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Sermon – Luke 11.1-13, P12, YC, July 28, 2013

31 Wednesday Jul 2013

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disciples, God, Jesus, Lord's Prayer, prayer, relationship, Sermon

During seminary, one of the requirements for becoming a priest is to serve for eight weeks in a hospital setting as a chaplain.  Now one might think that there is a hospital chaplaincy course or that the hospital gives chaplains training on how to be a chaplain.  But the truth is, we received two day of “training,” half of which was about just being in hospital, not about how to be a chaplain.  Needless to say, on day three, when the supervisor told us to go to our floors and to get to work, I was almost stunned into inaction.  What would I say?  What was I supposed to do? 

Of course, only hours into the job, I realized how much I had underestimated the challenges.  Not only did I have no idea how to enter a room and strike up a conversation that was not like the ones they were having with every doctor and nurse, I also had no idea how to pray appropriately for the Roman Catholic, the Pentecostal, the Jew, the United Methodist, the Episcopalian, and the uncertain person who was not sure about God but was still willing to let me pray.  I remember sharing my anxiety with a fellow Episcopalian and he simply said, “Oh, I always just pray prayers using the same format as the collects in the Book of Common Prayer.”  Despite my love for the collects in our Prayerbook, an entire childhood of praying like a Methodist meant that his advice offered little encouragement. 

The truth is I am not sure most of us are ever really taught how to pray.  We know a good prayer when we hear one, and we may even write down a prayer we like, but very few of us volunteer to lead prayer at the opening of a meeting or over a meal.  Part of the problem is that most of us think there is a right way to pray.  We imagine there is some magical formula like my friend from seminary suggested, or we worry that our extemporaneous prayer will not be smooth enough or use holy enough words.  We worry that the way that we pray somehow suggests the quality of Christian we are.  Prayer, like biblical literacy, is one of those areas that we get completely anxious about when pressed in public.

The good news is that we are in good company.  We hear in our gospel lesson today one of the disciples say to Jesus, “Lord, teach us to pray.”  The disciples at this point have seen Jesus pray many times.  They see how good he is and they see how important prayer is in his life.  In fact, in Luke’s gospel, Jesus is regularly found in prayer.[i]  They watch Jesus enter into prayer with God for months, and they long to be able to do that too.  And so they come to Jesus, and they vulnerably submit their request:  teach us to pray. 

Their question is full of implications.  First is the admission that they do not have the first idea about what they are doing.  Maybe they learned some prayers in temple, or maybe their parents prayed with them.  But they realize in watching Jesus that they do not actually know how to pray themselves.  Not really.  Second, they see a real connection between Jesus and God that somehow is revealed in Jesus’ prayer life.  Perhaps they see how prayer strengthens him in his weakness and how he is more vulnerable with God than even with them.  They long for that kind of connection with God too, but still, they are not sure how the whole thing works.  Finally, a deeper implication is at hand in the disciples’ question.  Perhaps they are not only asking Jesus how to pray, but also wanting to know what is actually happening in prayer.  Perhaps they have tried praying on their own – for an illness, for a new job, for a broken relationship – but the prayer did not work.  They want Jesus to teach them the right way to pray so that the results they desire are fulfilled.

In some ways, Jesus does that.  First, Jesus gives them a simple prayer.  When you pray, pray this.  The prayer is one that countless Christians have etched into their minds for over two thousand years.  Many of us have distinctive memories of learning the Lord’s Prayer, while others of us just simply know the prayer without remembering how the prayer became ingrained into our conscience.  The Lord’s Prayer is perhaps the only part of a funeral that everyone – even those who never go to church – seem to know and can recite.  This is the same prayer that we say every Sunday, that we teach our children, that we say near death, that we pray when we cannot muster up any other words.  In this way, Jesus teaches the disciples and all of us to pray. 

But then, Jesus goes on to really teach the disciples about prayer.  He tells this funny parable about a man who awakens his friend in the dead of the night because another friend has come to his house and he has no food to feed him.  The man in bed refuses at first, but after much persistence, he caves and gives his friend what he needs.  At the end of the parable, Jesus says, “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.”  Yes, Jesus gives the disciples the words they can use to pray.  But Jesus is also trying to teach them about what prayer really is.  Jesus presents this parable of two friends in a relationship that involves give and take.  Jesus is trying to teach the disciples that prayer is about relationship.  The prayer relationship with God is one in which the disciples will be coming in the middle of the night asking for very inconvenient things.  The prayer relationship is active, deeply personal, and will involve asking for what they really need.[ii]  In fact, Jesus says of the man in the parable, “because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.”  Another translation of the word “persistence,” is “shamelessness.”[iii]  In other words, Jesus teaches the disciples that this prayerful relationship holds nothing back, cannot be embarrassed, and certainly does not worry about pretenses.

Unfortunately, we may hear those words about asking, searching, and knocking and remember every time that our prayers have not been answered, when we have not found, and the door has not been opened.  But Jesus is inviting us today to reframe prayer not as something we do with the expectation of an exchange:  I ask for healing, or a job, or a romantic partner, and God gives that to me.  We are still to come to God with those pains:  the longing for healing, the desire for vocational fulfillment, and the hope for partner who makes us happy and whole.  But instead of bringing those things to God because we want them solved, Jesus suggests that we bring those things to God so that all of ourselves is nakedly before God.  Only then can we have the intimacy with God that we desire and the realness of relationship we long to have. 

Now where this gets messy is when we start trying to understand why things happen – when we are not healed and people tell us, “It was God’s will,” or “Everything happens for a reason.”  But those answers hold little weight when a child dies or when someone loses their home.  I cannot believe in a God who wills those things to happen.  In fact, when a teen asks me why their parents are still getting divorced even though they prayed for the divorce not to happen, or when a mom loses a pregnancy and wants to know why God would let that happen, my answer has most often been, “I don’t know.”  I do not know why our physical ailments are not healed and why horrible or disappointing things happen to us.  All I do know is that God longs for us to bring all of that to God in prayer. 

So when I am angry, God wants me to let God have it.  When I am sad, God wants me to pour out my heart.  When I am lost, God wants me to share my wandering self.  And when I am not even sure God is with me or loves me, God wants me to just come and sit, even if I do not have words or if I do not feel like I can really trust God anymore.  When the disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray, Jesus gives them a simple, straightforward prayer, teaching them and us that we do not need holy words or even our own words – especially when we cannot find our own words.  But Jesus teaches us all so much more.  Jesus teaches us to be shamelessly honest about what we need whenever we are in need.  And Jesus teaches us that prayer is based on trust – not a trust that everything works out for the best or that we will get exactly what we want – but a trust that God is listening and God loves us and all the world.[iv]  Jesus’ teaching is not tidy – but Jesus’ teaching invites us in, encourages us, and holds us in this wonderful journey with God – the one who we come to know through prayer.  Amen.


[i] James A. Wallace, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 289.

[ii] Elisabeth Johnson, “Commentary on Luke 11.1-13,” as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx? commentary_id=1724 on July 25, 2013. 

[iii] Wallace, 291.

[iv] David Lose, “Teach Us to Pray,” as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?m=4377&post=2654 on July 25, 2013.

Sermon – Ecclesiasticus 51.9-12, Feast of St. Margaret of Antioch (Transferred), July 21, 2013

24 Wednesday Jul 2013

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Ecclesiasticus, feast, God, martyr, prayer, saint, Sermon, St. Margaret of Antioch

Today we celebrate the feast of St. Margaret of Antioch, our patron saint.  The legends vary widely about Margaret, but in general, her story goes a bit like this.  Margaret was born to a pagan father, but Margaret was raised by a nurse.  The nurse introduced Margaret to Christianity, and the father disowned her.  As a young teen, she devoted herself to Jesus Christ, vowing to remain his bride for the rest of her life.  A few years later, a wealthy man passed her way and requested to take her as his mistress.  She refused, and he had her imprisoned and beaten.  Her captors felt sorry for her and begged her to submit to the man, but she assured them that though they saw suffering, she saw her pain as “sweeter than cream.”[i]  In her weakened state, she is believed to have faced a dragon, though some refer to the dragon as a demon or Satan himself.  The dragon tried to swallow her, and with a cross she held in her hand, she defeated the dragon.  Of course, this victory did not seal her fate.  Still refusing to submit to the rich man, she was eventually beheaded.

When I explain to outsiders about which Margaret is our patron saint, I often explain how we picked the weird one.  First of all, relating to martyrs is always difficult for modern Christians.  Few of us will ever face torture or persecution for our faith.  Though we may admire their commitment, imagining how we would show similar dedication is challenging.  Furthermore, relating to someone who commits their virginity to Jesus Christ might be difficult for many of us.  Though we may admire nuns and monks today, whose lives also involve a commitment to chastity, very few of us can imagine such a rule for ourselves.  Besides, we get entirely uncomfortable just talking about sex in church.  Add in the bizarre story about the dragon, and most of us start to mentally check out or at least assign Margaret to the category of fiction.  This distance creates a barrier for finding meaningful connection to Margaret.

Of course, some of our resistance is aided by our conflicted feelings about the value of saints.  What I appreciate about saints in the Episcopal Church is that we have a broader definition of saints than the Roman Catholic Church.  We have a wider variety of saints that are commemorated throughout the year, and in fact, our weekly Thursday Eucharist here at St. Margaret’s always focuses on a saint of the church.  What I find most appealing about saints is that they can often be aids for us in prayer.  Either we can pray to be more like a certain saint, or we can use saints as a vehicle through whom we pray to God.  St. Margaret of Antioch was known as the patron saint of women in childbirth.  “Because of the promises made just before Margaret’s death to assist anyone – especially women in childbirth – who has [St. Margaret’s] life written down, reads it, or has it read to them…[some of the copies of her story were] written on long strips of parchment which were fastened around the abdomens of women in labor.”[ii]  Though that practice may sound silly to us now, who has not prayed to St. Anthony when they lost something, or purchased a St. Joseph when trying to sell a home?

Perhaps where we find the most help today in understanding St. Margaret is from our reading from Ecclesiasticus.  The author begins the final chapter with these words, “And I sent up my prayer from the earth, and begged for rescue from death.  I cried out, ‘Lord, you are my Father; do not forsake me in the days of trouble, when there is no help against the proud.’”  I imagine Margaret cried out to God in a similar way in that prison cell.  I imagine there was nothing but prayer on her lips.  But even more than crying out to God in her pain and suffering, I imagine that Margaret more so prayed the words that the author of Ecclesiasticus also prayed, “I will praise your name continually, and will sing hymns of thanksgiving.”  Despite her many trials – being disowned, being captured and tortured, and being threatened with death – she somehow saw the sweetness of Christ in all of her trials.  She could still come to God in praise and thanksgiving, despite facing circumstance that called for nothing of the sort.

St. Margaret has a lot to teach us about today about prayer.  I was just in conversation with someone this week about their prayer life, and they confessed how good they are with their “thank yous and pleases” to God, but how rarely their prayer life is filled with adoration of God.  We all struggle with this kind of prayer relationship with God.  We are quite good at coming to God when we need something, and we occasionally remember to thank God for our blessings.  But rarely do we stand before God, arms and hands open and just stand in awe of our God.  We get caught up in a relationship with God as an exchange, and we forget how huge our God is and how tremendous God’s presence in our lives is.

Today, Margaret invites us to remember the awesomeness of our God.  She reminds us of the incredible work began here in Plainview fifty years ago in her name.  And she invites us into a prayer of adoration for the bountiful grace that awaits us in our next fifty years.  For the First Communion we celebrate today, for the bountiful produce that our Garden of Eatin’ is producing, for the blessing of Holy Matrimony that a couple plans for this afternoon, for the blessed fellowship we enjoyed yesterday at the Gibsons’, for the gift of life and ministry in this place, and for the saint who reminds us of the awesomeness of our God, we will praise the Lord’s name continually, and we will sing hymns of thanksgiving this day.  Amen.


[i] Sherry L. Reams, ed., Middle English Legends of Women Saints (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 2003), 119.

[ii] Reams, 111.

Sermon – I Kings 17.8-24, P5, YC, June 9, 2013

12 Wednesday Jun 2013

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Elijah, God, healing, honest, human, intimate, prayer, relationship, Sermon

Last week I lost my watch.  When I say that I lost my watch, I do not mean I misplaced my watch.  I went for a walk, took the watch off while I was walking, and about an hour after my walk realized the watch was gone.  I searched the path of my walk, I looked all over the church and our house, but the watch is gone.  Now, truthfully, a watch is certainly replaceable, but this watch was sentimental – a gift from a special occasion that meant a lot to me.  So, of course, ever since I lost my watch, I have been praying to St. Anthony.  St. Anthony is the patron saint of lost things.  The prayer I learned, and have been praying for over a week is, “St. Anthony, St. Anthony, please come around, something is lost that cannot be found.”  Though I know the watch is most likely gone, I keep occasionally offering up the prayer with some desperate sense of hope.

We do funny things in our prayer lives, especially when things are not going our way.  We have been known to bargain with God.  “God, if you please just grant this one thing, I promise I will never blank again.”  We have been known to try to negotiate with God.  “I know that I am not perfect, God, but let me tell you about all the good I have done.  Surely you can grant this one thing to your faithful servant.”  And we have been known to rail at God.  “How can you do this to me God?  Haven’t I been through enough?!?”  Sure, we know the Lord’s Prayer, and we may pray the daily office at home, and we may even pray with scripture, especially our favorite psalms.  But when we are at our lowest, when we feel like we have tried everything we are supposed to say or do with God, sometimes our prayers simply reveal our broken, frustrated, desperate spirits.

This is the prayer that Elijah offers today.  Elijah has already created quite the imposition on a poor widow.  Elijah goes to the widow, a woman who is about to die of starvation, and asks her to feed and house him.  Now, God takes care of the widow’s lack of food, but while Elijah is still there, the woman’s son almost dies of illness.  The woman blames Elijah, and Elijah at first seems fairly composed as he asks for the boy.  But when he retires to another room with boy, Elijah lets God have it.  Elijah cries out to God in anger, rage, and despair.[i]  “O Lord my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I am staying, by killing her son?”  Elijah does not come to God with a polite request that God heal the son.  Elijah does not offer some traditional prayer of healing.  Elijah simply cries out to God.  He cries out to God for the injustice done to this poor widow – who is already clearly impoverished by having no husband.  The death of an only son would mean certain death for her as well.  Her son was her only hope for survival in this world.[ii]  Elijah boldly accuses God of an injustice – in fact accuses God of killing this boy and all that he represents to the widow.

Some may hear in Elijah’s prayer a sense of self-interest.  If he is proclaiming to be a man of God, and God then kills this woman’s only sense of hope, then the death makes Elijah look bad.  Who wants to follow a prophet of a God who kills the downtrodden?  Or, we might hear Elijah’s prayer as petulant.  Perhaps he sounds like a man whining about fairness – something childish and narrow-minded.  But I hear Elijah’s prayer as both fully human and as an honest portrayal of someone with an intimate relationship with God.  In any intimate relationship, the overly polite ways of being with one another end eventually.  In time, the only thing that works in that intimate relationship is being brutally and fully honest, holding one another to account and being totally open about the good and the bad of the relationship.  This is what Elijah is doing here.  Elijah, who knows God intimately, holds God to account.  “Really, God?  This is how you are going to treat people?  You claim to care about the poor and oppressed, and you have forced me to impose on this poor widow, and now you are going to let her only son, her only source of potential security die??”  Elijah does not ask this of God for himself or out of a sense of injustice.  Elijah asks this of a God whom he knows to be better than this – a God who loves and cares for the poor and oppressed.  And he also knows that God can do the impossible.  Elijah knows that God can bring this child from death to life.

What I love about this passage is twofold.  First, I love the very human, intimate depiction of prayer.  As Episcopalians, with our reliance on our Prayer Book and our desire for beauty and intelligence when we talk to God, we can become so formal with God that we forget that we have a real relationship with God who can handle our real words.  We can be brutally honest with God or even angry with God, and God will still love us.  We can be vulnerable and frustrated and desperate with God.  We can even come to God when we do not have words – when our emotions are so overwhelming that we no longer have anything left to say.  Elijah gives us permission today to be fully ourselves with the God who loves us no matter what.

I also love that we get this passage today because today is our monthly healing service.  Since I have been at St. Margaret’s, I have been regularly asked questions about our healing services.  Our tradition of monthly healing services that began well before my time here still has many of us questioning.  I have had adults ask me who they are allowed to ask prayers for – whether they can only ask for healing prayers for themselves or whether they can ask for healing for others as well.  I have had some of our teens ask me what we are actually doing when we lay hands on people.  Even my own daughter asked me why I made the sign of the cross on her forehead when she came forward once.  Elijah points the way to answers for those questions today.  By praying our litany of healing and by coming forward for ourselves and others, we proclaim several things.  We proclaim that intimate relationship with God means that we can be fully honest about all that is ailing us, our neighbors, and the oppressed.  We proclaim that God can do the impossible through prayer and we offer up our hopes that the impossible is possible for us too.  And we proclaim that although we may not understand God in the midst of suffering, we still come to God, hoping for healing, hoping for clarity, hoping for peace.  Whether you come forward today for healing is actually not that important.  What is most important is that you know that you can, that you know that your God is a God who can do the impossible but who also cares for you so deeply that God can handle all the parts of you – the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Amen.


[i] Carolyn J. Sharp, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 100.

[ii] Glaucia Vasconcelos Wilkey, “Pastoral Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 102.

On mothers…

10 Friday May 2013

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joy, Mother's Day, mothers, prayer, sorrow

Mother and child handsThe older I have become, the more complicated Mother’s Day seems for me.  I grew up with an amazing mother.  She made tremendous sacrifices for our family, she was incredible witness to what serving Christ and others meant, and she was a caring and loving presence in my life.  As I have become an adult, our relationship has naturally changed.  We do not agree on a variety of things, but I have a deep love and admiration for her – more than I could probably ever explain or express to her or to you.

But as I have become an adult, the idea of motherhood has shifted.  When I moved away from my family, other women became mothers to me too.  I have become a mother myself and now see how incredibly difficult the job is.  And I have watched friends and family lose beloved mothers – sometimes at a very young age, and sometimes at a much more mature age.  The loss never goes away.

But I have also seen the darker side of mothers.  I have come to know individuals who were abused by their mothers.  I have come to know women who want to be mothers but cannot.  I have come to know mothers whose relationships with their children have become estranged and irreparably damaged.

So every year, given that Mother’s Day falls on a Sunday, I find myself torn about Mother’s Day.  I find myself wanting to celebrate the goodness of mothers – however we define motherhood.  And I find myself wanting to acknowledge how wholly painful this day is to others.  The best I can do is be honest about that tension and pray for all of us – that we somehow manage to hold our joy and our sorrow in tension this Mother’s Day.  And for all of us, I offer up this prayer:  https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/42236079/The%20wide%20spectrum%20of%20mothering%20%28resource%29.pdf

Be still…

15 Friday Mar 2013

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church, God, Lent, prayer, quiet, stillness

You may not know this about me, but I am not a natural when it comes to silence.  As an extrovert, silence feels like it should be filled.  When I lead worship that needs a silent moment, I often make myself take a couple of additional breaths before I break the silence, knowing that my own tolerance for silence is much lower than most people’s tolerance.  A couple of summers ago, I was a part of parish that covenanted to pray with scripture for twenty minutes a day for ninety days.  The idea was that a bulk of that twenty minutes was not meant to be spent talking or analyzing biblical scripture, but to be silent in the presence of God’s word, making room for God’s living Word to speak.  As you might imagine, the practice for me was brutally painful.  But I learned a lot about myself and my prayer life that summer, and changed many of my practices as a result of the experience.

That is why I am grateful for “Quiet Days.”  I am grateful for the many communities who have realized that the Church often needs to invite people to come to Church and just be.  Be quiet.  Be still.  Be with God.  Even if it is only for a few hours, the Church and other religious groups often offer mornings or days where people can stop being busy and really make space for God.  I first discovered Quiet Days in seminary, but they have been an active part of my ordained ministry ever since.  They are truly one of the Church’s greatest gifts to us.

This weekend, my own parish is offering a Lenten Quiet Day and I could not be more excited.  I am excited for all of the reasons I just described, but I am also excited because two parishioners offered to lead the meditations for our Quiet Day.  So not only do I get to be a part of a community that has invited everyone into a time of quiet with God, I too will be able to fully enjoy the quiet time with God, hearing how God is moving in through our parishioners’ meditations.  This Quiet Day has not become one more thing on my busy to-do list, but instead has become an invitation for me to come and be still with God.  I grateful to these parishioners who have offered up their gifts, and I hope that if you are nearby, you will join us too.  Come enjoy the gift of quiet in our otherwise busy, loud life.

Anticipating Advent…

28 Wednesday Nov 2012

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Advent, Jesus, prayer, quiet, spirituality

Advent is a season that often gets lost in the buildup to Christmas.  For many of us, Advent is simply pre-Christmas.  Pre-Christmas entails buying gifts, juggling parties, meal planning and cooking, and generally running around at break-neck speed.

Unlike pre-Christmas, Advent invites us into a completely different posture.  Advent invites us into a quiet expectation.  We know that something incredible is coming – the birth of the Christ Child.  And we hold our breaths in anticipation, waiting to marvel at the miracle of Jesus’ birth.  Advent is the Church’s gift to us – a time for contemplation and prayer.

The funny thing about Advent is that the Church usually forgets to slow down too.  Like everyone else, we schedule Quiet Days, parties, and learning.  We squeeze in meetings before the end of the year, and we rush to keep up with the liturgies.  But this year, something is a little different at St. Margaret’s.  Because of the Hurricane, many things that were planned were either canceled or delayed.  Therefore we do not have a Quiet Day, there is no Diocesan Convention, and there are fewer meetings.  However, what is left seems right:  an Annual Meeting to review what has been an incredible year; a Movies with Margaret night that is light enough for us to learn and share easily; a Christmas party for us to gather in fellowship with the entire community; and some incredible liturgies, including Advent Lessons and Carols, our Cemetery Memorial service (a wonderful gift for those who find the Christmas holidays difficult), and two very different Christmas Eve services.

Given that St. Margaret’s has enabled us all to slow down a little bit, I invite us all to treat Advent like a spiritual discipline.  Come to Church every Sunday in Advent.  Find a devotional to direct your time daily (see resources below).  Carve out some time to just come to the Church and sit quietly with God.  Our intentional observance of Advent is a gift that we can give to ourselves this year and that we can share with a friend or neighbor.  During what can be a noisy season, Advent at St. Margaret’s might just become the best gift you give to someone else this year.

Resources for Advent

1)  Advent Calendar/Devotional:  Fling Wide the Doors

2)  Book:  Silence and Other Surprising Invitations of Advent, by Enuma Okoro

3)  Other Diocesan Suggestions:  Mercer School

Sermon – 1 Samuel 1.4-20; 2.1-10, P28, YB, November 18, 2012

20 Tuesday Nov 2012

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God, prayer, Sermon, spirituality, vulnerability

I have been thinking a lot about prayer this week.  Prayer is one of those parts of my life that is always a struggle.  I have learned all sorts of methods of prayer over the years and have leaned on various methods when I needed certain kinds of guidance.  But there are times when I can tell that my prayer life has gotten off track.  One of the recurring questions that every spiritual director has asked me is, “Have you lifted this up to God in prayer?”  I always hate when that question comes up, because inevitably the answer is no.  I am the kind of person who will diligently work and struggle to figure something out or will bear pain alone for quite some time before the thought occurs to me to offer up my burden to God.

A video has been circulating on the internet lately called, “Coffee with Jesus.”  In the video, a man meets Jesus for coffee, which is his prayer time.  The video shows a two-minute montage of prayer requests, attempts to pray the Lord’s Prayer, and requests for superficial things, all the while with Jesus waiting patiently to speak.  When the man finally stops talking and takes a breath, Jesus leans forward to speak.  But before Jesus can start, the man cuts him off – closing his prayer with an abrupt “amen,” and running out of the coffee shop for his next appointment.[i]  The video of this man’s superficial, wandering, disjointed prayer that makes no space for listening to God is both funny and painfully uncomfortable.  The truth is that many of us resist deep, abiding prayer that is vulnerable and that cedes control to God.  Only when we hit rock bottom do we finally come to God in authentic and meaningful prayer.

As we read Hannah’s story today, I wonder if Hannah did not have the same problem with God.  Hannah is barren.  Now if you remember, in biblical times, barrenness is a condition that excludes women from community.  By not producing a child, not only is the woman seen as less than others, there are often accusations made about her sinfulness:  barrenness was believed a form of divine punishment.[ii]  So Hannah is cut off from society.  Then Hannah has the great misfortune to have Peninnah as a co-wife.  Now, co-wives were a given at that time, but this co-wife was the worst.  As if Hannah’s shame and sadness were not enough, Peninnah taunts Hannah about her barrenness.  Perhaps Peninnah treats Hannah horribly because she is jealous of her husband’s love for Hannah, but nothing excuses Peninnah’s behavior.  Peninnah, mother of many children, flaunts her fertility in the cruelest way.  Hannah’s husband, Elkanah, is not much better.  He certainly tries to care for Hannah – he gives her a double portion for sacrifices, and he deeply desires to personally fill the void created from a lack of children.  But Elkanah’s way of supporting Hannah only shows that he does not fully understand the experience of barrenness.[iii]  And as if all of this was not enough, even Eli, the priest, is equally unsupportive.  Eli sees her silent prayers in the temple, and he accuses her of drunkenness.  With everyone in her life against her, we hardly have to imagine how Hannah ends up in the temple, deeply distressed and weeping bitterly.

What I wonder though is why Hannah takes so long to go to God.  We do not hear of Hannah going earlier in life to God about her barrenness.  We do not hear about Hannah going to God about Peninnah before years of taunting accumulate.  We do not hear about Hannah going to God about her marriage.  Instead she copes with tears and refusing to eat.  I can almost imagine the spiritual director asking, “Have you taken any of this to God?”  Hannah has to become completely overwhelmed before she finally cedes her utter devastation to God.  Only when the burden is so overwhelming that she can no longer muscle the burden herself does she finally go to God.

We all follow the pattern of Hannah at some point in our lives.  We have some strange notion of being so in control of our lives that we should only burden God once things have gotten out of control.  We have all spent our prayer time without being truly, nakedly vulnerable with God.  We refuse to cede control to God even when only the two of us are in the room.  We are so stubborn with God – so guarded, so non-trusting, and so territorial.  I am reminded of that ol’ time hymn, “What a friend we have in Jesus.”  The hymn is all about our prayer life, but one line in particular says, “O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear, All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.”

Luckily God shows us all what can happen when we finally take everything to God.  Hannah finally breaks down and gives her pain to God.  She comes to God with the raw reality of pain.  She is not afraid of what others will think of her prayers, even if they assume she is drunk.  Hannah’s willingness to come before God, to give everything to God out of her utter isolation, results in the birth of Samuel.  Samuel not only relieves Hannah’s burden, Samuel is a gift back to God, and a gift for the entire people of Israel.  God’s blessing for Hannah is not just the fulfillment of a bargain.  God acts through Hannah to offer promise for all God’s people.  In fact, through Samuel, Israel’s first king, Saul, will be appointed.  Israel will become great, and their great king, David will rise from a lowly shepherd boy to become their leader.[iv]

We understand the enormity of this action when we hear Hannah’s song that we read today in lieu of a psalm.  Hannah’s song is only partially about her own personal victory.  Hannah’s song is about the victory of God in the face of uncertainty.  Hannah’s song illustrates how God acts in a way that totally upends the entire social order.  “He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor,” proclaims Hannah.  Samuel’s birth is not just for Hannah; Samuel’s birth is a promise for the entire people of God.  We see in Hannah’s experience in prayer that when we finally do give everything to God in prayer, God’s response can be more immense than we could ever ask for or imagine.

Hannah’s story gives us several gifts this morning.  First, Hannah reminds us of the joys of a rich prayer life with God.  Hannah’s prayer life is not perfect, and neither will ours be, but when we dare to be fully vulnerable with God in prayer, Hannah shows us the abundant blessings that await.  Second, Hannah reminds us that God responds to us.  We may not hear a booming voice from above that tells us the right thing to do or we may not receive an email confirmation that our request has been received, but God does respond to us in tangible ways.  The answer may not be what we want to hear, but God will respond to us in a way that offers us comfort.  Finally, Hannah reminds us of the dramatic ways that God is acting in the world around us, even when those needs are the furthest from our minds.  Hannah did not ask God to subvert the social order, but in God’s action to restore Hannah to fertility, God manages to do so much more by restoring all the people of God through the birth of Samuel.[v]  Our invitation today is to follow Hannah’s lead, to let down our guard with God, and to marvel at the wonderful deeds that God has done.  Amen.


[i] http://www.worshiphousemedia.com/mini-movies/10219/Coffee-With-Jesus.  Found on November 17, 2012.

[ii] Frank M. Yamada, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 291.

[iii] Martin B. Copenhaver, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 292.

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

[v] Connors, 298.

Prayer…

14 Wednesday Nov 2012

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

God, hurricane, prayer, scripture, spirituality, suffering

Save me, O God, *
for the waters have risen up to my neck.

I am sinking in deep mire, *
and there is no firm ground for my feet.

I have come into deep waters, *
and the torrent washes over me.

I have grown weary with my crying; my throat is inflamed; *
my eyes have failed from looking for my God.

One of the things that got disrupted when we lost power for a week was my morning routine of praying Morning Prayer in the Church once my husband is off to work and my daughter is off to school.  Before I let myself get overwhelmed with the day’s tasks, I try to center my day with Morning Prayer.  Part of what I love about Morning Prayer is that it keeps the scriptures actively in my prayer life.  From time to time, a text that I would never have picked out myself jumps out at me with vital meaning for the day.

That happened last week when I was finally able to get back to some semblance of normalcy after the Hurricane and Nor’easter.  Psalm 69 was the assigned psalm, and before I could even get past verse one, I was overwhelmed with the images of the past two weeks:  destructive waters covering homes and businesses; the waves of water sweeping away children; the tears as homes burned to the ground.  Scripture, and especially the psalms, does not often literally describe what is happening in modern times.  But on this day, in this time, this psalm seemed to be an ode to those of us recovering from Hurricane Sandy.

But the psalm also beautifully did what psalms always do – metaphorically capture the struggles and joys that we face.  As I prayed this psalm, the waters became the anxieties that were up to my neck.  The mire was the mess of emotions left behind as life did not return to normal.  The deep waters were the struggles that seemed insurmountable, whose torrents kept pushing us under.

“In your great mercy, O God, *
 answer me with your unfailing help.

Save me from the mire; do not let me sink; *
 let me be rescued from those who hate me and out of the deep waters.

Let not the torrent of waters wash over me, neither let the deep swallow me up; *
do not let the Pit shut its mouth upon me.

Answer me, O LORD, for your love is kind; *
in your great compassion, turn to me.”

And like any good psalm, in addition to venting my pain, the psalm invited me to turn to God, giving words to my prayer.  But the prayer was not just my prayer.  The prayer was a prayer for all of us.  For parishioners still without power, for parishioners facing the cost of cleanup, for neighbors not so far from us who lost everything.  The words not only offered a tender request to God, they also offered the urgency that I felt in the depths of my heart.  I am so grateful for Holy Scripture in times like these – in times when the people of God have been there before and who give me permission to be fully human and vulnerable with God.

Let my prayer be counted as incense before you…

11 Thursday Oct 2012

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

faith, God, prayer, spirituality

On of my new favorite places is the prayer candle station at St. Margaret’s.  I was first introduced to prayer candles at my field education parish in Alexandria, VA.  I always marveled at the beauty of the candles burning, but never understood the practice fully.  Then, a year and a half ago, I went on pilgrimage with my parish in Delaware.  A colleague shared with me her practice of lighting candles and praying for people throughout the pilgrimage, and I became an immediate convert.  I started carrying coins and small bills just so that I had something to put in the donation box at each church as I lit candles along the way.

So you can imagine my excitement when I discovered that St. Margaret’s had a prayer candle station.  I love those candles for so many reasons.  Sometimes my prayers or my silence in prayer just is not tangible enough.  Lighting a candle makes me feel like I am doing something.  But once the candle is lit, it does so much more.  Watching the flickering of the candle calms the “doer” in me.  The flame’s flicker makes my prayer feel active – as if the prayer is alive outside of my heart.  Sometimes just staring at the flame allows me to quite myself enough to listen to God.  The active flame allows my energy to be somewhere outside of me so that I can be thoroughly silent.  There is also great comfort in the way that the flame burns for hours after I leave.  Even though am not bodily present, my prayer lingers on without me.

But what I especially love about our prayer candles is that they are not just for me.  Parishioners use them all the time – remembering those who have died, worrying about the health of a loved one, or lifting up their own struggles to God.  Having just blessed several pets, I imagine there has been a candle or two for a beloved pet.  I see our young children lighting candles.  I do not know if they fully understand the practice, but I sense that they understand that something holy is happening when they light those candles.  We often have family members of those buried in our cemetery on Sundays, and they often light a candle.  My favorite, though, happens when I walk into the nave at night, when all the lights are out, as I am rushing to another meeting.  I catch in the corner of my eye that one or more candles are burning.  At those moments, in the darkness, I pray to God for whoever has lit the candle, knowing that I am witness to the sacred conversation between someone and God.

Last week we celebrated St. Francis, and as I prepared to preach about him, I discovered that he asked that Psalm 141 be read to him as he was dying.  Verse two of that psalm has been replaying in my head all week, “Let my prayer be counted as incense before you, and the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice.”  Sometimes, I think we assume our prayers are only a mental exercise – words we craft for God.  But our prayers involve all our senses – our hands that light candles, touching the flame to the wick; our eyes that watch the life of our prayers in the flame; our noses that smell the fragrance of incense lifted to God.  How is God inviting you into prayer this week?  What sensory practices feed your journey with Christ?

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