirit helplessness, hopelessness, and haplessness that we can all identity with this week.

Into that sense of despair and longing, Jesus does two incredible things.  First, he gives the disciples something simple and tangible – something to cling to in the most desperate of times.  Jesus gives them what we call, “the Lord’s Prayer,” or the “Our Father.”  Luke’s version is not the version of this prayer that we are most familiar with – we know Matthew’s version much more familiarly.  In fact, even Christians who have been away from church most of their adult life can recall this one prayer.  We know the words so well that they become their own prayer beads, each word a talisman that our fingers and souls can cling to when our head and hearts are a jumbly mess.  The Lord’s Prayer is one for the ages – telling us what we know about God, what we hope for about the kingdom, and what we need as we go about our earthly lives.  Surely those words address all that we are facing right now.  Surely, when we have run out of our own words, those are words that we can mutter over and over again.  Surely those are the things we need:  God to reveal God’s self, to right the world, to sustain us, to forgive us and help us forgive others, and to protect us from ourselves and the enemy.  And on days when we do not have words, those are words that we can pray.  Jesus is very practical with his gift of a prayer for the ages.

But then Jesus does a second thing.  After giving the disciples something tangible, then he tries to teach them something much more profound.  He teaches the disciples about what prayer really is.  After giving the disciples the “Our Father,” Jesus does what Jesus always does – he sits them down for a little story.  Basically, an annoyingly persistent friend comes pounding on the door of a neighboring friend, looking for food to give to an unexpected guest. It’s midnight, and the irritated friend tells him to go home – everyone in his house has finally settled in for the night, and there is no way he is getting up.  But the friend “persists, and eventually the poor householder relents, not out of the charities of friendship but simply for the sake of his own peace and quiet.”[i]

The story is not the prettiest, but anyone who has had to put down a toddler for the fortieth time that evening knows how persistent that friend would have to be for the neighbor to risk waking up his children.  Jesus’ conclusion about the story of a persistent friend is, “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.”  This is where Jesus’ teaching gets tricky though.  Too many of us know that there have been times when we asked and we did not find, it was not given to us, and the door was not opened.  Those words from Jesus can seem empty for those of us who have experienced the opposite.  But Jesus is not describing the economy of prayer: that you insert a request, and, with persistence, you get what you want.  What Jesus is trying to say is that prayer is about relationship.  Like the relationship that we have with the buddy who will get up in the middle of the night, our prayer life with God is a reflection of the relationship with have with God.  Our prayer life is dynamic, involves conflict, necessitates initiative, and is relational.

One of my favorite hymns growing up was “What a friend we have in Jesus.”  The hymn is a sweet, simplistic hymn that basically says that we too often try to shoulder our burdens on our own.  The hymn argues that if we take our sins and grief, our trails and temptations, our weakness and heavy laden burdens, we will find solace in God.  The hymn is comforting, and its simplicity can make us feel good.  But as I thought about that hymn this week and our text today, I realized that the hymn tempts us in the same way that this text does.  The hymn tempts us into concluding that all we have to do is ask, seek, and knock, and everything will be okay.  All we have to do is “take it to the Lord in prayer,” or even say the Lord’s prayer, and everything will be okay.

But I do not think that is what Jesus is saying today.  By talking about how prayer is relational between God and us, how prayer is a practice that resembles the relationship of friends, we can come to understand prayer a little differently.  Like any healthy relationship, our relationship to God in prayer is going to change us.  Our time in prayer with God might lead us to finding, receiving, and having doors opened.  But our time in prayer might also lead us to acting, giving, and knocking doors down.  Jesus says that the sleeping friend gets up because of his friend’s persistence.  That word “persistence” in the Greek is translated alternatively as, “shamelessness.”[ii]  In other words, our prayers to God are to be shameless:  bold, audacious, and unfailingly confident.

As we think about our prayerful relationship with God, I was struck by a reflection by David Lose.  He asks, “How might we act differently this week if our prayers were offered to God confidently, trusting that God will respond so much more generously than any earthly parent?”   Perhaps [we] wouldn’t just sit back and wait for God to answer but would start moving, get to work, actually start living into the reality of what [we have] prayed for.  So rather than pray for someone who is lonely, maybe [we’d] go visit.  Rather than pray for an end to violence, maybe [we’d] campaign against the legality of military-grade semi-automatic weapons, or protest when police use unnecessary force, or go visit the police station to tell officers that [we are] grateful for their service and pray for their safety.[iii]  In other words, what if a prayerful relationship with God is not passive, but is active and challenging?

The good news is that despite all the heaviness of the news lately, and despite all the examples of intolerance and degradation, there are also examples percolating of goodness – the fruits of shameless prayer with our God.  In Dallas, I saw protestors hugging counter-protestors.  In Kansas, I saw police officers and Black Lives Matter protestors not only holding a block party together, but also making time during the party for a real, raw question-and-answer period.  In Cleveland, I saw protestors holding hands with a police officer and offering a prayer before the day’s events began.  Now, I am not saying that shameless praying with God is going to be easy or even lead to the open doors we want or think we need.  Anyone who has long-term friendships knows that friendship is hard.  But what I am saying is that prayer is powerful and when tended to, can lead to transformation.  So if you do not know where to start this week, start with the Lord’s Prayer.  If you are too frustrated or jaded to say those words, then just show up at God’s door.  As with any good relationship, showing up is half the battle.  Wherever you are in your prayer life, know that our God is a God who will answer – and will use us for goodness.  Amen.

[i] Stephanie Frey, “On God’s Case,” Christian Century, vol. 121, no. 14, July 13, 2004, 17.

[ii] James A. Wallace, C.SS.R., “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 291.

[iii] David J. Lose, “Pentecost 10C:  Shameless Prayer,” July 19, 2016, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2016/07/pentecost-10-c-shameless-prayer/ on July 20, 2016.

The Sound of Silence…

07 Thursday Jul 2016

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In almost every parish I have served, there has been an 8:00 am, Rite I, spoken service.  The crowd usually is not that large.  Because the service is spoken, it tends to be very quiet and to be the shortest service of the day.  Those who are attracted to the service usually like the language (We use “thee” and “thou” language and the service has a more penitential tone.)  Others like the brevity of the service – appreciating both going to church and having the rest of the day free.  While others like the service because it feels more contemplative and centering.

Though the service is always pretty quiet in whatever Episcopal Church you choose, what I have noticed about the 8:00 am crowd at Hickory Neck is that they tend to be not just prompt, but early.  Every Sunday, at least five minutes before the service begins, everyone is seated and is silent.  Up until this past Sunday, I found the practice unsettling.  On Sundays, I am usually amped up, and ready to jump into liturgical leadership.  As an extrovert, I am chatty, and am used to some lighthearted conversation before the service starts.  So the silence immediately before the service feels discordant with my pent-up energy.

But this past Sunday, I remembered a complaint long ago from a fellow parishioner at the Cathedral where I became an Episcopalian.  She used to complain that the beginning of the service was not meant to be happy hour – she was irritated by the chatter all around her when all she wanted to do was kneel on the prayer cushion in front of her and enjoy a moment of silence before the service began.  Even the bulletin had a comment at the beginning that reminded people that we should respect others’ desire to begin our worship in quiet contemplation and centering prayer.  Though I appreciated the guidance, I never really “got” it – until this past Sunday.

The beauty of five minutes of silence before worship is that you can let go of all the stuff on your to-do list.  The beauty of the five minutes of silence before worship is that you can let go of the pain, worry, anger, or stress that is ever present and present yourself humbly before worship.  The beauty of the five minutes of silence before worship is that you can listen to God instead of talk to God.  As a celebrant, I do not know that I will ever be able to use those last five minutes to center myself (I tend to arrive much earlier at church to find that centering time).  But as one who facilitates worship, I have found myself greatly appreciating the gift of those five minutes for our parishioners.  I could use a good five minutes today to just listen.  In the noise of mass gun violence, terrorism, racism, poverty, and suffering, I am a bit out of things to say to God.  Instead I would rather kneel in silence today and give humanity’s and my own brokenness and sinfulness to God.  What might you offer to God today in that silence?  What do you imagine you might hear in that silence?

On Being Overly Generous…

01 Wednesday Jun 2016

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In the last several weeks, our six-year old started a “star chart” for herself.  Any time she helps around the house or with her sister, she can add a sticker to the chart.  We are not really rigid about it, and we have not even designated a reward – the satisfaction of stickers alone seems to be working.  Yesterday, I overheard her talking to herself as she placed stickers on the chart.  Her list of “good deeds” seemed endless – from holding her sister’s hand across the street, to saying thank you for something, to putting clothes in the dirty pile.  As her list got longer, I thought to myself, “Well, that’s being a little overly generous.  Stickers should be for really good things, not just everyday niceties.”

But as I thought about my reaction some more, I wondered if perhaps I had missed something.  I once had a spiritual director who encouraged me to switch up my prayer life.  Instead of praying about my concerns and worries, he suggested I pray about all the things that had gone well that day.  The switch was difficult at first.  I am really good at articulating my worries and stressors.  But I am not always good at celebrating what has gone well – even the smallest things on my to-do list.  Those good things seem negligible somehow – as not being as important as the things not yet done.

I wonder if my spiritual director was trying to capture for me what my daughter has captured in her star chart.  In celebrating the small victories every day, we allow our hearts to fill with a sense of gratitude.  And, like those multiplying stickers, the more goodness we articulate, the more goodness we begin to see.  In some ways, when we begin to see all the little bits of worthiness in ourselves, I imagine we begin to get a glimpse of the way that God sees us – as beautiful creatures who mess up from time to time, but who, day in and day out, do a lot of tremendously good things – both big and small.  If you were to start a star chart with the eyes of God in mind, how might you fill up your chart this week?

The Power of Prayer…

10 Thursday Mar 2016

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One of the major components of my vocation is living a life of prayer.  I am constantly offering up prayers for my parishioners, my family, and my friends.  I am regularly praying for the oppressed, the hungry, and those suffering around the world.  I pray for those in leadership in our country and around the world.  And even if the average stranger or acquaintance feels a little uncomfortable talking about religion with me, they have no issues asking me to pray for them.  Prayer is part and parcel of my life and work.

But as much as I pray, for others and even myself, I rarely ask others to pray for me.  I am not sure why really.  Maybe I feel like people are busy or God knows what I need.  Regardless, I don’t tend to solicit prayers.  But this past month has involved a lot of upheaval.  I am transitioning between jobs, and the prayer concerns seem endless.  My current parish has been sorting through their own grief and anxiety about the change.  My future parish has been preparing to receive me and handling logistics on their end.  And my family is juggling everything:  from the emotional toll of the transition, to buying our first home, to finding a new job for my husband, and finding new schools and childcare for our children.

So this week, I finally asked for prayer.  I asked a colleague group of mine and some close friends to pray.  The response was immediate and overwhelming.  Sharing the burden seemed to lessen the burden.  Feeling connected to a community of support gave me comfort and strength.  And thinking about their prayers made me realize there are other people praying too.  My current parish has a prayer group that is praying for us.  My future parish has a weekly prayer they are offering for me, my family, and for them.  Even my mom’s Bible Study group is praying for us.  And that probably does not even count the myriad other people who are praying for me without me realizing it.

As I marveled in the community of saints lifting me up in prayer this week, I realized maybe that is part of the power of prayer:  prayer reminds us that we are not alone.  When we join in prayer with others, we remember that we are not on our own in this life.  The vast web of prayer gives us a tiny glimpse into the enormous love of our God for us.  This week I am grateful for the reminder of the power of a prayerful community.  I encourage you to reach out to your own communities if you are in need of prayer.  And if you are feeling less needy this week, then reach out to someone else who might need your prayers.  We are not alone and we need each other.

On Fault and Forgiveness…

12 Friday Feb 2016

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Several weeks ago I had a conversation with a friend about an automobile accident in which she was involved.  The accident was not her fault – in fact the other driver was being oblivious to those around him and plowed right into her.  My friend and the other driver waited for the police to arrive to complete a report.  That was when she learned about a law in New York of which neither of us were aware.  In New York, even if the accident is clearly one driver’s fault, both drivers are expected to contribute to a portion of the costs of repairs.  The non-fault driver must pay a small percentage even though the accident was in no way her fault.

As we talked about this law, we were initially outraged.  The law hardly seemed fair.  If someone side-swipes you, runs a stop sign, or hits you while distracted, why should you be responsible for someone else’s fault.  We hypothesized about whether there might have been some way for her to give the driver a wider berth to avoid the accident – basically being a better defensive driver.  But we both could imagine situations in which there is no way to see an accident coming.  To us, the law just did not seem fair.

Today, as I was thinking about Lent and forgiveness, I was reminded of my friend’s accident.  The more I thought about New York’s rule, the more I realized that New York may be on to something.  You see, whenever we talk about forgiveness, we often think of ourselves needing to forgive someone else for something they have done to us.  Letting go of anger is an important step toward meaningful forgiveness.  But solely focusing on the actions of the other lets us off the hook from thinking about the ways we may have contributed to problem that needs forgiving.  I am not suggesting that the blame is 50-50.  But the blame might be 90-10 or even 80-20.  Anyone who has been married or who has navigated close friendships or family relationships knows that even when we are totally in the right, there is always a little blame to be shared by all.

As we start our Lenten journey, I invite you to consider taking an inventory of those relationships in your life that need mending or healing.  As you prayerfully consider those relationships, review the ways in which you have participated in the relationship and what ways you might hold some of the fault for the brokenness of the relationship.  The work will not be easy – we like being right so much that we may not be able to really consider mending those relationships.  But as you journey through the complicated web of fault and forgiveness, consider praying the Lord’s Prayer again:  forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.  My prayers are with you on the journey.

Finding Grace in the Routine…

06 Wednesday Jan 2016

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One of the early parenting lessons I learned is routines are lifesavers.  Whether it was trying to create a predictable bedtime routine, figuring out how often the child needed to eat to prevent meltdowns, or simply helping the child live into the routine of childcare and school, routines almost always meant that everyone was happier – the child and the parents.  As the second child has come along, I have certainly become more flexible, but the rule of routine still proves useful to us as a family.

So after ten days of vacation at home with our extended family, you can imagine how happy I was that the children would be returning to their routines.  We had a lovely time off and even the adults got regular naps, but there were also a lot of time-outs due to poor behavior.  The lack of a routine was making the kids a little out of sorts.  So by Tuesday of this week, I was so relieved to see the return of my lovely, beautiful six-year old.  I knew she was in there somewhere!

Though I single out kids, the truth is adults benefit from routine as much as children.  One of the consistent conversations I have with recent retirees is their struggle with the loss of a routine.  What at first feels like freedom can instead feel like a sense of loss.  Once they figure out a volunteer routine, a regular schedule of lunches with friends, or even plan periodic trips to look forward to, the retirees find a sense of calm and purpose.

Our relationship with God is like that too.  When we fall out of the routine of prayer, we find connecting with God more difficult.  When we fall out of the habit of going to church, we find our weekends are missing something valuable.  When we fall out of the pattern of regular learning and serving, we find our relationship with God is not as deep as might like.  As we begin a new year, I invite you back into the comfort of routine.  I invite you to consider what you might like to change in your everyday routine that might enrich your relationship with God.  It may be that you want to sit down and consider a rule of life you want to follow.  Or it may be as simple as deciding you want to do one thing – go to church more regularly, pray each night, or read devotionally.  Whatever the routine you take up might be, my guess is that God will be happy to see the return of your lovely and beautiful self!

Sermon – 1 Samuel 1.4-20, 2.1-10, P28, YB, November 15, 2015

19 Thursday Nov 2015

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At some point in life, most of us have the experience of having a best friend.  Perhaps we met the person on the playground as a child; maybe we met him in college or at work; perhaps our best friend is a cousin or sibling; or maybe our best friend is our spouse or partner.  Regardless of how we met her, that best friend has seen the best and worst of us.  He has congratulated us when we got a part in the play, when we got a promotion, or when we found new love.  She has consoled us when we failed a test, when our heart was broken, or when a family member died.  He has seen us laugh so hard that we snort or pee in our pants, and he has seen us sob so hard that snot runs down our faces.  She has seen us dressed to the nines, and she has seen us in our stained, ill-fitting sweats.  And our best friend has taken the best and the worst from us too:  we have danced together, yelled at each other, confessed our darkest secrets to each other, and, yes, we have even hated each other at times.  Despite having experienced the very best and very worst of us, we know that she loves us deeply, he always forgives us, and she is always there for us.  The relationship is far from perfect, but the relationship is beautiful.

In many ways, the relationship we have with our best friend is similar to the relationship we have with God.  On our good days, we come to God with our thanksgivings and praise, offering our adoration and humility to God.  On our bad days, we are angry and curse God.  We confess things to God that we confess to no one else:  both those things done and left undone, but also those deep longings and desires that we do not admit to others.  We have cried a thousand tears with God and we have laughed with great mirth.  Although our best friend knows us better than any other human being, God knows even the stuff we are embarrassed or afraid to share with that best friend.  And since our Lord is not human, God’s forgiveness does not know the limits of human forgiveness.  Through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, our relationship with other human beings will never quite equal our relationship with God.

Given that intimacy, I am often surprised when people ask me about prayer.  Throughout my ministry I have had people ask me how they should pray, what they should say, or when or where is the best time and place to pray.  I think the challenge is that most of us have some notion of what prayer should look like.  We imagine the pinnacle of brayer being the Zen-like posture of monks in silent prayer.  Or when someone offers a prayer, we assume we should bow our heads, fold our hands, and shush others into silence.  Or when someone asks us to offer the prayer, we scramble to remember common prayer phrases like, “Holy God…Bless us, we pray…you alone are worthy…”  Our prayers sound very little like our everyday speech.  Sometimes, if we are feeling especially uncomfortable, we peek around the room to see what everyone else is doing.  People often ask me how to pray because they do not feel like they are doing it “right,” because their usual method of prayer has become stale or dissatisfying, or because when they pray, God seems far away or even like a stranger.  Or sometimes people come to me about prayer because they are overwhelmed with the suffering of the world:  the poverty, the gun violence, the terror that keeps striking in places like Paris.  How do we pray to God when suffering seems like an endless abyss?

In scripture today, we see Hannah pray twice.  In the first occurrence, Hannah looks nothing like our notions of prayer.  She has been emotionally tortured by Elkanah’s second wife, Peninnah – just like Peninnah does every year when they travel to make their annual sacrifice.  Peninnah is ever fertile and Hannah is barren.  And, probably because Elkanah loves Hannah more, Peninnah throws Hannah’s infertility in her face whenever she can.  Meanwhile, Elkanah is acting like a wounded puppy.  He does not understand why Hannah is so upset – isn’t he enough?  So Hannah escapes to the Temple to pray.  Her prayer is unlikely offered from a pew, while she delicately flips through a prayer book to find some pre-written prayers.  Her prayer is not said reverentially, with a bowed head.  In fact, she does not quietly whisper prayers to God with her eyes closed.  No, when Eli, the temple priest, sees Hannah praying, he accuses Hannah of being drunk in the Temple.  Now I do not know if you have ever been in the presence of a drunken person, but people who are drunk are rarely still and reserved.  No, I imagine Hannah was pacing.  Maybe she was waving her fists at God as the tears spilled down her cheeks.  Maybe there was rage and devastation in her eyes.  The text says that she is silent, but that her lips are moving.  I imagine she was giving God a piece of her mind.  And in fact, the text tells us that she even resorts to bargaining with God – promising to commit his life to the Temple if God gives her a male child.  If Eli thought Hannah looked drunk, the scene could not have been pretty!

The second occurrence of Hannah praying today is found in the Song of Hannah from first Samuel.  Here we see a very different posture of prayer from Hannah.  Instead of ranting and raving in the temple, here we see Hannah giving praise to God for the deliverance of a child.  Hannah is full of gratitude for her own good fortune.  But Hannah’s prayer is bigger than herself too.  She proclaims the Lord to be a liberator – one who frees the oppressed, brings low the privileged, honors the faithful, and cuts off the wicked.  In Hannah’s personal experience with God, she is given a glimpse into the global nature of God.[i]  Hers is revolutionary song because God has heard her prayer and answered her.  We see a very different form of prayer from Hannah the second time than we do from Hannah the first time.

For those of you reading along with A.J. Jacobs’ The Year of Living Biblically, prayer is common topic from the author.  Not a believer himself, Jacobs struggles with prayer.  He does not know what to do or say.  But he feels compelled by the Bible to be in prayer.  One of his spiritual guides suggests that there are four types of prayer – Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication.[ii]  Jacobs latches on to Thanksgiving at first.  He starts by thanking God for the food that has been prepared, in its many stages.  As he thinks about all the stages – the earth, the farmer, the packager, the person who puts on labels, the grocery stockers, the cashier – his prayer lengthens.  Jacobs also takes on intercessory prayer as a form of prayer – praying strictly for the needs of others.  Jacobs confesses, “It’s ten minutes where it’s impossible to be self-centered.  Ten minutes where I can’t think about my career, my Amazon.com ranking, or that a blog in San Francisco made snarky comments about my latest Esquire article.”[iii]  Slowly, Jacobs’ ideas about and experiences of prayer become transformed.  Prayer is not like what he thought prayer would be like.

That’s the great thing about prayer.  Hannah’s first “drunken” prayer of desperation and self-pity, her second prayer of adoration and revolution, and Jacobs’ ten minutes of intercessions that keep him from being self-centered are totally different.  My prayers in the car on the way to pick up the kids are very different from the prayers our Contemplative Prayer Group offers on Friday nights.  And the prayers of an evangelical pastor, which are accompanied by the creative tinkling of the keyboardist to emphasize and dramatize the preacher’s prayers, are totally different from the chanted prayers of the officiant of Evensong.  There is no single wrong or right way to pray.  And the same person who offers eloquent, beautiful prayers in the day can be the same person who rages against God in the night.

When we allow prayer to be what prayer needs to be, we let go.  Then our prayers become not some preconceived notion of what we think they should be, but become a real conversation between us and the living God.  Whether we are wrapped up in our own suffering, totally ceding our worries to God, or railing at God for the injustice and the inhumanity in this world, something powerful happens in prayer.  Where else can we stomp our feet at God, looking like a drunkard, except at the feet of God?  Ultimately, that is what is most important in our prayer life – being our honest, vulnerable, mercurial selves.  As one priest explains, “…The relationship we’re offered with God is a real one.  A genuine relationship.  The God who made the heavens and the earth wants to know us, and wants us to know [God].  And when we’re excited, we’re to gush out like Hannah breaking out into song.  And when things are falling apart, we’re to gush out like Hannah at Shiloh.”[iv]  God does not care what our prayers look like or even what we say.  God is just glad we show up.  Our invitation this week is to show up.  Amen.

[i] Kate Foster Connors, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 298, 300.

[ii] A. J. Jacobs, The Year of Living Biblically (London:  Arrow Books, 2009), 95.

[iii] Jacobs, 128.

[iv] Rick Morley, “Pouring Out Our Souls – A Reflection on 1 Samuel 1.4-20 & 2.1-10,” November 8, 2012, as found at http://www.rickmorley.com/archives/2052 on November 12, 2015.

Gratitude and Giving

23 Friday Oct 2015

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This week we begin a series of guest blog posts by parishioners at the Episcopal Church of St. Margaret in Plainview, NY.  They are reflecting on what stewardship means to them, and how God the Giver has been a part of their lives.  Our first guest post is from parishioner Phil Russo.

I am grateful for many blessings in my life but most recently I find my gratitude rooted in the support my family has received during times of adversity.  Over the course of the past two years I have encountered two sudden and unexpected upheavals.  The first involved my mom suddenly falling ill, resulting in a long hospital stay, with series of setback after setback.  As we began to grasp the reality and gravity of the situation, my family and I founds ourselves sitting in a hospice facility knowing that the end was near.

The second upheaval was even more unexpected and impactful, as my wife Nancy fell seriously ill.  It turned our life upside down as we faced surgery, treatments, and adjusting to a new normal striving to get our lives back.  During both of these ordeals, I found myself praying more often, asking God for help.  At times I labored in trying to understand why these things were happening to me and my family.  As many of you know, these kinds of things can test your faith.  One constant source of support and comfort was knowing that we had a church family at St. Margaret’s praying for us, pulling for us and reaching out with words of encouragement.

St. Margaret’s for me has always been a kind of spiritual anchor, a kind of home base for me and my family in our faith journey.  It made us feel good to be part such a caring church community.  It also underlined the importance of having a spiritual support base to lean on in time of need.  I am grateful and blessed to be part of the St. Margaret’s family.  It just seems logical for me to start from a place of gratitude when I consider my thoughts about Stewardship and pledging financial support.

I am also grateful that I have gotten involved in some of the business aspects that go into keeping St. Margaret’s running.  Unfortunately, St. Margaret’s pledges do not cover expenses and we operate at a loss.  This is not sustainable.  This is an inconvenient truth that many do not realize or may choose to treat with indifference or leave to others to deal with.  It will eventually cause us to make difficult decisions and possibly cut programs near and dear to many.  Therefore, I find it helpful to keep these facts in mind as I consider my annual pledge.  It always starts with gratitude but it is also grounded in an understanding of the financial side of St. Margaret’s.

Submitted by Phil Russo.

Sermon – Mark 9.38-50, P21, YB, September 27, 2015

30 Wednesday Sep 2015

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“Are you the priest they sent?”  That was the question he asked me.  I was confused at first, but realized one of the nurses must have called an on-call priest.  I also knew from experience that if he was looking for the “priest they sent” he was not looking for me.  You see, I’m a priest, but I’m also a woman.  When people at hospitals are looking for priests, the majority of the time they mean a Roman Catholic priest.  But he seemed desperate, so I delicately said “No, I’m actually here to see a parishioner.”  But I stayed and talked to him a bit more about what was going on and whether the chaplain’s office had been called.  His wife joined us as we talked.  Then the inevitable question came.  She asked what church affiliation I had.  I told them I was a priest in the Episcopal Church, and that they were welcome to wait for a Catholic priest.  She insisted it didn’t matter – they just wanted a priest to say prayers.

Honestly, I was floored.  That had never happened to me.  Usually when I tell a Roman Catholic person that I am not a Roman Catholic priest, they reveal (subtly or not so subtly) that I am not the kind of priest they want.  And truthfully, I am totally fine with that.  I totally understand and would never assert any differently, especially to someone in crisis at the hospital.  We ended the conversation with the agreement that we would go to our separate rooms.  When I was done, if they still didn’t have their Roman Catholic priest, I would be happy to say prayers.  I went on to my visit, fully anticipating the “real” priest to show up for them while I was elsewhere.

That division among the Church, among the faithful of God, is not unique to Roman Catholics.  We all make boundaries and distinctions about who is in and who is out.  Episcopalians are only in full communion with the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America.  So if I ever wanted to have a United Methodist Minister or Presbyterian pastor celebrate Eucharist, I would not be allowed.  We also make rules around the communion rail.  Most Episcopal Churches say that all baptized Christians are welcome to the table – meaning if you have not been baptized, you should not receive.  Even to serve on Vestry we have boundaries.  All Vestry members have to be financial supporters of the parish, are expected to be present regularly in worship and parish events, and are asked to contribute to at least one ministry of the church.  If the Vestry member is unwilling to make those commitments, they cannot serve on Vestry.  We often think of Roman Catholics as having lots of boundaries – from no women at the altar, to no married clergy, to no communion unless you are Roman Catholic.  But the reality is that, as Episcopalians, we have an equal number of boundaries that keep people in and out of our community.

The good news is that we come by our exclusivity honestly.  In our gospel lesson from Mark today, we are told about an encounter between the disciples and Jesus.  John comes up to Jesus and says, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”  John is so confident of his authority that he almost sounds like he is boasting to Jesus.  “Hey, Jesus, there’s some dude who is trying to do our work and he keeps using your name.  But don’t worry – we shut him down.”  You can almost imagine John expecting Jesus to give him a chug on the shoulder and say, “Good work, John!”  But that is not how the story unfolds.  Instead, Jesus says the total opposite, “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me.  Whoever is not against us is for us.”  You can imagine the disciples’ confusion.  Jesus is constantly pulling them aside and only telling them how to interpret his parables.  When Jesus commissions people, he commissions the disciples, and no one else.  And although people are often following Jesus in droves, his crew, or his posse, is made up of the disciples.  In the disciples’ minds, Jesus is implicitly telling them that they are the insiders, with special privileges, and everyone else is an outsider.  The disciples are in; everyone else is out.  And anyone who tries to break those boundaries is going against the will of Jesus – and, ergo, the will of God.

Despite the fact that Jesus shuts down the notion of insiders and outsiders, the Christian community has been struggling with boundaries since Jesus’ death.  Who is a Christian?  Who can have communion?  What are the rules and what are the consequences of breaking the rules?  Now, boundaries are not necessarily bad.  Boundaries help us define who we are and what behavior is acceptable.  Boundaries help us uphold values and create meaning.  Boundaries can even help us make an informed choice about belonging to a community.[i]  Clearly Jesus created some boundaries.  When he says, “Whoever is not against us is for us,” he implies that there are people who are in fact against them.  Jesus himself creates a group of insiders and outsiders.  What Jesus is trying to communicate is not that boundaries are bad.  What Jesus is trying to communicate is that we are capable of getting so wrapped up in our boundaries that we exclude people from the love of Christ.  And nothing could be more harmful, or even sinful, than making someone feel that they are cut off from the love of Christ.

I had a friend who started going to therapy to help him cope with a spouse suffering from depression.  He imagined that the therapist would share her knowledge of persons suffering from depression and teach him some coping skills.  But after a lengthy explanation about what was wrong with his spouse, the first question the therapist asked was about him.  The therapist wanted to know what his issues were.  My friend interrupted, “No, no, no, I’m not here for me, I’m here to learn more about dealing with my spouse.”  The therapist wisely said, “Yes.  But before we get to your spouse, let’s talk about you.”  That therapist did what Jesus does with the disciples.  Jesus redirects the disciples concern about others by telling them to worry about their own problems – those hands, feet, and eyes that cause them to sin.  You see, Jesus is very clever.  What he realizes is that when the disciples start sorting through their own sinfulness, their own “stuff,” they do not have time to worry about boundaries and rules and barriers.[ii]  And when they let go of those boundaries, rules, and barriers, something incredible can happen – the love of God and the fellowship of Christ can grow and thrive.

By the time I finished my visit with my parishioner, the Catholic on-call priest had still not arrived.  I went into the room of the family and realized they needed more than a prayer.  They were going to be removing life support and wanted someone to offer the patient Last Rites.  I again reminded them that I was an Episcopal Priest.  The wife of the couple said, “It’s still Last Rites though, right?”  “Yes,” I replied.  “Okay, then.”  That was all.  Here I was bringing up boundaries again and again, and this person, who normally has even more boundaries than I do, insisted that I let go of my boundaries and help her family have an experience with God.  The first words the husband had asked me were, “Are you the priest they sent?”  My first answer was correct.  I was not.  But my answer was not complete.  I was not the priest that “they” sent.  But I was the priest that God sent.  You see, God has a call on me – and in fact God has a call on each person here.  God sends us everyday – to our workplaces, to our schools, to our friends, and to strangers.  Everyday we have the choice to get tangled up in boundaries and rules and limitations.  But we also have the choice to remember the ways that Jesus wants us to love God and love our neighbors.  Those are the only two boundaries Jesus really cares about anyway.

That is our invitation this week:  to consider how God is calling you and also to consider how you are getting in the way of God’s call.  The boundaries and the rules really are not as complicated as they sound.  If the Pope can say, “Who am I to judge?” surely we can start letting go and embracing love.  Then, the next time someone asks you, “Are you the person that was sent?” you can reply, “Yes.  Yes, I am.”  Amen.

[i] Harry B. Adams, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 116, 118.

[ii] Amy Oden, “Commentary on Mark 9.38-50,” September 30, 2012, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1357 on September 25, 2015.

On being wonderfully made…

09 Wednesday Sep 2015

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This is a big week for our family.  Both of my girls are moving up in school.  The youngest is moving from the infant room to the toddler room.  The oldest is starting first grade.  It has been a big week, and I am certainly having some feelings.  Mostly, as I look at both of them, boldly tromping into their new rooms and onto the bus, I am in awe.  I marvel at how big they have gotten.  I marvel at how beautiful they each are in their own unique ways.  I marvel at their awesome personalities and the joy that they bring to others.  I know I am biased as a parent, and I also recognize all the days when my children are not awesome, but today I am profoundly moved by how awesomely and wonderfully made they are.

As I thought about each of them today, I was reminded of that verse from Psalm 139, “I praise You, for I am awesomely, wondrously made; Your work is wonderful; I know it very well.” (Ps. 139.14, Tanakh translation)  Today, I felt like I received a small glimpse into the ways that God must look at each of us.  So often, we look at our flaws and failures.  Even our prayer time can be filled with regrets and apologies to God.  We know that we fall short of the goodness God wants for us.  But that is not how God sees us.  God sees the wonderful and awesome creature that God has made and God is greatly pleased with us.  Perhaps there are days when we greive God through sin and violence to ourselves, to one another, and to God.  But God has a tremendous way of cutting through all that sinfulness and seeing goodness in us.  God sees how we are awesomely and wondrously made.

This week, I invite you to connect with God’s version of you.  I invite you in your prayer time to let go of the flaws and failures and to instead celebrate the goodness of each day.  Maybe you will have to reach really far into your reflection to find something positive.  But my guess is that you do something each day that pleases God – however big or small.  Meditate on that goodness and give glory to God!