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Sermon – Luke 3.7-18, A3, YC, December 16, 2012

17 Monday Dec 2012

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I have been reeling since hearing the news of the shooting tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut on Friday.  The emotions alone are still raw.  The image of twenty-seven families losing a child or parent is heart-wrenching.  At a time when many of them were probably gearing up for the holidays, now they are planning funeral liturgies.  The image of hundreds of families gratefully greeting their children is tainted by what will be weeks if not years of therapy for innocence lost.  I know my own child is still recovering from fears from Hurricane Sandy – I can only imagine the fears these families will have to process.  The image of police officers and first responders flooding the scene, faithfully doing their jobs is marred by the probability that they too will need months and years to process the scene:  not with the eyes of professionals, but with the eyes of human beings.  As one FBI officer explained, although they are trained to do their jobs professionally, they are not unfeeling robots.

We too are left with a swirl of emotions.  I have felt deep sadness, confusion, shock, anger, and frustration.  With few answers to questions, we do not know who to blame or how to respond.  As you watch the news and follow social media, you can already hear the call to demonize guns, the mental health field, government, and the shooter.  In some ways, blaming someone or something would make the whole experience easier.  Otherwise, we are left bereft, feeling God’s absence or at least questioning God’s presence in suffering.

I wondered today, then if John the Baptist’s message this Advent was even relevant.  Perhaps we could turn somewhere else altogether today for solace.  But the more I thought about the gospel lesson, the more I realized John’s message of repentance is exactly what we need today.  On this “Stir Up Sunday,” John’s message of repentance stirs up in us our own culpability in the presence of sin in this world.  While I desire to point a finger at someone else for the sinfulness of the world, John the Baptist tells me, to look at my own sinfulness today.  John says, “Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children of Abraham.”  In other words, do not let your redeemed status, your chosen status, let you get complacent about your sinfulness.  In today’s terms, do not let your identity as not being the shooter let you believe yourself to be free of sin.

As our confirmands prepare for confirmation this spring, they are working through a curriculum that keeps pointing them back to the Catechism.  In our Catechism are a series of questions I find helpful today.  Turn, if you will, with me to page 848 of your Prayer Books.  Here are the questions on sin:

What is sin?  Sin is the seeking of our own will instead of the will of God, thus distorting our relationship with God, with other people, and with all creation.  How does sin have power over us?  Sin has power over us because we lose our liberty when our relationship with God is distorted.  What is redemption?  Redemption is the act of God which sets us free from the power of evil, sin, and death.  How did God prepare us for redemption?  God sent the prophets (like John the Baptist!) to call us back to himself, to show us our need for redemption, and to announce the coming of the Messiah.  What is meant by the Messiah?  The Messiah is one sent by God to free us from the power of sin, so that with the help of God we may live in harmony with God, within ourselves, with our neighbors, and with all creation.

This Advent, and in light of this tragedy, we are all invited to reflect on how our sinfulness pulls us away from God, one another, and all creation.

As dark and disheartening as John’s message may feel today, our gospel lesson does not leave us without guidance.  Three times, in response to John’s call to repentance, different groups of people ask the same question, “What then should we do?”  That question has been echoing with me all week, especially after Friday.  What then should we do?  To each group in the text, John has different advice – advice that is specific to their lot in life.  To the crowds he says, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.”  To the crowds, John gives them the work of justice.  They are to share their abundance with others.  This is their work of repentance.  To the tax collectors, John says, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.”  Tax collectors were able to survive by charging more than the base tax – their comfort came from these overages.  John challenges this widely accepted practice with another call to justice.  The tax collectors are not to abuse their positions of power.  This is their work of repentance.  To the soldiers, John says, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusations, and be satisfied with your wages.”  The soldiers used violence and manipulation for their own personal gain.  John challenges them to rule with justice.  The soldiers are to care for the people, not abuse them.  This is their work of repentance.  For each person, John saw a unique way of living a repentant life based on the vocations and values of that specific individual.[i]

Asking the question, “What then should we do?” is where John tries to get us today.  At this time of year, when we receive the most requests for contributions to churches, nonprofits, and universities, opportunities abound for goodness.  In the wake of Hurricane Sandy, as we learn of our neighbors here in Plainview – students and teachers at the school just down Washington Avenue – who need our help, opportunities abound for goodness.  In the wake of national violence, as we make sense of suffering and pain and as we enter into authentic conversation with our neighbors, opportunities abound for goodness.

The opportunities for goodness, the answer to the question “What then shall we do?” are found in our baptismal covenant.  As we discussed last week at our Annual Meeting, I have been discerning with our Vestry about who St. Margaret’s is and what our work is to be about.  We have wondered together this past year about what is the message that we want to convey to others about our identity.  Out of that discernment has emerged three verbs:  seeking, serving, and sharing.  We are a community that is seeking a deeper relationship with Christ, where seekers can simply be seekers on the journey with us.  We are a community that is serving our neighbors, loving and caring for them.  And we are a community that is sharing the good news of St. Margaret’s and the Good News of Christ Jesus with our community.  In these three words, seeking, serving, and sharing, we are, as our baptismal covenant suggests, proclaiming by word and example the Good News of God in Christ and seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our selves.  So when we look at that question of “What then shall we do?” our answer is to be a people seeking, serving, and sharing.

Luckily, our lectionary does not give us with a strong challenge without some encouragement.  We hear the comforting words from another of God’s prophets, Zephaniah.  “Do not fear, O Zion; do not let your hands grow weak.  The LORD, your God, is in your midst…he will rejoice over you with gladness, he will renew you in his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.”  In the face of tragedy, God does not leave us without work to do.  As we repent of our sins, what we shall do is to seek, serve, and share.  But in case that work feels like work, God encourages us in the journey.  Do not fear.  Do not let your hands grow weak.  God will renew you in God’s love.  Our work is laid out before us – we can get out there, seeking, serving, and sharing, because God will renew us in love.  Amen.

[i] Kathy Beach-Verhey, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),71.

Sermon – Luke 21.25-36, A1, YC, December 2, 2012

05 Wednesday Dec 2012

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On the way to Simone’s school this week, Nat King Cole’s “Christmas Song” came on the radio.  As I tried to teach Simone the words of, “chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” I suddenly became teary-eyed singing the familiar song.  Something about Christmas songs on the radio can do that to me.  Whether Judy Garland is singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” or Mariah Carey is singing “All I Want for Christmas is You” a wave of nostalgia hits me and a sense of deep happiness washes over me.  The tricky part about these songs though is that they do not connect me to the reality of my lifetime of Christmases.  Instead they simply remind me of my idealized dream of Christmas – the glossy picture I have devised about the utter perfection of Christmas.

Our entrance into Advent is a lot like that contrast.  You might have come into church today totally excited about the hope and love of Advent as we await the perfect baby Jesus.  We imagine Advent as a sort of pregnancy, where we wait for four weeks to birth the Christ Child.  We cannot wait to hear those stories that are coming – of Mary and Joseph, of shepherds and angels, of wise men.  Advent in our minds is this great time of anticipation.

Of course, the actual gospel text does little to fuel this happy anticipation.  Instead, our gospel lesson from Luke is an apocalyptic text about signs and fainting and fear.  “Stand up and raise your heads…Be on guard…Be alert at all times,” says Jesus.  The words from Jesus are not soothing or encouraging at all.  In fact the kind of waiting Jesus describes does not sound like a joyful waiting for a birth, but sounds more like the dreaded waiting for judgment.

As modern Christians, we do not tend to enjoy apocalyptic scripture lessons for several reasons.  First, apocalyptic readings are usually weird.  We much more often associate these texts with crazy fanatics who make predictions about the end of the world that rarely come true.  We have friends who like the Left Behind series; and even if we find the idea intriguing, we cannot really watch without feeling like the whole idea is strange.  We even make jokes with silly bumper stickers that say, “Jesus is coming.  Look busy.”

The second reason we do not enjoy apocalyptic readings is that we often do not understand what apocalyptic readings mean or how to interpret them.  If you have ever read the Book of Revelation all the way through, you know that your eyes start to glaze over as the images become stranger and more disjointed.  That style of literature is totally foreign to us.  Even John Calvin, theologian and father of the Presbyterian Church, who wrote a commentary on every other book of the Bible, did not attempt to write about Revelation.[i]  If John Calvin cannot interpret apocalyptic literature, we do not have much hope for our own understanding.

Finally, we do not tend to enjoy apocalyptic readings because we find them exhausting.  Even Will Willimon argues that, “It’s hard to stand on tiptoe for two thousand years.”[ii]  We know that Christ will return, but how can we possibly keep vigilant constantly?  Our life is already full of anxiety.  Between the Fiscal Cliff, wars around the world, and our own financial, personal, and emotional anxieties, we have enough to worry about without having to also be anxious about Jesus’ return.

Fortunately, on this first Sunday of Advent, there is good reason for us to turn to this kind of text.  The season of Advent reminds us that we cannot anticipate the first coming of Christ without also anticipating the second coming of Christ.  The two activities are intimately linked.  We celebrate the birth of this child because we know what this child will be.  We do not simply anticipate the Christ Child because he will be a cute baby.  We anticipate him because we know that he will be the Savior and Redeemer of the world and that he promises to come again.  Our anticipation is two-fold because we know the rest of the story.  Our anticipation would be like if we knew that baby Martin Luther King, Jr. or baby Mother Teresa were about to be born.  We do not celebrate this birth for the everyday joy of life.  We anticipate this birth because of the joy of this specific person and God-head, in whom we have redemption.

In this time between the two advents, the Church invites us through Luke to live a little differently than normal.  Our everyday faith usually means business as usual for us.  We know about the second coming, but we do not think of the second coming often.  We go to church (most of the time) and receive the sacraments; we read scripture (sometimes) and pray; we try to live by the Golden Rule and the Ten Commandments; we have our version of Christian music (hymns, Christian pop, or gospels) that enliven our faith; and we faithfully spend money and time every week on what we might deem “kingdom causes.”  This is more than enough religion to keep us going in this in-between-advents time.[iii]

But this advent, we are invited to step back and look at the whole of our Christian faith.  Sure, we may not want to be on guard at all times, but being on guard from time to time is a good thing.  We can all use a little check-up from time to time – and not just during Lent.  As Lewis Smedes argues the hardest part of anticipating the second coming of Jesus Christ is in “living the sort of life that makes people say, ‘Ah, so that’s how people are going to live when righteousness takes over our world.’”[iv]  This is our work this Advent.  Not just to look busy because Jesus is coming, but to be busy.

There is a well-known story that happened in the colonial period of American history.  The Connecticut House of Representatives were going about their work on a sunny May day, when all of a sudden, an eclipse caught the entire legislature off guard.  Right in the middle of debate, everything went to darkness.  In the midst of panic over whether this might be the second coming, a motion was made to adjourn the legislature so that people could pray and prepare for the coming of the Lord.  In response, one legislator stood up and said, “Mr. Speaker, if it is not the end of the world and we adjourn, we shall appear to be fools.  If it is the end of the world, I choose to be found doing my duty.  I move you, sir, let candles be brought.”[v]  Those men who expected Jesus went back to their desks and by candlelight resumed their debate.

We too light candles in Advent.  We too move into a time of actively living in the time between two advents.  We too take on the intentional work of living as though righteousness has taken over the world.  Of course we do not do this work alone.  We do this work “prayerfully, depending upon God to give strength to persevere despite temptation or persecution.”[vi]  Jesus is coming.  With God’s help, instead of “looking busy” this Advent, we can be busy this Advent.  Amen.

[i] Cornelius Plantinga, Jr., “In the Interim,” Christian Century, vol. 117, no. 34, Dec. 6, 2000, 1271.

[ii] Will Willimon, as quoted by Plantinga, 1270.

[iii] Plantinga, 1270.

[iv] Lewis Smedes, Standing on the Promises, as quoted by Plantinga, 1272.

[v] Joanna M. Adams, “Light the Candles,” Christian Century, vol. 123, no. 24, Nov. 28, 2006, 18.

[vi] Mariam J. Kamell, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),25.

Homily – Romans 10.8b-18, Feast of St. Andrew the Apostle, November 29, 2012

05 Wednesday Dec 2012

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I lead a weekly Eucharist on Thursdays at St. Margaret’s.  The service is a short, spoken service, and my homilies are brief reflections on the saint or feast appointed for the day.  I do not usually write out these homilies, but instead outline my thoughts.  Last week a parishioner felt like it was a “waste of gems,” for me not to publish them on the blog too.  So, she is helping me type up my outlines, and I will try to start posting them here.  They are obviously less formulated than my sermons and will read a bit like an outline, but perhaps they will feed your spiritual journey.  Enjoy this first installment from the Feast of St. Andrew the Apostle.

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But how are they to call on one in whom they have not believed?  And how are they to believe in one of whom they have never heard?  And how are they to hear without someone to proclaim him?  And how are they to proclaim him unless they are sent?

When we lament the shrinking church, we often forget one or more of these four steps.  In reverse order, the steps are a little clearer:  People have to be sent in order to proclaim;   Others cannot hear without proclamation; If others don’t hear, they can’t believe; and unless they believe, they cannot call on God.  Sending.  Proclaiming.  Belief.  Relationship with God.

Some of us stop at sending.  Church sends us out every Sunday, but we quickly move on to the next thing.  Some of us stop at proclaiming – we might invite others to church, but proclaiming sounds way too scary.  Others stop at belief.  We might be able to talk about our faith, but we can’t imagine being responsible for someone else’s belief.  Finally, we might convince someone to believe, but we can’t force them to have a relationship with God.

Today we celebrate Andrew the Apostle.  Andrew had every reason to avoid these steps, too.  Often he is simply known as Peter’s brother.  Andrew is not a part of the inner circle, which included Peter, James, and John.  Andrew could easily have left the work of going, proclaiming, and creating disciples to the others, just keeping his faith to himself.

What Andrew shows us is that everyone can be a disciple and evangelist.  We simply need:

  1. A willingness to respond.  Matthew says Andrew immediately leaves his nets and follows Jesus when he calls;
  2. A willingness to hear.  John says that Andrew had been John the Baptist’s disciple, and when John the Baptist proclaimed Jesus the Lamb of God, Andrew switched camps;
  3. A willingness to share the Good News.  John says Andrew’s first act after following Jesus is to go get his brother and bring him to Jesus.

Andrew is just a regular guy doing the work of proclamation!

Andrew teaches us today that we can all be evangelists.  Now I know how we hate that word and even the concept of evangelism, but Andrew makes it simple.  Go into the world, proclaim (tell your God story), encourage belief (you believe – it must be important enough to share), and foster a relationship with God (don’t stop talking – all your life is a witness to others that can foster others’ relationships with Christ).

Being an evangelist is all of this work, and the work really isn’t all that scary.  As Paul says, “The word is near you, on your lips and in your heart.”

Sermon – John 18.33-37, P29, YB, November 25, 2012

27 Tuesday Nov 2012

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When I say the word “king,” what words come to mind?  Perhaps these words would be on your list:  ruler, power, authoritative, supreme, distant, dictator, or my personal favorite, Elvis.  Kings are something of a foreign experience to us, since we are a country that was founded on getting rid of kings.  Our presidents are the closest things we have to kings, but the modern presidency is not really like a kingship.  Yes, the president is a ruler, but the president is elected and is balanced in power by the Congress and Supreme Court.  Yes, the president has power, but a president can also be impeached or not reelected.  So when we think of kings, we may have to think back to a king who did have some influence over our lives – King Henry VIII.  If you remember, King Henry was the king who wanted to divorce his wife so that he could remarry.  When the Pope refused the King’s request, King Henry not only divorced his wife anyway, he also started a revolution that led to the Anglican Church – our mother Church as Episcopalians.  If that is not power, I do not know what is!

Today, the Church celebrates Christ the King Sunday.  You would think on such a day, we would be hearing a text that glorifies Jesus, or that marks Jesus’ victory – such as the triumphal Palm Sunday lesson or an Easter or Ascension text.  Instead, we get the story of Jesus on trial with Pilate.  Jesus does not really look victorious in this passage – he has been humiliated, beaten, and is now being mocked by Pilate.  This is not exactly the image of Christ we may have had for Christ the King Sunday.  In fact, between Jesus and Pilate, Pilate plays the more stereotypical role of king.  Pilate uses power and authority for selfish ends with no concern for building community.  He hoards power and lords his power over people even to the point of destroying them, on a cross or otherwise.  Meanwhile, Jesus empowers others and uses his authority to wash the feet of those he leads.  He spends his life on them, and he gives his life to bring life.  Pilate’s rule brings about terror, even in the midst of calm.  Meanwhile, Jesus’ rule brings peace, even in the midst of terror.  Pilate’s followers imitate him by using violence to conquer and divide people by race, ethnicity, and nations.  Jesus’ followers put away the sword in order to invite and unify people.  Pilate’s authority originates from the will of Caesar and is always tenuous.  Meanwhile, Jesus’ authority originates from doing the will of God, and is eternal.[i]

So if Jesus as a king is so different from any kings that we know, why do we label and celebrate Christ the King?  Christ the King Sunday is not that ancient of a concept in Church history.  In 1925, in the face of growing nationalism and secularism following World War I, Pope Pius XI established the feast of Christ the King.  The feast was meant to be a way of declaring where allegiances should be – not to a country, but to God.  Our allegiance should be to Jesus – our only ruler and power.  In a time of national pride, the Church boldly proclaimed, “We have no king but Jesus.”  Proclaiming Jesus as King is a fascinating reappropriation of the title “King.”  When the Church invites us to proclaim Christ as King, not only does the Church ask us to put Christ above any earthly ruler, the Church also asks us to redefine the concept of a king.  Jesus is a king who lays down his life for the sake of others; who endures humiliation and death for the salvation of people; who humbly cares for the poor, oppressed, imprisoned, and suffering.  This image does not sound anything like the image we have of a king; and yet, this is what we proclaim today.  Our king could have easily overtaken Pilate and even Caesar for that matter – but our king humbles himself to the point of death on a cross – because our King’s rule is both here and in the age to come.  This kind of king – who can save us from our sins through his death on a cross – is the only kind of king we really need.

In some ways, celebrating Christ the King this Sunday is most appropriate.  We are at the end of our liturgical year.  In this liturgical year, we journeyed toward and celebrated Christ’s birth; walked through the years of his ministry, teaching and healing; journeyed through his passion and death; and celebrated his resurrection, ascension, and gift of the Spirit.  Ending the liturgical year by declaring Christ as King is the way that the Church summarizes the whole of Jesus’ life.  This Jesus, who was born in lowly manger, who lived a humble carpenter’s childhood, who cared for and tended the least of these, who taught the disciples how to live a different kind of life, who made the ultimate sacrifice for us, and who rose victorious from the grave – this Jesus is the Christ we call “King.”  This humble, humbled, humbling Christ is the only ruler we call King.

So what does Christ being King mean for our lives today?  If Christ is King, then we are Christ’s people.  Those who have been baptized into Christ Jesus are, as the psalmist says, the people of his pasture and the sheep of his hand.  “Christ has made of us a people with his kingship.  And that kingship is unique, unlike any earthly kingship that is bound by geographic borders…  All are welcome, especially the chronically unwelcome ones.”[ii]  When we say that we are Christ’s people, we do not imply that we elected Jesus or that we hired Jesus as CEO.  We belong to Christ as his subjects – sharing the Eucharistic meal, sharing our lives, serving Christ as one, and resting our hopes in Christ.  Being the people of Christ impacts how we treat one another in this place, how we treat others outside of this place, and how we treat ourselves.

At the end of another Church year, having lived through another cycle of hearing the stories of Jesus’ life, of being taught again through his miracles and parables, we come together to proclaim the truth of Christ’s kingship.  After another year of living our own lives – burying our loved ones, baptizing our children, celebrating marriage, mourning broken relationships, welcoming new families and ministries, struggling and thriving – we bring all of our own experiences to the climax of this day as well.  We lay down all of this past year at the feet of the crucified, enthroned Christ, and we give thanks.[iii]  We are blessed to be a people ruled by a king who rules with love and mercy.  Being so blessed, we extend that kingly love and mercy to each other, to our neighbors, and to ourselves.  Amen.

[i] Jaime Clark-Soles, as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching_print.aspx?commentary_id=1490 on November 23, 2012.

[ii] Mary W. Anderson, “Royal Treatment,” Christian Century, vol. 120, no. 23, November 15, 2003, 18.

[iii] Anderson, 18.

Sermon – Matthew 6.25-33, Thanksgiving, YB, November 22, 2012

23 Friday Nov 2012

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Today is one of those Norman Rockwell days.  We pull out old family recipes, we gather in the kitchen to cook and share in reminiscences.  We watch the Macy’s parade, hoping to sneak a glimpse at The Rockettes.  We map out which football games we will watch.  The table is set in festive ware, and the food is not only delicious, but also brings back the memories of so many other Thanksgiving meals.  We smile, laugh, and our hearts are full of gratitude.  This is the day that the Lord has made.

Or at least that is how we always fantasize Thanksgiving will look.  Instead, we have been scrambling around, making sure we have all the ingredients we need, trying to figure out what to serve to Cousin Sam’s vegan girlfriend.  We worry that Uncle Fred will be as rude and obnoxious as he always is, and whether the kids will get too impatient and cranky before the meal begins.  We worry that the turkey will be dry or that the recipe that we entrusted to our sister will not be as good as Grandma’s.  We struggle to find just the right outfit that is flattering enough for pictures, but comfortable enough for the full belly we will have after the meal.  And quite frankly, having finally mostly recovered from the Hurricane, we have barely had time to turn our thoughts to Thanksgiving, and our nerves are a little frazzled.

So as we rush into Church today, our minds full of to-do lists and worries of the day, what do we hear from Jesus?  “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear.  Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?”  Jesus scolds those who are gathered for that very human experience of anxiety, implying that their worries are rooted in a lack of trust in the God who can just as easily care for birds and lilies as God can care for them.

I have always had a love-hate relationship with this passage.  I discovered this passage as a teen, and have returned to the passage time and again when I felt the waves of anxiety crashing over my head.  The passage is oddly comforting and frustrating at the same time.  The passage has a way of making me feel guilty about my anxiety – as though I should be ashamed of my worries and concerns.  I can almost hear the scolding tenor of Jesus, like a nagging mother.  But like most mothers who know best, the words are simultaneously comforting because I know that they are true at the deepest levels of my being.  I find comfort in these words because they force me out of the mire that is usually self-imposed, and turn my heart to where my heart belongs – to God.

Luckily, we are in good company.  Our modern consumerist society does not make us as different from those in Biblical times as we might think.  Clearly those following Jesus stressed as much as we do about putting food on the table and the latest clothing styles.  In fact, this fear is present throughout scripture.  How many times have we heard that command, “Fear not.”  “The order not to fear is perhaps not only the most reiterated in Scripture, but also the least obeyed.”[i]  What Jesus sees and why Jesus scolds is because Jesus knows that those anxieties pull us away from the work that God has given us to do.  When those doing God’s work get distracted by their worries and fears, they have little time or energy left to actually do God’s work.  This is what Jesus is trying to communicate – to redirect energy from that inner storm of worry, fear, and anxiety, to the productive work of God’s kingdom.  For, as Jesus explains, “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?”  Worry pulls us inward – which is completely the opposite direction that the Church sends us after every Eucharist.

Today, instead of letting myself wallow in guilt or seeing Jesus as a scolding parent, I will think of Jesus as a great yoga instructor.  In yoga, one of the primary goals of the practice is to clear your mind.  Any good yoga instructor will admit that you cannot clear your mind by willing your mind to be clear.  Thoughts and distractions will continue to invade your practice.  The trick is to acknowledge the thought, and let the thought go, returning your focus to your practice.  Uncle Fred worrying you?  Release the fear from your body.  Perfect Thanksgiving meal weighing on you?  Let go of the anxiety from your mind.  Rowdy children and messy dishes stressing you out?  Free your heart to love without limit.  These are the words I imagine Jesus, the yoga instructor, offering us today.  Today is not really about any of those things anyway.  All of those things – food, loved ones, and rest – are gifts from God:  the same God that desires for you to do the work of seeking and serving Christ in others.  The rest is gravy!  Amen.

[i] Jason Byassee, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 406.

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

20 Tuesday Nov 2012

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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.

[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.

Sermon – Ruth 3.1-5; 4.13-17, Mk. 12.38-44, P27, YB, November 11, 2012

12 Monday Nov 2012

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This week, once our power was finally restored, Simone and I caught an episode of our favorite show, Sesame Street.  Typically I am running around the house getting us ready for school and work during Sesame Street, but this week, I found myself glued to the television.  In this particular episode, Sesame Street experienced a hurricane, and Big Bird’s home was destroyed.  All the neighbors of Sesame Street came out to help Big Bird.  But Big Bird struggled with their help.  Although he appreciated all their hard work, he was so fraught with sadness and despair that he could hardly focus on their generosity.  Although they put him up for the night, their houses were not the same as his.  Although they fed him meals, the food was not quite as he would want.  You could tell that he appreciated their efforts, but what he truly missed was his independence.  He did not like depending on others, especially because their care took him out of his comfort zone.

To be honest, I almost could not watch the episode.  The story was a little too close to home.  We have all been struggling with the battle between independence and dependence these last two weeks.  We have been dependent on the generosity of our neighbors and friends who have given us breaks from the cold, a space to recharge our electronics, a warm meal, or a place to clean laundry.  We have been dependent of the workers of LIPA and electrical workers from around the country to help us get our electricity restored.  We have been dependent on the availability of gasoline for transportation and for the few of us with generators.  Almost all of us have experienced episodes of dependence over the last two weeks, and we do not like it!  Receiving help feels awkward, throwing off the balance of power that we have with others.  We do not like the lack of control that dependence creates.  In fact some of us have stayed in cold homes, avoiding shelters or the offers of friends and neighbors just because we want some modicum of control over our disrupted lives.

With this internal struggle with dependence, our lectionary lessons today then are almost salt in our wounds.  First we hear from the concluding chapters of Ruth.  Ruth is often seen as one of the most independent, strong-willed women in scripture.  But in the portion of text we hear today, we hear the other reality of Ruth’s life – Ruth’s life is marked by dependence.  Ruth is dependent upon Naomi, who conceives of a plan to save them both; she is dependent upon Boaz, who can support her and sustain her; and she is dependent upon the community, who understands the roles of women and community in very different ways than we do in modern America.  In some ways, Ruth goes from being the central woman of fierce independence, to the dependent wife, mother, and daughter-in-law who fades into the life of the community.

Then we get the widow in our gospel lesson today.  Here is a woman, who barely has anything, who, as a widow, is inherently dependent upon others for support, and who is found putting the two final coins in her possession in the treasury.  Jesus praises her because she gives not out of her abundance like the others, but because she recognizes her total dependence upon God, and freely gives away everything.  The lesson we hear from Jesus today about this woman is that we are to be “dependent on nothing but the grace of God.  We are to be people without any resources except the riches of God’s mercy.”[i]

And this is where we all get more than a little bit uncomfortable with Jesus’ words and Ruth’s actions.  We replay these past two weeks and worry that if we cannot get comfortable depending on our neighbors, how are we ever to get comfortable with depending fully on God?  Or our practical brains kick in and we immediately begin to argue with God.  How are we supposed to function on our own without a penny to our name?  Are we just supposed to walk away from everything, standing on the street, saying, “Okay God, I am dependent upon you.  Take care of me.”  In our independent American culture, the idea of dependence is uncomfortable and almost feels impossible to us.

For guidance, I go back to our lessons.  First, I listen again to Ruth.  Instead of imagining Ruth as the woman oppressed by a patriarchal system, I like to imagine the joy that comes from Ruth’s life – the joy that is found when an entire community comes together for the sake of survival.  When Obed is born, everyone rejoices, everyone wins.  Maybe Ruth is not a liberated, independent woman – but are any of us truly so liberated that we do not need others in our lives?  Ruth chooses dependence – she willingly chooses dependence because she trusts that God will make everything right.  In fact, her independent self chooses dependence throughout her blessed story.

Next, I look back at the widow.  She irrationally gives everything to God – her very last pennies.  But we should be honest.  When all you have are pennies left, those little coins are not going to dramatically change your life anyway.[ii]  Her utter poverty and dependence upon others who care for widows allow her to see what the wealthy cannot – that everything belongs to God anyway.  What she teaches us is not to feel guilty or irrational about wealth and giving, but to realize that we will have to choose dependence upon God – because dependence never comes naturally.

When I worked at Habitat, I remember having a conversation with the financial consultant to our homeowner families.  In looking at one homeowner’s budget, she saw that the homeowner was giving about ten percent of her income to her Church.  The consultant was frustrated, because she knew that all that giving to the Church was hurting the homeowner’s children.  But the homeowner would not budge on the issue.  The homeowner insisted they would just have to find another way to balance the budget, because God was getting that ten percent.

The truth is that our lessons are not condemning wealth or independence.  What the lessons are trying to teach us is that both wealth and our own egos can trick us into thinking that we can truly be independent.  They can trick us into thinking that we do not really need God.  That is why the Stewardship Committee and I have been talking about our relationship with money this past month.  We have not been talking about money because we need to bring in enough to pay the bills, or because we want us to feel guilty about our wealth.  We have been talking about money because we want us all to see how our relationship with money can impact our relationship with God.  When we cling to our money or our independence so tightly that we blind ourselves to the blessings that can bubble out of letting go of those things, we miss out on opportunities for the Holy Spirit to work on us, to help us see through the lens of Christ.  Although some may connect dependence with oppression and depression, Ruth and Jesus show us that our dependence on God leads to joy and thanksgiving.[iii]

As I think back on these past two weeks, I will also remember the blessings.  I will remember how a hot bowl of soup or a warm pot of spaghetti warmed not only my insides, but also warmed my spirits.  I will remember the camaraderie of people gathered at the public library, charging electronics and helping kids blow off steam.  I will remember the ways in which our mutual dependence led to conversations with people that normally would have been superficial but were now full of meaning and shared support.  I will remember the great comfort of sharing an impromptu coffee hour with those of us who could spare the gasoline to get here last week, and how overjoyed I was just to see your faces and hear your stories.  If anything, this horrible storm has shown how we are more dependent than we all might like, but also how that dependence has led to incredible blessings.  Our invitation today is to embrace our dependence on God in the same way that we are embracing our dependence on one another.  Amen.

[i] Mary W. Anderson, “Widow’s Walk,” Christian Century, vol. 20, no. 22, Nov. 1, 2003, 18.

[ii] Anderson, 18.

[iii] Anderson, 18.

Sermon – John 11.32-44, All Saints, YB, November 4, 2012

09 Friday Nov 2012

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All Saints’ Day is the Day that the Church commemorates the saints of Church History, who died living a faithful Christian life.  We remember notable saints, like St. Margaret of Antioch.  But we also remember all the saints, who by virtue of their baptism die into the sacred communion of all saints.  On this day, we remember those whose lives inspire us; and we remember those saints to us – our friends and family – who have died an earthly death.  And the way the Church celebrates those deaths is no different than the way we celebrate any funeral – by focusing on resurrection.  In our gospel lesson today, we see resurrection most clearly in the raising of Lazarus, who was dead for four days, and who is raised by Jesus to new life.

Now, I do not know about you, but after the week we have had, the last thing I feel like celebrating is resurrection.  We have seen actual death, as Hurricane Sandy and the aftermath have killed many and destroyed homes and livelihoods.  We have had our own neighborhoods plunged into suffering and destruction.  And many of us have suffered in various ways – with no heat, no hot water, no electricity, and no gasoline.  Sure, things could be worse for us, but they are not great.  There is a certain point at which we know we should be saying, “It could be worse.”  But honestly, “it” feels pretty bad.  And the slow progress on recovery and the horror stories of places like the shores and Staten Island make us feel worse.

So now, the Church wants us to focus on resurrection?  Trust me, I have been resisting pondering resurrection all week.  I even considered switching the lessons to the normal propers instead of the All Saints’ Day propers.  But I figured, although the lectionary is not divinely ordered, when I stick to the lectionary, God always moves in us for good.  So I starting thinking about all those who have died this year – those saints we celebrate today.  I thought of those who have died in this storm.  I thought of Miriam and Dick Gow.  I thought of what we say at every Christian burial – that life is changed not ended; that Jesus is the resurrection and the life; that we celebrate eternal life, not mourn earthly death.

With those saints in mind, I returned to our gospel lesson.  Two things gave me hope.  First: Jesus weeps.  Our gospel lesson tells us that Jesus is angry about Lazarus’ death.  The text says that Jesus was “greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.”  But scholars agree that what the Greek is actually saying is that Jesus is angry[i] and that Jesus weeps.  If Jesus, the fully human and fully divine Son of God, can be angry and weep at death, so can we.

But Jesus does not linger in that emotion long.  Second, Jesus turns to resurrection.  Now we obviously cannot bring the dead back, as Jesus does with Lazarus.  But we can rest our hope in the resurrection.  This two-fold action of Jesus – anger and sorrow, followed by joyful hope in the resurrection – is our roadmap for this All Saints’ Day.

So despite the fact that we might want to linger in mourning, or despite the fact that the mourning comes in waves over time, we grasp tightly to the hope of resurrection.  And so, with the saints, we turn toward resurrection this day too.  We turn our hearts to the restored life that we find here on Long Island – as we see extension cords stretched across streets for neighbors to share power; as we welcome neighbors and strangers to come in our homes to share our power, heat, or to do a load of laundry; as we share our now unnecessary non-perishables, water, and blankets; or as we help an elderly neighbor remove branches and trees from their yard.

But we also turn to the resurrection life here at St. Margaret’s today.  We have been through almost a year together now, and in that time we have seen much resurrection life.  We have welcomed newcomers, revived outreach ministries, and begun new formation programs for children, teens, and adults.  We have seen life after what, at times, felt like a death, and we are walking into what feels like a time for great joy and hope.  So, instead of wallowing in grief, today, we choose marching forward with resurrection hope.  And even though pledge cards may seem hardly appropriate today, we take our pledge cards, those symbols of our commitment to resurrection living, and we march them forward today.  Because even in the midst of suffering and earthly death, today we claim life.  We proclaim that we put our energies into the life of faith here in this place, and the work of witness and mission we do right here in Plainview.  Because we are a resurrection people, joined by the saints, living a resurrection life.  Amen.

[i] A. K. M. Adam, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 241.

Sermon – Job 42.1-6, 10-17, P25, YB, October 28, 2012

28 Sunday Oct 2012

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After a month of reading through the book of Job on Sundays, you would think today would feel victorious.  Finally, Job is rewarded for all his suffering!  The text tells us that God restores the fortunes of Job and gives Job twice as much as he had before.  Family members return to greet him and shower him with gifts, and he is blessed with ten new children.  For any of us who have been through a time of suffering, this should feel like great news.

But this week, as I have been praying on this text, I cannot shake the hollow feeling of this good news today.  Sure, Job has ten new children, but they can never erase the memory of the ten children he lost.  Sure, all his wealth is returned, but after losing everything, having his friends and family abandon and blame him, and sitting covered in boils, surely wealth had lost its value and importance to Job.  The good news of this text has left me feeling hollow because I just cannot imagine how Job lives into this good news.  How can he conceive children with his wife who mocked him and God, risk loving again, and know that his children will never know the reality of the suffering he experienced.  And his family and friends who return with gifts – where were they when he needed them?

I struggle too because we do not really get answers today from Job or God.  We never really find out why God allows Job’s blessings to be taken away.  The only semblance of an answer happened last week when God railed against Job for assuming that Job could understand the ways of God.  But an answer does not come in the blessings either.  The last verses of the book of Job do not “say that God restored Job’s fortunes and relationships in response to Job’s words of repentance and humility.  Instead, God’s reasons for giving things to Job are as unexplained as the reasons they were taken away.  God does not explain suffering, but God does not explain beatitude either.”[i]  We are left at the end of a month of Job no clearer about suffering and blessing than we were when we started.

Maybe this ending to Job feels hollow to me now because I have seen and experienced too much of Job’s journey.  I have held in prayer friends, family, and parishioners who have sat in the ashes of suffering with neither of us finding satisfactory answers.  I have listened to St. Margaret’s stories of pain and suffering that happened in the years before my arrival.  And I have had more friends than I wish to count who have lost a child in pregnancy.  Many of us here have lost teen or adult children.  Having journeyed with friends, I know that you can never replace those children.

I think also the ending of Job feels hollow to me because the ending does not address Job’s relationship with God.  God and Job have been on incredible journey.  Job moves in the book from talking about God with his friends to talking more and more directly to God.  What was once a theological concept is now an intimate relationship.  Job manages throughout the journey to hold on to “God with one hand and shake his fist at God with the other.  He stays in relationship with God, addressing God directly even from the depths of despair.”[ii]  But the ending of Job does not really give us a clue about what that relationship looks like going forward.  Are they back to square one?  Does Job go back to being blessed and on good terms with God?  Now that his blessing is doubled, does God slip back into the background, unnecessary or at least not thought about too much?

As I have struggled with this text, I finally began to find footing in the small details of the text today.  The first details are in Job’s confession at the beginning of the lesson.  Job confesses that his relationship with God has changed.  Job says, “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you.”  In other words, Job declares that he had heard about God, but now he knows God.  This journey of suffering and pain changes Job’s experience of God – from being a relationship of dutiful obedience and distant reverence, to a deep intimacy and knowledge.  He no longer simply knows God cognitively; Job knows God in the depths of his being.  As Job experiences utter devastation, loss, abandonment, and pain; as Job rages at God in anger and fury; as Job moans through his misery – Job never pushes God away.  Through some forty chapters of pain, Job manages to grow into deeper love of God.

The other small detail in Job where I find footing today comes in how he orders his life in the midst of his restored fortunes.  Job does not tell his family and friends – the abandoners – to go away, holding a grudge against them that can never be healed.  Instead, he receives their gifts without protest.  Job does not live a guarded life.  Instead, he risks new life with his wife which results in the birth of ten children.  And Job does not return to the same old way of doing things.  Instead he gives his daughters an inheritance just like his sons.  That may not sound like a big deal by modern standards, but giving an inheritance to his daughters is a huge deal.  This act by Job is a radical and innovate way of extending his own transformation by transforming the social order for his daughters.[iii]  The way that Job orders his life during his restored fortunes says a lot about how this ordeal has transformed him.

In the midst of what can feel like a hollow ending, we two can find hope for our own spiritual journey.  We learn two things from Job.  First, our relationship with God is indeed a journey.  The experience of Job gives us permission to be angry with God, to question God, to be a fully and ignorantly limited human with God, and to humbly stand with God.  We can do all of this not as defeated individuals but as transformed individuals – so transformed, in fact, that we can be a people who endeavor to risk love.

The other thing that we learn from Job is to redefine our understanding of blessedness.  We never hear in the text about how Job feels about being doubly blessed.  I like to imagine that Job is sober about his second blessing, his experience of suffering coloring the blessing.  On Simone’s first day of school in Delaware, when I met her teacher, we both were shocked by the recognition.  Simone’s teacher was a Habitat homeowner who had gone through the program when I worked with Habitat for Humanity.  Here was a woman who had gotten into a situation of housing instability.  Her income was 25-50% of median income.  Her children were squeezed into one room at a friend’s house.  Their anxiety and stress had been overwhelming.  But she put in hundreds of hours of sweat equity, she built a home, and she stabilized her family.  Simone’s teacher could have gone back to school to find a higher-earning job.  But she stayed with this school, forming and shaping one- and two-year olds into loving, caring toddlers.  Simone’s teacher was one of the most amazing women I have ever met, and she transformed my daughter’s life at a formative time.  Simone’s teacher could have been distant, cut-off from extending love, or resentful for her time in poverty.  But instead, Simone’s teacher was full of life and love.

Job, like this teacher, learned that he could use his blessing to transform others.  Job invites us to also consider the ways that we can use our blessings to transform others – to become a blessing.  In our stewardship campaign this year, we have been talking about how we are blessed to be a blessing.  Job shows us the way of living into this life.  Yes, I want you to consider how you can be a financial blessing to St. Margaret’s.  But I also want you to see the great invitation of transforming your spirit into one of blessing.  We all have a laundry list of things that could make us bitter, guarded, or careful.  But Job and God invite us to instead live the blessed life that blesses others.  We are promised today that we can live into a blessing life through the example of Job – a man who had every reason to abandon hope, love, and God – but who instead is strengthened in God, renewed in hope, and overflowing with love.  We too can embrace Job’s embodiment of being a blessing in this life.  Amen.

[i] Martin B. Copenhaver, “Risking a Happy Ending,” Christian Century, vol. 111, no. 28, Oct. 12, 1994, 923.

[ii] Kathryn Schifferdecker, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?tab=2&alt=1, as found on October 26, 2012.

[iii] Dale P. Andrews, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 199.

Sermon – Mark 10.17-31, P23, YB, October 14, 2012

15 Monday Oct 2012

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For those of you paying attention to the gospel lesson today and who realize we are kicking off Stewardship Season this week, I promise I did not pick the lessons today!  We are blessed by a lectionary that guides us through our sacred scripture every year, and the use of the lectionary is one of the many things that attracted me to the Episcopal Church.  That being said, since Jesus so conveniently brought up the subject of money, it only seems fitting that we talk about money today.

We know that the issue of money was important to Jesus.  All three of the synoptic gospels tell a version of the story we hear today.  We know the story well, and tend to avoid the story like the plague.  At some point or another, we have convinced ourselves that this text does not really apply to us.  We do not see ourselves as rich – we can all think of someone who has more than we do and we all struggle with our finances at times.  But in the depths of our hearts, we know that Jesus is talking to us.  As Americans, we constitute five percent of the world’s population, but consume twenty-four percent of the world’s energy.  Americans eat roughly 200 billion more calories a day than we need, which is enough to feed 80 million people every day.  We consume about 159 gallons of water a day, while more than half of the world’s population lives on 25 gallons.  We have more shopping malls than high schools.[i]  Whether we prefer to admit the truth or not, we are the rich person that today’s gospel lesson is addressing.  And if Jesus is talking to us, Jesus is also asking us to give up our wealth because otherwise, we, the camels, have no chance of getting through that needle’s eye.

But before we go too far down the road to guilt or panic, let’s look at what Jesus is really saying in our gospel lesson today.  This young man is a righteous man who approaches Jesus with a genuine desire to ensure he is on the right path to eternal life.  He approaches Jesus humbly, racing to Jesus and kneeling before him like so many other sick people have.[ii]  He must have been fairly certain that his life was not whole to pursue Jesus like this.  What he may not have expected is what Jesus tells him.  Jesus tells him that he is living a righteous life – with one small exception.  His wealth, his possessions, his “stuff” is getting in the way of salvation.  His possessions and wealth have become a source of separation from God.  This is what Jesus is really after today.  Having money is not in and of itself evil.  We need money to survive.  But our relationship with money has the potential to separate us from God.

Wealth can separate us from God in one of two ways.  When we have abundant resources, we eventually assume that whatever needs to be done, we can do.  But this kind of self-sufficiency and self-produced security cuts us off from grace.  Life becomes an achievement earned or a commodity purchased rather than a gift gratefully received and shared.  God becomes unnecessary or simply another commodity.  And if security and worth are rooted in achievements and resources, amassing more becomes our driving motivation.  We cannot let up.  We cannot relax.  We cannot give sacrificially.  Wealth becomes addictive.[iii]

The other way that wealth can separate us from God is that wealth can separate us from those who are impoverished.  Our wealth makes avoiding the poor possible, keeping them out of sight and mind.  As we have been working through our hunger curriculum on Wednesday nights, we have all said at one point or another that we simply do not run into the poor that often in our daily lives.  As one bishop explains, the reason why that socioeconomic divide separates us from God is because, “We cannot know the God of Jesus Christ apart from relationships with the poor and the powerless.  God has chosen the poor, the least, the most vulnerable, those whom the world considers ‘the weak’ as special friends.”[iv]  If we want to grow closer to God, we must grow closer to those whom Jesus cared for the most.  And in order to grow close to the poor, we must examine our relationship with our own wealth.

Now all of this is not to say that Jesus is mad at the wealthy man or sees him as lost.  Mark’s gospel tells us that, “Jesus, looking at him, loved him…”  Now if you remember, Mark is usually the most succinct of the gospel writers.  Neither Matthew nor Luke includes this small detail.  So if Mark is including this detail, the detail is important.[v]  We need to know that Jesus loves this young man because in his loving gaze we learn that Jesus believes the young man has a chance.  The young man has a chance not because he can achieve this new life style.  In fact, when the disciples ask Jesus about this very issue of who can overcome the hurdles of wealth, Jesus says, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”  The young man cannot change his relationship between wealth and God alone.  That relationship can only be changed with God – because with God, all things are possible.

Today we kick off our stewardship season at St. Margaret’s.  For the next several weeks, we will be examining our own relationship between wealth and God.  In order to help us with that discernment, the Stewardship Committee has chosen the theme, “Blessed to be a Blessing.”  We chose this theme because we do not want us to have a guilty or conflicted relationship with wealth.  We want to see our individual wealth as a blessing that enables each of us to be a blessing to others.  All of us at St. Margaret’s have been blessed.  We have our basic needs met – a place to live, food to eat, and clothes to wear.  Most of us have been blessed beyond our basic needs – with cars, entertainment, and technology.  And we have been blessed spiritually by this community.  We have a community of faith where we can come and seek a deeper knowledge and understanding of God.  We have a community that engages us in the faith journey, challenging us to grow into the love of God.  And we have a community that sends us out in the world, showing us the real meaning of God’s love through our service of others.

This stewardship season is not a season to wallow in guilt and beat up ourselves.  But this season is a season to act.  God blesses us so that we can be a blessing.  So where do we start this work of being a blessing?  We start that work by righting our relationship between God and our wealth – our blessings.  As you are pondering your own experience of that relationship, I want you to consider how your pledge this year might be a spiritual discipline that rights that relationship; how this community might help each other right our relationships with wealth and God together.  Now I know we do not like to talk about money with other people.  But if this is a place of spiritual discipline, prayer, teaching, formation for our children and adults, and reaching out and loving our neighbors, where else is a better place to talk honestly about our relationship with money.  This community is forming each of us to be faithful disciples; but we cannot be fully formed unless we are willing to work on our whole being, including our relationship with wealth.  Our discipline of giving more generously and sacrificially – more out of blessing than obligation – can help us to loosen our grip on a relationship with wealth that separates us from God.  Your financial giving to Church is as much of a discipline as your prayer, your study, your serving, your seeking, and your worshiping in this place.  If we can put energy in those areas, we can put some work into our financial stewardship.

In the coming weeks, you will hear from every member of the Stewardship Committee about their own struggles with wealth.  You will hear about how looking at their relationship with money and God is transforming that relationship into one of blessing.  You will see Message articles, blog posts, and updates on our new stewardship bulletin board.  This committee of seven people is intentionally looking at how they feel blessed to be a blessing, examining the quality of their own relationship between wealth and God.  Their invitation to us is to engage in this reflection with them, to discern how God is moving in our lives, and to act.  We can do this work together, because with God, all things are possible.  Amen.

[i] Frank Thomas, “Can Rich People Be Saved?” Ex Auditu, vol. 22, 2006, 219.

[ii] Barbara Rossing, “Healing Affluenza:  A Sermon on Mark 10:17-27,” Currents in Theology and Mission, vol. 22, no. 4, August 2006, 300.

[iii] Kenneth L. Carder, “The Perils of Riches,” Christian Century, vol. 114, no. 26, Sept. 24 – Oct. 1, 1997, 831.

[iv] Carder, 831.

[v] Stacey Elizabeth Simpson, “Who Can be Saved?” Christian Century, vol. 117, no. 26, Sept. 27 – Oct. 4, 2000, 951.