Mostly Sermons

Rooted in Worship

2012-02-01T21:27:00.001-05:00

Grace Episcopal Church
Madison, NJ

The Messenger
February 2012

Rooted in Worship

I have had a wonderful first few months back at Grace Church! It’s been a time of unpacking (with, unfortunately, still more boxes waiting) and a time to re-immerse myself into parish life. It has been a great joy to be with you again – to pray and worship together, to work the line at the Community Soup Kitchen, to hang out at the Men’s Breakfast each Friday at the Bagel Chateau, to enjoy good food and drink and even better fellowship at social events, to begin a new Confirmation class, and so much more.

It’s been a joyful time and, frankly, it’s also been a strange time. It’s rare for a priest to return to a parish. For that matter, it’s unusual to move back into a house after being gone for about 15 months. When Sue and I were moving back into Surrey Lane a neighbor came over and introduced himself and pointed across the street to his house. When I told him that I remembered him, he exclaimed, “It is you – you are the same people! That’s never happened before!”

Before I came back I wondered how much the church might have changed during our time away. And I wondered – to use the cliché – if it really would be possible to come home again.

As for changes, of course there is the obvious and sad absence of parishioners who died during the months I was away. Preaching on the Feast of the Holy Name (January 1) I observed how Grace Church had suffered some especially painful losses in the preceding year, including Joe Adamczyk, John Cassidy, Bill Foster, Larry Taber and Phyllis Hendry. All of them - each in their own way - contributed so much to our life together and are so dearly missed.

In addition to those who died, there are some who moved away because of family obligations or to pursue new opportunities. And, sadly, there are some who discerned that the next steps of their faith journey meant leaving our community. Although we are all poorer for their absence, we continue to be blessed by the gifts they shared while they prayed and sang and served with us.

Then there are the many new parishioners who have arrived since I left in August, 2010 – and visitors and seekers who are continuing to discover us week after week. I’m starting to make progress, but there are so many names to learn! I’m impressed and pleased by how many have already gotten involved beyond coming to church. Some are attending Graceful Gatherings, or joining the choir, or attending First Friday potluck suppers, or participating in our many programs for children. This blast of newcomer energy and enthusiasm was made manifest a few weeks ago when I called up a relatively new parishioner asking for a favor. Without hesitation she said, “Oh, I’d do anything for Grace Church!”

Of course, there have been other changes. Some programs have run their course while new offerings keep popping up on the calendar. However, the core of Grace Church remains very much the same.

I remember when I first interviewed with Lauren for the position of curate back in the spring of 2007. After she described all the vibrant ministries that went on here, I asked her why she thought Grace was so healthy and thriving when so many other churches – including churches in similar communities – were withering on the vine. She said she believed it was the daily services offered here – day after day we gather to offer our prayers and our worship. She chalked up Grace Church’s health to the daily worship that “bathes” our church in prayer – the daily worship symbolizing that the Christian life is not just something we do for an hour (give or take!) on Sunday.

We remain rooted in worship. Sometimes our worship is a tiny congregation – or even a congregation of one – at Evening Prayer, bearing the gift and responsibility of praying on our behalf. Sometimes our worship is the Wednesday Eucharist when we pray for God’s healing power of love. Sometimes our worship is the Thursday Eucharist when a faithful group of friends gathers for prayer and fellowship. And sometimes our worship is a large Sunday morning service filled with gorgeous music, lifting us beyond ourselves and helping us glimpse the presence of God.

I’ll close with this quote from Kathleen Norris in her book Amazing Grace. It sums up how I feel about being back home here with all of you, rooted in worship: “We praise God not to celebrate our own faith but to give thanks for the faith God has in us. To let ourselves look at God, and let God look back at us. And to laugh, and sing, and be delighted because God has called us his own.”

Come and See

2012-01-15T08:30:00.000-05:00

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
January 15, 2012

Year B: The Second Sunday after Epiphany
1 Samuel 3:1-20
Psalm 139: 1-5, 12-17
(1 Corinthians 6:12-20)
John 1:43-51

Come and See

On most Sundays this year we’re going to be reading and hearing excerpts from the Gospel of Mark – the earliest of the four gospels in the New Testament, written probably around the year 70. Mark is also the primary source for the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, so those three gospels share many stories and the basic outline of Jesus’ life and ministry.

But today’s gospel lesson is from the Gospel of John, the fourth gospel, the last of the gospels to be written - probably around the end of the First Century. The fourth gospel is very different from the others – so different in fact that in the early centuries of Christianity some people thought it didn’t belong in the Bible.

The Gospel of John offers a different outline of Jesus’ life and ministry and presents many stories that are not found in the other three gospels.

The Gospel of John also shines the spotlight on characters barely mentioned – or nonexistent - in the other gospels.

For example, Philip is only mentioned in the other gospels but gets a speaking part in the Gospel of John, especially in the lesson we just heard.

We’re told that Philip was from the same fishing town as Peter and Andrew. We’re told that Jesus “found” Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” And like other disciples it seems that Philip’s life was transformed by his encounter with Jesus. Like his neighbors Andrew and Simon Peter, Philip left behind his old life to follow Jesus.

Philip became a disciple.

And a disciple invites other people to follow Jesus.

Which is exactly what Philip the brand-new disciple did when he found Nathanael.

Nathanael appears only in the Gospel of John. He’s not even on the lists of apostles in the other gospels. Some people think that he’s the apostle who’s called Bartholomew in the other gospels. Other people think that Nathanael is a composite character, representing Jewish people who were open to Jesus.

It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that Philip the brand-new disciple tells Nathanael the news that he’s found the one “about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.”

Actually, Philip’s description isn’t quite right.

First of all, Philip didn’t find Jesus – Jesus found Philip.

Second, his description of Jesus isn’t really adequate. Philip describes Jesus as “him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” Not the worst description, just not adequate. Then again, what description of Jesus would be adequate?

Philip the brand-new disciple doesn’t get everything right, but he does seem to understand the most important job of a disciple.

Nathanael expresses skepticism, wondering if anything good could come out of an insignificant town like Nazareth.

Then, rather than taking another crack at explaining or describing Jesus, Philip the disciple says to Nathanael, “Come and see.”

Nathanael accepted the invitation and like so many others, Nathanael’s life was transformed by his encounter with Jesus. In fact, Nathanael seems to recognize who Jesus is a little better than Philip, crying out with a mix of Joy and wonder, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel.”

This powerful story of Philip’s invitation to Nathanael really resonates with me.

Many of you know that both my wife Sue and I grew up as Roman Catholics. And many of you know that before I became a priest I was a history teacher in two Catholic high schools.

I loved being a teacher and really felt that it was my vocation. I also loved the sense of community in the schools – the sense of faithful people working with a real sense of mission – of together building the kingdom of God by shaping the lives of young people.

In a very real way, school was my church.

After a while, though, I realized that Sue was not really part of this. So one day I suggested we start going to church together. Being a good sport, she said yes.

And so on the first Sunday of Advent – or actually the Saturday evening before the first Sunday of Advent – we went to our local Catholic church.

Disaster.

Please know that I’m not one to knock the Catholic Church – just the opposite, really. And it could be that we caught them on a bad night. But, on that occasion, the church was gloomy and no one seemed happy to be there. The less said about the music the better. And actually the same goes for the homily.

At one point I looked over at Sue and could see that she was upset.

I thought, well, I can add this to my long list of terrible ideas.

One day the following week I was in the faculty room telling this story pretty much the way I just told it to you. There were laughs and some knowing nods and headshaking.

And then one of my colleagues, a math teacher, said, “Oh, you should come to my church one Sunday.”

She told me it was an Episcopal church just a few blocks from our house and didn’t say much more about it.

Come and see.

Somehow I talked Sue into giving this a shot. I think I told her that since the church is a rare wood-frame Victorian from the 1860s if nothing else it would be interesting to see what the inside looked like.

The church was indeed beautiful but that Sunday – the second Sunday of Advent – we discovered something most unexpected. We found a warm and welcoming and diverse community of people who seemed genuinely happy to be there – and who seemed genuinely happy that we were there.

The music was beautiful, the sermon was smart and passionate, and at the peace everyone was out in the aisle shaking hands and embracing.

This was my epiphany.

My life was transformed that morning – veering off in a totally unexpected direction. And although I didn’t realize it at the time, the transformation actually began a few days earlier in the faculty room when, like Philip long ago, my colleague the disciple said, “Come and see.”

You and I aren’t called to get everything right.

You and I aren’t called to give an accurate description of Jesus or even of our life together.

Maybe you’ve tried to describe what goes on in church. It never quite works does it?

“Yes, well, we get up early and sit on benches. We sing – or pretend to sing – or listen to some songs. We hear Bible stories. One of the priests gets up and talks about the stories, trying to connect them to our lives. We sing some more. We pray. And then we all get a thin wafer of what’s supposedly bread and take a sip of wine. Sometimes we stay after and have coffee.”

I’m sure we could all do better than that, but there’s no way to really describe what happens when we come together. There’s no way to really describe the power of being together and praying together. There’s no way to really describe how the Word of God can touch our lives. There’s no way to really describe what it means to exchange the sign of peace with one another. There’s no way to really describe what it’s like to take the Body and Blood of Christ into our bodies and into our hearts. There’s no way to really describe how what happens here can shape the way we live when we’re out there in the world.

There’s no way to describe that in a special way it’s here that Jesus finds us.

So, since there’s no way to really describe all of this, you and I – like Philip long ago and my colleague in the faculty room – are simply called to extend the invitation and leave the rest to God.

Come and see.

Amen.

The Ultimate Name Tag

2012-01-01T16:13:00.002-05:00

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
January 1, 2012

The Feast of the Holy Name of Our Lord Jesus Christ
Numbers 6:22-27
Psalm 8
Luke 2:15-21

The Ultimate Name tag

Today is the Feast of the Holy Name – a principal feast of the Church - but I’m sure most of us are more focused on turning the page from 2011 to 2012. It’s a time when we look back on the year that’s drawing to a close. And for many of us 2011 was a year we’re happy to see come an end. It was a rough year for the world with much bloodshed, political upheaval, continued economic weakness and horrific natural and man-made disasters.

For many of us here it was a rough year, too. Although for Sue and me the year finished joyfully with our return to Grace Church, for us it was mostly a year that had more than its share of loneliness, anxiety, disappointment, and uncertainty.

For some of us, it was a year when some of our relationships got broken.

It was a year when some of us lost jobs or worried about losing work.

It was a year when some of us faced a serious illness or injury.

It was a year when people close to us died – some of us lost spouses, parents, grandparents, siblings, neighbors, and friends.

And it was a year when Grace Church suffered some especially painful losses. I really feel the absence Joe Adamczyk, John Cassidy, Bill Foster, Larry Taber and Phyllis Hendry. All of them - each in their own way - contributed so much to our life together and are so dearly missed.

But, even in the rough year just behind us lots of wonderful things happened, too. Some of us got married or attended the weddings of family or friends. Some of us began new relationships filled with hope and promise. Some of us took on new jobs or reached for new opportunities. Some of us recovered from illnesses and personal setbacks. Some of us watched in wonder as our children and grandchildren continued to grow into fine young people.

Here in church there have been beautiful services filled with exceptional music and so many people doing remarkable ministry in ways large and small, known and unknown. There were weddings and lots of baptisms – 21 of them in all!

And in the last year many new people have discovered Grace Church and found a home in this wonderful place – something that I’ve realized because there are so many people who weren’t here in August 2010 whose names I don’t know and am trying to learn.

Which is why I was so grateful that last month was our first-ever name tag month. It was a huge help to match names to faces – mostly names of new parishioners, but also I have to admit also the occasional name that I had forgotten.

It was interesting watching how people responded to name tag month. Some people happily filled out their name tag, sometimes with just a first name or sometimes with first and last names.

Some people were reluctant to fill out the name tag but did it grudgingly.

Some people didn’t see the table and missed the whole name tag thing.

And some people just flat out refused to join in our celebration of name tag month.

And I can understand that, actually. I can understand not wanting everyone to know your name just by looking at you. It’s kind of a personal thing to tell someone your name, isn’t it?

Especially in the age of google and facebook we can learn a whole lot about someone once we have their name.

A couple of years ago I visited an Episcopal church in California for several services. As I was leaving I greeted the priest and introduced myself, “Hi I’m Tom Murphy. I’m a priest from the Diocese of Newark. I’m here visiting for a few days…”

The priest shook my hand, welcomed me, but didn’t tell me his name.

The next time I was there it was a different priest but the exact same thing happened.

I remember feeling irritated that I had shared something personal – I told them my name! I had shared something of my identity – and that sharing had not been reciprocated.

So, sharing our name can be a big deal. But, that’s nothing compared to the importance of names in the ancient world. Back then there was a very close connection between people and their names.

In the ancient world knowing someone’s name would provide an enormous amount of information. Today it might be like knowing someone’s Social Security number or having access to credit and medical records.

In the ancient world the name revealed a person’s identity – who they were and how they lived their lives. The name revealed a person’s place in the world – what they were all about. It’s sounds strange, but in a very real sense to know a person’s name meant really knowing that person.

And if a person’s name was so important and revealing you can imagine the great significance of God’s name.

In the Jewish and Christian tradition there is a tension in our understanding of God. On the one hand God is transcendent – God is wholly Other – God can’t be put in any category and is infinitely beyond our understanding.

But, on the other hand God is also immanent – the transcendent God is right here. God wants to be known by us here in the physical and material world.

So, since God wants to be known by us, in a sense God wears a name tag.

In the famous moment in the Book of Exodus when Moses encounters the presence of God in the burning bush, God says, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.”

But, Moses wants more information and bravely asks for God’s name.

God says, “I am who I am.”

Now, to us “I am who I am” sounds like a pretty weird name but for Israel God’s name revealed a whole lot about God. God’s name revealed that the God of their ancestors is also the transcendent God who is beyond time and space, perfectly free, the creator and ruler of the universe.

God wears a name tag.

But, God didn’t stop there. Wanting to be known by us, God continued to speak through the prophets and then finally in the boldest move imaginable God chose to share our human life in and through Jesus of Nazareth.

In and through Jesus, God says this is who I am.

In and through Jesus, God wears the ultimate name tag - revealing more about God than we could have ever imagined.

In and through Jesus, we discover a God who loves us enough to take the worst we have to offer and then transform death into life.

In and through Jesus, we discover a God who offers unlimited forgiveness and insists that we do the same.

In and through Jesus, we discover a God who calls us to live lives of love – love for God, love for one another, and especially love for the weakest and poorest among us.

In and through Jesus, we know God. In and through Jesus God wears the ultimate name tag. So the name Jesus itself becomes holy.

As St. Paul writes to the Philippians: “Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven, and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

So, today we turn the page from 2011 to 2012. We begin a new year – a year that like every year will no doubt be filled with some mix of sadness and joy. We don’t know what 2012 will bring but we do know that the transcendent God will be really here with us through it all.

We know that God is with us because God has revealed God’s self to us, most especially in the holy name and the holy life, death and resurrection of Jesus.

We know that God is with us, no matter what, because, in and through Jesus, God wears the ultimate name tag.

Amen.

Saved by Beauty

2011-12-25T12:50:00.001-05:00

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
December 25, 2011

Christmas: The Nativity of Our Lord
Isaiah 62:6-7, 10-12
Titus 3:4-7
Luke 2:1-20

Saved by Beauty

As usual, Christmas has been just so beautiful here at Grace Church. The church looks great, yesterday’s pageant was as charming as ever, and somehow Dr. Anne and the choirs keep topping themselves with gorgeous music.

Surrounded by all of this beauty reminds of a line from a character in a Dostoevsky novel. The character says, “The world will be saved by beauty.” “The world will be saved by beauty.”

Actually, for Christians that’s half-right. The world will be saved by beauty and the world is already saved by beauty – by the beauty of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, the holy one whose birth we celebrate this morning.

Now, often the world doesn’t seem very beautiful at all. But, sometimes during times when we’re really paying attention, when we’re really mindful, we can see clearly the beauty that saves the world, the beauty that will save the world.

We are fortunate to live in a time and place where most births – though sometimes quite difficult and painful - are moments of great beauty.

A couple of months ago close friends of ours had their first child. Although she was a little early everything went just about as well as possible. After a short labor a healthy baby girl with a thick shock of dark hair on top of her head was welcomed joyfully into the world.

My wife Sue and I went to the hospital a few hours later to see the new parents and to meet the baby. I was moved by the beauty of what we found in the hospital room. The new mother’s eyes glowed with joy as she held and nursed her newborn daughter. The father was excited and proud to show off his daughter while also busily working the phone – calling and texting to spread the good news far and wide. Other family members and friends arrived, relieved and overjoyed.

“The world will be saved by beauty.”

Now, before you think I’ve gotten all sentimental, I also noticed a starkness to the beauty of the scene in that hospital room. There were deep lines under the mother’s glowing eyes. Even an easy birth takes a physical toll. And I glimpsed a dawning recognition in both new parents that this was as real as it gets: their daughter is really here, beginning that day a life that, like all of our lives, will be filled with some mixture of sadness and joy, failure and success, fear and hope.

It was a big moment. And that day in the hospital with our friends and their newborn child I saw the beauty that will save the world.

Just a couple of weeks ago I had a different kind of hospital room experience where I also saw the beauty that will save the world.
As many of you know, after a valiant effort, the doctors reached the conclusion that there was nothing more that could be done for our beloved parishioner Phyllis. Her two sons honored her wishes by not keeping her alive through extraordinary means.

When the time came to disconnect the machines, with Phyllis unconscious and comfortable, we had a short service at her bedside and shared communion. Then her sons stood on either side of her bed, each holding one of her hands, and began to tell wonderful stories from their childhood. There were tears and there was also laughter.

Although unconscious, in her last moments in this life Phyllis was surrounded by love and laughter. And in the midst of pain and sorrow in her family’s love I had the privilege of seeing the beauty that will save the world.

This morning we heard Luke’s telling of the story of Jesus’ birth. It’s a story that remains beautiful no matter how many times we’ve heard it, no matter how familiar it’s become.

There’s the beauty of the angel appearing to the shepherds keeping watch over their flock by night. There’s the beauty of the heavenly host singing their great hymn, “Glory to God in the highest heaven!”

There’s the beauty of the shepherds seeming to drop everything to go see for themselves the newborn savior and then later returning, “Glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen.”

But, there’s nothing sentimental about this story. There’s a stark beauty to the story of Jesus’ birth, too. Mary and Joseph seem to be alone in the world. Although hospitality was an important practice in the ancient world, no one in Bethlehem seems willing to welcome Mary, Joseph and the child. Instead the Messiah enters the world humbly, primitively, placed in a feeding trough meant for animals.

Most of us can only imagine the terror of heartbreakingly young Mary, maybe just 13 years old, giving birth to her son in such harsh conditions. And then later, maybe while resting and beginning to recuperate, she and Joseph receive a visit from the shepherds telling them – or reminding them – that their child is the Savior, the Messiah, the Lord.

And then there is the beauty of young Mary treasuring all of these words and pondering them in her heart.

I’m sure Mary didn’t yet understand that the world would be saved through the beautiful life of her son. We who know the rest of the story see this beauty in Jesus’ teaching – his call to love God and to love one another. We see this beauty in the parable of the prodigal son whose father rushes out to welcome him home, no questions asked. We see this beauty in the feeding of the multitudes – the overflowing abundance of God that fills everyone - and there are even leftovers. We see this beauty in the parable of the Good Samaritan when it’s the outcast who shows mercy. We see this beauty in Jesus’ bold declaration that in God’s kingdom it’s the poor and the hungry and the mourners who are blessed. We see this beauty in Jesus’ command to love our enemies, to do good to those who hate us, to bless those who curse us and to pray for those who hurt us.

The world is saved by beauty.

We can even see the beauty of Jesus’ life in the horror of the cross where he completed his life of love by asking God to forgive what seems most unforgivable.

And, at last, the world is saved by the beauty of Easter morning when God does the most beautiful thing imaginable by doing what God always does, turn death into life.

The world is saved by beauty.

It’s Christmas morning and right now we are surrounded by beauty.

Yet, for some of us here and for lots of people out there the world doesn’t seem beautiful at all – and lots of us don’t feel saved at all.

So, God’s work continues. And God calls us, invites us, to be part of the ongoing salvation of the world.

We’re called to be beautiful – to love each other like brand new parents love their child and as children love their dying mother.

We’re called to be beautiful – to offer hospitality to all the Marys and Josephs who are out there right now, alone and frightened in the world.

We’re called to be beautiful – to forgive one another especially when they – or we - seem most unforgivable.

We’re called to be beautiful – to give of ourselves without counting the cost and expecting nothing in return.

Dostoevsky’s character got it half-right. The world is already saved by the beauty of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. And now that work of salvation continues through us – through the Body of Christ on earth – through all of us here at Grace Church - through whom the world will be saved by beauty.

Merry Christmas.

Amen.

Marginal Mary

2011-12-18T20:05:00.001-05:00

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
December 18, 2011

Year B: The Fourth Sunday of Advent
2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16
Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26
(Romans 16:25-27)
Luke 1:26-38

Marginal Mary

Today we begin the final week of Advent – the final week of preparation for Christmas, which ready or not, arrives a week from last night.

With time growing short, we can feel a shift in our Christmas preparation. It feels like a change in the weather.

I’m sure you’ve all got everything done but out in the world Christmas preparations are getting more frantic. The mall parking lots are packed as people scramble to cross the final items off their Christmas list. If it hasn’t started yet, soon we’ll be receiving emails from online retailers warning us that time is running out to get items purchased and shipped in time for Christmas. As usual at the end of the week I’ll finally get to the card store only to find that just about all the really nice cards are long gone.

And we can feel a shift in our preparation here in church.

It’s still Advent but this afternoon we’ll have a performance of Messiah followed by the greening of the church and a potluck supper. All week it will still be Advent yet the church will be decorated for Christmas, bathed in that wonderful evergreen scent.

And we can feel the shift in preparation in today’s gospel lesson.

For the last two Sundays the spotlight has been on John the Baptist. We’ve had “purple preparation” courtesy of the prophet who prepared the way for the Messiah through his message of repentance and forgiveness.

But now finally today we finally get to the blue preparation of hope and joy. The spotlight turns from John the Baptist to the other central Advent figure – Mary, a heartbreakingly young girl probably about 12 or 13 years old. A girl from Nazareth, a town so unimportant that it’s never even once mentioned in the Hebrew Scriptures.

Out of the four gospels it’s only Luke that has much interest in Mary. Matthew tells us about the birth of Jesus from Joseph’s perspective and Mark and John are silent about the nativity.

But, Luke is very interested in Mary. And I think Luke is interested in Mary not only because it’s a wonderful story that has enchanted and inspired people for two millennia. Luke is interested in Mary because her story tells us a lot about God and tells us a lot about us.

Luke is writing for a primarily non-Jewish Christian audience – people who were already followers of Jesus. But their Gentile friends and family would have known lots of stories about miraculous births so Luke’s story of a divine messenger appearing to a human woman telling her that she would carry the Son of God wouldn’t have raised too many pagan eyebrows.

“Oh, sure, human-divine births happen all the time. No big deal.”

What would have surprised the Gentiles was who is chosen for this awesome task of bearing God into the world: Mary of Nazareth – a nobody – a girl who lived way off at the margins of society.

Life was almost unimaginably hard for just about everyone in the ancient world – very much including the Jews in the First Century. And in a harsh time Mary would have had it tougher than just about anyone else.

She lived in Galilee – a rural backwater.

She was young in a society that valued age.

She was female in a society ruled by men.

She was poor: which meant she was almost inevitably destined for a life filled with unending backbreaking labor ended only by what we would call a shockingly premature death.

She lived in a society in which a woman gained status only through having a husband and giving birth to children. But now the angel has given her news that will end any hope having a “normal” life. Luke doesn’t tell us but obviously Mary must have known and worried that her betrothal to Joseph was at risk. And she must have known only too well that the busybodies in little Nazareth who minded everybody’s business would be gossiping about her pregnancy and the birth of her child.

In her time and place people would have looked at Mary and seen someone way off on the margins of society – nobody special at all.

But, God saw who she really was and chose marginal Mary to carry the Messiah into the world.

Look at how Luke describes marginal Mary and get a glimpse of what God saw in her. She must have been just about completely uneducated but she is deeply thoughtful. Instead of running away in fear from the angel, Mary ponders what this totally unexpected announcement means.

Marginal Mary is faithful – although she surely doesn’t understand or imagine all of what’s in store for her, she puts her trust in God. She says to the angel, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

Gentiles – and Jews for that matter - would have been surprised that God chose marginal Mary to bear God into the world. Just as they would have been skeptical that her son – who was born and lived almost his whole life on the margins – could really have been the Son of God.

And even Christians have sometimes struggled with the idea that God chose a woman from the margins to be mother of the messiah.

There is a Second Century text called the Proto-Gospel of James that didn’t make it into the Bible although it was very popular for centuries and influenced a lot of Christian art. And in this very interesting text marginal Mary is given a back-story that takes her from the margins of society right into the heart of First Century Judaism.

The author of the Proto-Gospel of James tells us that when Mary was three her parents brought her to the Temple. He writes,

“And the priest of the Lord received her and gave her a kiss, blessing her and saying, ‘The Lord has made your name great for all generations. Through you will the Lord reveal his redemption to the sons of Israel at the end of time.’ He set her on the third step of the altar, and the Lord God cast his grace down upon her. She danced on her feet, and the entire house of Israel loved her.”

The Proto-Gospel claims that Mary lived in the Temple until she was twelve and betrothed to Joseph. It’s a charming story but I’m glad it didn’t make it into the Bible because it undoes Luke’s point that God has chosen the last person you’d expect, marginal Mary, for the most important task of all time.

Luke knows that God’s choice of marginal Mary tells us something important about God and about us. Luke knows that God’s choice of marginal Mary tells that God has a special love for the poor and the outcast. And Luke knows that with God’s choice of marginal Mary the world is turned downside-up. Since Luke knows all of this, he has Mary sing her great song about God:

“He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

So, what does this have to do with us here in Madison today as begin our final preparations for Christmas?

Since God has a special love for the people on the margins, you and I as followers of marginal Jesus, son of marginal Mary, are called and expected to share God’s special love for our brothers and sisters on the margins of our society.

So, we’re called to have the soup kitchen sign up sheet filled out so quickly and fully that there’s a waiting list to donate food and there are so many volunteers that they’re tripping over each other to serve the hungry and the homeless.

We’re called to overflow the Food for Friends barrel with the best food we can afford, dropping off so much food that we create a temporary safety hazard in the lobby.

We’re called to visit people in nursing homes not just around Christmas or on other special days but on a random Tuesday.

We’re called to sit with the unpopular kid in the cafeteria at lunchtime or to befriend the neighbor who seems strange or who’s maybe just plain annoying.

We’re called to reach out to our friends and family members who’ve been out of work for what seems like forever even if it means confronting our own fears about our fragile security.

We’re called to reach out to people who are sick even if it means confronting our own fears about illness and death.

We’re called to give as much as we can to the people on the margins – people who can’t even dream of the kinds of lives that most of us enjoy.

And we’re called to face the maybe unsettling truth that most of us live far from the margins, far from Nazareth, far better than just about anyone else past or present.

Like a change in the weather, there’s been a shift in our Christmas preparation. With a week to go, the spotlight is on faithful, courageous, marginal Mary who said yes to God and carried marginal Jesus into the world.

Today you and I can best say yes to God, best prepare for Christmas and best honor Mary if we share our wealth, share our time and share our love with God’s beloved marginal people.

Amen.

Purple and Blue Preparation

2011-12-04T16:43:00.001-05:00

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
December 4, 2011

Year B: The Second Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 40:1-11
Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13
(2 Peter 3:8-15a)
Mark 1:1-8

Purple and Blue Preparation

In her sermon last Sunday Lauren talked about how in a very real way we Christians live in two worlds – the world of the church and the world outside the church doors. That’s always true, of course, but we’re probably most aware of our split existence during these weeks leading up to Christmas.

This time of year both worlds encourage us – urge us – to prepare in very different ways for Christmas. Out in the world that preparation mostly means buying and buying some more and also wrapping presents, decorating our homes, and getting cards and packages into the mail.

The church also encourages us – urges us – to prepare for Christmas. Here in this world during Advent there are two types of preparation – two types of preparation that I’ll call purple preparation and blue preparation. And in order to really prepare for Christmas we need both types of preparation – purple and blue.

This Wednesday evening I’ll be leading my first Compline for Kids service since I’ve been back. Many of you know that the program begins with the children and me making pizza in the church kitchen. I remember being a little, um, hesitant when I first heard that this was part of my job, but over the years I came to enjoy it. And I think the pizza is pretty good, too.

Anyway, once the pizzas are in the oven, the children usually work on some craft or service project that Mary Lea has created. Then we say grace. Then we eat. And then we come into church for a beautiful, if a little chaotic, service of music and prayers and a brief reflection from me.

I remember a couple of years ago trying to think of a visual way to talk about Advent when finally I decided to use our Advent vestments to illustrate the purple and blue sides of Advent.

At the service with the children gathered around me I held up the chasuble (that Lauren is wearing right now) and began my talk. Unfortunately, the children – who, of course, normally would hang on my every word – now only wanted one thing: to touch the chasuble… with their greasy pizza hands. At the last second I pulled the vestment away from them, just barely avoiding a serious altar guild crisis!

Maybe that didn’t work so well. But, I still think our vestments offer a good illustration of the purple and blue sides of Advent.

Many of you remember when the color for Advent was purple and it was a season of repentance and sacrifice very much like Lent. In many churches (including here) in more recent times there’s been a shift to blue – a color associated both with hope and with the Virgin Mary. And that’s very appropriate since Mary is one of the central figures of Advent – the young woman who said yes to God, accepting the awesome gift and responsibility of bringing Jesus into the world.

Although blue now dominates the season we still haven’t lost the purple – if you look carefully it’s right here in the lining of our vestments. And the purple is very much in our gospel lesson both today and next Sunday when the spotlight shines on that great prophet of repentance, the other central figure of Advent, John the Baptist. Or, as he’s called in the Gospel of Mark, John the Baptizer.

So, whether we like it or not, during Advent the church gives us two Sundays worth of John the Baptist – two weeks of purple preparation - because the truth is that without repentance we can’t truly experience the hope of Advent. And without repentance we can’t truly experience the joy of Christmas.

Today we heard the opening verses of the Gospel of Mark. Most scholars agree that Mark is the earliest of the four gospels to be written, probably around the year 70 – drawing on stories about Jesus that had been passed around for decades both orally and in writing.

Mark is both the oldest and the most barebones of the gospels. Apparently the author doesn’t know about or isn’t interested in any birth stories about Jesus. If all we had was the Gospel of Mark there’d be no Christmas pageant.

Instead of birth stories, Mark opens his gospel with a simple but profound declaration: “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

It’s kind of redundant to begin the gospel… by telling us it’s the beginning of the gospel. But that opening makes more sense when we consider that the Greek word that’s translated as “the beginning” can also mean “the starting point, foundation, origin.”

Mark’s opening line suggests that the story of Jesus’ life that he’s about to tell is the foundation of the good news that his community was sharing and experiencing in the First Century. And Mark’s story of Jesus’ life is the starting point of the good news that you and I share today.

Mark begins his beginning by looking back to the prophets of Hebrew Scripture.

The prophets had two main roles. One was to call the people to repentance. Over and over the prophets called the people to turn away from their wrongdoing and to turn back to God.

The prophets’ second task was to offer a vision of the world transformed by God – to offer a vision of what the world could really be like, of what the world was always meant to be like. The prophets offered a vision of a world that was and is possible if only we accept the invitation to turn back to God.

In today’s first lesson from Isaiah the people of Israel have endured exile in Babylon but now that bleak time is drawing to a close – as the prophet says, the term has been served, the penalty has been paid.

Then Isaiah offers a vision of a transformed world where “every valley shall be lifted up and every mountain and hill made low.” Isaiah offers a vision of a world in which “the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all the people shall see it together.”

In the gospels John the Baptist is presented as the last of the Hebrew prophets – he plays the role of messenger described in Isaiah and he dresses like Elijah. Like the prophets before him he calls the people to repentance – he calls them to turn away from wrongdoing and to turn back to God.

And, like the prophets before him, John the Baptist also offers a vision of a world transformed by God – a transformation that begins with the birth of Jesus, the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.

Mark tells us that John’s message of repentance was popular – people from the country and the city came to be baptized by him in the Jordan. And Josephus a near-contemporary Jewish historian agrees that John had a wide appeal.

John’s popularity shouldn’t surprise us. I’m sure back then people felt the weight of their sin – really felt the burden of not loving God and not loving one another.

I’m sure back then people were quick to put their own self-interest above the needs of others. I’m sure back then people found it easy to look the other way when they saw people suffering in mind, body or spirit. I’m sure back then people chose to assume the worst of others rather than giving them the benefit of the doubt.

The offer of repentance and forgiveness – symbolized by washing in the Jordan would have been very attractive.

And I’m sure that many of us here today feel the weight of our sin – really feel the burden of not loving God and not loving one another.

Fortunately, God still invites us to repent. Fortunately, God still offers forgiveness. If only we turn back to God.

So, it’s now the Second Sunday of Advent and the spotlight is on John the Baptist. We’re given this time of purple preparation so we can truly experience the hope of Advent. We’re given the opportunity to repent so we can truly experience the joy of Christmas.

We Christians live a split existence, so while we answer the world out there when it urges us to prepare for Christmas by buying and buying some more, let’s make sure we also answer the call to repent – to turn away from whatever separates us from God and from one another. Let’s make sure we turn back to God.

Then, freed from the burden of our sin, we’ll truly be able to experience the blue preparation of Advent. Freed from the burden of our sin, we’ll truly be able to experience the hope of a world transformed by the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Freed from the burden of our sin, we’ll truly be able to experience the joy of Christmas.

Amen.

The Long Loneliness

2011-12-01T13:11:00.000-05:00

Grace Episcopal Church
Madison, NJ

The Messenger
December 2011 - January 2012

The Long Loneliness

After Sue and I returned from Florida in mid-August we rented from some friends an apartment in downtown Jersey City, just around the corner from where we lived when were first married. Those few months felt like a slow-motion homecoming as we gradually put the pieces of our lives back together again. Sue resumed her studies, but, aside from filling in at various churches on some Sundays, I had the mixed blessing of a good bit of free time. During beautiful late summer and early autumn days I took long walks around the old neighborhood and often took advantage of the quick and easy access to Manhattan.

I also used this time to read as much as I could. Browsing in a bookstore one day, I spotted and bought The Long Loneliness, the autobiography of Dorothy Day (1897-1980). Born into a non-religious family, as a young woman Day was drawn to the writer’s life, both as a journalist for radical publications and also as a Hollywood screenwriter. She traveled in artistic circles, counting the playwright Eugene O’Neill as a friend. Then Day’s life took a wholly unexpected and radical change. To the dismay of her common law husband, around the time of their daughter’s birth, Dorothy Day began to feel Christ’s call.

After formally entering the Roman Catholic Church in 1927, she prayed for God to show her how to live out her sense of vocation as a writer committed both to the poor and to building God’s kingdom here on Earth. She received her answer in 1933 when in the depths of the Great Depression, she and a handful of others founded a movement called The Catholic Worker. While living in voluntary poverty, Day and her coworkers churned out a newspaper (still published today), opened houses of hospitality in Lower East Side slums, and protested against war and injustice, leading to heated debates and frequent arrests.

Some of Dorothy Day’s views were controversial within the Catholic Church and even among some in the Catholic Worker. For example, during World War II she remained an adamant pacifist. Yet, even those who were sometimes exasperated by her recognized that her life and work were rooted in a radical attempt to live out the Gospel of Jesus Christ. At great cost to herself and those around her, she sought to love her neighbor – especially the poorest and most broken – as herself.

Today there are over 200 Catholic Worker communities around the world, and there is a move underway in the Catholic Church to canonize Dorothy Day a saint. During these days of economic uncertainty, deepening poverty and rampant militarism, Dorothy Day’s faithful witness remains as provocative and challenging as ever.

At the conclusion of her autobiography, Day writes, “We have all known the long loneliness and we have learned that the only solution is love and that love comes with community.”

I’ve reflected on these words a great deal over the past few months. Many of you know that Sue and I had a lonely time in Florida. We hadn’t realized just how challenging it would be living so far from our families and friends. Fortunately, even during that difficult year we were sustained by the love we received and shared in community. The people at St. Michael’s Church welcomed us with open arms and were incredibly gracious when we announced that we were leaving much sooner than anyone had expected. At the university chapel we held our services on Sunday evenings followed by a free supper lovingly prepared and provided by parishioners at local Episcopal churches. Each week undergraduate and graduate students sat beside the homeless and the poor – all attracted by a free home-cooked meal and the promise of warm fellowship.

And then there was the love we received from so many of you in the Grace Church community. Your prayers, calls, emails, cards, gifts, and even a couple of visits, helped us to remember that we were in your hearts and still very much part of this wonderful community.

Now, amazingly enough, we’re back in this place where we receive love from one another when we pray together and work together and play together. We’re back in this place where we receive Love each time we stretch out our hands and take the Body and Blood of Christ into our bodies and into our hearts.

As both a new church year and a new calendar year begin, I give thanks that right here at Grace Church we discover and receive the only solution to the long loneliness: the love that comes with community.

New Year's Eve

2011-11-20T21:45:00.001-05:00

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
November 20, 2011

Year A: The Last Sunday after Pentecost – Christ the King
Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24
Psalm 100
(Ephesians 1:15-23)
Matthew 25:31-46

New Year’s Eve

Well, we made it back in time for the last Sunday after Pentecost – the last Sunday of the church year – the feast of Christ the King. In a way, today is like the Church’s version of New Year’s Eve.

Of course, people have all sorts of New Year’s Eve traditions – maybe getting together with family and friends, or going to Times Square (which seems like a nightmare to me), or watching Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve on TV or maybe just skipping the whole thing and going to bed early.

And New Year’s Eve is a natural time for reflecting on the past year and making those quickly broken resolutions for the year ahead.

In today’s lessons the Church has given us a pretty clear and appropriate theme for reflection: God’s judgment.

Now, I know very well that this is a wonderful church made up of very fine people so maybe thinking about God’s judgment doesn’t bother you too much. But, I’ll be honest, thinking about God’s judgment makes me really nervous.

Thinking about God’s judgment makes me remember my personal failings, the ways I’ve fallen short, the ways I’ve hurt people, the ways I haven’t been as loving or as generous as I could have been.

And God, to whom all hearts are open, all desires are known and from whom no secrets are hid, knows my failings even better than I know them myself.

Then there’s our collective responsibility and guilt. We humans have created a world in which a few live in great comfort and nearly everyone else lives in desperate poverty. We humans have literally trashed the good creation - from the huge garbage patch swirling in the North Pacific to space debris orbiting the planet.

Fortunately for all of us, God’s mercy always trumps God’s judgment.

I don’t know whether it made him nervous, but the Prophet Ezekiel definitely thought a lot about God’s judgment. He lived during one of the bleakest periods of Israel’s history. In the 6th Century BC, the Babylonians destroyed Jerusalem, including the Temple. Since it was believed that in a sense God lived in the Temple maybe we can only begin to imagine how traumatic this was. And then most of the people were taken from their home and exiled in Babylon.

I’m sure many people felt that somehow God was absent. Ezekiel believed that God was punishing the people, yet, even in the midst of this disaster, Ezekiel didn’t think that God had abandoned the people. Ezekiel believed that God was still very much at work doing what God always does, turning fear into hope and death into life.

In the passage we heard today, God speaking through Ezekiel declares that since it’s the leaders who have caused this calamity, God is going to step in and personally take control of the flock.

“I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down says the Lord God. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice.”

I will feed them with justice.

Despite our individual and collective failures, God doesn’t give up on us. Instead, God’s justice feeds us by showing us and reminding us how we are meant live. God’s justice feeds us by showing us and reminding us that we are born to love one another, especially the poorest and the weakest, and we are born to take care of the creation that God has entrusted to us.

At the end of the passage we heard from Ezekiel, God promises to set over the people one shepherd. And of course we Christians recognize that one shepherd as Jesus.

And in today’s gospel lesson from Matthew, Jesus has a lot to say about judgment.

Probably this passage was originally about judgment of the gentiles – not Jews and not followers of Jesus. And it’s interesting that Matthew quotes Jesus as seeming to say that these non-believers aren’t going to be judged on their lack of belief but on their actions. These non-believers will be judged on how they treated Jesus’ followers!

Did they offer compassion to Jesus’ followers who were hungry, thirsty, homeless, naked, sick and imprisoned? If yes, then Jesus says that these non-believers will enter the kingdom prepared for them from the foundation of the world. If not, well then the news isn’t so good.

Now, if this passage really is directed at non-believers then what does that mean for us?

Certainly we are all called to feed the hungry, quench the thirsty, house the homeless, clothe the naked, care for the sick and visit the imprisoned.

There’s always a lot more we could and should do but we don’t have to look too hard to see people here in this community answering that call when we drop items into the Food for Friends barrel or spend the night at the homeless shelter or take a tag or two off the Christmas angel tree or sit at the bedside of a dying friend reading from the prayer book or some lines of poetry.

But, as followers of Jesus you and I are called to an even higher standard.

And we hear that higher standard in the Baptismal Covenant.

As followers of Jesus we’re called to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread and in the prayers.

We’re called to resist evil, and, whenever we fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord.

We’re called to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.

We’re called to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our self.

We’re called to strive for justice and peace among all people and to respect the dignity of every human being.

It’s quite a tall order and if you’re like me you may be starting to feel nervous again as you consider just how far short we fall from striving for justice and peace and respecting the dignity of every human being.

The truth is that we can’t do any of these on our own but only, as the response says, “with God’s help.”

And although they’re daunting, by setting these high standards God is feeding us with justice. God’s justice feeds us by showing us and reminding us how we are meant live. God’s justice feeds us by showing us and reminding us that we are born to love one another, especially the poorest and the weakest, and we are born to take care of the creation that God has entrusted to us.

It’s the last Sunday after Pentecost, the last Sunday of the church year. It’s the Church’s version of New Year’s Eve.

It’s a good day to reflect on God’s justice and judgment and the ways that we’ve all fallen short of both the minimum standards of taking care of one another and how we’ve fallen short of the high standards set by Christ the King.

But, since God’s mercy always trumps God’s justice, there’s no reason to be nervous. No matter how much we’ve fallen short, next week a new church year begins and we get another chance.

Right here at Grace Church, we get a new year to pray together and to support one another when, like for the people of Israel in exile, it seems like God is absent and our whole world is falling apart.

We get a new year to care for the hungry, thirsty, homeless, naked, sick and imprisoned.

We get a new year to take better care of the good creation that God has entrusted to us.

We get a new year to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our self.

And we will - with God’s judgment, God’s mercy, and God’s help.

Happy New Year!

Amen.

The Unfinished Work of Love

2011-10-23T15:58:00.001-04:00

St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Lyndhurst NJ
October 23, 2011

Year A: Proper 25 – The 19th Sunday after Pentecost
Deuteronomy 34:1-12
Psalm 90: 1-6, 13-17
1 Thessalonians 2:1-8
Matthew 22:34-46

The Unfinished Work of Love

In this morning’s Old Testament lesson, we heard the story of the death of Moses. For the past few weeks we’ve been following the story of Moses – this reluctant leader who was called by God to shepherd his people out of Egyptian slavery and into the freedom of the promised land.

The Exodus story is filled with testing and quarreling but through it all Moses remained steadfast in his determination to do the work that God had given him to do.

That’s why there’s a deep poignancy to today’s story of Moses’ death. He is undiminished even in his great age. It’s not old age or illness or battle that end his life. Instead, God’s command brings his life to a close.

The story of Moses’ death brings the story of the exodus to a close and marks the end of the Torah – the first five books of the Bible.

There’s one last element of this story that is particularly moving.

Despite his steadfastness and patience and courage and stamina, Moses is unable to complete the work God has given him to do.

Moses is given the chance to glimpse the promised land but he doesn’t live long enough to see his people return to their homeland. Moses leaves behind unfinished work. His unfinished work is handed off to Joshua and the next generation.

I guess that we can all relate to leaving things – both important and not so important – unfinished.

How many of us have started a home improvement project only to abandon it when we’ve gotten tired or bored or overwhelmed?

How many of us have taken up a hobby or a musical instrument only to set it aside long before we’ve gotten all our stamps into albums or been able to play a piece of music all the way through?

How many of us have started keeping a journal, only to call it quits after a few days or maybe weeks?

And then there are some more important things that we leave unfinished.

Before I became a priest I was a high school history teacher. At the end of every school year I would scramble to cover all the material that I thought was important. And every May and June I’d realize there was no way that I could get the job done to my satisfaction.

Maybe you’ve had the same kind of experience at work. Maybe you’ve had that experience at the end of the day or the week. Or maybe you’ve had that experience at the end of a career. Maybe when you’ve retired you realized there were lots of things you wanted to achieve that would remain forever unfinished.

Maybe you’ve had that experience with your children or grandchildren. There are all sorts of things you wanted to teach them, all kinds of experiences you wanted to share with them. But, before you know it, they’re all grown up and you realize that the work of parenting will forever remain unfinished.

It’s really important for us Christians to realize and remember that our work will always be unfinished.

And just what is our work as Christians?

Often it feels like our work as Christians is struggling to keep the church doors open – to make sure that our community of faith remains alive to meet our spiritual needs and the needs of the world around us.

So, we spend lots of time trying to balance the budget, to keep the roof from leaking, to keep the furnace going, to arrange for supply clergy, to…well, most of you know the drill better than I do.

And that’s good work and it’s important work.

But, in today’s gospel lesson Jesus reminds us of our most important work.

Over the past few weeks we’ve been hearing excerpts from the Gospel of Matthew describing Jesus’ activities in Jerusalem. This teacher and healer from sticks arrived in the capital city on what we call Palm Sunday and then immediately made quite an impression by chasing the money changers out of the Temple.

Then he taught using parables – parables that suggested that God was not so pleased with the religious leaders – people who were so, so proud of their careful religious observance.

The way Matthew tells the story, the religious leaders – the Pharisees and the Sadducees – are understandably angered by Jesus’ criticism.

Which brings us to today’s spiritual debate between the Pharisees and Jesus.

The Pharisees ask him out of the 613 laws in the Torah, which one is the greatest?

Matthew claims that the Pharisees asked this question to “test” Jesus. I’m sure that’s true, but maybe they also sincerely wanted to know what this infuriating and mysterious rabbi from Galilee really thought was the greatest commandment.

There’s a story that the great Jewish teacher Rabbi Hillel (who lived just a little bit before Jesus) was asked by a Gentile to have the entire Law explained to him while he stood on one foot.

The great rabbi replied, “What is hateful to you do not do to your neighbor; that is the whole Torah. The rest is commentary. Go and learn it.”

Jesus’ answer is similar – though stated more positively.

Jesus quotes Deuteronomy about loving God with all that we have and all that we are.

And Jesus quotes Leviticus about loving our neighbor as our self.

This is our most important work: to love God and to love one another.

In our world broken by sin and suffering, loving God and loving one another is the hardest work of all. And it’s work that, no matter how loving we are, will always remain unfinished.

St. Paul understood and embraced our unfinished work of love.

After his conversion he spent the rest of his life sharing the Good News of Christ all around the Mediterranean world, setting up little Christian communities in place like Thessalonica, an important Greek trading city.

Paul went there and did the work of a Christian, the work of love.

In today’s second lesson we heard how Paul recalls his work of love among the Thessalonians:

“But we were gentle among you, like a nurse tenderly caring for her own children. So deeply do we care for you that we are determined to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you have become dear to us.”

Paul moved on to other places, accepting that his work of love among the Thessalonians would remain unfinished. Instead, it was up to people there – the next generation – to take up the work of love – a work that would forever remain unfinished.

Our work of love remains forever unfinished. And maybe that’s discouraging. After all, most of us really like to cross items off our to-do list.

But, I think the unfinished nature of our work should comfort us.

The martyred Roman Catholic archbishop of San Salvador, Oscar Romero, once wrote:

“We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.”

Long ago God chose Moses to take on the important work of leading the Israelites from slavery to freedom. Despite the years of testing and quarreling, Moses remained steadfast in his determination to do the work that God had given him to do. And in the end, although Moses had glimpsed the promised land, he had to leave his work unfinished.

Today in a world broken by sin and suffering, God chooses us to take on the most important work of all – the work of love.

Every once in a while, like Moses, we may glimpse the promised land. But, like Moses, we too will leave our work unfinished.

And that’s OK.

All God the master builder asked of Moses and Paul and all God asks of us is to be workers – to do the work of love, right here and right now.

Amen.

Invitations to the Banquet

2011-10-09T15:11:00.003-04:00

St. Paul’s Church in Bergen, Jersey City NJ
October 9, 2011

Year A: Proper 23 – The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost
Exodus 32:1-14
Psalm 106:1-6, 19-23
Philippians 4:1-9
Matthew 22:1-14

Invitations to the Banquet

It's good to be home.

Many of you know that my wife Sue and I lived in Florida for a year where I served as the Episcopal chaplain at the University of Florida and rector of a nearby church.

At the university chapel the Sunday service is at 5:30 in the evening, followed by a dinner prepared each week by parishioners of local Episcopal churches. Those faithful Episcopalians love preparing some special home-cooked foods for the often stressed-out students whose diet usually consists of institutional food, or fast food, or whatever else they can grab cheaply and quickly.

So on Sunday evenings we were treated to meals like baked ham with fresh green salads and fresh vegetables followed by dessert of ice cream homemade brownies.

Word about good, free food gets around, of course. So, our Sunday dinners not only attracted students but also some local poor and homeless people.

At the end of a long Sunday I’d often find myself sitting at a table with a graduate student in acoustical engineering who was sitting beside a homeless man who each night slept on a bench outside our chapel who was sitting beside a young woman who was preparing to live and teach in France after graduation who was sitting beside a veterinary student who was sitting beside a man who walked the neighborhood streets and loved to play tennis, sometimes even practicing his swing at the table while mumbling to himself, who was sitting next to a parishioner from a little church in a small Florida town who was happily watching everyone enjoying her food.

And observing that scene, when I was really mindful, really paying attention, I’d think, this is what the kingdom of God is really like.

Family, friend and stranger – we are all invited to the banquet.

In Florida we met many wonderful people and we were offered many opportunities and challenges, but after a while both Sue and I realized that we needed to be closer to our friends and family.

So, in August we moved back to New Jersey. I’ll be starting a new position next month. In the meantime we’ve been renting an apartment in downtown Jersey City – just around the corner from where we lived when we were first married.

In my free time I’ve been taking lots of walks around the neighborhood, and I often pass by my grandparents’ old house on Coles Street.

So, they’ve been on my mind more than usual. And when I think about them I nearly always remember the Thanksgivings my family celebrated in that house. Each year my grandmother cooked for her children, their husbands and wives, and eventually their children, beginning with me. So, each year the guest list grew longer and longer and yet somehow we all managed to squeeze into a modest living room and kitchen.

But, it wasn’t just immediate family on the guest list. Each year there would be some distant relatives whose connection I can’t explain, or the man who owned the shade store where my grandmother worked and his wife, or another stray person or two who obviously needed a place to celebrate the holiday and so received an invitation from my grandparents.

Now, when I walk past my grandparents’ house, when I’m really mindful, really paying attention, I think, that’s what the kingdom of God is really like.

Family, friend and stranger – we are all invited to the banquet.

It’s hard to believe, but it was nearly eleven years ago that Sue and I were looking for a spiritual home. Based on the recommendation of a colleague, of mine we came here to check out St. Paul’s. It was the Second Sunday of Advent.

I was immediately struck by the beauty of this church and moved by the friendliness of the welcome. The music was beautiful and the sermon was both smart and inspiring.

But, it was the passing of the peace that I’ll never forget. We were used to people in church hoping that no one would sit near them so that during the peace they could avoid physical contact and just give a polite wave. But, here at this church the people seemed genuinely happy to see one another, happy to be together, so just about everybody was out in the aisle, shaking hands, giving hugs, along with some pecks on the cheek.

Near the end of the peace on our first Sunday here, the rector walked up to Sue and me, reached out his hand and said, “I’m Dave Hamilton. Welcome to St. Paul’s.”

Obviously this place and its people – many of you – have shaped my life in ways that I could scarcely have imagined that first Sunday more than a decade ago.

Now, especially standing here in this place with all of you, when I look back on those wonderful days and remember so many special people, many of you here today and also those who have died, like Fr. Carr and Bertha, Cortez, Sarah, Gertrude Clarabell, Frieda, Harriet, and Arthur, I think this is what the kingdom of God is really like.

Family, friend and stranger – we are all invited to the banquet.

Like other Jewish teachers, Jesus used the image of the banquet, the feast, to describe what life with God is like. Joyfully sharing food, drink and fellowship – that’s what the kingdom of God is really like.

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of Matthew, we pick up where we left off last week. Jesus has entered Jerusalem and in a bold move chased the moneychangers out of the Temple, directly attacking the center of Jewish religious and political life.

Obviously that got the attention of the religious leaders. Matthew follows up that bold move with Jesus offering three parables that accuse at least some of the religious leaders of rebelling against God – and warning that because of that rebellion they are not going to enter the kingdom of God.

Instead, Jesus says that God is going to send out a lot more invitations to the banquet.

Family, friend and stranger – we are all invited to the banquet.

God sends the invitations. The only question is how do we respond.

In today’s lesson from the Book of Exodus, we have the famous scene of the Israelites growing impatient waiting for God and Moses. They fall back on the false comfort of an idol – in this case, a golden calf.

By leading the Israelites out of Egypt and through the desert, by offering them food and drink, God had extended a very tangible invitation to the banquet.

The ancient Israelites weren’t bad people. They were just frightened and impatient. And, this time, out of fear and impatience, they put their faith in a dumb idol. This time, they rejected God’s invitation.

No one here is melting down their gold and making golden idol. But, especially during these tough times facing our country and our world and facing many of us personally, like the ancient Israelites at the foot of the mountain we can forget how God has blessed us. We can forget the banquets we’ve enjoyed. We can give into despair and hopelessness and fall back on the false comfort of an idol.

We aren’t bad people. But, these days many of us are frightened and impatient people. And, out of fear and impatience, we put our faith in dumb idols. We reject God’s invitation.

We know there are consequences when we reject God’s invitation. Matthew likes to quote Jesus warning about “the outer darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

But, the good news for the ancient Israelites, the good news for the chief priests and the good news for us is that even when God gets fed up with us, even when we rebel against God, God’s love and mercy always trump God’s justice.

So, our persistent God keeps sending out invitations. Over and over, we are invited to the banquet.

We accept God’s invitation when we open our eyes and our hearts – really paying attention to how God is at work in the world around us.

We accept God’s invitation when we allow God to work through us by sharing what we have and reaching out our hand to welcome the stranger in our midst.

We accept God’s invitation each time we gather at the altar, reach out our hands and take the Body and Blood of Christ into our bodies and into our hearts.

Finally, we accept God’s invitation when we put on our spiritual wedding robe and take the feast we share here each Sunday out into streets of Jersey City - out into a world starving for the love and joy of Christ that we receive here at St. Paul’s.

And when we accept God’s invitation, and when we really live like we’ve accepted God’s invitation, then someday we’ll reach the promised land that has been prepared for us, the promised land I glimpsed at a table in Florida and at my grandparents’ Thanksgiving feast, the promised land I’ve seen right here on Duncan Avenue.

When we accept God’s invitation, and when we really live like we’ve accepted God’s invitation, then someday we’ll feast in the kingdom where family, friend and stranger are all gathered at the great banquet.

Amen.

In a Desert of Testing and Quarreling

2011-09-25T16:50:00.002-04:00

The Church of the Transfiguration, Towaco NJ
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church, Lincoln Park NJ
September 25, 2011

Year A: Proper 21 – The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Exodus 17:1-7
Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16
Philippians 2:1-13
Matthew 21:23-32

In a Desert of Testing and Quarreling

For the past few Sundays we’ve been making our way through the great liberation story found in the Book of Exodus.

Throughout their exodus from Egypt the Israelites experienced the power of God in extraordinarily vivid ways. Two weeks ago we heard the story of God allowing them to escape from the mighty Egyptian army by parting the sea.

Last Sunday we heard the story of the Israelites hungry in the desert and beginning to wonder if this whole exodus thing was such a good idea and if Moses was in fact the leader they needed. In response to their need, God provides manna – the bread of heaven.

And today we pick up with the Israelites getting understandably nervous about the lack of water. They demand that Moses give them water to drink. Once again they wonder if this whole exodus thing was such a good idea and if Moses is in fact the man for the job.

Once again God comes through for them, providing water gushing from the rock.

For the Israelites, the desert was a place between the familiar, if difficult, past and an uncertain and frightening future. For the Israelites, the desert was a place of testing and quarreling.

Even after experiencing God’s love in the desert the Israelites asked one of the saddest and fundamental of all questions:

“Is the Lord among us or not?”

Well, in many ways we find ourselves today in a desert of testing and quarreling, don’t we?

I’m between jobs at the moment so I’ve been able to keep with current events even more than I usually do. But, you don’t need to pay close attention to know that we are in the desert of testing and quarreling.

Our economy just can’t seem to get going. We limp along month after month with anemic growth or no growth at all. Unemployment is a profound crisis – with millions of people giving up on finding a job anytime soon – or maybe ever. There are fears that our young people will become a lost generation – a generation never able to fulfill its potential and certainly unable to live lives as full and rich as their parents and grandparents.

Around the world, Greece is on the verge of default and Europe is at the edge of a banking crisis. The conflict between Israel and the Palestinians is entering a new and dangerous stage while we wonder what kind of autumn and winter will follow the Arab Spring.

And there are the things that don’t get much news coverage. There’s a staggering humanitarian crisis unfolding in the Horn of Africa with millions facing starvation. And, whatever happened to the people of Haiti after last year’s devastating earthquake? And, whatever happened to those leaking Japanese nuclear reactors and the people who lost their homes after the earthquake? For that matter, what all the people still suffering as result of Hurricane Irene, including many right here in this community.

Like the long-ago Israelites in the desert, we also lack faith in our leadership. Confidence in the president has eroded and I’m sure you’ve seen the ridiculously low poll numbers for Congress.

And that’s just what’s going on in our country and around the world. I’m sure many of us here this morning are facing our own personal challenges and fears.

Like the ancient Israelites, we are in a desert of testing and quarreling.

And like the Israelites, maybe we also ask one of the saddest and most fundamental questions of all:

“Is the Lord among us or not?”

No one knew more about times of testing and quarreling than St. Paul. Paul, you’ll remember, had been a Pharisee actively involved in persecuting the early followers of Jesus. Then he had an extraordinarily powerful encounter with the Resurrected Christ that set his life off in a totally unexpected and unprecedented direction.

Paul spent the rest of his life traveling around the Mediterranean region telling people the Good News of Jesus Christ and setting up little Christian congregations. Paul knew times of testing and quarreling. The people who actually knew Jesus during his earthly lifetime weren’t so sure about Paul – and weren’t sure that the Good News of Jesus is really for everyone.

Paul’s knew times of testing and quarreling. Travel was difficult and dangerous. Paul often competed against other traveling preachers who were more eloquent and better looking and who taught things that were easier for people to accept.

Paul knew times of testing and quarreling because no sooner would he leave a congregation then he’d hear that they were doing exactly what he had told them not to do and so he’d have to write letters full of reprimand and what he hoped were clear instructions.

Paul knew times of testing and quarreling. We know from his letters that he was often beaten and arrested. In fact, the letter we heard a piece of today – the letter to the Philippians – was written during one of the times Paul was in prison.

Paul knew times of testing and quarreling yet he kept going because of love. Throughout the ups and downs of Israel’s history God had shown God’s love through signs both big and small – during the Exodus God had shown God’s love in the parting of the Sea, in the manna from heaven and in the water gushing from the broken rock.

Now, Paul was overjoyed to tell everyone that God had shown God’s love in the most amazing way – in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.

One of the places Paul shared this good news was Philippi, a city in Macedonia, in what would be today eastern Greece. Paul founded a Christian congregation there and it seems to have had a special place in his heart.

Paul writes to the Philippians because apparently there is some kind of division in this beloved congregation. Once again for Paul and the Philippians it’s a time of testing and quarreling.

But, rather than criticizing the Philippians, Paul writes them what’s essentially a love letter.

Paul reminds them of his own love and most especially he reminds them of the love that they – and we – see in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It’s a special kind of love – the most rare of loves – a love that is so generous, so sacrificial, that it is, finally, self-emptying.

The love of Christ is the love that’s poured out in his teachings and the healings. It’s the love that’s poured out on the people hardest of all to love – on the tax collectors who cheated people out of their hard-earned money and the prostitutes, who blatantly violated the law.

The love of Christ is the love that was emptied out on the Cross. And the love of Christ is the love that was replenished three days later in the empty tomb.

In a desert of testing and quarreling Paul tried to imitate Jesus and to live a life of self-emptying love. Paul did that by allowing God to work and love in and through him.

Paul encouraged the Philippians to also live lives of love. He encouraged the Philippians to allow God to work and love in and through them. As Paul writes, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”

I don’t know you, so I don’t know what’s going on in your lives or in the life of this church. But, I do know that as a people we are in a desert – we are in the place between the familiar, if difficult, past and an uncertain and frightening future. We are in a desert of testing and quarreling.

The question is: how do we respond?

Maybe we grumble and complain like the Israelites in the desert, maybe even asking the saddest and most fundamental question of them all,

“Is the Lord among us or not?”

Or, maybe, we remember that we’ve seen God’s self-emptying love most clearly in Jesus. Maybe we remember that we’ve seen God’s self-emptying love in Paul. Maybe we remember that we’ve seen God’s self-emptying love in special people in our own lives.

Remembering all the self-emptying love that we’ve seen, maybe we open ourselves up to God, letting the same mind be in us as was in Jesus.

In a desert of testing and quarreling, maybe we open ourselves up to God, emptying out our lives in love.

Amen.

Agape

2011-09-16T09:59:00.000-04:00

The Wedding of Jeremiah and Lori Shaw
Spray Beach Chapel, Long Beach Island
September 16, 2011

1 John 4:7-16
John 15:9-12

Agape

Today’s first reading was taken from the First Letter of John. It was written pretty late by New Testament standards – sometime near the end of the First Century. It’s a passage that’s often read at weddings, so for at least some of us the language is familiar. And like everything else that’s grown familiar there’s a danger that we no longer see or hear what it means – what it’s really about.

“God is love.” That sounds almost trite. We might shrug and ask, “What else is new?”

The First Letter of John was written for a Christian community broken by division. We don’t really know what caused the division, but it’s no surprise. You may have noticed that heated arguments and bitter separations are pretty common among religious people…

The author of First John realizes that these followers of Jesus have missed the whole point.

The whole point is love.

In this passage, written originally in Greek, the author of First John summarizes how for Christians the whole point is love. And he’s not the first follower of Jesus to realize that the whole point is love.

Half a century earlier St. Paul wrote about love in a letter to the Corinthians – another passage that’s often read at weddings.

In that letter Paul writes, “and now faith, hope and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.”

Both the author of First John and St. Paul agree: the whole point is love.

Now, of course people in Greece and elsewhere in the ancient world knew about love before Christians came along in the middle of the First Century.

In fact, the Greeks had three different words for love.

There was eros, which generally referred to physical love.

And there was philia, the affection among family and friends.

And then there was a third kind of love – a kind of love that almost never appears in Greek writing before the New Testament. This third type of love is agape – selfless love.

For people in the ancient world, agape - selfless love - was almost unheard of. Both eros and philia offered pretty obvious benefits – physical pleasure and the security of having people around who would watch your back.

But, people wondered what’s the benefit of agape? What’s the benefit of selfless love?

One modern writer has described agape this way, “It is utterly impractical and makes no sense, but it is real. It comes from God.”

Not only does agape come from God, but, as the author of First John realized and proclaimed, God is love – God is agape.

God reveals God’s selfless love in creation – in this dazzling universe, this beautiful planet, and in special places like this island.

For us Christians God reveals God’s selfless love most clearly in Jesus. In the selfless love of Jesus, God says, this is who I really am. And in the selfless love of Jesus, God says to us, this is who you really are.

It turns out that we are made for agape – we are made for selfless love.

Of course, we often forget - or try to forget - that we are made for selfless love and instead look for other, less loving ways to find fulfillment – and fail every time.

Fortunately, every once in a while we get a wonderful reminder that we are made for agape – we are made for selfless love.

And so here we are today. Here we are today witnessing the love of Lori and Jerry - this agape story that is also a classic Hudson County love story that began when their paths crossed one evening in a Hoboken bar.

In talking – through the modern miracle of skype - with Lori and Jerry to prepare for today it was clear to me (even through a fuzzy computer connection) that their hearts are wide open to each other. From nearly the start of their relationship they shared the hurts that come from being on earth for a few decades. From nearly the start they shared the fears about what the future might bring. And from nearly the start they shared the hopes of what a life together could be.

Now, today in this ceremony they are formalizing the gift of selfless love – the gift of agape – the gift that they have already given to each other.

You and I are here as witnesses. We’re here to pray. We’re here to celebrate. We’re here to promise our support whenever times get tough.

And, if we keep our eyes and our hearts open we’re also here to glimpse the agape of God in the love shared by Lori and Jerry. We are here to glimpse in the love shared by these two wonderful people the love that is patient and kind, the love that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

We’re here to glimpse in Lori and Jerry’s love the selfless love of God – the love that never ends.

Amen.

Evolution

2011-09-11T14:35:00.003-04:00

St. Agnes’ Episcopal Church, Little Falls NJ
September 11, 2011

Year A: Proper 19 – The 13th Sunday after Pentecost
Exodus 14:19-31
Psalm 114
Romans 14:1-12
Matthew 18:21-35

Evolution

Ten years ago I was a history teacher at St. Peter’s Prep in Jersey City, just beginning to explore what I thought might be a call to be a priest.

At Prep, my classroom was on the top floor with large windows that offered a spectacular view of the Lower Manhattan skyline, just across the Hudson River.

Ten years ago today, as that horrific morning unfolded I felt fear like I had never felt before – fear for myself and fear for my students sitting at their desks, stunned and confused. While some teachers continued to conduct their classes in an effort to keep some semblance of normalcy, I decided to turn on the radio so my students and I could listen to the history that was being scorched into our lives just across the Hudson and at the Pentagon and in a Pennsylvania field.

Later that day, after school had been dismissed, a friend and I walked, trying to get as close to the river as we could. From my classroom windows I had seen the towers fall, yet as I turned the corner onto Montgomery Street somehow I imagined that the towers would still be standing – burned out husks maybe – but still standing.

Getting my first good look at the smoldering and brutalized skyline I felt absence – the absence of the towers and the absence of the thousands of people who just a few hours earlier had been going about their business on a beautiful late summer morning.

Later that day, I mourned the absence of seemingly ordinary World Trade Center places that I would never see again: the PATH Station, the newsstands, the Borders Book Store, the Krispy Kreme donut shop. I remembered when I was a kid seeing workers laying the bricks in the floor of the mall that was under the towers. Now that pavement and so many other familiar sights were all gone.

And on that terrible day I mourned what felt like the absence of God.

Like me, lots of people felt God’s seeming absence that morning.

But, not everyone.

Certainly the people responsible for these evil acts mistakenly felt that God was on their side. For them, the proof of God’s presence and support was in their successful strikes at symbols of American power and wealth.

And there were some in our own country who saw the attacks as signs of God’s punishing hand or as a lifting of God’s protection.

But, as the days went on, others of us felt what I’d say was a more authentic sense of God’s presence.

We felt God’s presence in the excruciatingly beautiful phone messages left by doomed men and women trapped in the burning towers to those they loved.

We felt God’s presence in the stories of heroism – the story of two men carrying a handicapped woman down the 68 flights of stairs in the North Tower, further risking their lives in an act of compassion – and the story of the firefighters bravely marching up the stairs through intense heat and poisonous smoke, overcoming their fears through a profound sense of duty.

We felt God’s presence in the story of the passengers of United Flight 93 who gave their lives to prevent even greater tragedies on that terrible day.

We felt God’s presence in the short “Portraits of Grief” the New York Times published for each 9/11 victim – the stories of dads who loved coaching their kids’ little league teams, the immigrants who were washing dishes in a humble start to the American dream, the recent college graduates beginning their first real jobs, all those firefighters and cops from the outer boroughs, and on and on.

Ten years ago we were terrified and brokenhearted and furious – and I know those feelings are still raw in us.

It’s been a time when a lot of us have turned to God, looked for God, raged at God, pleaded with God, bargained with God, or just wondered about God.

For some of us God has seemed achingly absent. For some of us God has felt powerfully present. And for most of us, I think, somehow God has felt both absent and present.

Which raises the basic but essential question: Who exactly is this God who can seem both achingly absent and powerfully present?

Reflecting on who God is has been on my mind more than usual because I just finished reading a provocative book that came out a couple of years ago called The Evolution of God, by Robert Wright, who is skeptical but respectful of religion. In his book, he traces how our perception of God has evolved in fits and starts over thousands of years.

Wright makes the point that the only hope for the world is if our perception of God continues to evolve.

Today’s lessons illustrate beautifully how our perception of God has evolved. Today’s lessons also challenge us to take the next evolutionary step in our perception of God.

From Exodus we heard the familiar and yet still powerful story of the parting of the Red Sea. Israel’s God manipulates nature so that his people might escape from the Egyptians who were in hot pursuit.

It’s a great story of God’s liberating power – a story that still inspires people yearning for freedom. It’s also a story that’s told entirely from Israel’s perspective – reflecting Israel’s perception that their national god was acting to protect and liberate them.

But, our perception of God has evolved from a national god to a loving God of all. Our perception of God has evolved to the point that today we wonder about all those drowned Egyptian soldiers. Our perception of God has evolved so we might recognize that while God could rejoice in Israel’s liberation, at the same time God’s heart could also break for the dead Egyptian soldiers and for the families and friends who would soon be pained by grief.

Our perception of God has evolved from a national god to a loving God of all.

The greatest evolutionary leap in our perception of God is the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. In Jesus, we see most clearly what God is really like.

Over the past weeks we’ve been making our way through the Gospel of Matthew. Out of the four gospels Matthew is often considered the most Jewish and it is certainly the gospel most concerned with life in the Christian community, life in the church.

Last week, you may remember we heard Matthew’s account of Jesus telling the disciples what to do if someone seems to be in danger of falling away from the community or if someone actually does break with the community.

Essentially, Jesus tells the disciples that no one is to be excluded. We Christians are meant to go to bend over backwards to hold the community together.

Peter, maybe thinking this is crazy, asks for a clarification. Just to be clear, Peter asks how often he should forgive a church member who sins against him. Seven times?

Now, seven was a special number meaning perfection or completeness but just so there’s no confusion Jesus goes totally overboard and says, “Not seven times, but I tell you, seventy-seven times.”

Yes, we are to hold people accountable for their actions. Yes, we are to strive for justice. And, yes, we are to forgive and forgive and forgive.

In its original context the gospel message of infinite forgiveness is clearly meant for life within the church.

And, let’s be honest, that’s hard enough. Forgiveness isn’t so easy in the church where too often relationships get broken and too often we hold on to our grudges for dear life.

But, what if the next evolutionary step in our perception of God is the hardest step of all?

What if we perceive that God is calling us to break the cycle of violence and revenge once and for all?

What if we perceive that the loving God of all is calling us to extend infinite forgiveness out into all the world?

Anne Lamott once wrote, “Forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a better past.”

Today of all days we remember that we’ve had a terrible past and there’s nothing we can do to change that.

The only hope for a better future is taking the next evolutionary step in our perception of the loving God of all, who offers infinite forgiveness to all.

The next evolutionary step in our perception of God won’t happen on the battlefield or in the chambers of Congress. The next evolutionary step in our perception of God won’t happen on cable news channels or out on the presidential campaign trail.

The next evolutionary step in our perception of God will be when we hold people accountable for their actions, strive for justice, and, most of all, are truly willing to forgive seventy-seven times – to forgive and forgive and forgive.

The next evolutionary step in our perception of God will be when we break the cycle of violence and revenge. The next evolutionary step in our perception of God will be when we give up all hope of having had a better past and dedicate ourselves to building the kingdom of God here on earth – the kingdom where all of God’s people – all of us - will finally live in peace.

Amen.

True Religion

2011-08-28T15:19:00.001-04:00

St. Stephen's Episcopal Church, Millburn NJ
August 28, 2011

Year A: Proper 17 – The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost
Exodus 3:1-15
Psalm 105: 1-6, 23-26
Romans 12:9-21
Matthew 16:21-28

True Religion

In today’s collect we made several requests of God, but the one that really jumped out at me was asking God to “increase in us true religion.” I’ll admit that I don’t always pay as much attention to the collect as I should. Maybe you don’t either! But, over the past couple of days I’ve found myself wondering just what is “true religion” and what would it look like if “true religion” really did increase in us.

Right off the bat, we have to acknowledge that for many the very word “religion” carries a whole lot of baggage. I don’t know you at all, but since we’re here in church on the morning of a predicted major hurricane I suspect that all of us here this morning are to some extent “religious.”

But, because of all the religious baggage in our country and around the world, how many of us would admit to being “religious” to our colleagues at work, or on line in the supermarket, or with our classmates at school, or even with our own families and friends?

No, we know all too well what’s written on the tags hanging from religious baggage. One label reads “Closed-minded.” Another says, “Judgmental.” Another, “Ignorant” Still another says, “Bigoted.” And then there are the tags written in blood that say “Threatening” and “Violent.”

Now, I know that’s not what we want written on the tags of our religious baggage – and that’s not the kind of religion that we pray God increases in us – and, in fact, not the kind of religion that God would ever want to increase in us.

Obviously, religion doesn’t mean – or, shouldn’t mean – being closed-minded or judgmental or ignorant or bigoted and certainly not threatening or violent.

But, what does religion mean? What does it mean to be religious?

I think today’s lessons offer very powerful descriptions of religion and what it means to be religious.

In today’s gospel lesson we heard the first time Jesus predicts his fate: his arrest, his suffering, his death and his resurrection. It must have been a very shocking revelation for Jesus’ friends who had left behind their old lives to follow this rabbi who taught and healed like no one they had ever seen before.

I’m sure all the disciples were upset, and maybe none more than Peter.

I think most of us love Peter so much because we can relate to him. We can relate to his bumbling. We can relate to his usually trying to do the right thing but often coming up short. And we can relate to sometimes letting down the people we care about most.

But, like us, sometimes the very human Peter gets it right. Remember last week we heard Peter really getting it. When Jesus asked, “Who do you say that I am? Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

Peter must have felt like a million shekels – there’s nothing better than giving the right answer when the teacher asks a tough question!

Jesus tells Peter he is blessed. Peter isn’t blessed because he’s smarter or more insightful than the other disciples. Jesus tells Peter he is blessed, “For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven.”

Peter got the answer right not because he was smart or insightful but because he was open to God at work in him. Because Peter’s heart was open to God he recognized Jesus for who he really is.

Contrast last week’s scene with what we heard today. Peter is so shocked by what Jesus has just said that he’s closed to God working in and through him.

Peter is so consumed by fear and anxiety that he isn’t able to hear everything Jesus is saying. Peter seems to miss the big point: that Jesus would rise again on the third day. I imagine all Peter heard was Jesus saying, “undergo great suffering…and be killed.”

And so, motivated by shock and fear and anxiety and, yes, love for his teacher, Peter “rebukes” Jesus, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.”

For his part, Jesus reflects the seriousness of Peter’s error by speaking harshly to his disciple, calling him “Satan” and telling him that Peter the rock has become a stumbling block.

Like Peter, we too can be motivated by shock and fear and anxiety.

Certainly there’s plenty in the world to be shocked by, to be afraid of, and to be anxious about.

I’m sure most of us spent much of the past few days anxiously tracking Hurricane Irene as it made its destructive way up the East Coast.

We worry that we have damaged the planet so much that we look to a future filled with ever more destructive storms and extreme weather.

We are afraid that our political system and our economy are both broken beyond repair, threatening our children and grandchildren lives far less prosperous than our own.

And we have our own personal anxieties – that occasional pain in our chest, that we’ll be the next one in the department to be let go, that losing our keys is the first sign of impending dementia, and even that a new rector will change all the things we really love about St. Stephen’s.

But if we’re truly religious, then our eyes and our minds and our hearts are open to God.

So, asking God to “increase in us true religion” means asking God to open our eyes to see God at work in the world around us.

Asking God to “increase in us true religion” means asking God to open our minds to understand how God is at work in the world around us.

And asking God to “increase in us true religion” means asking God to open our hearts so we can live lives inspired by love rather than lives motivated by shock, fear and anxiety.

I think that’s what St. Paul is getting at when he writes to the early church in Rome,

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.

That’s what “true religion” looks like.

“True religion” has its own baggage. But here’s what’s written on the tags hanging from true religious baggage: “love,” “mutual affection,” “show honor,” “ardent in spirit,” and “service to the Lord.”

We live in a time of fear and anxiety. Yet, the God who spoke to Moses long ago – the God was and is and will be – is still at work right now early 21st Century.

The God who raised Jesus on the third day – the God who was and is and will be – is still at work right here in us, and through us, and with us at St. Stephen’s

We pray that God will increase in us true religion so that, like Peter, our hearts will be open and we will recognize Jesus as Messiah, Son of the Living God.

We pray that God will increase in us true religion so that in a world filled with anxiety and bad religious baggage, our lives will be tagged by love, generosity and service.

Amen.

More Than We Can Ask Or Imagine

2011-08-14T07:36:00.000-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
August 14, 2011

Year A: Proper 15, the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost
Genesis 45:1-15
Psalm 133
Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32
Matthew 15: (10-20), 21-28

More Than We Can Ask Or Imagine

Many of you know that one of the first things I did when I arrived in Gainesville last year was to start offering Morning Prayer each weekday at the chapel – or, actually, in the chapel garden.

I did that for a couple of reasons but mostly because like everybody else I can get a little lazy. But, I realized that if I put Morning Prayer on the schedule then - no matter how lazy or busy I was - I had to start my day with prayer.

At the end of Morning Prayer the officiant may say one of three verses from Scripture. My favorite of these verses is from Ephesians. It begins:

“Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine…”

That’s a beautiful description of how God is at work in our lives.

If our hearts are open, God takes us to unexpected places.

If our hearts are open, God brings amazing people into our lives.

If our hearts are open, God uses us to heal our broken world.

“Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine…”

I’ve been hearing that verse from Ephesians in my head as my time here with all of you in Gainesville draws to a close. Over the past year God has done more in my life than I could ever have asked or imagined.

And I’ve also been hearing that verse in my head as I’ve been reflecting on this week’s lessons, in which, as usual, God does more than anyone could have asked or imagined.

You may remember that last week we heard the story of Joseph being sold into slavery by his jealous brothers. They were jealous that Joseph was his father’s favorite. They were angry that Joseph had dreams in which they bowed before him. And, don’t forget, they were irritated that their father honored Joseph by giving him a fancy robe with long sleeves.

Ah, family!

To make a long story short, Joseph did very well in Egypt, rising to a position of great honor and power.

The rest of his family didn’t do as well. Things got so bad that during a time of famine, Joseph’s brothers go to Egypt looking for help.

At first, Joseph played some mind games with his brothers who don’t recognize him. The last of these games was demanding that Benjamin, the youngest and Joseph’s only full brother, stay behind in Egypt as a slave.

In an act of great courage and love, Judah, who had been primarily responsible for selling Joseph into slavery, offers to take Benjamin’s place because he knows the loss of both Joseph and Benjamin would devastate their father.

It’s a powerful moment and an amazing reversal. It’s so powerful and amazing, in fact, that in the passage we heard today Joseph breaks down and reveals his identity to his shocked brothers.

The healing of a family broken by jealousy, deceit and violence begins.

“Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine…”

If our hearts are open, God takes us to unexpected places.

If our hearts are open, God brings amazing people into our lives.

If our hearts are open, God uses us to heal our broken world.

Today’s lesson from the Gospel of Matthew might, at first, seem a little disjointed.

It begins with Jesus challenging the teaching of the Pharisees, who usually get a bad rap in the New Testament. We don’t know as much about the Pharisees as we’d like but it seems that they were interested in sanctifying everyday life. So, they intensified some of the demands of Jewish Law, for example requiring ritual hand washing before meals.

There’s nothing wrong with those kinds of practices unless of course they become more important than the way we actually live our lives. In the gospel, Jesus emphasizes that it’s not our rituals but our moral behavior that makes us clean or unclean.

Important words for the Pharisees and for us - and then almost immediately Jesus is challenged to put those important words into practice.

Jesus goes into the non-Jewish territory of Tyre and Sidon where he encounters a pushy and persistent Canaanite woman. She honors Jesus when she shouts to him, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.”

Now, this is a familiar scene. Throughout the gospels we see Jesus in these kinds of situations – people begging him for healing. But, in this case, Jesus acts in an un-Jesus like way.

After all, she’s both not Jewish and a woman. So, Jesus and any other Jewish man shouldn’t have anything to do with her.

The disciples want to get rid of her – undoubtedly her shouting was attracting a crowd in this foreign land. Jesus offers a very narrow vision of his mission when he says, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

The woman persists, “Lord, help me.”

And then Jesus does something very un-Jesus like. He insults the woman:

“It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

Yet, even after this ugly insult, the woman not only persists but is quick-witted:

“Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

And then, impressed by her faith and maybe her wit, Jesus relents, and heals her daughter instantly.

This is a difficult passage for us to hear. It’s often interpreted as a story about faith and persistence – and, in part, it’s certainly about that. But, if that’s all that this story is about, what does it say about God? Would God’s attitude towards the woman really be, “If only you had gone back at Jesus after he insulted you then your daughter would have been healed! Too bad you didn’t have more faith and persistence!”

No, this passage isn’t so much about the Canaanite woman. This story is much more about Jesus. There has always been a tendency in the Church to overemphasize either Jesus’ humanity or his divinity. I think in our time the tendency is to focus so much on his divinity that we lose sight of Jesus our brother, a flesh and blood human being who had to learn and grow like we all need to learn and grow.

In this passage we glimpse a flesh and blood human Jesus who was challenged by a persistent Canaanite woman to put his important words into practice.

The rules say no contact with this woman. But this quick-witted woman seems to have reminded Jesus that our conduct is far more important than our rituals.

And maybe in that encounter Jesus had the nearly overwhelming realization that his identity and his mission were far greater than he had previously believed.

Maybe Jesus’ heart was opened to realize that he wasn’t only the long awaited Messiah of Israel, but he was also the Savior of this Canaanite woman and her daughter - and the Savior of the whole world.

Maybe in that encounter with the persistent woman, Jesus recognized that in him and through him, God was doing more than this Jewish peasant from Nazareth could have ever asked or imagined.

And now it’s our turn. We’re all aware of the challenges we face in our lives, our families, our community and the world. But, God is at work today in Gainesville just as God was at work when Joseph revealed his identity to his brothers and when Jesus chose healing over rules and regulations.

If our hearts are open, God takes us to unexpected places.

If our hearts are open, God brings amazing people into our lives.

If our hearts are open, God uses us to heal our broken world.

“Glory to God whose power, working in us, can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. Glory to him from generation to generation in the Church, and in Christ Jesus for ever and ever.”

Amen.

Little Faith

2011-08-07T19:13:00.002-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
August 7, 2011

Year A: Proper 14 – the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost
Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28
Psalm 105: 1-6, 16-22, 45b
Romans 10:5-15
Matthew 14:22-33

Little Faith

Last Sunday we heard Matthew’s account of Jesus feeding the multitudes. The crowd had followed Jesus, hungry for his teaching and maybe a healing or two. The only problem was now there were thousands of people in a remote place. As the day grew late the disciples grew concerned about how all of these people were going to get fed. They tell Jesus to send the crowd into the villages so they can buy food.

Instead, Jesus tells the disciples, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.”

The disciples have very little. They are only able to offer five loaves and two fish. It certainly doesn’t seem like they have nearly enough.

Yet, Jesus is able to take their little offering and transform it into food that feeds a multitude – with baskets of leftovers completing the picture of God’s abundance.

Today we picked up right where we left off in the Gospel of Matthew – the story of Jesus walking on water and calming the storm.

Matthew drew upon the earlier Gospel of Mark when he wrote his own account of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. Since there’s so much of Mark in Matthew, it’s interesting to note when Matthew adds some additional details to what’s in the earlier gospel.

For example, Matthew’s account of Peter’s “little faith” isn’t found in Mark.

Peter isn’t sure if it’s really Jesus or if it’s a ghost. But, he bravely says, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”

After getting the word, Peter – a fisherman who knew the dangers of the turbulent sea all too well - bravely gets out of the boat and takes a few steps on the water towards his Lord.

When he gets understandably frightened and begins to sink, Peter cries out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reaches out to him, catches him, and says, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

“You of little faith” is the usual description of the apostles in the Gospel of Matthew.

“You of little faith” sounds like a put-down, but I’m not so sure.

After all, God seems to be very good at making something awesome out of something very little.

God is good at taking tiny mustard seeds and growing trees that provide shelter for many.

And we just saw God’s ability to turn little into awesome in the miracle of feeding the multitudes when Jesus took the little offering from the disciples and transform it into food that satisfies a multitude – with baskets of leftovers.

Actually, all God seems to require of us is “little faith” – the faith that leaves us open to God’s power working within us – the faith that leaves a small space in our hearts where God can do the work of transforming us and transforming the world.

And it’s noteworthy that it’s Peter who is of little faith. Peter is often depicted as kind of a well-meaning bumbler. And, as we know, he will let Jesus down in his greatest moment of need – abandoning and denying his crucified Lord.

Yet Peter’s little faith is enough to get him out on the water – Peter’s little faith is enough to get Peter to take a few steps toward Jesus – Peter’s little faith is enough for him to cry out to Jesus for help.

And we know that God will take Peter’s little faith – and working from that small place in the fisherman’s heart - transform him from bumbler and coward and denier into an apostle who gave his life for Jesus and the Gospel.

So, I don’t think “little faith” is a put-down.

But, if we’re honest, I think we all wonder if we have even Peter’s little faith. Would we really take even a step or two out onto the water towards Jesus?

Does our doubt crush our little faith and close off the small space in our hearts?

Like Peter, our doubts become most apparent in turbulent times.

And we are certainly living in turbulent times.

The loss of life caused by the shooting down of one of our helicopters in Afghanistan on Saturday is a reminder that our country is involved in wars that, despite the bravery of our troops, we know will end not with victory but, at best, ambiguity.

Our economy and many economies around the world continue to sputter -leaving so many of us unemployed or underemployed or frightened that we are about to take a place in the long lines of people looking for work. Unemployment benefits are running out and there doesn’t seem to be the money or the will or even the compassion to extend them.

For the first time in our history Americans really believe that their children won’t have it as good as they did.

Over the past few weeks the world watched as leaders of both parties made a spectacle of themselves in dealing with the debt ceiling – a spectacle for which we’ll all pay. But, that was really just one example of the dysfunction and corruption that prevents our elected officials in Washington and Tallahassee from setting aside ideology and self-interest for the good of the people.

And then there is the turbulence in our own lives.

Like every community, some of us here are facing serious illness or worried about the health of someone we love. Some of us are battling addiction. Some of our relationships are strained or have ruptured. Some of us feel guilty about things we’ve done or things we’ve left undone.

And there is the turbulence that comes when a priest gets ready to leave. What will happen to the church? What will our next priest be like? Will the next priest be in place before momentum is lost and people begin to drift away?

In turbulent times it’s easy to doubt - and hard to have even little faith.

Actually, though, our idea of doubt might not be exactly what Jesus meant.

When Jesus asked Peter, “why did you doubt?” he wasn’t asking Peter why he was skeptical that a man could walk on the surface of a turbulent sea.

Instead, when Jesus asked Peter why he doubted, he was asking why didn’t he hold steady? Why didn’t he remain steadfast? Why didn’t he keep going?

Peter had heard Jesus teach and had seen Jesus heal and had seen Jesus feed the multitudes. So why he didn’t Peter trust that the Lord would hold him up and keep him afloat?

In this turbulent time, you and I are like Peter trying to walk on the turbulent sea.

During my year here I’ve gotten to know you well enough to know that you’ve seen the power of Jesus to teach, heal and feed. So I know you’ll hold steady. I know that doubt won’t crush your – our - little faith. I know that doubt won’t close off the small space reserved for God in our hearts.

We have little faith – we make a small place in our heart – when we hold steady, when we remain steadfast, when we keep going even when we’re frightened or tired or bewildered.

We have little faith – we make a small place for God in our heart – when we stick together, make time for prayer, extend peace and forgiveness to our neighbors, sing our hymns, and take the Body and Blood of Christ into our bodies and into our hearts.

With all his flaws and failures, Peter still had little faith and made a small place in his heart for God. And God used that little faith and that small place to transform Peter and to transform the world.

As usual, God made something awesome out of something very small.

The good news is that what was true for Peter is just as true for us – what God did for Peter, God can do for all of us - for all of us of little faith.

Amen.

Wrestling

2011-07-31T19:36:00.000-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
July 31, 2011

Year A: Proper 13 - The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
Genesis 32:22-31
Psalm 17:1-7, 16
Romans 9:1-5
Matthew 14:13-21

Wrestling

For seven years before I went to seminary I was a history teacher at my alma mater, an all-boys Catholic school. For the most part, I loved teaching there. The students were bright and eager to learn. I taught alongside fine colleagues, some of whom were also close friends.

One of my favorite parts of the day was homeroom – which we had first thing in the morning. Always having a freshman homeroom, I tried to help these boys get acclimated to the challenges of their new school. Each year I tried to create a little homeroom community – a place where they could feel safe and welcome at the start of their four years of high school.

I have to admit, though, that starting the day with a roomful of 14 year-old boys could sometimes be too much. One of the things that drove me up a wall was when the boys would come into my classroom and talk with great excitement about the wrestling matches they had watched on TV the night before.

Remember, this was the peak of so-called professional wrestling. Night after night my students would watch mostly men in outlandish costumes with silly stage names exchange insults and toss each other around the ring.

The kids were savvy enough to know that for the most part the cartoonish violence they were watching wasn’t real – but they still loved it and loved retelling the stories in my classroom first thing in the morning.

It got so bad that eventually I issued an “executive order” banning any discussion of professional wrestling in my classroom.

Meanwhile the school had a wrestling team. Its matches against students from other schools couldn’t be more different from what the kids were watching on TV. This wrestling wasn’t flamboyant. The wrestlers really were vulnerable to their opponent. This wrestling was much more subtle than what was on TV. If you weren’t paying close attention you could easily miss how exactly one wrestler ended up pinned to the mat. And in this kind of wrestling the lasting effects were all too real.

Living a life of faith requires wrestling – wrestling with ourselves, wrestling with Scripture, wrestling with the Church, and even, as we heard this morning, wrestling with God.

Although I haven’t mentioned Jacob in a couple of weeks, we’ve continued to hear the highlights of his story. You may remember that so far we have seen Jacob for the most part as a dishonorable person – as a trickster and a fink who cheats his slightly older twin Esau out of his birthright and out of their father’s blessing.

Yet, God has big hopes and plans for this unsavory character.

Two weeks ago we heard the story of Jacob dreaming of a ladder bridging the gap between earth and heaven – a ladder that allows angels to travel back and forth.

At the end of the dream God appears to Jacob and says, “the land on which you lie I will give to you and to your offspring; and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south; and all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you and in your offspring. Know that I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you."

Last week we glimpsed some of the goodness in Jacob when we heard the story of his love for Rachel – and his willingness to work seven years for her father in order to have her as his wife.

Now Jacob and his entourage are making their way back to Canaan. There is, however, a shadow over what might have been a joyful homecoming – Esau. Jacob knows all too well that his brother remains furious at him because of the betrayal.

Jacob has tried to reconcile with his brother by sending gifts ahead. But, he knows that Esau has a real grievance against him – and that Esau may very well kill him and his family.

Like many of us, when feeling guilt and fear, Jacob just wants to be alone.

Yet, like all of us, Jacob is not alone. God keeps the promise to be with Jacob.

And God isn’t only with Jacob. God is willing to wrestle with Jacob – God is willing to challenge Jacob in order to transform him – to transform Jacob into the person he was always meant to be – to transform Jacob into his true self.

Transformation is not easy. And so we have this ancient, powerful and mysterious story of Jacob wrestling with a man, a supernatural being, maybe an angel or maybe even God.

Regardless of the exact identity of Jacob’s opponent, there’s nothing cartoonish about this wrestling match. The stakes are real both for God and for Jacob.

Jacob proves his strength and persistence not to God - but to himself. Jacob is marked forever by the encounter. He is marked both by his limp and he is marked by his new name. Before he was Jacob – the supplanter – and now he is renamed Israel “the one who has striven with God and with humans and has prevailed.”

Early commentators streamlined the meaning of the name Israel into simply “the man who saw God.”

The rest of Jacob’s life was transformed by this mysterious divine wrestling match. But, that doesn’t mean that he always had an easy time of it or that he and his family lived happily ever after.

His reconciliation with Esau will be only partial. His daughter Dinah will be raped. And his son Joseph will be sold by his brothers into Egyptian slavery.

But throughout all the trials to come I’m sure Jacob remembered the night he saw God and knew that God would be with him through it all.

We Christians see God most clearly in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. And if we take seriously the teachings and example of Christ, then we’re likely to wrestle with ourselves, with Scripture, with the Church and even with God.

It’s going to take some wrestling to really love and trust God.

It’s going to take some wrestling to resist evil and, when we sin, to repent.

It’s going to take some wrestling to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.

It’s going to take some wrestling to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as our self.

And it’s going to take some wrestling to strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being.

The first disciples did a fair amount of wrestling as they tried to absorb the message Jesus was teaching them through his word and example. We hear a little bit of that wrestling in the story of Jesus feeding the multitudes.

We’re told that many thousands of people have followed Jesus and the disciples to a deserted place. Now, it’s evening, and the crowd is hungry.

How do the disciples respond? They tell Jesus to, “…send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.”

Obviously they still don’t get it. But now the disciples are challenged to wrestle with what it means to trust God and to follow Christ. Jesus tells them, “They need not go away; you give them something to eat.”

On that night, one miracle was Jesus multiplying the loaves and fishes, providing more than enough for the many thousands of hungry people. But, another miracle was the wrestling challenge given to the disciples – the challenge that transformed the disciples from selfishness to self-sacrifice.

Like the first disciples we are challenged to wrestle with what it means to trust God and to follow Christ.

We are challenged to wrestle with our selfishness, our small-mindedness and our fears.

For us today, the miracle is seeing the face of God in Jesus Christ and seeing the face of Christ in one another and the people out there – the people who are hungry for a good meal – the people who are hungry for the Body and Blood of Christ – the people who are hungry for healing and reconciliation – and the people who are burdened by fear and guilt.

Just as God was willing to wrestle with Jacob long ago, fortunately God is willing to wrestle with us – to mark us forever and to transform us into the people we were always meant to be – to transform us into our true selves – to be, like Jacob, the people who have seen God.

Amen.

Branches

2011-07-24T19:34:00.000-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
July 24, 2011

Year A: Proper 12 – The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
Genesis 29:15-28
Psalm 105:1-11,45b
Romans 8:26-39
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

Branches

For the past couple of Sundays we’ve been making our way through a collection of Jesus’ parables recorded in the Gospel of Matthew.

Two weeks ago we heard the Parable of the Sower – Jesus’ powerful image of a persistent and hopeful God casting seeds all over the place – casting seeds on good soil and, more often, casting seeds not such good soil.

Last week we heard the parable of the weeds and the wheat.

And now today we have a collection of shorter parables beginning with the parable of the mustard seed.

This is one of the best known and most beloved of Jesus’ parables – giving us a glimpse of what the kingdom of God is like.

The kingdom of God begins in tiny, nearly invisible, easy to miss, ways. And yet, under the right conditions from these small beginnings the kingdom is manifested in ways that are a blessing for many.

In thinking about this beautiful and profound parable, I was reminded of a movie from France that came out last year, but Sue and I only caught up with it a couple of weeks ago.

The movie is called Of Gods and Men. It’s set in the North African country of Algeria during the 1990s.

It tells the true story of a small group of French monks who live in a monastery in a rural village in that predominately Muslim country.

In the movie’s early scenes we see the monks going about their daily tasks, living out their vocations. Like monks and nuns everywhere their days and nights are punctuated by times of prayer and worship in the monastery chapel. They eat their meals in silence listening to one monk read some spiritual writing. They wash their dishes. They scrub the floors. They gather firewood. They tend their crops and bring their products to sell at the local market.

And they operate a rudimentary clinic that seems to be the only medical facility in the village. Each day young and old gather outside the monastery door waiting to see Luc, the monk who is also a physician. Each day he dispenses medicine, along with the occasional pair of shoes and, at least once, advice to a young woman from the village on matters of the heart.

In 1991 an Islamic party won Algeria’s first multi-party election. More secular elements in the country, including the military, refused to accept that result -sparking a decade-long brutal civil war.

In the movie, at first the violence seems far away from the rural village where the French monks and their Algerian neighbors live in harmony. But, soon enough, it becomes clear that their village, including the monastery, will not be spared bloodshed.

Unlike most of the villagers, the monks have a choice. To save their lives, they could close up the monastery and head back to France.

The monks are divided. Some want to stay while others say they went to Algeria to live, not to die.

Talking with one of the villagers, a monk describes himself and his brothers this way. He says,

“We are like birds on a branch. Uncertain when we’ll leave.”

But the villager gently corrects him, saying,

“We’re the birds. You’re the branch.”

Although the monk had lived at the monastery and among the villagers for years, he had not recognized how important the monastery had become for the little village. The monastery had started as a small seed in very inhospitable Algerian soil. Thanks to the faithfulness of the monks day after day, year in and year out, that little seed had grown into a life-giving tree where the people of the village were able to make their nests in a dangerous world.

As we heard in the parable of the sower two weeks ago, God is planting seeds all over the place – in the most unlikely and inhospitable places.

And God is certainly planting seeds in us all of the time.

The only question is how do we respond to these divine seeds.

Like the monks in the movie, despite our flaws and weaknesses, do we do our best to faithfully nurture God’s seeds?

Even when we’re tired or bored or are just feeling dry and uninspired, do we still drag ourselves here week after week just as the monks punctuated each of their days with common and personal prayer?

Like the monks, despite our fear, do we come out from behind the walls of our church and our homes to walk side by side with our neighbors, with our brothers and sisters – especially those who are poor and who suffer in mind, body or spirit?

It seems to me that the only thing that prevents us from nurturing the seeds that God plants in us is fear – fear that we might have to give more than we expected – fear that we might lose what we think is most important.

The French monks in Algeria were afraid, some more than others. The threats of violence, pain and death were very real.

In the movie there’s a scene when the abbot talks with one of the monks who is afraid of losing his life. Essentially the abbot tells the monk that he has already lost his life. He lost his life when he gave it to Christ. He lost his life when he gave it to serving God and serving God’s people. He lost his life when he gave it to doing his best to nurture the seeds that God had planted in him.

You never know, but I’m guessing that no one here is called to be a monk or a nun.

But we are all called to lose our lives by giving them to Christ.

We are all called to lose our lives in service to God and God’s people.

As Jesus says, “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

Fear alone prevents us from nurturing the seeds that God plants in us. The monks in Algeria suffered a great deal. And there has been and there will be real suffering in our lives. But, ultimately, we can be sure of God’s love through every challenge and ordeal.

St. Paul – who knew a lot about suffering - wrote to the church in Rome, “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

There’s no guarantee that the tiny mustard seeds planted by God in each of us will ever grow into trees with branches strong enough for birds to make their nests.

With God’s help, through our openness and faithfulness the kingdom of God can take root and grow in Gainesville, in Algeria, and throughout creation.

Amen.

The Good Soil

2011-07-10T18:58:00.001-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
July 10, 2011

Year A: Proper 9, The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost
Genesis 25:19-34
Psalm 119:105-112
Romans 8:1-11
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

The Good Soil

Back when I was a teacher it was a never-ending challenge to find methods and approaches that would get my subject – in my case history – across to my students. Some students did best with the old-fashioned chalk and talk method while others preferred to read on their own and come to class eager to discuss or debate. Others were visual learners – doing best with photographs, charts and films.

It was tough to find the right approach – and like all teachers sometimes I succeeded, and sometimes not so much.

Jesus is often held up as the greatest of all teachers because he was able to teach about the most important of subjects – the kingdom of God – in ways that still inspire and challenge us all these many centuries later.

Jesus taught by using parables – very short stories with double meanings – to give his first followers and to give us today an inkling of what God is like and what life is like in God’s kingdom.

And from the Gospel of Matthew we just heard one of the best known of Jesus’ parables – and one he probably retold many times to many different audiences: the parable of the sower.

It’s called the parable of the sower although most of the parable is about how the seeds interact with the different types of soil they land on.

Obviously agriculture in First Century Palestine was much less sophisticated than what we’re capable of today. Sowing seeds was imprecise and very risky – even under the best conditions the return was not good – and a failed crop was a matter of life and death.

So Jesus’ first audiences must have been shocked by the fact that the sower in the parable is amazingly indiscriminate – the sower tosses seeds on the path where birds can get at them, on rocky soil where they grow too fast and are scorched by the sun and among choking thorns – the sower tosses seed everywhere.

No surprise that most of the seeds are never able to take root and grow.

Yet, where the seeds do take root in the good soil, the return is astonishing – Jesus says, “Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.”

Most scholars believe that the explanation of the parable that we heard in the second part of the lesson comes not from Jesus himself but from the early Church as it reflected on and struggled with the meaning of this and Jesus’ other parables.

Whatever its source, from an early date there’s been an understanding that the different types of soil are a metaphor for how we receive Jesus’ teaching on the kingdom of God.

So, who are we in this parable?

Are we the ones who hear Jesus’ teaching, but since we don’t understand it the evil one is able to snatch it right out of our hearts?

Or are we the ones who first receive Jesus’ teaching with great joy but since we don’t nurture it, we fall away during times of trouble?

Or are we the ones who hear Jesus’ teaching but we’re so concerned about our lives and our material possessions that the Good News gets choked in our hearts?

Or are we the ones in whom the teachings of Jesus take root and bear abundant fruit that is a blessing to many?

A clergy colleague suggested that at different points in our lives we provide all of these different types of soil for the Good News of Jesus Christ.

That seems about right to me.

Sometimes we feel so distant from God – our faith seems like just a cruel pipedream – that we can’t see all the many ways that God is at work around us – all the ways that God is planting seeds even in the most inhospitable soil.

Sometimes we come to church and get so inspired by the service, the music and the fellowship, that it feels like we go flying back out into the world. But then during the week we do nothing to nurture our faith. We don’t set aside time for prayer or reflection. We quickly get caught up in the cares and occupations of our lives and the experience of worship becomes a faint memory.

And then sometimes we feel so close to God. We can feel God’s love and presence. We can recognize God at work even in the most ordinary experiences of our lives. And sometimes we can even feel God using us to plant even more seeds, to spread the Good News of the kingdom.

Yes, for many of us, over the course of our lives it’s all of the above.

Fortunately, God doesn’t have just one planting season. Unlike us, God doesn’t get discouraged. Instead, God the persistent farmer is constantly at work - pouring an overflowing abundance of seeds into all of us.

Despite our failings and flaws if we’re open just a little, God can find the good soil that’s been inside of us all along.

Throughout the Bible there are examples of God finding the good soil in people with very big failings and flaws.

In today’s Old Testament lesson, we heard about the birth of the twins Esau and Jacob. In some ways it’s a familiar story of sibling rivalry – a rivalry that seems to already exist in the womb as we’re told Jacob is born grasping on to his slightly older twin’s heel.

In fact, the name “Jacob” means “heel-grabber” or “supplanter.”

We’re told that, although they are twins, Esau and Jacob are very different. Esau is “a skillful hunter, a man of the field, while Jacob was a quiet man, living in tents.”

In my previous parish the last time I preached about Jacob people laughed when I referred to him as a fink – but often that’s what he was. In these early stories he’s a trickster and certainly not a very appealing or honorable character. In today’s lesson we heard the story of Jacob bartering a bowl of stew in exchange for his older brother’s birthright.

And later, Jacob (helped by his mother Rebekah) will trick blind old Isaac into giving his blessing to him instead of Esau.

This is all pretty unpleasant business. Jacob does not distinguish himself as an honorable person.

Yet, eventually God is able to find the good soil in Jacob - gradually transforming this fink, this trickster, into a blessing.

God is able to find the good soil in Jacob, transforming this deceiving younger brother into the good father of the twelve tribes of Israel.

If God can find the good soil in Jacob, then God can definitely find the good soil in each of us.

All we need to do is give God a little space, just a small opening.

We give God a little space by being here each week, hearing God’s Word, taking Christ’s Body and Blood into our bodies and hearts, and by sharing God’s love with each other.

We give God a little space each week by setting aside a little time – even just a minute or two – for prayer and reflection – even maybe just a plea for help or a cry of thanks for being alive.

We give God a little space when we give of ourselves however and whenever we can – maybe by sharing our plenty, maybe by listening to a friend in distress, or maybe by just giving a shoulder to cry on.

And when we give God a little space, eventually God the persistent farmer will find the good soil that’s been in us all along.

Thanks be to God!

Amen.

"Dependence Day"

2011-07-03T07:22:00.000-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
July 3, 2011

Year A: Proper 9 – The Third Sunday after Pentecost
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67
Psalm 45: 11-18
Romans 7:15-25a
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

"Dependence Day"

For many people across the country this weekend is a time for barbecues and fireworks, and a very appropriate time to give thanks for the liberty we enjoy as Americans.

As Christians, maybe Independence Day is also an opportunity to reflect on America’s civil religion and how well or not so well it matches up with Christianity.

There are lots of different definitions of America’s civil religion, but here are some of its key features:

There’s the idea of American exceptionalism – the idea that America is fundamentally different from all other countries – the idea that God has given the United States a unique role to play in the history of the world.

There’s the idea that in our country if you work hard and play by the rules you’ll get a fair shot at success – and by success we mean a comfortable middle class life.

And at the core of America’s civil religion are the twin ideas of individualism and self-reliance.

We don’t call our big holiday Independence Day for nothing! This is a generalization, but in America there tends to be a heavy emphasis on the rights and interests of the individual and a bit less concern for the common good. Deeply rooted in our sense of nationhood is the idea that the greatest good will be produced when we are all free to pursue our own self-interest.

What about God? How does God fit into America’s civil religion?

Maybe the answer to that question can be summed up by quoting America’s favorite Bible verse, “God helps those who help themselves.”

We’ve all heard it. Many of us have said it. Some of us believe it. There’s just one problem: “God helps those who help themselves” isn’t in the Bible. In fact, when you stop and think about it, that familiar phrase contradicts one of the great themes of Scripture: We are made to depend on God.

We hear what happens when we think we’re in control and when we try to help ourselves in today’s passage from Paul’s letter to the church in Rome. He writes, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

Paul’s recognition of his and our helplessness reminds me of the first steps in Alcoholics Anonymous and other twelve-step programs.

As I’m sure some of you know, the twelve steps begin with an admission of our own powerlessness, a recognition that only a higher power can help us, and a willingness to turn over our wills and our lives to that higher power.

It’s never “independence day” at an AA meeting. Instead, it’s always dependence day – but instead of depending on alcohol or some other substance, at recovery meetings people are encouraged and challenged to recognize their life-giving dependence on God and their liberating dependence on one another.

And what’s true at a recovery meeting should be even truer for us.

I’m glad to live in a politically independent America – but on a deeper, spiritual, level we are not made for independence. And when we try to be independent – independent of God and independent of one another – we end up exhausted, making a huge mess of our lives, a mess of the lives of those around us and a mess of our country and planet.

But, for many of us, it’s not easy to admit our dependence on God and our dependence on one another. For many of us it’s not easy to trust God or to trust other people.

I’ve been reading a book about loneliness and in it the author suggests that lonely people to some extent prefer their aloneness over taking the risks involved with forming deep and complicated relationships with others. Yet, lonely people don’t enjoy their loneliness – don’t relish their independence. It’s not what we were made for.

Today’s Old Testament lesson gives us an example of the costs and rewards of dependence.

Last week you’ll remember we heard the story of the almost-sacrifice by Abraham of his son Isaac. Now a little later on the authors of Genesis tell the story of Abraham sending his servant back to his kinfolk in Haran to find Isaac a suitable wife. It’s a story sometimes called the wooing of Rebekah.

The servant makes a solemn oath to Abraham that he will carry out his mission. There’s more than a little magical thinking in the servant’s approach to finding Isaac a wife, but there is also deep dependence on God to help him find the best wife for his master’s son.

After meeting her at a well and after a very brief discernment, the servant decides that Rebekah – described as “fair to look at” and also kind and generous– is the one for Isaac. The part of the story we heard today picks up with the servant meeting with Rebekah’s brother, who seems to be in charge of the family.

We glimpse a little of the negotiations that were involved – and in many parts of the world still are involved - in arranging a marriage. We might find these kinds of negotiations distasteful, but they do reflect the reality that in a marriage it’s more than two people who are united – two families are forming a bond of mutual dependence – a real but often an uneasy process.

Thinking about these premarital negotiations I was reminded of a wedding I officiated at a few months ago. In some ways it was a very modern and somewhat complicated situation. The groom had been married before and has a young son. To make things easier, the couple could have just gotten married at city hall in a simple ceremony that would have taken a few minutes. But, instead they created a prayerful service reflecting their dependence on God, on one another and on their families and friends.

The most powerful expression of this mutual dependence took place when the bride and the groom along with the ex-wife and their son stepped forward and in front of everyone poured different colored sand into a glass jar – symbolizing mutual dependence and the new unity between and among their families.

This little ceremony was a powerful reminder that marriage is not just about two individuals – it’s about the mutual dependence of families and the mutual dependence of the whole community.

We didn’t hear it in today’s excerpt, but, naturally enough, Rebekah’s family wanted to hold on to her for a little while longer. But, here’s an amazing thing – they ask Rebekah to decide for herself. They ask her, “Will you go with this man?” And she answers, “I will.”

Rebekah boldly chooses to depend on God and to also depend on the servant and to depend on a man she has never even met.

It’s a great story of dependence.

The questions for us today are:

Will we fool ourselves into thinking that we can be independent of God and independent of one another?

Will we make the big mistake of thinking that somehow through our own efforts we can help ourselves?

Will we misunderstand the whole story of God and humanity and somehow think that God helps those who help themselves?

I’m sure we all answer yes to those questions, at least sometimes.

But, trying to go it alone, depending only on ourselves, is exhausting and ultimately self-destructive. So, in today’s gospel Jesus offers us rest. Jesus offers a yoke that is easy and a burden that is light.

Jesus offers us the chance to be part of the Body of Christ – where we depend on God and depend on one another.

Accepting Jesus’ offer doesn’t mean we’ll have an easy time of it. No, there will still be plenty of challenges and failures and suffering.

But accepting Jesus’ offer of rest and an easy yoke and a light burden does mean we can live the kind of joyful lives that we were always meant to live – the kind of lives that God still hopes we will live – lives dependent on the God who loves us more than we can imagine – and lives dependent on one another.

So, I hope everyone has a safe and happy Independence Day!

But I also hope that we Christians remember that for us every day is “dependence day.”

Thanks be to God!

Amen.

Offering Hospitality to God

2011-06-26T21:28:00.003-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
June 26, 2011

Year A, Proper 8: The Second Sunday after Pentecost
Genesis 22:1-14
Psalm 13
Romans 6:12-23
Matthew 10:40-42

Offering Hospitality to God

If you were in church last week you know that we heard a very long passage right from the start of the Book of Genesis. It was the creation story – or, actually, the first creation story - found in the first book of the Bible.

For the authors of Genesis, creation reached its crescendo when God created human beings – made in God’s image and likeness, and declared by God to be very good.

We didn’t hear what happened next, but we know the story. In the beginning, God and human beings were this close. And then because of our sin and selfishness and disobedience the close relationship between God and humanity got broken.

Human beings hid in shame from God – God who comes looking for us, asking, “Where are you?”

In some ways we’ve never stopped hiding. But, the best news of all time is that God never stops looking for us - God never stops reaching out to us - and God never stops wanting to be in relationship with us.

The entire sweep of the Scriptures is a restoration story. It’s the story of God reaching out to us – wanting to restore the very good bond between us – the bond that had been broken so long ago.

Jesus is at the center of that restoration story, of course.

But, others have played their part. One of the towering figures of God’s restoration story is Abraham.

In our first lesson today we heard one of the best-known and most disturbing Bible stories: the sacrifice – or rather, the almost sacrifice – of Isaac.

It’s a troubling story because taken out of context it makes God seem sadistic – testing Abraham by challenging him to offer his beloved son Isaac as a burnt offering. In telling the story, the authors of Genesis brilliantly build excruciating tension - until finally we’re told, “Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to kill his son” and was stopped only by a last second intervention from an angel of the Lord.

Now, let’s be honest - if this story were all we knew about God I doubt any of us would be here today.

But, of course, Abraham already knew a lot about God before he received this bewildering request – and thanks in large part to Jesus, you and I know a lot more about God than what we heard in this story.

So, what is this odd and disturbing story all about? Where’s the Good News in this tale of testing, trust and sacrifice?

To answer these questions we have to look at the life of Abraham as a whole. In the Book of Genesis, Abraham is presented as a model of faith and as a friend of God. One biblical scholar describes Abraham as living “a life that stands open to God’s direction.”

And God’s close relationship with Abraham is a glimpse of the kind of relationship God wants to have with all of us.

Abraham is a model for us because even under difficult and bewildering circumstances, Abraham usually remains open to God - Abraham usually welcomes God into his life - Abraham is usually hospitable to God.

For us, Abraham’s story began at age 75 when God told him to leave his home and with his wife and his nephew travel into the unknown new land of Canaan.

Abraham could have said no - I’m old, I’m tired, I don’t want to leave home. But, instead Abraham welcomed God into his life – Abraham was hospitable to a sometimes bewildering and challenging God.

Abraham is a great role model for us in part because like us he’s imperfect. There’s the story of Abraham and Sarah in Egypt when he passes off his wife as his sister in an effort to save his life – not exactly his best moment! For a time she became one of the Pharoah’s wives until God blows their cover and Abraham and Sarah are expelled from Egypt. To make matters worse, we’re told Abraham pulled the same stunt a second time in a place called Gerar where the king took Sarah until God told him the truth in a dream.

Like us, Abraham sometimes gave into fear and stumbled, damaging his relationship with God and the people closest to him.

Mostly, though, Abraham lived a life open to God’s direction – he had come to know that God cared for him and that God kept God’s promises.

At the same time, Abraham lived in a time and place when and where it was not unheard of in times of great distress for people to sacrifice their children to appease the gods. And the greatest sacrifice of all would be to give up an only son.

So God’s request to sacrifice Isaac would have been very difficult, but not unprecedented.

Let’s look at today’s passage more closely.

First we’re told, “God tested Abraham.”

For me, this is the hardest part of this passage. I could be wrong and you don’t have to agree with me, but I don’t think God tests us like this. After all, God already knows us better than we know ourselves. So, if this is a test it may be not so much a test for Abraham but rather a test for God – a way for God to make a little more progress restoring the broken relationship with humanity.

As this story unfolds we learn more about God than we do about Abraham.

We already know that Abraham is a friend of God.

We already know that Abraham was willing to give up his past – he did just that when God called him to leave home. Now, God was asking Abraham to give up his future by sacrificing his son. Although it’s an excruciatingly difficult request, we can be pretty sure how Abraham would respond to the God he had welcomed into his life – the God he come to know so well and trust so much.

In fact, Abraham doesn’t seem to think he’s being tested. He hears God’s call and he doesn’t hide in fear. Instead Abraham answers God, “Here I am.”

He could be faking it, but throughout the story it seems like Abraham has at least some confidence that God isn’t really going to make him go through with this.

Abraham tells the other young men, “Stay here with the donkey; the boy and I will go over there; we will worship, and then we will come back to you.”

Abraham tells a confused Isaac, “God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.”

But, if God does make him go through with this, Abraham seems to be confident that God must plan to bring out some good that he can’t foresee.

At the last moment Isaac is spared and given the chance to play his own role in the restoration of the broken relationship between God and humanity.

In this test we learn that God doesn’t want us to sacrifice our children. And although a ram is sacrificed in the story, the truth is God doesn’t need or want us to sacrifice animals either.

Instead, because God loves us what God wants – what God has wanted all along – is for us to be like Abraham – to let God into our lives, to offer hospitality to God - to live a life that stands open to God.

What would offering hospitality to God look like for us today? What would standing open to God look like for us today?

Although you never know, it’s unlikely that God will speak to us quite as directly as God did to Abraham thousands of years ago. But, like Abraham we need to be prepared to let go of our past and be ready to radically change our future in service to God.

Most of the time, though, living a life that stands open to God is much simpler, less dramatic but no less challenging, than what Abraham faced.

In today’s gospel lesson, we heard Jesus describing what the church – the Christian community – should look like. Jesus said to his disciples,

“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.”

It’s when we practice hospitality to everyone – to the rich and poor, people of every race and color, gay and straight, the smelly and the well-scrubbed, people we really like and people who drive us up the wall – it’s when we practice hospitality to everyone that we offer hospitality to God.

When, like God’s friend Abraham, we offer hospitality to God, then through us God continues repairing the bond that was broken long ago.

When, like God’s friend Abraham, we offer hospitality to God, then through us, God continues the great restoration story.

Amen.

A Charismatic Church

2011-06-13T07:31:00.001-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
June 12, 2011

Year A: The Day of Pentecost
Acts 2:1-21
Psalm 104: 25-35, 37
1 Corinthians 12:3b-13
John 20:19-23

A Charismatic Church

A couple of Sundays ago I was standing outside before the start of the 8:00 service (at St. Michael’s).

A woman I hadn’t seen before pulled up, parked her car and made her way towards the church. I greeted her and we exchanged some pleasantries. She took a step closer to the church and then she stopped, looked at me with what seemed like embarrassment and said,

“Can I ask you a question?”

I said, “Sure.”

And then she said, “Is this still a charismatic church?”

As you may know, for Christians the word “charismatic” refers to the gifts of grace we receive from the Holy Spirit.

But, “charismatic” is also shorthand for a certain type of very emotional worship.

And, sure enough, that’s what she meant by “charismatic.” It turns out that she had last been at St. Michael’s about fifteen years ago when the presence and power of the Holy Spirit was celebrated in very vivid ways – ways more typical of a Pentecostal church, but certainly not unheard of in Episcopal churches.

When she asked me her question, I wasn’t sure if she was hoping the answer was yes or no.

So, I began by making a stupid joke about how I like to think of myself as having charisma, but, then said, no, nowadays St. Michael’s is pretty much a straightforward, middle of the road Episcopal church.

Fortunately, she was relieved by my answer and seemed to appreciate our quiet and dignified traditional language service.

I’ve told that story to a few people and each time it’s gotten a chuckle.

But, the more I’ve thought about it – and especially today on the great feast of Pentecost - I really regret how I answered her question.

The truth is that we are a charismatic church whenever we are open to the power of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus promised to send the Holy Spirit to guide and strengthen all of his followers – and that includes us.

Jesus kept his promise back in the First Century and Jesus keeps his promise today.

Although we may not speak in tongues or roll around on the floor, this church – and every Christian community that strives to be faithful to Jesus Christ – is filled with the Holy Spirit.

From the Episcopalians to the Pentecostals, every church that is open to the power of the Holy Spirit and strives to love God and neighbor is a charismatic church.

In today’s lessons we heard two different accounts of how the first disciples received the Holy Spirit.

Although John’s and Luke’s accounts of have different details, for both the essence of Pentecost is the same.

Jesus gives them – gives us – the Holy Spirit to be the charismatic church continuing Jesus’ work on earth.

In the passage from the Gospel of John that I just read Pentecost takes place on the evening of Easter. The resurrected Jesus appears to his disciples who were still afraid of the religious authorities who had helped get Jesus killed.

Notice that John doesn’t say that this appearance is limited to the apostles. John doesn’t specify how many were hiding in the locked room. The Holy Spirit is a gift for all of Jesus’ followers – not just for an elite.

And just as God had breathed life at the start of creation, so now Jesus breathes on his disciples – giving them the Holy Spirit and making them – making us – a new creation.

The charismatic church is born to continue the work of Jesus on earth.

Meanwhile, in our first lesson we heard the familiar story in the Acts of the Apostles, where Luke the Evangelist gives us a different – more public - take on Pentecost.

The details are different but the essence of the Pentecost stories is the same.

Jesus gives them – gives us – the Holy Spirit to continue Jesus’ work on earth.

In Luke’s version it’s now fifty days since Easter, but once again the disciples were gathered in “one place” in Jerusalem when suddenly they received the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Luke tells us, “All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.”

The charismatic church is born to continue the work of Jesus on earth.

I have no idea which of the two Pentecost stories is more historically accurate. All I know is that Pentecost happened because Pentecost happens all the time.

Pentecost happens when Christians gather together and allow the Holy Spirit to work through them – sometimes that may mean speaking foreign or even unknown languages and sometimes that may mean worshipping from a carefully crafted prayer book that links us to Christians past, present and future.

Pentecost happens when we allow the Holy Spirit to work through us, continuing the work of Jesus by reaching out in loving service to the nobodies, the outcasts, the disposable and despised people of our time.

Pentecost happens when we allow the Holy Spirit to work through us, offering forgiveness to those who wrong us.

Pentecost happens when we allow the Holy Spirit to work through us, sharing God’s love with the multitudes of people here in our own community and around the world burdened by fear and despair.

Pentecost happens all the time because the Holy Spirit is poured out on us all the time, beginning in the water of Baptism where God makes an indissoluble – an unbreakable bond – with all of us.

In Baptism, God promises that the Holy Spirit will be with us forever – in good times and not so good – when we are most faithful and when we have the deepest doubts.

In Baptism, God promises that the Holy Spirit will be with us forever – when we really do continue the work of Jesus and when we do shameful things that we hope no one ever finds out about.

In Baptism, God promises that Pentecost will happen all the time.

In Baptism, God promises that every church where people strive to be faithful to Jesus Christ will be a charismatic church - continuing the work of Jesus on earth.

Amen.

The Body of Christ

2011-06-05T21:37:00.001-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
June 5, 2011

Year A: The Seventh Sunday of Easter
Acts 1:6-14
Psalm 68:1-10, 33-36
1 Peter 4:12-14, 5:6-11
John 17:1-11

The Body of Christ

Each year the Church invites us to celebrate and reflect on the story of Jesus’ Ascension. But, we can’t really talk about the Ascension without talking about Easter and without looking ahead a little bit to the great feast we’ll celebrate next week, Pentecost.

First of all, by passing through death into life, Jesus has been transformed in powerful and mysterious ways.

For example, Luke tells us that the disciples on the road to Emmaus didn’t recognize the resurrected Jesus until the breaking of the bread – followed immediately by Jesus vanishing from their sight.

But, Luke, along with Matthew and John, insists that although different and transformed, the resurrected Jesus was still the same Jesus that the disciples had known in life.

The evangelists insist the tomb was empty because Jesus had risen in the same body that had previously contained his spirit, the same body that had blessed the bread and the wine just a few days before, the same body that had been nailed to a piece of wood.

After the Emmaus story, Luke tells us that the resurrected Jesus appeared to the frightened disciples in Jerusalem saying, “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.”

And then to underline the point, Luke tells us that the resurrected Jesus asks his disciples if they have anything to eat. Luke writes, “They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate it in their presence.”

Now, obviously, it would have been much easier and much more plausible for the first Christians to claim that beginning on Easter they began to experience the “spirit of Jesus” – that although he had died horribly on the cross, Jesus was still very much alive in their hearts.

Most people, I think, could and would buy that kind of claim.

But, Christians claimed and proclaimed something much more amazing – and much more difficult for people then and now to believe – Jesus had risen in the flesh and had appeared to his disciples.

In Luke’s sequel, the Acts of the Apostles, he tells us that the appearances of the resurrected Jesus continued for forty days – a very biblical number.

The appearances of the risen Jesus continued until, as we heard in today’s first lesson, Jesus was lifted up and vanished from sight.

Luke adds the very poignant touch of the disciples gazing up to heaven – with, I would imagine, with their mouths hanging open.

Then the two men in white robes tell the disciples to quit looking for Jesus up in the sky, adding, “This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

Now, if you’re looking for an explanation of how exactly all of this happened, I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong preacher. And, anyway, I’d be suspicious of anyone who claimed to understand or explain the Resurrection and the Ascension.

But, the point is that at the Ascension Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we could receive the Holy Spirit.

Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we can see who we really are.

Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we can be who we really are.

Jesus’ body has vanished so we can be the Body of Christ in the world.

St. Paul may have been the first to think in these terms – to recognize that the Church is the Body of Christ in the world. In his first letter to the Corinthians Paul wrote,
“Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.”

But, for my money, the best expression of the awesome gift, responsibility and challenge of being the Body of Christ in the world comes from the 16th Century Spanish mystic, Teresa of Avila. She wrote,

Christ has no body now but yours
No hands, no feet on earth but yours
Yours are the eyes through which He looks
compassion on this world
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

The wounded and resurrected body of Jesus has vanished from our sight.

And so that means, through the power of the Holy Spirit, we are the Body of Christ in the world.

That’s one of the reasons we come here - to be reminded that we are the Body of Christ in the world.

Every time we see the baptismal font – or even better every time we witness and celebrate a baptism – we are reminded that in the water of baptism we become part of the Body of Christ.

The most powerful reminder that we are the Body of Christ in the world comes every time we gather at the table and take the bread of life and the cup of salvation into our bodies – each receiving the same portion, each becoming more deeply woven into the Body of Christ in the world.

What happens here, though, is meant to strengthen us for the work of being the Body of Christ out there in a suffering and broken world.

As St. Paul recognized so clearly, each of us has our own unique part to play as a member of the Body of Christ in the world.

On Friday at our (St. Michael’s) potluck supper I was so moved when Susan talked about seeing her work combating pests that threaten crops as her vocation – particularly her goal of finding solutions affordable by poor farmers around the Caribbean, not just by a handful of wealthy international conglomerates.

Whether we’re protecting our food supply or feeding the poor downtown or donating money or simply praying for people who have no one to pray for them, we each have our own unique part to play in the Body of Christ.

But, Teresa of Avila gives us the most important general description of what it means for each of us to be members of the Body of Christ in the world.

She tells us that ours “are the eyes through which Christ looks compassion on this world.”

Ours “are the eyes through which Christ looks compassion on this world.”

“Looks compassion.” That’s a mysterious and beautiful expression, isn’t it?

During his earthly lifetime, Jesus didn’t solve every problem, didn’t fix everything and everyone that was broken.

But, Jesus “looked compassion” through love - by loving especially the outcasts, the nobodies, the hopeless, the disposable people of the First Century – the lepers, the women, the tax collectors, the children.

Instead of looking up to the sky for Jesus, we are to “look compassion” on the outcasts, the nobodies, the hopeless and disposable people of our time and place.

Instead of looking up to the sky for Jesus, we are called to be the Body of Christ right here and now in the world.

At the Ascension, Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we could receive the Holy Spirit.

Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we can see who we really are.

Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we can be who we really are.

Jesus’ body has vanished from our sight so we can be the Body of Christ in the world.

Amen.

Not Left Orphaned

2011-05-29T07:11:00.000-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
May 29, 2011

Year A: The Sixth Sunday of Easter
Acts 17:22-31
Psalm 66:7-18
1 Peter 3:13-22
John 14:15-21

Not Left Orphaned

I wouldn’t say that I’m a news junkie, but it’s true that I read the newspaper everyday and most days I check a couple of news websites to keep up with what’s going on.

Part of it is just habit, I guess. And part of it is that I think it’s important to be informed, though the truth is there’s not much I can do about all of the mostly horrible stuff that’s reported in the news.

And keeping up with the news can be dangerous for our souls. Last week a friend asked me how it affects me to every day read stories about natural and man-made disasters that create so much pain for so many here in our own community, across our country and around the world.

Of course, there’s nothing new about living in a world filled with natural and man-made disasters.

In today’s lesson from the Gospel of John, we glimpsed an unfolding man-made disaster: Jesus was about to be arrested and killed in an especially brutal and humiliating way.

As I mentioned last Sunday, one of the unique features of the Gospel of John is what’s called the “Farewell Discourse, Jesus’ lengthy good-bye to his disciples during the Last Supper.

Try to imagine the scene.

The disciples – everyday working people, as thickheaded as all of us – felt a power in Jesus like they had never experienced before. From Jesus they heard teaching like they had never heard before. And through Jesus they saw signs like they had never seen before.

And while lots of people encountered Jesus, only a handful of people seem to have given away their lives to follow him. They may not have always understood Jesus, but they loved him enough to walk away from family and friends to be his disciples.

But, throughout Jesus’ ministry there was always this disturbing background buzz. It was a disturbing background buzz caused by conflict – conflict between Jesus and the religious establishment.

But it was also a disturbing background buzz caused by Jesus’ own predictions of his arrest and death.

I’m sure, like all of us, the disciples were good at denial and tried to tune out this disturbing background buzz – to ignore it, to hum over it, to pretend it wasn’t there.

But, now at the Last Supper, that disturbing background buzz has moved front and center. The disciples can no longer deny it or avoid it.

Last week we heard Jesus tell his friends that he was going ahead of them to prepare a place where they would all be reunited.

We heard Jesus boldly tell his disciples that since he and the Father are one, when they had seen Jesus they had in fact seen God.

We heard Jesus tell his disciples that he was going to the Father, which will give him the power to advocate for us, to see to it that our prayers are answered.

That’s all very good news. But, I suspect the disciples were still struggling to accept that in a very real – and horrible – way Jesus was leaving them.

Even if they believed everything Jesus was telling them – a big if – it still must have been scary for them to imagine what life was going to be like without Jesus – their leader, their friend, their teacher, their Savior.

Which brings us to today’s section of the Farewell Discourse.

Jesus has told the disciples that he will be advocating for them in heaven. But, now he also promises that God will send another advocate to be with them forever. This advocate – the Paraclete – a word that is also translated as comforter, counselor, friend or helper – is the Spirit of truth – and is also in some sense the spirit of Jesus himself.

Jesus says to his disciples, “I will not leave your orphaned; I am coming to you.”

Over the centuries artists have struggled to depict the Holy Spirit. Most of us are familiar with the tongues of fire and of course the dove, but neither image really does justice to the power and presence of the Holy Spirit in our lives.

It’s hard to describe the Holy Spirit. But if we keep our eyes and ears open we can feel the power and presence of the Holy Spirit all around us – we can know that we have not been left orphaned.

It’s thanks to the power of the Holy Spirit that the Apostle Paul – a Pharisee who had one of the most dramatic conversion experiences of all time – had the courage to give away his life in service to Jesus.

Thanks to the power of the Holy Spirit, Paul left behind everything that was familiar and spent the rest of his life traveling around the Mediterranean world, telling people about Jesus.

In today’s lesson from the Acts of the Apostles, we find Paul in Athens, of all places. In the First Century, Rome was the center of imperial power but Athens was still the hub of classical civilization.

Thanks to the power of the Holy Spirit, here’s Paul sounding very much like a Greek philosopher telling the learned and wise Athenians that he has discovered the “unknown god” – the Lord of heaven and earth - that they have been searching for all along.

It’s thanks to the power of the Holy Spirit that we have the Scriptures, including the Gospel of John that we’ve been reading these past few weeks.

Think about it for a second. Most scholars agree that this gospel was written near the end of the First Century – 70 or so years after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.

Over those many decades the Holy Spirit was at work keeping the presence of Jesus alive among the first disciples and then among the next generations who had never seen Jesus in the flesh.

Near the end of the First Century the writer or writers of this gospel knew from their own experience that Jesus kept his promise to send the Holy Spirit. The stories of Jesus were still alive. People were still giving away their lives to follow Jesus. And in a world filled with much despair and suffering the Good News was spreading beyond anyone’s wildest imagination.

And, today in a world still filled with much despair and suffering if we keep our eyes and ears open we can feel the power and presence of the Holy Spirit all around us. We can know that we have not been left orphaned.

As you know there are a lot of poor and homeless people in Gainesville. In part because of its location, at the chapel we get a fair number of people who come by looking for help.

Frankly, the frequent appeals can get old fast, but there are a couple of regulars that I’ve gotten to know a little bit and try to help in very small ways – including a woman who comes by every couple of days asking for a few dollars. On Friday I realized that I hadn’t seen her all week.

I mentioned to someone at the chapel that I was worried about her and asked her to say a prayer for her.

No kidding – five minutes later she walks in the same as always. But the two of us at the chapel were so stunned at the timing that we greeted her with spontaneous joy and relief. She was shocked and taken aback – but for a moment we all felt the power of the Holy Spirit at work in a world filled with suffering and despair.

And even sometimes when you follow the news you can find the Holy Spirit at work and know that we have not been left orphaned.

I was deeply moved by the visit a couple of weeks ago of Queen Elizabeth to Ireland.

Considering all the horrible history and still-unfinished business between Britain and Ireland, I’m sure many people – maybe even the Queen herself – never thought such a visit would ever be possible.

The security arrangements were extraordinary. When the Queen arrived, decked out in green, at first she looked a little worried about what kind of welcome she’d receive.

Along with the Irish president she laid a wreath and bowed her head at the Garden of Remembrance, where Ireland honors those who gave their lives in the fight for independence from Britain.

In her well-received speech at the state dinner the Queen spoke about, “the importance of forbearance and conciliation. Of being able to bow to the past, but not be bound by it.”

The visit was a huge success. By the end, the security was eased a bit, the Queen was receiving standing ovations, smiling broadly, and breaking from her schedule to greet friendly Irish onlookers eager to meet her.

Of course, there is still plenty of suffering and despair in Ireland, in Gainesville and around the world. Yet, when we keep our eyes and ears open we can feel the power and presence of the Holy Spirit all around us.

When we pay attention, like Paul and the first disciples we know that Jesus has kept his promise. We know that we have not been left orphaned.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Confidence

2011-05-22T20:14:00.001-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
May 22, 2011

Year A: The Fifth Sunday of Easter
Acts 7:55-60
Psalm 31:1-5; 15-16
1 Peter 2:2-10
John 14:1-14

Confidence

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about farewells.

Partly that’s because it’s been so quiet around the chapel with most of the students away on summer break – or off beginning the next chapter of their lives after commencement.

Partly, I guess, it’s because of all the attention given to the prediction made by Harold Camping, the founder of Family Radio, that the Rapture was certain to begin yesterday, May 21, 2011.

We’ve seen this before. Every once in a while people come along making these bold predictions with what seems to be complete certainty. In the paper I saw a photo of a man who believed that the end was at hand holding a sign that read in part, “The Bible guarantees it.”

This time around the prediction of Judgment Day seems to have convinced more people than usual. Maybe it’s because of the extreme weather experienced in many places lately. Or maybe it’s because we are living in a time of great political and social change that is unnerving lots of people.

Or because of the tough economic times, maybe people just want Jesus to return and make all their troubles go away.

Mostly, I think people fall for these kinds of predictions because we crave certainty.

On the front page of Friday’s New York Times there was a poignant, disturbing and a little bit funny story about the seemingly normal Haddad family of Middletown, Maryland.

Robert and Abby Haddad, parents of three very skeptical teenagers, were among the many people certain that the Rapture was going to occur yesterday. In fact, they were so certain that nearly two years ago Abby left her job as a nurse to devote herself to spreading the word about the approach of Judgment Day. The couple stopped making home improvements and quit saving for their kids’ college educations.

Perhaps hedging their apocalyptic bet just a little, Robert held on to his job as an engineer at the Department of Energy.

For their part, the kids managed to hold on to their sense of humor.

One of the children said, referring to her mother, “She’ll say, ‘You need to clean up your room.’ And I’ll say, ‘Mom, it doesn’t matter, if the world’s going to end!’”

That’s funny, but the parents’ certainty created real pain their family. One of the skeptical teens was quoted as saying, “My mom told me directly that I’m not going to get into heaven. At first it was really upsetting, but it’s what she honestly believes.”

It’s surprising me that Bible-believing Christians can fall so easily for these people who predict with such certainty the precise date of the Second Coming. It’s surprising because here’s what Jesus himself had to say on the subject in Mark 13:32:

“But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”

If Jesus himself doesn’t know, then it seems pretty unlikely that Harold Camping or Robert and Abby Haddad or anyone else would have any way of knowing about the date of Judgment Day.

I’ve also been thinking about farewells because of today’s gospel lesson, which is part of what’s known as the “Farewell Discourse” in the Gospel of John.

Remember that John is the last of the four gospels to be written, probably around the end of the First Century.

So, the Gospel of John is the product of divine inspiration working through several generations of Christian reflection on the meaning of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection.

One of the distinctive features of the Gospel of John is what’s called the “Farewell Discourse” – Jesus’ lengthy good-bye to his disciples.

Jesus knows that time is growing short for him on earth. During his ministry Jesus has tried to teach his disciples through parables and through his own example. Now, though, there’s not much time left, and, as we all know, the disciples have often been clueless.

So, in these last hours Jesus wants to give his disciples – wants to give us – confidence by passing on what’s most essential.

We can’t be certain about when the world will end.

We can’t be certain about when we will die.

We can’t be certain about the many things that only God knows.

But, because God revealed the way, the truth and the life in Jesus, we can be confident about what’s most important.

We can be confident about the kinds of lives God wants us to live.

We can be confident that God wants us to give away our lives in loving service to one another, especially to the poorest and weakest among us.

We can be confident that we are loved more than we could ever imagine. We can be confident that God loves us enough to live among us. We can be confident that God loves us enough to rescue us from our sin. We can be confident that God loves us enough to die for us.

Because God revealed the way, the truth and the life in Jesus, we can be confident that, in the end, love is stronger than death.

We hear that kind of confidence in the story of Stephen, deacon and martyr.

Stephen confidently preached the Gospel to an unfriendly audience not certain of how it would be received. When his message was violently rejected, to the end Stephen remained confident. The author of the Acts of the Apostles describes Stephen as imitating Jesus in his life and death – confidently giving away his life for the Gospel.

In a less dramatic way, I encountered that kind of confidence about ten years ago when my grandmother was dying in the hospital. At one point she looked at me and said, “I know where I have come from and I know where I am going.”

I’m not sure she knew that she was quoting Jesus. (It’s John 8:14.) But, in her own “farewell discourse” my grandmother was expressing simple but profound confidence. She wasn’t expressing the certainty of someone who believed that she had her theology in perfect order or who had said just the right religious words or who was in on some secret knowledge derived from biblical calculations.

No, my grandmother was expressing the simple but profound confidence in God’s love – the love that had shaped the way she had lived her life – the love that she had shared with me and so many other people during her life.

My grandmother was expressing the quiet confidence that the God whose love she had felt throughout her life in good times and not so good would not abandon her now in her hour of need – and would not abandon her in whatever awaited her beyond death.

Faith is that kind of confidence.

Faith isn’t about certainty.

Faith isn’t being certain when the world will end or when we will die.

Faith isn’t being certain about who’s “saved” and who’s “left behind”.

Faith isn’t being certain about who’s going to heaven and who’s going to hell.

Faith isn’t being certain about the many things that only God knows.

Faith is confidence in what’s most important.

Faith is confidence in God who reveals the way, the truth and the life in Jesus.

And, finally, faith is confidence that we can never really say farewell to God – and that God never says farewell to us.

Amen.

Shepherds, Sheep, Bishops and Us

2011-05-18T07:11:00.000-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
May 18, 2011

Year A: Wednesday in the Fourth Week of Easter
Sermon Preached on the Occasion of the Visit of
The Rt. Rev. Griselda Delgado Del Carpio, the Episcopal Bishop of Cuba
Acts 2:42-47
Psalm 23
1 Peter 2:19-25
John 10:1-10

Shepherds, Sheep, Bishops and Us

I grew up in Jersey City – a large, paved-over place overshadowed by the much larger New York City, just across the Hudson River.

Being formed in such a very urban environment I’ve always struggled with the sheep and shepherd imagery that is found throughout the Bible, in both the Old and New Testaments.

I’ve never seen a shepherd in person – and the only sheep I’ve encountered were enjoying the cozy protection of a petting zoo.

Maybe those of you who grew up in rural Florida or Cuba or Bolivia have an easier time than I do relating to the sheep and shepherd imagery in the Bible.

Certainly in Palestine, past and present, sheep and shepherds were all over the place, so it’s no surprise that sheep are mentioned more than 500 times in the Bible. In the Old Testament most of the references are literal while in the New Testament the references tend to be metaphorical – Jesus is the Good Shepherd and we are his sheep.

No matter where we’re from it’s a beautiful and powerful image.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd and we are his sheep.

A beautiful image, but, so what?

What do these beautiful metaphors for Jesus and us have to do with our daily lives back in Jersey City or here in Gainesville or in Cuba or anywhere?

Today- right here and now - how exactly does Jesus act as our shepherd?

Today – right here and now - how exactly are we his sheep?

Part of the answer is found in today’s passage from the Acts of the Apostles where we get a glimpse of life in the early church. Like us, those early Christians were living in a time when the resurrected Christ was no longer present in the way that he had been in those amazing first days after Easter.

Instead Jesus the Good Shepherd was present – is present – in the Church, in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread and the prayers.

It’s here in church that we are reminded that we are all sheep, loved and cared for by the Good Shepherd.

Now, near as I can tell, in a real pasture sheep don’t have any responsibilities except sticking together.

But, as Christians you and I have some very important responsibilities.

Of course bishops are well aware of their responsibilities. They are the heirs of the apostles and are expected to be shepherds - to search for the sheep who go astray, to reach out to the sheep who are not yet part of the flock, to protect the sheep from those who want to harm the flock.

I imagine that every bishop is reminded of those awesome responsibilities every time she takes up her crozier - her staff – the powerful symbol of the bishop’s role as shepherd.

But, the rest of us, you and I, we’re not just sheep. As part of the Body of Christ in the world we are also called to be shepherds. We are also called to take on the sometimes tedious, occasionally infuriating, often demanding and always important work of shepherding Christ’s flock.

At every baptism the congregation is asked, “Will you who witness these vows do all in your power to support these persons in their life in Christ?”

And the congregation responds with gusto, “We will!”

When we say we will do all in our power to support our fellow Christians in their life in Christ we sign up to be shepherds.

As Christians we are the Body of Christ in the world. As Christians we are the Good Shepherd in the world. As Christians we sign up to be shepherds.

We are shepherds when we gather together as we have this evening, devoting ourselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

We are shepherds when we reach out in love to someone who doesn’t have a home or enough food to eat.

We are shepherds when we reach out in love to someone who is sick and afraid of the future.

We are shepherds when we reach out in love to someone who mourns the death of one they love.

We are shepherds when we reach out in love to someone who has wronged us and offer forgiveness.

We are sheep and we are shepherds.

A bishop is reminded of the awesome responsibility of being a shepherd every time she takes up her staff.

But, the staff should serve as a reminder for all Christians - here in Gainesville, in Cuba, and everywhere.

It should remind us of the love of Jesus the Good Shepherd for us, his sheep.

It should also remind us that we are sheep who are also called to be shepherds – that by God’s grace we are the Body of Christ in the world – that by God’s grace we are the Good Shepherd in the world, today, right here and right now.

Amen.

More Than a Lifeguard (Chapel of the Incarnation)

2011-05-15T21:50:00.003-04:00

The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
May 15, 2011

Year A: The Fourth Sunday of Easter
Acts 2:42-47
Psalm 23
1 Peter 2:19-25
John 10:1-10

More than a Lifeguard

I’ve started reading a book called Almost Christian. The book is a summary of and reflection on the recent National Study of Youth and Religion – a massive, multi-year look into what American teenagers think about religion.

The survey found that young people – probably mirroring their own parents – are not hostile to religion. That’s the good news.

They just don’t care about it very much. That’s the bad news.

On one level, we might rejoice that young people don’t hate religion or despise the church.

But, apathy is probably even worse than strong, if negative, feelings.

Here’s how the author summarizes what American youth think about religion:

1. A god exists who created and orders the world and watches over life on earth.

2. God wants people to be good, nice, and fair to each other, as taught in the Bible and by most world religions.

3. The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.

4. God is not involved in my life except when I need God to solve a problem.

5. Good people go to heaven when they die.

When you think about all the horrible things that people could think or believe, this is not a bad set of beliefs. We might even agree with at least some of them.

But, especially on this Good Shepherd Sunday, it’s number four that really catches my attention:

God is not involved in my life except when I need God to solve a problem.

The author describes this belief as thinking of God as a divine lifeguard. We don’t think about very much about God the lifeguard when we’re having a great time splashing our way through life.

But, the moment something goes wrong, the moment there’s a crisis, the lifeguard suddenly becomes very important. And later, once the crisis passes, we don’t think about the lifeguard again - until the next time we’re in trouble.

There’s nothing wrong exactly with thinking about God as a lifeguard, except that it’s such an impoverished metaphor for who God really is and for the role that God wants to play in our lives.

The Lord is my lifeguard doesn’t quite cut it, does it?

A lifeguard is way up there, while we’re down here in the pool.

A lifeguard is way up there, looking down on anonymous people bobbing in the pool, ready to jump into action at the first sign of trouble.

And, it’s true that, like a lifeguard, God comes to our aid when there’s a crisis, pouring out the grace and strength we need in a crisis.

But, God is much more than a lifeguard. God is a shepherd.

God is a shepherd who knows us and cares for us. God is a shepherd who’s down here with us – wanting to be discovered by us and known by us.

At the heart of our Jewish-Christian tradition is the story of God reaching out us, revealing Godself to us, innumerable ways, over and over again.

A couple of weeks ago there was a story in a British newspaper of a young Scottish girl named LuLu who was told by her teachers to write a letter to God. In this letter she was told to ask God, “how did you get invented?”

LuLu’s parents were startled when they heard about this assignment. Rather than trying to answer the question themselves, they forwarded Lulu’s question to a number of British religious leaders. One of those leaders, Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, took the time to personally respond to LuLu’s question.

In his response the archbishop imagined how God would reply to LuLu’s question. Here’s part of it:

‘Dear Lulu – Nobody invented me – but lots of people discovered me and were quite surprised. They discovered me when they looked round at the world and thought it was really beautiful or really mysterious and wondered where it came from. They discovered me when they were very very quiet on their own and felt a sort of peace and love they hadn’t expected.

Then they invented ideas about me – some of them sensible and some of them not very sensible. From time to time I sent them some hints – specially in the life of Jesus – to help them get closer to what I’m really like.”

The archbishop’s response to LuLu is both charming and profound.

His response touches on the great truth of how we discover God who is so much more than a lifeguard.

When we look at the beauty of the world, we discover a God of unlimited imagination and creativity.

When we make time for quiet – to reflect and pray – we discover God in a sense of peace and love we hadn’t expected.

And most especially in Jesus the Good Shepherd, we discover a God who loves us enough – who wants so much to be discovered by us - to join us on earth as a flesh and blood human being.

In Jesus the Good Shepherd we discover a God who calls us each by name.

In Jesus the Good Shepherd we discover a God who gives us life and wants us to have it abundantly.

And we heard what that abundant life is like in the snapshot of the early church in today’s reading from Acts:

“Those who had been baptized devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.”

With that foundation of prayer and worship the first Christians made room for God and grew ever closer to the Good Shepherd. And, we’re told that with that foundation of prayer and worship the apostles did amazing signs and wonders.

And when they faced inevitable times of crisis in their lives, those early Christians didn’t look to God as a lifeguard because, thanks to Jesus, they knew God was already right there in the water with them.

In times of crisis, those early Christians looked to God they knew as a shepherd – God who knew them, loved them, protected them and led them.

And what was true in the First Century is just as true now in the Twenty-First Century.

Just look around.

We gather here in the chapel each week (some of us even during the summer!) just like the first Christians – telling and hearing the old stories, supporting one another, breaking bread and praying together.

We gather here in the chapel to make room for God – to grow closer to God.

We gather here in the chapel to get to know God not as a lifeguard watching from afar but to get to know God as a shepherd right here in the pasture with us.

So, when the inevitable times of crisis come in our lives, we won’t look to God as just a lifeguard because, thanks to Jesus, we know that God is already down here with us in the sometimes dangerous and frightening waters of life.

When the inevitable times of crisis come in our lives, we can look to God we knew as a shepherd – God who knows us, loves us, protects us and leads us.

Amen.

More Than a Lifeguard (St. Michael's)

2011-05-15T21:45:00.003-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
May 15, 2011

Year A: The Fourth Sunday of Easter
Acts 2:42-47
Psalm 23
1 Peter 2:19-25
John 10:1-10

More than a Lifeguard

I’ve started reading a book called Almost Christian. The book is a summary of and reflection on the recent National Study of Youth and Religion – a massive, multi-year look into what American teenagers think about religion.

The survey found that young people – probably mirroring their own parents – are not hostile to religion. They just don’t care about it very much.

On one level, we might rejoice that our young people don’t hate religion or despise the church.

But, apathy is probably even worse than strong, if negative, feelings.

Here’s how the author summarizes what American youth think about religion:

1. A god exists who created and orders the world and watches over life on earth.

2. God wants people to be good, nice, and fair to each other, as taught in the Bible and by most world religions.

3. The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.

4. God is not involved in my life except when I need God to solve a problem.

5. Good people go to heaven when they die.

When you think about all the horrible things that people could think or believe, this is not a bad set of beliefs. We might even agree with at least some of them.

But, especially on this Good Shepherd Sunday, it’s number four that really catches my attention:

God is not involved in my life except when I need God to solve a problem.

The author describes this belief as thinking of God as a divine lifeguard. We don’t think about very much about God the lifeguard when we’re having a great time splashing our way through life.

But, the moment something goes wrong, the moment there’s a crisis, the lifeguard suddenly becomes very important. And later, once the crisis passes, we don’t think about the lifeguard again - until the next time we’re in trouble.

There’s nothing wrong exactly with thinking about God as a lifeguard, except that it’s such an impoverished metaphor for who God really is and for the role that God wants to play in our lives.

The Lord is my lifeguard doesn’t quite cut it, does it?

A lifeguard is way up there, while we’re down here in the pool.

A lifeguard is way up there, looking down on anonymous people bobbing in the pool, ready to jump into action at the first sign of trouble.

And, it’s true that, like a lifeguard, God comes to our aid when there’s a crisis, pouring out the grace and strength we need in a crisis.

But, God is much more than a lifeguard. God is a shepherd.

God is a shepherd who knows us and cares for us. God is a shepherd who’s down here with us – wanting to be discovered by us and known by us.

At the heart of our Jewish-Christian tradition is the story of God reaching out us, revealing Godself to us, innumerable ways, over and over again.

A couple of weeks ago there was a story in a British newspaper of a young Scottish girl named LuLu who was told by her teachers to write a letter to God. In this letter she was told to ask God, “how did you get invented?”

LuLu’s parents were startled when they heard about this assignment. Rather than trying to answer the question themselves, they forwarded Lulu’s question to a number of British religious leaders. One of those leaders, Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, took the time to personally respond to LuLu’s question.

In his response the archbishop imagined how God would reply to LuLu’s question. Here’s part of it:

‘Dear Lulu – Nobody invented me – but lots of people discovered me and were quite surprised. They discovered me when they looked round at the world and thought it was really beautiful or really mysterious and wondered where it came from. They discovered me when they were very very quiet on their own and felt a sort of peace and love they hadn’t expected.

Then they invented ideas about me – some of them sensible and some of them not very sensible. From time to time I sent them some hints – specially in the life of Jesus – to help them get closer to what I’m really like.”

The archbishop’s response to LuLu is both charming and profound.

His response touches on the great truth of how we discover God who is so much more than a lifeguard.

When we look at the beauty of the world, we discover a God of unlimited imagination and creativity.

When we make time for quiet – to reflect and pray – we discover God in a sense of peace and love we hadn’t expected.

And most especially in Jesus the Good Shepherd, we discover a God who loves us enough – who wants so much to be discovered by us - to join us on earth as a flesh and blood human being.

In Jesus the Good Shepherd we discover a God who calls us each by name.

In Jesus the Good Shepherd we discover a God who gives us life and wants us to have it abundantly.

And we heard what that abundant life is like in the snapshot of the early church in today’s reading from Acts:

“Those who had been baptized devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.”

With that foundation of prayer and worship they grew ever closer to the Good Shepherd. And, we’re told the apostles did amazing signs and wonders.

In times of crisis, those early Christians didn’t look to God as a lifeguard because, thanks to Jesus, they knew God was already right there in the water with them.

In times of crisis, those early Christians looked to God they knew as a shepherd – God who knew them, loved them, protected them and led them.

And what was true in the First Century is just as true now in the Twenty-First Century.

Just look around.

Four years ago, right here at St. Michael’s, in a time of crisis, a handful of people put their faith in Jesus the Good Shepherd.

And look what happened and is happening.

Thanks to Jesus the Good Shepherd and a handful of hardworking sheep, a church that just about everyone thought was going to die lived on.

More and more people found and continue to find Jesus the Good Shepherd right here in this pasture.

Lately about sixty sheep have been gathering each Sunday in this pasture.

And today I’m pleased to announce that for the first time since the split St. Michael’s has hired a parish administrator.

So, look what happens when week after week we come here and listen to the old stories of Scripture, when, like the early Church, we devote ourselves “to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of the bread and the prayers.”

Look what happens when, despite our own weaknesses and failures and frustrations, we allow God into our lives, allow God to be our shepherd.

Look what happens when we recognize and share the great news that God is so much more – and wants to be so much more - than a lifeguard watching over us from a distance.

Look what happens when we recognize and share the great news that the Lord is our shepherd.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Discovering God

2011-05-07T15:49:00.000-04:00

The Wedding of Katherine Huening and Asher Walden
May 7, 2011

Song of Solomon 2:10-13; 8:6-7
Colossians 3:12-17
Mark 10:6-9, 13-16

Discovering God

A couple of weeks ago there was a story in a British newspaper of a young Scottish girl named LuLu who was told by her teachers to write a letter to God. In this letter she was told to ask God, “how did you get invented?”

LuLu’s parents were startled when they heard about this assignment. Rather than trying to answer the question themselves, they forwarded Lulu’s question to a number of British religious leaders. One of those leaders, Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, took the time to personally respond to LuLu’s question.

In his response the archbishop imagined how God would reply to LuLu. Here’s part of it:

‘Dear Lulu – Nobody invented me – but lots of people discovered me and were quite surprised. They discovered me when they looked round at the world and thought it was really beautiful or really mysterious and wondered where it came from. They discovered me when they were very very quiet on their own and felt a sort of peace and love they hadn’t expected.”

The archbishop’s response to LuLu is both charming and profound.

His response touches on the great truth of how we discover God.

The story of God and humanity is a story of God being passionately in love with us – the passionate love that we hear in the words of the Song of Solomon – the passionate love “strong as death.” and “fierce as the grave.”

Because God loves us so much, is so passionate about us, God is always reaching out to us, eager to be discovered by us.

The story of God and humanity is a story of God reaching out us – from God searching for an ashamed Adam and Eve hiding in the garden to God revealing in Christ’s empty tomb that, in fact, love is stronger than death.

And God continues to reach out to us, eager to be discovered by us.

We discover God in the words of Scripture as when the author of the Letter to the Colossians writes, “Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.”

We discover God when we stop and realize, despite all of the world’s sadness and suffering, just how amazingly good it is to be alive.

We discover God when we open our eyes, look around us, and see the beauty of nature.

We discover God in the quiet of our hearts, when, as the archbishop wrote, we feel a sort of peace and love that we never expected to feel.

We discover God in the love that we share with those closest to us – with our wives and husbands, with our parents and our children, with our dearest friends.

And, every once in a while, God goes a little overboard. Every once in a while God wants so much to be discovered that God reaches out to us in all of these ways, all at the same time.

That’s what’s happening today. That’s what God is doing right here as we gather to witness the union of Katie and Asher.

We are discovering God right here and now.

We are discovering God in the beauty of this place.

We are discovering God in the beautiful passages of Scripture that we’ve heard today.

We are discovering God in the quiet of our hearts, as we reflect on the amazing journeys that brought these two wonderful people together, the unlikely journey that brought Katie and Asher here and now to make the commitment of a lifetime.

We are discovering God in the love that Katie and Asher share with each other, in the love that I saw was powerful and obvious enough to shine through even our long distance Skype sessions to prepare for today and for a life together.

And now we’re here.

We’re here to celebrate and give thanks.

We’re here to celebrate and give thanks for the love of God that we discover in so many ways, but today especially in the love of Katie and Asher.

Katie and Asher, today is a milestone on the journey of discovery that has been and will be your life together.

Katie and Asher, if you keep your eyes open, during the good times and the not so good, you will continue to discover God in one another, in the love that you share, and in the life that you have begun to build together.

And, Katie and Asher, if you keep your hearts open, you will continue to give all of us the great gift of discovering God in you, helping all of us to feel a sort of peace and love we hadn’t expected.

So, thanks to you both for sharing your love with us.

And thanks be to God for always reaching out to us, always eager to be discovered.

Amen.

Verification

2011-05-01T19:54:00.001-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
May 1, 2011

Year A: The Second Sunday of Easter
Acts 2:14a, 22-32
Psalm 16
1 Peter 1:3-9
John 20:19-31

Verification

By now, the world has moved on from Easter. The Easter candy that everybody likes has already been eaten. The Easter baskets have been put away for another year, or they’re still out, looking a little threadbare with just a few stray jellybeans or some unpopular candy all that’s left.

But, here in church it’s still Easter. The paschal candle is still front and center, symbolizing the light of Christ in the world. The lilies are still giving church a beautiful fragrance. And since it’s still Easter, we began the service with the great acclamation of faith:

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

It’s the great acclamation of our faith – Jesus was dead and then God raised Jesus on the third day. It’s the heart of our Christian faith – it’s what we are expected to believe – it’s what we say we believe each time we stand and say the words of the Nicene Creed.

But, if we’re honest, many of us would admit that we often struggle with our faith, we struggle with the great acclamation of our faith that Christ is risen.

Part of faith is agreeing that certain claims are true. Part of faith is standing and saying the creed as if it were a checklist of claims that we can agree are true. I believe in this, that and the other thing…

But, a much more important part of faith is trust.

And trust is very difficult for many of us, isn’t it? Trust is difficult because we’ve all been lied to, betrayed, misled, and hurt more times than we’d care to count.

Trust is difficult for many of us because we have not always been trustworthy.

So, we’re suspicious of people’s motives – what’s in it for you? Are you somehow trying to take advantage of me? Why are you being so nice to me?

For many of us, the best we can do is the supposedly Russian proverb frequently quoted by President Reagan, “Trust but verify.”

If you stop and think about it, that proverb presumes an open heart, a willingness to trust. But that proverb also reflects the real and important fact that we don’t want to be taken advantage of, don’t want to be abused, don’t want to be played for a fool.

“Trust, but verify.”

Here in church it’s still Easter here and it’s still Easter at the start of today’s gospel lesson. It’s Easter and, maybe like us, the disciples seem to be having some trust issues.

Last week, you’ll remember, the Evangelist John described the appearance of the Resurrected Christ to a stunned and overjoyed Mary Magdalene. We left off with Mary going to the other disciples, telling them “I have seen the Lord”, and telling them what he had said to her.

We’re not told exactly how the disciples reacted to Magdalene’s amazing news – but I think we can rule out that the disciples trusted blindly what Mary told them. John does give us a clue about the disciples’ trust issues at the start of today’s passage when he tells us that in the evening of the same day the disciples were hiding fearfully in a locked room. The locked room powerfully symbolizes the closed hearts of the disciples. They lack the openness that is the beginning of trust.

But then Jesus appeared – still himself with the wounds on his hands and his side.

Jesus appeared – still himself but also transformed – he mysteriously entered the locked room and then in a kind of mini-Pentecost, he breathed the Holy Spirit onto his disciples.

At this point trust is no problem for the disciples. At this point the disciples have received all the verification they will ever need. Like Mary Magdalene, they can say with complete confidence, “I have seen the Lord!”

But, what about the rest of us?

Like us, the Apostle Thomas was not present for this powerfully convincing appearance of the Risen Christ. When he hears the news from the other disciples, he is appropriately skeptical. But, notice that Thomas doesn’t close himself off. Thomas doesn’t run away from Christ and his friends, trying to forget that his time with Jesus had ever happened.

No, Thomas has the openness that is the beginning of trust. He is open enough to the possibility that the disciples are telling him the truth that he still spends time with them.

And then Thomas gets his famous verification when the wounded and risen Christ appears once again.

Thomas is often called “Doubting Thomas” and I guess that’s true. But, really Thomas is the patron saint of all of us who struggle with faith as trust. Thomas is the patron saint of “Trust but verify.”

Since we’re here in church on the Second Sunday after Easter – when things have returned to normal and many people have returned to their normal Sunday activities – it’s safe to say that we all have a certain amount of openness to the claims of Christianity – a certain amount of openness to the acclamation that Christ is risen, the Lord is risen indeed.

We have the openness that is the beginning of trust.

But, how and when do we get verification?

We are not likely to encounter the Risen Christ the disciples did in the locked room long ago.

But if, like Thomas, we begin with openness that is the beginning of trust, we can get verification all around us.

The author of the Gospel of John declares that the gospel is “written that you may come to believe.”

We get verification in the Scriptures when we read and hear these old texts and feel God’s love and grace in the deepest meanings and messages that transcend time and space.

We get verification in our own Christian community right here. We get verification when we come here and in the words of the great spiritual we can really feel that “there’s a sweet, sweet Spirit in this place, and I know that it’s the Spirit of the Lord.”

We get verification when we exchange the peace with friend and stranger alike. We get verification when we come together at the Lord’s Table and each receive the same portion of the bread of heaven and each drink from the same cup of salvation.

Most of all, we get verification after we leave here. We get verification when we go out those doors into the world and live lives different from our neighbors, with values different from what the world thinks is important.

When we devote our lives to living out the words of the Baptismal Covenant, we can really feel the presence of the Risen Christ with us and with the people we encounter and serve.

We get verification when persevere in resisting evil, and we sin, we repent and return to the Lord.

We get verification when we proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.

We get verification when we seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves

We get verification when we strive for justice and peace and respect the dignity of every human being.

The doubtful but openhearted Apostle Thomas is our patron saint – Thomas is the patron saint of “trust, but verify”.

Thomas received special verification that the Lord is risen indeed. But, I bet that wasn’t the last verification that he received. According to tradition, Thomas brought the Good News of Christ all the way to India – and, in fact, sacrificed his life for Christ there.

As powerful as his personal verification was, I am sure that over the course of his journey of sharing the Good News, his journey of serving and loving the strangers he met, Thomas, like us, received ever surer verification that, alleluia, Christ is risen.

Amen.

An Everlasting Love

2011-04-24T21:05:00.002-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 24, 2011

Easter Day
Jeremiah 3:1-6
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Acts of the Apostles 10:34-43
John 20:1-18

An Everlasting Love

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

In today’s first reading God speaks through the Prophet Jeremiah to the people of Israel who were captives in Babylon. Through Jeremiah, God promises a homecoming – a restoration to the way things were always meant to be.

Through Jeremiah God says, “I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.”

The story of God and humanity is a story of God loving us with an everlasting love. It’s a story of God reaching out to us – reaching out to us, over and over.

Unfortunately, the story of God and humanity is also a story of humanity rejecting God’s everlasting love; a story of humanity hiding in shame from God just as in the story of Adam and Eve hiding from God in the garden.

But despite all of that human rejection and all of that human hiding, through prophets like Jeremiah, God continued to reach out to us.

And, then in the fullness of time, God reached out to us in a unique and final way, in the life, death and resurrection Jesus of Nazareth.

When we look at Jesus we see God’s everlasting love.

When we look at Jesus we see what God is really like.

And when we look at Jesus we see what we are meant to be like – what we were always meant to be like.

In Jesus, we see a God who enters the world on the margins – in out of the way places like Bethlehem, born to a couple of nobodies, surrounded by shepherds and farm animals.

In Jesus, we see a God who is most easily found with the poor and the outcast – a God most easily found with the people hanging out in downtown Gainesville at Bo Diddley Plaza or waiting in line for a meal at St. Francis House.

In Jesus, we see a God who especially loves the mourners and the persecuted. In God’s kingdom they are the blessed ones.

In Jesus, we see a God who loves us enough to experience the worst rejection - a God who loves us enough to die for us.

But, God’s love for us is an everlasting love. So, death of Jesus on the cross is not the end of the story.

God continues to reach out to us.

That’s the amazingly good news that we celebrate on Easter. That’s the amazingly good news that Mary Magdalene discovered – in what is one of the most powerful and beautiful passages in Scripture.

We’re told that Mary came to the tomb on the first day of the week.

We’re not told why she’s there, but any of us who have ever visited the grave of one we love know why. It must seem to her that all that’s left of Jesus is memory - and a dead body just beyond view.

Then to Mary’s shock and horror, just when it seemed there could not be any more bad news in this whole sad story, she discovered the open and empty tomb.

Peter and the other disciple look into the tomb, discover it empty and then run back home – maybe back to hiding?

But not Mary Magdalene. No hiding for her. She stands and weeps. She stands and weeps, representing all of us who have wept over our sad and broken world, who have wept over the cruelty of the world, who have wept over a world filled with so much suffering and loss.

But, despite all of our rejection and hiding, despite all of our own cruelty and selfishness, God loves us with an everlasting love.

Mary discovered God’s everlasting love when she heard the resurrected Christ call her by name, “Mary!”

Mary discovered that not even death itself can defeat God’s everlasting love of us.

And then Mary went and told the others. She went and told them, “I have seen the Lord.”

And now two thousand years later, here we are on Easter Day in Gainesville, Florida. Here we are gathered in this place, telling and hearing these old stories of God’s everlasting love.

They are the best stories, but, we wouldn’t come here to tell and to hear these old stories of God’s everlasting love, if we can’t also experience God’s everlasting love in our own lives.

If we open our hearts, if we really pay attention, if we don’t try to hide, we also can experience God’s everlasting love.

In our baptism the resurrected Christ has called each of us by name, just as he called Mary Magadalene by name (and just as he called Eowyn by name last night when she was baptized.)

Beyond our baptism, we experience God’s everlasting love just by being alive – just by living on this beautiful planet, filled with breathtaking sights and amazing creatures – including alligators.

We experience God’s everlasting love in the love of our friends and family – those still with us here – and those whose presence we still feel in memory and more.

We experience God’s everlasting love when we come here and extend the sign of peace with one another – people we’ve known forever and people we’ve never met – people we like, and people maybe we’re not too crazy about.

We experience God’s everlasting love when we come here and gather around the table – all eating the same bread and drinking from the same cup.

We experience God’s everlasting love alive in us when we quietly visit the sick and the lonely – when we help someone with the rent or to fill up their gas tank – when we help the stranger even if we’re pretty sure we’re being scammed – when we pray for suffering people – when we pray for our enemies.

We experience God’s everlasting love alive in us when we forgive those who wrong us.

If we open our hearts, if we really pay attention, if we don’t try to hide, we also can experience God’s everlasting love.

Early on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene discovered that - no matter much we reject God or try to hide from God - God continues to reach out to us.

Mary Magdalene discovered that God continues to love us with an everlasting love – a love far more powerful than death itself.

On this Easter Day, the only question for us is how do we respond to God’s everlasting love?

Like so many do we reject God’s love? Do we try to hide from God’s love?

Or, like Mary Magdalene, do we receive the gift of God’s everlasting love in Jesus and then head out through those doors, head out into Gainesville, head out intothe world, proclaiming joyfully by word and deed, “I have seen the Lord”?

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Brave and Noble Warriors for Christ

2011-04-23T21:02:00.001-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
April 23, 2011

The Great Vigil of Easter
The Baptism of Eowyn Verhaeren
Genesis 1:1-2:2
Genesis 7:1-5, 11-18; 8:6-18; 9:8-13
Exodus 14:10-15:1
Zephaniah 3:12-20
Romans 6:3-11
Matthew 28:1-10

Brave and Noble Warriors for Christ

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

The story of God and humanity is a story of God reaching out to us – a story of God reaching out to us over and over again.

At the start of tonight’s service we heard some examples of God reaching out to us – some stories of God’s saving deeds in history - some stories of our salvation.

We began with the story of creation – the story of God pouring out bottomless love and unquenchable imagination to create this fragile and beautiful planet surrounded by the vast expanse of interstellar space. We heard the story of God’s creation of human beings – human beings made in the image and likeness of God.

We didn’t hear the story of human beings messing up that close relationship with God. We didn’t hear it because, well, it’s Easter and we’re trying to be upbeat. And we didn’t hear it because, really, we don’t need to hear it. We know only too well how often we mess up – how often we mess up our relationship with God, our relationship with one another, our relationship with all of creation.

Yet, the good news is that despite all that messing up, God doesn’t give up on us.

God continues to love us, to reach out to us.

And tonight we celebrate God’s ultimate reaching out to us in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.

In the life of Jesus, we see what God is really like.

We see a God who enters the world on the margins – born to a couple of nobodies in an out of the way place.

We see a God who is the God of the losers – the God of the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the hungry and thirsty, the merciful and the persecuted.

We see a God who’s most easily found with the people hanging out tonight downtown in Bo Diddley Plaza or the people waiting on line for a meal at St. Francis House.

In the life of Jesus we see what God is really like.

And in the death of Jesus we see what God is really like.

In the death of Jesus, we see a God whose kingdom is a mortal threat to the political and religious authorities of the world.

In the death of Jesus we see a God who is willing to be weak, a God who is willing to be rejected by us, a God who is even willing to be killed by us.

In the death of Jesus, we see a God who forgives the worst we’ve ever done or could ever do.

In the death of Jesus we see what God is really like.

But, this is the night when we celebrate the resurrection.

In the resurrection of Jesus we see what God is really like.

In the resurrection of Jesus we see a God who never gives up on us. We see a God who will not allow sin and death to drive us apart.

In the resurrection of Jesus, we see a God who gives us a fresh start, a second chance.

In the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, we see what God is really like.

And in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus we see what we are meant to be like – what we were always meant to be like.

In The Lord of the Rings, the character Eowyn is both beautiful and a brave and noble warrior.

And even if we’re not named Eowyn, that’s what we’re supposed to be like.

To love us so much, despite all our flaws, God must find us very beautiful.

And as Christians, we are meant to be brave and noble warriors for Christ, caring for those the world thinks of as the losers.

We are meant to be brave and noble warriors for Christ, united with the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the hungry and thirsty, the merciful and the persecuted.

We are meant to be brave and noble warriors for Christ, challenging the political and religious authorities of the world – and facing the consequences of that challenge.

We are meant to persevere in resisting evil.

We are meant to proclaim by word and example the Good News.

We are meant to serve Christ in all persons

We are meant to strive for justice and peace among all people.

All of this seems nearly impossible. And it would be impossible to be a brave and noble warrior for Christ if we were on our own.

But, the joy of Easter is that we’re not on our own.

In the water of Baptism God makes an indissoluble bond – an unbreakable bond – with us, just as tonight in the water of baptism, God made an unbreakable bond with our own Eowyn.

As St. Paul explained to the church in Rome, in the water of baptism we die with Christ – and in the water of baptism we rise with Christ.

We messed up in the worst way imaginable by nailing Jesus to the cross.

Yet, God responds to our messing up by raising Jesus on the third day – by turning death into life.

So, Eowyn, no matter how many times you mess up, no matter how many mistakes you make, God will always love you and be with you.

And no matter how many times the rest of us mess up, nothing can ever separate us from the love of God.

The story of God and humanity is a story of God reaching out to us – reaching out to us over and over again.

And God’s ultimate reaching out to us is in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

In the life, death and resurrection of Jesus we see what God is really like.

And in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus we see what we are meant to be like.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Good Earth

2011-04-22T18:02:00.002-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
April 21, 2012

Good Friday
Isaiah 52:13-53:12
Psalm 22
Hebrews 10:16-25
John 18:1-19:42

Good Earth

Whenever people die, it’s perfectly normal to reflect on the meaning of their lives.

Sometimes, especially if a person has lived a long, full, loving life, we give thanks for a life well lived and quietly hope the same for us.

And sometimes, if a person dies young or tragically, we wonder why, we mourn the lost promise – and quietly whisper the cliché, “There but for the grace of God go I.”

Reflection about the meaning of the life and death of Jesus probably began when his lifeless body still hung on the cross.

His mother and the other women and the Beloved Disciple standing at the foot of the cross, probably barely able to look through their tears at Jesus’ battered body, must have struggled to make sense of what had happened to this man – son, friend, rabbi.

And I imagine the disciples - wherever they were hiding - must have also begun reflecting on Jesus, reflecting on the meaning of his life, reflecting on the meaning of their time together. And, maybe they also reflected with shame on their own cowardly abandonment of their teacher and friend, the one who had so recently broken bread with them, the one who had just washed their feet.

We know of course what’s going to happen next. Unlike the women at the foot of the cross and the other disciples we’re already planning and anticipating the celebrations that will take place tomorrow night and Sunday morning.

Of course, the resurrection didn’t stop people from reflecting on the meaning of Jesus’ life and death – just the opposite, really.

Among Christians in the early centuries there was a lot of reflection about Jesus’ nature. Who and what was Jesus?

Some people had a hard time accepting that Jesus was a human being just like us. Instead, some people argued that, like a character out of mythology, Jesus was a divine being who was only pretending to be a human being.

People who believed Jesus was just pretending to be a human being could and did point to how Jesus is usually depicted in the Gospel of John. More than the other gospels, John nearly always presents Jesus as being very much in control, very confident about his identity, and very certain of his mission.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus often seems more divine than human. Usually Jesus doesn’t seem to share the doubts and fears that you and I have in abundance.

From the cosmic opening verses of his Gospel, John makes the point that the Word of God has come and lived among us in Jesus of Nazareth - Jesus who lived right here on this same beautiful and fragile planet where today you and I go about our lives.

As we just heard in the reading of the Passion, the great tragedy is that people not so different from us rejected God’s presence and nailed the Word of God to a piece of wood.

Two thousand years ago it was the Jewish religious authorities and the Roman political authorities who killed Jesus. But, I suspect the abandonment by his friends hurt Jesus more than the nails that pierced his wrists.

And, let’s face it, few if any of us, would have done better than the cowardly disciples or the people in the crowd calling for Jesus’ death.

John is the most spiritual of the gospels, but even John presents the stark fact that Jesus’ body was a vulnerable human body – just like our bodies.

Jesus’ body was a body born of a woman – and so Mary endures the agony of watching her son die an excruciating death.

Jesus’ body was a vulnerable human body – a body that was easily flogged by physically stronger men.

John tells us that Jesus’ face – a real face just like ours - was struck.

John tells us that a mocking crown of thorns was placed on Jesus’ head and a mocking purple robe draped over his battered body.

John tells us that Jesus was thirsty – just as our own mouths get parched.

None of this was happening on a mysterious spiritual plane, but right here on planet earth. Flesh and blood human beings brutalized another flesh and blood human being - an old, old story.

But, as the first Christians reflected on the life and death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, they came to a mind-blowing conclusion. As the first Christians continued to experience Jesus’ presence in Scripture, in the bread and the wine, in one another, in their hears, they came to a mid-blowing conclusion.

They came to the mind-blowing conclusion that in a unique and unexpected way, God entered our flesh and blood world in this particular human being – this particular human being who was battered and killed by those temporarily more powerful than he.

When we look at Jesus we see what God is really like.

And, then, despite that horrible rejection – God still didn’t – and still doesn’t give up on us.

Why?

The only possible answer is love.

God loves us - not in some abstract way – God doesn’t just love the idea of us – God loves flesh and blood us.

God loves the good creation – loves this beautiful and fragile planet where Jesus walked among us and where today you and I go about our lives.

And so, because God loves us and loves creation, God reveals God’s Self to us in Jesus of Nazareth.

God reveals God’s Self in Jesus who taught about the kingdom of God; Jesus who gave sight to the sightless; Jesus who gave new life to those thought to be dead forever.

We look at Jesus and see what God is really like.

And because Jesus is a flesh and blood human being – we look at Jesus and see what we are meant to be – what we were always meant to be.

We look at Jesus and see that we are meant to give of ourselves in loving service to one another.

We look at Jesus and see that we are meant to love the good creation just as God loves the good creation.

Reflection about the meaning of the life and death of Jesus probably began when his lifeless body still hung on the cross.

And the fruit of that reflection is that when we look at Jesus, we see what God is really like.

And when we look at Jesus, we see what we are meant to be like.

Amen.

Participants

2011-04-21T07:11:00.000-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
April 21, 2011

Maundy Thursday
Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
Psalm 116:1, 10-17
John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Participants

I’m sure many of you are aware that this year marks the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War. Last week there were commemorations of the first shots of the war – the first shots fired by the Confederate forces on Fort Sumter, barely visible in the predawn gloom of Charleston Harbor.

Large numbers of Civil War re-enactors with their obsessive attention to every detail, down to making sure they have the right kind of laces in their boots and the right blend of coffee in their cups, converged on Charleston and recreated the beginnings of our bloodiest war - as history buffs, tourists and the merely curious looked on.

I can understand the appeal of historical reenactments like this. And I can understand why people want to be re-enactors. There’s a genuine appeal to immersing yourself in the past, becoming expert in a particular time and place, a particular group of people. I’m sure it’s fun, interesting, and educational.

But, though it may seem like it, we are not here tonight for a historical reenactment.

Yes, like those people in Charleston, tonight we are remembering an event that took place in the past. We are remembering an event that took place in a room in Jerusalem on or near the Passover, nearly two thousand years ago.

Jesus and his closest friends and disciples went to Jerusalem for the great Passover feast. Throughout his ministry, Jesus had warned his followers what was going to happen to him. Most of the time they seem to have not understood – or maybe they just didn’t want to understand.

But now in this room at Passover, even the dimmest and most stubborn of Jesus’ followers must have understood that the unthinkable was happening - Jesus’ life was going to end. Jesus’ life was going to end in an especially dismaying, shocking, horrific way.

After Jesus’ death and resurrection, the disciples must have spent a lot of time remembering and reflecting on all that they had experienced with their teacher. And this last meal remained an especially vivid memory for the rest of their lives. They must have told the story of this last meal over and over.

In fact, I think it’s safe to say that what we call the Last Supper is the most memorable and most remembered meal of all time.

In the brief passage from his first letter to the Corinthians, written twenty or so years later the events of that Passover, St. Paul gives us the earliest account of the Last Supper and the way the first Christians remembered it and experienced it– and have continued to remember it and experience it right down to today.

All four gospels tell the story of Jesus’ last meal with his friends, though the descriptions differ a bit.

Each year on Maundy Thursday we hear the account of the Last Supper in the Gospel of John. The Gospel of John was the last of the four gospels to be written so -no surprise - John’s account of the Last Supper is by far the longest of the four.

But, what is surprising is that in his long description of the Last Supper, John makes no mention of Jesus instituting the Eucharist. There’s no mention of Jesus blessing and sharing the bread and wine and instructing his followers to do the same in his memory.

Instead, only John paints the remarkable picture of Jesus the Son of God washing the feet of his friends.

In Jesus’ remarkable act of humility, we see what God is really like. We see a God who loves us beyond our imagination. We see a God who pours out grace on us – pours out grace to serve us, to strengthen us, to purify us.

In Jesus we see what God is really like.

And in Jesus we see what we are meant to be like.

Jesus tells his followers, commands his followers, “For I have set you an example, that you should do as I have done to you.”

And so over and over we gather around the Lord’s Table, hearing the words of Jesus echo down through the centuries, echo through and beyond time and space, “This is my body. This is my blood.”

And on Maundy Thursday we have a ritual foot-washing.

At the first foot-washing, once he realized how important it was, Peter exclaimed, to Jesus, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and head!” That sounds like Baptism to me. And, so from time to time, we gather around the font – as we’ll do here on Saturday night - joyfully pouring water and welcoming a new member of the Christian community.

But, aside from me, we don’t do these things in period costume as if we were historical re-enactors.

We don’t dress up as if we were at a biblical theme park. We come to the table just as we are - wearing our normal clothes – ordinary 21st Century clothes – because we are not re-enactors.

Those re-enactors in Charleston last week weren’t really firing the first shots of the Civil War.

But, when you and I come to the table with our hands and hearts outstretched, we are in a mystical but very real way gathered around Jesus at the Last Supper. We really are united with the first disciples and with Christians through the centuries.

We’re not re-enactors, we’re participants.

And when I symbolically wash the feet of a few of our parishioners, at first glance it may look like a historical reenactment. But, notice they’re not dressed in period costume.

The foot-washing is meant to remind us of what Jesus did for his followers – people just like us. The foot-washing is meant to remind us that Jesus calls us – commands us – to be like him – to live lives of loving service to others.

And so when we quietly visit the sick and the lonely – when we help someone with the rent or to fill up their gas tank – when we help the stranger even if we’re pretty sure we’re being scammed – when we pray for the suffering – when we pray for our enemies - then we’re not re-enactors.

We’re not re-enactors.

We’re participants.

In our own time and place, right here in Gainesville, we’re participants in the life of Christ – a life like bread that is broken to feed the multitudes – a life like wine poured out to quench the thirsty – a life like water washing away grime – a life of loving and humble and sacrificial service.

In Jesus we see what God is really like.

And in Jesus we see what we are meant to be like.

Amen.

What God Is Really Like

2011-04-17T21:50:00.001-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 17, 2011

Year A: The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday
Matthew 21:1-11
Isaiah 45:21-25
Psalm 22:1-11
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:36-27:66

What God Is Really Like

We are told that the moment Jesus died on the cross, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom.

That curtain – a large tapestry - hung in front of the Holy of Holies – the innermost part of the Temple where in a sense God was believed to dwell. The tearing of the curtain when Jesus dies symbolizes that now God is no longer hidden from view.

In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.

We see a God who enters the world on the margins – in out of the way places like Bethlehem, born to a couple of nobodies, surrounded by shepherds and farm animals.

In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.

In the life and death of Jesus we see God at work transforming this broken, messed up world into a kingdom – a downside-up kingdom in which blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are those who mourn, blessed are the meek, blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, blessed are the merciful, blessed are the pure in heart, blessed are the peacemakers, blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, and blessed are those persecuted on Jesus’ account.

In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like – building a kingdom for those the world thinks of as the losers.

In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.

In the life and death of Jesus, we see God’s power quenching thirst. We see God’s power giving sight to the sightless. In the life and death of Jesus, we see God’s power giving new life to those thought to be dead.

In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.

And at the start of today’s service, we heard how at least some people greeted Jesus – how at least some people welcomed God into their midst – with a parade, with songs, with hope and joy.

Jesus’ parade is a parody of political and military parades. Jesus doesn’t enter the capital city riding a magnificent stallion the way a triumphant king or warrior would. There’s no army in uniform - just a ragtag group of supporters welcoming their unlikely king with branches and acclamations of “Hosanna!”

Maybe more even than Jesus’ own followers, the political and religious leaders saw the immense power behind Jesus’ humility and simplicity. The political and religious leaders recognized that this unusual parade was a glimpse of a kingdom in which they aren’t in charge – the kingdom in which it’s the losers of the world who are blessed.

The political and religious leaders saw very well the threat posed by this revolutionary rabbi from Nazareth – and so, helped by own of his own, they moved quickly against Jesus.

Matthew downplays the responsibility of Pilate and the Romans and places more blame on the Jewish religious leaders and the crowd that chose the bandit Barabbas rather than Jesus of Nazareth.

In truth, there’s plenty of blame to go around.

In the life and death of Jesus we see what God is really like. We see a God who is rejected over and over – rejected at the start of creation in the garden; rejected by the leaders and the crowds in Jerusalem two thousand years ago; rejected by us more often than we’d ever want to admit.

While there’s plenty of blame to go around, in this case it’s the Romans who do the deed. Crucifixion was a common and particularly brutal form of Roman punishment, reserved for non-citizens who were viewed as threats to the empire. It was a punishment reserved for the losers.

The victims were literally and figuratively stripped of their dignity.

For Jews, a crucified person was ritually unclean, an untouchable.

Many people mistakenly think that the crucified bled to death from their wounds. The truth is worse. In most cases they became gradually too weak to breathe and eventually suffocated – often after hanging on the cross for days.

Jesus himself died relatively quickly, perhaps a sign that the Son of God was already physically weak even before this ordeal began.

Matthew tells us that, not long before he died, Jesus cried out from the cross, quoting from the start of Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

In that cry of anguish, Jesus is united once and for all with the all the broken people of the world – all the broken people who in the midst of great suffering still hope and trust in God.

In that cry of anguish, Jesus is united once and for all with the losers who will be – who are – blessed in the kingdom of God.

When Jesus took his last agonizing breath the curtain in the Temple was torn in two. God is no longer hidden from us.

In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.

In Jesus, born in an out of the way place to a couple of nobodies, we see what God is really like.

In Jesus, who taught about the downside-up kingdom of God, we see what God is really like.

In Jesus, who gave sight to the blind and new life to the dead, we see what God is really like.

In Jesus, who endured the pain, shame and abandonment of the cross, we see what God is really like.

In the life and death of Jesus, we see what God is really like.

Amen.

The Agony of God

2011-04-10T20:51:00.003-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 10, 2011

Year A: The Fifth Sunday in Lent
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 130
Romans 8:6-11
John 11:1-45

The Agony of God

Here in church over the past few Sundays in Lent we’ve been hearing very long excerpts from the Gospel of John.

As I’ve mentioned before, the Gospel of John is the last of the four gospels to have been written, probably some time around the end of the First Century, several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.

In part because it’s a relatively late gospel, it’s also the most theologically sophisticated of the four gospels.

There has been more time for people to reflect on who Jesus was and is – more time to reflect on the meaning of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection.

We hear some of the fruit of that reflection in the grand and cosmic opening verses of the Gospel of John:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

“And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.”

Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus is presented very much as the Word made flesh – as God’s Son in whom we see what God is really like.

Throughout the Gospel of John, Jesus is presented as more divine than human - very much in control, very certain of his mission and its eventual outcome.

Just like the other gospels, the Gospel of John describes powerful supernatural acts of Jesus. But in John these supernatural acts are not called miracles. In the Gospel of John the powerful acts of Jesus are called signs.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus performs signs to point to the truth – the truth about God, the truth about himself, the truth about us, and the truth about life and death.

For example, at the wedding at Cana Jesus turned water into wine not because it was something amazing to do, though, of course it was amazing. Jesus also doesn’t go around doing this all the time, though I’m sure it would have gotten him invited to a lot more parties! Jesus changed water into a wine as a sign pointing to the truth that it’s in Jesus that we find overflowing abundance.

Another example: the man born blind we heard about last week was given sight not because it was something amazing – and merciful - to do, though of course it was amazing and merciful. And Jesus doesn’t go around giving sight to every blind person he met. Jesus gave the man sight as a sign pointing to the truth that it’s in Jesus that we really see the power and love of God.

And today, we heard the story Jesus’ greatest sign – the raising of his beloved friend Lazarus from the dead.

Again, Jesus doesn’t travel around to every funeral in the area raising the deceased back to life.

The entire sequence of events in the Lazarus story is designed so that in this sign Jesus can point to and reveal the glory of God.

So, Jesus waits two extra days after receiving word that his friend Lazarus was ill.

Jesus misses out on the funeral. Jesus wasn’t there to console Mary and Martha.

When Jesus arrives Lazarus has been dead for four days.

There was a belief in Judaism that the spirit hovered near the body for three days after death. So, when Jesus arrives on the fourth day, there can be no doubt that resuscitation is impossible: All hope is lost. Lazarus is dead – really dead.

Now the stage is set for Jesus’ greatest sign. John is about to tell the story of how Jesus – how the Word of God made flesh living among us – reveals that death is no match for the power of God.

But first, looking at Mary and the others mourning Lazarus, surrounded by their grief, Jesus seems to be overcome with emotion.

John tells us that Jesus was “greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.” The word translated as “deeply moved” is more accurately translated as “angered.”

And then, Jesus, the Word of God, cries.

Now, if we were talking about anyone else, this reaction would be no surprise. Anger and sadness at the death of a friend is perfectly normal human behavior, of course.

But, John nearly always presents Jesus the Word of God as being supremely confident and in control – so he must have had an important reason to include the details of Jesus seeming to lose control. John must have had an important reason to include the details of Jesus angry and weeping.

In his anger and in his tears Jesus is most fully human.

And in his anger and in his tears Jesus is also most fully divine.

John seems to be making the point that in the anger and tears of Jesus we see that, just like us, God is angered by the power of suffering, grief and death.

In the anger and tears of Jesus we see that, just like us, God is saddened by our suffering, grief and death.

In the anger and the tears of Jesus we see the agony of God – the agony of God who loves us.

In the anger and tears of Jesus we see the agony of God – the agony of God who loves us and who suffers along with us.

The agony of God leads God to act.

It’s because of the agony of God that the Word became flesh and lived among us.

It’s because of the agony of God that Lazarus was raised from the dead. It’s because of the agony of God that we are given this powerful sign of God’s triumph over death.

Jesus cries with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”

And love defeats death.

Of course, the story doesn’t end there. In his book What Jesus Meant, Garry Wills writes, “Jesus embraced his own death when he gave life to Lazarus.”

In the Gospel of John, when Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead he sets in motion a chain of events leading to his arrest and execution. This awesome and unprecedented act of power and love convinces the powers that be that Jesus is just too dangerous to live.

And so on Good Friday we will see even more clearly the agony of God.

On Good Friday we will see the agony of God who came and lived among us and was rejected by people just like us.

On Good Friday we will see the agony of God whose offer of love was rejected with nails and a crown of thorns.

But, the good news is that, despite even this painful rejection, God doesn’t give up on us. God doesn’t leave us in our sin, suffering and grief.

The agony of God leads God to act.

The agony of God leads to the best news for us for all time.

The agony of God leads to Easter morning, when love defeats death once and for all.

Thanks be to God.

Give Glory to God!

2011-04-03T07:54:00.000-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
April 3, 2011

Year A: The Fourth Sunday in Lent
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Psalm 23
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41

Give Glory to God!

Well, another Sunday brings another very long reading from the Gospel of John.

As I mentioned last week, most scholars consider the Gospel of John to be the last of the four gospels to have been written – probably sometime around the end of the First Century – several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.

That late date means that this gospel is the product of divine inspiration working through several generations of Christians as they reflected on the meaning of the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.

The Gospel of John is also the product of an early Christian community in crisis.

The Temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed by the Romans in the year 70. Jews had considered the Temple to be the holiest place on earth – in a sense God’s dwelling place - so its destruction was a extremely traumatic experience.

The Temple’s destruction led Jews to reassess and restructure their faith. Judaism had been amazingly diverse – in fact, there were many different Judaisms, many different ways of being a Jew. But now the Temple’s destruction led Jews to think carefully about what exactly it meant to be a Jew.

By the end of the First Century many Jewish religious leaders had real doubts about whether the Jewish followers of Jesus – the people who claimed Jesus was the long-awaited messiah, the people who believed Jesus was the Son of God who had risen from the dead, the people who gathered each week for the Lord’s Supper - were in fact still part of the Jewish community.

So, the Gospel of John was written at a time when Jewish followers of Jesus faced an excruciating choice. Do they continue to follow Jesus and cut themselves off from the community – the nation – the people - of their ancestors? Or, do they remain part of the synagogue and turn their back on Jesus and his followers?

When we hear passages from the Gospel of John like the one I just read, on one level we are hearing a story of how different people responded to a powerful sign performed by Jesus – giving sight to a man blind from birth.

But, on another level, we are hearing a story about the crisis faced by a Christian community decades later. The people referred to as “the Jews” are really the Jewish religious authorities. The people referred to as “the Jews” are the Jewish religious authorities who challenged the followers of Jesus to take the risk of their lives, to break from the past and head into an uncertain future.

Over time, the Church forgot some of this history – forgot that everyone in this and other stories was Jewish – including Jesus. The negative depiction of “the Jews” in Christian scripture, especially in the Gospel of John, served as a tragic foundation for the horrors of Christian anti-Semitism.

All that I’ve said so far is a – hopefully – interesting history lesson. But it’s much more than history. As Christians, you and I face the same kind of choice as the man born blind, the man’s parents, the religious authorities and those early Jewish followers of Jesus living near the end of the First Century.

How do we respond to what we’ve seen – what we continue to see?

The man’s parents pass the buck. Talk to our son – we don’t want to get involved.

The religious leaders stubbornly and arrogantly think they’re the only ones who can really see - and so they miss out on seeing God at work.

And how does the man born blind respond to his extraordinary gift?

The Pharisees said to him, “Give glory to God!” In this context, “Give glory to God!” is a legal command to testify. The Pharisees command the man born blind to testify to what he has experienced, to testify to the gift he has been given, to testify to what he has seen.

Give Glory to God!

And, as best he can, that’s exactly what he does. Although his physical sight was restored after he washed in the pool of Siloam, it takes time to for his spiritual sight to clear.

First, he doesn’t know where Jesus is.

Then, he declares that Jesus is a prophet.

And finally he recognizes Jesus as the Son of Man.

But, although it takes time for his spiritual sight to clear, all along the man born blind testifies as best he can to what he has experienced, testifies to the gift he has been given, testifies to what he has seen.

In our own lives, you and I have probably never experienced something quite as dramatic as what happened to the man born blind. But, then again, maybe we have. When we stop and think about it, we see that we have received extraordinary gifts from God.

We’ve received the gift of life itself. We exist – which in itself is pretty amazing. We all receive the simple pleasures of life on this beautiful planet - feeling the warmth of the sun on our faces, hearing the birds chirping in the morning, enjoying the taste of food and the refreshment of cold water.

And most of us have received the gift of Baptism – the water in which God makes an indissoluble, an unbreakable bond with us.

In the water of Baptism God shows us the bottomless depths of love.

And day after day, Sunday after Sunday, we receive the gift of being part of the Church. For all the church’s failings and faults, it’s here that we experience God’s love in a community like no other. It’s here that we experience God’s love with people we might not otherwise ever meet or might not otherwise even want to meet. It’s here that we experience God’s love through God’s Word, through the Body and Blood of Christ, through the simple exchange of peace, through our fellowship and care for one another.

No doubt the distractions, burdens, disappointments and fears of life can cloud our spiritual vision. Like the man born blind, it takes time – maybe a lifetime – for our spiritual vision to clear.

Yet, although his spiritual vision was still not clear, the man born blind gave glory to God. The man born blind testified to what he had experienced, testified to the gift he had been given, testified to what he had seen.

How about us? are we willing to give glory to God by testifying to what we have experienced, by testifying to the gifts we have been given, by testifying to what we have seen?

We testify by the way we live our lives out there in the world.

We testify by living lives and by having values that are very different from the values out there in the world.

And, sometimes, like the man born blind we testify through our words. Like the man born blind, each in our own way, we tell people out there in the world, “One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.”

The story of Jesus giving sight to the man born blind operates on several levels.

On one level, it’s a story about how everyone responds in very different ways to what they have seen.

On another level, it’s a story about the Jewish Christian community around the end of the First Century facing the excruciating choice between the faith of their mothers and fathers or stepping out into an uncertain future as followers of Jesus.

And now here today you and I face our own decision. Although our spiritual vision may not be completely clear, how do we respond to the gifts we have received?

How do we respond to what we have seen – what we continue to see – all around us?

Like the man’s parents, do we pass the buck?

Like the Pharisees, do we stubbornly and arrogantly refuse to see?

Or, like the man born blind, do we testify?

Do we give glory to God?

Amen.

No Secrets are Hid

2011-03-27T21:24:00.001-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
March 27, 2011

Year A: The Third Sunday in Lent
Exodus 17:1-7
Psalm 95
Romans 5:1-11
John 4:5-42

No Secrets are Hid

The story of the Samaritan woman at the well is found only in the Gospel of John.

Most scholars believe that the fourth gospel was the last to be written, sometime around the end of the First Century – decades after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.

This means that the Gospel of John is the product of divine inspiration working through a couple of generations of Christian reflection on the meaning of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection.

So, no surprise, the Gospel of John is the most polished and the most complex of the four.

We hear some of the gospel’s richness and complexity in the story of Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well.

Jesus smashes cultural and religious boundaries just by speaking with this woman.

First, she’s a woman and no rabbi should be speaking to a female stranger.

Second, she’s a Samaritan. We don’t know as much about the Samaritans as we’d like, but we do know that they were viewed themselves as faithful descendants of ancient Israel who rejected the importance of the Temple in Jerusalem. Relations between the Samaritans and the Jews were very poor.

Thanks to the famous parable in Luke we think of Samaritans as “good” but Jews in the First Century would have avoided Samaria and Samaritans as much as possible.

So, against that backdrop a tired Jesus has this remarkable encounter with the unnamed woman.

At first, typically for the Gospel of John, they seem to speak past each other. She almost comically misunderstands Jesus.

Jesus tells her he has living water and the woman notes that he doesn’t even have a bucket.

Jesus tells her that anyone who drinks this water will never thirst again. She says give me this water so I don’t have to do the hard work of drawing water from the well.

And then we get to the part of the story that I’d like to focus on today.

Jesus says to her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.”

The woman says, “I have no husband.”

And Jesus replies, “You are right in saying ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true.”

Often people assume that here Jesus is criticizing the woman’s sinfulness. But, there’s no criticism in the text and her multiple marriages are not necessarily a sign of sinfulness. Jesus simply acknowledges the fact of the woman’s marriages and acknowledges that she has told him the truth.

But, maybe out of discomfort with Jesus’ insight and knowledge, at this point the woman tries to change the subject to talk about one of the major disagreements between Jews and Samaritans – their disagreement about where they are supposed to worship God.

But, then, at the end of their conversation, the woman does something unexpected. She leaves her valuable water jar and heads to the city, telling people about Jesus: “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!”

Thinking about this, I’m not so sure we’d be too excited to meet Jesus, let’s say while buying some bottled water in Publix, and to realize that he knows everything we’ve ever done.

It’s one of those things that we just take for granted, but probably don’t like to dwell on too much: God knows everything that there is to know about us – everything we’ve ever done, everything we’ve ever thought – the good stuff and, of course, the stuff that we’d rather forget – the embarrassing and shameful stuff we hide even from the people closest to us – the stuff that maybe we even try to hide from ourselves.

Just like for the woman at the well, God knows everything about us.

During most of the year, we begin our services with what’s called the Collect for Purity, which in earlier times was a prayer said privately by a priest as he prepared for Mass.

The words are familiar for Episcopalians, but now that we haven’t said it in a couple of weeks maybe we can really hear the words:

“Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid.”

Whether we like it or not, God can tell us everything we’ve ever done. No secrets are hid from God.

And God’s all-encompassing knowledge would be terrifying except we know that the God who knows all our secrets is also the same God who loves us with an unconditional love beyond our understanding or imagining.

The same God who knows all our secrets is the same God whose unconditional love for us we see in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

After the Samaritan woman has her encounter with Jesus at the well, she excitedly leaves behind her valuable water jar because she can’t wait to tell her friends and neighbors the great news:

“Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!”

And I have to believe that the reason she’s excited to have met this man who knows everything about her is because he’s made it clear that it doesn’t matter what she’s done or hasn’t done. It doesn’t matter that she’s a Samaritan. It doesn’t matter that she’s had five husbands – no matter what the story behind that is.

The only thing that matters is that she is loved.

God knows all her secrets and still loves her unconditionally.

And she responds to that amazing truth, to that unconditional love, with the only response that makes any sense. Drop everything and tell everyone you can find this wonderful news.

“Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!”

We don’t meet Jesus in quite the same way as the woman at the well. But, we do encounter Jesus in the words of Scripture and in the bread and wine of the Eucharist. We meet Jesus in our fellowship. We meet Jesus in the people we encounter in our everyday lives. We meet Jesus in our prayers and in our hearts.

And if we’re listening and paying attention, we receive the same good news as the woman at the well.

God knows all our secrets and still loves us unconditionally.

The only question left is - how do we respond?

Do we still somehow think that we can hide parts of ourselves from God the way we can hide from other people?

Do we just keep the news to ourselves – enjoying privately the comfort of God’s love?

Or, do we respond like the Samaritan woman?

In our own way, right here in Gainesville, do we drop everything and excitedly tell people the Good News:

“Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!”

“Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid.”

And, still, you love us unconditionally.

Thanks be to God.

Forever Part of the Fold

2011-03-26T13:50:00.001-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
March 25, 2011

Funeral Sermon for Robert Bret Henley
Isaiah 61:1-3
Psalm 23
Revelation 7:9-17
John 10:11-16

Forever Part of the Fold

There’s always a mix of emotions involved when it comes to a Christian funeral.

Sometimes people think that somehow they lack faith if they feel sad that someone they love has died.

Sometimes people think that they lack faith if they ask why? Why did this happen? Why couldn’t Bret have recovered? Why couldn’t Bret have recovered and lived on for decades?

Of course, there is nothing wrong with feeling sad or asking these difficult questions. We are suffering a very real loss. Tears have been shed all week. Tears will be shed during this service and tears will be shed in the days and weeks to come.

The devastating fact is that we will not see Bret again in this life.

We mourn the very real loss of Bret who has left behind parents who never wanted to outlive their child.

We mourn the loss of this man who was fortunate enough to find true and abiding love with Erica.

We mourn the very real loss of Bret, who has died too young, leaving behind a brokenhearted wife who hoped for many more years of happy life together

I had the painful privilege of seeing the power of their shared love in the hospital as Bret’s life drew to a close. Erica tended to him so lovingly, hugging and kissing him, whispering in his ear.

I could see the pain but also the determination in Erica’s face when she knew the time had come – when she made one last sacrifice and respected Bret’s wish not to be kept alive by machines.

We can’t know everything Bret was thinking or feeling in his last days, but we can take comfort that he knew he was loved very deeply.

We mourn the very real loss of Bret, this man who gave generously of himself to others as teacher and coach and mentor.

We mourn the very real loss of Bret, this man who loved playing the harmonica, who loved sports, who loved getting out on a boat, who loved taking a cruise, this man who enjoyed the occasional trip to Vegas.

So, we’re here in part to mourn the very real loss of Bret –t he man his mother-in-law described as “everything good.”

We’re also here to show our love and support for Erica and for the rest of Bret’s family.

But, the most important reason we’re here is to celebrate. We’re here to celebrate the life of this man.

And we’re here to celebrate because as Christians we are convinced that Bret’s life didn’t end earlier this week in the Intensive Care Unit at Shands Hospital.

We’re here to celebrate because as Christians we believe, we trust – we know - that God takes death and turns it into life. That’s what God did when Jesus hung lifeless on the cross and all hope seemed to be lost. And yet three days later the resurrected Christ revealed to his shocked followers and eventually to the world that love wins and death had been defeated once and for all.

In the passage from the Gospel of John I read a few minutes ago, Jesus describes himself as the “Good Shepherd.”

Throughout the Bible there is lots of sheep and shepherd imagery – which makes sense since the Bible was written by and for people who probably saw sheep and shepherds just about every day.

Throughout the Bible shepherding the people is a common and obvious metaphor for leadership. And the people who lack leadership are described as lost sheep.

And even those of us who’ve never seen a shepherd in person, can relate to the imagery can’t we? We’ve all felt a little bit like lost sheep at least sometimes, haven’t we? We’ve all looked for a shepherd to lead us - and to take care of us – to make sure we’ll be OK

Often we invest those hopes in political leaders. And the truth is no political leader, no matter how wise or brave or compassionate, can be the Good Shepherd.

There’s only one Good Shepherd and he’s Jesus.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd because he is wiling to die for us - his sheep.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd because he never abandons us in our time of need. In the hospital room with Bret and Erica and their family I could feel God’s grace being poured out. I could feel everyone present receiving the strength they needed in the face of such sadness, in the midst of this ordeal.

I could feel the love of Christ reflected in the love shared between Bret and Erica.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd because there is nothing we can do to be expelled from his fold. Once we are part of his flock we are part of his flock forever.

And we become part of the flock of the Good Shepherd in the water of Baptism. Bret became part of the flock of the Good Shepherd when he was baptized right here at St. Michael’s – or actually right over there at St. Michael’s.

The Church teaches that it’s in the water of Baptism that we are fully initiated into the Body of Christ.

The Church teaches that the bond which God establishes with us in baptism is indissoluble. The bond between God and us can never be dissolved, can never be broken.

No matter what we do or don’t do, no matter how far we stray, no matter how much we disappoint ourselves or disappoint others, no matter how much we mess up, we always remain part of the flock.

No matter what we do or don’t do, no matter how far we stray, no matter how much we disappoint ourselves or disappoint others, no matter how much we mess up, we always remain in the fold of the Good Shepherd.

That’s why at the end of today’s service, I will stand at Bret’s casket and pray to Jesus,

“Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming.”

In his death, Bret has moved from one part of the Good Shepherd’s fold to another. He’s in another part of the fold where for now we can no longer see him. Bret’s in another part of the fold but we can feel his presence, his closeness to us, even now – or especially now – in our grief.

So we’ve gathered here today with a mix of emotions.

We are sad, heartbroken, at the death of Bret.

We ask why did this have to happen?

We’ve come to support Erica and all those loved Bret.

We’re here to celebrate Bret’s life.

We’re here to give thanks to God for the life of Bret Henley.

And we’re here to give thanks to Jesus the Good Shepherd who died for us. We’re here to give thanks to Jesus the Good Shepherd who welcomes all of us into his fold. We’re here to give thanks to Jesus the Good Shepherd who - no matter what - never gives up on us.

Thanks be to God!

The Greatest Generations

2011-03-21T09:46:00.001-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
March 21, 2011

Funeral Sermon for Alice Tredup
Isaiah 2:1-4; 11:6-10; 65:24-25
Psalm 23
Revelation 21:2-7
John 14:1-6

The Greatest Generations

As his death approached, Jesus gathered with his friends for one last meal. Throughout his ministry Jesus had warned his disciples what was going to happen to him, yet they couldn’t or wouldn’t understand, refused to accept, refused to believe, that the one they had recognized as the messiah was going to die.

But, that last time gathered around the table, the truth must have begun to sink in.

The gospels give somewhat different accounts of the last meal shared by Jesus and his disciples.

The passage we just heard comes from the Gospel of John – the last of the four gospels to be written – probably around the end of the First Century – several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.

That means this gospel is the product of God’s inspiration working through decades of Christian reflection on the life, death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth.

In this gospel, Jesus reassures the disciples that although he is leaving them, they know the way – they know the way to the place where they – where we - will all be reunited.

The Apostle Thomas speaks for all the disciples, speaks for all of us, when in confusion and fear, and, yes, doubt, he asks Jesus, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”

And Jesus offers his bold, reassuring and, yes, cryptic response: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.”

And we’ve been wondering what exactly that means ever since.

How exactly is Jesus the way, the truth and the life?

A big part of the answer, I believe, is found just a little bit earlier in John’s account of the Last Supper.

John tells us that during supper, Jesus “poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.”

After he was done, Jesus tells the disciples, “I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”

By getting on his knees and washing the feet of the disciples, Jesus taught them a lesson I’m sure none of them ever forgot.

To follow Jesus means giving away our lives in loving service to God and to one another.

For the rest of their lives, the disciples would have carried in their minds and their hearts the memory and example of Jesus the Son of God getting on his hands and knees and washing their feet.

The disciples dedicated the rest of their lives to sharing with people the amazingly Good News of Jesus.

The disciples left behind the security of their old lives and dedicated themselves to love of God and love of their fellow human beings.

The disciples dedicated the rest of their lives to laying the foundation of the Christian Church – a church that began with just a handful of followers in First Century Palestine and spread - and continues to spread - around the world.

There have been many great and faithful and courageous Christians over the centuries, but the first disciples are our greatest generation.

A few years back Tom Brokaw wrote a book about the Americans of the World War II era – a group of people that he called the Greatest Generation.

He included the famous figures of that time, but mostly he focused on the ordinary men and women who rose to the challenge of living in extraordinary times.

It wasn’t fame or wealth that made them the greatest generation.

What made them the greatest generation was their willingness to sacrifice themselves in loving service to others.

And today we mourn the death and much more we celebrate the life of our sister Alice, a member of our greatest generation.

Today we celebrate the life and example of Alice, who was willing to sacrifice herself in loving service to others.

Today we celebrate the life and example of Alice who in that extraordinary time did her part by caring for American and British soldiers at the Pepsi-Cola canteen in Times Square.

Today we celebrate the life and example of Alice who gave the rest of her life in loving service to her family and her communities and to God.

I only met Alice in the last months of her long and full life. By then we couldn’t get to know each other. Though once when I was visiting her at Harbor Chase there was a show about dogs on TV. Making conversation, I casually mentioned that I’ve never owned a dog. Alice snapped to attention. She turned to me in shock and disbelief that I’ve missed out on what had been such a rich part of her life.

Reading her obituary and reading her son Fred’s remembrance and hearing the wonderful reflection by her grandson here today, have made me very sorry not to have had the chance to know her.

But, you’re the fortunate ones. You’ve all received the gift of Alice. Somewhere along a journey that took her from New York to Oregon to Hawaii to Washington State back to New York and finally to Florida – somewhere along that journey - her life and example touched your life.

Now, Alice’s long and full life has come to an end. Her journey has ended in the loving presence of the God who had imagined her into existence.

Alice’s journey has come to an end, but for us the journey continues.

According to tradition the journey of the Apostle Thomas brought him all the way to India. I’m sure over his long and eventful and challenging journey Thomas carried with him the memories of Jesus and maybe especially the example of Jesus washing his feet and the feet of the others.

Those memories would have sustained Thomas and inspired that member of the greatest Christian generation over the journey of his life.

As we continue the journeys of our lives, we carry the examples of people who have followed Jesus’ example most faithfully.

As we continue the journeys of our lives, we carry the examples of people who have sacrificed themselves in loving service to others.

As we continue the journeys of our lives, we carry the examples of the greatest generation.

As we continue the journeys of our lives, we carry the example of Alice.

Thanks be to God.

(Dis-)Trust

2011-03-20T07:47:00.000-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
March 20, 2011

Year A: The Second Sunday in Lent
Genesis 12:1-4a
Psalm 121
Romans 4:1-5, 13-17
John 3:1-17

(Dis-)Trust

In last Sunday’s sermon I talked about how hard it is for many of us to obey. We just don’t like being told what to do.

Well, obedience is hard, but for many of us trust is even harder.

Many of us have a hard time trusting other people.

Some of us are just naturally suspicious. When I was growing up, if someone rang the doorbell our first response was to surreptitiously peak out the kitchen window to try and see who was at the door. You certainly don’t just take your chances and open the door! It could be a Jehovah’s Witness or some neighbor we didn’t want to deal with.

Sometimes people offer to help us and we wonder what’s their angle? What’s in it for them? How am I being taken advantage of? Watch your wallet!

Some of us have hard time with trust because we’ve been hurt when people have let us down by breaking a trust. For some of us that’s happened too many times to count.

And some of us have a hard time with trust because we ourselves have not always been trustworthy and so we assume that everyone is as untrustworthy as we are.

Whatever the reason, for many of us trust is hard.

Lacking trust is a big deal because of course it messes up our relationships with other people. It’s difficult if not impossible to form friendships or to love another if there is no trust.

And lacking trust is a big deal because it wounds us spiritually.

At its heart, faith is trust.

We usually think of faith as accepting a series of claims as fact. And that’s certainly part of what faith is. In a few minutes we’ll stand and say the Nicene Creed. Part of faith is standing up and saying, yes, I believe these things. Or, at least faith is standing and saying I have my doubts about some of this stuff, but with God’s help I’m trying my best to believe.

But, much more important than accepting the claims of the creed, faith is trusting in God.

Faith is trusting God even when – or especially when – we don’t understand why terrible things happen.

Faith is trusting God when tectonic plates rub against each other and cause horrifically destructive earthquakes and tidal waves.

Faith is trusting God when a young person, a college freshman, dies in a senseless and meaningless way.

Faith is trusting God – trusting that God is in the midst of suffering, pouring out grace and strength.

Faith is trusting God – trusting that God is at work as God is always at work – turning death into life.

Faith is trusting God.

In the words of Psalm 121:

“I lift my eyes to the hills; from where is my help to come? My help comes from the LORD, the maker of heaven and earth.”

Faith is trusting God. But trust – trusting one another and trusting God - is hard for many of us.

Today’s lessons offer us an example of one person who trusted God and another struggled mightily with trust.

In today’s brief passage from Genesis, we heard the story of God sending Abram away from his home into an uncertain future in a foreign land. God makes big promises, “I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.”

Genesis tells us that Abram was seventy-five when he trusted God and along with his wife and his nephew left home for Canaan. I’m sure in those seventy-five years Abram had put his trust in others and sometimes they had let him down. And I’m sure in those seventy-five years others had put their trust in Abram and sometimes he had let them down.

Yet, Abram trusts God and trusts in God’s promises.

And then there’s Nicodemus.

We’re told that Nicodemus is a Pharisee and a leader of the Jews. The Pharisees are usually depicted very negatively in the New Testament, but not Nicodemus. He recognizes Jesus as “a teacher who has come from God.” Nicodemus recognizes that God’s power is working through Jesus.

But, Nicodemus comes to Jesus by night. Nicodemus is not yet ready or able to put his trust in Jesus.

Nicodemus represents of other First Century people who recognized the power of Jesus and yet were unready or unable to put their trust in him.

And Nicodemus is probably a representative for many of us who have also seen the power of Jesus working in our own lives and in the lives of those around us.

Nicodemus is probably a representative for many of us who have seen God at work turning death into life, and yet…

And yet, we’re unable or unwilling to put our trust in God.

Christians believe that faith is a gift from God. There’s nothing we can do to make ourselves have faith, to convince ourselves to trust God.

On the one hand, God has been reaching out to us, calling to us, since the beginning.

And God’s ultimate reaching out to us, calling to us, is the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

In the familiar but still powerful words of John’s Gospel:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have everlasting life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

On the other hand, trust takes time. We need to take the time to open ourselves to God who is reaching out to us, calling to us, through Jesus.

Trust is hard. Trust takes time. During Lent we have a chance to make a little more time for God, make a little more time for God to grow closer to us, make a little more time to allow our trust in God to deepen.

Maybe that means setting aside a little extra time for prayer and Scripture reading. Maybe that means setting aside a little extra time to take a reflective walk in this beautiful place. Maybe that means attending a weekday service. Maybe that means offering some kind of sacrifice or service to someone in need.

At its heart, faith is trust.

Faith is trusting God even when – or especially when – we don’t understand why terrible things happen.

Faith is trusting God when tectonic plates rub against each other and cause horrifically destructive earthquakes and tidal waves.

Faith is trusting God when a young person, a college freshman, dies in a senseless and meaningless way.

Faith is trusting God – trusting that God is in the midst of suffering, pouring out grace and strength.

Faith is trusting God – trusting that God is at work as God is always at work – turning death into life.

Faith is trusting God.

And trust takes time. I’m sure Abram’s trust of God grew over the seventy-five years before he set out into the unknown - to Canaan.

And maybe Nicodemus’s trust of God also grew over time.

Nicodemus who came to Jesus by night makes a brief but important reappearance near the end of John’s Gospel.

After Jesus’ death on the cross, it’s Nicodemus who uses an abundance of myrrh and aloes – weighing about a hundred pounds, we’re told - to anoint Jesus’ body before burial.

Why do that? To me, that sounds like faith as trust.

I don’t know if Nicodemus had worked out all his theology or if he ever would have been able to stand with us and say the creed.

But Nicodemus made time for God and for God’s Son - giving generously of himself, trusting that somehow, someway, in the midst of great suffering, God was at work as God is always at work - turning death into life.

Amen.

(Dis-)Obedience

2011-03-13T09:46:00.000-04:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
March 13, 2011

Year A: The First Sunday in Lent
Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7
Psalm 32
Romans 5:12-19
Matthew 4:1-11

(Dis-)Obedience

Anyone here have a problem with obedience?

If you’re like me, you don’t really like being told what to do.

Americans are often notoriously bad at obedience. Disobedience is sort of in our national DNA. After all, our country was begun by a group of disobedient people who refused to submit to the legal authorities across the ocean in London.

Lately, memories of that first American disobedience have been revived by members of the so-called Tea Party as they have resisted what they view as unwarranted increases in government power.

In yesterday’s New York Times there was a front-page story of people who for a number of reasons are resisting the switch from incandescent light bulbs to compact florescent bulbs. Some are concerned about the cost and others wonder about the environmental impact.

But I think beneath those reasons there’s the very American resistance to the government telling us what kind of light bulb we should use. So some people are stocking up on the old bulbs and others are trying to get Congress to repeal the 2007 law that makes the old incandescent bulb subject to strict efficiency standards.

We have a problem with obedience.

In American history, especially in the second half of the last century, there is, of course, a noble tradition of civil disobedience – people practicing boycotts and sit-ins in peaceful defiance of unjust laws and practices.

So, I’m not sure about light bulbs, but certainly there are occasions when, following the examples of Gandhi and King, we are called to be disobedient in the fight for justice.

Political disobedience is one thing. Spiritual disobedience is something very different.

Disobeying God – the God who is perfect love and perfect justice – leads to disaster.

No matter how many times we hear it, the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden never loses its power. In the beginning humanity is given nearly everything – especially a relationship with God that’s this close – and humanity nearly throws it all away through disobedience.

God commanded Adam, “You may freely eat of every tree in the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die.”

Now, wait a second. Adam and Eve didn’t die after eating the forbidden fruit, did they?

No, Adam and Eve suffered a death worse than what happens when our hearts stop beating.

They suffered the death that maybe some of us have experienced when we realize that we have broken something valuable.

They suffered the death that maybe some of us have experienced when we’ve broken a promise, violated a trust, shattered a relationship.

They suffered the death that maybe some of us have experienced in our sinking stomach when we realize what we’ve done and wonder if what’s been broken can ever be fixed again.

Adam and Eve recognized that their disobedience of God had broken nearly everything. In their nakedness they recognized their total dependence on the God whose trust they had violated. And so they did what we would do. They did what we often do. They hid from God.

The cost of our disobedience of God is very high indeed.

Yet, the greatest news of all, the entire theme of the Bible, and the core of our faith, is the fact that no matter how disobedient we are, God never gives up on us.

In the very next scene of the Genesis story, God comes through the garden, searching for Adam and Eve.

God calls out, “Where are you?”

Where are you?

And God has been searching for us, reaching out to us, calling to us, ever since.

And we Christians believe that God’s ultimate search for us, God’s ultimate reaching out to us, is the life death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Adam is a model of disobedience and Jesus, the new Adam, is the model of perfect obedience.

Human disobedience nearly breaks our relationship with God.

But, Jesus’ perfect obedience – Jesus’ resistance of temptation - repairs and heals the break between God and humanity. As Paul writes to the church in Rome, “For just as by the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous.”

The many will be made righteous, but, we’re not quite righteous yet. Let’s be honest, we still sin. We’re still disobedient.

I was at a clergy conference on Thursday and Friday led by the Bishop of Peru, Bill Godfrey. He is a very impressive man. He radiated gentleness, wisdom and a deep spirituality.

At one point during the retreat Bishop Godfrey reminded us that the word translated in the Bible as “obedience” is actually the word meaning “to hear.”

God still calls to us, “Where are you?”

Our disobedience is mainly a failure to hear God’s call to us.

And that’s a big reason why we come to this place, isn’t it? We come to church to hear God’s call to us in the old stories and in the prayers.

We come to church to hear God’s call to us in the breaking of the bread.

We come to church to hear God’s call to us through the love and fellowship of one another.

And during the next forty days or so, the Church tries to make it a little easier than usual to hear God’s call to us.

During Lent we’re encouraged to sacrifice in order to hear more clearly God’s call to us.

During Lent we’re encouraged to spend even just a little more time in prayer in order to hear more clearly God’s call to us.

During Lent we’re encouraged to turn down the volume and cut out the distractions.

Here in church, the music is quieter and all the shiny things have been covered or put away.

We change some of the prayers. A little later we’ll say the contemporary version of the Lord’s Prayer.

And we even put away the “A” word which I know for many of you will be a real sacrifice - especially at the dismissal!

Church can become routine and the familiar words can lose their meaning after a while. All of these seasonal changes to the service are made to make it easier for us to hear God calling to us.

We all, especially we Americans, have a problem with obedience. And it’s appropriate to disobey in the struggle for justice in the world.

Political disobedience is one thing. Spiritual disobedience is something very different.

Disobeying God – the God who is perfect love and perfect justice – led to disaster for Adam and Eve and leads to disaster for us today.

The good news is that God has never stopped and will never stop calling to us.

“Where are you?”

During this holy season of Lent may we all take the time to listen for God’s call and to obey God who never stops calling to us.

Amen.

Striving for the Worry-Free Kingdom

2011-02-27T17:47:00.000-05:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
February 27, 2011

Year A: The Eighth Sunday after Epiphany
Isaiah 49:8-16a
Psalm 131
1 Corinthians 4:1-5
Matthew 6:24-34

Striving for the Worry-Free Kingdom

Over the past few Sundays we’ve been making our way through the Sermon on the Mount – this extraordinary collection of Jesus sayings assembled by the Evangelist Matthew.

This is one of the best-known parts of the gospel – and also one of the most challenging.

It begins with Jesus’ extraordinary vision of the downside-up kingdom of God – a kingdom in which the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the peacemakers and the persecuted are blessed.

Then Jesus moves on to give us very challenging instructions on how to build the kingdom of God, right here and now.

To build the kingdom we are called to reconcile with our brothers and sisters.

To build the kingdom we are called to strive for self-control.

To build the kingdom we are called to honor our vows.

To build the kingdom we are called to turn the other cheek, give away our cloak, walk the extra mile, and to love our enemies.

To build the kingdom we are called to be perfect as God is perfect.

A very tall order.

In my sermon last week I pointed out that God has the highest expectations of us but that God also knows that in this life at least we’re not going to meet those highest expectations.

So, God invites us to try. And when we stumble and fall, God always stands ready to forgive. The God who has inscribed us on the divine palms, always stands ready to pour out the grace and strength we need to continue.

And now we come to the section of the Sermon on the Mount we heard today.

Actually, there are really three parts to what we heard today.

First, Jesus says we cannot serve God and wealth.

Then Jesus tells us not to worry about our material needs.

Finally, Jesus says to focus on today because tomorrow will bring its own worries.

I have to tell you that following these teachings are a big struggle for me – and I bet for most of you, too.

It’s hard to stay focused on what’s most important.

It’s hard not to worry about material needs – and it’s hard not to worry about the future.

About three and a half years ago I was hired to serve as curate at Grace Church in Madison, New Jersey. At the time Sue and I were living in a house we owned in our hometown of Jersey City. When we had bought this 90 year-old row house I think we both believed that this where we’d live for a long time – maybe even the rest of our lives.

But, now my new job created an unexpected complication. It came with a very nice house in Madison.

So, after some thought, we decided to move to Madison - great decision - and to rent our Jersey City house.

Big mistake. I’ll spare you the details, except to say some tenants don’t always pay their rent and can also really do a lot of damage to a house.

Finally, I guess about two years ago, “Tom and Sue Landlord” decided to sell the house.

You may remember that this was right around the time the housing market was collapsing. There were real doubts that we’d be able to sell this place anytime soon. Month after month went by of us paying a mortgage on an empty house. Despite having already spent a lot of money on home improvements, the inspection report on this nearly a century old house was forty pages of nausea.

It’s not much of an exaggeration to say that worrying about this house took over my life.

I didn’t really care about making money on our investment. Instead, I worried that we’d never be able to sell it. I worried that we’d always be absentee landlords. I worried that for decades we’d be paying the mortgage on this house where we’d probably never live again. I worried that it would be one expensive thing after another – new roof, new windows, new furnace, foundation cracks, termite infestations.

I worried and I worried.

I did my best to focus on my work, but, to be honest, I was at best distracted by – and at worst consumed by – worries about this stupid house.

Meanwhile, during those dismal months God was at work all around me I was missing out on much of what God was doing – much, but not all of it. A few people close to me knew just how much the house thing was bothering me. And they prayed for us.

I know they did because I could actually feel God using their prayers to keep me going, giving me strength in a very bleak time.

My all-consuming worrying about selling our house is exactly what Jesus warns about – what Jesus teaches us – in today’s gospel.

Jesus calls us to mindfulness – to focus on what’s most important.

Jesus calls us to mindfulness – to focus on loving God and loving our neighbor

Jesus calls us to mindfulness – to focus on building the kingdom of God, today, right here and now.

Notice that Jesus doesn’t say that our material needs are unimportant.

Instead, Jesus says, “Indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.”

And then here comes the key to the whole passage:

“But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”

Jesus is teaching us to focus on building the kingdom of God, today, right here and now.

Jesus is teaching us, urging us, expecting us, to give our lives to building the kingdom in which the poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the peacemakers and the persecuted are blessed.

Jesus is teaching us, urging us, expecting us, to build the kingdom by reconciling with our brothers and sisters.

- To build the kingdom by striving for self-control.

- To build the kingdom by honoring our vows.

- To build the kingdom by turning the other cheek, giving away our cloak, walking the extra mile, and by loving our enemies.

- To build the kingdom we are called to be perfect as God is perfect.

And when we commit to this challenging work – when we commit to building the kingdom of God - sure enough our broken and worried world is transformed just a little bit more into the kingdom that God always intended, the kingdom that God dreams of, still.

We saw a glimpse of that transformation at St. Michael’s just a few weeks ago when tragedy struck two of our parishioners.

As word got out I immediately started getting calls and emails from parishioners asking how they could help – people trying to be perfect as God is perfect.

In the end, the extraordinary generosity and hospitality offered by this little parish was a powerful sign of what’s possible when we strive first to build the kingdom of God, today, right here and now.

When we strive first to build the kingdom of God, our worries about tomorrow fade.

When we strive first to build the kingdom of God, today, right here and now, God’s abundance and love is shared with all – material needs are met – and houses are eventually sold.

When we strive first to build the kingdom of God, today, right here and now, then we begin live the worry-free lives of love that God always intended for us – the worry-free lives of love that God dreams for us still.

Amen.

The Highest Expectations

2011-02-20T10:02:00.000-05:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
February 20, 2011

Year A: The Seventh Sunday after Epiphany
Leviticus 19:1-2, 9-18
Psalm 119:33-40
1 Corinthians 3:10-11,16-23
Matthew 5:38-48

The Highest Expectations

Some of you know that before I got into the priest business I spent about fifteen years as a high school history teacher. I loved teaching, and still miss it – the interaction with students, the challenge of trying to come up with new ways to teach familiar material, the chance to work closely with colleagues.

And, yes, I admit it, I miss the amazingly long summer vacations.

Grading tests and essays was no fun, but the rest of it was great.

Over the years I got to be pretty good, though not perfect, at sizing up students. I got to be pretty good at knowing who was really trying and who was trying to pull a fast one. I could recognize students who really wanted to learn and those I had to keep my eye on during tests.

All of us have been students and some of us still are, so I don’t need to tell you that we all get pretty good at sizing up teachers. We can tell when a teacher (or a professor) doesn’t really care, is just phoning it in, is burnt out and is maybe only hanging in there until retirement.

And we can also tell when a teacher is passionate about his or her subject. We can tell when a teacher genuinely cares about his or her students.

And, if we’re really fortunate, every once in a while we encounter a teacher who can see something extraordinary in us - something that maybe we can’t see in ourselves.

These are the teachers who challenge us with the highest expectations.

It can be frightening to encounter a teacher who sees something in us that we don’t see – or, maybe, don’t want to see.

Jesus is often described as the greatest teacher of all. And listening to the gospel lessons these past couple of Sundays, there’s no question that Jesus the great teacher sees something extraordinary in all of us.

Jesus sees something in us that maybe we can’t see - or don’t want to see. Jesus the great teacher challenges us, his followers, with the highest expectations of all.

Over the past couple of Sundays we’ve been making our way through the collection of Jesus sayings that Matthew organized into what we call the Sermon on the Mount.

Matthew’s gospel was probably written near the end of the First Century, several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.

With the passage of time, you’d think that Matthew might water down Jesus’ sayings a bit – to make it easier for people to say yes to Jesus.

You’d think that Matthew would lower Jesus’ expectations.

Instead, Matthew collects the most demanding of Jesus’ teachings and organizes them into the sermon that we’ve been hearing in church these past couple of weeks.

Jesus the great teacher uses vivid, maybe even exaggerated, language, but it’s clear that because Jesus sees something extraordinary in us, Jesus has the highest expectations of us.

Obviously, following Jesus isn’t going to be an easy course.

Jesus says that if we call another “you fool” we will be punished in hell.

Jesus says that looking at someone with lust is just as bad as acting on our desires.

Jesus says we should tear out our eye or cut off our hand if they are causing us to sin.

Jesus teaches us that we must take our marriage vows with the utmost seriousness.

And then just when we might have been considering dropping this difficult course, we have the sayings we heard today.

Jesus teaches us, do not resist evildoers, regardless of the consequences.

Jesus teaches us to give away our coat and our cloak, even if that leaves us naked.

Jesus teaches us to give to everyone who begs from us.

Jesus teaches us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.

And finally, just when we might be ready to give up and transfer to another religion, Jesus concludes with, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

Jesus sees something extraordinary in us so Jesus has the highest expectations of us.

What is it that Jesus sees in us?

At the very root of our tradition there is the bold, nearly absurd, recognition that we are made in the image of the God of the universe. We have a hard time seeing that in ourselves, because so often we sin - we mess up - we fall short.

But, despite our stumbling and fumbling, God sees far better than we do what’s inside us. We are created in the divine image.

Knowing who we are and what’s inside us, God’s command to us in Leviticus makes sense:

“You shall be holy, for I the LORD your God am holy.”

In other words, God says, “I made you to be like me. You really can be like me. So be like me!”

That means, God loves all, so we should, too.

God forgives all, so we should, too.

God gives to all, so we should, too.

The highest expectations.

Since we keep coming to church, I guess we’ve decided to stick with this most challenging course.

Let’s face it, though, we know that in this life we’ll never meet God’s highest expectations, the highest expectations expressed by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount.

Despite our best intentions, some marriages will end in divorce, and sometimes we’ll look someone who’s attractive.

Despite our best intentions, we won’t always turn the other cheek and we won’t always give to everyone who begs of us.

Despite our best intentions, we won’t always bring ourselves to pray for our enemies.

It sure seems like we’re going to fail, but the very good news is that although Jesus has the highest expectations for us, it’s actually not so hard to pass this course.

The only requirement is trusting in Christ and trying to follow God’s will.

The 20th Century monk and writer Thomas Merton summed up what’s required of us when he prayed:

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.

Amen.

The Way: Funeral Sermon for William M. "Bill" Foster

2011-02-12T18:16:00.000-05:00

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
February 12, 2011

Funeral Sermon for William M. “Bill” Foster
Wisdom 3:1-5, 9
Revelation 21:2-7
John 14:1-6a

The Way

As his death approached, Jesus gathered with his friends for one last meal. Throughout his ministry Jesus had warned his disciples what was going to happen to him, yet they couldn’t or wouldn’t understand, refused to accept, refused to believe, that the one they had recognized as the messiah was going to die.

But, that last time gathered around the table, the truth must have begun to sink in.

The gospels give somewhat different accounts of the last meal shared by Jesus and his disciples.

The passage we just heard comes from the Gospel of John – the last of the four gospels to be written – probably around the end of the First Century – several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.

That means this gospel is the product of God’s inspiration working through decades of Christian reflection on the life, death and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth.

In this gospel, Jesus reassures the disciples that although he is leaving them, they know the way – they know the way to the place where they – where we - will all be reunited.

The Apostle Thomas speaks for all the disciples, speaks for all of us, when in confusion and fear, and, yes, doubt, he asks Jesus, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?”

And Jesus offers his bold, reassuring and, yes, cryptic response: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.”

And we’ve been wondering what that means ever since.

How exactly is Jesus the way, the truth and the life?

A big part of the answer, I believe, is found just a little bit earlier in John’s account of the Last Supper.

John tells us that during supper, Jesus “poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.”

After he was done, Jesus tells the disciples, “I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”

The way.

Jesus is the way not only by believing in him, but by following his example – following his example of loving service to those who were closest to him and his example of loving service to those who were the least – the forgotten and the outcast.

We see the way when we look at Jesus and when we look at those who have followed him most faithfully.

We walk the way when we follow the example of Jesus and those who have followed him most faithfully.

And that’s why you and I are so fortunate to have known Bill Foster. We are so blessed to have seen right here in our midst this remarkable man walk the way of Jesus. We have seen Bill walk the way of loving service.

We have seen Bill walk the way of loving service to those who were closest to him.

We have seen the way in the profoundly deep love he shared with Lyn over more than fifty years of marriage.

I glimpsed that love one last time when I visited with Bill and Lyn at their home a few weeks ago. We all knew it would be the last time the three of us would be together. Bill was painfully thin and obviously failing.

But, he only acknowledged his own struggles by mentioning that he no longer had enough energy to stand and shave. Instead, he grew what I thought was a rather distinguished-looking beard – good-looking right to the end!

Instead of talking about his own troubles, he redirected the conversation away from himself – and to his concern about the toll caring for him was taking on Lyn.

We have seen the way in the quiet and deep reservoir of love he poured out onto his children, Beth and Jim and later, Mark and Vickie. We have seen the way in the love and pride he poured out onto his grandchildren, Kristin and Erik.

And we saw the way when Bill’s solid core of love and faith helped this family endure Beth’s wrenching and unspeakably sad final illness and death.

We have seen the way when Bill offered loving service to the countless little leaguers and to the students at Upsala and Drew, for whom he was both mentor and coach.

We have seen the way when Bill offered loving service here at Grace Church, where half a century ago Fr. Neiman, that great talent scout, spotted Bill and Lyn right away. Bill played a key role in the enormous project to expand this church building, making possible decades of ministry and growth.

He served the vestry and taught Sunday School. (And as anyone who has ever been in those positions can tell you – sometimes you’d rather was people’s feet.)

And for over fifty years he served in the crucially important ministry of usher. Thinking about all of those years of service, I’ve been wondering how much of this church’s steady and longstanding health is a result of Bill’s ushering? I mean, who wouldn’t want to be a member of a church where you were first greeted by Bill Foster?!

Finally, we have seen the way in Bill’s loving service to the forgotten and to the outcast.

You know that Bill was in remarkable shape. He was still coaching baseball until just a few years ago and was a regular at the Y until nearly the end. Now, if I were in my 80s and healthy, just about the last place I’d ever want to visit would be a nursing home.

Yet, that’s where Bill was each month as the crew from Grace Church offered its prayer service. That’s where Bill was handing out bulletins, gamely singing the hymns, or assisting residents who were very likely quite a bit younger than himself.

In his own quiet way, Bill was passionate about the work of the Community Soup Kitchen in Morristown. Some of the most powerful prayers I heard during my time here at Grace were the prayers offered by Bill Foster as we gathered - maybe with some trepidation - just before the soup kitchen doors were opened.

In his prayer Bill always reminded us of how privileged we were to feed the hungry – and how by feeding the hungry we were feeding Christ himself.

There in that soup kitchen Bill and we were feeding Christ, the way, the truth and the life.

As his death approached Jesus reassured the disciples that, although he was leaving them, they knew the way – they knew the way to the place where we will all be reunited.

Jesus told them, “I am the way, the truth and the life.”

The way is to put our trust in Christ and live a life of loving service.

The way is for each of us in our own way to get on our hands and knees and wash the feet of one another.

The way is for each of us in our own way to get on our hands and knees and wash the feet of the forgotten and the outcast.

We know the way because we have seen it. We’ve seen the way in the lives of people who have followed Jesus’ example.

We know the way because we have seen Bill Foster.

Amen.

Who We Really Are

2011-02-06T20:51:00.001-05:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
February 6, 2011

Year A: The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany
Isaiah 58:1-12
Psalm 112:1-10
1 Corinthians 2:1-16
Matthew 5:13-20

Who We Really Are

Many of you know that once a month I lead the chapel service for the 60 or so children of the St. Michael’s Day School.

It’s a fun and challenging experience to engage these wonderful children and their teachers for about twenty minutes. Since it’s not my usual demographic, I struggle to come up with something that will be relevant and meaningful for their young lives.

A couple of weeks ago I thought I’d talk about the wonderful truth that God loves us, even though we’re not perfect.

So, I began by asking the kids if they knew what the word “perfect” meant. Lots of hands went up. Many of the children could use “perfect” in context such as “My house is perfect.”

That comment set off a chain reaction of children telling me about their houses. “My house is white.” “My house is white and blue.”

You know how it goes.

Finally, we pretty much nailed down what “perfect” means.

Then I asked, “How many of you are perfect?”

Without hesitation, every hand shot up.

Low self-esteem is obviously not much of a problem for this group!

I was reminded of that experience with those “perfect” children when I began to think about today’s gospel lesson.

We pick up in the Gospel of Matthew right where we left of last week. Matthew presents us with the teachings of Jesus, organized into what’s called the Sermon on the Mount.

Last week we heard the Beatitudes, Jesus’ vision of the downside-up kingdom of God. In God’s the kingdom the blessed are the poor in spirit, the mourners, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. In God’s kingdom the blessed are the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake.

Jesus’ vision of God’s kingdom is powerful. It’s a vision of a kingdom that has already been established – these people are already blessed. But, it’s also a vision of a kingdom that has not yet been completed.

So, we – the disciples of Jesus - are invited to be part of the building of God’s kingdom here and now.

Now, Jesus switches gears. Instead of teaching about the kingdom that is already here and not yet here, Jesus addresses his disciples – addresses us – directly, using the present tense.

Jesus tells us something important, something truly awesome, about ourselves.

No, Jesus doesn’t tell us we’re perfect.

But, what Jesus does tell us is almost as amazing.

Jesus says to us, “You are the salt of the earth.”

In a world that all too often is flat and drab, Jesus tells us that we are the ones who can bring out the flavors of hope and joy.

In a world that all too often is obsessed with what doesn’t last, with what doesn’t satisfy, with what adds to our burdens rather than gives us hope and joy, we are the ones who can bring out the flavor of life as God intends it to be.

Then Jesus tells us, “You are the light of the world.”

In a world that is all too often shadowed and gloomy with suffering and despair, Jesus tells us that we are the ones who are light and we can shine our light – the light of Christ - into the world’s darkness.

Now, before we get too full of ourselves and like the children raise our hands and claim perfection (after all, we’re the salt of the earth – and the light of the world!), Jesus gives a couple of warnings.

“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.”

“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.”

Jesus tells us we are the salt of the earth. We are the light of the world.

This is who we are.

We will build God’s kingdom only by being who we really are.

Our challenge is to live like we are the salt of the earth; to live like we are the light of the world.

But it’s not so easy to be who we really are.

The forces of the world are very powerful. The temptations to be like everyone else – to just look out for number one, to pile up possessions, to look away from injustice, to bend or break the rules like everyone else, to despise the other - to be like everyone else – these are very great temptations. These are temptations that, sadly, you and I give into all the time.

Being like everyone else makes our salt lose its saltiness. Being like everyone else hides our light under a bushel basket.

So, the truth is, we need to practice at being the salt and light that we really are.

And that’s a big reason why we come here. Each time we gather here we practice living lives as the salt of the earth and the light of the world. In this building, as part of this community, we practice being different from the world.

We practice being the salt of the earth each time we gather here and find ourselves sitting with people we may not know and maybe don’t particularly like, and yet embracing them as beloved sisters and brothers in Christ.

We practice being the light of the world each time we gather here and in front of everyone display our weakness - admit that we’ve sinned, we’ve missed the mark, we’re not perfect – and ask God for forgiveness.

We practice being the salt of the earth each time we gather here and stretch out our hands to receive the Body and Blood of Christ – everyone receiving the same portion – everyone drinking from a common cup.

We practice being the light of the world each time when we prepare to leave this place and we remind ourselves of who we really are by thanking God for accepting us as living members of the Body of Christ.

And just before we go, we ask God’s help to be who we really are – to be the salt of the earth, to be the light of the world - to be the pure in heart, the peacemakers, to be those who hunger and thirst for righteousness - to be the builders of the kingdom of God.

(“And we humbly beseech thee, O heavenly Father, so to assist us with thy grace, that we may continue in that holy fellowship, and do all such good works as thou hast prepared for us to walk in.”)

“Send us now into the world in peace, and grant us strength and courage to love and serve you with gladness and singleness of heart.”

In today’s gospel, Jesus tells his disciples – tells us - us who we really are.

We’re not perfect, but we are the salt of the earth. On an earth that is often flat and drab, we are the ones who can bring out the flavors of hope and joy.

We’re not perfect, but we are the light of the world.

In a world that is all too often shadowed and gloomy with suffering and despair, we are the ones who are light and can shine our light – the light of Christ - into darkness.

We’re not perfect, so we’ve come here to practice at being who we really are. Soon, though, this practice session will be over.

Then once again, we’ll have the chance to walk through those doors. Then once again, we’ll have the chance to go out into the world and, with God’s help, be who we really are – the salt of the earth and the light of the world, the builders of the kingdom of God.

Thanks be to God!

Amen.

The Downside-Up Kingdom

2011-01-30T20:01:00.002-05:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 30, 2011

Year A: The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany
Micah 6:1-8
1 Corinthians 1:18-31
Psalm 15
Matthew 5:1-12

The Downside-Up Kingdom

I’m going to start with a big understatement.

We’re living in a time of frightening change.

Living in a time of frightening change can reduce us to survival mode – to focusing on just getting through the day – to focusing on all the scary things that have happened and might still happen.

Living in a time of frightening change can make it hard to remember – or even believe - that God is at work, just as God is always at work, restoring the good creation that has been broken.

Change is burning across the Middle East. The government of Tunisia has already fallen and now the leadership of Egypt and maybe other countries are about to tumble, as well. People in the part of the world had seemed beaten into submission forever, and, yet, now they are rising up and demanding a better life, demanding freedom.

As for the United States, it was just a few short years ago that we were strutting across the world stage, declaring ourselves the indispensible super power, declaring that it was unlikely that any other country would be able to challenge our supremacy any time soon.

And then, on Tuesday night there was the President in the State of the Union address warning us that we were losing ground. Our children are not learning what they need to learn and are falling farther and farther behind their counterparts in Europe and Asia.

So many of our jobs have been exported. Our infrastructure is crumbling around and beneath us. The Chinese, to whom we owe an astonishingly huge amount of money, seem to be breathing down our necks.

We’re living in a time of frightening change.

And there’s been much frightening change closer to home, too.

(Last week, when I was standing right here preaching from this pulpit, our beloved sister Merna was, as usual, sitting right there in the first pew, next to Gill. And now she has gone from us and is in the full presence of the God who loved her into existence.

As much as we celebrate the completion of her journey, her sudden death is another reminder that only right now is promised – nothing more.

Last week our beloved brother and sister Phil and Sue had no idea that the following day their home would be set ablaze by a lightning strike and be destroyed. While we are relieved that they are safe, I know all of us mourn with them the loss of their home.

And of course many here are still reeling from the possibility that this property may be sold and that this building that is our spiritual home may be demolished. Many of us are still struggling to accept the frightening change that began for us when the bishop visited us in November – the change of leaving this place and moving to a new church building on another piece of property.)

(It’s been only a couple of weeks since the shocking death of our sister, Shayna. Many of us are still trying to absorb – if that’s the right word - that loss. Her sudden death was a powerful reminder that only right now is promised – nothing more.

The career fair this past week is a real reminder that time is passing, the semester is already one month old, and for the seniors their days here at UF are drawing to close.

May I remind you of the fine graduate programs available at UF?

Some of us are beginning to think about what it will be like to leave this place. Others of us are beginning to think about what it will be like without some great people who have given so much to build up and support this community.

In previous years this may have been an exhilarating time. I could be wrong, but I sense fear more than excitement.)

Well, I don’t know if this will make us feel any better, but the truth is, it’s not so unusual to live during a time of frightening change. In fact, it’s probably the norm.

The Prophet Micah also lived during a time of frightening change. In his case, it was the late 8th Century BC.

He lived during the time when the Kingdom of Israel had fallen to the Assyrians and the other Israelite kingdom, Judah, was threatened.

Micah lived during a time when the old ways of life seemed to be dying as droves of people left the countryside and moved to the big city of Jerusalem.

In a time of frightening change, I’m sure it was hard to see that God was at work, building God’s kingdom right here and now.

In a time of frightening change, it was hard to remember that, as always, God was inviting people to join in the great work of building God’s kingdom. So, speaking through Micah, God reminds the people of this invitation in the most beautiful question ever asked:

“He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

We are invited to work with God on the great project of building God’s kingdom, of restoring the good creation right here and now.

We are invited to work with God by doing justice, loving kindness and walking humbly with God.

The invitation from God spoken through Micah still stands.

And, as Christians, we receive God’s ultimate invitation in, and through, and from Jesus of Nazareth.

One of the highlights of this new year has been our Tuesday evening Bible study at the chapel. Each week a wonderful group has gathered to study the Gospel of Matthew – this inspired text that is so important to Christians.

One of the things we talked about was how this gospel was written during a time of frightening change.

For the first few decades after the earthly lifetime of Jesus it was possible for his Jewish followers to continue to gather at the synagogues, just as always. But that was becoming increasingly difficult by the time the gospel was written in the last decades of the First Century. The Jesus followers were making bold claims about Jesus – claims that to many seemed less and less Jewish.

So, Matthew’s gospel was written during a time of big change. The Romans had destroyed the Temple and now the Jewish followers of Jesus were faced with the reluctant parting from the faith of their ancestors.

Matthew writes to and for a mostly Jewish Christian community – a community faced with frightening change.

And once again, during a time of frightening change, a time when we might prefer just to hunker down in survival mode, God invites the people to join in the great work of building God’s kingdom. This time God’s invitation is even more direct.

Matthew sets the scene by telling us that Jesus is on a mountain, reminding us of the encounter Moses had with God on another mountain long before.

This time, though, rather than Moses receiving revelation from God, Jesus is God’s revelation.

In the poem that has come to be known as the Beatitudes, Jesus extends the invitation to join with God in the great work of building God’s kingdom.

In Matthew, Jesus calls it the “kingdom of heaven.” But, he’s probably not referring to life after death. Instead, Jesus is talking about the transformation of this world – the transformation of the good creation that has been broken.

First, Jesus tells us that this kingdom is like no kingdom we’ve ever seen.

Jesus tells us in this downside-up kingdom it’s the poor in spirit – the people who are at the end of their rope – who are blessed.

In this downside-up kingdom, it’s those who mourn and those who are meek who are blessed.

In Jesus, God offers the ultimate invitation to be part of the great work of building God’s kingdom, right here and now.

We accept God’s invitation when we hunger and thirst for righteousness, when we’re merciful, when we’re pure in heart and when we’re peacemakers.

It’s quite an invitation.

And to make matters worse, Jesus warns us that if we accept God’s invitation we’re likely to suffer.

If we accept God’s invitation we may be persecuted for righteousness’ sake.

If we accept God’s invitation we may very well be persecuted and slandered.

It’s quite an invitation.

And, as always, God leaves the response up to us.

Living in a time of frightening change can reduce us to survival mode – to focusing on just getting through the day – to focusing on all the scary things that have happened and might still happen.

Living in a time of frightening change it’s hard to remember – or even believe - that God is at work, just as God is always at work, building the downside-up kingdom, restoring the good creation that has been broken.

Yet, during this time of frightening change, God invites us – you and me - to join in the great work of building God’s kingdom, right here and now.

So, what’s it going to be?

Do we respond by hunkering down in survival mode?

Or do we respond by doing justice, loving kindness and walking humbly with God?

Amen.

God the Risk-Taker

2011-01-23T20:43:00.002-05:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 23, 2011

Year A: The Third Sunday after Epiphany
Isaiah 9:1-4
Psalm 27:1, 5-13
1 Corinthians 1:10-18
Matthew 4:12-23

God the Risk-Taker

This Sunday’s gospel is a somewhat different take on the story we heard last week – Jesus’ calling of the first disciples. Last week we heard John’s version of these events. This week we hear Matthew’s account.

The details that Matthew gives us along with the events of the past week have gotten me thinking about risk – the risk that God took in creation; the risk that God took in becoming one of us in Jesus; and the risk that you and I take when we live and love the way we are meant to.

First, I’ve been thinking about the risk God took in creating a physical world.

God didn’t have to create. God could have spent all of eternity, for ever and ever, in the perfect life and love that is God.

Yet, despite knowing fully the risks, God chose to create. God chose to share the love that is God.

I suppose God who is spirit could have been fully in charge of a kind of spiritual creation. Instead God creates a physical world filled with energy and stuff – rocks, water, flesh and blood. God chose to create a physical world in which sometimes things can get broken, things can and do go wrong.

God chose to create a physical world knowing it would bring God and bring all of us great joy and would also bring us great sorrow.

God creates us, knowing fully the risk involved.

Those of you who are parents probably have some insight into God’s desire to create. Every day women and men bring children into the world, having a pretty good idea of the risks involved.

When Sue and I couldn’t get home for Christmas one of my nieces wrote that it was the worst day of her life. I wish that would always be true, but of course, it won’t be. There will be far worse days ahead.

The Adam and Eve story in Genesis captures the truth of the risk God takes in creation. God creates a good creation, but chooses not to be in charge of creation. In the story, God sets a few ground rules, but essentially God puts man and woman in charge. In the story, Adam and Eve are free to mess things up – and they do almost immediately.

By giving us freedom to love or not to love, by giving us the freedom to make bad choices, by allowing for the chance that things may go very wrong in this physical world, God takes a risk – a risk for God, and risk for us.

It’s pretty amazing that God takes a risk on us. But what’s even more amazing is that God never gives up on us when we stumble and when we suffer.

The whole story of salvation is a story of the spiritual God relentlessly reaching out to the physical us, over and over. It’s a story of God pouring grace onto us and into us, giving us the strength we need to live our risky lives in this risky world.

God is always working to turn death into life.

At its heart, the story of salvation is the story of God appearing in Jesus. It’s the story of God taking the great risk of living, walking, laughing, suffering and weeping right beside us in this physical world.

In today’s gospel lesson, Matthew lets us know right from start about risk. Matthew tells us that Jesus heard that John the Baptist had been arrested.

I’m sure this was not unexpected news. After all, then and now, someone who challenges the political establishment and the religious establishment is likely to get into big trouble.

Just like us, the first readers and hearers of this gospel would have known that the arrest of John the Baptist was the beginning of his end. His execution was not far off.

But, the truth is, the beginning of the end of John the Baptist was the day when he first accepted his call, when he first took the risk of speaking truth to power. The beginning of the end of John the Baptist was the first day when he went out into the wilderness and began to preach repentance – the first day when he began to demand that people risk changing their ways, risk changing their hearts.

Matthew tells us that Jesus began his public ministry after the arrest of John the Baptist. So, Jesus would have been fully aware of the risk he took the first day he went out into the world to proclaim the Good News.

To underline the point, Matthew tells us that the beginning of Jesus’ message is exactly what John the Baptist had been proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

Jesus knew the risk involved in carrying out his mission. Yet, he did it anyway.

And the first disciples were willing to take the great risk of following Jesus. Apparently, they were willing to leave behind their livelihood, to leave behind the boats and the nets, to leave behind the people they loved.

We have that haunting image of Zebedee sitting in the boat, watching his sons go off and take the risk of their lives.

Peter and Andrew, James and John, they would have had some sense of the risks involved in following Jesus. Yet, they did it anyway.

God took big risks in creating all of this and in joining us in the life of Jesus of Nazareth. The first disciples and Christians throughout the ages have taken – and continue to take – big risks in following Jesus.

And now, you and I here today are called to take the risk of following Jesus, the risk of living and loving the way we are meant to.

We’re meant to be a risk-taker like God. We’re meant to take the risk of creating and loving, knowing fully that things can, and often do, go terribly wrong.

If you were here last week, you know I preached about suffering and how you and I are meant to shine the light of Christ into a world shadowed with suffering and pain.

Little did I know that many of us in the chapel community would experience a great deal of suffering and sadness the very next day, when we received the heartbreaking news of the sudden and unexpected death of one of our own, Shayna.

God took the risk of creating a physical world in which things go wrong, things get broken, and all living things eventually die.

Not that it helps with our shock, pain, confusion, anger, and sadness at the death of this young woman who radiated sunshine as she anticipated her life as a nurse, a life of service; a life that was not to be.

Whenever I encounter the death of a young person I’m reminded of a sermon given by William Sloan Coffin after the death of his 24 year-old son Alex, in a car accident. (Some of you may remember that) William Sloan Coffin was chaplain at Yale during the Vietnam War era, and later pastor of Riverside Church in New York.

It was at Riverside Church that he gave this sermon. He reflected on how after his son’s death, people said the usual things like the accident was God’s will. Here’s his response to that idea:

“The one thing that should never be said when someone dies is ‘It is the will of God.’ Never do we know enough to say that. My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God's heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”

“God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.”

I love that. I think that’s exactly right.

The Good News is that for God and for us, our story doesn’t end with heartbreak.

God’s heart was the first to break when Jesus suffered and died on the cross, followed nearly immediately, I’m sure, by the broken heart of his mother, Mary.

Yet, on that first Easter, God the risk-taker showed that our story doesn’t end in heartbreak. God didn’t give up on Jesus and doesn’t give up on any of us. Ever.

God the risk-taker is the God of love, the God who creates and never gives up on creation.

Even when everything seems to have gone wrong, even when everything seems to have been broken, God the risk-taker is at work, turning death into life.

At this very moment and in every moment, God is pouring out love, grace and strength on all of us.

I could feel that powerful grace in the full chapel on Monday night when we gathered to pray, to weep, and, yes, to celebrate.

Shayna has completed her all-too-brief journey from God and to God. Her journey is now completed in the presence of the God who loved her into creation – the God who was with her through all the highs and lows, twists and turns of life – the God who was with her as she took her last breath.

Shayna’s journey is complete.

But, for us, the journey continues.

If we’re open to it, if we’re willing to take the risk, like Peter and Andrew, James and John, we can join God in the great work of creation. By loving God and loving one another, in good times and not so good, we can join God in the great, risky, work of turning death into life.

Amen.

"There Is Light In This Situation"

2011-01-16T20:25:00.001-05:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 16, 2011

Year A: The Second Sunday after Epiphany
Isaiah 49:1-7
Psalm 40:1-12
1 Corinthians 1:1-9
John 1:29-42

“There Is Light in This Situation”

In a previous sermon I mentioned that each morning I cringe a little when I open the newspaper and look at the front page. I know I’m not alone in wondering what new horrors we’ll have to face each new day.

And there’s certainly been no shortage of horrors lately.

In the natural world, this week marked the one-year anniversary of the earthquake that pulverized much of Haiti. If you’re like me, you had almost forgotten about Haiti and the plight of its desperately poor people who are still trying to reassemble the pieces of their broken lives. Despite the aid given by many, a year has gone by and apparently not much progress has been made.

More recently, there have been terrible floods in Albania, Australia, and Brazil, causing widespread devastation.

Closer to home, this has been a rough winter for much of the country. Even places like New York, well experienced with blizzards, have struggled to dig out from under massive snowfalls. Here in Florida the second cold winter in a row is leading to expensive heating bills for families, businesses and institutions and putting agriculture in danger.

And then there are the disasters created by human beings. As college seniors are discovering in a particularly painful way, at best the economy has just begun to recover from a very deep recession. At every service down at the chapel students pray for their job searches. And some of us who had worked for a long time are also praying very hard for employment.

The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan continue to grind on, although we try to push them out of our minds. And most of us know that in both countries there’s little hope of results that would justify the sacrifice of our precious blood.

There was the attack on Egyptian Christians as they left church after Christmas services.

And, a little more than a week ago, in Tucson our country was shaken by the latest incident of an absurdly well-armed and deranged person coldly executing people in an extremely ordinary setting – this time a supermarket parking lot.

The difference this time was that a federal judge and a member of the House of Representatives had been all too effectively targeted. Immediately the TV talking heads began to cast blame, pointing to the increasingly angry and violent language that passes these days for political discourse.

I think Jon Stewart was one of the first to recognize the saving grace of this terribly frightening tragedy. He said on the Daily Show:

"There is light in this situation," he insisted. "I urge everyone: Read up about those who were injured or killed; you will be comforted about [how] much anonymous goodness there is in the world... you realize people that you don't even know and have never even met are leading lives of real dignity and goodness. And you hear about crazy, but it is rarer than you think."

“There is light in this situation.”

That little phrase should carry enormous power especially for Jews and Christians. Throughout the history of our faiths, so many have faced - and continue to experience - enormous tragedies, unspeakable suffering, and yet have hung on to that core belief, to that little phrase, that powerful truth:

“There is light in this situation.”

In today’s reading from the Prophet Isaiah we heard the second of what’s called the Servant Songs. The servant is sometimes taken to represent Israel itself or the prophet himself or maybe some other historical character. From very early on, Christians have seen the servant as prophecy of Jesus, the suffering messiah.

In any event, in this song the servant recognizes a call from God that began even before he was born. But the servant also admits to many obstacles and much suffering. The servant’s faith even seems to waiver for a moment. He says,

“I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”

And haven’t we all waivered more often than we’d like to admit? In the face of so much suffering and tragedy in the world and in our own loives, haven’t we all thought something like, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”

But then the Prophet Isaiah declares that “there is light in this situation.”

God says to the servant, “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach the end of the earth.”

We Christians recognize that Jesus is that light given to the nations. And you and I are invited, given the responsibility, given the privilege, of shining the light of Christ into the world.

In her book Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott explains why she makes her young son go to church on Sunday.

First, she writes, “I make him because I can. I outweigh him by nearly seventy-five pounds.”

Then she turns serious, writing, “But that is only part of it. The main reason is that I want to give him what I found in the world, which is to say a path and a little light to see by. Most of the people I know who have what I want – which to say purpose, heart, balance, gratitude, joy – are people with a deep sense of spirituality.”

She continues, “They follow a brighter light than the glimmer of their own candle; they are part of something beautiful.”

You and I experience the light of Christ when we gather here together in church, when we “continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers.”

Here we are, part of an unlikely group of people who in most cases would probably never have met one another – and maybe even wouldn’t have wanted to meet one another - except that we’re all drawn to the light of Christ.

Here we are, part of something beautiful.

Here we are, part of something beautiful, because in our own way we’ve asked Jesus the same question the two disciples asked so long ago.

We’ve asked Jesus, “Where are you staying?”

And in his usual enigmatic way Jesus has answered, “Come and see.”

And so, here we are, to be illumined by light of Christ as we hear God’s Word, as we reach out our hands and hugs in peace with one another.

Here we are, to receive the light of Christ in the simple gifts of bread and wine. Here we are, about to receive Christ into our bodies, giving us the grace and strength we need.

Here we are, to receive the grace and strength we need to shine the light of Christ in a world darkened by the shadows of suffering and tragedy.

And so, after the service, we go out through those doors to share Christ with the world - in our lives and in our words– revealing to a suffering and tragic world, “There is light in this situation.”

We shine the light of Christ when we “proclaim by word and example the Good News.”

We shine the light of Christ when we “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves.”

We shine the light of Christ when we “strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being.”

There’s no denying it’s a pretty bleak world out there.

We may sometimes get discouraged and feel overwhelmed. We may sometimes think, in the words of Isaiah, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity.”

Yet, we are part of something beautiful.

At the heart of our Judeo-Christian tradition, there is the core belief, the firm foundation, that can be summed up in a little phrase,

“There is light in this situation.”

And we are invited, given the responsibility, given the privilege, of shining that light, shining the light of Christ, into the world.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Baptismal Beginnings

2011-01-09T20:23:00.003-05:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
The Chapel of the Incarnation, Gainesville FL
January 9, 2011

Year A: The First Sunday after Epiphany – the Baptism of Our Lord
Isaiah 42:1-9
Psalm 29
Acts 10:34-43
Matthew 3:13-17

Baptismal Beginnings

During these days of Epiphany we remember and celebrate the ways that the identity and power and meaning of Jesus is manifested to the whole world.

Traditionally there has been three parts of Epiphany. Of course, there’s the visit of the wise men in which Jesus’ identity as king is made manifest.

There’s also the wedding at Cana, where Jesus performs his first sign, turning water into wine. At that banquet Jesus’ power and abundance is made manifest.

And finally, there’s the event we remember and celebrate today - the greatest of the three manifestations - the Baptism of Jesus.

It’s here at the River Jordan that we are introduced to Jesus as an adult. There’s almost nothing in the gospels about Jesus as he grew up. Luke tells us about the boy Jesus causing his parents to panic by staying behind in Jerusalem and teaching in the Temple. But that’s about it.

So we’re left to imagine the formative years of Jesus of Nazareth – the years leading up to his Baptism. In my imagination I see the young Jesus looking and acting pretty much like everyone else – playing with friends, laughing at jokes, mourning those who died, studying his religious tradition and learning a trade in order to survive. I imagine the young Jesus trying to figure out who he was; trying to figure out his place in the world.

And in my imagination I also see people recognizing that there was something different about Jesus. Mary and Joseph and maybe a few others would have remembered the strange circumstances of his birth. But more than that, there would have been something intangible that set him apart from others.

And I imagine Jesus himself, with a mix of wonder and fear, recognizing that there was something that set him apart.

The gospels don’t say this exactly, but most scholars believe that Jesus like many others was drawn to John the Baptist, the wild prophet preaching repentance out in the wilderness. Most scholars accept that Jesus was a disciple of John the Baptist.

And, naturally, like most everyone else who came to John, Jesus was baptized by him.

This fact created some understandable awkwardness for early Christians. Matthew quotes John the Baptist as expressing this awkwardness when he asks Jesus, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”

John’s question is a really good one, especially considering his understanding of Baptism. In the wilderness of Judea, John cries out, “Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” John tells the people who come to be baptized in the Jordan, “I baptize you with water for repentance.”

And then John offers a frightening vision of the one who was to come, “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

So, for John, baptism was primarily, if not entirely, about repentance and forgiveness for sin. Since Jesus had no need of repentance and forgiveness, John naturally asks Jesus, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”

John’s question is a really good one. It’s a really good question if Baptism is only or mostly about repentance and forgiveness.

But, our understanding of Baptism – the Christian understanding of Baptism – is much broader, much deeper and much better news – than John’s understanding of Baptism.

It’s in baptism that Jesus discovers who he really is.

The Spirit of God descends upon Jesus, not in a fiery and scary way, but peacefully, like a dove. And then a voice from heaven tells Jesus and all those who had ears to hear, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

It’s in Baptism that Jesus discovers that he is God’s Son, the Beloved.

And it’s in Baptism that you and I discover who we really are.

For us, Baptism is partly about the washing away of sin – the original sin that infects all of us.

For us, Baptism is also partly about initiation. It’s in baptism that we become full members of the Church.

But, most important, for us it’s in Baptism – it’s in symbolically dying and rising again with Jesus – that God adopts us as children of God.

Let’s face it, God may not always be “well-pleased” with us. the way God was “well-pleased” with Jesus.

But, the very good news is that there is nothing that we can do to break the bond between God and us that is formed in Baptism. In the words of the prayer book, “The bond which God establishes in Baptism is indissoluble.”

In his Baptism, Jesus discovered that he is God’s Son – God’s Beloved.

And Mark, Matthew and Luke all agree that Baptism is not the end but the beginning of Jesus’ journey. After the discovery of his identity at his Baptism, Jesus begins his public ministry of teaching and healing. It’s after discovering who he really is that Jesus begins the journey of loving service that will take him to the Cross and beyond into resurrected life.

In our Baptism, our sins are washed away. In Baptism, we are initiated into the Church. But, most importantly, in Baptism, we discover who we really are. In Baptism we discover that we are the beloved adopted children of God.

And, no matter if we’re baptized as infants, or as children, or as adults, Baptism is not the end but the beginning of our journey loving service.

After the discovery of our identity, we are called to begin our journey of loving service to Jesus and to the world.

Baptism is my favorite Church service because each time a new Christian is baptized we’re all reminded of our own Baptism. We’re reminded that we’re beloved adopted children of God. We’re reminded that Baptism marks the beginning of our journey.

At every service of Baptism we are asked if we believe in the Christian faith as expressed in the Nicene Creed.

Then we are asked if we are willing to put that faith into action. We are asked if we are willing give away our lives in service to the Gospel. We are asked if we are willing to begin, or to continue, the journey that begins in the water of Baptism.

At every Baptism we are asked, Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers?

Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?

Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?

Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?

Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?

How we answer these challenging questions will shape our journey that begins in the water of Baptism. Or better, how we live the answers to these questions will shape our journey that begins in the water of Baptism.

The first Christians felt some awkwardness about the baptism of Jesus by John in the River Jordan. After all, why did Jesus need to be baptized by John?

The people who wrote the gospels could have deleted the story of Jesus’ baptism. They didn’t because they recognized its importance for Jesus and for us.

It’s at his Baptism that in a new and profound way Jesus discovers who he really is – the Son of God, God’s Beloved. And it’s Jesus’ baptism that marks the beginning of his journey of loving service.

And for us, it’s at our Baptism that we discover who we really are – beloved adopted children of God. And it’s our Baptism that marks the beginning of our journey of loving service.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

The Great Pilgrimage

2011-01-02T15:13:00.001-05:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
January 2, 2011

The Second Sunday after Christmas
Jeremiah 31:7-14
Psalm 84
Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a
Matthew 2:1-12

The Great Pilgrimage

Merry Christmas!

Although the world has moved on to New Year’s Eve and Day celebrations, for the church it is still very much Christmas.

And in today’s gospel we heard one of the last missing pieces of the Christmas story – the arrival of the magi, the wise men, bearing gifts for the newborn king of Israel.

We imagine three men in exotic costumes, topped with crowns, each carrying a gift. Yet, Matthew never tells us how many of these wise men made the trip to Bethlehem. But, in the Christmas story it’s always three, isn’t it?

In reality, “the Christmas story” itself is actually a blend of the birth stories found in two gospels, Luke and Matthew.

Luke tells the story very much from Mary’s perspective. And in Luke, it’s lowly shepherds who first pay homage to the newborn king – very much in keeping with Luke’s emphasis on the Good News that Jesus brings to the poor.

Matthew gives us our information about Joseph. And in Matthew, it’s the magi, these mysterious visitors from the East who first pay homage to the newborn king and present him with precious gifts appropriate for a royal child.

Matthew’s story of the magi is very much in keeping with his emphasis on Jesus as the messiah not only for Israel, but Jesus as the messiah for the whole world. Matthew makes this point at the beginning of his gospel with these foreign visitors to Bethlehem. And Matthew makes the same point at the end of his gospel, when the resurrected Christ tells his disciples, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations…”

So it’s these mysterious visitors from the East who receive the first manifestation of Christ – the first Epiphany – to the non-Jewish world.

This week as I’ve reflected on the story of the magi, I’ve been drawn to the idea that they were making a pilgrimage. They wouldn’t have thought of their trip as a pilgrimage since it was common for foreign governments to send representatives to present gifts on the occasion of a royal birth.

Yet, these magi left their homes and traveled a considerable distance in order to meet and honor the newborn king of Israel. There hadn’t been a formal announcement of this royal birth. Their invitation was subtler and more personal. The magi looked to the heavens and discerned that they were to make this journey into the unknown.

And, as sometimes happens on a pilgrimage, their ultimate destination turned out to be much different than they expected. Matthew tells us first they went straight to the capital, straight to Jerusalem. After all, where else would you find a newborn king?

Instead, their pilgrimage takes the magi to the unexpected, to Bethlehem, where it had been predicted the messiah’s birth would take place. The magi wouldn’t have known that, of course, since they weren’t Jews.

And when the magi reach the unexpected destination of their pilgrimage, what do they find? There’s no palace and no servants. There’s no heavenly host singing. Matthew tells us simply,

“On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage.”

Although they couldn’t have truly understood the magnitude of this experience, for the magi this pilgrimage had ended in an unexpected place, in the presence of the Creator.

And having found the newborn king in such an unexpected place, I bet the magi were transformed by this pilgrimage. I imagine them puzzling over everything that they had seen, as “they left for their own country by another road.” I imagine them reflecting on this unusual experience in the years to come.

Pilgrimages seem to have a nearly universal appeal. Somehow we are drawn to visit places associated with the holy men and women of the past.

Christian pilgrims still make their way to the Holy Land to walk and pray in the land of Jesus and his first followers. Pilgrims continue to follow Paul’s route around the Mediterranean. Pilgrims visit Rome. And, for us Anglicans, there’s no greater pilgrimage than taking the road to Canterbury.

Part of the appeal of a pilgrimage is that when we’re on a pilgrimage we really keep our eyes open much more than in our everyday sleepwalking lives. When we’re on a pilgrimage we’re really open to having some kind of encounter with the Creator, and sure enough, we often do.

In my previous church I made two pilgrimages with some of our teenagers. Three years ago we went to San Francisco and made our way down the beautiful California coast visiting the Spanish mission churches. Nearly all of these churches straddle the uncomfortable zone between still serving as houses of worship while also being tourist attractions.

I remember one day when we were sitting in one of the mission churches (I’m not sure which, they’ve all blurred in my memory) talking probably about the art or architecture or the history. Maybe we were comparing this church with others we had seen. There were plenty of tourists milling around, chatting and taking pictures.

Gradually the room grew quiet as people stopped what they were doing to watch, either directly or out of the corner of their eye, as an old woman dressed in black from her veil to her shoes, slowly made her way on her knees up the center aisle. She paid no attention to the people around her. As she passed us we could see that she was praying the rosary that she clutched in her hands.

She was still praying at the altar rail when we quietly exited the church, a living symbol of piety and prayerfulness.

My second pilgrimage was just this past summer. We visited Montreal and Quebec City, where you Floridians would have felt right at home in the surprising heat and humidity.

Near the end of the trip we visited a grandiose, baroque chapel built for the Ursuline sisters, Roman Catholic nuns who have been in Quebec since the start of French settlement.

By this time the kids and, yes, the adults were getting pretty churched-out. So as we sat in this beautiful space with its large iron gate designed to set apart the worship space for the nuns, there was a good bit of chatter, texting, picture-taking - you get the idea.

An elderly woman who seemed to be an attendant, shushed the kids. They quieted down to what I thought was an acceptable whisper. Then she came over to us and reminded us that we were in a place of prayer and if we couldn’t be quiet we’d have to leave.

Just as I was thinking that we’d better go, in her very quiet voice this woman began to engage the kids in conversation. It turned out that she was Usuline nun and had lived in this convent for many, many years. She talked to us about the importance of prayer over her long life in the convent.

She was delightful. She radiated a deep holiness and serenity. She charmed the kids she’d been shushing a few moments earlier. What had seemed like an unpleasant situation turned out to be a great, unexpected, blessing.

Not in the same way as the magi, of course, but both in watching the black-veiled woman make her way up the aisle on her knees and in meeting the holy sister in Quebec, I felt that my pilgrimage had brought me to an unexpected place, into the presence of the Creator.

The great truth is we don’t have to go to the Holy Land or Rome or Canterbury or California or Quebec to make a pilgrimage. The truth is we are on a pilgrimage right now. We are on the great pilgrimage back to the One who created us, who loves us and whose presence, we, like the magi, find in unexpected places.

As this Christmas season draws to a close and a new year begins, maybe we can all resolve to stop sleepwalking and resolve to keep our eyes open. Maybe we can resolve to be pilgrims – knowing that our great pilgrimage will take us to unexpected places where we will have epiphanies of Christ – encounters with the Creator.

Merry Christmas.

Amen.

Our Part in the Christmas Pageant

2010-12-26T13:06:00.003-05:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville FL
December 26, 2010

The First Sunday after Christmas
Isaiah 61:10-62:3
Psalm 147
Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7
John 1:1-18

Our Part in the Christmas Pageant

In my Christmas sermons I’ve been talking about how last Friday the children of our day school put on a really wonderful Christmas pageant. The teachers obviously did a great job in choosing kids for their roles and rehearsing them to move and sing on cue. The church was full of delighted parents and grandparents.

I was especially moved by the little girl who played Mary. She entered the church with great solemnity, carrying her baby doll Jesus. She gently placed the newborn messiah into the crib. And then at the end of the pageant, she picked him up again and bore the Son of God out into the world.

After the pageant, the excited children and parents took pictures, visited with St. Nicholas, ate snacks and then went off to continue preparing for Christmas.

As I’ve thought about it, there was only one thing missing from our Christmas pageant. At my former parish in New Jersey, at the end of the pageant an older child would stand, holding a candle, and recite from memory the grand, cosmic verses we just heard from the prologue to John’s gospel:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

I felt the absence of those profound words. Written sometime around the end of the First Century, John’s gospel is the product of divine inspiration and also the product of decades of Jesus-followers reflecting on the meaning of Jesus’ birth, life, death and resurrection.

I wonder how many of the parents made time to really reflect on the meaning of the drama that their children had acted out so well. What was the point of all that hard work to prepare for the Christmas pageant? I worry that instead it was on to the next thing – Christmas shopping and decorating or the other tasks that can fill the days before Christmas.

And I wonder how many of us here make time to reflect on what we have remembered – what we have experienced – these last few days. What was the point of it all?

Both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at St. Michael’s were wonderful gifts. The music was spectacular. The church looked – and still looks – beautiful. You could feel the joy in this place.

And now, today, for those of us who dragged ourselves out of bed this morning, the church offers the opportunity to reflect on what it all means. What’s the point of Christmas?

Of course, Christians have been reflecting on the meaning of Christ’s birth for a long time. And over that time, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, we’ve come to understand that Christ’s birth to a couple of nobodies in the humblest of circumstances marked the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform the good creation that had gone terribly wrong – the good creation that had been disfigured and broken by human sin.

During his many years of traveling around the Mediterranean, St. Paul must have spent a lot of time reflecting on the meaning of Jesus entering the world.

Paul was someone who never met Jesus during his earthly lifetime yet was transformed by a dramatic encounter with the resurrected Christ. Paul was transformed from a persecutor of Christians into an apostle who gave away his life for Christ.

This morning we heard a snippet of Paul’s letter to the Galatians, probably written around the year 55. Because Paul had started Christian communities in Galatia, part of modern-day Turkey, his readers would have been very familiar with Paul’s understanding of the meaning of Christ’s birth, life, death and resurrection.

After Paul left them it seems that some other Jewish Christians arrived among the Galatians and were insisting that non-Jewish, gentile, Christians must follow Jewish Law. When he got wind of this development, an unhappy Paul fired off his letter to the Galatians.

Because the Galatians were already familiar with Paul’s thought he could cut right to the chase. Paul reminds the Galatians that because creation was disfigured and broken by human sin, the Law was given basically to keep us in line. Paul sees the Law as a disciplinarian – literally a house slave whose job it was to discipline the master’s children.

Paul understands that the birth of Christ marks the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform creation – to restore and transform us. Paul himself was transformed by his encounter with Christ, so he understand that, if we are open, all of us can be transformed by our encounter with Christ from slaves of sin to children of God.

The Gospel of John was written about forty years after Paul’s letter. John offers an even more cosmic view of Christ’s birth in the humblest of circumstances. John explicitly reaches back to the moment of creation in the opening of his gospel, “In the beginning.”

John identifies the Word as God’s creative power. “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.”

John doesn’t need to tell us how everything got messed up because we all know the story – we’ve all experienced the story. The good creation created by the Word of God was disfigured and broken by human sin.

And so in the birth of Christ God made the bold move to restore and transform creation. In his version of the nativity story, John doesn’t tell us about Mary and Joseph, the manger, the shepherds or the wise men. In his nativity story, John offers the meaning behind the birth of Christ.

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.”

In the Christmas pageant, the little girl who played Mary solemnly carried her baby doll Jesus up the aisle and carefully placed him in the crib. She captured the holy moment when two thousand years ago in the humblest of circumstances Mary brought into the world the person in whom we see and hear what God is really like. On that first Christmas “the Word of God became flesh and dwelt among us.”

In a feeding trough in Bethlehem, God’s restoration and transformation of the world had begun.

Christian reflection on the meaning of Christmas didn’t end with the Gospel of John, of course. Christians have continued to reflect on the meaning of Christ’s birth, life, death and resurrection right up to the present day

A second century bishop named Irenaeus offers us a special insight into the meaning of Christmas as the beginning of God’s bold move to restore and transform the world.

Because of human sin, things had gone terribly wrong. God’s good creation had been broken and disfigured. But now, through Jesus, God offers us what Irenaeus “recapitulation” – a fancy word for a do-over, a second chance, the opportunity to work with God to restore creation to what it was always meant to be.

Today on this first Sunday after Christmas the church offers us a chance to reflect on the meaning behind the amazing events of two thousand years ago.

The Christmas pageant offered the children of our school the chance to act out the drama.

But, the truth is, the point of it all, is that all of us Christians have the opportunity to play our parts in the great drama.

In the birth of Christ, God has made the bold move of beginning the restoration and transformation of creation.

God’s restoration and transformation continues in and through us. Each time we open our hearts to love God and to love one another, we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.

Each time, like Joseph, we choose mercy over the rules, then we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.

Each time, like the shepherds and the wise men, we find Christ in the humblest of circumstances, then we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.

Each time, like the angels, we sing the praises of God, then we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.

And, each time, like Mary, we bear Christ out through those doors, we play a part in God’s restoration and transformation of the world.

On this First Sunday after Christmas the good news, the exciting news, the challenging news is that all of us have a role to play in the great Christmas pageant – God’s great Christmas pageant of restoring and transforming the world.

Merry Christmas!

Amen.

The God-Bearers

2010-12-25T13:07:00.002-05:00

St. Michael’s Episcopal Church, Gainesville, FL
December 25, 2010

Christmas Day
Isaiah 62:6-12
Psalm 97
Titus 3:4-7
Luke 2:1-20

The God-Bearers

Merry Christmas!

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas Eve and that this joyous morning is off to a great start.

I’m sure many of you have special Christmas traditions – certain foods that you prepare or eat, certain music you listen to or sing along with. Maybe there’s some special Christmas clothing you wear. Many families have Christmas decorations that have been passed down for a generation or two, or even longer.

When I was growing up, my sister and I had the tradition of getting up really early on Christmas morning to discover what gifts had been left under the Christmas tree. Maybe you did the same thing. This tradition wasn’t so popular with our parents, I guess, who sat with us bleary-eyed, watching us open our gifts.

Here in church, of course, there are lots of Christmas traditions, ranging from the hymns we sing to the prayers we say to the flowers we place around our sanctuary.

One beloved Christmas tradition in many churches is the Christmas pageant when the children act out the great drama of Christ’s birth. Some children get to wear angel wings. One child gets to carry the star. Others get to dress up as shepherds or wise men from the East. One little boy gets to be Joseph, our Lord’s adopted father. And one little girl gets to be the Virgin Mary, the young woman who is at the center of the events leading up to Jesus’ birth.

Last Friday the children of our day school put on their Christmas pageant right here in church. It was wonderful seeing the kids in their costumes, the teachers coaching them and prompting them, and the parents and grandparents filled with joy and wonder.

The little girl who played Mary was just amazing. I mentioned in my sermon last night how she looked so solemn carrying her baby doll Jesus, as she and the boy playing Joseph made their way up the center aisle.

With her simple dignity, this little girl captured the essence of Mary, the young woman who said yes to the awesome responsibility of carrying the Son of God into the world.

With her simple dignity, this little girl captured the essence of Mary, the young woman who, after giving birth in the humblest of circumstances, received both shepherds and wise men. And, as Luke tells us, Mary pondered it all in her heart.

By the Third Century, Christians had done a lot of pondering and praying about Mary and her unique and awesome responsibility of carrying the Son of God into the world. Greek-speaking Christians coined a new name, a new title, for Mary: theotokos, the God-bearer.

Those early Christians recognized and celebrated Mary as the bearer of God. For the nine months of her pregnancy Mary carried the Son of God within her body and on that first Christmas, she bore the Son of God into the world – into the same, messy, dangerous and yet beautiful world where you and I live.

Mary is theotokos, the God-bearer.

During the Christmas pageant, there was a little crib set up right here under the pulpit. When Mary and Joseph made their way up here, Mary very carefully, tenderly, and, yes, solemnly, placed her baby doll Jesus into the crib.

Once Jesus was settled in his crib, then the drama featuring angels and shepherds and wise men and wonderful music unfolded before us.

Then before we knew it the pageant was over. The parents and grandparents were congratulating the children and their teachers. Photos of cute kids in cute costumes were being taken.

As things were wrapping up, the little girl who had played Mary took a few steps away from the crib, ready to get on with the rest of her day. Suddenly she stopped, took a few steps back, reached into the crib, and took out her baby doll Jesus. Then she made her way out of the church, carrying Jesus out into the world.

As I thought about that amazing little scene, I realized that in this post-pageant moment the little girl had captured something else essential about Mary. She didn’t stop being theotokos – she didn’t stop being the God-bearer when the months of her pregnancy were over.

Mary continued to be the God-bearer during Jesus’ childhood. Mary continued to be the God-bearer when Jesus began to teach and to heal and began to get in trouble with the authorities.

Mary continued to be the God-bearer at the foot of the cross.

And after the resurrection, I’m sure Mary continued to be the God-bearer as she witnessed to all that she had experienced and had pondered in her heart long ago. Mary continued to be the God-bearer as she told others about the great things the Mighty One had done for her and for all of humanity.

I’m sure Mary continued to be the God-bearer for the rest of her life. But, by then, she wasn’t alone. All of those whose lives had been transformed by their encounter with Jesus had now become God-bearers, too.

All of the people who formed the Body of Christ here on earth became God-bearers.

And what was true in the First Century among the first followers of Jesus is equally true for us now in the Twenty-First Century.

You and I are the Body of Christ here and now. You and I are today’s God-bearers.

And just like the little girl playing Mary who remembered to carry her baby doll Jesus out into the world, so too, you and I need to remember that we are to carry Jesus – we are to be God-bearers – when we walk through the church doors and out into Gainesville, out into the world.

To be a God-bearer means to be like Mary. To be a God-bearer means to love God and to love God’s people.

To be a God-bearer means to give our lives in service to Jesus, the Son of God. Today on Christmas we celebrate that Mary was willing to be theotokos – to be the God-bearer – willing to bring the Son of God into the world.

And today on Christmas we also celebrate that today in this messy, dangerous yet beautiful world, you and I are also called to be God-bearers.

Today we are given the awesome privilege and responsibility to bring the good news of Jesus out there, into the world.

Merry Christmas and Amen!