Tag Archives: share

Sermon – I Timothy 6.6-19, Luke 16.19-31, P21, YC, September 28, 2025

01 Wednesday Oct 2025

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Parenting is probably the most difficult of the vocations God has given me – not simply because parenting can be physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausting, or because of the heftiness of the responsibility of shaping decent human beings who will have an impact on the world, or because parenting forces you to justify every belief and value you hold.  Those alone would be daunting enough.  But parenting is also a difficult vocation because of the way parenting evolves:  from those early days of helping this creature learn the basics for survival, to those young days of helping children wonder and ask the big questions of life, to those middle days of clarifying family, faith, and individual values that will guide their behavior and choices, to those later days of gently reflecting on those ultimate things of life – of what really makes for a life of meaning and purpose.

In many ways, our scripture lessons lately have felt like listening to a parent trying to help us figure out what this whole life thing is all about.  On the surface, our lessons today are straight of central casting for a stewardship talk – we’ve really teed up the parishioner who will share his testimony today with everything he needs.  From Amos who foreshadows what will happen to those who spend their lives luxuriating in lavishness, as if luxuriating is an end in and of itself; to Paul’s letter to Timothy who warns how dangerous a love of money can be, distracting us from things of ultimate significance; to our gospel lesson which starkly depicts the eternal significance of how wealth can make us so blind to the needs of others that we condemn ourselves in the life beyond this life.  The lessons this week seem to serve up the ultimate stewardship sermon:  the place of money in our lives is so fraught with spiritual consequences, you should just give that money to the church so that you do not have to worry about a fate like those in our lessons today!

And while our budget for next year might appreciate such a lesson, much like parenting has varied phases, so does the church’s teaching of us.  The one line of all the weighty lessons on wealth from today that has been hovering in my mind comes from Paul’s first letter to Timothy.  In the last line of the portion of his letter we heard today, Paul says we “are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share, thus storing up for [ourselves] the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that [we] may take hold of the life that really is life.”  So that we may take hold of the life that really is life.  The verb in the Greek translated as “take hold” is a not a gentle verb – taking hold is better translated as to grasp desperately.[i]  So we are to grasp desperately to the life that really is life. 

This is the phase of parenting where I find myself:  how do I teach my children what the “life that really is life” is?  In a world that very much feels like the passage from Amos, telling us that “life that really is life” is a life so comfortable you can set your goal as luxuriating in peace, or in a world that so values individualism that we are trained not to let our gaze linger on people like Lazarus or to even know their name for that matter, or in a world that seems to jump from one political controversy to the next, destabilizing our moral compass, how are we supposed to even know what the life that really is life is?

Award winning journalist Amy Frykholm, inspired by that simple phrase “the life that really is life,” traveled to a tiny city in southern Mexico, Fortín de las Flores, after reading Sonia Nazario’s book Enrique’s Journey.  The book details the story of a Honduran man trying to make his way into the United States by traveling on top of a freight train.  His story is not all that unique – the 20,000 residents of Fortín see people like him all the time.  What is unusual about Fortín is how they respond to these migrants.  Instead of responding with fear, or with self-protection, or even with a blind eye, the people of Fortín act as a place of mercy.  Actively making their way to the trains to deliver food, water, and supplies every day – food left over from their food trucks which are just barely making enough for their own families to survive, water poured into zipped baggies they can toss them to the tops of trains, and even sweatshirts or winter hats because they know that after the stop in Fortín, the migrants will face the brutal cold of a trip through mountains.  When journalist Frykholm asked them why they cared for these strangers, most of the residents just looked at her like she was asking a silly question.  A resident of Fortín who had lived in the United States understood her confusion.  He said, “‘The central value of this society is compartir,’ [the Spanish word for “sympathize”] …as he carried a bag of oranges toward a train that had briefly stopped not far from the hotel.  ‘Even a business is primarily a place from which to share.’”[ii] 

The wealth the rich man has in our gospel lesson is not bad in and of itself.  The wealthy man is not even an evil man – he does not actively do anything bad to people like Lazarus.  The danger in the wealthy man’s life is how he does not see,[iii] how he presumes his wealth is simply a blessing for him to enjoy from God.  Debie Thomas writes, “It has taken me a long time to recognize how insidious this notion of ‘blessing’ really is.  How contrary [the notion of blessing] is to Jesus’s teachings.  When I was growing up, no one ever told me that by locking human suffering out, I was locking myself in.  Locking myself into a life of superficiality, thin piety, and meaninglessness.  As our reading from [Paul’s letter to Timothy] puts it this week, the refusal to confront my own privilege, the refusal to bear the burdens of those who have less than me, is a refusal ‘to take hold of the life that really is life.’”[iv]

That is our invitation today – to desperately grasp on to the life that really is life.  Fortunately, scripture does not give us this hefty command like a parent sending out their grown child with one last bit of advice.  Paul wrote this letter not just to Timothy but to the community of faith.  Paul wrote this letter to the community of faith because Paul knew they could not grasp desperately to the life that really is life without some companions on the journey – without a village of people whose central value is compartir.  We gather with people every week because we need a community who can hold us accountable to our values and who can challenge us when loose track of what a life that really is life is.  Sometimes the community will do that by looking at us like we are asking a silly question; sometimes the community will do that by inviting us to be generous givers; and sometimes the community will do that by sitting us down to open up wisdom for us.  But mostly, the community will partner with us because each one of us is desperately trying to grasp onto that life that really is life too.  Together, we create our own little Fortín right here in Toano, witnessing with simplicity the life that really is life – together.  Amen.

[i] Stephanie Mar Smith, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Pres, 2010), 110.

[ii] Amy Frykholm, “Life That Really Is Life,” September 21, 2025, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/3969-life-that-really-is-life on September 26, 2025

[iii] Charles B. Cousar, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Pres, 2010), 119.

[iv] Debie Thomas, “The Great Chasm,” September 22, 2019, as found at https://journeywithjesus.net/essays/2374-the-great-chasm on September 26, 2025.

Sermon – Luke 10.1-11, 16-20, P9, YC, July 6, 2025

24 Thursday Jul 2025

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

This past week has been a jumbly mess of feelings around my identity as an American Christian.  I probably could have buried my head in the sand about most of the mess and just ate my hamburger and watched the fireworks and called it a day.  But I happen to have an eleven-year-old in my house who asks lots of questions, officially making head-in-the-sand living virtually impossible.  Instead, we spent time in conversation about the intersection of politics and Christian ethics in the caring for the poor and sick and the responsibilities of those with wealth.  Later, we had to talk about my discomfort with the man on his loudspeaker preaching salvation to Colonial Williamsburg visitors – that not all followers of Jesus believe the same things.  Our conversations reminded me that knowing in my head that not all Christian values being publicly proclaimed are my Christian values, and having actual conversations with others about that difference are two very different things.

I think that is why today’s gospel lesson is so unnerving.  By chapter ten of Luke’s gospel, Jesus has already sent out the twelve on an evangelism mission.  Today, we pick up where Jesus commissions seventy to do the same.  In other words, this is when being followers of Jesus starts getting real.  Jesus does not sugarcoat the mission or even make an appealing pitch.  First Jesus tells them that the “harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.”  So basically, there is so much work to be done that the seventy are going to be overworked and overstressed.  Next Jesus tells them, “I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves.”  I imagine the seventy begin to panic with questions about who these wolves are and whether their own lives are at stake.  Then Jesus tells them, “Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road,” explaining they are to be dependent upon the hospitality of others.  If they are not worried about working conditions already, this last bit of information might set them on edge.  Basically, Jesus sends them out with nothing – no safety net, no creature comforts, and no guarantees.  The seventy are terrified and starkly vulnerable; and we, thousands of years later, are either equally wary or totally dismissive.

I remember many years ago talking with a clergy colleague who did a lot of consulting on evangelism.  She tells a story of how she was studying with a professor whose specialty was church growth, and her assignment for her thesis was to go to a local coffee shop and start talking to people about their faith.  The first week she went to the coffee shop, but was too terrified to talk to anyone.  When her professor asked her how it went, she totally lied.  She made up some story about having good conversations with folks.  This charade continued for weeks.  Each week she would go to the shop, but be unable to take that first step.  And each week, she would lie to her professor about trying.  Finally, guilt won over, and she took a small step forward.  She made a little sign out of a folded piece of paper that read, “Talk to me about church, and I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”  She sat nervously, petrified of what would happen.  Eventually a woman came up to her and said, “I’d like to talk to you about church, but I’ll buy the cup of coffee for you.”  The following conversation was transformative for them both, and the professor, who knew all along she was lying, was proud to see her finally make progress.

Like there was good news for my colleague, so there is good news for the seventy.  Although Jesus does send the seventy out in a very vulnerable way, he does not send them alone.  Jesus sends them in pairs.  Having a partner offers all sorts of security in the midst of their vulnerability.  As David Lose says, “When one of them falters, the other can help.  When one is lost, the other can seek the way.  When one is discouraged, the other can hold faith for both for a while.  That is what the company of believers does – we hold on to each other, console each other, encourage and embolden each other, and even believe for each other.”[i]

Second, Jesus promises the seventy that the harvest is plentiful.  Jesus does not tell the seventy that they are responsible for preparing the harvest – that is God’s work.  Their work is simply to gather the harvest.[ii]  This distinction is pretty tremendous because Jesus is saying that people are ready for his message.  Jesus does not tell the seventy that they will need to go out and convince people of the message.  Instead, he tells them that there are people who will already be receptive and are simply waiting for the seventy to gather them.

Finally, we hear that after this scary commission – as lambs among wolves, of walking over snakes and scorpions, and of being utterly reliant on the hospitality of strangers – the seventy return with joy.  This thing Jesus asks them to do does not leave them bereft or exhausted or even discouraged.  The seventy return delighted in what has happened to them; not because they did something, but because of the work that God did through them.[iii]

This gospel lesson has good news for us today as well.  Despite our hang-ups about the commission, at the end of the day, this story is about our own call to share our experience of God’s grace with others – especially in these identity-challenging times.  When we think about this text in those terms, the language starts to shift.  When Jesus says we are to go out for the harvest, and that the harvest is plentiful, mostly Jesus is telling us that in our world today, people are eager for a word of Good News.  Even if they say they are not religious, or they do not normally talk about God, Jesus assures us today that there are many people who want to hear your story of gratitude about all that God has done in your life.  And when Jesus says the kingdom of God is coming near, he is not asking us to go to Market Square and grab a megaphone.  Mostly he is telling us to stop delaying and get out there.  The kingdom being near is his way of saying the time for sharing is now, even if your sandwich board is more like a folded piece of paper inviting others to coffee and conversation.  Finally, when Jesus tells us to cure people, we might consider the ways that our faith has been a salve for us.  Surely in your faith journey, at some point your relationship with God has gotten you through something tough and has returned you to wholeness.  The worlds needs the salve of the Good News now more than ever.

And just in case you are not sure about all of this, I want to give you a little encouragement.  I once gave some homework to one of my Vestries.  They were to go to a local gas station or shop and ask for directions to our church.  One of our Vestry members was shocked to find that the grocery clerk was able to give her perfect directions to our church.  The Vestry member found out that she lives in the neighborhood across the street, though she had never actually been inside our doors.  Another Vestry member was chatting with a different grocery clerk about the amount of blueberries she was purchasing.  The Vestry member explained that they were for Church.  The clerk proceeded to ask her which Church and even said she might come by one Sunday.  Even I had an encounter at the local gym.  I was stretching and a gentleman approached me who I had seen several times.  He said that he had seen me in a church t-shirt the last time I was at the gym and he wondered what my affiliation was with church.  In the conversation that followed, I learned that he had once attended our church and that he might consider coming back for a visit.

Though the language of this gospel might make us evangelism-wary, politically-exhausted Episcopalians nervous, the truth is Jesus is simply inviting us to share the Good News of God’s grace in our lives.  He promises that we do not have to do the work alone – we always have good partners here at Hickory Neck.  He promises that people are ready to hear our words – we all have a story of goodness about our faith journey here the world needs to hear.  And he promises that there will be joy – we will all find surprising delights in this journey of sharing.  Our invitation is to be a laborer in the plentiful harvest.  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “The Greater Gift,” July 1, 2013, as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2617 on July 5, 2025.

[ii] David J. Lose, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 217.

[iii] Richard J. Shaffer, Jr., “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 218.

Sermon – Proverbs 22.1-2, 8-9, 22-23, P18, YB, September 8, 2024

11 Wednesday Sep 2024

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Many of us grew up with parents or grandparents who were always trying to instill wisdom.  “A penny saved is a penny earned.”  Or, “The early bird gets the worm.” Or one that overlaps with faith, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”  I think the hope has been to create mantras that will remind us to be good human beings.  In a lot of ways, that is what we do in baptism.  Certainly, the main purpose of baptism is to welcome people into the community of faith.  But every baptism is also an educational moment – an identity-making moment.  The liturgy of baptism (and especially the renewal of our baptismal covenant which we will do later today) is chock full of wisdom about how to live faithfully as a Christian:  continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers;  resist evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord; proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ; seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself; and strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being.  The baptismal covenant may not be as catchy or memorable as those phrases your grandparent used, but they do the same thing:  teach us something about being people of faith.

That is what our lesson from Proverbs is doing today too.  Truthfully, many of those proverbial sayings we learned from our elders come from scripture or even the book of Proverbs directly.[i]  Today’s lesson from Proverbs is all about wealth.  Now I know what you are thinking, we just baptized a little baby – why in the world do we need to talk to them about money?  Besides, isn’t that a little uncouth?  Much as we polite southerners might not like to admit it, Holy Scripture always has a lot to say about money.  For Jesus, money was the topic he talked about the most in Scripture.  But Jesus comes from a long line of people and scriptures that talk about wealth.  He was probably shaped just like we were by elders trying to give us wisdom.  But before you get too squeamish, just remember that talking about wealth is not just a concern about personal behavior or morality.  In the instance of our lesson from Proverbs, talking about wealth helps us understand how to live in community – how to be a people of faith together.[ii]

Let’s take a deeper dive with these verses today (feel free to go back to your bulletin as we read along).  The first verse talks about how a good name is much more valuable than great riches.  Now that does not mean we need to literally pick good names for our children – although Nathan, who was baptized earlier, is a beautiful name (quite biblical, actually!).  But what the original Hebrew means by “good name” is “good reputation.”[iii]  In other words, people need to know that you are a decent human being more than they need to know you have high levels of wealth.  In the second verse, the proverb goes even deeper, suggesting that whether we are rich or poor (or somewhere in between) we are all equally loved by God.  We are all beloved children of God.  Now if our equally beloved status is true, and how we treat others matters most, then our main job in life is to care for one another.  If we happen to be wealthy, we are encouraged to share our wealth.  As a community, we share our resources to support the work of ministry – verses eight and nine as well as 22 and 23 tell us how important our care for one another is.  That right prioritizing with wealth and community puts us in right relationship with God.  And Lord knows, Nathan, or any newly baptized, is going to need to navigate that reality in their lifetimes. 

That is what baptism does.  Baptism helps us remember first and foremost what we want to teach the newly baptized.  Whether the baptized is an adult or an infant we will communally raise, we want people like Nathan to know what being a person of faith is, and how that identity impacts the whole of our lives – from our weekly gathering in worship, to our caring for the poor, to the ways we steward our own resources. 

Secondly, baptism reminds us as a community what we need to remember.  Just because we were baptized once, or have reaffirmed our baptisms multiple times, that does not mean we have mastered faithful discipleship.  Even in our baptismal covenant, we do not say, “if we fall into sin,” we say, “whenever we fall into sin.”  Being a person of faith means working at being faithful over and over again – always with the help of fellow people on the journey, but certainly the work is ongoing.

That is why today, in addition to celebrating our baptism, we are also turning our hearts again to the topic of stewardship.  As we kickoff another program year, we are reminded that generosity is at the heart of faithful living.  Verse nine that we read today says, “Those who are generous are blessed, for they share their bread with the poor.”  Generosity, as one scholar explains, is “here imagined as sharing bread with the poor; that is, sharing those things that are necessary for a safe life.  In the ancient context, ‘sharing bread’ is not just dropping money in a cup, but is an expression of solidarity.  Those who share what they need for life (bread) find that they will have what they need for life.”[iv]   Our invitation today, as water is sprinkled on all our heads, is to consider how we might embrace a generous life – how we might, recognizing our blessedness, share our bread with others.  For when we live generously, we find we have all that we need for life.  Amen.

[i] Susan T. Henry-Crowe, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 26.

[ii] Stephen C. Johnson, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 27.

[iii] Megan Fullerton Strollo, “Commentary on Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23,” September 8, 2024, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-23-2/commentary-on-proverbs-221-2-8-9-22-23-6 on September 4, 2024.

[iv] Ronald J. Allen, “Considering the Text:  Week 4, Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, 8 September 2024” Center for Faith and Giving, as found at centerforfaithandgiving.org, 27.

Sermon – John 6.35, 41-51, P14, YB, August 11, 2024

28 Wednesday Aug 2024

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

One of the components of our leadership training in Vestry is to talk about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.  If you’re not familiar with his model, Maslow presents a pyramid of needs.  At the bottom are the physiological needs:  food, water, shelter, etc.  The next level of need is safety or security:  this would include health, employment, and social support.  The third level up the pyramid is love and belonging:  this entails friendship, family, intimacy, connection.  The fourth level is self-esteem:  including confidence, achievement, and respect.  And the final level, the tip of that pyramid is self-actualization:  creativity, a sense of purpose and meaning, and acceptance happen here.  The idea is, you cannot work on someone’s sense of purpose or meaning – the top of the pyramid, or even their sense of achievement and confidence without first meeting their basic needs at the base of the pyramid.  The same is true in the church.[i]  If we want to have excellent programming and ministry, where people are successfully naming and living into their vocations, we first have to make sure that we are a church who is in accordance with the canons of the Episcopal Church, that our property is safely maintained, that people feel welcome and cared for, before we think about people feeling proud about their church and helping their church thrive.  For Vestry members, when we are initiating change, we must be sure the hierarchy of needs has been met before we act.

Neal Mitchell tells a story of church who struggled with that sense of pacing with change.  There was a pastor who decided that the piano was not in the ultimate location in the sanctuary, so one week, he just moved it to the other side.  You would have thought he sacrificed a baby on the altar for the blowback he got.  He stirred such a commotion with his unilateral change that he eventually left the church and took another job.  Years and years later, that same pastor came back to the church for an anniversary celebration.  When he walked in the sanctuary, he immediately saw that the piano was in the location he always wanted but the church had refused to allow in his tenure.  After the worship service, he quietly asked the current pastor, “How in the world did you get them to move the piano over to that side of the worship space?!?”  The newer pastor said, “Oh, that.  Yeah, I just moved the piano an inch at a time.  No one even balked with the piano landed in the current position.”[ii] 

In John’s gospel today, Jesus in right in the middle of a lesson about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.  We are in the third week of what is called the Bread of Life Discourse.  To the casual reader, you may be thinking, “Didn’t we just talk about the bread of life last week?”  And you wouldn’t be wrong.  We are in the middle of talking about the bread of life for five weeks.  But the text may not be as repetitive as the text feels.  You see, Jesus has been walking us through a hierarchy of needs.  First, we had that feeding of the five thousand.  Jesus starts by attending to the people’s immediate need – food.  You can’t share the love of Christ if your belly is growling with hunger.  Next, the conversation goes back to their history – when God provided manna in the wilderness – in other words, when God didn’t just tend today’s hunger, but worked on the need of security – of daily bread.  There God tended to the second level of need.  Today, Jesus is talking not about today’s bread, or even daily bread.  Jesus is talking about the bread of life – the bread that will sustain us for eternity – the feeding of our souls, not just our bodies.  This kind of bread means relationship, intimacy, care, and empowerment.[iii]  

This week, I experienced another week of Vacation Bible School – this time through one of our ecumenical partners in town.  Over the course of two weeks of VBS, one of the common conversations I have had with church members here, there, and with the other Williamsburg Episcopal Churches was a reflection about how although families find their way to church through a program like VBS, the next step of coming to church regularly is more difficult to inspire.  Now there is a lot wrapped up in that pondering, but at the heart of that reflection, particularly by longtime churchgoers is an understanding that they have found something deeply meaningful and lifegiving at church and they want to share that soul sustenance – that bread of life – with folks who do not have that same sustenance. 

I think that is what Jesus is trying to help us see today.  We are certainly called to be a community of food.  Lord knows Jesus did that all the time – feeding masses of people, tending to their health needs, helping lift up the poor.  And, Jesus was also about feeding souls – helping people find relationship, belonging, soul-nourishing, and that sense of purpose in the kingdom.  We consume the bread of life here every week not because the bread tastes all that particularly good or because that bread fills our stomachs (certainly not like Coffee Hour does).  We consume that bread of life because that taste, that lingering feeling of a melting wafer moving down our throats, is a balm of belonging, of purpose, of entrance into the eternal.  We are very good at describing our welcoming community here at Hickory Neck or our awesome children’s formation program or our incredible service to the community.  But what Jesus is inviting us into this week is vulnerable conversations with others about our deep-soul needs that God fills every week in this place.  Those kinds of conversations are tricky while standing at the bus stop with our kids, or while waiting in line at the grocery story, or while running into someone at the gas station.  But those are the conversations that move pianos and move hearts – conversations that name the deep, hidden longing for the eternal that we all have.  Jesus invites us to feed others today, to tend to others’ daily bread, and to share the bread of life:  to share the deepest gift of the Church with a hungry world.  Amen. 

[i] Idea explored by Matt Skinner in Sermon Brainwave Podcast, “#977: Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost (Ord. 19B) – Aug. 11, 2024,” August 4, 2024, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/podcasts/977-twelfth-sunday-after-pentecost-ord-19b-aug-11-2024 on August 7, 2024.

[ii] Neal O. Michell, How to Hit the Ground Running (New York:  Church Publishing, 2005), 51-58.

[iii] Idea explored by Karoline Lewis in aforementioned podcast.

Sermon – Jeremiah 31.31-34, Psalm 51.1-13, L5, YB, March 17, 2024

27 Wednesday Mar 2024

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

In just a couple of weeks, Hickory Neck will gather for what is my favorite service of the entire year:  the Easter Vigil.  Now I know, you may be thinking, “But what about Easter Sunday?” or even “But Christmas Eve is the best!”  For me, the very best of the Episcopal Church happens at the Easter Vigil.  The lights are turned down low, a fire erupts as we sing the haunting Exultet, we read stories from scripture that feel like the ones you would tell around a campfire, we baptize new Christians, and then, with bells and singing, the lights come up as we ring in Easter.  The rest of the service feels like celebrating Eucharist for the first time – with the news of the empty tomb and feasting at the family table.

Part of why I love the service so much is those stories we hear by the fire:  what we often refer to as the salvation narrative.  In these stories we hear how we were created in God’s image and made for goodness, and then we hear how time and again we fail to live up to that goodness, but time and again, God meets us where we are, renewing God’s covenantal relationship with us, forgiving us, and getting us back on our feet to serve the world in God’s name.  The repetition of God extending that grace again and again and again, no matter how grave our failings, can make any participant begin to think that maybe, just maybe, we stand invited to receive that hesed or as we translate the Hebrew, that lovingkindness, of God.

Although we do not hear the text from Jeremiah on Easter Vigil night, today, on this fifth Sunday in Lent, just a week before we start the descent into the cross and the grave of Holy Week, we get one last reminder of the kind of redemption that waits on the other side of Easter.  I do not how recently you’ve been reading Jeremiah in your spare time, but just as a refresher, Jeremiah is one of those books that is generally filled with bad news.  Israel disobeyed the law of God, and, as a consequence, they are overthrown by outside forces, the walls of Jerusalem fall, the temple is destroyed, and the Israelites themselves are banished to Babylon.  The situation is bleak, and the prophet Jeremiah has a lot to say in judgment of the people.[i] 

But today, all the way in chapter 31, we get what is called “The Book of Comfort,”[ii] in Jeremiah where, after much shame and judgment, the people are promised a new day where there will be a new covenant between God and the people.  This time, they won’t have to wait for teaching, and they won’t have to store the commandments in a holy place.  The holy word of God will be written on their hearts – able to go with them anywhere, to be not just in their minds or in their temple, but on their very souls – they will be God’s and God’s will be theirs.  For a people utterly destroyed, who have lost their spiritual home in addition to their literal home, this is good news indeed.

When I was in seminary, we went to Chapel everyday – sometimes multiple times a day.  The rhythm of regular worship meant that not only did the liturgy get written into your body, so did the space.  You began to know the particulars of certain seats – which ones experienced more of a draft and which pew had someone’s initials carved in and aged over.  You knew how certain steps would creak when someone would ascend the lectern and you have seen the pulpit sway with a particularly vigorous preacher.  But mostly, you had stared, for years at a time, at the window behind the altar, around which were painted the words, “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel.”  Consciously and maybe more subconsciously, those words became ingrained in our minds seeing them every day. 

A year and a half after I graduated, that chapel burned down, along with that wall that had been seared into my mind.  I remember feeling bereft – like a part of me had died with the loss of that building.  Even today, when I visit the campus, worshiping in the beautiful new chapel, I still grieve when I see the preserved ruins where an outdoor altar remains.  It took me a long time to realize that although my heart ached for the physical space, those words – those words that Jesus spoke, “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel,” were gone from the world – but not from my heart.  Though I might miss the building – in the same way so many of us missed the buildings of this campus in those early years of the pandemic, the experience of God is written in my heart.

As we walk this last week of Lent, and as we begin next week to walk steadily through Holy Week, perhaps with sins weighing on our hearts, or feelings of being a failure at faith or at life in general, or even just the restlessness that can come when we find ourselves disconnected from any kind of relationship with God, our worship today is all about renewing that covenantal relationship with God.  Even in our psalm today, we prayed, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” – those same words a priest prays before she consecrates the sacred meal.  The psalm tells us the very nature of our God is “steadfast love and abundant mercy, a God who is eternally ‘for us’ with the endless love of a mother for her child.  The God who is everlasting love will never abandon us, no matter what our guilt says.  Steadfast love and abundant mercy heal us not only of the stain of sin, but also of the lie of our worthlessness.”[iii]  So likewise, Jeremiah confirms that encouragement.  As one scholar explains, “God will write the capacity for keeping the covenant on the inward hearts of the people.  Hope for such transformed wills will lie with God’s grace, not in any hope for human perfection.”[iv]

Your promise today is blessing upon blessing – blessing of belonging, of permanence, of mercy and lovingkindness.  The invitation today is then up to you.  What will you do with that renewed covenantal relationship?  How will walk differently this week with the covenant of God written on your heart?  How will you treat your neighbors differently, yourself differently, and your God differently?  The blessing is yours to keep deep in your soul.  And the blessing is also yours to share with a world that needs that blessing so very deeply.  Your work this week is to find your unique place to share that blessing.  Amen.

[i] Woody Bartlett, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 123.

[ii] Jon L. Berquist, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 123.

[iii] Elizabeth Webb, “Commentary on Psalm 51:1-12,” March 17, 2024, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fifth-sunday-in-lent-2/commentary-on-psalm-511-12-6 on March 14, 2024.

[iv] Samuel K. Roberts, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 126.

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

30 Tuesday May 2023

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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

30 Tuesday May 2023

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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.

On Cups of Sugar and Other Gifts…

03 Wednesday Feb 2021

Posted by in reflection

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

Photo credit: https://www.bhg.com/recipes/how-to/bake/how-to-measure-sugar/

One of the things I love about our public library is the way they display children’s books to catch your attention.  We have our favorite characters and series, but our librarians always pick books you might not find if you were just looking at endless rows of books.  In our last trip, we picked such a book called Addy’s Cup of Sugar.  There was a girl and a panda bear on the cover, so I was sure it would be a winner with my young daughter.  It also said it was based on a Buddhist story of healing, which sounded intriguing.

Little did I know how powerful this children’s book would be.  For those of you who have not read it (spoiler alert!), the book is about a girl whose cat dies.  She talks to her friend, the panda bear, about bringing the cat back to life.  The bear says the only way to accomplish that is for her to help him with the supplies he will need – specifically a cup of sugar from a neighbor; but the cup of sugar must come from a home where no one has experienced death.  So off Addy goes, and slowly we learn through her visits and beautiful conversations with neighbors that not one single house in her neighborhood has been unaffected by death.  You can imagine the conversation Addy and the bear have upon her return at the close of the day.

After recovering from being sideswiped by the emotional power of the book, I began to reflect on my work as a priest.  As part of my vocation, I am entrusted with fullness of people’s stories – grief they might not confess to their loved ones, weariness they may not show in their tough facades, anger at God they are afraid to claim aloud for fear of judgment.  Every once in a while, one of those poignant moments of sharing knocks the breath out of me and I am at a loss for words – because words cannot heal some hurts. 

Although I experience the depth of humanity more regularly than some, we all have the opportunity to do the same with our family, friends, and neighbors.  As the duration of this pandemic lengthens, I have been wondering if we all might need to start taking our own cups for sugar around the neighborhood (masked and socially distanced, of course), offering the opportunity for others to share their hurts, their sorrows, and perhaps their own struggles to see God.  Once we begin to see the wideness of the human condition, we also see how we are not alone.  Our cups of sugar then become not just gifts for ourselves, but for others too.

On Stories, Remembering, and Healing…

11 Wednesday Sep 2019

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Today marks the eighteenth anniversary of September 11, 2001 – a fateful day in the United States.  Even eighteen years later, this is a day where we as a country remember – remember where we were that day, remember the people who were touched by tragedy that day, remember how a single day could transform a nation and the world.  This day hangs heavy in our consciousness each year, the weight never quite lifting even with the passage of time.

I think part of why this day is so heavy for us as a people is because of the people this day touched.  Certainly, we could look at the death toll, and recall the names of the almost 3,000 people who died that day, most without the opportunity to say goodbye to their loved ones.  But September 11’s reach went beyond those who died.  The ripple of that day is mind-blowing:  those who were physically injured, those who were bereaved, those who were supposed to be in those buildings and somehow life’s circumstances kept them away, those whose health continues to be poor from living nearby or helping with the cleanup efforts, those who walked for hours fleeing danger, those who made hard decisions that day – some leading to life and some leading to death.

Four years after that fateful day, NPR’s StoryCorps launched their September 11th Initiative.  A program built around having people tell their stories, StoryCorps launched an effort to record the stories of that specific day – of the man who traded shifts that day and whose mentor died because he had volunteered to take his shift; of the man who consoled his wailing two-year old and had to wait four months before his wife’s body was finally identified; to the woman who sifted through bones and debris in a hanger months later, trying to help people find closure; to the airline employee who checked in the terrorists that day at the gate; the father who lost both sons, one a firefighter and one a police officer, in the line of duty that day.  Every story, every single one is gut-wrenching and tear-evoking.  And every one gives a tiny glimpse into the magnitude of the ripple effect this one day had on all of us.

This day, I invite you to honor September 11 with stories.  Talk to your neighbors, friends, and strangers about their experiences.  Listen to stories like the ones on StoryCorps.  Read whatever stories you can find.  When we engage in one another’s stories, we engage in honoring the dignity of every human being, something we pledge to do in our baptismal covenant.  We allow the depth of this day to do something to us.  And somewhere in that intimacy of story, we begin to hear an invitation – an invitation to honor life today.  Whether it is an act of kindness (maybe even the kindness of simply asking someone to tell their story), or whether it is a time of prayer to honor all that has been, or whether it is a commitment to reclaiming love so that hatred can never win in such a powerful way as it did that day.  May our stories help us connect to the cosmic story of a God who loves us and gives us light in the darkness.

On the Infertilities of Life…

31 Wednesday Jul 2019

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

One of things I am working on this summer is helping our parish leaders plan our fall Women’s Retreat.  In interviewing guest facilitators, one of the facilitators talked about the scriptural theme of infertility.  Having some amazing people in my life who are or have struggled with infertility over the years, I immediately connected with the idea.  But the facilitator expands the definition of infertility as being unable to do the thing you felt you were created to do.

As I have been thinking about this expanded definition of infertility, I have seen that spiritual struggle all around me.  Certainly, I have been aching for those who struggle with literal infertility, knowing what a crushing experience that can be.  But I have also seen that same sense of infertility happen vocationally for people who really thought they would end up in a certain career, only to find their restrictive geography, their family responsibilities, or their inability to take on the time or financial commitment needed to pursue their dream making them unable to do the thing they felt created to do.  As our diocese is looking at electing a new bishop, I am aware that all four of the current candidates have discerned they feel created to serve in this new role, and yet only one of them will be invited into that ministry.

But infertility strikes us in other ways too.  This week I was listening to Kate Bowler’s podcast Everything Happens, and she and her guest were talking about palliative care and mortality.  The two of them talked about how one of the disadvantages of our American culture is a sense of limitless – that we can do anything we want in life.  And what both of them has seen, as a person in recovery from cancer, and a palliative care doctor, is the falsehood, or even the sinfulness, of the notion of limitlessness.  When we think we can do anything our heart desires, we are inevitably disappointed when our bodies, our mortality, or other things outside our control, throw limits around our dreams.  Part of their work has been helping people work through the sense of infertility that comes from that experience, and helping them find hope, healing, and new meaning in life.

As I have been thinking about literal and figurative infertility, I have been wondering whether sharing those stories might be a part of the healing process.  Something about naming the struggle and sharing the journey has power to not only help you move toward invitations to new vocations, but also has the power to encourage others to name their infertilities, destigmatize them, and transform them into something else that can be lifegiving.  If you are looking for a safe place to do that, I invite you to join our community of faith – a place where wounded souls are heard, broken hearts are mended, and new paths are celebrated.  You are not alone.  We would be honored to walk with you.   I suspect we need you as much as you may need us.