One Big Thing

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
August 1, 2010

Year C, Proper 13: The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
Hosea 11:1-11
Psalm 107:1-9, 43
(Colossians 3:1-11)
Luke 12:13-21

The One Big Thing

The story of Mary and Martha is still on my mind. This past Thursday was their feast day and you may remember that a couple of Sundays ago we heard the story of Jesus and his disciples visiting the home of these two sisters who react to his presence in very different ways. Martha is busy with her many tasks while Mary sits at Jesus’ feet, hanging on every word. Martha expresses understandable frustration at her sister, but Jesus says, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

“There is need of only one thing.”

An ancient Greek poet famously said, “The fox knows many things, but the hedgehog knows one big thing.” And when it comes to how we live our lives we’re really supposed to be spiritual hedgehogs – knowing and focused on that one big thing.

But, what is that one thing Mary has chosen? What is the one big thing we’re supposed to know and focus on? Well, when Jesus summarizes the Law, he tells us that the one big thing – the one big thing we are to know and focus on, is love of God and love of neighbor. We are meant to be spiritual hedgehogs living our lives focused on that – loving God and loving our neighbors as ourselves.

Over the centuries, many Christians have offered their own takes on the one big thing – on how to live as spiritual hedgehogs. One of the best definitions of “the one big thing” comes from Ignatius of Loyola, whose feast day, it so happens, was yesterday. (It was a good week for the church calendar!)

Ignatius, who lived during the first half of the 16th Century, is best known as the founder of the Jesuits and also as a master of discernment. He wrote an entire manual to help people figure out how they could choose “the better part”, to help people recognize the one big thing, to help people be spiritual hedgehogs – living lives focused on the one big thing.

At the start of his manual, called The Spiritual Exercises, Ignatius defines the purpose of human life. He writes, “Human beings are created to praise, reverence, and serve God our Lord, and by means of this to save their souls.”

For Ignatius, that’s what it’s all about – that’s the one big thing – to praise, reverence and serve God. His next sentence is interesting. He writes, “The other things on the face of the earth are created for the human beings, to help them in working toward the end for which they were created.”

So, for Ignatius, the material world exists to help us live as spiritual hedgehogs knowing and focused on the one big thing - praising, reverencing and serving God, loving God, loving our neighbor.

And then Ignatius continues, “From this it follows that I should use these things to the extent that they help me toward my end, and rid myself of them to the extent that they hinder me.”

So any material goods that help us live as spiritual hedgehogs, praising, reverencing and serving God are perfectly fine. But, Ignatius insists, if material things get in the way of knowing and focusing on the one big thing, then we need to get rid of them. Material things are means, not ends.

Finally, Ignatius throws us a tough one: “To do this, I must make myself indifferent to all created things…”

Indifferent is kind of a funny word. At best, it sounds neutral, right? “Where do you want to go to dinner tonight – Houlihan’s or TGI Fridays’s?” “Eh, I don’t care, it doesn’t matter, I’m indifferent.”

Or, sometimes there’s a negative meaning to indifference, like when all too often we are indifferent to the suffering of others.

But, Ignatius actually puts a positive spin on indifference. Of course, Ignatius believed that we should be caring people – that’s really the whole point - but he believed we should be caring people who care only about the one big thing. Ignatius insisted that we should be indifferent about everything except praising, reverencing and serving God. We should be indifferent to everything except loving God and loving our neighbor as ourselves.

Ignatius believed we should be indifferent to material things because he understood the dangers of idolatry. Loving material things more than we love God and our neighbor - idolatry - never really satisfies us. Loving material things more than we love God and our neighbor – idolatry – is a distortion of who we are meant to be and who we really are. Loving material things more than we love God and our neighbor - idolatry – means forgetting the one big thing and instead focusing on and trusting in the fragile and the temporary. And, in the end, loving material things more than we love God and our neighbor – idolatry – leads to disaster.

Which brings us to today’s gospel lesson – the parable of the rich fool. Just as an aside – I don’t know whether it’s on purpose or by accident, but the setting of this parable in Luke’s gospel is a nice, subtle example of putting our needs first, of forgetting or missing the one big thing. Here’s the scene: Jesus is teaching a large group of people. Jesus is speaking very seriously about the costs of following him, but also offers reassurance. According to Luke, Jesus says,

“When they bring you before the synagogues, the rulers, and the authorities, do not worry about how you are to defend yourselves or what you are to say; for the Holy Spirit will teach you at that very hour what you ought to say.” Serious business, right? A reminder of the one big thing of how we are meant to live our lives – despite the cost. Probably the best response to Jesus’ words would be to be quiet, think and pray. Instead, the very next verse is the start of today’s lesson:

“Someone in the crowd said to him, ‘Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.’” It reminds me of my teaching days, when we’d be in class talking about something important, like, say, the First Amendment, and some knucklehead would raise his hand and ask something like, “Mr. Murphy, why do you still call it a blackboard, when it’s actually green?”

Anyway, here’s Jesus, here’s the messiah, right there in front of you, talking about the one big thing, talking about the cost of following him, promising the gift of the Holy Spirit, and this guy is concerned only about his inheritance- a nice little example of idolatry – loving material things more than loving God and neighbor.

In the parable of the rich fool, Jesus gives us an almost cartoonish example of idolatry. The rich man has an abundance of crops and instead of offering his surplus to his family or to his neighbors – he builds larger barns, thinking he’s now guaranteed himself security. His kind of idolatry is concern only for himself – he thinks that taking care of “number one” is the one big thing. Big mistake. Sure enough his idolatry leads to disaster.

God says, “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” Jesus concludes the parable, “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

It’s one of Jesus’ clearest parables – to be honest, it pretty much preaches itself.

And after getting to know you over these past three years, I can say with confidence that this parable doesn’t really have much to do with us. I’ve never met a single person here who is concerned only with himself or herself. I can’t think of a single person who only looks out for “number one” and then sits back, relaxes and says, “Now I can eat, drink and be merry.”

That’s not our kind of idolatry. Our kind of idolatry is Martha’s kind of idolatry. For some of us, idolatry is when all the many tasks and concerns of life – all good things as far as it goes – prevent us from the one big thing – praising, reverencing and serving God, loving God and loving neighbor. For some of us idolatry is getting so attached to certain places and things, that they become little gods to us. For some of us idolatry is focusing on our work so that our career becomes a god to us. Our idolatry is thinking there will always be time later on for love of God, and for love of neighbor; there will always be time later on for our families and friends. Big mistake.

Our kind of idolatry isn’t as blatant as the rich fool of the parable, but it is idolatry all the same. We get distracted and forget the one big thing. In our idolatry the means becomes the end.

If it’s any consolation, all the different kinds of idolatry have been around for a long time. The prophet Hosea was a near-contemporary of the prophet Amos, from whom we heard a couple of weeks ago. Hosea lived in the 8th Century BC when the Jewish people were divided into two kingdoms, Judah in the South and Israel in the North. Hosea is actually the only purely northern prophet in the Bible. This was a time of great prosperity – at least for some – in Israel. But, it was also a time when many people forgot the one big thing – love of God and love of neighbor. In some cases, their idolatry may have been more obvious than ours – at the time a lot of people’s names included “Baal,” the name of a major Canaanite god. But, I’m sure in most cases they were people trying to get through the day, earn a living, get ahead in the world, and do right by their families. I’m sure most of them were people like us, who because of our many distractions and pressures forget the one big thing, people who grew too attached to places and things.

A couple of weeks ago we heard Amos warn Israel that the Day of the Lord – the day of God’s anger and punishment – was coming.

But, in the passage we heard today, Hosea offers a different message, a profound and very comforting insight into the nature of God. Hosea takes us into the mind of God. Hosea depicts God as sad and disappointed.

God seems to be talking to God’s Self, saying, “The more I called them, the more they went from me; they kept sacrificing to the Baals, and offering incense to idols.” But despite God’s disappointment, God can’t seem to turn away from God’s people. God says, “How can I hand you over, O Israel?”

In a sense, God is a spiritual hedgehog. God is love, knowing and focusing on one big thing, love for us and for all of creation.

God is love, and we are made to praise, reverence and serve God. We are made to love God and love our neighbor as ourselves. That’s who we really are. That’s what life is all about. That’s the one big thing.

So, my fellow spiritual hedgehogs, we’re not like the rich fool, caring only for ourselves – storing up our material goods so we can eat, drink and be merry. That’s not our kind of idolatry. But, we are like Martha – distracted by our many tasks and problems. We get so attached to places and things; we get so focused on our careers and our work, that we forget the one big thing. We put off for some other day what’s most important. We can become foxes who know many things, who focus on many things, but forget the one big thing.

But, here’s the good news: Hosea shows us that despite our idolatry, God is always, no matter what, focused on loving us.

So, maybe this is a good time to take Ignatius’ advice and ask God’s help to refocus our lives on the one big thing – praising, reverencing and serving God; loving God and loving our neighbor. Maybe this is a good time to be like Mary, to be a spiritual hedgehog, knowing and focusing on the one big thing.

Amen.

Discernment on the Uneven Road

Discernment on the Uneven Road

A Message to the People of Grace Church in Madison, NJ

July 2010

Throughout the ordination process I was asked over and over why exactly I wanted to be – or felt called to be – a priest. For me, the answer was, and continues to be, because I can’t think of a more exciting and fulfilling way to spend my life than building and leading a Christian community. My dream has been to minister in a place where we walk together on the uneven road of life, day after day, year after year. While I was in seminary and imagined the future, I saw myself settling in at a small urban parish and throwing myself into building a community that would be a sign of God’s loving presence both for the congregation and for the neighborhood.

As a lifelong city-dweller, of course I knew for sure that I would be working in an urban church. Yet, apparently God had other, suburban, ideas and fortunately I was just barely open enough to the gift God had in mind for me. It is difficult to find adequate words to capture how I am feeling as my three years at Grace Church draw to a close. In an unexpected place, God has fulfilled my dream of ministering in a church where we have walked together on the uneven road of life: celebrating new life, facing fears, mourning loss, and through it all, praying and singing together. Here in Madison, I have had the joyous privilege of helping to build with you a community that in so many ways truly is a sign of God’s loving presence. Many of you remember that I was ordained a priest at Grace Church in December, 2007. The truth is, however, that my entire time with you has felt like ordination – God and the community blessing me with the ever-deepening gift of priesthood.

From our arrival at Grace, Sue and I have known that, like all the previous curates and their spouses, we were only passing through. We stored our moving boxes in the garage at Surrey Lane and never quite forgot that they were there waiting to be filled again and brought with us to a yet unknown destination. When I imagined my next step, I knew for sure that I would be at some other church in the Diocese of Newark or maybe one of the surrounding dioceses. After all, nearly all of our family and friends live around here.

Apparently some people never learn. When I first heard about the position as chaplain at the University of Florida and rector of St. Michael’s in Gainesville, I initially rejected it out of hand. Moving to Florida was out of the question. But, then I heard this nagging, annoying little voice in my head reminding me of all of my sermons in which I’ve urged all of us to be open – even just a little - to the power of God. So, a little ashamed of my hypocrisy, I opened myself again to the possibility of the unknown and unexpected.

I was very surprised by what I found in Florida. I felt myself clicking with the bishop and other members of the diocesan staff. When I visited the Chapel of the Incarnation and the rest of the campus ministry complex, I was excited by what already exists there and what might be possible in the future. Gradually, the thought of ministering to students, faculty and staff at the University of Florida seemed to fit with my own background and interests. The other part of my job, serving as rector of St. Michael’s, presents an exciting challenge. This church was broken by schism a couple of years ago when a previous rector left with most of the congregation to set up a new Anglican church in Gainesville. As a stop-gap measure the previous chaplain at UF took charge of St. Michael’s. Sure enough, under her leadership, the church began to grow. My task is to continue that good work, to continue the healing and rebuilding that is already underway.

I quickly realized that this chaplain/rector position offers a unique and challenging opportunity. Sue made it clear she was on board with whatever decision I made. But, taking the position in Florida was an agonizing decision because it means moving away from our family and friends and leaving all of you at Grace Church. It was a spiritual exercise that finally convinced me to take the leap and accept this new challenge. Many of you know my admiration for Ignatius of Loyola, the 16th Century saint who founded the Society of Jesus and was a master of discernment. When faced with a difficult decision, Ignatius suggested imagining ourselves at the point of death and asking what choice we should have made.

When I imagined that scene, I realized that despite the very high cost, I would regret not taking this chance. I knew I would regret not being open to this unexpected opportunity. So, ready or not, here we go. In just a couple of weeks Sue and I will take our next steps on the uneven road of life, venturing into an unknown (and awfully humid) new life. Thanks to our summer study series St. Paul has been on my mind lately. His words to the church in Philippi capture my feelings for you, the church in Madison:

I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now. (Philippians 1:3-5)

Everyday Mystics

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
July 18, 2010

Year C, Proper 11: The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost
Amos 8:1-12
Psalm 52
(Colossians 1:15-28)
Luke 10:38-42

Everyday Mystics

I haven’t been around much the past couple of weeks, so unfortunately I missed the first few sessions of “Eclipsing Empire,” our Thursday evening summer study series about St. Paul.

But, I was glad to be there this past Thursday when the group had a very interesting discussion about mysticism. Now, it’s clear that Paul himself was a mystic. On the road to Damascus, he had a powerful mystical experience of the resurrected Christ – a powerful mystical experience that transformed Paul from a Pharisee persecuting the followers of Jesus into a man who gave away his life, traveling around the Mediterranean world telling as many people as he could the Good News of Jesus Christ.

When most of us think of mysticism and mystics – we think of very rare experiences that happen to very unusual people: Paul encountering the Risen Christ on the road to Damascus; Francis of Assisi receiving the wounds of the crucified Jesus; We think of mystics as people wearing strange clothes, or living in a cave or on top of a mountain or in a monastery.

But, the scholars in the “Eclipsing Empire” program offered a more general definition of mysticism and a broad expectation of who can be a mystic.

They defined mysticism as an experience of the sacred, an experience of union with God. They also suggested that Paul believed it’s possible – in fact, expected - for all Christians to be mystics, it’s possible for all of us to have encounters with the sacred, it’s possible for all of us to experience union with God.

I happen to believe that’s true.

It sounds odd, but mysticism can be an everyday experience. The truth is we don’t have to go into a cave or climb a mountain or even make a pilgrimage to be mystics, to experience the sacred, to experience union with God. It can and does happen right here, every day, I bet, right here in Madison, and Florham Park, and, yes, even Chatham.

It happens when we realize how good it is to be alive. It can happen when we enjoy a meal with family or friends. It can happen on a hot summer day when we treat ourselves to a cold, creamy chocolate milkshake. It can happen when we pick up the phone and call an old friend, or when we say we’re sorry to someone we’ve hurt, or when we offer forgiveness to someone who has hurt us. It can happen when we hold the hand of one we love or pet our dog or cat. We can have a mystical experience when we pray for a person in need or visit someone who is sick or lonely.

This church is built for mystical experiences. When we gather here in this beautiful place and listen to the Word of God and sing hymns and reach out in peace to our brothers and sisters and most of all when we offer up our hands and hearts to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, we can have an experience of the sacred, an experience of union with God.

We can be everyday mystics.

The heart of Christianity is that in Jesus we have a profound and personal and unique encounter with God. When we look at Jesus, when we listen to Jesus, we see and we hear what God is really like. Jesus is the ultimate mystical experience!

Sounds great, right? So, how come we don’t feel like everyday mystics? Why is it that most of us, most of the time, in our everyday lives, don’t remember how good it is to be alive, we don’t experience the sacred, we don’t experience a sense of union with God? Why is it that so often church seems like just part of the routine, something we’re supposed to do before we get on with the rest of the weekend? Why don’t we feel like everyday mystics?

Well, the answer is a little different for each of us. But, it boils down to this simple, irrefutable fact: we have a lot on our minds. We’re distracted.

Some of us are wondering how long today’s sermon will be. Some of us are worried about our health or the health of someone we care about. Some of us are worried about our jobs, about being able to pay the bills, about being able to support our families, about being able to leave something behind for our children or grandchildren. Some of us are lonely or afraid of being alone. Some of us deeply miss those who have died. Some of us are disappointed by our lives. Some of us are bored. Some of us watch TV news or read the paper and get so depressed and anxious. Some of us get so mad at the Democrats just like some of us get so mad at the Republicans. And more of us are mad at the whole bunch.

We have a lot on our minds. We’re distracted. Some of us are afraid we won’t keep up with the people on our street – that our cars, our lawns, our houses, our haircuts, just won’t be up to snuff. Some of us are thinking about what we need to buy at the supermarket. Some of us keep forgetting to pick up the dry cleaning. Some of us have to figure out how to get the kids to camp, to sports practice, to piano and dance lessons – sometimes all at the same time while driving one minivan. Some of us have regrets about the past – choices and mistakes that still haunt us. Some of us wonder if our children and grandchildren are doomed to grow up in a poorer and meaner and scarier country than we did.

And some of us even have a house full of guests and our sister has left us to do all the cleaning and the cooking and the serving.

In just a handful of verses, Luke gives us the rich story of the two sisters Mary and Martha. Martha, busy with her tasks, isn’t doing anything wrong. Just like when we think about all that we have to think about, we’re not doing anything wrong.
But, when we’re distracted by our many tasks, when our minds go over and over all the stuff we worry about, we shut ourselves off to the mystical experiences that are possible for us. Martha and we miss out on experiences of the sacred; we miss out on union with God.

Mary, though, she’s an everyday mystic, she’s focused on what’s most important, sitting at Jesus’ feet, hanging on every word. Jesus is right here! And since Jesus is the ultimate mystical experience, this is no time to be doing the dishes! Jesus is right here! For now, it’s time to set aside our tasks and worries. It’s time to be quiet and listen. It’s time to be a mystic.

Sounds great, right? But then what? Do we just hold on to our mystical experiences, our encounters with the sacred? Many of us dismiss mysticism because we think it has nothing to do with the real world. Yet, throughout Jewish and Christian tradition when mystics experience the sacred and experience union with God, they are inspired to speak out against injustice and work to build the kingdom of God right here in the soil and stone of the earth. Thanks to their experiences of the holy, mystics see what’s truly possible. Mystics see the way God wants the world to be.

The Prophet Amos is a perfect example of the connection between mysticism and social justice. Amos lived in the first half of the 8th Century BC, a time when the Jewish people were divided into two kingdoms: Israel in the North and Judah in the South. In the northern kingdom this was a time of great prosperity – but it was a prosperity enjoyed only by a slim percentage of people at the top of society. There was great economic inequality – the cliché was true - the rich were getting richer and the poor were getting poorer.

Amos was from the southern kingdom, Judah. We’re told he was an ordinary person, a farmer and a herder. Amos was an ordinary person but he was also a mystic. He experienced the sacred, experienced union with God. And those mystical experiences led him to condemn the great economic inequality in Israel. Amos’s mystical experiences inspired him to warn Israel about the dangers of worshipping God without also showing compassion and without offering justice to the poor and the suffering.

Throughout the Book of Amos there are warnings that the Day of the Lord was coming. Elsewhere in Hebrew Scripture the Day of the Lord was seen as the time when Israel’s enemies would be punished. But, Amos the mystic has a different idea. He warns that in the Day of the Lord, Israel will also be punished with the other nations of the world for how it has mistreated the poor and the suffering.

In the passage we heard today, Amos warns Israel that time is running out – the summer fruit has already been harvested and placed in the basket. Through Amos, God warns of the worst punishment of all – the living hell of being separated from the presence of God.

“The time is surely coming, says the Lord God, when I will send famine on the land; not a famine of bread, or a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the Lord. They shall wander from sea to sea, and from north to east; they shall run to and fro, seeking the word of the Lord, but they shall not find it.”

This should be a sobering prophecy for all of us who live in such great prosperity while most of the world groans in poverty and despair.

As, Christians, though, we know that God has not hidden from us. Just the opposite! In Jesus we have a profound and personal and unique encounter with God. When we look at Jesus, when we listen to Jesus, we see and hear what God is really like. Jesus is the ultimate mystical experience!

And so it’s possible for us – right here and now – to be everyday mystics. Mysticism isn’t about wearing strange clothes or spending years in a cave, or on a mountain or in a monastery. Mysticism is about being like Mary, open to the God who is always reaching out to us. Mysticism is about being open to the God who is always seeking to cut through Martha’s and our worries and distractions, inviting us to realize how good it is to be alive, to experience the sacred, and to unite with God.

And then we mystics are called to be like Amos – to demand justice and compassion, to practice justice and compassion, to build the kingdom of God here in Madison, here in America, here on earth.

Amen.

American Scripture

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
July 4, 2010

Year C, Proper 9: The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
2 Kings 5:1-14
Psalm 30
(Galatians 6:1-16)
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

American Scripture

Of course, today we’re celebrating the birth of our country – a birth that was announced by a remarkably powerful and inspiring document, the Declaration of Independence. But, on the same day that we celebrate our independence from one kingdom, we just heard Luke’s story of Jesus sending out the seventy to proclaim the Good News that “the kingdom of God has come near.” And, although we might not want to hear it, the implication is that Jesus is calling us to be disciples, sending us out to proclaim that same good news: “the kingdom of God has come near.”

So, we’ve got two seemingly contrary things going on today. Today we are celebrating our independence. At the same time, we are called to proclaim the kingdom of God.

Let’s start with independence. In my previous life as a high school history teacher, I loved teaching about Colonial America and the War for Independence. Those early years of our nation’s history tell a remarkable story of people leaving home, hoping for a better life with land of their own and the freedom to worship God in their own way.

Those early years of our nation’s history also tell a tragic story - marred by the near-annihilation of the Native Americans and the importation of African slaves – the twin original sins of American history.

Today, of course, we focus on a decision by leaders of the thirteen thinly-populated English colonies stretching from New Hampshire to Georgia. In the heat of a Philadelphia summer, those brave leaders made the formal decision to declare independence from the mightiest country in the world, knowing that in the probable event of failure, they would be executed for treason.

In the midst of that hot summer of 1776, Thomas Jefferson led the team that crafted the Declaration of Independence – what at least one scholar calls “American Scripture”.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness…”

Jefferson and many of his colleagues were only nominally Christian. Instead they subscribed to deism – the idea that God, like a clock-maker, created the universe, set it in motion, and now has nothing more to do with it. In private, Jefferson spent a good bit of time pouring over the New Testament, cutting out anything that seemed implausible or supernatural, reducing Jesus to simply a noble teacher of ethics. So, in the declaration, America’s founding document, there are only glancing references to God, using the generic terms “nature’s God” or “Creator”.

Nevertheless, with this powerful piece of American scripture, Jefferson declared and summarized what America values the most. “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” have shaped us as a people who strongly value our personal freedom to live our lives how we want to live them – with as little interference from the government, or anybody else, as possible. We sure hate paying taxes and try to pay as little as we can legally get away with. Most of the Declaration of Independence is a tirade against George III. We’ve been highly suspicious of authority ever since. No kings for us.

Like everything created by human beings, the legacy of the Declaration of Independence, of this American scripture, is a mixed bag. On the one hand, we are fortunate to live in a country providing us with great freedom and potential. I was very moved reading the obituary of Robert Byrd – born into deep poverty in one of our poorest states, infected by the worst prejudices of his time and place, and yet able to rise above and beyond all of that, serving in the Senate for more than half a century, and now mourned by both Democrats and Republicans. Whatever we might think of his politics, he made great use of his life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

On the other hand, we can misuse our life, liberty and pursuit of happiness. We happily enjoy our barbeques and fireworks not giving a thought to our best and bravest fighting wars in faraway lands and carrying the heavy burden of protecting us. Our focus on individual wealth often leads us to neglect the common good. Our roads and bridges are crumbling and the quality of our schools is wildly uneven. Meanwhile, the gap between the rich and poor grows ever wider and so many are falling out of the middle class. Our mistrust of authority can be so great that leaders are unable to make difficult decisions or to accomplish necessary tasks.

So, yes, today we celebrate our independence, recognizing, though, that we both use and misuse our blessings of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Which brings us to the kingdom of God. In today’s gospel we pick up right where we left off last week in the Gospel of Luke. In what Lauren called in her sermon “the cost of discipleship” Jesus calls for total commitment from his followers. Jesus says to one follower with family responsibilities, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” To another hesitating follower Jesus says, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of god.”

Surprisingly, according to Luke, at least seventy people were willing to pay the high cost of discipleship and were sent out by Jesus to proclaim the coming of the kingdom of God. The number seventy echoes the story of Moses appointing the seventy elders to continue his work. Traditionally Jews believed there were seventy nations in the world – so that might be another reason for this specific number. Anyway, the first readers and hearers of the gospel would have picked up on this important symbolic number.

Jesus warns the seventy they have a dangerous and difficult mission. Jesus says he is sending them out “like lambs into the midst of wolves.” It’s a dangerous world out there, so they shouldn’t greet anyone on the road. They’ll have no equipment – no purse, no bag, no sandals – only their faith, their trust in God. Sometimes people will welcome them warmly and sometimes not so much.

In any event they are to proclaim, “the kingdom of God has come near.”

And here’s where we run into trouble. What exactly does that mean, “the kingdom of God has come near”?

The expression is all over the gospels, though Matthew calls it the “kingdom of heaven” probably to avoid using God’s name. It’s a central part of Jesus’ message, yet for a long time the church and scholars have puzzled over what the kingdom of God is. Or, more to the point, they’ve puzzled over when the kingdom of God is.

Some say that Jesus and the Gospel writers were thinking of the end of time, the Second Coming of Jesus, when all of creation will be transformed into the kingdom of God.

Others say, no, Jesus and the gospel writers saw the kingdom of God as something that was happening now – something that was beginning with Jesus’ own life and ministry and was to continue with the seventy and all the other followers of Jesus right down through time to us today.

I think the answer is probably both – the kingdom of God is already happening and not yet here. As the seventy were instructed to say, “the kingdom of God has drawn near.” And our job is to build the kingdom of God right here, right now – to be a sign that the kingdom of God has drawn near.

Earlier in the Gospel of Luke, Jesus gives us a clear vision of what the kingdom of God looks like – it’s the world turned upside down. Jesus said, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.”

“…Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” “Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

Challenging – we’ll have to sacrifice a lot in that upside-down world - but that’s what the kingdom of God looks like. That’s the kingdom of God that’s already happening but not yet here. That’s the kingdom of God that the seventy and you and I and all Christians are sent out by Jesus to proclaim and to build.

That’s the kingdom of God we see when we prepare a really good meal for the homeless shelter or the soup kitchen. That’s the kingdom of God we touch when we reach out to a person in sorrow or pain. That’s the kingdom of God we feel when, like Robert Byrd, we overcome our prejudices. That’s the kingdom of God that we hear when together we sing God’s praises. That’s the kingdom of God we taste each time we gather together at the Lord’s Table and become one with Christ and one another.

And, you know, I believe that old deist Thomas Jefferson with his cut-up Bible has given us Americans a special opportunity to build the kingdom of God. At the birth of our country, during that hot Philadelphia summer, in our “American Scripture,” Jefferson and the others rightly declared that our Creator had given all of us rights that could never be taken from us – including life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

But, Jefferson and the others didn’t show us how to use these rights, these gifts from God. Unfortunately all too often we can and often do misuse these rights, these gifts for our own selfish purposes. The sad truth is that when we misuse these rights in effect we forfeit them – when we focus only on ourselves we end up not having much of a life, we end up imprisoned by our fear of losing our money and possessions, and we end up not happy at all.

But, Jesus shows us the way – Jesus shows us how to use these rights, these gifts. We are called to give away our lives in loving service, using our liberty to build the kingdom of God right here and now. And it’s when we do that - when we choose to help build the kingdom of God - then we discover true happiness.

Happy Independence Day!

Amen.

A Bunch of Ragamuffins

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
June 20, 2010

Year C, Proper 7: The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost
1 Kings 19:1-15a
Psalm 42
(Galatians 3:23-29)
Luke 8:26-39

A Bunch of Ragamuffins

When I was growing up my father hated his job. Part of the reason he went to work every day was to afford to send my sister and me to our local Catholic parochial school, Our Lady of Mercy. And like Catholic schoolchildren then and now, we wore uniforms. For the girls it was a plaid jumper and for the boys it was white dress shirt, green clip-on tie and gray pants. And like Catholic schoolchildren then and now, we sometimes wore the uniform in ways that were less than neat and dignified.

For most of my time in grammar school the principal was a nun who was very kind but who from time to time would kind of lose it and yell at the whole school over the PA system. I remember one time very vividly. Apparently she had seen – or she had gotten reports about – how some of us were abusing the uniform.

So, this day she got on the PA and really let us have it – yelling about the boys with their un-tucked shirts and the girls with their too-short skirts. I’m sure the teachers were irritated to have classes interrupted, maybe amused by the spectacle, and also maybe concerned that this time sister was going to blow a gasket.
There’s one phrase from sister’s tirade that I’ll never forget. From down in the main office she shouted into the microphone, “You look like a bunch of ragamuffins!”
“You look like a bunch of ragamuffins!”

Ragamuffins? I’m sure some of us snickered at that funny word. I had no idea what a ragamuffin was – and probably my classmates didn’t either. Of course, sister had given us enough context to know that ragamuffins are a mess. In case, like me, you don’t know what a ragamuffin is, here’s the dictionary definition: a dirty, shabbily-clothed child – an urchin.

I don’t think I thought about or heard the word “ragamuffin” for the next thirty-plus years, until a few weeks ago when I stumbled upon a book called The Ragamuffin Gospel by a former Roman Catholic priest named Brennan Manning. Seeing the book’s title hurled me back to the principal’s long-ago tirade and piqued my interest.
Manning makes two main points in his book. First, we’re all spiritual ragamuffins – we’re all a mess – one way or another we’re all, as he says, “bedraggled, beat-up and burnt-out.”

Here are some of his definitions of ragamuffins:

“The sorely burdened who are still shifting the heavy suitcase from one hand to the other.”

“The wobbly and the weak-kneed who know they don’t have it all together and are too proud” to accept help.

“The poor, weak, sinful men and women with hereditary faults and limited talents.”

“The bent and the bruised who feel their lives are a grave disappointment…”

“The smart people who know they are stupid…”

I think these days more than usual we’re really feeling bedraggled, beat up and burnt-out. Most if not all of us carry our own personal regrets and anxieties – our own sense of failure or impending doom.

And as a society, we’re a mess. We’re told the economy is improving, but a jobless recovery seems like no recovery at all. We lash out - desperately looking for who is to blame – Wall Street, the banks, Congress, the president, the former president, the teachers union, the undocumented immigrant…the list goes on.

We’re still feeding our best and bravest to Iraq and Afghanistan – wars that have gone on so long now that we can barely stand to hear about one more roadside bomb, one more top-ranking terrorist killed by an unmanned drone, one more suicide bomber at a crowded marketplace.

And of course, each week the estimate rises ever higher of just how much oil has actually spewed and continues to spew into the Gulf of Mexico. We can only take so much of this. Before long we’ll grow numb to the images of oil-soaked pelicans, tar balls staining gorgeous beaches, and heartbroken people mourning a lost way of life.

Yes, more than ever, Brennan Manning is right – individually and as a society - we’re bedraggled, beat-up and burnt-out. We’re a bunch of ragamuffins.

But, in his book Manning makes a second point – very basic Christianity, yet all too easy for us to forget. He writes that God “has a single relentless stance toward us.” God “loves us.” God “is the only God man has ever heard of who loves sinners. False gods – the gods of human manufacturing – despise sinners, but the Father of Jesus loves all, no matter what they do. But of course, this is almost too incredible for us to accept.”

We’re all bedraggled, beat-up and burnt-out. We’re all sinners living in a sinful world. Yet, the good news is that God reaches out to us, no matter how much of a mess, how much of a ragamuffin we are.

Today’s lessons offer two powerful illustrations of God reaching out to the bedraggled, the beat-up and the burnt-out.

The man we met in today’s gospel is maybe the most extreme ragamuffin imaginable. He’s probably a gentile, so from the Jewish perspective that’s one big strike against him. He’s possessed by an army of demons – a Roman legion had about 5000 troops. He hasn’t worn clothes for a long time and lives in the tombs. The demons were so powerful that even guards and chains and shackles could not subdue him.

The point of this story is that even this extreme case of a man bedraggled, beaten-up and burned-out was not beyond the loving power of God working through Jesus. And in case you’re wondering about the pigs. Their mass suicide is a vivid symbol of the purification of non-Jewish lands – that through Jesus we discover that the God of Israel is at work everywhere, reaching out to everyone.

I’d like to spend a little more time on the story of the Prophet Elijah’s quiet encounter with God. For today’s story to make sense we have to back up just a little. Elijah lived during a time when the Israelites were hedging their bets – they continued to worship their God but also worshipped other gods, especially Baal, an important Canaanite god associated with thunderstorms. Israel was ruled by Ahab, a great military leader who was married to the infamous Jezebel, a worshipper of Baal.

The author of the Book of Kings tells us that during a terrible drought Elijah challenged the 450 prophets of Baal to a contest in which both sides would cut up a bull and call upon their god to consume the bull with fire – probably thanks to lightning.

We’re told the prophets of Baal dance around, cut themselves, do everything they can think of. Elijah taunts them, suggesting that maybe Baal is meditating or asleep. Despite the best attempts of the prophets, Baal was silent. We’re told there was “No voice, no answer, no response.”

Elijah then called upon the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and we’re told “the fire of the Lord fell” – and the drought came to an end. Elijah then told the Israelites to grab the prophets of Baal - and he killed them all.

A powerful and bloody scene. Today we picked up with Jezebel hearing about what had happened to her prophets and sending a threatening message to Elijah. And Elijah – who had seen first hand the power of God – Elijah was frightened and despairing. Who knows, maybe he had some doubts that God had really wanted him to kill those 450 prophets of Baal.

One commentary I read actually referred to Elijah here as a burnt-out prophet. He’s probably bedraggled and apparently is about to be beat-up and worse. Elijah is a spiritual ragamuffin.

So, Elijah went on his own forty day exodus ending up at Mount Horeb, better known as Mount Sinai. Here, where God had appeared to Moses, Elijah says, “I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” In the midst of his fear and despair, the ragamuffin Elijah turns to God, opens himself to God.

And God doesn’t appear in the violent wind or the earthquake or the fire. Instead, God speaks in the “sheer silence.” The burned-out prophet is reassured of God’s presence and sent back on his mission, to get on with the rest of his life, knowing that God is with him always.

The story of Jesus casting out the legion of demons from that poor man tells us that no one – no matter who they are or no matter what they’ve done is beyond the power and love and healing of God. This is something important for us to remember when we feel broken, un-healable, and unforgivable. It’s also something important to remember when we judge certain other people as broken, un-healable and unforgivable.

But, for many of us, the story of Elijah may be timelier these days. Like Elijah, many of us have seen God’s power and have received God’s blessing. Think of all we’ve been given! Yet, in tough times we can be consumed by regret about the past, fear of the future, and the need for someone to blame.

In the midst of this mess the story of Elijah reminds us that God is reaching out to us, probably not in the winds, earthquakes and fires, but in the sheer silence.

Today many of us are bedraggled, beaten-up and burned-out. We’re spiritual ragamuffins. More than ever, like Elijah, we need to take some time – to take our own private exodus. More than ever we need to turn off the TV and radio, log off from facebook, put the phone on silent, and just be quiet - listening for the voice of God in the sheer silence.

We’re all a bunch of ragamuffins now, needing the grace and healing that only God can give.

Amen.

From Death Into Life

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
June 6, 2010

Year C, Proper 5: The Second Sunday after Pentecost
1 Kings 17:8-24
Psalm 146
(Galatians 1:11-24)
Luke 7:11-17

From Death into Life

What is God really like?

Last Sunday, Lauren and I and preachers all across the Church were faced with the daunting challenge of preaching a sermon on a doctrine of the church – preaching on the Trinity – the term we use for our very limited understanding of God’s interior life. God reveals God’s self to be three Persons in one God - a perfect relationship of love. We preachers prove every year that it’s impossible to explain how God can be both one and three. Ultimately, in this life anyway, the Trinity will always remain a profound and inexhaustible mystery. In that deepest sense, for now anyway, we cannot know what God is really like.

But, because God wants to be in relationship with us, because over and over God reaches out to us, we can give at least a partial answer.
What is God really like? Well, to answer that we can look to the Bible – the book that’s a collection of many books, inspired by God, created and collected over many centuries – the book that tells a long story of God at work in the world, God revealing God’s self to human beings.

What is God really like? Well, as Christians, of course, to answer that first and foremost we look to Jesus – the person in whom God reveals God’s self in a unique way to the world. In Jesus, God says this is what I’m really like.

What is God really like? Well, as Christians to answer that we also look to two-thousand years of Christian history – the story of how despite often horrifying human sinfulness, God has been – and continues to be - at work through people who have given away their lives sharing the Good News of Jesus, standing up to injustice, and selflessly serving the weakest and the poorest among us.

What is God really like? Today’s lessons – the very similar stories of Elijah and Jesus both raising a widow’s son from the dead – give us an important answer. We don’t know everything about God, but we do know that over and over God offers to lead us from death into life.

I’m reminded of a hymn that’s not in our Episcopal hymnal, but was and maybe still is popular in the Roman Catholic Church. The refrain is:


“Shepherd me O God, beyond my wants, beyond my fears, from death into life.”

That’s what God is like. In this life we can’t know God completely, but the truth is God has revealed all that we need to know. What is God really like? Over and over God offers to lead us – to shepherd us - from death into life.

Today we heard a story about the prophet Elijah, who lived in the first half of the 9th Century B.C. What we know about him comes from the book of Kings, written several centuries later. Like all prophets, Elijah’s main task was convincing the Israelites to put their trust, their faith, in God.

In each of the stories about Elijah we see Elijah being open to God’s call and then God’s power is made manifest in him.

In the story we heard today, God sends Elijah to a widow living in Zarephath, a port city in Phoenicia – what would be today Lebanon. From the start, the gloom of death hangs over the scene. Elijah encounters the woman gathering sticks and asks her for water. Without a word, she begins to accommodate his request, but then he asks her for a morsel of bread. And then it’s as if all of her sorrows and despair come pouring out of her. She says to Elijah,

“As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for my son, that we may eat it and die.”

Yet, although she seems consumed by despair and impending death, she is also open to God’s power. Notice that she acknowledges God’s existence, saying, “As the Lord your God lives…” And then, rather than telling this stranger to get lost, she does what he says, making “a little cake” for Elijah.
The author of the Book of Kings tells us, “She went and did as Elijah said, so that she as well as he and her household ate for many days. The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke to Elijah.”

Because this poor woman is open just a little, she experiences God’s presence, power and abundance. She experiences what God is really like.

God shepherded her, beyond her wants, beyond her fears, from death into life.

But, then there’s a twist to the story. The gloom of death still hasn’t lifted.

The woman’s son dies suddenly and, interestingly, she seems to blame both herself and Elijah for this calamity. She says, “What have you against me, O man of god? You have come to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!”

“You have come to bring my sin to remembrance.” It seems this woman may be carrying around heavy guilt – some recognition of her own sinfulness. And living with our sin and feeling unforgiven is a kind of death, too, isn’t it?

But, regardless of our sins, God always offers to shepherd us, to lead us from death to life.

It may be hard for us to understand or even accept God’s offer of life. Look, even Elijah seems to misunderstand what God is really like. Elijah cries out, “O Lord, my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I am staying by killing her son?”

Well, no, of course, not. By reviving the son, in a literal and dramatic way God reveals what God is really like, that God always offers to lead us from death into life.

God shepherded the woman, her son, and even Elijah, God shepherded them all beyond their wants, beyond their fears, from death into life.

It’s a powerful story that reveals a lot about what God is really like. And the evangelist Luke obviously draws upon the story of Elijah resuscitating the boy in his account of Jesus raising the widow’s only son.

Luke of course is eager to make the point that God’s power flows through Jesus just as it flowed through Elijah. After the miracle, Luke quotes the people as saying, “A great prophet has risen among us!”

But, Luke knew, and the first readers of the Gospel knew, and we know, that, yes, Jesus is a prophet but Jesus is much more than a prophet. In Jesus we see what God is really like. Jesus is the ultimate example of God reaching out to us, making God’s self known to us. And Christ’s Resurrection is the ultimate sign and promise that, even when all hope seems to be lost, God always offers to lead us, to shepherd us, from death into life.

For two thousand years, countless Christian women and men have allowed God to work through them – sharing God’s offer to lead us from death into life. And that work continues all around us even now.

On the Men’s Mission event a couple of weeks ago I had the chance to spend time with Christians who are doing God’s work of shepherding people from death into life.

On the first day I went to the Seamen’s Church Institute at Port Newark and spent the day trailing one of the port chaplains, my good friend Megan Sanders, as she went about her work.

The port is a fascinating, dangerous and largely hidden world of enormous equipment, diesel exhaust and tight security. Many of the seafarers sign contracts that take them away from home for many months. For a variety of reasons, many are not allowed off their ships when they finally reach port after many weeks at sea. It’s not much of a life. In fact, it’s a kind of death.

But, we followed Megan around as she spread God’s love to these nearly invisible people – doing seemingly small things - offering much-wanted phone cards, offering rides to the Jersey Gardens mall, asking about their lives, promising prayers.

One of the crewmembers said that lots of people come on the ships but the chaplains are the only ones who care about them.

In small but profound ways, that day at the port we saw what God is really like - shepherding those seafarers – and us – beyond our wants, beyond our fears, from death into life.

On the second day of our mission event, I went out to Hope, NJ, to a place called Haven of Hope for Kids. I knew Grace Church gives them outreach money but didn’t know much about this organization that was co-founded by St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, a small congregation in Hope. Currently Haven of Hope offers one cottage as “a retreat for families caring for a child with a life-threatening illness.” Some of you know first-hand the horror of that experience – how the illness of a child can be a kind of death.

At Haven of Hope, families can spend most or all of their time in and around the pleasant cottage, which is just behind the church. Or they can take advantage of some of the other attractions in that beautiful part of our state or over in Pennsylvania.

Now, Haven of Hope is expanding its ministry into a second cottage – and our group of Grace Church men transformed this second cottage from a drab gray into a bright, welcoming, hopeful yellow. Our two-day painting effort will make a small contribution to Haven of Hope’s mission of giving these families “a renewed sense of mutual support, courage, confidence, joy and optimism.”

In small but profound ways at Haven of Hope we saw what God is really like – shepherding frightened families – and us – beyond our wants, beyond our fears, from death into life.

So, what is God really like? Because God wants to be in relationship with us, because over and over God reaches out to us, we can give at least a partial answer.

We look to the Bible, we look to Jesus, and we look to God working through people in history and all around us, right here today. And when we look we discover that over and over, even when all seems to be lost, God always offers to shepherd us, to lead us, beyond our wants, beyond our fears, from death into life.

Amen.

Attention and the Focused Life

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
The Messenger
June-July 2010
Curate’s Corner

Attention and the Focused Life

If we are being honest, most preachers would admit that most if not all of our sermons are on some level directed to ourselves. I was reminded of that truth a couple of months ago during the Men’s Retreat. Geoff Brooks noted that one theme that appears often in my sermons is the call to pay attention – to keep our eyes and ears open to how God is at work in our lives. Ironically – and tellingly – I don’t remember the context of Geoff’s comment, but I was pleased that he recognized my belief in the importance of mindfulness. Truthfully, I preach regularly about paying attention because I think it’s important and because I tend to do such a bad job of it myself.

Like most of us, especially when tired, I regularly lose my perspective and get wrapped up in my own issues – anxieties as well as hopes. Like most of us, I miss how God is active in this present moment and instead look back regretfully or nostalgically to the past or ahead nervously or hopefully to the future. That was one reason why back in April, my wife Sue encouraged me to take a few days off, get away, take a breather and pay attention to how God is at work right now in my life.

With Lauren’s kind agreement, I spent five days in one of my favorite places, San Francisco, on sort of a vaca-retreat. Although I spent some time catching up with good friends, mostly I was alone with my thoughts and prayers as I walked up and down the wonderfully steep hills of that beautiful city. After just a day or two my friends said they could see the rest and refreshment in my face.

While I was there I read an intriguing book called Rapt: Attention and the Focused Life, by a behavioral science writer named Winifred Gallagher. I had never heard of the book or author before, but its title and subject had caught my eye in a bookstore so I bought it and tossed it into my bag for the trip.

While I have approached paying attention and mindfulness from a religious angle, Gallagher’s central claim is purely secular, blatantly obvious and yet usually ignored: “Your life is the creation of what you focus on – and what you don’t.” Gallagher arrived at that profoundly simple statement after receiving a very bleak cancer diagnosis. She writes that while facing this potentially fatal illness, she resolved to focus on “things that matter most and make me feel best: big ones like my family and friends, spiritual life, and work, and smaller things like movies, walks, and a 6:30pm martini.”

This resolve to control her focus apparently worked, helping to make the seemingly unbearable bearable. Gallagher writes, “Even in very difficult situations, it’s often possible to find something to be grateful for, such as others’ loving support, good medical care, or even your own values, thoughts and feelings. Focusing on such a benign emotion isn’t just a ‘nice thing to do’ but a proven way to expand your view of reality and lift your spirits, thus improving your ability to cope.” Based on her powerful personal experience and many interviews with scientists and psychologists, Gallagher concludes, “You cannot always be happy, but you can almost always be focused, which is the next best thing.”

Naturally, it would be much better if we paid attention and practiced mindfulness in our everyday lives rather than in the midst of a personal crisis. Our relationships are a good place to start. Gallagher writes, “Attention, from the Latin for ‘reach toward,’ is the most basic ingredient in any relationship, from a casual friendship to a lifelong marriage. Giving and receiving the undivided sort, however briefly, is the least that one person can do for another and sometimes the most.” How often do we really pay attention to other people – our co-workers, fellow parishioners at coffee hour, our friends, our relatives, our spouses? How would our lives be different if we developed the discipline of mindfulness, of living in this moment, of taking in and appreciating the gifts that we are receiving right now from and through the people in our lives?

To circle back to our lives as Christians, how can we ever hope to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul and mind and to love our neighbor as ourselves, if we are unwilling to pay attention to God and to the people around us? In her book, Gallagher offers this quote from the poet W.H. Auden, “To pray is to pay attention, or shall we say, to ‘listen’ to someone or something other than oneself.”

Since we’re all works in progress, no doubt we’ll keep stumbling at paying attention to God at work in our lives and in the world around us. In a world that seems to demand relentless multitasking, we’ll still struggle to focus on what’s most important. So, I’m sure I’ll keep preaching to myself and to you about the importance of mindfulness. But, I think from now on I’ll try a little harder to practice what I preach!

"The Mad Logic of the Trinity"

Trinity + St. Philip’s Cathedral, Newark NJ
May 30, 2010

Year C: The First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday
Proverbs 8: 1-4, 22-31
Psalm 8
Romans 5:1-5
John 16:12-15

“The Mad Logic of the Trinity”

Most of us here today can remember a time when life moved at a slower pace. We can remember the days before the Internet and email, before cell phones, before hundreds of channels on TV – although, of course, there’s still nothing to watch!

We can remember a time when life moved at a slower pace, when we had more time to think and reflect. When I was growing up in the 1970s I had several pen pals in different countries around the world. We would exchange letters, telling each other what was going on in our lives. I remember taking a lot of time thinking about what I wanted to write to these far-off friends who lived in places like Iceland, Germany, Tanzania and India.

When it was time to mail my letters I would imagine the journey they would take to reach their destinations. And then weeks or even months would go by before I’d get the reply, in envelopes usually covered with colorful stamps and postmarks.

Nowadays thanks to instantaneous email, the idea of writing letters to pen pals in other countries sounds like something out of the 1870s rather than just a few decades ago.

We live in a fast-paced time which has little room or patience for reflection. I’d like to say that the church is a place where we can still slow down and reflect. But, the truth is, for many of us – for many of you – the church is another busy, hurried place. There’s so much to be done – and I know it seems like it’s always the same people doing most of the work. There’s just not much time for reflection.

I imagine that the earliest followers of Jesus didn’t have too much time for reflection, either. Imagine how amazing it must have been to hear and see Jesus. It must have been nearly overwhelming to follow Jesus around, to see his miracles and to try to make sense of his parables. And we know how often the disciples didn’t quite get it right – how often they didn’t understand what Jesus meant or who Jesus was.

And then in quick succession there were the events of Holy Week – the betrayal, the arrest, the crucifixion, the resurrection. And then, according to Luke, fifty days later there was Pentecost - the disciples received the Holy Spirit and went out proclaiming the Good News to the whole world.

And for sure it’s at this point that those first Christians had to take some time to reflect – to reflect on the meaning of the Good News they were proclaiming. Imagine those early disciples arriving in a new place and telling people – maybe both Jews and Gentiles – about Jesus – his life, death and resurrection. Imagine the disciples saying Jesus is the messiah – not exactly the kind of messiah that was expected, though. Imagine the first disciples shocking some people by using language like “Lord” and “Son of God” for Jesus.

Well, you can imagine the questions, right? We can imagine some people trying to understand, saying, “So, OK, I think I get it. Jesus was a god pretending to be human right? I can believe that, in our religion we have lots of gods and we’re always happy to learn about another.” And the disciples might respond, “No, that’s not quite right. Jesus really was a human being, but God was really present in Jesus in a way that we’ve never seen before but he wasn’t another god, like one of your gods.”

Or maybe some said, “Let me get this straight, Jesus was a prophet, right? Well, there have been lots of prophets so why shouldn’t there be another?” And the disciples might respond, “No, sorry, that’s not quite right. Yes, Jesus was a prophet, but not like any other prophet. He was a prophet but much more than a prophet.”

Or imagine the disciples trying to explain how although they no longer saw Jesus in the flesh, they still experienced his love and his presence and his power in a very real way. Imagine them trying to explain how in some mysterious and very real way they still experienced the love and power they had felt in Jesus. Imagine the first disciples trying to explain the presence of the Holy Spirit – the power of the breath of God – in their lives!

All of this called for a lot of reflection. Who is Jesus? What is his relationship to God? Who or what is the power that we still feel present in our lives?

One of the people who must have spent a lot of time reflecting on all of this was St. Paul who after his conversion spent his life telling people about Jesus. This morning we heard a little piece from his letter to the Romans – a letter written probably later in his life – a letter that is clearly a product of many years of reflection.

Paul understands that through Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, Jesus has bridged the gap between God and humanity. Paul writes, “…we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand.” Jesus has bridged the gap between God and humanity.

After, I’m sure, much reflection and experience Paul also understands that we continue to experience God’s love and grace. He writes, “…hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

Paul wrote those words probably in the mid-50s of the First Century – twenty years or so after Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. It took several more centuries of reflection, controversy, debate and even, sadly, bloodshed, before the Church settled on the doctrine we celebrate today – the doctrine of the Trinity.

It wasn’t until the 300s that church councils crafted the Nicene Creed that we say each Sunday in church – the creed that affirms that God is one in three Persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. It took all that time of reflection for the church to finally figure out that God is a perfect relationship of love. And through Jesus and the Holy Spirit you and I are invited to be part of that divine love.

This is the awesome truth – the ultimate Good News – that we celebrate today. But, let’s be honest, even after all these centuries, the doctrine of the Trinity – one God in three Persons - is still hard for us to grasp.

In his novel Things Fall Apart, the author Chinua Achebe tells the story of the arrival of the British in what is today Nigeria during the late 1800s. Among other things, the British bring Christianity and manage to convert some of the people to the new faith. One of the converts is a young man named Nwoye, the son of a local strong man.

Here’s how Achebe describes Nwoye’s attraction to Christianity. “It was not the mad logic of the Trinity that captivated him…It was the poetry of the new religion, something felt in the marrow.”

If we try to apply human logic to the Trinity we’ll never get anywhere. Three and yet one at the same time – that really is mad logic! But the Trinity isn’t logic – it’s poetry - it’s poetry that we feel in our marrow, in our bones, in our heart.


The doctrine of the Trinity reveals to us that God is a perfect relationship of love. This three-in-one God of perfection could have spent eternity alone but the nature of God is to share God’s love. So God created all of us – God created this beautiful planet, this vast universe, God created all of it to share God’s love with us.

Over and over, the Bible tells the story of God reaching out to us, wanting to be in relationship with us. Finally, in Jesus, God reaches out in an ultimate way by in some mysterious way becoming one of us, living among us, saying to us, “Look, this is who I really am.” In Jesus, God reaches out to us in an ultimate way, stretching out his arms on the cross, forgiving us, right to the end inviting us to be part of this relationship of love – Father, Son, Holy Spirit – and us.

It’s mad logic, but when we’re open we feel its truth in our bones and in our hearts. When we gather at the Lord’s Table to receive Christ’s Body and Blood we know that we are part of the divine relationship of love.

When we’re open to it and paying attention, we can really see that we are all – all of us - invited to share in the divine relationship of love. And the Holy Spirit inspires us to follow God’s example by reaching out and inviting others to be in relationship with us and to join in the divine relationship of love – Father, Son, Holy Spirit and us.

And standing here this morning, like Nwoye in Things Fall Apart, I feel that truth and power of that invitation in my bones, in my heart. Some of you know that I’m privileged to serve on the Cathedral Chapter. And almost exactly three years ago I was ordained a deacon right over there. Both are very important to me, but I feel a special relationship with this cathedral family for a deeper reason.

Today in our diocesan cycle of prayer, we are praying for the Rev. Canon Dr. David H. Hamilton. More than ten years ago, you welcomed David Hamilton as your interim dean. So, many of you know his story – a story of great loss and also a powerful story of resurrection and renewal. It’s a story in which you played a crucial part.

After he left here, he became rector of St. Paul’s in Jersey City. And a few months after that, my wife and I stumbled into St. Paul’s looking for a spiritual home, looking for God. That first Sunday, during the peace Fr. Hamilton came down the aisle, reached out his hand and said, “I’m Dave Hamilton. Welcome to St. Paul’s.”
That day, that moment, is etched on my heart. Through David Hamilton, I felt God’s invitation to be part of the divine relationship of love. Over time, Dave and I became good friends and I began the process to become a priest.

A few times I was here in this cathedral with him and the bonds of love between you and him were beautiful and obvious. I used to tease him that being here with him felt like being with a celebrity. But it was clear to me that you and he were sharing – and continue to share - in the divine relationship of love. It’s not something I’ll ever forget. Dave’s example and your example of sharing God’s love have shaped my priesthood and assured this congregation a special place in my heart.

So, it’s Trinity Sunday and it’s good to celebrate the mad logic of the Trinity here at Trinity + St. Philip’s Cathedral. Let us ask God who is Three in One for the quiet time to reflect on the good gifts we have been given – the gift of life itself, our families and friends, the Church, our Cathedral, this beautiful planet, and most of all the invitation to share forever in the divine relationship of love – Father, Son, Holy Spirit and us.

Amen.

"You Cannot Imprison the Word of the Lord"

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
May 16, 2010

Year C: The Seventh Sunday of Easter
Acts 16:16-34
Psalm 97
John 17:20-26

“You Cannot Imprison the Word of the Lord”

So, I have a deep theological question: what happened to the first half of May? Here in church, it seems like we just had our big Easter celebrations, but the Easter season is already drawing to a close. Today is the seventh Sunday of Easter – and next Sunday we’ll be celebrating the great feast of Pentecost and the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Lauren has mentioned in her sermons that around here we try our best to hold on to the joy and excitement of Easter – but, let’s be honest, it’s pretty easy to slip into business as usual and live like everybody else. After all, today is the seventh Sunday of Easter, the Easter lilies are long gone and maybe even our alleluias wilting. The Lord is risen indeed…Alleluia.

For the first few Sundays of Easter we heard stories from the Gospel of John – vivid and memorable stories of Jesus’ resurrection appearances to his disciples.

But for the past couple of Sundays, we’ve continued to hear excerpts from the Gospel of John, but no more resurrection stories. Although it’s still the Easter season, the gospel has taken us back to before Easter. Last week we heard part of what’s called the “final discourse,” what the Gospel of John records as Jesus’ final teaching at the Last Supper. And today, we heard what John records as Jesus’ final prayer before his arrest and all that follows.

The Gospel of John was the last of the four gospels to be written, sometime around the end of the First Century.

Inspired by God, this gospel is a product of several generations of Christian reflection on who Jesus is and reflection on the meaning of his life, death and resurrection. This gospel is also the product of several generations of Christians trying to figure out how to survive in a world hostile to the Christian message. And it’s also the product of several generations of Christians trying to live together – and often having a lot of trouble getting along with one another.

The first disciples followed Jesus because they recognized that God was present in Jesus in a new and unique way. They realized that in the Messiah they saw what God was really like. They knew that when they heard Jesus they were hearing the word of the Lord.

But, after several generations of reflection and experience the author of the Gospel of John recognizes an even greater and deeper truth. When we hear Jesus not only do we hear the word of the Lord, but in some mysterious way Jesus is the Word of the Lord.

The author of the gospel makes a bold claim: in some mysterious way, God the Father and Jesus the Son are one. There is an unbreakable bond between God the Father and Jesus the Son. And in the Gospel of John, Jesus’ final prayer is that his followers – you and I – may be one also - one with each other and also one with Jesus. Listen to Jesus’ prayer to God the Father again,

“The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me…”

“I in them and you in me.” The author of the Gospel of John understands that Jesus’ prayer, hope and promise for us is unity – an unbreakable bond – with God the Father, Jesus the Son, and with one another.

This is why we say that the bond which God establishes with us in baptism is indissoluble – it can never be dissolved or broken.

In Jesus we hear the word of the Lord. In Jesus we see the Word of the Lord come to live among us. And in the unbreakable bond we now have with God, the Word of the Lord lives in our hearts.

It’s mid-May, it’s the seventh Sunday of Easter, and, yes, maybe our alleluias are starting to wilt, but the truth of our unbreakable bond with God, the truth that the Word of the Lord is alive in our hearts, should make us shout “alleluia!” with joy, hope and confidence.

Maybe no one understood the bond of love between God and us better than St. Paul, who in his letter to the Romans wrote that he was convinced that nothing “will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Of course, as Paul and so many others have found out, over and over the forces of the world will try to separate us from the love of God. Over and over the world tries to break the bond between God and us. Over and over the world tries to imprison the Word of the Lord.

We heard about one of those attempts in today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles.

We pick up right where we left off last Sunday. You may remember that Paul and his companions arrived in the city of Philippi in Macedonia in southeastern Europe. There they encountered Lydia who was baptized and who immediately offered hospitality to Paul and the others.

Now, Paul and his fellow disciple Silas are still in the Roman colony of Philippi and they encounter a gentile slave girl who has a kind of spiritual power that is a money-maker for her owners. I imagine her situation as like being enslaved and forced to work forever as a fortune-teller on the boardwalk at the Shore. She recognizes who Paul and his companions are. She follows them around, crying out, “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation.” We’re told that Paul was “very much annoyed” by this.

Anyway, the Word of the Lord was alive in Paul and so just like Jesus he was able to cast out the spirit. We’re not told how the girl felt about this but naturally her owners were angry about losing a revenue source. They brought Paul and Silas before the authorities and accused them of illegally trying to convert Romans – gentiles – to their faith.

Paul and Silas were beaten and thrown into jail.

In Leonard Bernstein’s Mass there’s a piece called “The Word of the Lord.” Here’s just part of the text:

“You can lock up your bold men and women. Go and lock up your bold men and women. And hold them in tow. You can stifle all adventure for a century or so. Smother hope before it’s risen. Watch it wizen like a gourd. But you cannot imprison the Word of the Lord.”

“No, you cannot imprison the Word of the Lord.”

Actually, I’d revise that a little. “No, you cannot imprison the Word of the Lord, unless we allow it.

For me, the most amazing part of the story of Paul and Silas in Philippi is how they behave in prison. They’ve been hauled before the court, attacked by the crowd, beaten with rods, given a severe flogging and now they’re jailed with their feet in the stocks. And what do they do?

The author of Acts tells us, “About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them.”

Knowing that in Jesus they had an unbreakable bond with God, knowing that nothing could separate them from the love of God, Paul and Silas pray and sing.
“You can lock up your bold men and women. But you cannot imprison the Word of the Lord.”

The author of Acts goes on to tell us about the miraculous earthquake and how the amazed jailer put his faith in Jesus and how just like Lydia, he immediately offered hospitality to Paul and the others.

It’s a great story, but, the core of the story is the faith of Paul and Silas. They offer a great example of faith as trust. The Word of the Lord was alive in their hearts. Despite a very bleak and painful situation, Paul and Silas place their trust in the unbreakable bond they share with God – a bond infinitely stronger than their prison chains. The world takes its best shot, but the world couldn’t imprison the Word of the Lord - because Paul and Silas wouldn’t allow it.

No, the forces of the world cannot imprison the Word of the Lord, unless we allow it. You cannot imprison the Word of the Lord unless we – we, who have an unbreakable bond with God – allow it.

So, what about us?

Well, for sure the world still takes its best shot at imprisoning the Word of the Lord. In some parts of the world, Christians are discriminated against or tortured or even killed for their faith. Around the world there are an estimated 120 million so-called crypto-Christians – people who are forced to live out their faith in secret.

Around here we don’t risk our lives when we practice our faith. But, here in green, beautiful, comfortable Morris County, the world’s attempts to imprison the Word of the Lord are more subtle, maybe more dangerous, and if we allow it, maybe more effective.

The Word of the Lord is alive in our hearts and alive among us, but if when we leave this place we live out there pretty much like everyone else, then we allow the world to imprison the Word of the Lord.

If we believe the Golden Rule is “The one with the gold, rules” then we allow the world to imprison the Word of the Lord. If in our real lives we put more faith in money and our stuff than in God then we allow the world to imprison the Word of the Lord.

If we turn away the person in need; if we mock the one who is different; if like the owners of the slave girl in Philippi we use people for our own profit, then we allow the world to imprison the Word of the Lord.

If we demonize our opponents and hate our enemies, then we allow the world to imprison the Word of Lord.

If out there in the world we live pretty much like everyone else, then we allow the world to imprison the Word of the Lord.

I know that sounds like a heavy responsibility and challenge. Yet, the Good News that Paul and John and so many others have understood is that it’s not all on us – in fact, just the opposite.

As the author of the Gospel of John understood, in Jesus the Word of the Lord has come and lived among us. In our baptism, God makes an unbreakable bond with us – a bond infinitely stronger than the world’s best shot. The Word of the Lord is alive within all of us. And each time we pray, each time we receive the Body and Blood of Christ, each time we serve another, the bond of love between God and us and the bond of love among all of us, grows stronger and stronger.

The story of Paul and Silas shows us that the bond between God and us is so strong that, unless we allow it, the world cannot imprison the Word of the Lord.
So, since it’s already mid-May and the seventh Sunday of Easter we’d better freshen up those alleluias.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Amen.

Hospitality

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
May 9, 2010

Year C: The Sixth Sunday of Easter
Acts 16:9-15
Psalm 67
John 14:23-29

Hospitality

Well, there’s a whole lot going on today. First and foremost, like every Sunday, today is a Feast of our Lord, and so we gather here in church to hear the Word of God, to offer our prayers and thanksgivings, to receive the Body and Blood of Christ, and then to go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

That’s more than enough for one day, but wait, there’s more. Here at Grace we’re marking today as Rogation Sunday. Some of our children made these wonderful vestments and hangings. Having special prayers or services on Rogation days – from the Latin word meaning “to ask” – is a very ancient custom with its roots in the desire to ask God’s blessing on this year’s crops. In more modern times, the understanding of rogation has expanded to asking God’s blessing on all of creation – the gift of this beautiful planet and vast universe, the gift of life itself.

And finally – maybe you thought I’d forget – today is Mother’s Day. Today’s the day beloved by greeting card companies and florists that we give special thanks for the great gift of our mothers – those who are with us and also those who have died.

So there’s a whole lot going on today – and one theme that ties together the different aspects of today is the very important, central Christian theme of hospitality.

At its heart, hospitality is how we receive and share life.

Hospitality was extremely important in the ancient world and its value is emphasized throughout the Bible. Just to give one important and timely example from the Old Testament, in Deuteronomy there’s this: “You shall also love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” That’s both a law and a pointed reminder from God about how we are treat foreigners.

That kind of hospitality isn’t necessarily easy.

Hospitality is also an important theme in the New Testament. Jesus is often depicted as a guest and is also remembered as inviting the unlikeliest people to eat with him.

Hospitality must have been crucial for the first disciples who carried the Good News out into the world. Paul writes to the church in Rome, “Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers” (12:13). And there’s this beautiful verse from the Letter to the Hebrews: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it” (13:2)

In the Bible and in everyday life hospitality is how we receive and share life.

Unfortunately, in our own society, many of us neglect even the relatively easy parts of hospitality. Forget about strangers, how often do we share our lives with our friends? I know Sue and I very rarely make time to have people over or even just go out to eat with friends. Without even that minimal effort we run the risk of reverse hospitality turning friends into strangers. In a column called “If I Had My Life to Live Over Again,” Erma Bombeck wrote, “I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.”

Hospitality is how we receive and share life.

If you stop and think about it, hospitality is a very important part of who God is. For God, creation is hospitality. I’m getting into dangerous theological ground here, but while I wouldn’t say God needed to create anything or anyone, it seems like because of who God is, it was almost inevitable that God would want to share life. God chooses to share life with all of us and everything that is alive, has been alive and will be alive.

The Bible tells the story of God over and over offering hospitality to human beings, wanting to transform us from strangers into friends.

In Jesus, we see the ultimate example of this hospitality, of God taking the risk of reaching out to us, of sharing God’s life with us. In Jesus, God says, look this is who I really am. In Jesus, God says, I want us to be friends and not strangers. In Jesus, God says I want us to live together forever.

And in return we’re invited to offer hospitality to God. In today’s gospel, Jesus is quoted in the farewell discourse as saying, “Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.”

“We will come to them and make our home with them.” Hospitality is how we receive and share life.

If we look around, we see God’s hospitality all around us in this beautiful planet. And on this Rogation Sunday we give special thanks for God’s hospitality. At the same time, we remember that God expects us to show this same kind of hospitality to all of the other living creatures with whom we share this planet. And unfortunately we don’t have to look far to see how we have failed miserably in that kind of hospitality. The sad images of fish and birds killed by the oil spewing into the Gulf of Mexico should make all of us reflect on how we live our lives and our general lack of hospitality toward God’s creation.

It’s depressing to think about our abuse of the planet, yet Mother’s Day reminds us that we really are capable of deeply generous hospitality. Motherhood itself is profound hospitality. Motherhood is the supreme example of sharing one’s life – and for a time one’s body – with another. Having received life, mothers (and fathers, too) then give life to another - hospitality.

We heard about a beautiful example of hospitality in today’s lesson from the Acts of the Apostles. In what might be taken from a first person account from one of Paul’s companions, we hear the story of Paul’s arrival in Philippi in Macedonia. The Good News of Jesus had now reached Europe.

It seems like Paul’s usual approach when he first arrived in a city was to find the local synagogue and connect with the Jewish community. Many scholars believe that Paul was also particularly interested in meeting gentiles who may have been attracted to the God of Israel and Jewish religious practices, but had not formally become Jews. These people are sometimes called “God-fearers.”

So in Philippi, Paul and his companions went “outside the gate by the river” where they thought there was a “place of prayer.” The synagogue may have been near the river or it might have been that the Jewish community was so small that the handful of faithful people simply gathered near the water.

Anyway, Paul begins speaking to the women who were there and particularly to a woman named Lydia. The author of Acts tells us a good bit about her. She’s described as a “worshiper of God” – maybe meaning she’s one of those gentiles already drawn but not quite committed to Judaism. She’s apparently a woman of some means since she was a dealer in expensive purple cloth and has a “household.”

Most important, after Lydia and her household put their faith in Christ and were baptized, seemingly without delay, Lydia invites Paul and his companions to stay in her home. In her baptism, Lydia received the gift of life. And her first response is to share that gift – to offer generous hospitality to strangers who were well on their way to becoming friends.

I wish we knew more about Lydia. I like that you can see a depiction of her in the St. Paul window over in our chapel. Some people speculate that Lydia founded a house church in her own home. Maybe her spirit of warm hospitality permeated this early Christian community in Philippi. Paul had a lot of trouble with many of the Christian communities he founded, but his letter to the Philippians, written from prison, is extraordinarily joyful. Maybe recalling Lydia’s hospitality, Paul wrote to the Philippians:

“I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now” (1:3-4).

Hospitality is how we receive and share life.

Yes, there’s a whole lot going on today. This Feast of Our Lord reminds us of God’s hospitality – God’s giving life to us, always reaching out to us, wanting to be friends and not strangers.

Rogation Sunday reminds us to give thanks for this beautiful home that God has given us. And Rogation Sunday also reminds us that we are expected to be hospitable to the creatures of the earth.

Mother’s Day reminds us of the gift of our mothers and the profound hospitality they showed by literally sharing their life with us.

And today we remember Lydia, who received the gift of baptism and immediately offered hospitality to others.

That’s a lot of reminders for one day. But, then again, hospitality is important for God and for us. Hospitality is how we receive and share life.

Amen.

The Life of Sheep

Grace Episcopal Church, Madison NJ
April 25, 2010

Year C: The Fourth Sunday of Easter
Acts 9:36-43
Psalm 23
(Revelation 7:9-17)
John 10:22-30

The Life of Sheep

Each year when Good Shepherd Sunday rolls around, I think back to my time at General Seminary, particularly the many hours spent in the seminary chapel, the Chapel of the Good Shepherd.

Behind the chapel altar there is a line of large statues carved from Italian marble. The four Evangelists are there along with Peter and Paul and the Old Testament figures, Moses and Elijah. And in the center, towering above the other statues, is Jesus the Good Shepherd. In the statue the Good Shepherd is wearing long, flowing robes. His head is graced by a halo. In his left hand he holds a metal staff and in his right arm cradles a little lamb, while a larger lamb stands at his side.

This impressive statue of the Good Shepherd and his two lambs presents a warm, cozy, even somewhat sentimental scene.

But, there is nothing warm cozy or sentimental about the scene presented in today’s reading from the Gospel of John. I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but it bears repeating once again that this gospel was written around the end of the First Century, several generations after the earthly lifetime of Jesus.

It was written for a Christian community faced with the painful separation from Jewish life. Unfortunately, readers and hearers like us who are far removed from that painful separation, are left with a gospel that has been misused all too often by Christians to attack Jews. So, knowing that Jesus and all of his first followers were Jews, when we hear the people who challenge, criticize and ultimately reject Jesus referred to as “the Jews” we need to remember that this is shorthand for “the Jewish religious establishment” or “the Jews who opposed Jesus.”

Anyway, the little scene we heard today is a kind of follow-up to an earlier exchange between Jesus and his opponents when Jesus had declared, “I am the Good Shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” Jesus also said, “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.”

Now the Evangelist John continues this shepherd and sheep talk between Jesus and his opponents. John tells us Jesus and his opponents are at the Temple, which would have definitely been the place to be because it was the festival of the Dedication – better known to us as Hanukkah – the festival that celebrates the re-consecration of the Temple after it had been defiled by pagan worship.

That location would have really resonated to the first readers and hearers of the Gospel since the Romans had destroyed the Temple several decades before the gospel was written. On top of that, the early Christians – and certainly the author of this gospel – were already thinking of Jesus as the new and eternal Temple.

So during Hanukkah and at the Temple, Jesus is once again challenged by his opponents. They want to know if he is the messiah, saying “How long will you keep us in suspense?” Another possible translation, which I like better, is something like, “How long will you annoy us?”

Jesus replies by returning to the shepherd and sheep imagery. This time, though, the image is more like Jesus the Good Shepherd entering the sheepfold and calling out to the sheep. Some, but not all, of the sheep respond to Jesus’ voice, put their trust in Jesus, and gather around Jesus – just like those sheep in the statue.

And we are some of those sheep, aren’t we? Somehow, some way, you and I have heard the voice of the Good Shepherd calling to us. Maybe we heard the voice of the Good Shepherd calling to us through our parents who raised us in the faith. Maybe we heard the voice of the Good Shepherd in a Sunday School teacher or in a sermon that made a powerful impression. Maybe we heard the voice of the Good Shepherd in a friend who offered comfort during a tough time or in the neighbor who invited us to church one Sunday.

Maybe we heard the voice of the Good Shepherd in the calling to us in the Word of God or in a thin sliver of bread and a sip of wine. Maybe we heard the voice of the Good Shepherd in the beauty of a hymn. Maybe we heard the voice of the Good Shepherd in the person who nagged us about getting out of bed and going to church on Sunday.

Somehow, you and I have heard the voice of the Good Shepherd. In our baptism, ready or not, we became members of his band of sheep. And later today at the cathedral a whole flock of our brothers and sisters will stand up on their own and confirm that, yes, they are sheep belonging to the Good Shepherd.

But, then what? Is that it? What is the life like for sheep who have heard the voice of the Good Shepherd? Are we sheep just supposed to be like the sheep in that statue – nice and warm and cozy with Jesus? Well, that’s part of it. That’s what we do here in church. This is a pretty warm and cozy place. Each week Lauren has to expend quite a bit of energy to wrap up the passing of the peace and continue the service. It’s obvious how comfortable people are here – how adults and children really see Grace Church as a second home.

But that warmth and coziness of community is just part of our life as sheep. The warmth and coziness we find here is supposed to strengthen us, to nourish us, to prepare us, to inspire us, to do our work out there in the world.

The sheep of the Good Shepherd are not supposed to spend all their time warm and cozy here in the sheepfold. No, the sheep of the Good Shepherd – you and I – are supposed to go out into the world and continue the work of the Good Shepherd.

In the seminary chapel statues of Peter and Paul stand alongside the statue of the Good Shepherd. Those two great apostles were among the first sheep who went out into the world and gave their lives continuing the work of Jesus.

Last Sunday we heard the powerful story told in the Acts of the Apostles of Paul’s encounter with the Risen Christ on the road to Damascus. Paul heard the voice of the Good Shepherd and it transformed him from someone who persecuted Jesus’ followers into a faithful apostle giving his life continuing the work of Jesus.

And today the author of the Acts of the Apostles shifts the focus to Peter – and makes two big points. First, the Good News has already spread beyond Jerusalem. The raising of Tabitha from the dead took place in Joppa – an important Jewish port on the Mediterranean.

The second point is that Peter has come a long way from the Peter we see in the gospels – the Peter who earnestly tried to understand Jesus’ message but usually fell short; the Peter who betrayed Jesus three times in his greatest moment of need. We’ve even come a long way from the Peter we saw last week, who not knowing what to do after the Resurrection, returned to his old life fishing out on the Sea of Galilee.

Today we see Peter after he has been transformed by the Holy Spirit. Today we meet Peter continuing the healing work of Jesus. In the passage just before what we heard today, Peter healed a paralytic – a very Jesus-like miracle. And today in the most Jesus-like miracle of all, the author of Acts tells us that Peter raised the faithful disciple Tabitha from the dead.

The point of all this is that Paul and Peter and the other faithful disciples heard the voice of the Good Shepherd and then went out and continued the healing work of Jesus. That’s the life of sheep.

Well, if the author of the Acts of the Apostles were writing today, he might note that the Good News has reached all the way to Madison, New Jersey. And I hope he would describe how you and I have heard the voice of the Good Shepherd, how we live the life of sheep by going out into the world continuing the healing work of Jesus.

What does that healing work look like for us?

Well, since we live in a materialistic society that values and judges people based how many and what kinds of things they possess, maybe we can continue the healing work of Jesus by living a different kind of life. Maybe, with God’s help, we can live into our baptismal promise to respect the dignity of every human being.

How else could we continue the healing work of Jesus?

Well, we live in a society that seems to be in love with violence – physical violence but also emotional and verbal violence. We live in a society that presents violence as entertainment, a society that believes violence solves problems, a society which all too often seems to reward the bully. Maybe we can continue the healing work of Jesus by rejecting violence and challenging those who use violence. Maybe, with God’s help, we can live into our baptismal promise to love our neighbor as our self.

How else can we continue the healing work of Jesus?

The most important way we can continue the healing work of Jesus is to allow the voice of the Good Shepherd to speak through us. We can allow the voice of the Good Shepherd to speak through us as we raise children in the faith. We can allow the voice of the Good Shepherd to speak through us when we offer comfort to someone going through a tough time. We can allow the voice of the Good Shepherd to speak through us when we invite a neighbor to church some Sunday and even when we nag someone we love to get up on a Sunday morning and come to this warm and cozy sheepfold.

Maybe, with God’s help, we can live into our baptismal promise to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.

Continuing the healing work of Jesus is risky, though. It was risky for Jesus himself and it was risky for Peter and Paul who both died violent deaths because they were sheep of the Good Shepherd. Yet they and we have the promise of Jesus – the promise that far outweighs any risks – the promise symbolized in that warm and cozy scene of Jesus the Good Shepherd holding his sheep.

Paul understood that promise when he wrote to the church in Rome that he was convinced that nothing “will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Or as Jesus is quoted in the Gospel of John, “My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish.”

Somehow you and I have heard the voice of the Good Shepherd. We come here to be strengthened and encouraged. Then we go out to continue his healing work in the world. That’s the life of sheep.

Amen.