Sermon – John 20.1-18, ED, YA, April 16, 2017

27 Thursday Apr 2017

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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affirmation, belonging, call, church, clarity, despair, Easter, Good Shepherd, grief, identity, Jesus, love, Mary, name, purpose, Sermon

Every generation has a baby name that is popular. In my generation, that name was Jennifer. As I was growing up, every grade had tons of Jennifers. I became quite accustomed to the experience of eagerly looking up when someone called my name, only to be disappointed to see they were calling out to someone else. The name was so common that by the time I got to college, I learned to ignore people calling out my name because more likely than not, they were not actually calling me. They were calling one of the other twenty Jennifers nearby. Although the practice helped me save face, the practice was a bit of a hindrance when someone actually was trying to get my attention.

The solution, of course, was a nickname – something to distinguish me from the sea of other Jennifers. So in college, most of my buddies just started calling me “Andrews.” It may sound silly, but having a name that was distinct, that when called, I knew I could answer, gave me a sense of belonging and identity. When someone shouted, “Andrews” across the quad, I knew a friendly face would be looking for me when I raised my eyes. Though seemingly simple, that nickname made me feel known, especially at a time when everyone is trying to figure out their new identity, where they belong, and who they will be.

I suspect that Mary was the common name in Jesus’ generation. All we need to do is read through the New Testament to know that there are more Marys than we can count. Sometimes I even have to look back when I come across a Mary to be sure I am thinking of the right one. So when Jesus calls Mary Magdalene by name, I imagine there must have been some way she knows not only that this is Jesus, but also that he is talking to her.

Easter morning has been a rough morning for Mary. She comes in the tomb before the first light of dawn has broken. She is probably still a bit bleary eyed – that kind of haze one has in the days after a death of a beloved one. She comes to halt before she gets all the way to the tomb though. The stone that is supposed to be covering the tomb, protecting Jesus’ body, is gone. Before even going in to assess the situation, Mary runs – runs hard to find the disciples, demanding that they get up and help her. Two of them, the beloved disciple and Peter, sprint ahead of Mary. She is too tired from her first run to keep up. By the time she reaches the tomb, the two disciples are already stepping out of the tomb, Peter looking perplexed and the other disciple with an enigmatic smile. And without so much as a word to her, they leave – just like they left Jesus on that fateful day.[i] Mary, overcome with the memories of Jesus’ crucifixion and the continued emotion of this morning, breaks into tears. When she finally checks inside the tomb herself, she not only sees two angels, she also has an encounter with a supposed gardener. Frustrated by their insensitive questions, she exasperatedly asks the gardener to just tell her where the body is.

That is when the big news today happens. The supposed gardener calls her by name. Not the common name that everyone has. The supposed gardener calls her by the name that only Jesus calls her. The haze dissipates. The tears halt. The cloud of despair vanishes. And she calls Jesus by the name that only a few call him, “Rabbouni!” This is a tremendous moment in our text today. In the flurry of running, and confusion, and questions, and tears, and despair, two people see each other crystal clearly. Mary is called by her name – Jesus communicates to Mary that she is known, the she is beloved, that she has an identity and a purpose unique to her. She is his sheep who knows and recognizes the voice of the shepherd – the Good Shepherd.[ii] Her relief is palpable. The return of her confidence is immediate. Her sense of celebration is ready to explode!

When I was in high school, I had a summer where I attended both a short conference and then a long summer program. Both were residential. The conference was the Hugh O’Brian Youth Leadership conference, or HOBY for short. I made a few fast friends, but was there just a few days. A week or so later, I was off to a six-week residential program. It was my first time staying away from home that long, and I was admittedly a bit nervous since no one else from my high school was going. After I unloaded my bags, and was getting ready to say goodbye to my parents, someone behind my shouted, “Hey, HOBY!” Without even looking at who it was, I knew I did not need to worry about belonging. I was already known here. I had a place here. I could have a purpose for those six weeks.

We have all had those moments of clarity around identity, belonging, and purpose. Whether we are returning to our home town after a long time away, whether we develop good friends at school or in a civic group, and whether that happens at a reunion, we all know the deep, profoundly affirming feeling that comes from being known. For those of you with a church home, and especially for those of you who have found a home here at Hickory Neck, you most likely found that feeling here. Perhaps the liturgy was what brought you a sense of identity – either the liturgy reminded you of a practice from your earlier life, or the liturgy offered something to you that you did not even know you were missing. Perhaps a ministry at church brought you a sense of identity – those little sacred moments that come when you realize that you are actually really good at inspiring people to serve the world, making beautiful music, or teaching children about the love of God. Or perhaps the community brought you a sense of identity – that first time when someone remembered your name or a part of your story, when someone came to you for expert advice, or when someone knew just by looking at you that you were hurting – and then offered to take you to lunch or coffee. The church is a place where both Christ and the community call you by name.

Now I would love to tell you that the wonderfully affirming and life-giving feeling of being known is an end unto itself. I would love to send you home on this beautiful Easter Day with simply a sense of love and affirmation. And that is certainly part of the gift I am giving you today – to tell you that you can be known and loved here. But something else happens to Mary at that tomb. After that profound moment of affirmation, Jesus tells her to go and be a witness to the disciples. Jesus always gives his beloved homework. He is that teacher that even on a Friday will give you an assignment for the weekend! But Mary does not see this as a burden. Even though Jesus will not let her cling to him – cling to the way things used to be, Jesus’ affirmation this day propels her to go out and share the good news of the risen Lord with the disciples. In this way, Jesus not only recognizes and honors her identity; Jesus also gives her purpose – a call.

That is your homework on this Easter Sunday. I know you want to go eat those big Easter meals ,go find those Easter eggs, and find what Easter chocolate awaits at home. But remember that while this place is a place that calls you by name and affirms your beautiful identity, this is also a place that commissions you to go out and share the good news. That wonderful sense of affirmation is not for you to bottle up and keep for yourself. That sense of affirmation is meant to embolden you to share that affirmation with others – to meet people where they are, to hear their stories, and to share how this day of resurrection, love, and affirmation is for them too. In the same way that you have a vocation, a call on your life, you also are to affirm vocation and call in others. So this week, as you bask in the warmth and beauty of this day, go out and share that good news with others. Someone may be waiting for you to call them by name. Amen.

[i] Richard B. Hays, “Do Not Cling to Me,” Christian Century, vol. 109, no. 10, March 18-25, 1992, 299.

[ii] Karoline M. Lewis, John: Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014), 241.

Sermon – John 18.1-19.42, GF, YA, April 14, 2017

27 Thursday Apr 2017

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betrayal, blasphemy, chief priests, confession, cross, denial, evil, failure, God, Good Friday, Jesus, Judas, passion narrative, Peter, scapegoat, Sermon, sinfulness, transform

I have been thinking this week about how every year we read the same story of Jesus’ death. Unlike the Christmas story that we eagerly anticipate hearing each year, this story seems like a masochistic practice of hearing the same devastating story over and over again. And we do not just read this story on Good Friday. In addition to John’s version of the passion narrative, we read one of the synoptic versions on Palm Sunday. Twice in one week we relive the painful story, catching interesting variations. But the ending is always the same: death, finality, failure. At least on Palm Sunday, we use various voices, making the story feel like a performance. But today, one sole voice, tells the achingly raw story – a story we would rather skip, or soften, or cry out to the reader, “Please stop!”

In hearing the story this year, I was struck by the failures of three characters. The first is probably the easiest culprit: Judas. In Mathew’s gospel there is at least a feigning of loyalty as Judas greets Jesus as “Rabbi,” and kisses his cheek. But John does not play such games. In John’s narrative, Judas is fully on the side of the persecutors. He boldly brings and stands with the soldiers and police. He does not greet Jesus, or apologize. He is confident in his decision. He stands proud, even as we now are able to see his profound failure. His ignorance of the depth of his betrayal is almost worse than the actual betrayal. His confidence that this is for the best, is the first crack in our hearts as we hear this painful story.

Then we have Peter – precious, passionate, pitiful Peter. For all the times he gets things right, and all the endearing times he gets things wrong, today is just a spirit-crushing failure. In Matthew’s gospel, Peter denies knowing Jesus. In John’s gospel, Peter denies his discipleship – his very relationship with and dedication to the Messiah. In the face of Jesus’ “I am,” claim[i] today, Peter’s claim is “I am not.”[ii] For all the wonderful, powerful, sacrificial moments in Jesus today, Peter is shameful, cowardly, and self-serving. Even after being warned that he will deny Christ, Peter denies Christ in spite of himself. That cock’s crow is the second crack in our hearts as we hear this brutal story.

The third character today does not always get as much attention, but their failure is perhaps the worst. Whereas Judas and Peter deny and betray a friend, the chief priests deny their very God. They say seven words to Pilate today that should be more shocking than anything said. “We have no king but the emperor.” We often get distracted by their words, because we know that they are meant manipulate Pilate’s sense of authority. But the chief priests, the religious, moral guides of the people of faith say today, “We have no king but the emperor.” Of course, we have to think back to remember why this statement is so profoundly painful. You see, once upon a time, God was the king of Israel. The people worshiped Yahweh, and Yahweh alone. But the people got greedy, and begged Yahweh for a king like the other nations. And so God anointed kings through God’s prophets. But the chief priests take their self-centered sinfulness a step further than our ancestors. They deny God today. Their claim to have no king but the emperor is treason against our God – blasphemy. And with their claim, our heart lies cracked in two as we hear the rest of the awful story.

Of course, blaming Judas, Peter, and the chief priests would be an easy way to scapegoat our way out of this dark day. There are even Christians who claim that the Jews crucified our Lord. But we know the truth. We know that we are the Jews. We know that we are Judas and Peter and the chief priests. We know that our heart fractures with each vignette because they remind us of times when we have stood on our soapboxes, certain of our moral claims, only to later look back and see whom we betrayed and trampled in the process. We know that that our heart fractures because we are reminded of those times when we knew the right thing to do, said we were going to do the right thing, and then failed to do the right thing – over, and over, and over again. We have heard that same cock crowing. We know that our heart fractures because we have put other gods before our God. Sure, the gods have varied: money, power, security, ego. But we have gotten so lost in our gods that we said and did things that would have inspired a gasp from anyone more faithful than ourselves. The failures of Judas, Peter, and the chief priests are not just failures of those men, two thousand years ago. The failures of Judas, Peter, and the chief priests are our failures.[iii]

I think that is why we tell this story year after year, twice a week from different gospels. We tell this story over and over again because we fail over and over again. Though the specific characters are important, the characters live and operate in us centuries later. That is why the story is so compelling – not because we can gather together and wag our fingers at those people. The story is compelling because the story is eerily close to our own sinfulness. Part of the devastating nature of this story is how complicit we are in the story. Though the powers of evil might want us to deny our culpability in this story, what is hardest about this story is how close to home the story really is.

Now, you I do not ever like to leave the pulpit without a word of hope, a reminder that risen Lord redeems us all. But today, I encourage you not to rush to the empty tomb. Take time to sit in our collective confession, to tarry on those things done and left undone which are separating you from God and one another. Bring your failures or sense of failure to the cross and lay them there today. Grieve the ways that you cannot help yourself, year after year, from sin and shame. The whole season of Lent has been building up to this day. The whole reason we took on those disciplines and came to church for confession was because we knew, ultimately, that this is where we keep tripping up: in betrayal and denial of our very identity as beloved disciples and children of God. We are the ones bombing others. We are the ones racially profiling. We are the ones denigrating women, the poor, and the oppressed. We are the ones, century after century repeating the sins of the faithful.

Lay all that sinfulness at the cross today. Whether you venerate the cross in the liturgy today, wear a cross around your neck, or pray with the cross on your prayer beads, the power of the cross is to absorb all those failures and to transform them into something worth living. You can, and perhaps should, feel the powerful weight of your sinful patterns today. But let them die at the foot of the cross with Jesus. Lay them naked at the cross, for all the world to see. There is relief in that confession, the depth of which you may not feel fully until our Easter proclamation.

[i] Susan E. Hylen, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 299.

[ii] Karoline Lewis, John: Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014), 222.

[iii] Rolf Jacobson, Karoline Lewis, and Matt Skinner, “SB 535, Good Friday,” April 7, 2017, found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=873 on April 8, 2017.

Sermon – John 9.1-41, I Samuel 16.1-13, L4, YA, March 26, 2017

29 Wednesday Mar 2017

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blind man, fresh, God, grief, Jesus, Laetare Sunday, Lent, Mothering Sunday, Pharisees, refreshment, renewal, repentance, revelation, Rose Sunday, sabbath, Samuel, Saul, Sermon, spiritual journey, stuck, unstuck

In a lot of ways, Lent is about being stuck. Many of us sit down before Lent and take stock of our lives, discerning where we are stuck, and commit to working on getting unstuck. Some of us are not that organized, and only discover how stuck we are as we enter into the penitential season, letting the prayers, scriptural lessons, and liturgies work on us. And some of us cannot even claim to have done that work. We only discover when we are stuck when someone metaphorically or literally smacks us against the head and tells us to shake off whatever is getting in our way, and get back in the game.

Two characters in our scripture readings today are similarly stuck. The first is Samuel. If you remember, Samuel is the prophet who anoints the first king of Israel – Saul. But eventually Saul falls out of grace with God, and although Samuel delivers God’s judgment, Samuel grieves. We are not really sure why Samuel grieves – if Samuel was really rooting for Saul and is disappointed in Saul’s failure[i]; if Samuel is lost in Saul’s failure and is scared of what is to come for Israel; or if Samuel is worried about himself. After all, Samuel was intimately involved in helping Israel find a king – something God did not want for Israel in the first place. Regardless of the “Why?” of Samuel’s grief, we do know that God is unhappy with Samuel’s continued grief. God clearly thinks Samuel is stuck in grief. “How long will you grieve over Saul? I have rejected him from being king of Israel. Fill your horn with oil and set out…”

Samuel is not the only character in our scripture today who is stuck. In John’s gospel, we find a blind man healed by Jesus on the Sabbath. But Jesus’ actions are not the center of the story. Twenty-six verses – or 63% of the text we heard – is about the Pharisees being stuck in their own understanding of who, how, and when a person can heal another. For twenty-six verses they try to figure out who Jesus is, confident that he must be a sinner if he is healing on the Sabbath. They barrage both the formerly-blind man and his parents about the incident – bringing in the healed man twice. The banter goes on and on and finally, the healed man says exasperatedly, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”

In both Samuel and the Pharisees, we see God’s people, God’s leaders even, so stuck in their spiritual journeys that they are unable to see the work of God among them. In both cases, neither party is doing something wrong – grief is an appropriate response from Samuel. Samuel has invested a lot in Saul and has tried to mentor him on the right path for years. And if we are honest, there is probably a bit of self-pity in his grief, as God’s being done with Saul means Samuel is in for a rocky road, seditiously anointing another as king before Saul has abdicated or been removed from his seat of power.[ii] Likewise, the Pharisees are dutifully following the law of the Lord. They have been taught for generations to honor the Sabbath and keep it holy. We even prayed those very words last week, when we prayed the Decalogue together. The Pharisees’ confusion is about a man acting in contradiction to everything they have ever been taught.

I wonder how often we find ourselves similarly stuck in our journey with God. I cannot tell you the number of times someone in the midst of grief or discernment has said to me, “But this is not what was supposed to happen!” We never plan for divorces, unexpected deaths, layoffs, addictions, betrayals, or illness. We cannot anticipate the ways that tragedy or surprising life-changes will shake us to the core and sometimes paralyze us into inaction. Sometimes we do not even realize we are stuck. We get so caught up in our way of coping with life or simply surviving, that we do not realize how we deafen ourselves to the voice of God, speaking new and fresh revelation to us.

The good news for us, and for Samuel and the Pharisees, is that there is room for redemption and repentance. God finally speaks directly and plainly to Samuel. When Samuel has wallowed enough in his grief, God basically says, “Enough. You have had plenty of time to grieve. You have work to do, so get up and go.” God even has a plan for Samuel’s safety when he protests about that. “No more excuses. I have you covered. Go.” The healed man does a similar thing for the Pharisees. As they barrage him with question after question, he finally slows down and says, “Argue all you want! Your confusion does not change the fact that I was blind and now I see. Deal with it!” Of course, the Pharisees do not accept the invitation to repentance – to change their minds. But the healed man gives them more than enough direction toward truth and change.

The same is true for us. There are all kinds of opportunities for us to get unstuck this Lenten season. Many of you have already told me how the change in our liturgical pattern was just enough of a change to unsettle and reorient your senses in our worship of God. Our bible studies have offered multiple opportunities to review the saving acts of God in history. Our ecumenical services have given us ample occasions to see and hear God in fresh ways – whether through a different preaching style, music that touches us in new ways, or liturgical differences that shake up our senses. I know we had a long conversation at our house about why the wine was so different at the other churches! And I suspect our Quiet Day this coming Saturday may just be what some of us need help us hear God saying, “Enough. Get going!”

But even in this season of repentance, of orienting ourselves back to God, the church gives us a Sunday of renewal – what the Episcopal Church calls, “Rose Sunday,” “Mothering Sunday,” or in the Latin, “Laetare Sunday.” On this fourth Sunday in Lent, we take a break. Virgil Michel said about this Sunday, “A Christian Lent can never be entirely sad. With the fourth Sunday the pent up spiritual joy in the true member of Christ bursts forth in anticipation of the Easter joy to come…This was the day when the catechumens were decked with roses and when roses were mutually exchanged. Thence comes the custom of the rose vestment.”[iii] Our custom on this Refreshment Sunday is to wear rose-colored clothes and eat simnel cake as a way of honoring this day of refreshment. We all need those reminders to listen to God, to be more open to revelation, to get ourselves unstuck. But we also need those days when we say as a community, “Getting unstuck is hard work. That you are trying is blessing enough today. Take in a breath of God’s sweet mercy, and fill up that horn of oil tomorrow. There is time to get up and get going.”

So breathe in the refreshment today. Take courage that you are in good company in your need for renewal and redirection – both in the person sitting near you today and in our biblical ancestors. Honor this Sabbath that is meant for rest for your wearied souls. Do all those things; because tomorrow, you will indeed need to recommit to that work of getting unstuck. You will need to pick up that horn and go do the work God has given you to do. You will need to work on your hearing and eyesight, as God sprinkles wisdom all around for you to see and hear. But today, fully take this Sabbath. The good news is God will empower you to do all those other things you need to do tomorrow. Amen.

[i] Carol A. Newsom, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 101.

[ii] Newsom, 101.

[iii] Virgil Michel, The Liturgy of the Church, quoted in A Lent Sourcebook: The Forty Days, J. Robert Baker, Evelyn Kaehler, and Peter Mazar, ed. (Chicago: Liturgical Training Publications, 1990), 51.

Sermon John 4.5-42, L3, YA, March 19, 2017

22 Wednesday Mar 2017

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brokennes, change, conflict, conversation, disagreement, holy, holy conversation, Jesus, judgment, Kingdom, questions, Samaritan woman, Sermon, surprise, time, transformation, vulnerable, well

This past week I was invited to attend a conversation and action meeting with local clergy. I was not looking forward to the meeting. In fact, I almost did not go to the meeting. We were going to be talking about a controversial topic, and based on the invitation, I knew I would be on the opposing side. What I did not know was whether I would be the only voice of opposition, which made the meeting all the more scary. The thing is, I have been in those types of conversations before – where two interpretations of Holy Scripture seem diametrically opposed, and one or both parties feel so passionate about their understanding that they say really nasty, awful things to one another. The very validity of one’s faith can even be questioned.

So I began to do what we always do in those situations. First, I thought I could just send an email. Then I thought that maybe I could just not attend the meeting, and engage in oppositional advocacy instead. I even thought not going might be a valid form of protest. But the Holy Spirit, and a few good friends, had other things to say. They were not going to let me skip this meeting. And so I went, rehearsing in my head the biblical roots and theology behind my positions. I put on my New York tough exterior, bracing myself for whatever was thrown at me. And just in case, I made sure to wear my best outfit and a smile so as to throw people off their game. But my stomach was still in knots as I opened the door – full of what-ifs, worrying about consequences, and feeling extremely vulnerable.

A little over two thousand years ago, a woman – an outcast among her own people, getting water alone at midday, encounters a man at Jacob’s well. He, a Jew with sociopolitical power, asks her for water. She has a choice. She can walk away. But she engages in a conversation between unequals. At first, Jesus tells her some extraordinary things – about thirst and living water, about his own powers, about his identity. But then the conversation shifts. Jesus exposes her vulnerability to its core. Not only is this a woman with power differential, this woman is an outcast in her culture. She is a double outsider, having had five husbands and living with a man who is not her husband. Now, Jesus does not point out this reality as a way of telling her she is sinful – in fact, Jesus says nothing about sin.[i] Scholars seem to think her marital history would have nothing to do with her sinfulness either. It could have been that she was a multiple-time widow, passed down through levirate marriage, or it could be that she was barren, and multiple husbands abandoned her.[ii] We do not know. But we do know how we feel when someone exposes our deepest places of insecurity and self-doubt. And this is the woman’s second opportunity to walk away.

But she stays. I imagine she squares her shoulders, swallows a hard gulp, takes in a deep breath, and keeps talking. And so does Jesus. Ever so gently, they engage in a pretty hefty conversation, about prophesy, proper worship, the Messiah, and identity. Not bad for a Jewish male and a Samaritan woman in broad daylight, for everyone to see.

At my meeting this week, a curious thing happened. We read scripture together. We prayed together. And we talked – sharing openly about our own theologies and biblical interpretations. But also, we listened – listened for commonality, listened for God’s guidance, and listened in respectful disagreement. The conversation did not go at all how I expected. The responses were not what I expected. My own spirit was not at all in the place I expected my spirit to be in the end.

There is a lot going on in the story between Jesus and the Samaritan woman – probably enough for multiple sermons. But today, in light of my experience this week, and in light of our country’s currently political climate, I am mostly drawn to the power of conversation. Biblical scholar Karoline Lewis argues, “…frequently overlooked is that this interaction is a conversation. Jesus suggests that conversation matters for theology. That conversation is essential for faith.” She goes on to say, “The church can be the place that shows society what theological conversation can sound like. The church can be the place that demonstrates how dialogue about faith and the Bible might result in religious respect and tolerance.”[iii]

So how do we do that? Lewis proposes a method based on the interaction between Jesus and the Samaritan woman. She gleans five key elements of holy conversation. First, holy conversations begin with mutual vulnerability. Jesus is thirsty, and the Samaritan woman needs the living water he provides. Truthful conversations begin with reciprocal vulnerability because that is at the heart of God. Second, questions are critical to holy conversations. Of course, these cannot be questions for which we already have answers – these are true, curious questions. The woman’s questions lead Jesus to reveal his identity. God wants us to ask questions because they strengthen relationship. Third, holy conversations involving intentional, genuine interest in the other take time. The sheer length of the gospel text today tells you that this was not a quick conversation on the way to coffee hour. But over the course of the long conversation, misunderstandings are clarified, lives reformed, and God’s abundant love is revealed. Fourth, when we are talking about conversations with Jesus, be prepared to be surprised. The woman at the well receives the first I AM statement in John’s gospel – Jesus reveals himself not to an insider, but to an outsider! Finally, expect to be changed in holy conversations. As Lewis says, “The woman at the well goes from shamed to witness. From dismissed to disciple. From alone to being a sheep of Jesus’ own fold.”[iv] So holy conversations involve mutual vulnerability, questions, time, surprise, and change.

This week, no one gathered changed their minds on the presenting issue. I doubt we ever will. But something else did happen. Through our conversation, something holy emerged. Two groups, opposed to each other, were able to stay in the room, were able to articulate their own theologies, and were able to see Christ in the other. What I took from that meeting was that maybe, just maybe, there is hope for us after all. Maybe the church can do what the church has needed to do for some time – model what holy, Christ-like conversations look like for the good of the community. Now, that does not mean holy conversations are easy. Though I stayed in my seat, there were certainly times I wanted to get up and leave. Though they were subtle, there were several clear digs at my ability to interpret scripture and the will of God. There were several arguments that I disagreed with and had to bite my tongue to maintain the openness of the conversation. But as I left the meeting, I knew something holy had happened. Glimpses of the kingdom of God were breaking into that room.

Our invitation this week is to look around our own lives and examine where we have been avoiding holy conversations: those times when we have run when someone pointed out the brokenness of our lives; when we have made quick judgments and assumptions about others without ever taking the time to ask the curious questions; when we have cut off opportunities for connection without remembering the surprise and change at the end. The promises are tremendous. Look at the healing the woman at the well receives – not just the lifting of societal shaming, but a position of power as a witness and disciple of Christ. Look at the affirmation the woman receives – not only does Jesus validate her through an engaging, respectful conversation, the whole town responds to her without question. Look at how the commitment to stay in the conversation leads the woman to a place of deep transformation and change. But also look at how Jesus is changed too – he finds a surprisingly worthy partner in ministry, to whom he can confess his deepest identity. I am not saying holy conversations will ever be easy. In fact, sometimes the rejection we experience from attempts at those conversations will linger for a long time. But when we keep putting ourselves out there, keep listening for those opportunities for holy conversation, the rewards are tremendously life giving. The well is waiting for you! Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 95.

[ii] Osvaldo Vena, “Commentary on John 4:5-42” March 19, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3189 on March 16, 2017.

[iii] Karoline Lewis, “Holy Conversations,” March 12, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4839#comments on March 15, 2017.

[iv]Lewis, “Holy Conversations.”

Sermon – Jonah 3.1-10, Psalm 51.11-18, and Luke 11.29-32, Ecumenical Lenten Worship Series, March 8, 2017

15 Wednesday Mar 2017

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change, ecumenical, God, hero, immature, Jonah, journey, judgment, Lent, listen, neighbor, Nineveh, renewal, repent, repentance, Sermon, sin, temper tantrum, together, witness

I have always loved Jonah’s story. He is probably one of the most juvenile characters in the Hebrew Scriptures. When God tells him to go to Nineveh, he runs in the opposite direction. Only when God makes the seas roar, and he is swallowed by a fish, does Jonah call out for God’s mercy. Jonah finally submits to God and goes to Nineveh as he is told, but then he throws a temper tantrum at God when God forgives Nineveh. He is angry God doesn’t punish the city, and so he storms off to pout. When a bush giving him shade withers, he ramps up his tirade. God asks if Jonah has any right to be angry, and Jonah, in classic toddler style, whines, “Yes! Angry enough to die!” You can almost imagine him stamping his foot, pouting his lower lip, and furrowing his brow.

Jonah is easy to make fun of because his behavior is so incredibly immature and self-centered. We laugh at his adult-sized temper tantrum because we all know adults are too old for that sort of behavior. But that is what is tricky about Jonah too. Deep down, in places we do not like to talk about, we know Jonah’s experience all too well. When we are really honest, we can confess that may or may not have thrown an epic temper tantrum in our adult lives too. Whether over the reoccurrence of an illness, the death of a loved one, a lost cause, the job we did not get, or the love that was not returned, we have all had our Jonah moments. Though we publicly all can say, “Silly Jonah, when will he learn?!?”, privately, we all think, “That sounds uncomfortably familiar. I hope no one noticed my temper tantrum!”

Of course, at the end of the day, Jonah does what he is told – witnesses to the people of Nineveh, as God requests. But in the drama of Jonah’s story, we often forget one minor, and yet central component of Jonah’s story. Nineveh is the Rockstar of this story. Nineveh, for all its sinfulness and shame, has no problem admitting Nineveh is wrong. When Jonah tells Nineveh the city will be overthrown if Nineveh does not repent and change its ways, the people immediately believe God. They proclaim a fast, and everyone – adults, elders, and children, put on sackcloth. Even the king of Nineveh immediately rises from his throne, puts on sackcloth and sits in ashes. He decrees that everyone in the city – humans and animals – will fast, be covered in sackcloth, and cry out their repentance to God. He declares, “All shall turn form their evil ways and from the violence that is in their hands. Who knows? God may relent and change God’s mind; God may turn from God’s fierce anger, so that we do not perish.”

The king of Nineveh and the people of Nineveh are quite unlike most modern recipients of judgment. In Nineveh, no one holds a press conference to defend their motives and actions. No one holds a counter-protest to the judgment. No one even argues with Jonah or asks, “Are you sure?” Nineveh is told a cold, hard, ugly truth that exposes their deep sinfulness and grievances, and instead of getting defensive, Nineveh drops everything. They stop in their tracks and change their ways. They take the judgment with sobriety and honesty, and they make a change. Though we like to give Jonah the attention, the real heroes in this story are the king and people of Nineveh.

When Jesus talks about repentance in Luke’s gospel today, and when the Church talks about repentance in the season of Lent, this is the kind of repentance we are talking about. Jesus basically shares that he is to the people of Israel as Jonah was to the people of Nineveh. He is their sign that repentance is needed. The people of God are to use Nineveh as their guide for what true repentance looks like. Jesus’ instruction and Nineveh’s example come at an opportune time for us. We have managed to work ourselves into a time of finger pointing and name calling. Our division is found on the political scene, between denominations of churches, and even in our families. We have presumed that we are Jonahs and everyone else is Nineveh. The reality, though, is much scarier. We are not Jonahs. We are Ninevehs. Jesus is the Jonah of our time, calling us into repentance and renewal. We can follow the model that Nineveh set for us, dropping everything to evaluate our sinfulness and changing our behavior immediately. We can sit in sackcloth and work to deeply understand the role we play in sinful behaviors. We can invite our neighbors to sit with us as we both work toward repentance. That is what Lent is all about.

So how do we repent? How do we take this time of Lent as a time for intentional, dramatic, meaningful change in our lives? The psalm appointed for today gives us a few clues. “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from your presence and take not your holy Spirit from me. Give me the joy of your saving help again and sustain me with your bountiful Spirit.” First, we ask God for help. We ask God for help, because we know our God will enable us to do the work God has given us to do. The psalm also tells us to bring others into our journey, “I shall teach your ways to the wicked, and sinners shall return to you.” We not only bring our broken, sinful, hurtful selves to God, we witness our work to others, using our own vulnerability and humility as an entry to shared journey. And then we sing. “Deliver me from death, O God, and my tongue shall sing of your righteousness, O God of my salvation. Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.” We use our mouths to praise our God – a God who can change course, who can see the repentance of God’s people and take away the horror of judgment.

That’s why I am grateful that we are together tonight. We come to God across denominational differences and we sit together in worship. We hear the witness of Nineveh tonight, and then we start the work of emulating Nineveh. First, we hear Jonah and Jesus’ word of judgment, letting God create in us clean hearts and renewing right spirits in us. Then, we turn to our neighbor, and work on creating a community of repentance, working to love the Lord our God and our neighbor as ourselves. Finally, we turn to those not gathered here tonight – those who may not have a church home, and we share our witness. We share our witness of how we have been a people of sin, and how we are hoping to change our ways. And we ask if they might help us on that journey – not taking the judgment of Jonah out into the world, but taking the repentance of Nineveh out into the world. Listening to our neighbors, working together for meaningful change, and creating a city that is humble enough to know that God may relent and not let us perish. God will renew a right spirit within you, will give you the joy of God’s saving help again, and will sustain you with God’s bountiful Spirit. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Sermon – Matthew 4.1-11, Genesis 2.15-17, 3.1-7, L1, YA, March 5, 2017

08 Wednesday Mar 2017

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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church, corrupt, disciplines, doubt, evil, God, goodness, identity, insecurity, Jesus, Lent, question, relationship, repentance, Satan, Sermon, sin, temptation, trust

On this first Sunday in Lent, I usually like to talk about Lenten disciplines. The season of Lent is one of the few times in the Church that we take a hard look at our faith life and then actually commit to doing something tangible to strengthen our walk with Christ. When I hear about your disciplines, I get some clue as to what feeds each of you spiritually – whether you long to connect with Holy Scripture, or hope to deepen your prayer life; whether you know that denial of certain parts of your life will create a needed discomfort or disruption, or instead find taking up something to create needed transformation; whether you are motivated by something fun and engaging (like Lent Madness), or you prefer something more philosophical (like our Lenten study group focusing on the spirituality of the Eucharist). Lenten disciplines also give me a tiny clue about what sinful behaviors have been pulling you away from God. As we prayed the Great Litany today, there were countless options: pride, vainglory, hypocrisy, envy, hatred, malice, desires of the flesh, and hardness of heart. Or, perhaps you are inspired to help one of those we prayed for in the Litany: the lonely, the sick, the homeless, the imprisoned, broken families, the oppressed, or those suffering injustice. There really is no wrong way to approach Lenten disciplines – that we are taking them on demonstrates a commitment to enriching our faith and growing closer to God.

Given the beginning of those practices, the text of Jesus’ temptation every year on this first Sunday in Lent has always seemed most appropriate. How better to encourage us to engage in repentance and reformation than to remember that Jesus too was tempted – tempted to ease the discomfort of hunger, tempted to test God’s loyalty and support, and tempted to take on power – even if ill-gotten – for the greater good? And even better that this year in Lent, we get that powerful lesson from Hebrew Scriptures of Adam and Eve’s temptation – the temptation to eat beautiful fruit, to learn what God knows but won’t tell us, to take control of our destiny. And all of those temptations would be plenty. But what has been striking me more powerfully this year has been what is at the root of the temptations of Satan. You see, in all of those tests for Jesus, and even in the simple offering of forbidden fruit, Satan does something even more insidious. Through his temptations, Satan works to undermine our relationship with God – to sow the seed of mistrust that promises to unravel the very foundation of our faith.

We can talk all we want about deepening our faith, working on our sinful behaviors, or becoming better Christians in Lent. But much scarier to talk about is the power of evil to undo our faith altogether. Many of us know the darkness of this power from Satan. If we have not had a spiritual identity crisis in our lives, someone we know has. Enough people around us die, enough suffering happens in the world, enough pain comes our way that slowly we begin to wonder if God cares at all. We watch what Christians do to one another or how they fail to care for one another, we see the misdeeds of the Church, or the Church’s clergy disappoint us, and slowly, slowly, we begin to doubt God is even present. As I have been watching the news, as our country becomes more deeply divided, as suffering seems to be epidemic, and as we dehumanize one another, sometimes institutionalizing that dehumanization, I see the power of evil planting seed after seed of mistrust. Who hasn’t asked, “Where is God?” in the last year? Who hasn’t thought, “Maybe I should stop trusting God, and start taking care of things myself.”? Who hasn’t wondered if God is slipping into irrelevance as the world falls apart around us?

As I have pondered the temptations of Adam, Eve, and Jesus, the power of evil to corrupt has been much more powerful, potent, and pressing this year. The “crafts and assaults of the devil” and the desire to “beat down Satan under our feet”[i] we heard in the Great Litany are much more powerful in our current climate. I am much less worried about Adam and Eve’s original sin than I am worried about their original insecurity. The serpent comes along and sews mistrust among Adam and Eve. He starts out with a simple question, “Did God really say…” And so begins the serpent’s assault on their relationship with God – misrepresenting and undermining God’s instructions, suggesting God is keeping something from them. And as scholar David Lose suggests, once this primary relationship is undermined, Adam and Eve are “susceptible to the temptation to forge their identity on their own, independent on their relationship with God, and so take and eat the forbidden fruit… [They] forget whose they are and so lose themselves in the temptation to secure their identity on their own.”[ii] Though Adam and Eve’s sin is grave, how the serpent gets them there is much scarier to me.

Satan attempts to do the very same thing with Jesus. “The devil also tries to undermine Jesus’ relationship with God by suggesting [the relationship] is not secure, that he should test [the relationship] by throwing himself off the mountain, or that he should go his own way by creating food for himself, or that he should seek the protection and patronage of the devil rather than trust God’s provision.”[iii] Satan is good! He even tries to twist Jesus’ use of scripture to convince Jesus of God’s unworthiness of trust. What is frightening about Satan’s tactics is that he is not just about tempting us to do bad things. He is meddling in our relationship with God, sewing distrust, confusion, questioning our identity as beloved children of God. And that kind of meddling leads to much worse problems than poor behavior. Satan tries to upend who we are.

Last week, we baptized two members into the household of faith. We talked about how baptism marks for us who and whose we are. We gave thanks for the reminder and celebrated as a community. We were not unlike Adam and Eve, who upon their creation, God says it is very good. We were not unlike Jesus, who at his own baptism, which occurs immediately before his temptation today, God says, “This is my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” But Satan takes goodness and blessedness, and tries to taint that goodness and blessedness with doubt, mistrust, and insecurity. He tries to confuse us, making us forget who and whose we are.

Several years ago, the movie The Help debuted. In the film, there is a maid who cares for a child who gets a lot of verbal abuse from her mother. In several key scenes, the maid takes the child aside and teaches the child a mantra of sorts. In her rough grammar, she reminds the child, “You is smart, you is kind, you is important.” Eventually the maid is fired, and the audience is left hoping that the mantra she taught the child will remind her that no matter what verbal abuse she receives, she can remember who she is – smart, kind, and important.

We do not always have caretakers in our lives who will instill in us a mantra that holds us in the face of adversity. But we do have a church. We have a church that will tell us we are made in the image of God, that our very creation is rooted in goodness, and that we are beloved children of God. When we begin to be assaulted by the power of evil, which would rather us question our identity, the church reminds of us of our baptismal covenant, our identity-making set of promises, which tells us we are enough, there is plenty to go around, and we need not live in fear. While the forces of evil will try to isolate us and send us into questions of identity, the church comes together every week to remind us that we are beloved children of God – a people of value, worth, and purpose.[iv]

I do not know what spiritual discipline you are taking up for Lent this year. But if you do nothing else this Lent, come to church. Come gather with the community that reminds you who and whose you are. Come be with a people who are also assaulted by the doubts, questions, and fears of the day, but who ground themselves in their identity, and find meaning, encouragement, and purpose in this place. Come. Together, we will stamp down Satan under our feet as we shine light on our God who redeems, reveres, and renews us. Amen.

[i] BCP, 151-152.

[ii] David Lose, “Lent 1A: Identity as Gift and Promise,” February 28, 2017, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2017/02/lent-1-a-identity-as-gift-and-promise/ on March 2, 2017.

[iii] Lose.

[iv] Lose.

Sermon – Isaiah 58.1-12, EP5, YA, February 5, 2017

08 Wednesday Feb 2017

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church, fast, fasting, God, Isaiah, love, need, outreach, relationship, Sermon, serve, worship

In about three and half weeks we will gather in the Historic Chapel for Ash Wednesday services. In the liturgy for Ash Wednesday, the priest invites us into the “observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.” I don’t know about you, but this invitation always makes me a little nervous. The truth is, I am terrible at fasting. I have often blamed the issue on low blood-sugar. But really, I just hate the way not eating makes me feel. I get cranky, I cannot focus on work, and I just want to crawl into bed. And what makes fasting worse is that we get scriptural passages that warn us about grimacing while fasting – that we should go so far as to put oil on our faces so that we look shiny and happy during our fasting.

Knowing my utter sense of failure at my inability to engage in the most holy of spiritual practices, I confess that I was secretly pleased to read our text from Isaiah today. The people of Israel have become quite good at fasting and pious worship. We are told that day after day the Israelites come to God in worship, delighting to know more about God, and fasting like righteous followers of God. They even bow down and lie in sackcloth and ashes. They are the epitome of penitential Lenten worshippers. Except for one small, teeny, tiny problem. Despite their devotional fasting and their fervent prayers, God is angry with the Israelites. You see, while the Israelites are piously engaging in reverent, penitential worship, their hired hands are working under their oppressive orders. While they have been perfecting reverential bows, there are hungry, homeless, naked, impoverished peoples just outside their doors. Oblivious, the Israelites complain to God, “Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?” God’s response is a brutal question: Why are you here?

In polite Episcopal circles, we do not often ask that question: Why are you here? We might ask a visitor a much softer version of that question, “What brings you to Hickory Neck?” But we almost never ask a regular or long-time church member, “Why are you here?” I think part of why we do not ask someone else that question is because we are afraid someone will ask us that question. We are afraid to be asked that question because the question feels like a trick. If I say I am here because I want peace or comfort, does that make me a passive, self-serving Christian? If I say I am here because I enjoy the community, does that mean my church is more like a country club than a church? If I admit that I do not know why I am in church this morning other than a strange longing somewhere deep inside me, does that mean that my worship is superficial or doomed for ambiguity?

The scary part about our anxiety around that question, “Why are you here today,” is that God has a very clear response before we or the Israelites can even answer the question. God says that if we do not come to worship to be changed, we are doing something wrong. As one scholar argues, Isaiah’s words today tell us that, “Worship without justice has no value in the eyes of God.”[i] For Isaiah, a gap has formed between the faithful’s seeking God and God’s ways and their actual way of life. What Isaiah wants the people to know is that fasting, prayer, and worship are all well and good, but without some connection to the other 167 hours of their week, their worship, their fasting, their relationship with God is hollow. Now, God is not telling us that worship is inherently bad or self-serving. As another scholar points out, “worship is the most important thing we do together. It is the place that forms us into the people of God. It is the place where we inhale God’s love and grace, so that,” and here comes the important part, “so that we can be sent forth to exhale God’s love and grace in a broken world in need of redemption.”[ii]

One of the things that attracted me to Hickory Neck was the wide variety in styles of worship. On any given Sunday, I can pray the Prayer of Humble Access in the midst of a quiet Rite I liturgy; I can belt out a praise song that is so familiar I don’t need to look at the words; I can chant the Eucharistic Prayer while the Choral Scholars respond with beautiful, precise, haunting harmonies; or I can sing a version of the Lord’s Prayer that my seven-year old daughter has learned by memory. I love the variety of expressions of worship here, and love our unique gift that is rare in most parishes. But variety can be dangerous. Variety means bringing together people who don’t necessarily revel in the differences. There will be people who only come to our early service because they find music to be a distraction. There will be people who only come to the late service because anything other than traditional Anglican music interferes with their worship. And there will be people who only like the middle service because they can let their hair down and be themselves. Slowly, what is meant to be the gift of variety becomes a competition for the best – the most holy, most reverent, most relatable, most “of God.” But what all that comparison leads to is not deeper relationship with God. That comparison leads us to focus on the worship as an end unto itself, instead of as a means “right relationship.”[iii]

In order to get to the point of fasting or worship, God tells the Israelites to redefine fasting. Instead of abstaining from food or drink, the fast God desires, “is outreach to those in need, which involves not only feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and caring for one’s own, but also addressing the attitudes and structures responsible for injustices.”[iv] In the Episcopal Church, we have codified this redefinition of fasting in our dismissal. We take all of our prayers, all of learning, all of our confessions, and all of our feasting and we say, “Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord.” In other words, we give ourselves the beauty of worship, and then remind ourselves of the point of that worship – right relationship with God and our neighbor. I have often thought the church needs the words of the dismissal painted above the Narthex door, so that as each of us departs this space, we can jump up and slap the words – much life a sports team entering the arena who slaps a slogan or the team name. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

Now some of you may be thinking about this radical redefinition of fasting and this question of why we are here in worship, and be wondering, “Can’t I just give up some food and call it a day?!? Can’t I just sit in worship and not worry about why I am here?!?” You may know well that righting relationships with God and neighbor is a lot harder than a day’s worth of sacrificing food or just showing up on Sunday. But before you get too anxious, listen again to Isaiah’s words about what happens when we enter the kind of fast God prefers, “The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.” God’s work is never too difficult – exhaling God’s love and grace in a broken world in need of redemption is as easy as breathing in the love and grace we inhale every Sunday. The promise of God’s blessing is waiting – we just need to breathe. Amen.

[i] Carol J. Dempsey, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 314.

[ii] Andrew Foster Connors, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 316.

[iii] Dempsey, 316.

[iv] Dempsey, 316.

Sermon – Matthew 4.12-23, Isaiah 9.1-4, Psalm 27.1, EP3, YA, January 22, 2017

25 Wednesday Jan 2017

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darkness, geography, hope, Inauguration, injustice, Jesus, light, location, map, Martin Luther King, ministry, mission, Naphtali, oppression, Sermon, Women's March, Zebulun

Our family loves maps. Of course, Scott and I grew up in a time when paper maps were the only kind of maps. Since I moved around a lot and he traveled a lot, we both learned to pour over maps. As a couple, we had road atlases for every major city in which we lived. Looking over maps helps us understand where we are going, how different areas connect, and what the big picture is.

What you do not get from maps are the stories behind the lines. When I lived and worked in Durham, NC, working among the hungry and poor, I soon learned more about the roads I had seen on the map. You see, a highway cuts through Durham and was put there many years ago. Before the highway came, there was a thriving African American community, with many small businesses. The highway cut through the neighborhoods and businesses, dividing people from one another socially, displacing longtime community leaders, and devastating many small businesses. The highway was essentially like tossing a small bomb into the neighborhood – without ever letting the neighborhood rebuild. But you do not learn that kind of information from the thick blue line that conveniently cuts through town and gets you from point A to point B much faster.

Our gospel lesson today tries to give us that same kind of insight. What sounds like a basic cartography lesson quickly becomes a socio-political lesson. Matthew tells us, “When Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali…” Most of us hear all those town and territory names and tune out. We keep racing forward, looking for the action in the story. Now the map lovers among us might pull out one of those bibles with a map and pinpoint Galilee, Nazareth, and Capernaum. We probably won’t find the territories of Zebulun and Naphtali on the same map, but we figure we at least have a mental picture of the setting.

In this case, skimming means we miss Matthew’s subtlety. You see, we could certainly find Galilee, Nazareth, and Capernaum on a map relative to Jesus’ day. But the reason we don’t see the territories of Zebulun and Naphtali is because that is the land of Abraham’s sons – over 700 years prior to the time Jesus lived. The land of Zebulun and Naphtali represent a land that was once promised land, but for centuries has been a land of unfulfilled promise.[i] The Assyrians were the first to conquer the land. But they were followed by Babylon, the Persians, the Greeks, and eventually the Romans. That kind of perpetual occupation and oppression does something to your psyche. Generations upon generations have lived under the shadow of a dream deferred. They have lived in darkness.

Long before Jesus, Isaiah prophesied that things would change. We hear in Isaiah speaking that very promise today. “There will be no gloom for those who were in anguish,” Isaiah says. “In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness–on them light has shined.” To this place – this place where grandparent after grandparent promised their grandchildren that we would know a brighter future – to this place of darkness, Jesus goes to start his ministry. What seems like a superfluous geographical information is actually of singular importance in understanding what Jesus is about. The particularity of his ministry matters. Where he goes as God made manifest says something about the kind of kingdom that is inbreaking. His location – a land of longstanding darkness – will become a land of great light. His location will be the place where the people of God can actually pray the psalm we prayed today, “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?”

This week has been a loaded week. We started off by honoring the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., whose passionate pleas for justice for all inspired a nation. Dr. King understood how much location mattered. His march from Selma to Montgomery meant something to the people who lived in Alabama at the time. His references to freedom ringing from the mountains of New York, the Alleghenies of Pennsylvania, the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado, the curvaceous slopes of California highlighted how different regions of our country experienced racism.[ii] He understood the value of geography when he gave his “I have a dream” speech in front of the Lincoln Memorial – a president who presided at the time of the Civil War. And his famous speech there inspired thousands of men and women to walk yesterday in the same location – because they knew that in order to talk about injustice, you go to the most famous place where speeches about injustice have been offered. Even the inauguration this week in front of the Capitol Building in DC signified something – that no matter how we felt about this presidential election, the new president would do what every president has done – be sworn in just like all the others. The location mattered.

I highlight all of this because I know many of us read these texts today and are feeling like we are in a place of darkness. Some of us see our new President as bringing in a new era of light. But others among us see the opposite – some of us here feel like we have welcomed in a new oppressor who will keep us in the darkness. As I have prayed with you all this week – both in person, in conversation, and in my private prayers, I kept going back to the geographical lesson of Jesus and the beginning of his ministry. If geography matters, what does that mean for us? Where do we see the light dawning in our time?

No matter which candidate was yours last year, I keep remembering that no candidate would have been the bearer of the light. Only Christ does that. But that does not mean any of us are off the hook. Democrats or Republicans, Southerners or Non-Southerners, Women or Men – God positions each of us in a particular geography with a particular mission to bring light to where God has planted us. Whether you are thrilled or devastated by the state of our country’s leadership, God tells us today that our work is not done.[iii]

We often say about Hickory Neck that our mission is to keep burning our light on the hill. This hill that we are planted on has a history too. Over 200 years ago, the people who lived and witnessed to Jesus on this hill left. They sided with the British and the British lost. Talk about a devastated people! But the light never went out. Students came to this hill to learn and grow and play their part in this location’s narrative. Soldiers and medics came to this hill to tend the sick, mend the wounded, and bury the dead during the Civil War. When that war was over, students came back, to continue their learning and formation. And, around 100 years ago, the people of God came back to this hill to start shining Christ’s light again.

Knowing that we have been planted on this hill in this time has given me hope. No matter how divided we are as a country – no matter how divided we are within these very walls – God has asked us to be light on this hill. That means that when our neighbors are freezing in the cold nights of winter, we are going to open our doors, cook some meals, pull some all-nighters, and witness Christ’s light and love. That means when we start developing our vision for Hickory Neck, we are not looking for a vision for St. Swithins of anyplace, USA.[iv] We are going to be looking at how we can make an impact on Toano, Upper James City County, Williamsburg, and Southern Virginia. Whether we build that multigenerational day center or we find something else that matters to this particular geography, our location is part and parcel of our work to bring the light of Christ out into the world.

The darkness that many of us feel about our country is not likely to dissipate any time soon. But that darkness does not eliminate our hope. Our ancestors walked in the darkness for over seven centuries before the light of Christ came to them. Our own country – from its treatment of native peoples to enslaved Africans – has been a land of darkness despite the many reminders of the light. We can become overwhelmed in the vast story of history. But our hope is in our geography – the current moment and place where God has placed us to beacons of hope and agents of change. This space, with its many windows that pour in light, is meant to be a place that warms you by Christ’s light every week. But this place is also a place that needs to shine its light off the hill – to be an agent for change, compassion, and care. Our invitation this week is to drop our nets, and to take up our work being agents of light on this hill and beyond. Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, “Mapping God’s Promises,” January 15, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4796 on January 18, 2017.

[ii] Lewis.

[iii] Fritz Wendt, “The Politics of Inauguration and Surrender—Matthew 4:12-23,” January 17, 2017, as found at http://www.politicaltheology.com/blog/the-politics-of-inauguration-and-surrender-matthew-412-23-fritz-wendt/ on January 18, 2017.

[iv] Lewis.

Sermon – John 1.29-42, EP2, YA, January 15, 2017

18 Wednesday Jan 2017

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come, disciples, followers, glow, growing edge, Hickory Neck, Jesus, John the Baptist, light, ministry, point, renewal, see, Sermon, strength, witness

A little over a year ago, I got an email from the Search Committee at Hickory Neck, asking me to think about submitting my name for consideration as Rector. They detailed how they obtained my name and several reasons why I should consider applying. “Oh, and by the way,” they said, “the deadline is in one week.” I remember experiencing a wave of emotions from that email. But the first cogent thought I had next was, “Well, I better go and see what they are all about.” I spent the next twenty-four hours pouring over the available information. I could not really explain why, but I knew I wanted to know more.

That is how most of the discernment process went. In various ways, Hickory Neck kept saying to me, “Come and see.” And I kept saying, “Okay.” When confidants would ask what I liked about Hickory Neck, I had a hard time explaining my experience. All I could say was that something about Hickory Neck was very compelling to me. With every email, phone call, interview, or visit – I wanted to know more, to see more, to connect more. Each, “Come and see,” had a note of expectancy, hope, and promise. And every time I came and saw, I wanted to experience more.

The first followers of Jesus are drawn to Jesus in a similar fashion. In our gospel lesson today, John the Baptist keeps pointing to Jesus, trying to convince those around him that they have got to go check out this Jesus character.[i] Three times John basically says, “Come and see this Jesus!” Jesus himself engages others with a similar invitation. He asks what the seekers are looking for, and when they answer, Jesus says, “Come and see.” Jesus does not talk about himself at length, or even really answer the questions of John’s disciples. He simply invites them to “Come and see.” One of John’s disciples, Andrew, after going and seeing Jesus, turns and does the same thing – he grabs his brother, and says to him, “Come and see.” He does not give an elaborate explanation. He brings his brother to Jesus and shows him so that his brother can see too.

We do the same today through the vehicle of our Annual Meeting. Now, for many people, the Annual Meeting is code for the boring business of church. The same thing happens every year: we elect Vestry members, look at the budget, and hear about the state of the church. Some years we might actually be interested in the reports – certainly last year we were eager to hear news from our Search Committee. But most years, the Annual Meeting is sounds about as exciting as the title.

Perhaps the problem is simply the title – perhaps we should call today our Annual Celebration or our annual Come-and-See Party. Because that is what our Annual Meeting really is: a chance for us to come together and see the good work that Jesus is doing in our midst. In 2016 alone, Jesus set our hearts on fire. There were the obvious things: new leadership being installed and ordained; good friends and leaders being sent off to new adventures; hungry, cold neighbors using these walls for shelter and protection; children, youth, and adults finding new inspiration, learning, and joy in their journey; curious visitors becoming brothers and sisters in our growing community; monies, food, and supplies being raised and collected for our neighbors in need; homebound members being brought into our midst through our Eucharistic Visitors; new worship experiences that touched our hearts and sparked something fresh in us; social media giving us tools to invite, welcome, and connect with seekers in our community; witnesses that inspired us to live generously and dream new dreams; laughter, tears, and songs bouncing off these walls; and all manner of traffic on our grounds – from people with gardening tools, to people with casseroles and Brunswick stew, to people with beloved pets, to brides and babies in white gowns, to old friends in caskets, to blue grass musicians. And all of those obvious things do not even touch the not so obvious things: the faithful parishioners who gather weekly in prayer, meditation, and study; the quiet volunteers who send cards, make calls, and visit hospitals; the parishioners who watch small children so their parents can worship; the women who clean the silver, polish the brass, and arrange the flowers; the men who rearrange furniture, hang greens, and cook meals; the children who teach us, inspire us, and lead us in worship; the youth who lead us in song, who ask hard questions, and call us to authenticity; and the brave who keep bugging their neighbors to come and see Christ at Hickory Neck.

This past year has been a year of incredible, rich, life-giving ministry. We see that renewed spirit in the wonderful growth in our ministry this year. Much of what happens at our Annual Come-and-See Celebration will give us the opportunity to do just that – come and see the incredible work Jesus is doing in our community. And the celebration of the good work of 2016 is inspiring work on our growing edges in 2017. Today, parishioners will receive time and talent forms to prayerfully consider how Jesus is inviting us to give back to this life-giving parish. As we look at our budget, we can celebrate how generous giving has helped us grow our staff – and how extended giving will allow us to do even more in 2017. Seeing the many successes of our engagement in social media, we will be looking at even more ways that our online presence allows us to invite more people to come and see Christ at Hickory Neck. Celebrating our work in feeding, clothing, and giving shelter to our neighbors will help us consider how we might encounter Christ in new and more meaningful ways with our neighbors in Upper James City County. With the Holy Spirit blowing behind us, we are filled up with Christ’s light and ready to shine our lights even brighter from this holy hill.

But all that we see and hear today is not just for us. Just like John the Baptist, and Andrew and Simon Peter, when we see all that Christ is and all that Christ is doing, we cannot keep the good news to ourselves. We do not need some lengthy explanation or some canned evangelism speech.[ii] We do not even need to worry about what baggage others might be carrying around about Church. All we need to do is harness those three words, “Come and see.” Those powerful words are all we need because the light of Christ is already aglow in our faces when we talk about Hickory Neck. I know that when I was engaged in the discernment process with the Search Committee, with words failing me, I felt that same glow. The people, the work, the passion, the life present here fills us up with such light that all we need to do is say, “Come and see,” and others will find their way to the same joy we have found in this community.

Like any Sunday, we come together today, especially on this Annual Meeting Sunday to celebrate all that has been, all that is, and all that is yet to come. We gather together to celebrate both our successes and our growing edges. We assemble today to remember what about Jesus draws us in, especially in the context of this community of faith, and then to do our parts to be Johns, Andrews, and Simons, pointing the way for others, and with a twinkle in our eyes, saying, “Come, and see!”

[i][i] Rodger Y. Nishioka, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 262.

[ii] David Lose, “Epiphany 2A: A Question, Invitation, and Promise,” January 9, 2017, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2017/01/epiphany-2-a-a-question-invitation-and-promise/ on January 11, 2017.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-14, CE, 8/11 PM, December 24, 2016

04 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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Christmas, create space, fast, inn, Jesus, Joseph, making room, Mary, presents, room, Sermon, stuff

In our house, we are still in the stage where Christmas is a big deal. With a seven- and a two-year old under foot, there are Christmas presents galore. We try not to go too crazy ourselves, but once you add in faraway grandparents, aunts and uncles, and friends, the tree is bombarded with gifts. This year I have been staring at that tree and wondering where in the world all that “stuff” is going to go. The kids already have quite a bit of toys and games. I look around at our full house and wonder where everything will fit.

That is why I was excited when a friend of mine shared a great new find this year. Called a “Christmas Sack,” the large cloth bag is meant to filled with toys, games, or clothing the children (and adults!) no longer need and would like to share with someone who does. They fill up the bag before Christmas, and put the bag by the tree on Christmas Eve. The next morning, the bag is empty, and in the bag’s place are new things for the kids to enjoy. The idea was brilliant, and reminded me of an old adage another parent had once given me – for everything that comes in, something must go out. What I love about the idea of that bag is the bag makes room – makes room for the house to not feel cluttered, makes room for the kids to play and really enjoy their new things, and makes room for whatever might come. I want our children to grow up in a home where there is that kind of room.

Mary and Joseph run into a similar problem on that fateful night over two thousand years ago. Their problem is not so much houses overrun with presents. Their problem is homes and guesthouses overrun with people. The tyranny of living under the Roman thumb is that the Roman emperor is always looking for ways to squeeze the people – to live in prosperity no matter whether others suffer or not. In our story tonight, the emperor has gone to extremes – making people return to hometowns to be registered. He wants to make sure he has not missed any opportunities to tax his people, and so he degradingly corrals people into towns to count them like animals. By the time Mary and Joseph roll into town, all the homes of their relatives and friends are full – even the guestrooms are full.[i] There is no room for them. No space has been left over for hospitality. No room has been left for whatever might come.

And so, in the midst of a dehumanizing governmental reign, at the tail end of an already scandalous marriage and pregnancy, Mary and Joseph are squeezed into the section of a home that is reserved for animals. Alone, denigrated, shamed, and weary, they bring into this world a savior for people just like them – a savior for the poor, oppressed, marginalized, dehumanized, and victimized. In a vulnerable little package arrives the Godhead, in the most vulnerable of situations, to be a light to all who are vulnerable. What should have been a party of epic proportions becomes a gathering of misfits, who are the only ones who get to see the miracle of Christ’s birth.

As I have been thinking about how there was no room for the Holy Family, I have wondered what it would have been like for someone to make room for this vulnerable family. Had someone, anyone, said yes to Mary and Joseph, imagine the wonder they could have experienced that night. Might they have seen something different in this Christ Child? Might they have been awake when the shepherds came and heard their tale? Might they have been given first row seats to the most holy of nights? I wonder if one of the reasons that no one makes room that night is that no one is ready for the Messiah. In the midst of their own travel and cramped accommodations, the sense of persecution by their government, and perhaps a loss of hope about what could be, no one makes room for the possibility of a Messiah who can make things different. No one makes room for whatever might come.

Of course, I am not sure any of us is prepared to make room for Jesus tonight either. I do not know about you, but I have been running to the store all week because my brain is so scattered that I keep forgetting small things like milk, and worrying that we will run out when the stores are closed. I keep remembering one more person I wanted to send a greeting to or for whom I wanted get a gift. A week ago, I gave up on getting out my Christmas cards (which I decided could be Epiphany cards to give myself a break). When you are running at full speed, tending to the mundane of life, professional or familial obligations, and making sure you have laundered enough clothing, we can easily forget to make room for Jesus in our lives.

This week I was reading about a custom in Russia. On the eve of Christmas, Christians fast all day until the first star appears that night. Of course, fasting until the first star reminds them of the star that led the magi to Bethlehem. But the custom is also meant to be a fast for the soul – as one monk puts it, to “abstain from bad or useless thoughts and speech, and await in silence and composure the savior who is coming to us.”[ii] Truthfully, I cannot imagine anyone fasting and staying silent all day on Christmas Eve, but the idea is certainly intriguing. The physical fasting alone might make us savor our Christmas meals a bit more. But the spiritual fasting might be just what we need in these days of noise, suffering, and chaos – a quieting of the soul to make room for the voice of Christ, and whatever else might come.

Now, the first star has most certainly appeared by now. But you have done an incredible thing by coming here tonight. In some ways, this service is your mini-fast. You chose to take a break in the family festivities, the hubbub of preparations, and the noise of life to come to church. You have gathered with a community of people who have made that same choice. And we certainly will not be breaking our fast until we eat the holy meal. I invite you to use this special time that you have chosen to set apart as a time to take in a deep breath, to savor the quiet of this night, and to invite Jesus in – to either help you make room in your heart for him, or to invite Jesus in to the room you have already made.

The gift of this service tonight is to help you create that room and give you eyes to see what God is up to when you create space. I often find that when I create room for Jesus, I remember how fortunate I am to have family, friends, and food, and then can pray for those who lack those things. When I create room for Jesus, I can look around my community and see Marys and Josephs all around me who need a little hand – a literal room, or at least my compassion and grace. When I create room for Jesus, I see all the tiny interruptions in my day not as hurdles to accomplishing tasks, but as moments with Jesus as each person reveals to me a facet of Jesus for which I had not been listening or looking. I look forward to hearing what you do with the room you create for Jesus tonight and for whatever else might come.

[i] Douglas R.A. Hare, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 121.

[ii][ii] A monk of the Easter Church, “Christmas Eve,” A Christmas Sourcebook, Mary Ann Simcoe, ed. (Chicago: Liturgy Training Publications, 1984), 13.

Seeking and Serving

~ seek and serve Christ in all persons

Tag Archives: Sermon

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Sermon – John 1.29-42, EP2, YA, January 15, 2017

Sermon – Luke 2.1-14, CE, 8/11 PM, December 24, 2016