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Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, Feast of St. Francis, October 1, 2023

04 Wednesday Oct 2023

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“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”  Whether you are wearied from wrestling your pets this morning (or your kids!), weary from full fall schedules, or weary from illness, anxiety, or bad news, Jesus’ words are words of comfort today.  They remind us of our time of renewal in sabbatical, and we want to cozy into the Gospel words today.

But today is not about Jesus blessing times of rest.  Jesus is actually commissioning disciples.  At this point in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus has been describing the way of discipleship:  serving the poor, working for justice, striving for peace.  Jesus tells them the work will be hard and will make the disciples weary.  To those disciples, Jesus offers a way to reach comfort.  Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Now, I do not know how much you know about yokes, but I have been studying up on yokes this past week.  There are actually two kinds of yokes.  Some yokes are meant for one person.  Imagine, if you will, a person hauling water from a well in village, the yoke over her shoulders, while two buckets full of water hang below.  The yoke distributes the weight of the water, but the yoke is not exactly an easy yoke.  The other kind of yoke is meant for two animals – like two oxen working together.  If one ox gets tired, the other pushes a little harder; later the roles may reverse.  A good yoke balances the work between the animals, without chafing or rubbing.  The work is genuinely easier and lighter.

This second kind of yoke is the metaphor Jesus uses to depict discipleship.[i]  Jesus tells them the work of discipleship will be hard and wearisome.  But when yoked to Jesus, the work will feel light.  So often, when we think of disciples as easing suffering, fighting for the poor, struggling for justice, we think we need to solve the worlds’ problems on our own – that we must use our own gifts to make a difference.  We go unyoked, and we feel overwhelmed and disheartened.[ii]  Even when try to do good work:  building beds for kids in need, buying extra food for food collection Sunday, or donating money to events like our Murder Mystery – we can still become discouraged.  When we think we can go at it alone (or maybe even better than others), we do not get relief in Jesus’ yoke. 

St. Francis, who we honor today, knew all about the yoke of Jesus.  Francis came from a wealthy family, had a rambunctious youth, and enjoyed status and privilege.  But one day he encountered some beggars and lepers and everything changed.  Francis renounced his privilege and wealth, took on poverty, and honored the sick, poor, and disenfranchised.  What Francis discovered was his wealthy had become its own burden of sorts.  Once he yoked himself to Jesus, everything changed.  He began to see Jesus in everyone, even birds to which he preached and the animals for whom he advocated.  Francis yoked himself to Jesus and became a faithful steward of God’s creation – so faithful that we bless animals and rejoice in creation ourselves through music and scripture today.

Now, I know you maybe came today to bless your pet, or maybe to remember a beloved pet who showed you what unconditional love really is.  And while that will bring us comfort today, and we do so with love and laughter, we also do something much bigger.  Today we remember all the instances where we have felt love – in animals, in each other, even in Jesus – and we take that love not only as a comfort, but also as a commission.  Today Jesus invites us outside of ourselves – our worries, our woes, our weariness, and put our attention on those who may need love even more than we do. 

Do not get confused.  I am not asking you to add weight to that single yoke, asking you to add more water to your heavy buckets.  I am inviting you to take off the single yoke and step in a double yoke – to yoke yourself to Jesus, yoke yourself to other disciples in this room.  Take on that yoke of Christ because the yoke is easy and light – and will actually free up your burden.  Jesus will give you the comfort, encouragement, and strength you need.  And you will be enabled to stride forward making an impact right here in James City County.  We will do that work together, because the yoke is easy and the burden is light.  Amen.

[i][i] Douglas R. A. Hare, Matthew:  A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1993), 129.

[ii] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven:  Sermons on the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 21.

Sermon – Matthew 18.21-35, P19, YA, September 17, 2023

20 Wednesday Sep 2023

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One of the tricky things about Jesus’ parables is where to situate ourselves, especially when the parable is a familiar one.  As soon as we hear the words, “…the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts…” our brains jump ahead, “Oh, this is the one where the guy is forgiven of his debts and then two seconds later turns around and refuses to forgive someone else’s debt.”  We may have felt pity for the first slave who owed so much, we may have been shocked by his poor behavior toward the other slave, or we may have even thought, “That guy deserved what he got!”  But the thing that is the hardest to do when reading this familiar parable is to situate ourselves in the shoes of the first slave.  And yet, that is the entire reason Jesus tells the parable today. 

We know where to situate ourselves because of what happens before the parable.  If you remember our gospel last week, we talked about Jesus’ conflict resolution plan.  In the very next verse after Jesus explains how the community of faith is to handle conflict, Peter asks a question in today’s text.  The question is a fair one, and when we’re really honest with ourselves, one we may have asked God ourselves.  Peter asks, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive?  As many as seven times?”  The parable Jesus tells today is in response to Peter’s question about conflict, sin, and forgiveness in the community of faith.  Essentially, Jesus says, “Let me tell you a little story about forgiveness.”  So, we, who have resisted forgiveness ourselves like Peter, can situate ourselves with not just Peter, but with the slave who fails so miserably at forgiveness. 

Now, before you get too defensive about how you would never treat a fellow human being like the first slave treats the second, we need to think about Peter’s question first.  Theologian Stanley Hauerwas explains, “Peter’s question presupposes that he is the one who has been sinned against.  He assumes that he is in the position of power against the one who has wronged him.  But Jesus’s reply reminds Peter that he is to learn to be the forgiven.”[i]  Before we begin to think about offering forgiveness, we operate from one foundational truth:  we are a people who have first been forgiven.[ii]  Our forgiven status is at the heart of our ability to be a people of forgiveness.

But before we even talk about being a people of forgiveness, we need to talk a little bit about what forgiveness is not.  Some of us believe that forgiveness means excusing or overlooking the harm that has been done to us and saying that everything is okay.  For those who hold that belief, forgiveness can be equated with stuffing our feelings down deep inside or downright lying in order to keep the peace.  Others of us believe that forgiveness means allowing those who have hurt us to persist in their behavior.  For those who hold this belief, forgiveness is so important, that we become recurring victims of offenses.  Still others believe that forgiving means forgetting what happened.  For those who hold this belief, forgiveness is pretending an old hurt does not still hurt.  Finally, others see forgiveness as something that we can do at will, and always all at once.  For those who hold this belief, forgiveness must be immediate and offered quickly.  The problem with all these models of forgiveness – of overlooking the harm, saying everything is okay, of allowing recurring behavior, of trying to forget, or forgiving once and for all – is that these models of forgiveness would have been totally foreign to Jesus.  According to author Jan Richardson, in Jesus’ teaching about forgiveness, “…nowhere does Jesus lay upon us the kinds of burdens we have often placed upon ourselves—burdens that can make one of the most difficult spiritual practices nearly impossible.”[iii]

So, if we know what forgiveness is not, we need to know what forgiveness is.  I like what scholar Debie Thomas has to say about forgiveness.  She says, “I think forgiveness is choosing to foreground love instead of resentment. If I’m consumed with my own pain, if I’ve made injury my identity, if I insist on weaponizing my well-deserved anger in every interaction I have with people who hurt me, then I’m drinking poison, and the poison will kill me long before it does anything to my abusers. To choose forgiveness is…to cast my hunger for healing deep into Christ’s heart, because healing belongs to him, and he’s the only one powerful enough to secure it.”  She goes on to say, “Secondly, …forgiveness is a transformed way of seeing.  A way of seeing that is forward-focused.  Future-focused.  Eschaton-focused.  …abuse and oppression are [n]ever God’s will or plan for anyone.  But I do believe that God is always and everywhere in the business of taking the worst things that happen to us, and going to work on them for the purposes of multiplying wholeness and blessing…Because God loves us, we don’t have to forgive out of scarcity. We can forgive out of God’s abundance.”[iv]

So how many times are we to forgive?  Not seven times.  Not even really seventy-seven times or seventy times seven, as some translations say.[v]  The forgiveness that first slave receives is hyperbolically abundant – the forgiveness by the king of ten thousand talents (or the equivalent of 150,000 years of labor)[vi] is almost ludicrous in its generosity.  But that is how abundantly God loves us.  We are invited today to love with that kind of ludicrous abundance too.  For our health, for our faith in the better world God is creating, we pray for the strength to ask God to “forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.”  We are a forgiven people, who, because God loves us, can forgive not out of scarcity, but out of God’s abundance.  Amen.  

[i] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew:  Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 166.

[ii] Hauerwas, 166.

[iii] Jan Richardson, “The Hardest Blessing,” September 9, 2014, as found at http://paintedprayerbook.com/2014/09/09/the-hardest-blessing/#.VBOogcKwKi0 on September 16, 2023.

[iv] Debie Thomas, “Unpacking Forgiveness,” September 6, 2020, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2748-unpacking-forgiveness on September 16, 2023.

[v] Lewis R. Donelson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 69.

[vi] David Lose, “Pentecost 14A: Forgiveness and Freedom,” Sept. 7, 2014, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/ 2014/09/pentecost-14-a/.

Sermon – Matthew 18.15-20, P18, YA, September 10, 2023

20 Wednesday Sep 2023

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I have been looking forward to this Sunday for weeks!  Although we just had our post-sabbatical gala last night, there are still several parishioners who I expect to see for the first time in months today.  Our staff finally reunited for the first time since sabbatical began this week.  Our choir is back in action at the 10:00 am service and our Sunday School and Adult Formation teams are doing open houses today.  Our Parish Life Committee has brewed up fresh coffee – which is no small feat after transforming the New Chapel for last night’s festivities.  Church members have been inviting friends to join them for church, or maybe you yourself decided today was the day to search for a new church home – either in person or online.  I have felt the anticipation building as this has day approached. 

Into my excitement to kick off a new program year, to invite people to engage in their faith journey, and to share an invitation to others to discover the beauty of this vibrant community, what does the gospel lesson from Matthew offer us?  A text about fighting within the church.  Jesus does not just admit that sometimes, every once in a while, people in the church might experience conflict.  No, Jesus goes into great detail about what to do when you face conflict in the church:  embrace conflict directly, repeatedly, and publicly.  To those of us who were raised in the South, or at least to those of us who were raised in conflict-avoidant families, this text is our worst nightmare!  And this is certainly not the joyful text I was looking for when anticipating this festive day.

Part of what bothers us about this text from Holy Scripture is many of us come to church looking for a break from the conflict that surrounds our everyday life.  Whether we experience conflict in our families, conflict in our workplaces, schools, or service organizations, or conflict in our political lives, the last thing we want to do when we come to church on Sundays is deal with more conflict.  A friend of mine once confessed to me that he was thinking about leaving his current church home over a conflict within the church.  We were both young adults, on our own for the first time since college, and we had images in our minds about what church should be and what we wanted from our church communities.  But instead of bucolic communities of peace, harmony, and justice, we were both finding churches riddled with conflict and disunity.  As we were talking about his frustration, my friend finally confessed, “When I go to church, I just want everyone to get along.  I go to church to escape what is going on in my everyday life, not relive it!”

Now, I could spend the next hour deconstructing his complaint, but there is something powerful at the heart of his complaint, and perhaps at the heart of our own experience of church.  When we talk about church as being like a family, or being like home, what we really mean is we want a place that is a bit unlike our families or homes.  We want a place that is always happy, loving, nurturing, sometimes challenging, but more often comforting.  When we think about the warm, fuzzy feeling we have, the feeling we find at a place like Hickory Neck, the last thing we think is, “Man, I love the way we handle conflict at church!” 

Unfortunately, that is exactly what our text is inviting us to do – to celebrate the way that the church teaches us to fight – or to phrase it a little differently, how the church teaches us to deal with conflict in healthy ways.  In order to get to the point where we can see the gift of healthy conflict resolution as a good thing, we need to do a few things.  First, we need to get to the point where we can embrace the inevitability of conflict in the church community.  For some of us, that is not a big hurdle.  For others of us, the assumption of conflict is difficult.  Perhaps you were raised in a family who treated conflict as something to be avoided at all costs.  Or perhaps you grew up in an environment where conflict was so aggressive you created patterns of conflict-avoidance later in life.  Regardless, if we have come to see conflict as the enemy, accepting the inevitability of conflict is going to be our first task.  In Matthew’s gospel today, Jesus says, “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”  But what he implies is that when two are three are gathered in his name, there will be conflict.  Jesus himself is so sure there would be conflict that he develops a whole conflict management plan.  So, repeat after me, “Conflict is unavoidable in church.” 

Now that you are accepting the unavoidable, the next thing we need to do is honor the gift of conflict management Jesus gives us in scripture today.  For those of us who are conflict avoidant, Jesus’ conflict management plan is going to seem daunting.  The good news is scholars agree with you.  Many of the scholars who have written about this text say the step-by-step instructions do not necessarily need to be read as a step-by-step guide to solving conflict within a church.[i]  What is most important is what the instructions convey:  conflict in the church is not to be ignored, hidden, or buried.  Theologian Stanley Hauerwas has this to say about conflict, “[Jesus] assumes that conflict is not to be ignored or denied, but rather conflict, which may involve sins, is to be forced into the open.  Christian discipleship requires confrontation because the peace that Jesus has established is not simply the absence of violence.  The peace of Christ is nonviolent precisely because it is based on truth and truth-telling.  Just as love without truth cannot help but be accursed, so peace between the brothers and sisters of Jesus must be without illusion.”[ii] 

As Christians, Jesus wants us to behave differently.  Jesus wants us to be truthful with one another.  Jesus wants us to deal with one another face-to-face instead of talking behind each other’s backs.  Jesus wants us to work on reconciliation of relationships instead of letting hurt and pain fester and erode relationships.  For Jesus, being right or wrong is much less important than being in relationship.  Being in right relationship, keeping the family together is much more important.[iii]  Jesus wants us to repeat after him, “Conflict is not the enemy.  Letting conflict ruin relationships is the enemy.”

Finally, once we have accepted the inevitability of conflict, and once we have agreed to value relationships over the avoidance of discomfort, we are ready to embrace the gift of our gospel lesson today – and perhaps even claim that this might be the perfect lesson for a Kickoff Sunday.  If you came to church to escape conflict or enter some bubble of blissfully ignorant happiness, Hickory Neck is probably not the right place for you.  But, if you came to Hickory Neck to learn how to transform conflict into something holy, then you may have just found a real home – not a home based on illusion, but a home based on truth, dignity, and respect.  When you accept the inevitability of conflict and the value of meaningful relationship, you receive the tools to work through conflict and land in the reality of reconciliation. 

But here is the best part of Jesus’ Conflict Resolution Class today.  If we can stay on the journey through conflict to reconciliation, gaining the tools that this community has to offer us, then we as a community create something much more powerful than can be contained in these walls.  We create a witness for our community.  We create disciples capable of not only working through conflict within the community, but also capable of modeling reconciliation beyond our community.  Anyone who has read a headline in our country in the last several years knows that our country needs more models for healthy conflict engagement.  That is what Jesus offers us today:  tools to work on our own issues around conflict, tools to become a loving, honest, and reconciling community, and tools to teach reconciliation beyond these walls.  Jesus has promised to be with us as we do our work.  In fact, Jesus is here with us now as we anxiously try to step on that path toward reconciliation.  So, repeat after me, “Conflict is a blessing my church teaches me to embrace.  Thank you, Jesus, for the blessing of conflict and the promise of reconciliation.  Help me to share that gift with others.”  Amen. 

[i] David Lose, “Pentecost 14 A – Christian Community,” September 6, 2017, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2017/09/pentecost-14-a-christian-community/ on September 8, 2023.

[ii] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew:  Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 165-166.

[iii] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven: Sermons on the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 88-89.

Sermon – Exodus 1.8-2.10, P16, YA, August 27, 2023

30 Wednesday Aug 2023

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This likely comes as no surprise to you, but I come from a long line of strong women.  My paternal grandmother, the matriarch of the family, was so intimidating that most of us grandchildren were a little bit afraid of her.  But she was likely the only minister’s wife of her time who refused to play the stereotypical minister’s wife role, teaching one parish after another how to respect her personhood.  My maternal grandmother was widowed when she had five young children.  I knew her as a gentle, kind soul, but I know she must have been tough as nails to survive that time as a struggling single mother in the rural south.  My mother, who had to restart her own business every time my father was assigned to a new church, managed to help her children and herself thrive in every new place she was planted.  I, in my wisdom, married a man who also came from a long line of strong women – independent, fierce, wise women who navigated all sorts of challenges.  I suppose I should be grateful then for the fierce, smart, sometimes annoyingly stubborn young women we are raising in our own home.  I keep reminding myself that they come by their strength honestly.

But the story from Exodus today reminds us that we all come from a long line of strong women.  We all know the story of one of our most prominent forefathers, Moses.  Saved from a ride in a river basket, called by a burning bush, reigning down plagues until God’s people are freed from slavery, walking God’s people through the Red Sea, guiding the Israelite’s to the Promised Land, delivering our foundational Ten Commandments, and even appearing to Jesus on the Mountain of the Transfiguration.  But Moses would not be any of those things but for the strong five women we hear about today.

Before we hear Moses’ story, today we hear the story of his foremothers.  The reading from Exodus starts ominously, “Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph.”  In other words, the new king, the new pharaoh, does not know the story of how Joseph saved Egypt from famine, and began a symbiotic, peaceful relationship with the Israelites.  Now, the new pharaoh only sees the sheer number of foreigners on his land and he is afraid.  He is afraid they will revolt; he is afraid of their strength in numbers; and in his fear he introduces chaos:  enslavement, oppression, and murderous, violent death.[i] 

In the midst of the chaos and violence Pharaoh causes for the Israelites, two midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, change the course of an administration.  Pharoah calls these two women – women who would normally never even meet a man of such power and influence – to conspire with him for evil.  Doing anything other than his wishes would surely result in not only their own deaths, but also maybe the suffering of their families and loved ones.  But Shiphrah and Puah – who if you notice the text lists by name, while leaving the pharaoh unnamed (a biblical signal of importance)[ii] – Shiphrah and Puah decide they will defy the pharaoh, refusing to murder the male children of the Hebrews.  But not only that, when the pharaoh calls them back into his presence, the women do not cave under pressure, or even seem to be afraid of Pharaoh. Instead, they defy Pharaoh again, making up some crafty story about Hebrew women’s vigorous birthing practices, manipulating pharaoh’s stereotypes and fears of the Hebrews to save children’s lives.

But they are not the only women standing up to the power of Pharaoh.  Moses’ mother knows all Egyptians have been told to cast male Hebrew babies into the Nile.  So, she builds a water-tight basket to shield her son, refusing to cast him off without protection.  Meanwhile, Moses’ sister Miriam refuses to stand by idly either.  She follows her brother’s path, ready to defy Pharaoh too.  Even the pharaoh’s own daughter, who acknowledges Moses must be a Hebrew child condemned to death, refuses to participate in her father’s violence and fear.[iii]  When lowly, seemingly powerless Miriam boldly approaches the royal suggesting a Hebrew woman nurse the child, Miriam secures Moses’ well-being and buys their mother 2-3 more years of relationship before Moses will be adopted into safety.[iv]  Miriam, Moses’ mother, and the pharaoh’s daughter all defy Pharaoh in unique ways.  Without any one of these women’s actions, Moses as we know him today would not exist.[v]  In fact, without any of these women’s defiance, none of us as the people of God would exist today. 

I do not know what kind of chaos to which your life is subject.  I do not know in what ways you may be feeling powerless or incapable of making a difference.  I do not know what fears – sometimes legitimate, life-threatening fears – you are facing today.  But what I can tell you is you are not powerless or incapable of making a difference.  Your fears are not experienced without the presence of God.  And your life has the capacity to be history altering – even if you feel like what you are doing is only one tiny act of change or defiance of the power of evil in the world.  Pharaoh underestimates “…the power of God to work deliverance through the vulnerable – and seemingly powerless – on behalf of the vulnerable.”[vi]  But you, you come from a long line of powerful women.  God is with you as you harness their power for good.  Amen.

[i] Terence E. Fretheim, Exodus:  Interpretation:  A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1991), 28

[ii] Alice Ogden Bellis, Helpmates, Harlots, and Heroes:  Women’s Stories in the Hebrew Bible (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 1994), 100.

[iii] Jacqueline E. Lapsley, Whispering the Word:  Hearing Women’s Stories in the Old Testament (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2005), 77.

[iv] Lapsley, 78.

[v] Bellis, 101.

[vi] Lapsley, 74.

Sermon – Acts 1.6-14, E7, YA, May 21, 2023

30 Tuesday May 2023

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One of my favorite videos on YouTube is an experiment by the group called SoulPancake.  They asked six pairs of individuals, in various stages of relationship (from total strangers to a couple who has been married 55 years) to sit in two chairs facing one another, and without speaking, look into one another’s eyes for four minutes.  At first the couples are a bit uncomfortable – initially unsettled by the forced silence, but ultimately jarred by what they quickly realize is deep intimacy.  Slowly over the four minutes the couples settle in, their faces transforming from discomfort to curious to deep connection.  You can almost see the sparks of love emerging in their eyes, tension draining from their bodies, and invariably smiles of appreciation spreading across their mouths.[i] 

When Willie James Jennings writes about the ascension of Jesus, one his primary concerns is that in focusing on the heavens, where Jesus used to be, the disciples will forget to focus on one another, on the stranger in need of witness, and on the presence of God.  Jennings worries that the disciples are looking “into the heavens concerned by absence rather than looking forward to see presence.”[ii]  The text from the Acts of the Apostles tells us of the last earthly day of Jesus’ post-resurrection life.  Jesus gives the disciples a commission and is lifted up into the clouds and whisked away.  The text tells us the disciples do exactly what you might imagine – they stand there, staring at the heavens.  I imagine that standing and staring had several iterations:  there was likely the stunned awe of the moment; there may have been some not wanting to leave for fear of missing what might happen next; there may be some immediate second guessing about what this all means; there may be some Peter-esque desire to preserve the sacred location of the profound moment; there may be a sense deep grief, or conversely a sense of profound joy.  Whatever those disciples are doing, they are not at all doing they are supposed to do.  Hence the men in white robes asking their very basic question, “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?”

You and I are about to engage in the profound and infrequent journey of sabbatical.  The temptations in this time are many.  For either of us, we could easily see this as twelve weeks of frozen time – where we will each gaze upon God, and then simply pick up where we left off in August.  For either of us, we could be prepared to happily engage in sabbatical activities, absorbed in our own mountaintop experiences, forgetting the journey of the other.  For either of us, we could be guided by fear, burying our talent like in the parable in Matthew – just hoping not to risk doing sabbatical the “wrong way” instead of investing our talents to see what return we gain. 

But there is danger in looking up in the heavens into absence as opposed to looking forward to presence.  Alan Hirsch tells us, “the biggest blockage to the next experience of God is often the last experience of God, because we get locked into it.”[iii]  [repeat]  What those men in white knew was that if the disciples stood there lost in themselves or even in the ascended Jesus, they would never get their next experience of God – they would get so locked into the mountaintop experience of Jesus’ ascension, that they would never make their way to the next experience of God – in their case the great gift of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost.

That is our invitation today.  As we stand on the precipice of sabbatical, maybe as we are still reveling in the memory of an outstanding parish-wide retreat this weekend, or wondering what sabbatical activities we want to try, or even feeling a bit of anxiety about what is next, a great whispering is happening nearby, “why are you standing looking up toward heaven?”  Our invitation instead is to resist letting our next experience of God be our last experience of God.  Our invitation is to gather in these next weeks in prayer and community, knowing that the Holy Spirit will do a new thing in all of us.  Our invitation is to walk down the mountain and into the valley of witnessing the gospel of Jesus, looking forward not only for the presence of God, but gazing deeply into the eyes of others.[iv]  This time of sabbatical is not a time to marked by absence, but instead is a time looking forward to see presence.  We can only see that presence if we pull our eyes from heaven and gaze into the sacred we find in one another.  The next experience of God promises to be greater still than our last experience of God.  I can’t wait to hear all about your next experience.  Amen.

[i] Georgia Koch, “How To Connect With Anyone,” SoulPancake, February 12, 2015, as found at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xm-T3HCa618 on May 20, 2023.

[ii] Willie James Jennings, Acts:  Belief:  A Theological Commentary on the Bible (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2017), 19-20.

[iii]  Alan Hirsch and Rob Kelly, Metanoia: How God Radically Transforms People, Churches, and Organizations From the Inside Out (Cody, Wyoming:  100 Movements Publishing, 2023).

[iv] John S. McClure, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 525.

Sermon – John 14.1-14, E5, YA, May 7, 2023 (8:00 AM)

30 Tuesday May 2023

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The gospel text we hear from John today may be quite familiar.  Today’s text is a favorite for funerals.  I have lost count of the number of times I have heard the first six verses of chapter fourteen, and after countless funerals, I am convinced the first six verses would be the ones I want read at my own funeral.  What I love about this text, and what I suspect so many others love too, is layered.  I love Jesus’ description of the heavenly kingdom – a place of abundance, with many dwelling places.  I love that Jesus lovingly goes before us, and even promises to come back for us and guide us there.  I love the assurance that I already know the way, and I love Jesus’ words, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”  And as if that were not enough, I love the very human response of Thomas – so stuck in his anxiety and fear that he cannot really hear Jesus.  His panicked words make me feel reassured in my own human messiness.

But what is funny about this text is that we never read the rest of the verses at funerals.  Because I have studied just the first six verses countless times, I was stunned this week by the following eight verses of our text.  After that entire interaction with Thomas, where clearly Thomas needed and received careful, loving guidance, Philip enters the scene – and does the exact same thing as Thomas.  Literally seconds after Jesus patiently explains how he will go and prepare a place for us, and he will guide them, and they will know the way because Jesus is the way, what does Philip do?  He basically says, “Great, if you could just prove yourself one more time, then I will definitely believe you.” 

Truth be told, the introduction of Philip makes me love this text even more.  You see, in this Eastertide season, as we continue to talk about what the resurrection means in our everyday life, we go back to this time before Jesus’ death when he broke the resurrection down, not once, but twice.  But the explanation we hear today – twice – really takes us all the way back to the beginning.  Remember John’s gospel does not start with warm, familiar birth stories.  John starts with the poetic, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”  John has told us from the beginning that Jesus was from the beginning and became flesh so that the followers of God might make God known.  And so, Jesus patiently (and occasionally a little impatiently) tells us over and over again that Jesus is there to help us know God and to bring us into resurrection life in the heavenly kingdom.  And if Jesus can be patient, and occasionally a little impatient, with Thomas and Philip, surely God can handle my own slowness to come to confidence in Christ.

But that is not the end of our invitation today – to recognize Jesus’ salvation and care for us.  This entire convoluted conversation with Thomas and Philip is to help them and us believe.  Now, do not confuse things, I do not mean belief as end in and of itself.  Karoline Lewis sheds light on what believing means, “…to believe in Jesus,” Lewis says, “is to witness in the world his presence so that others might have their own encounter by which then to believe in Jesus…Every sign, every encounter, every conversation has been with that sole purpose in mind, to make God known so that a moment of believing might happen.  In these works, the disciples are invited to participate.”  This witness becomes important because Jesus is returning to the Father, because discipleship is based on witnessing, because greater works will be made possible in our witnessing.[i] 

So as much as I love these very human interactions between Thomas, Philip, and Jesus, this text is not just meant to reassure me of my humanness and God’s grace with me despite that flawed humanness.  This text is meant to remind us of our commission as disciples.  Resurrection promise is not just comfort food for the journey.  Resurrection promise is fuel for the journey – a journey that is not just about us, but about who we bring along with us into resurrection life.  That is our invitation today.  As we journey in this Eastertide, Jesus reminds us once again that our Easter joy is not meant for us alone; our Easter joy is meant to be shared.  Thomas and Philip just remind us in our very humanness that we can be the faithful disciples Jesus needs.  Amen.

[i] Karoline M. Lewis, John:  Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries, (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 189-190.

Sermon – John 10.1-10, Acts 2.2.42-47, E4, YA, April 30, 2023

30 Tuesday May 2023

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As a parent of young children, I often found that I mourned when certain stages ended.  One of the harder transitions was when I was no longer physically able to manhandle my children.  Before then, if a kid was refusing to move, or was throwing an epic tantrum, I could just swoop them up and manage their outburst physically.  But once I could not long hold their weight or battle those strong little arms, I realized my parenting technique was going to need a dramatic change – I was going to have to give up some control and figure out how to help both of us verbally work through what was going on in the moment.  Of course, that probably was the way I should have been parenting from the beginning, but sometimes a good swoop sure did feel good and gave me the illusion of control.

When I see images of Jesus the Good Shepherd – the biblical image we celebrate today – I find a similar sense of disappointment.  If Jesus is the Good Shepherd, I am metaphorically that helpless, probably not too bright, albeit cuddly sheep draped over Jesus’ shoulders.  That kind of image has always made me feel a little disempowered.  But this week I stumbled on a Byzantine icon[i] of Jesus Christ the Good Shepherd which shifted things for me.  Instead of a sheep draped over Jesus’ shoulders, the icon has a person draped over Jesus’ shoulders.  Their eyes are closed, their body is limp, but Jesus, complete with the nail scars in his hands and feet, seems to effortlessly be carrying this person out of the wilderness.  The image did not necessarily make me feel empowered, but the image did humanize this metaphor for me.  I could easily imagine an adult who has been walking through the valley of the shadow of death, exhausted from suffering or grief.  Or I could imagine a protective Jesus who has swooped someone out of harm’s way.  And I can definitely imagine an adult who has worn themselves out with their own tantrum.

In John’s Gospel today, Jesus is shepherding the crowd through all those scenarios.  You may remember back in Lent we got that long story from John’s gospel about the blind man Jesus heals, only to have the religious community freak out about Jesus healing on the sabbath and not believing the man had actually been blind in the first place.  Well after the blind man proclaims his desire to follow Jesus, Jesus then turns back to the community of faith and offers this explanation of his healing the blind man.  His teaching in John is actually much longer than what we hear today – in fact, Chapter 10 of John’s gospel is usually divided into three sections – all about the Good Shepherd – but a different section is appointed for each liturgical year.  In year A, we get the “I am the gate,” or door, portion of Chapter 10.  We are told that when we pass through the gate, the “good shepherd,” tends to us so that we will have life, and have life abundantly.

This passage is the “so what” of Easter.  If you remember, people have been running around, demanding proof of Jesus’ resurrection, taking whole walks with Jesus before realizing who the resurrected Jesus is.  And so, Eastertide is a celebration of the resurrection, and we spend seven weeks trying to figure out what resurrection means.  The “so what” today then is that Jesus came, died, and rose again so that we might have life, and have that life abundantly.  And if that abundant life means Jesus has to carry us out of trouble, hold us when we cannot walk on our own, or haul us over his shoulder when we are just too stubborn to accept his gift of abundant life, that is what Jesus the Good Shepherd will do.  Jesus’ resurrection matters because his resurrection reminds us of the gift of abundant life.

But that story is only part one of our “so what” today.  The rest of the “so what” of resurrection happens in our lesson from Acts today.  Since Easter we have been reading in Acts about the beginnings of the church community.  We have heard two parts of Peter’s sermon after the great day of Pentecost, where he gathers the first mega church of over 3000 people.  Now we hear the “so what” of Jesus being the gate.  You see, when Jesus becomes the gate, the door through which we pass into the protected sheepfold, you know what that gathering of the sheep looks like?  We are not disempowered, limp bodies, lying under protection.  When we pass through Jesus’ resurrection, we join a community – a community of action.[ii]  The text from Acts says of that growing body, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.”[iii]  As the community grows, they share in economic justice, sharing their wealth and caring for all equally.  They spend time together, eating with glad, generous hearts, praising God, and tending to the goodwill of all.  Jesus doesn’t just carry our limp, weary selves, and then deposit us into the world to try again.  Jesus brings us into a fold – a community of study, fellowship, communion, and prayer.

That is the beginning of your “so what” of Easter today.  We are an Easter people because Jesus gave his life so that we might have life and have that life abundantly.  As Easter people we are gifted that abundantly life so that we can enter the sheepfold of faithful community.  Your invitation today is hop off Jesus’ shoulders, walk through the gate of Jesus, and come into to a community of faith where we will study God’s word, develop meaningful relationships, come together around the common table, and pray.  When we gather in that kind of community, when we are fed mentally, physically, and spiritually, then we fueled for the rest of the “so what” of Easter.  Once nurtured in that generous, abundant community, we are led back out through the gate that is Jesus, better able to love and serve the Lord out in the world.  Thanks be to God!

[i] As found at https://www.etsy.com/listing/856250878/hand-painted-byzantine-icon-of-jesus?gpla=1&gao=1&&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping_us_a-home_and_living-spirituality_and_religion-other&utm_custom1=_k_Cj0KCQjwgLOiBhC7ARIsAIeetVDhfiQo66BpPPH4Bg02sff293o0Q8_YqIhIUuxfVbEDRA8-6wbArd0aAg3OEALw_wcB_k_&utm_content=go_12559942249_120251207180_506897847531_pla-302895540136_c__856250878_122003557&utm_custom2=12559942249&gclid=Cj0KCQjwgLOiBhC7ARIsAIeetVDhfiQo66BpPPH4Bg02sff293o0Q8_YqIhIUuxfVbEDRA8-6wbArd0aAg3OEALw_wcB on April 29, 2023.

[ii] The idea of what life is like in the sheepfold is articulated by Matt Skinner in “Sermon Brainwave:  #901: Fourth Sunday of Easter (Year A) – April 30, 2023,” April 23, 2023, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/901-fourth-sunday-of-easter-year-a-april-30-2023 on April 29, 2023.

[iii] Acts 2.42-47.

Sermon – Luke 24.13-35, E3, YA, April 23, 2023

30 Tuesday May 2023

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In 2015, Jamil sat in a hospital room distraught.  His newborn daughter, Alma, had suffered a stroke during childbirth, and had been whisked away to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.  Doctors and nurses had been tending to her around the clock.  And then, in the haze of the hospital stay, at about one o’clock in the morning, a doctor came into their hospital room and shared some difficult news about Alma’s treatment plan.  And here’s where the story gets interesting:  “‘…instead of just delivering the news compassionately and leaving, [the doctor] just pulled up a chair.’  The two men talked for about 90 minutes — a wide-ranging conversation in which the doctor told Jamil about his own struggles as a new father, and shared his thoughts about parenthood.”  Jamil recalls of Dr. Petersen, “It was as though he hit the pause button on this torrent of pain and anguish that we were feeling.” [i]

Sometimes we have a hard time remembering what the first Easter and Eastertide felt like for the followers of Christ.  We read Luke’s gospel today, but in all the gospel narratives of that first Easter, we discover not a sense of victory and responding alleluias.  We find fear, confusion, and resistance.  In Luke’s gospel today, the women have already discovered and reported the empty tomb, and Peter even had run to confirm the amazing news.  Today we pick up the story as Cleopas and another disciple of Jesus have packed up and are heading back home to Emmaus.  They do not believe the women and the inability of Peter to see the risen Lord makes them even more incredulous.  As they unknowingly talk to Jesus along their walk to Emmaus, they express their despondency acutely, “…we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”[ii]

We too get trapped in post-Easter uncertainty.  We had a glorious Holy Week and Easter Sunday here at Hickory Neck, and even enjoyed a healthy crowd last Sunday.  This past week we started our Gratitude Gatherings, which have been full of joyful pondering about all that the Holy Spirit is doing among us.  As we turned our conversations to our hopes for Hickory Neck, I have heard a similar thread:  a longing to know what is next.  We have walked through all sorts of identity changing years of late:  from new leadership, to welcoming, nurturing, and then sending on the Kensington School, to wading through a pandemic and becoming a hybrid community, to the promise of a sabbatical in just a month’s time.  As we have talked about our hopes for the future, we have many dreams and desires; but it also feels like we are standing at a precipice.  We have that feeling of goodness and blessing, and also that unsettling feeling of wondering where God is taking us next. 

When Jamil sat with Dr. Petersen for an hour and half in the midst of his grief and anxiety, he says, “‘I just felt like I couldn’t control anything…I was feeling this loss of autonomy, of agency.  And then I just remember [Dr. Petersen] not leaving.’  Petersen’s honest conversation about the ups and downs of fatherhood reminded [Jamil] that he wasn’t doing this alone.”  Jamil says, “Afterwards I stopped thinking about the suffering that we were going through and started thinking about, OK, well, what do we do for Alma next?”[iii]

Jesus does not leave Cleopas and the other disciple in the despondency.  He walks with them.  He listens and he shares the salvation narrative with them.  And as if that were not enough, Jesus “leaves them free to continue on without him.”  Like he always does, he gives his followers free will.  And when Jesus is invited to stay on, Jesus does.  Only then – in the sacrament of breaking bread, blessing bread, and distributing bread – only then are the disciples’ eyes opened.[iv]  Jesus tarries with the disciples until they can ask the question that the followers in our Acts narrative ask today, “What should we do?”[v]

That is our invitation at Hickory Neck in these coming weeks and months.  We are invited to sit with Jesus – to not let him depart, but to continue walking, talking, and eating together at his table.  We are invited in these weeks of Easter and sabbatical, to keep gathering together, to listen in the midst of our busy lives, to be open to how Jesus is warming our hearts with his presence.  That is where our hopes and dreams become redefined.  That is where we become renewed and delivered from our fears and anxieties.  That is where we can let go of what has been and take up what we are to do next.  Jesus is with us – and his presence is a glorious promise for warmed hearts and renewed spirits.  Amen.

[i] Laura Kwerel, “Jamil was struggling after his daughter had a stroke. Then a doctor pulled up a chair.”  My Unsung Hero from Hidden Brain, NPR, April 17, 2023, as found at https://www.npr.org/2023/04/17/1167802053/jamil-was-struggling-after-his-daughter-had-a-stroke-then-a-doctor-stepped-in on April 19, 2023.

[ii] Luke 24.21

[iii] Kwerel.

[iv] Cynthia A. Jarvis, “Homiletical Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 423.

[v] Acts 2.37.

Sermon – Matthew 28.1-10, ED, YA, April 9, 2023

30 Tuesday May 2023

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I have a friend who does one of the most unconscionable things in life:  she flips to the end of every book and reads the ending first before going back to the beginning to start.  When she first told me about this habit, I was mortified.  How could you ruin the suspense, ignore the carefully crafted character development, and destroy the experience of imagination so callously?  For her, the answer is simple.  She needs to be assured that everything will turn out okay – the only way she can trust the journey the author will take her on is if she knows how the journey will end.  Now I have certainly read my fair share of books whose ending made me furious, so I get her logic.  But I have yet to be converted to her method, even by the bad endings.

Sometimes I think Easter Sunday is a bit like flipping to the end of the book.  We want to know Jesus rises from the dead, forgives our sins, and restores us to the promise of eternal life.  But that is not where the story starts today.  We are told that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary go to see the tomb.  These two women do not come to prepare the body with spices like in the other Gospel narratives.  They just come to see the stone-cold reminder of death and lay down all that has been.  In any death, there is a flurry of activity – the realization of pending death; the calling in of loved ones to say goodbye, or in the case of sudden death, the shocked gathering of grief; the funeral plans and details so complicated all your brain can do is make one decision at a time; and then the receiving of condolences and public marking of goodbye.  But in any death, eventually everyone leaves, and the mourning are left doing what Mary Magdalene and Mary do – going to sit at the tomb with the stark reality of all that has happened.[i]

In some ways, that is our posture as a church today.  If we participated in Holy Week at all, we walked the last meal of Jesus, his washing of feet, his agonizing prayers, his betrayal and denial, his torturous death, and the finality of his tomb.  Of if we participated in Lent, we walked through the depths of our sinfulness, doing the hard work of repentance, even being reminded we are dust and to dust we shall return.  Of if we go to church on a regular basis, we know that Jesus is just the final act of God in response to the ways the people of God broke their covenant with God again and again – ignoring prophets and sages, ignoring the sins of their ancestors, ignoring all the blessings and glimmers of hope from God and instead doing our own will, not God’s will.

Once you know that whole narrative, humbling dragging our baggage of misbehavior, misdeeds, misguided wills, then the story we hear today is not just a “and then they lived happily ever after” ending.  Today’s story is profound, unbelievable, and, as the text says, literally earth-shattering.  What God in Jesus does today is entirely undeserved, nothing we are remotely entitled to, and utterly full of love, forgiveness, and grace.  When we carry the weight of that entire book we have been reading, then today’s text is the very reason we say alleluia over and over again today.  Today’s text is the reason we make our way to this place, whether we have never been here before, are not entirely sure we want to be here, whether our faith journey has begun to be renewed here, or whether this place feels like home for us.  Today’s text is the reason we have any hope at all in this conflicted, messy, seemly unsavable world.

But here is the funny thing about this beyond happily ever after ending:  this is not the end.  After the earth is literally shaken at its core, the appearance of an otherworldly angel, and even an encounter with the risen Christ, the story goes on.  Mary Magdalene and the other Mary go witness to the other disciples.  We are told they go with fear – even though both the angel and Jesus tell them to not be afraid.  We are told they go with joy – because even though this new thing is terrifying, this new thing is terrifyingly joyful.  We are told they run – run to share the best beginning they have ever heard.

That is our invitation today.  In Christ’s death, we hear the best beginning we have ever heard.  Knowing all that we know of the prelude, we know that this is terrifyingly joyful news.  But this is news that we are invited not just to share, but to run and share.  I do not know to whom you need to run to today.  Maybe someone in your life needs this terrifyingly joyful reminder of resurrection.  Maybe someone you have never met before is waiting for you to run into them.  Or maybe you just need to run into your downtrodden self and remind yourself of this good news.  When the clergy today says, “Let us go forth into the world rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit, alleluia, alleluia,” our response is not just a verbal one.  Today we are invited to run and share the good news!  Amen!

[i] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Dear Working Preacher:  The Foundation of Christian Hope,” April 2, 2023, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/the-foundation-of-christian-hope on April 5, 2023.

Sermon – Gen., Ex., Ez., Zeph., Mt. 28.1-10, EV, YA, April 8, 2023

30 Tuesday May 2023

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If you have ever longed for a way to explain or express your faith to someone or even to yourself, this night, Easter Vigil, is the best articulation or encapsulation of our faith.  If ever you were hoping to showcase to a friend the best example of Church, this is the night in which the Church is at the Church’s fullest.  This night has everything – the drama of the Pascal fire and candle, the haunting beauty of the Exsultet, the narration of our salvation history, Baptism and Eucharist, and all the joy that comes with Easter.  After this night, the rest of our Easter celebrations pale in comparison.  This is the night. 

The challenge of Easter for us is that not only are we quick to forget the darkness of the past week, but also we are tempted to only celebrate what God has done in Jesus Christ, and not celebrate how extraordinary what God has done in Jesus Christ is in light of what God has done throughout all time.  Easter Vigil pulls us out of that desire to be narrowly focused and thrusts us back into the full story that is our story – the story that makes Jesus’ resurrection all the more powerful.  Easter Vigil gives us the opportunity to step out of the empty tomb, and to immediately recall all the other things that God has done for us – the ways that God has repeatedly delivered us – and to understand at a much deeper level the significance of this night.

Tonight, we hear five of the nine possible readings we could have read which narrate our salvation history.  First, we hear the creation story – that story wherein God takes a watery chaos and creates the earth and all that is in the earth:  the lights, the waters, the birds, the animals, the ground and vegetation, humanity, and Sabbath.  We hear again and again how God creates and how that creation is good.  We hear in this first reading the tender lovingkindness of God, the abundance of creation, and the glory of God.  Second, we hear the dramatic story of the flood, where our sinfulness drives God to flood the earth.  But the flood story is also a story of God’s mercy – a God who loves so much that God cannot totally annihilate God’s creation.  After the flood, God promises to never again harm creation so deeply.  Then we hear the Exodus story – that story where God takes God’s people out of slavery, frees them from Egypt, and guides them through the Red Sea to the final destruction of pharaoh’s army.  Despite the people’s groaning, their illogical desire to return to slavery rather than to trust in the Lord, and the people’s unworthiness of such grace, God saves the people, delivering them from bondage and death.  Next, we hear that haunting story from Ezekiel, where the prophet breathes breath back into a valley full of dry bones – the dry bones of the people Israel, symbolizing God’s restoration of Israel.  Finally, finally, we hear the Zephaniah story of the gathering of God’s people back together from exile – that story in which God promises to return God’s people to the Promised Land, to deliver them from their suffering at the hands of oppressors, and to restore their fortunes.  As an exiled people, who quite frankly deserved the loss of their land because of the ways they deserted God, this promise of being regathered is more than they could ever hope for or imagine.

In light of this salvation history – this snapshot way of showing how lovingly God creates us, how lovingly God forgives us, and how lovingly God returns to us time and again, despite our grievous sins – we then turn to Jesus’ story.  We see that as God’s people we have benefited from the many times that God has delivered us from oppression and suffering caused by our sinfulness; but in this final act by God, the giving of God’s Son Jesus Christ to suffering, persecution, and death, we see that Jesus’ resurrection means that we not only have a God that delivers us from the bondage of death in this world, but also we have a God that delivers us from bondage of death in the life to come.  Instead of taking away one more earthly oppressor, God takes away the oppressor of death – granting us forgiveness of our sins and eternal life.  This narrative, the story of the empty tomb is the last stop in that salvation narrative for us. 

This is the night – when we remember what God does for us at the Red Sea.  This is the night – when we recall that Christ died for our sins.  This is the night – when we proclaim that Christ has broken the bonds of death and given us eternal life.  And we remember all of that this night through our actions – the lighting of the Pascal candle, the reaffirmation of our baptismal covenant, and the receiving of bread and wine.  We hear the word of God, and we respond to the word of God through our liturgical actions. 

And so what does God call us to do in light of this night?  Rejoice now!  The whole earth – that earth that God created – rejoices because darkness is vanquished through Jesus Christ.  The heavenly chorus rejoices – shouting for the salvation fulfilled and completed in Christ the King.  The Church rejoices – we resound as a people, being glad for all that God does for us through Jesus Christ.  Like our ancestor the prophet Miriam who led the women in dancing and song, we too are bursting with praise and thanksgiving.  We praise God in song, prayer, and proclamation because we are so overwhelmed with the abundance of God’s love and grace for us.  We rejoice now, because like the Israelites on the other side of the Sea, we are awed by God, and can only offer our adoration.  We have no way of paying God back or thanking God enough.  And so, with great adoration and awe, we rejoice now.  And we leave this place, bursting with joy as we share the salvation story of all that God has done for us.  Rejoice now, Mother Church!  Alleluia!  Alleluia!