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Sermon – Luke 15.1-3, 11b-32, L4, YC March 10, 2013

15 Friday Mar 2013

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The parable of the prodigal son is one of those beloved parables – the perfect parable for a Lenten journey.  Part of the story’s perfection is that there are so many characters with which to connect.  This year, I have been lingering on the older son.  The older son has every reason to be angry with his father’s lavish forgiveness.  The older son has done what has been expected of him.  He is obedient, hard-working, and would have never insulted his father as deeply as his brother does.  He is the consummate good and faithful servant.  And so when his father, who, by the way, has never given much praise for the older son’s obedience, throws a party for his wayward brother, the older son finally snaps.  He throws a first-class temper tantrum, refusing to come into the party and then yells at his father about the injustice of such a party.

What is so real for us with the older son is that we know his reaction all too well.  Two strong emotions take over the older son.  First, he is struck down with a serious case of envy.  The older son sees the party for his wayward brother, and covets the party.  Never once has he been offered even the smallest of parties for himself and his friends.  The older son has a case of what the Berenstain Bears children’s books call the “Green-Eyed Monster.”  In the Berenstain’s book, The Green-Eyed Monster, Brother Bear is celebrating his birthday, receiving gifts.  Sister Bear is mostly fine with this arrangement, remembering her own birthday party earlier in the year.  That is, until Brother Bear gets the most beautiful, sleek bicycle she has ever seen.  Then the Green-Eyed Monster takes over.  But just so that the adults do not think they are immune, before the story ends, Papa Bear gets a visit from the Green-Eyed Monster too when a neighbor gets a fancy new car.  The point is that envy and jealousy are all too familiar to us.

The other emotion that takes over is self-righteous indignation.  The older son is clearly right about his younger brother.  His younger brother did sin, was disrespectful, behaved selfishly, and disgraced the entire family.  The younger brother does not deserve the reception he receives.  But that is exactly what makes the reception so full of grace.  But the older son is so blinded by his self-righteous indignation, that he cannot see the blessing of his father’s reaction.  As one person describes his situation, the older brother is “standing outside in the dark, perfectly right and perfectly alone.”[i]

When we do premarital counseling, we talk about the ways that spouses and partners behave in disagreements.  Every family and couple has them, and so our counseling is a way to talk about handling disagreements in a healthy way.  I once had a priest tell me that the three most important words for any marriage are, “I.  Am.  Sorry.”  They sound like three words that are simple enough to say.  But somehow we have such a hard time saying them.  Partly I think we struggle with saying them because we think they mean admitting guilt or, even worse, defeat.  And few of us like to lose.  But that same priest told me, the next three most important words are, “You.  Are.  Forgiven.”  As hard as apologizing can be, sometimes forgiving can be even more difficult.  But forgiveness is the only thing that can keep our relationships in balance.  Ideally, by one person saying, “I am sorry,” and the other saying, “You are forgiven,” both parties give up some of their power.  Both parties submit something of themselves to the other.  When one party is unwilling to say one of these things, they become like the older son – perhaps perfectly in the right, but also perfectly alone in their rightness.

What the older brother teaches us is that sometimes we have a choice between being right and being in relationship.  In some ways, much like the younger son has been in a distant country, the older son is also in a distant country.  He has cutoff connection to his brother, to his father, and even to those who have gathered to rejoice over the new life his brother has been given.[ii]  In choosing to be right, he stand out in the darkness, unable to rejoice in another’s joy, closed off the hope of redemption and reconciliation.  In Rembrandt’s The Prodigal Son, the older son stands at a distance, hands crossed in front of him, standing in a darker section of the painting.  His face is lighted, but only to highlight the way in which his distance is important.  Like in the parable, Rembrandt shows the older son, in his rigid, distant body language, as choosing rightness over relationship at that moment.

In the face of this stubborn resistance to forgiveness and grace, the father in the parable shows equal abundance toward his two sons.  According to etiquette of the time, leaving his guests at a party was a breach of social mores.[iii]  But the father ignores social mores for both sons.  The father disregards common practice, and seeks out his older son in the same way that he ran to his younger son upon his return.  The father reminds the older son of the promise that still awaits him.  Then the father invites him into his joy – to celebrate a reconciled relationship – much like the reconciliation the older brother can enjoy if he just comes into the room.

Perhaps why the older son’s story is lingering with me is because we do not know how he responds to the father’s invitation.  The story ends with the ultimate cliffhanger that does not let you know whether the older son remains outside the party or comes inside the party.  Certainly the father’s desire is for him to come in, but we do not know whether the son chooses rightness or relationship.  I have wondered what would happen if the older brother went into the party.  What if the younger brother fell at his brother’s feet too, saying those three hardest words, “I am sorry.”  What if the two men simply embraced – saving words for later.  What if the joy and laughter of that room cracked through the older brother’s tough exterior, and warmth began to seep into his heart.  What if…

In many ways, I think the story ends openly to remind us that we too have a choice.  We too can choose to be right – to hold on to the things in life about which we are justifiably angry and disappointed.  We have every right to protect ourselves and even our family and friends from the kinds of behaviors that hurt us emotionally.  We can be guarded and keep our distance – standing out in the darkness of rightness.  Or we can choose to come into the party, and see what happens.  We may not be able to say “I am sorry,” or even, “You are forgiven,” but we can at least step through the door, into the warm glow of a room that is bursting with abundant grace and love for us and for all – that place where all are forgiven and all are loved.  Amen.

[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Evils of Pride and Self-Righteousness,” Living Pulpit, vol. 1, no. 4, O-D 1992, 39.

[ii] David Lose, “Preaching the Prodigal,” as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/dear_wp.aspx?article_id=672 on March 8, 2013.

[iii] Leslie J. Hoppe, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 119.

Sermon – Luke 13.1-9, L3, YC, March 3, 2013

04 Monday Mar 2013

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We are half way through Lent, and this is the time that we begin to take stock.  But we do not always take stock of ourselves, humbly repenting of the ways we are stumbling with our disciplines.  No, we look at everyone else.  When we ask our fellow parishioners how their Lenten disciplines are going, we are not asking out of Christian love.  We are asking because we hope they are failing more miserably than we are.  We need to hear that someone has lapsed in their practice or given up altogether so that our weak attempts to hold on do not seem so weak after all.  We are a judgmental people, and we rarely offer the forgiveness that we so long to receive.

Jesus knows this as he listens to those gathered around him in our Gospel lesson today.  They are lamenting with Jesus about two groups of people who have recently suffered – the Galileans at the hand of Pilate and those near the tower of Siloam.  “Isn’t it horrible, Jesus,” they seem to be saying.  The insinuation is that those in Galilee and in Siloam must have sinned gravely to receive such suffering.  The assumption was a common one among the people of Israel.[i]  We remember the friends of Job who immediately assumed Job must have done something wrong to deserve his severe suffering.  Those gathered around Jesus are hoping that Jesus will confirm their suspicions – that Jesus will turn the spotlight on the sinfulness of those people, so that they can all shake their heads in judgment.

But Jesus will not take the bait.  Instead, Jesus tells this story:  Once upon a time, there was a fig tree that was not bearing fruit, and had not bore fruit for three years.  Fed up, the vineyard owner decided to cut down the unproductive tree.  But before the vineyard owner could touch the tree, the gardener made one last plea.  The gardener asked for one more year.  In that year, the gardener would dig around the tree, spreading manure at the roots of the tree.  If after a year of such care the tree still did not produce fruit, then the owner could chop down the tree.

The message seems to be clear in Jesus’ parable:  repent, change your ways, and start producing fruit, or you will be slaughtered.  But this interpretation of the parable gets all the parts confused.  The people gathered are not the gardeners begging God, the vineyard owner, for one more year to tend our garden.  That version of the parable would be too simple.  Instead, God is the gardener – the one negotiating grace – and they are the unproductive trees.

I have been thinking about life as the unproductive fig tree all week.  An unproductive tree is still very much alive – the tree goes about the business of breathing in and drinking up nutrients.  The tree is surviving, but not thriving.  But the tree is doing about all the tree can do.  The tree cannot fertilize itself.  The tree cannot aerate the tree’s own soil.  In order for the tree to thrive, the tree is dependent upon the gardener for the kind of care that produces fruit.

This is where I got stuck in the parable.  First, Jesus tells the people to repent; but then, Jesus tells the people that they are immobile trees, incapable of changing anything without the help of a gardener.  As someone who likes who likes to do, to be active, to achieve something, this parable is especially difficult.  If Jesus had just said to repent, I would have had a task to do – a job to accomplish.  Repenting, amending my ways, returning to God are all things I can work on and do.  But being a tree that just stands there, waiting for someone to help her, depending on God’s grace feels a lot less comfortable.

This Lent I really struggled with choosing a spiritual discipline.  I have tried all sorts of practices in Lent in the past:  reading a daily devotional, taking up a prayer practice, creating an exercise routine, or even giving up a foul mouth.  I tend to like the practices that add something to your life, rather than take something away.  But this year, nothing seemed to fit.  I talked to my spiritual director about my quandary, and she suggested something radical.  Instead of taking on something or giving up something, she suggested I just commit to just being more aware.  My busybody nature was totally confused and apprehensive.  But my spiritual director encouraged me to just try – to try spending this Lent, not busying myself with a discipline, but daily taking stock of my life patterns and observing.  This non-practice practice has been the most awkward experience for me.  As a person who needs tangibility, I have been left with this intangible practice.  No checklist to consult, no achievements to track:  just a practice of being, of letting God work on me.

I think what my spiritual director has been trying to get me to live into is the tree identity of our parable today.  In naming ourselves as the tree in Jesus’ parable, we are claiming a couple of things.  First, we are claiming that we are utterly incapable of determining our future.  The tree in the parable is not bearing fruit, and nothing the tree does will help the tree change this status.  The tree cannot try harder or behave differently.  The tree is simply a tree planted where the tree is.  Second, in identifying with the tree, we are claiming that we are dependent upon the gardener.  We are dependent upon the gardener’s mercy – the gardener who lobbies for one more year of trying.  We are dependent upon the gardener for determining the kind of nourishment we will receive.  We do not get to consult the gardener about the type of care we think we need.  We must trust the gardener to do what the gardener does best.

What I like about this parable today is that the parable takes us out of our comfort zones and puts us squarely in God’s hands.  First, by telling the people to repent, Jesus takes the people out of a mode of comparing and judging others and puts the people in the mode of tending to themselves.  His instruction to repent is almost Jesus’ way of saying, “Why don’t you stop worrying about what Pilate did and what the people of Siloam did, and why don’t you take stock of your own stuff.”  And then Jesus takes the wind out the sails of the people even further.  His parable tells them that not only do they need to not worry about what everyone else is doing, they need to realize that even the things that they are doing do not matter – because ultimately they are trees dependent upon God’s grace and mercy to thrive.

Now this may not sound like good news to us, but this is a tremendous word of grace for us today.  In the midst of the season of Lent, that season that we are typically kneading the dough of our lives, trying to get ourselves just right for God, Jesus leaves us with a word of grace.  Jesus’ parable today shifts our energy this week.  Instead of desperately grasping to change and amend our lives, Jesus invites us to let go:  to let go of trying so hard, and to remember the God who lovingly offers to do the work of digging in our soil and spreading smelly manure so that we might bear delicious fruit.

As we have been thinking about gardening this Lent, I have been hearing many stories of your own gardens.  For those of you who garden, you have lived this invitation that Jesus offers.  You have lived through a season where the tomatoes did not make it, where the new crop was not planted in the right place, and where critters have come in and destroyed.  And for those of you who are seasoned at this work, the common phrase I hear from you is, “Ah well, we’ll try again next year.”  This is the kind of letting go that Jesus is inviting us into this week.  This is the kind of trust in God that Jesus encourages.  As we come forward for healing prayers today, an old gospel hymn keeps running through head when I think of Jesus’ parable today.  The chorus says, “Your grace and mercy brought me through.  I’m living this moment because of You.  I want to thank you and praise you too.  Your grace and mercy brought me through.”  In the midst of our Lenten journey, we pause today to recognize the ways in which we are simply trees in God’s garden, dependent upon God’s grace and mercy to get us through.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

[i] Daniel G. Deffenbaugh, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 92.

Sermon – Philippians 3.17-4.1, L2, YC, February 24, 2013

25 Monday Feb 2013

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When a person is ordained as a priest, they make a series of vows.  One of the scariest ones for me was this question:  Will you do your best to pattern your life and the life of your family in accordance with the teachings of Christ, so that you may be a wholesome example to your people?  The question sounds simple enough:  Will you be an example to others?  But the question is anything but simple.  The question asks whether the priest will shape their lives so that parishioners, neighbors, and the world will understand the teachings of Christ through the priest’s life.  And not only is the priest responsible, the whole family of the priest has to be an example.  So when your three-year old is having a meltdown in Target, and your nerves are shot from a morning of similar tempter tantrums, and your spouse and you have argued about discipline, you and your family are supposed to be emanating Christ in Target.

Of course, the priest is not the only one who is supposed to be living a Christ-like life.  When we are baptized, and every time we affirm our baptismal covenant, those promises we renew are all about living a Christ-like life.  And yet, we rarely walk the walk that we talk.  I think one of the most common retorts to a petulant teen by a parent has been, “Do what I say, not what I do.”  We know the life we are supposed to live – even the life we want to live – and yet we fail miserably at that life everyday.  One of my favorite online videos is a video for Welcome Back Sunday in the fall.  The video talks about the top reasons why people do not come to church.  One of those reasons is that the Church is full of hypocrites.  We know the ways that we feel like hypocrites and the world knows the ways we act like hypocrites.

So, when we read our epistle lesson to the Philippians today, we may be shocked by Paul’s words.  Paul, who has regularly said that followers of Christ should imitate Christ, now says, “Brothers and sisters, join in imitating me, and observe those who live according to the example you have in us.”  Paul’s instruction to imitate him is bold.  Paul does not say, “Do as I say, not as I do.”  Paul says, “Do what I do.”  Modern skeptics that we are, we immediately assume Paul has developed an inflated ego.  We know that telling people to imitate you is the first step toward a nasty fall.  Such a bold claim is setting Paul up for failure – because none of us are perfect.  Paul’s words immediately remind us of the hundreds of clergy who have fallen – who have embezzled, had affairs, abused children, abused alcohol, and have failed to be faithful pastors.  Surely Paul is setting up himself and the many people who are following him for failure.  Why would he do such a thing?

What we lose in our jaded, skeptical, snarky twenty-first century selves is the reminder of how learning and formation have happened for centuries.  Both Jesus, and Paul his disciple, “know that true moral and spiritual formation depends on tutelage under a master – learning to follow the habits and practices of one who has become proficient in a particular trade or skill.  Indeed, this is the precise meaning of the word ‘disciple’:  a learner or pupil.”[i]  In this way, disciples are learning from someone wiser than themselves, and in fact are imitating the teacher’s teacher.[ii]  So when Paul says imitate me, he does not really mean imitate Paul, but imitate Paul, who is imitating Jesus Christ.  Imitate the teacher’s teacher.

What I find comforting then, is that Paul is not saying he is perfect.  He is not boasting about his perfect imitation of Christ, but only encouraging others to imitate Christ as he imitates Christ.  What Paul knows is that our lives are never perfect.  But if we are not imitating something worth imitation, then we are already losing the battle.  And so, Paul’s imitation and our imitation many years later may be rough versions of Jesus Christ, but our imitation is still rooted in that great teacher who taught so many before us.

How we imitate Paul today is a bit more complicated.  We too must find our teachers who point to The Teacher.  The trick is not to think too remotely.  When asked who our role models are, many of us will name famous people of faith – Martin Luther King, Jr. or Mother Teresa.  And those folks will give us much to ponder about our faith life.  But the problem is, sometimes those people are so removed from our lives that they cannot really teach us how to live our lives as Christians.  I did a book study with a group once to prepare us for a prison ministry.  The book was about a woman from California in her fifties who gave up everything and moved into a prison in Tijuana as a nun to become an advocate for the men and families affected by the prison.  She lived in a cell in the prison and she ministered to the guards and the prisoners alike.  She transformed the place into a place of humanity.  She helped everyone equally, and managed to mobilize thousands of Americans to support the desperate needs of the Mexican prison.  Mother Antonia was an amazing role model that we all found incredibly inspiring.  But at the end of the series, one of the group members confessed that despite the fact that she appreciated Mother Antonia, she really would have preferred to have read a book about someone a little more like herself.  Mother Antonia was so dramatically different from her life that she found that instead of being inspired, she was left without a true mentor to imitate.

This is why Paul offers himself up as an example.  Not because he is some stellar example of Christ, but because he is in relationship with those with whom he is talking.  Paul realizes that the most powerful person to learn from is someone right in your community.  “Paul is directing the gaze of the community not toward some type of individual perfection, not even toward the supreme perfection of Christ…but to the realization of Christ’s love within the community itself.”[iii]

So Paul is inviting us to do a couple of things.  First, Paul is inviting to name our own teachers.  One of my favorite set of teachers is a couple I know from college.  When Rebecca and David were married, they bought a home in North Carolina much larger than what they would need.  The house was a fixer-upper, but they had dreams.  Their dream was to make the house into an intentional Christian community that also serves as a transitional house for families.  So, people who are in-between jobs, a woman who is recently divorced, or really anyone the local pastor recommends is welcome to come live in their home.  They have some house rules about sharing work, community meals, and weekly worship.  But Rebecca, David, and their two sons are imitating Christ in this radical lifestyle.  When I am really wondering how to live a Christ-like life, I look at this family and see how far I have to go.

But even Rebecca and David can be a little too removed.  So sometimes I just look at those around me.  I look at the spiritual disciplines of parishioners here.  I look at the ways that you care for those with physical limitations.  I look at the ways you tend to this property or the ways that you serve our neighbors in need.  Much like Paul and his community, we are not perfect.  We too struggle to understand how faith is lived right here in Plainview.  Our engagement in that struggle is what points us toward Christ.

This leads us to our second invitation from Paul – to recognize the ways in which we are all teachers to others.  When you leave this place every Sunday, you are not just Barbara or Bob or Paul.  You are Barbara the Christian from St. Margaret’s.  You are Bob who shows what being a person of faith is all about:  not because you are perfect, but because you are struggling to be like Christ.  That video about why people do not come to church has responses to each person’s fear or hesitancy about Church.  When one person complains that the Church is full of hypocrites, the Christian honestly and humbly says, “And there’s always room for one more.”  That kind of raw honesty is the kind of honesty that leads to trust, that leads to sharing, that leads to opening our doors to others.  That is the kind of honesty that makes others not only want to imitate us, but also to join us.  Paul invites us then to boldly proclaim, “Imitate me,” so that we can figure this journey out together.  Amen.

[i] Ralph C. Wood, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 62.

[ii] Casey Thompson, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 64.

[iii] Dirk G. Lange, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 65.

Sermon – Luke 4.1-13, L1, YC, February 17, 2013

20 Wednesday Feb 2013

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Having grown up in the mostly Methodist and Baptist South, I grew up a culture that had no problem talking about the devil or Satan.  If you are starting to doubt yourself or are feeling abandoned in some way, a Southerner has no problem declaring, “That’s just the devil trying to pull you away from the Lord.”  My experience in the mid-Atlantic and Northeast, and especially with Episcopalians in those areas, is that people are not as comfortable talking about the devil and labeling the devil’s work in our lives.  I am not sure why we get so skittish talking about the devil.  Even the Great Litany, which we pray this morning, makes us uncomfortable with all its “devil” references.  My suspicion is that our hesitancy is a fear of sounding superstitious or a general lack of understanding or comfort with talking about the devil.  Perhaps we are not even sure the devil exists.  I too find myself in the camp of having a difficult time wrapping my head around the concept of the devil.  But I must also admit that when I have been told that my current troubles were due to the devil meddling in my relationship with God, I have felt better.  There is something quite freeing about naming the devil in the midst of our lives.

Our gospel lesson today highlights why we are so skittish about the devil.  The devil works in the thin space between good and evil.  For example, the three temptations of Jesus from the devil are just ambiguous enough that Jesus could reason his way into responding positively to the devil.  First the devil asks Jesus to turn a stone into bread.  Now if Jesus decides to do such a thing for himself, who is famished from fasting for forty days, we could see his action as self-serving and certainly in line with the devil.  But if Jesus turns the “abundant stones that cover Israel’s landscape into ample food to feed the many hungry people in a land often wracked by famine,”[i] then in good conscience, he might begin to consider the devil’s tempting offer.

Next, the devil tempts Jesus with the power to rule over all the kingdoms of the world.  Now if Jesus decides to take such authority out of a desire for power and greed, we could easily deem his action as rooted in self-serving sin.  But, if Jesus agrees to take that authority so that he can rule the world with justice, then the deal with the devil becomes a bit murkier.  If you remember, at the time of the Gospel, the land is under the heavy hand of Rome.[ii]  Jesus could easily turn their suffering to justice if he accepts the devil’s offer.

Finally, the devil tempts Jesus to prove God’s protective care.  Now if Jesus were jumping from the pinnacle of the temple just to show off how protected he is, then we could judge Jesus to be behaving in a sinful way.  But Jesus is committing to a tremendous journey.  Jesus might like some assurance that God will care for him.  In this light, the request does not seem like that much to ask.

The temptations for Jesus are not unlike the ways that the devil tempts Adam and Eve so many years before.  What the devil does is plant a seed of doubt, making Adam and Eve wonder why God would keep such beautiful fruit from them – why God would keep the truth from them about the tree.  The devil’s work is to constantly keep picking away at trusting relationship with God, fostering mistrust between God and God’s people.[iii]

Several years ago the film Doubt received several Oscar nominations.  The movie explored a Catholic Church and School where the head nun accused the priest of sexual misconduct.  But the story is presented so ambiguously that even by the end of the movie the viewer is not sure if abuse took place or not.  This is that thin place between truth and lies, between trust and mistrust where the devil thrives.  And truthfully, even in the movie, with whom the devil is cooperating is unclear.  This is the danger in all of our lives today – the lines between God’s work and the devil’s work are so close that we have a hard time naming the devil in our lives.

Luckily Jesus’ responses to the devil give us some guidance today.  In each of the three temptations, Jesus leans on his deep understanding of Holy Scripture.  Jesus leans not on his own personal strength, but instead leans on the truths that he learns in the Hebrew Scriptures.  We see how powerful Jesus’ response is because the devil attempts to distort this strength as well.  In the third temptation, the devil quotes scripture himself, trying to lure Jesus back into that thin place.  But Jesus cannot be fooled.  Jesus knows that the devil is using partial scripture citations that can be misleading out of context.[iv]  Jesus knows that a dependence on Holy Scripture will support him in his weakness.

As we begin our Lenten journey, today’s gospel lesson gives us much to ponder.  First, we are invited into a time of pondering how the devil might be acting in the thin spaces between faithfulness and sinfulness, manipulating our mistrust of God for the devil’s gain.  In order for us to understand how the devil might be acting, we will need to first label the ways in which we mistrust God.  If there are areas of our lives which we do not entrust to God: a particular relationship, a job or school decision, something challenging at work or at home, or an uncertain future, these are areas that are most susceptible to the devil squeezing his way into our lives.  Our invitation this week is to spend some time reflecting on the areas of mistrust of God in our lives and to pray for strength to turn those over to God.  Only when we understand where our mistrust is can we begin turning back into a trusting relationship with the God that loves and supports us.

Second, Jesus invites us into a deeper relationship with Scripture this Lent.  We have already seen how Holy Scripture sustained Jesus at his weakest hour.  Whatever your Lenten practice, consider how you might incorporate some additional Scripture reading into your week.  And if that feels too burdensome, you can use today’s Scripture insert and meditate on those four lessons at home.  If you are feeling more adventuresome, you can start praying Morning or Evening Prayer from the Prayer Book at home.  That prayer practice will expose you to a good amount of scripture.  And if you are feeling really adventuresome, you might just pick a book of the Bible and start reading.  You may be surprised at the parallels in scripture and your own life.

The invitations today are many.  In this time of Lent, we are encouraged to enter these forty days knowing that Jesus has been there himself and managed to lean on the God who saves us time and again.  If Jesus can lean on God in his weakness, we can lean on God in our weakness too, even if we are not totally ready to trust God with all of ourselves.  Just admitting that hesitancy is the first step to kicking the devil out of our thin spaces.  Amen.

[i] Sharon H. Ringe, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 47.

[ii] Ringe, 49.

[iii] David Lose, as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/dear_wp.aspx?article_id=668 on February 15, 2013.

[iv] Darrell Jodock, “Antidote for Temptation,” Christian Century, vol. 112, no. 6, Feb. 22, 1995, 203.

Sermon – Matthew 6.1-6, 16-21, AW, YC, February 13, 2013

14 Thursday Feb 2013

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I have been thinking about death a lot lately.  We lost one of our beloved parishioners yesterday, and another parishioner is sick enough that we have been talking about death.  The journeys with those parishioners have made death much more present for me.  Then, last week I was listening to an interview with Oscar-nominee Bradley Cooper who talked about how he nursed his father through to death.  Cooper explained how the death of his father dramatically changed Cooper’s perspective on life – how that last gasp of air by his father was the very moment that Cooper’s entire worldview shifted.  Then, just this weekend I watched a film called 50/50, a dramatic comedy that chronicles the way a 27 year-old deals with a cancer diagnosis that gives him only a fifty percent chance of survival.  At every turn, death seems to be whispering to me.

Part of my job as a priest is to bring a certain sobriety about death as death approaches.  That is not to say that I am a party pooper, but my role is to name the truth that is approaching – earthly death and reunion with our Lord in eternal life.  In fact, the Church is one of the few places left in the world that openly and regularly talks about death.  In a world that encourages anti-aging treatments, who has desensitized us to death as we have moved away from an agricultural lifestyle, and whose medical advances have extended life much longer than before, we learn that death can be conquered and should be fought at all costs.

Pushing against this secular understanding of death, the Church gives us Ash Wednesday.  The Church looks at our flailing efforts to preserve life and as we are humbly kneeling at the altar rail, rubs gritty ash on our heads and says, “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.”  There is no, “Don’t worry about death; you’ll be fine!”  Instead those grave words, “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return,” echo in our heads, haunting our thoughts.  Every year the Church reminds us of the finite amount of time we have on this earth.

This is why I love Lent so much.  The Church dedicates forty days to a time where we cut to the chase and honestly assess our relationship with God.  We take a sobering look at our lives, a sobering look that could be reserved only for the time of death, and we discern what manifestation of sinfulness has pulled us away from God.  Our Prayer Book defines sin as “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.”[i]  Lent is the season when we focus on repentance from our sin – not just a feeling guilty about our sinfulness, but eagerly seeking ways to amend those relationships and turn back toward resurrection living.  What most people get only at the time of death, we are given every year at the time of Lent:  a time of sobering realignment.

This is why we get Matthew’s gospel lesson on Ash Wednesday.  As we begin our sobering Lenten journey, the gospel lesson names disciplines and practices that can help us along the way.  Jesus names those ancient practices that have brought people back to God for ages – giving alms, praying, and fasting.  Each one of these practices has ways of bringing us closer to God by shaking up our normal routines.  Of course, any Lenten practice can have the same effect.  Giving up caffeine, taking on a new fitness regiment, or reconnecting with nature are equally valid ways to shake up our routines enough to notice the ways in which we have become more self-centered than God-centered.  Although Jesus names the disciplines of alms giving, prayer, and fasting, the actual discipline itself is not the issue for Jesus.  The issue is our intentions in our practice.

This is why we hear Jesus labeling so many people as hypocrites in our gospel lesson today.  Jesus is less concerned about what disciplines we assume and is more concerned about the authenticity behind those disciplines.  Jesus is not arguing that private acts are authentic and public ones are inauthentic by nature.  What matters is the desire and motivation behind these practices.  We have all seen this in action.  One of my favorite comediennes jokes about this very behavior in one of her shows.  She talks about how people sometimes use prayer requests as a means of gossip.  In one of her jokes, she has the gossiper of the church inviting people into a prayer circle so that they can pray for someone in the church who just got pregnant, even though the news was supposed to be private.  We all know the kind of hypocritical behavior Jesus is addressing.  This kind of behavior will never get us to the sobriety we need to right our relationship with God and others.

Of course, any kind of practice we take up this Lent can be corrupted.  The giving up of a particular kind of food can be more for weight loss than a connection to God.  The taking up of a volunteer activity can be to fulfill a requirement for something else.  Whatever we do this Lent, that deprivation or incorporation is meant to help us restore our relationship with God, other people, and all creation.  So when we give up a food, instead of glorying in the fact that we lost a few pounds, we can instead see how that food has become an emotional crutch that keeps us from leaning on God and others.  When we take on a new prayer routine, we slowly begin to see how little time we give to God in our daily lives.  Whatever our practice, Jesus is concerned that authenticity be at the heart, so that we can more readily prepare for Good Friday and Easter.[ii]

And so, in order to shake us out of our self-centered, sinful, distant ways, Ash Wednesday gives us death.  Ash Wednesday grittily, messily, publicly reminds us of our death, and then leaves us marked so that we can humbly enter into a Lenten reconnection with God.  Ash Wednesday throws death in our faces so that we can wake up in a world that would have us keep striving for longevity of earthly life instead of striving for intimacy with God here and now.  This Ash Wednesday, our ashes are the outward reminder of the sobering journey we now begin, because only when we consider our own death can we begin to see the resurrection glory that awaits us at Easter.  My prayer is that our journey this Lent is not one of painful guilt, but instead one of glorious reconnection with our creator, redeemer, and sustainer.  Amen.

[i] BCP, 848.

[ii] Lori Brandt Hale, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 24.

Sermon – Luke 9.28-43, TRS, YC, February 10, 2013

13 Wednesday Feb 2013

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In the course of my life, I have moved around a lot.  By the time I was in third grade, my family had lived in four different places.  By the time I was ready to head to college, we had lived in three more.  From college until now, I have lived in five more places.  Having lived in so many new life situations, I have picked up a few tips about integrating into a new community.  One of the most important things to remember is that you only have a few months’ permission to reference how your last community did something.  So sentences that begin with, “At my old school…” or “At my last parish…” have a short lifespan.  For the first few months, people will tolerate and maybe even enjoy these stories because they are a way of learning something about you – what you prefer, what gives you joy, and what you do not like.  But the window for sharing this way does not last long.  When you share in this way for too long, people begin to wonder if you are dwelling on the past, not letting go of your old life and actually joining them in this stage of life.  When they hear you say, “In my last home town…” they now roll their eyes, thoroughly expecting you to tell them how perfect your life used to be and just how lame your – and consequently their – life must be now.  Only after years and years of experience have I developed the keen sense of when the looks of interest and engagement have turned to eye-rolls of impatience.

Of course, this reality is true of every single church.  The longer someone belongs to a church, the more often they can be found saying, “Well, when Father So-and-so was here, we used to…”  Whether the experience was a beloved mission trip, a particularly meaningful spiritual event, or even the old softball team, those events become legend among a parish – and become a sort of measure or even icon of how good life can be in church.  Anything new that happens is measured against this old, significant experience.

This habit can create all sorts of challenges.  For those who lived through the experiences, they become something that we cling to as so good and holy that we cannot open ourselves to something new.  In fact, nothing will ever match up to the memory because we have built up the memory so large in our minds that we probably block out anything negative about the older experience.  This kind of habit is a challenge for newcomers too.  Since the newcomers to church can never relive the event with us, they are forever excluded when someone starts telling these stories.  Sure, they enjoy learning something about the parish through these stories, but eventually they come to see these stories as a reminder of how they are still new, never fully belonging to the group.  Finally, the glorification of these old experiences tends to prevent us from lifting up the incredible experiences that are happening right here and now – hindering us from seeing the sacred experiences in our midst.  And lest anyone think I am picking on the long-timers in church, know that no one is exempt from this tendency; I have even seen children and teenagers catch on to this practice.

This same very experience happens to Peter on the mountain today in Luke’s gospel.  Tired and weary from an exhausting schedule, Peter, John, and James go up the mountain with Jesus to pray – and maybe even get a bit of rest.  In this exhausted haze, they see the glorious transfiguration of Jesus and the appearance of Moses and Elijah.  Blown away, Peter does the first thing that comes to mind – suggests they stay there, building dwelling places for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah.  Surely something this incredible should be held on to and preserved, remembered and treasured.  Peter’s idea is not inherently bad.  Mountaintop experiences are blessed gifts from God, meant to be savored and enjoyed for years to come.

But what Peter reminds us today is that holding on to mountaintop experiences with a desperate clinging does not actually feed us forever.  As one pastor reminds us, “if we build a booth to [those mountaintop experiences], erect a frame around them and enshrine them, we can end up worshiping those moments or memories or persons to the extent that they become a hindrance, a stumbling block or even idolatry – rather than unmerited gift from God and resource for service to others.”[i]

This is one of those lessons that keeps coming back to us.  A few years ago, I was brought into a parish’s mission program to reform and revitalize the mission trips they had been taking to the Dominican Republic.  I immediately recognized all sorts of missing components – preparation and formation before the trip; fundraising that brought others into the experience; and meaningful worship and reflection during the trip, just to name a few.  I pulled from the myriad resources I had gathered from years of doing mission trips, including what I thought was a pretty dynamic daily worship liturgy – one through which I had had a few mountaintop experiences.  So imagine my surprise when half-way through the week, one of the teens approached me and explained that the liturgy was not working.  He wanted something a little more fresh, and had some suggestions if I was open.  I winced, realizing how I had become Peter once again – building a booth around a liturgy, instead of noticing the new ways that the Spirit was moving on that trip.

We have choices about how we respond to the many mountaintop experiences of our lives.  “We can ruin them with ‘if onlys’ (if only I could stay here longer; if only things would never change; if only I could relive that experience).  We can reminisce about our experiences, caressing and massaging them as an excuse to disengage from the world.  Or we can allow them to prepare us for what God calls us to do next.”[ii]  We always have a choice.

The great thing about our gospel text is that the text gives us some clues about what Jesus wants the disciples to do with their mountaintop experience.  The lectionary gives us the choice of ending the gospel lesson at the end of the Transfiguration event, cutting out the next seven verses of Luke’s gospel.  But the story of the Transfiguration loses some of the story’s power if the story does not include the experience of coming down the mountain.[iii]  The text tells us two things.  First, the disciples keep silent about what they see.  They do not run around boasting about the story or lingering there too long.  Instead, they go back down the mountain and continue Jesus’ work of healing.  This is the second thing the text tells us.  Sometimes the best way to share our mountaintop experiences is not to rehash them, but to simply serve those who we encounter, our actions being the greatest way to multiply our mountaintop experience.

As we celebrate our fifty years of ministry in Plainview this year, our gospel lesson today challenges our patterns.  Those moments of baptizing individuals in this building when the walls were not yet finished, of finally obtaining parish status, of bowling leagues, of Cursillo groups, of conquering dark times, and yes, even of welcoming our first female rector – those moments are not moments where we invited to linger today.  Instead, as we look back at the last fifty years, we celebrate those moments not as “the good ol’ days,” but instead as the mountaintop experiences that keep pointing us back down the mountain.  Those experiences remind us of times of great intimacy and joy so that we can continue to name the presence of the sacred in our midst at this moment, and the ways that we are being transfigured everyday.  There will be moments, when like the disciples, we will need to keep silent about those times so that we can go down the mountain and let those moments manifest into the service of God in new and life-giving ways.  Our invitation today is to come down the mountain, celebrating the ways that our mountaintop experiences enable us to see God right here and now.  Amen.

[i] Phyllis Kersten, “Off the Mountain,” Christian Century, vol. 118, no. 5, February 7-14, 2001, 13.

[ii] Kersten, 13.

[iii] Lori Brandt Hale, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 456.

Sermon – Luke 4.14-21, EP3, YC, January 27, 2013

30 Wednesday Jan 2013

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The word is spreading.  The new rabbi in town is incredible!  He is clearly filled with the Spirit.  He has become quite the sensation in Galilee and everyone expects his appearance in Nazareth to be impressive – what home town would not love to see their son come home and preach a good word?!  Nazareth, expecting to be proud and wowed, sits in the synagogue.  And then it happens – Jesus does not preach a scintillating sermon.  Instead, he finds a bold text – a text from Isaiah that we all know contains the words that the Messiah will use – reads the text, and then he just sits down.  The room is silent.  We all just stare.  The shock is heavy in the room and words fail us all.  Our minds are running amok with questions.  Did he just read that text from Isaiah?  Is he saying he is the Messiah?  Is he the Messiah?  What does this mean?  What does he mean the scripture is fulfilled?  Of course, no one says those words aloud.  We just stare.  We stare in silence.

Words have mighty power in our lives.  As we celebrated the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King this past week, I have read countless quotes from his life and ministry.  He was a man who knew how to use words powerfully.  In an age where we are barraged by words – in media, in politics, in books – we sometimes forget the power of words.  We tend to skim words, to gloss over them, looking to quickly glean information because we are inundated with words.  In our haste, we forget the power of words.

The catch with words is that words have the power to make both positive change and to get us into trouble.  My grandfather always used to say, never put anything in print that you do not want the world to see.  We have watched these last months how words can cause trouble.  This fall’s political campaign led to many people saying words they regret.  Just in the past two weeks, two big athletes, Lance Armstrong and Manti Te’o, realized the chaos that their words could produce.  Teens every week are terrorized by the words of cyberbullying – with reputations ruined worldwide when seemingly private photos or acts are posted on Facebook for all to see.[i]

This is why that silent synagogue is so powerful today.  Jesus takes words that everyone knows, and he changes them.  The Messiah, the anointed one, has been long awaited:  so long awaited, that I doubt many people still believed the Messiah would come in their time.  So Joe’s boy rolling up into the synagogue and declaring that he is the anointed Messiah is a big deal.  These are words of power and weight – so heavy that the room is completely silent.

Part of the weight of Jesus’ words comes from whom he is claiming to be.  The other part of the weight of Jesus words is interpreting what they mean for the world now.  For Jesus, and for his followers, these words from Isaiah through Jesus become a mission statement of sorts.[ii]  If you remember, in Luke’s gospel Jesus is baptized, goes into the wilderness to be tempted, and this is the first that we really hear from Jesus.  These words are not just bold words – these words will define the entire remainder of Luke’s gospel.  If you were writing one of those fifth-grade book reports, you can almost hear the introduction, “The theme of Luke’s gospel is that Jesus brings good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, freedom to the oppressed, and the year of the Lord’s favor.”  For the rest of this lectionary year we will be hearing stories of Jesus fulfilling these words – good news, release, sight, freedom, favor.  This is what Jesus’ ministry is about.  Jesus takes the words from Isaiah and he changes them.  And through changing them, he changes the world.

A video has been circulating this week called, “The Power of Words.”  In it, a blind man is sitting on a sidewalk, with a cardboard sign that reads, “I’m blind.  Please help.”  As he sits there, two or three of the tens of people who pass by actually drop a coin or two in front of him.  He silently feels for the coin and then puts the coin in his tin can.  Finally a woman sees him and stops.  She silently picks up his sign, turns the piece of cardboard over and writes something else on the sign.  Without a word, she walks away.  In the next several scenes everyone stops and gives the blind man handfuls of coins.  The woman eventually returns, and dumbfounded, the man asks her, “What did you do to my sign?”  She simply replies, “I wrote the same, but different words.”  As she walks away, we see that what she wrote is, “It’s a beautiful day and I can’t see it.”  She took a sign that said, “I’m blind.  Please help,” and she changed the words to, “It’s a beautiful day and I can’t see it.”  The video ends with these words, “Change your words.  Change the world.”[iii]  What the woman in this video does is she takes something we see everyday – a man asking for help, and makes him not so “everyday.”  By changing the words on his sign, she helps all see with fresh eyes.  Suffering and pain no longer seems acceptable simply because of her words.  She changes people with her words

This is what Jesus does in that temple.  He takes words with a certain set of values and meaning, and he changes them.  No longer will good news, release, sight, freedom, and favor be a future dream.  They will change now with Jesus Christ.  So perhaps part of the silence in that synagogue comes from the joyful realization that this liberation might actually happen in their time.  But another part of that silence comes from the implications.  If the Messiah is here, offering liberation from poverty, imprisonment, blindness, and oppression, then that means that the people of God will have to start living like the Messiah is here.  They too will have to work to bring good news to the poor.  They too will have to work to release the captives.  They too will have to care for the blind and the oppressed.  They too will have to honor the year of the Lord’s favor, the Jubilee Year when debts are forgiven, slaves are freed, and lands are left to rest.  Jesus’ words not only change the people of God’s reality, Jesus’ words will change the world, and the people of God’s behavior in that word.  This is big, silence-making news.

Jesus’ words change us too.  We too are left in silence as the weight of Jesus’ words hit us.  If we are to follow Jesus, we too are to be working for the poor, the imprisoned, the blind, and the oppressed.  As that reality waves over us, we too are silenced by the questions.  What does that mean for us?  How will this change my walk with God?  How uncomfortable is this work going to be?  How joyful will this work be?  Pondering these and probably many more questions is a good thing, even more so with Lent on the horizon and the looming of our own Jubilee year here at St. Margaret’s.  With the text ending as the text does today, we are invited to tarry in that silent pondering today.  But know that the pondering is not indefinite.  Jesus’ words hint at the immediacy of the work that is needed.  “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”  So do the pondering you need to do.  But know that Jesus is waiting at the back door, ready for you to join him in the messianic work of good news, release, sight, freedom, and favor.  Amen.

[ii] Ernest Hess, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 287.

Sermon – 1 Corinthians 12.1-11, EP2, YC, January 20, 2013

23 Wednesday Jan 2013

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About two thousand years ago, the Christian community that had formed in Corinth was a diverse group.  There were Greeks and Jews, slaves and free people, men and women, rich and poor.  Their only unifying tie was that they all confessed Jesus as Lord.  And like any good church, they were of a divided mind.  We learn from their correspondence with Paul, that they are particularly divided about what spiritual gifts are to be the most highly valued.  The running argument is that the gift of ecstatic speech is the most important, and those displaying that gift should be given higher importance in the community.[i]  Unable to settle this argument among themselves, they turn to Paul.

Unfortunately for those arguing for singling out the gifted, Paul proclaims a different reality – everyone is gifted.  Simply by proclaiming Jesus as Lord, each person is given a gift.  The gifts may be different, and there will be a diversity of gifts.  This diversity of gifts is necessary for the community, making the community richer and helping the community to see the fullness of God.

Paul’s explanation sounds lovely.  Everyone is special and everyone has gifts.  But truthfully, in the depths of our hearts, we do not really agree with Paul.  We have lived in a cutthroat, competitive world too long to know that not all gifts are really valued equally – not even in the Church.  Sure, some people are gifted teachers, or seem especially spiritual – but what we really need are people skilled in finances.  Or maybe we really value people who are wise or people who are good with technology.  Whatever the thing is that we value, the point is that we rank gifts.  And although we might not want to admit the fact, as modern Americans, we tend to roll our eyes at Paul, seeing his explanation on gifts as cute, but not really helpful if a church is going to succeed.

When I was in college I went to a multicultural church in a small city.  The church was primarily African-American and African, but several Anglos from the community and from the local college joined the dynamic parish.  As the parish grew, we often had conversations about what our diversity meant and how we would negotiate each others’ differences.  But one day, the pastor had an idea that he charged ahead with before really getting buy-in from the church.  He invited two local group homes to bring their residents to church on Sundays.  The residents had mental and physical disabilities, and many of them were in wheelchairs.  Some were more verbal than others, but many of those who were verbal could not form clear words.  You could tell right away that the church members were uncomfortable.  We did not know how to handle the outbursts or the behavior of the group home members.  Luckily, the pastor was much more generous than we were.  He noticed that the outbursts were not random.  In fact, sometimes a yell sounded a lot like an “Amen!”  And so in the church’s customary call-and-response format, the pastor engaged the group home members just like he did the rest of the church members.

That church learned relatively quickly what Paul was trying to teach the members of the church in Corinth.  Whereas the church in Corinth sees its own diversity and wants to begin ranking gifts, Paul is trying to explain that their diversity is their gift.  Every person in that community is needed to make the community whole.  The full range of gifts means that the community is richer and can live out the community’s call more fully.  Without the interpreter of tongues, the speaker of tongues is useless.  The healers heal the community.  The miracle workers help the community see God.  The prophets help send the people out beyond the community.  Only together can they live into the fullness of faith.  Each person is indeed gifted – but not for the sake of personal pride.  The gift’s purpose is to edify the entire community.[ii]

Furthermore, what Paul is also trying to explain is the gifts are not just for the person, or for the community.  The diversity of gifts tells them something about God.  The diversity of gifts gives the community a glimpse into the diversity of God.[iii]  Only when all those diverse gifts are being enfleshed does the community in Corinth begin to get a glimpse into the fullness of God.  Paul knows that understanding God fully is impossible – we are made in God’s image, but we are not God.  Only through the diversity of their diverse Corinth church, and through the diversity of their gifts, do they begin to see a glimpse of the diversity of God.

At that church in college, we had been pretty proud of ourselves.  We were a diverse parish in a community with a rough history of racial discrimination.  But those group home members made us realize we were still not living into the fullness of the body of Christ.  Without those group home members pushing us out of our comfort zone, we were keeping our identity within our own parameters, not God’s parameters.  Truthfully, the presence of the group home members made us wonder who else we were excluding.  We did not need long to look around our community and figure out who we had been excluding.  The apartment complex next to the church was clearly inhabited by many Hispanics, a group not present in our community.  Only once the group home members opened our eyes were we able to see how much we had been limiting God and how much richer we could be if we opened our doors to our neighbors.  One could argue that our group home members had the spiritual gift of prophesy.

So why is Paul’s letter so important to St. Margaret’s?  This past Wednesday, about eight St. Margaret’s parishioners went over to Plainview Reformed Church to make sandwiches for the INN.  Most of us had been there before, and we fell into a quick rhythm.  Some of us were good at scooping – which is a delicate skill because if you use too much, we cannot make enough sandwiches.  Some of us were good at spreading – an important skill if you do not want to tear the bread.  Others were good baggers.  Now bagging a sandwich may sound simple to you, but as the activity leaders kept reminding us, a sandwich bag that is messy on the inside or out sends the message that the sandwiches were made without much thought – or even without much love.  Even the youngest children who put stickers on the sandwich bags had an important role.  Without the sticker, the sandwich is just another sandwich.  With the sticker, the bag says that someone made this sandwich, and personalized the sandwich just for you – because you are special and worthy.  As that interfaith community gathered, with people of all ages, shapes, sizes, and abilities, we were a lot like that community in Corinth.

What Paul’s letter and our sandwich-making this week show us is that only when we all engage in ministry are we fully living into the life of faith.  Only when all our skills are being used are we even able to see a glimpse of the fullness of God.  Our invitations this week are several.  First, Paul invites us to discern our spiritual gifts.  Now, because you work in construction, you might have been roped into serving on the Buildings and Grounds Committee.  Or because you have young children, you might have been recruited to teach Sunday School.  But sometimes, what we do professionally does not translate to a spiritual gift.  Our best teachers, our wisest decision-makers, our most spiritual people of prayer might not do those things professionally or obviously.  Today Paul invites each of us to ponder whether we are using our spiritual gifts for the betterment of this community.  Second, Paul invites us to consider how each person here might help us to better see a glimpse of God.  That means that after church or during coffee hour, we might need to sit with someone we do not normally sit with and have a meaningful conversation.  And yes, you can have a meaningful conversation with a three-year old or a sixteen-year old.  Finally, Paul invites us to consider who is not here, helping us know God more deeply.  I have heard time and again how much we want to grow as a community.  For many of us, that desire is more out of a sense of preservation – we need to grow to continue to be a church here in Plainview.  But I wonder if we might instead begin to think of our growth as necessary for us to more fully see God.  We may know all sorts of people in our everyday lives who do not fit the St. Margaret’s mold.  Those are the people we need to invite to Church.  That neighbor you got to know when we all lost electricity during the Hurricane.  That woman with the purple hair who cuts your hair at the salon.  The waiter at your favorite restaurant who you have come to know.  Until we invite those people, we will not experience the fullness of God’s gifts for us.  The invitations from Paul today abound.  I look forward to hearing how your homework goes!  Amen.

[i] Karen Stokes, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 254.

[ii] Lee C. Barrett, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 256.

[iii] Troy Miller, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 257.

Sermon – Luke 3.15-17, 21-22; Isaiah 43.1-7, E1, YC, January 13, 2013

16 Wednesday Jan 2013

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A few months ago, the Vestry and I did a spiritual exercise.  We drew a straight line on a piece of paper, dividing the line into either five- or ten-year increments.  Then we drew dots above and below our line, marking major life moments.  The happy ones went above – births, marriages, graduations.  The sad ones went below – deaths, divorces, bouts of depression.  We connected the dots and saw what looked like a hilly landscape – with peaks and valleys.  Then, we took a different colored pen, and we mapped the highs and lows in our relationship with God – times when we felt close to God and times when we felt far from God.  That line too was filled with peaks and valleys.  Some of us found that two the lines moved together – when happy things were happening in our lives, we felt very close to God; when difficult things were happening, we felt distant from God.  Others had the opposite experience.  In the difficult times, they felt God’s presence the most, and while in happy times their connection to God lessened.  Each of us began to see that our spiritual life and our everyday life are connected, perhaps in unexpected ways.

What was interesting about all of our graphs was that all of us had times in the middle – where nothing dramatic was happening, and our relationship with God was pretty neutral – not particularly strong, but also not particularly distant.  Those were the times when life was simply ordinary – where life just chugged along.  Nothing remarkable stood out in that time, and that was okay.

Sometimes when we look at Jesus life – this God incarnate who took on flesh like ours – we begin to wonder if Jesus’ life is anything like ours.  If you step back and recall the lectionary texts we have heard since Christmas Eve, you might begin to wonder if Jesus’ life is not some action-adventure movie.  First he is born dramatically in manger; then we hear of fantastic angels and visiting shepherds; then John’s majestic words proclaim, “In the beginning was the Word…”; and then we hear the vivid story of the magi seeking and finding Jesus.  Today, some years later, we hear of Jesus’ baptism – yet another extraordinary event in which the Holy Spirit descends upon Jesus proclaiming him to be the Son of God.  To be honest, for a man who is supposed to be God incarnate, who is supposed to experience this world as we do and through that experience redeem us, Jesus’ life feels very little like ours.  We cannot imagine someone telling our life story and finding nearly as many dramatic tales and mountain-top experiences.  And yet, this is the way we hear about Jesus – drama, drama, drama!

What we miss in our gospel’s retelling of Jesus’ life is the ordinary.  There are all sorts of gaps in the story that we never really get to see.  Though we imagine the magi coming to the manger, in fact, Jesus was probably no longer an infant when they finally arrived.  And yet, we hear no details of the time between shepherds and wise men.  Then, after these magi do arrive, we find ourselves suddenly with an adult-version of Jesus today.  Luke’s gospel does give us an account of the pre-teen Jesus in the temple, scaring his parents with his disappearing act; but otherwise, we know very little about the ordinary time of Jesus’ life.  The omission of the ordinary can make us feel distant from Jesus.  Unlike our spiritual maps, Jesus’ map would be one long plateau of highs where the everyday and the spiritual are constantly in sync, without many low valleys.

Luckily, there is much more incarnation today in our texts than there seems to be at first glance.  The way that Luke tells Jesus’ story today makes Jesus’ baptism quite ordinary.  He is baptized along with many other people.  He is not first in line, and the world does not stop at the moment of his baptism.  In fact, when the Holy Spirit does descend upon Jesus, Jesus’ baptism is over, and he is found praying – another ordinary spiritual practice we do almost everyday.  Then, Jesus hears those wonderful words, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased,” By simply having those words spoken, we see that the incarnation is a fleshy, human experience.  Jesus needs to hear those words just like any of us need to hear those words from God.[i]  Jesus needs to know God’s approval, God’s love, and God’s claim on him – needs that we all experience.

Of course, Jesus is not the first person who needed to hear that loving approval.  We also hear today of God’s love and care for the people of Israel in our passage from Isaiah.  As a people in exile, who have suffered a great deal and who may wonder if they will ever find favor with God again, we hear this lovely passage for them.  God’s words for Israel are a healing salve, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you…  You are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you…”  These are words we long to hear throughout life:  certainly in those valleys of our spiritual timeline, but honestly, even in the highs and in the normal time.  We are all riddled with insecurities and doubts, and we long for the kind of love that can love us no matter what.  We need to know that we are fully accepted – something that other humans can rarely express.  As one pastor says, “Our sense of belonging comes not from the acceptance of our peers or the status of our communities but from the One who claims us and will never let us go.  What makes us worthy is…God’s gracious love.”[ii]

I love you.  You are my beloved.  With you I am well pleased.  These are words that we need to hear no matter where we are on that up and down journey of our spiritual life.  And these are words that even Jesus needs to hear.  That this affirming love comes at Jesus’ baptism is no surprise.  In the waters of baptism, “God seals God’s love for us, no matter what we might have done and what might happen.  In the waters of our baptism, God gives evidence of what God says to Jesus…  ‘You are my [child], the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’”[iii]

But like the fact that we need to hear over and over again that we are loved, we also need to remember again and again our baptism:  that time when we, as beloved children, covenant together to fully love all God’s children.  Throughout the Church year, we reaffirm our baptismal covenant because we need the reminder that not only are we beloved children of God, but also we are beloved children who behave a certain way:  proclaiming the Good News, seeking and serving Christ, and striving for justice and peace.

After Jesus’ baptism and the proclamation that he is beloved, Jesus goes out into the wilderness to be tempted.  This will be the first of many trials for Jesus.  But Jesus holds on tightly to his beloved status – the rock that helps him seek, serve, and share during his lifetime.  We too hear those words from God afresh today:  I love you.  You are my beloved.  With you, I am well pleased.  Now go out there and love as I love you.  Amen.

[i] P. C. Enniss, Jr., “The Power of Approval,” Journal for Preachers, vol. 32, no. 3, Easter 2009, 15.

[ii] W. Carter Lester, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),222.

[iii] Lester, 222.

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, EP, YC, January 6, 2012

09 Wednesday Jan 2013

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Today we celebrate the last event in our Christmas narrative – the arrival of the wise men.  There is something about these three men that vividly draw us in to the story.  The years of seeing pageants, singing the hymn “We Three Kings,” or seeing varied artistic renderings of the kings have filled our minds with myriad images.  You may imagine the men as varied ethnically.  You may imagine their fine clothing and expensive trappings.  You may imagine them as learned men on a life quest.  What I like about these wise men is that their intriguing story not only invites us all into the posture of a spiritual seeker, but also their story gives us a picture of what being a seeker entails.

From the very beginning of the Christmas stories, we learn that all are welcome to a spiritual encounter with our Lord.  With Mary we learned that the young, the faithful, and the unexpected can have intimate encounters with God.  With the shepherds, we found that those who are on the margins of society can be recipients of divine revelation.  And with the wise men, we learn that outsiders – people from the East – or in biblical terms, Gentiles, can be led to a spiritual connection with God.[i]  What we learn from these three distinct groups is that relationship with the Christ Child is open to all.  No matter who you are, where you are from, or what your social standing is, you are welcome with Jesus.  The Episcopal Church, whose famous signs read “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You,” learned this very basic way of being from Jesus – who welcomed all to his birth.  The magi this week teach us this core value once again – all are welcome to an encounter with Christ.

The wise men also teach us that seeking is active.  Nowhere in the text does the text say that the magi stumbled upon Jesus by chance.  The magi were looking for Jesus.  In fact, they were so bold in their seeking that they came into King Herod’s empire asking where the King of the Jews was – clearly implying that King Herod was not the king they were seeking.  They seek this king of the Jews in full view of all – not afraid or embarrassed, but boldly owning their search before others.  They continue their search, following that star for who knows how long, without the promise that they will find the Christ Child, but with a hopeful, active searching.

The behavior of the magi teaches us that we too are to be active seekers.  But being active seekers can be tricky for us, because we are easily distracted – so busy with family, work, and life that we forget the foundation of that entire life.  Seeing Christ in our lives requires active seeking.  A relationship with Christ is mutual – the richer our contributions to that relationship, the richer our relationship becomes.  We too are to be active seekers of Christ in this life.

Third, the magi teach us the posture of humility while in the presence of the sacred.  The gifts that the men give are those kinds of gifts that are humbly given only on the most special of occasions.[ii]  The magi recognize the amazing thing that God has done in Jesus Christ, and they offer the most special of gifts.  But even more than the gifts is the nature of the wise men’s response.  When they see the Christ Child and Mary, they do not congratulate themselves for a search well done.  Instead, the magi fall to their knees, on the dirty, filthy ground, sullying fine garments, in order to pay homage to Jesus.  That these three powerful men could be brought to their knees by a mere child shows us the power of Christ, and the humility we all can show before God.

The Episcopal Church has often been teased as being an aerobic church – with so much switching between standing, sitting, and kneeling that you actually get a workout.  What I love about our piety is that the physicality of our worship invites us into the kind of humility that we find in the magi.  Kneeling especially requires humility and sacrifice – our bodies rarely enjoy kneeling.  Through the discomfort and distinctiveness of kneeling, we discover new things about ourselves and about what we are doing – whether we are praying, confessing, or receiving the body and blood of Christ.  The magi remind us of how this simple posture can reorient ourselves toward God.

Finally, the magi teach us about obedient listening.  Now unless you are a dog owner, or the parent of a little one, obedience is not a word we particularly enjoy.  As individuals we like to think of ourselves as not needing to “obey” anyone.  Even when we think of God, we prefer words like cooperation, sharing, or advising rather than the word “obedience.”  But the magi remind us that obedience toward God is essential.  Social mores, and even the fear of punishment, could have led the wise men to disregard their dream warning them about returning to Herod.  But instead, the magi obediently listen to their dream – to the word of God that comes to them in the night – and they leave from the country by another road.  Just verses later we discover that their dream was a most helpful warning; Herod had nothing but ill-intended wishes on his mind when he asked the wise men to return.  That is the way with God though.  We are not given the future, only the current word of God for us.  We are encouraged to trust and obey God when God speaks.

The magi did not just bring gifts for Jesus today.  The magi give us gifts too.  Through them we learn that the kingdom of heaven is a welcoming place for us.  We learn through them that the faith journey is one of active seeking after God.  Through them we learn the posture of humble reverence before God.  And finally, we learn through them that obedient listening is the most direct way to cooperate with God.  We are grateful today for the witness of the magi, who teach us the best ways to seek and find God.  Their instruction today gives us permission to be the seekers that Jesus invites us to be.  Welcome to the journey, seekers!  Amen.

[i] William J. Danaher, Jr. “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 214.

[ii] Paul J. Achtemeier, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 215.