Flourishing in Faith…

Tags

church, generosity, goodness, gratitude, Jesus, money, stewardship

This month, I have offered space on the blog to members of our Stewardship Committee to reflect on their experiences of flourishing in faith.  This week, Debbie McGee offers her reflections.

Thanks for stopping by to check out St. Margaret’s blog today. I wanted to take this opportunity to chat a bit about what “Stewardship” means and how it relates to my life.

Yesterday, my 20-something son received the St. Margaret’s Stewardship letter and enclosure in the mail. His response was, “They want my money!” I replied, “Who wants your money?” He responded, “The Church!” It was soon apparent that my son did not understand what Stewardship is about and that we needed to spend some time talking about it – but how about you? Would you have experienced the same reaction?

As a member of St. Margaret’s stewardship committee for the past two years, I have traveled a long road in coming to terms with what stewardship is truly about. This is not something that occurs overnight but becomes clearer as one deepens their spirituality. I remember as a kid, watching my dad leave home at night to “go visit” other parishioners to talk about stewardship, and hopefully come back with a new pledge card. It did not make much sense to me back then, but my dad was always happy when he received a new pledge commitment!

Courtesy of http://www.kihealing1.com/tag/gratitude-365

Today, I find myself as one of God’s stewards and have a much better understanding of what stewardship is all about. Firstly, it is NOT about paying dues or membership to an organization. Stewardship is about responding to God’s generosity in your life with a glad, grateful and generous heart. “It is important to look around each day and recognize we are blessed. It is important to live with an attitude of gratitude. People who are grateful see the good side of life more often and have a tendency to perceive their glass as half full, not half empty. Living with such an attitude also makes us more realistic, for we realize that nothing just is, and everything is a blessing.”[1]

I am a faithful follower of Jesus Christ. Being a good steward brings me closer to God. It has become a journey for my family and me as we intentionally make a choice to give and give generously. We experience such joy with our giving. We are part of St. Margaret Church’s commitment to mission and have seen firsthand the positive change our giving has made. We have tremendous community in our parish and I have witnessed the generosity displayed toward one another. St. Margaret’s continues to be transformed as we seek out and explore new kinds of outreach due to a groundswell of stewardship.

God designed us for goodness and generosity. It is a privileged role we can play as his stewards. Jesus Christ challenged his disciples about their relationship with money and possessions. And so I challenge you! What do you value and how will you walk in the steps of Jesus Christ? Your stewardship is both a gift and a response to God’s boundless and unending grace. God is calling us to be faithful supporters; so give generously from your heart for all the blessings you have received.

How will you respond?

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[1] Cutie, Albert R. (2013) Forward Day by Day. 1:76.

Sermon – Luke 17.11-19, P23, YC, October 13, 2013

Tags

blessing, Episcopal, faithful living, gratitude, Jesus, lepers, praise, Samaritan, Sermon, stewardship, tithe

I have never been what I would call physically expressive with my faith.  I remember the last time I worshipped at my mother’s church, I was so uncomfortable with the raised hands and utterances of praise, that I found my arms tightly crossed and my eyes glued to the screens to avoid looking around me.  I remember walking an outdoor labyrinth with a priest friend of mine, who upon reaching the center of the labyrinth raised her arms and her head silently to God and just stood there for a long time.  My pace slowed dramatically as I began to panic about how I would never feel comfortable in such a stance, even if I was all alone.  I remember in the multi-cultural church where I worshipped in college watching parishioners stomp and clap as the choir led a spirit-filled song.  I managed to eek out an “Amen,” or maybe even a quiet, “Yes,” but I was drowned out by the boisterous praise around me.

As Episcopalians (or as many call us, “God’s Frozen Chosen”), I imagine that many of us in this room do not see anything strange about my aversion to physical manifestations of praise.  The most physicality we like to show in worship is through our active alternating between standing, sitting, and kneeling.  But my aversion to praise lately has not simply been physical.  I have noticed that the lack of praise has been missing from my words and actions lately too.  Lately my prayers for the parish have become a long litany of people who are hurting or suffering or who simply could use a sense of God’s presence in their lives.  Rarely do I lift up an equally long litany of things for which I am grateful for in this parish and in your lives.  I am not really sure how I got to this praise-lacking place.  Part of me wants to blame my lack of praise on the endless bad news in our world – the recent government shutdown, the economy, shootings, natural disasters, injustice and oppression, and wars.  But I think a larger part of the lack of praise has to do with something missing in my relationship with God – a focus on what needs work in my life as opposed to a focus on what ways my life is so blessed.

I guess you could say I sympathize with the nine lepers who do not return to Jesus when they are healed.  Of course, those lepers do nothing wrong per se.  In fact, they follow Jesus’ instructions to the letter.  Jesus tells them to go and present themselves to the priests and that they will be healed along the way.  And so, the nine lepers obediently follow directions, and in doing so, live life faithfully.  But when Jesus asks the Samaritan leper where the other nine lepers are, we notice immediately that there might be more to our spiritual journey than simply living life faithfully or following the rules.  The contrast between the lepers is so vivid that you can almost see the story in colors.  The nine lepers who are healed and follow Jesus’ instructions to go to the priests might be depicted in beige or taupe.  They do not lack color, but their color is pretty neutral.  Much like their actions are mundane, so are the colors they merit.  Meanwhile, the Samaritan leper might be depicted in vibrant reds, oranges, and golds.  His return to Jesus and his physically dramatic praise that includes prostrating himself at Jesus feet makes him more vibrant in the story.  He is the man raising his hands in praise, standing in wonder before God in the center of a labyrinth, or stomping his feet and shouting at the top of his lungs in worship.  Of course our eyes might be drawn to the vibrant colors of the Samaritan, but we would rarely pick such vibrant colors ourselves – or if we did, we would only use those colors in accessories – a vibrant bag or pair of shoes, but certainly not an entire vibrant outfit.

What the Samaritan leper shows us is that faithful living is more than just following rules or being relatively well-behaved.  Faithful living is more than trying to be a generally good person, or occasionally dropping a few extra dollars in the offering plate if you have some to spare.  The Samaritan shows us that true faithful living is not a quiet or mild experience.  Faithful living is expressive, passionate, and full of wonder and gratitude.  The Samaritan shows us this reality because not only does he perceive his blessing, he articulates his blessing.[i]  This is what sets the Samaritan apart from the other lepers.  Surely they perceive or see their blessing too.  But the Samaritan then articulates or gives word to his blessing.  We see what this double action of seeing and speaking does – the Samaritan is blessed by Jesus.  All ten of the lepers are healed.  That work is done and given without strings attached.  All are healed.  But the Samaritan gains more.  By articulating his thanksgiving, his blessing is doubled.  His gratitude overwhelms him, which seems to overwhelm God into more blessing.  What a fantastic cycle!

David Lose says, “Gratitude is the noblest emotion.  Gratitude draws us out of ourselves into something larger, bigger, and grander than we could imagine and joins us to the font of blessing itself.  But maybe, just maybe, gratitude is also the most powerful emotion, as it frees us from fear, releases us from anxiety, and emboldens us to do more and dare more than we’d ever imagined.”[ii]  The practice of gratitude changes things.  “When Christians practice gratitude, they come to worship not just to ‘get something out of it,’ but to give thanks and praise to God.  Stewardship is transformed from fundraising to the glad gratitude of joyful givers.  The mission of the church changes from ethical duty to the work of grateful hands and hearts.  Prayer includes not only our intercessions and supplications, but also our thanksgivings at the table.”[iii]

Gratitude is something we have been talking a lot about these past couple of months within the Stewardship Committee.  Today is our official kickoff of stewardship season, and you will be hearing a lot about gratitude over these coming Sundays.  A long time ago, before Scott and I were even married, we talked about the model of stewardship with which I had grown up.  Though United Methodists do not use “pledge” language, they do talk about giving and more specifically about tithing.  Growing up, my family always committed to tithing and talked about that practice regularly.  I always knew money was tight, but no matter what, that ten percent was going back to God on Sundays.  I saw how deeply tithing impacted my parents’ spiritual lives, and Scott and I agreed early in our relationship that we would take on that same spiritual discipline.

So you can imagine my amusement then when I first experienced stewardship in the Episcopal Church.  I heard people making the invitation to give and they used a phrase called the “modern tithe.”  Apparently the modern tithe was the phrase used for giving a percentage of your income to the church – a percentage that you could determine yourselves.  I almost laughed the first time I heard about the modern tithe.  The modern tithe idea sends the message that gratitude is important, but we should decide how much of the tithe we want to give.  The whole idea seemed like a slippery slope to me.  The reason I found the idea strange was because I had lived with the ten percent notion my whole life.  And what I learned about ten percent is that sometimes that ten percent is easy and feels great to give, and sometimes that ten percent feels like it could send you into poverty and despair.  But that is what is great about a sacrificial discipline.  No matter where you are in life, that practice of always giving that percentage is a way of saying, “Lord, this does not feel good right now, but I know you to be faithful and full of blessing, and so I give this to you grudgingly, hoping you can infuse my heart with the gratitude I have felt so many times before.”

I tell you that the Andrews-Weckerlys tithe ten percent not because I want to guilt you into doing the same.  I tell you about our tithing because I want my story to help me reclaim some of that joyful gratitude that the Samaritan has and that I have had at many times in my life.  I confess that lately that monthly pledge check has been hard.  More often I write those numbers with a deep sigh of resignation than with a song of praise.  My hope is that in telling you my story of how I feel like one of the nine lepers, that you might encourage me to be like the one Samaritan leper.  My hope is that in sharing my struggles, you might begin to ponder where you are in your spiritual walk with God and whether your financial giving is a reflection of the deep gratitude you have toward God or instead is the obedient, but joyless following of expectations.  My hope is that in offering up my challenges, we might all have more open, honest conversations at home, with one another, and with God about where we are and where we want to be.  The invitation of that bright, loud, boisterous Samaritan is there for all of us.  Blessings await.  Amen.

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[i] David Lose, “Second Blessing,” as found on http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2796 on October 11, 2013.

[ii] Lose.

[iii] Kimberly Bracken Long, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 168.

 

 

Gratitude adjustment…

Tags

discipline, God, gratitude, journey, pledge, prayer, stewardship

Courtesy of http://www.budaao.com/daily-life/add-a-daily-dose-of-gratitude/

This Sunday, we kick off our Stewardship Season.  Our Stewardship Committee has been working hard, reading some great work, exploring some creative ways of expressing our needs, and prayerfully taking steps toward this kickoff.  In the coming weeks, my weekly reflection will be replaced by guest posts from our parishioners, reflecting on how they hope to flourish in faith this Stewardship Season.

The more and more we have prepared for this time, the more and more I have been pondering the practice of gratitude.  I have been thinking about how dominated my prayer is by intercessions and how few thanksgivings I have been offering to God.  I have noticed how grudgingly I write that hefty pledge payment each month – praying that we can still make our other bills instead of thanking God for the gifts with which we have been blessed.  I have been listening to my responses to that age-old question, “How are you?” and been a bit disappointed about how consistently I manage to fit in some complaint about my life.  As I run from one thing to the next, I have found myself more burdened by life than rejoicing in life as a gift.

So I have decided to use Stewardship Season as a mini-Lenten experience.  As we encourage parishioners to prayerfully consider their financial giving, I will be prayerfully implementing gratitude back into my life.  I am committing myself to infusing gratitude into my relationship with God, my relationships with others, and my relationship with myself.  I figure that if I can focus on that work, the conversation I have with my family about our financial pledge might just take on a different tenor.  I am also excited to see what other surprises God has in store for my mini-Lenten Stewardship experience.  I am looking forward to the journey, and hope you will consider yourself duly invited to join me.

Homily – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis, October 6, 2013

Tags

creator, gift, God, gratitude, homily, Jesus, life, possessions, St. Francis, stewardship, stuff, yoke

Today we honor the life and work of St. Francis of Assisi.  Francis was born in 1182, and was the son of prosperous merchant.  But later in life, he was moved by the beggars and lepers he saw and decided to devote his life to a life of poverty – despite his father’s intense opposition.  Francis gathered a community together – although his ideal of strict and absolute poverty was so stark that almost no one could maintain the ideal.  But what Francis was trying to get the brothers to see was that “stuff” got in the way of life with Christ.  Once he renounced his “stuff” he was better able to see – see his neighbors’ poverty and suffering.  And giving up his “stuff” allowed Francis to take in a bigger view of God’s creation.  Though we sometimes narrow in on Francis’ love of animals, St. Francis had a much larger sense of the creative God and God’s created world.  Francis reveled in the creator God, who time and again during the creation process saw that, “it was good.”

Our Sunday School children have been working on the creation story this Fall.  They are learning about the vast expanse of interstellar space, as well as this fragile earth, our island home.  They are learning about how God created plants and every living creature.  They are also learning about how we are created in God’s image and we are to be stewards of God’s creation.  They are learning how we are designed for goodness and generosity, and that all of life is a gift – that we do not own any of it.  St. Francis knew this well.  His understanding of life as a gift is why he could give up everything.

But we struggle – we clutch to our resources and we use words like “earned,” and “deserve” and forget words like “gift” and “generosity.”  St. Francis’ life is all well and good, but when we really look at our resources, we more often find our hands clenched around our possessions than our hands openly giving them away.  I invite us to ponder this contrast not to make us feel guilty, but to invite us to live into God’s generosity.  That is what St. Francis wanted too.  He did not want to guilt people, but to welcome people into the freedom of knowing that all we have is gift, and to live a life in celebration of that gift.  Francis had experienced this radical way of living into the people God calls us to be, and he wanted to share that blessing with others.

Our Gospel lesson today gives us some clues about what all this means in practice.  Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Those words from Jesus are echoed in St. Francis’ life and witness.  We may not be able to walk around shoeless in the depths of winter like Francis, or even beg for our food, but when we enter into relationship with God with a greater sense of God’s invitation into the life of generosity, we can image and experience the light yoke.  This is the reflection work we will be doing throughout our stewardship season this fall – but Francis and Jesus give us a little preview about what stewardship really looks like.  So take a moment to start today.  Take in the beautiful creation of our property, as its Fall glory begins to unfold.  If you are an animal lover, look at the generous love of your pet.  Look at one another, remembering the vulnerable beauty of each person here – even those who annoy you the most.  Let this wonder and gratitude fill you up – so that you can slip on that light yoke of generosity and live into the goodness that God has created for you and has created you for.  Amen.

On compassion…

Tags

compassion, Congress, evangelism, humanity, Jesus, transformation

Courtesy of http://vividlife.me/ultimate/33329/a-guide-to-practical-compassion/

As our Vestry has been exploring the spiritual practice of evangelism, we have been doing some self-work.  This week we focused on the work of compassion.  David Gortner, in Transforming Evangelism, says, “Compassion is not pity, but the recognition of another person’s full humanity, warts and all.”  Our Vestry talked about our experiences of seeing others show compassion, but also how hard compassion can be to express – especially when people hurt us.

Our conversation reminded me of this blog entry I saw recently.  As a Long Island Driver, I totally get this story.  I have been yelled at many a time since moving here – and to be fair, I have expressed my own impatience at times, but hopefully never in such an extreme way.  What I love about this blog post though is that this is the ultimate example of seeing with compassion.  In that moment, that mom was able to see the other driver’s full humanity – in a way that probably Christ sees us every day, but in a way that we rarely take the time to see.  This kind of compassion does not come naturally – especially when someone is yelling expletives in our face.  But when that compassion was shown, both drivers were transformed – transformed by God’s love.

I have been thinking we could all use a little more compassion lately.  As our Congress has derailed an entire section of our economy and as we have been raging about whatever side is not “our side,” I think compassion has been long gone.  I include myself in that omission.  I found myself this week literally yelling at the radio as I heard one of the Representatives explaining why her party is doing the right thing.  And the whole situation makes me so angry that I am not sure I could even sit in the same room with these Representatives as they attempt to find a solution.  But thinking about that driver at Starbucks and thinking about our Vestry’s conversation about compassion, I have been wondering how Christ sees this whole debate.  I have my own sense of what position Jesus would take on all this (though I won’t share that here), but I also know that Jesus is fully capable of loving both sides and seeing the humanity in all the people involved.  Of course, that does not make the situation any easier or my frustration any lessened, but it does take the edge off my raging anger a bit.

Perhaps that small bit is all I can ask for now.  Perhaps that small glimpse into compassion is enough to shift my way of being and interacting with others.  Perhaps that first step is all that Jesus needs to begin the slow conversion of each of us toward a life of compassion.

Homily – Isaiah 60.1-5, John Raleigh Mott, October 3, 2013

Tags

gospel, homily, Jesus, John Raleigh Mott, joy, light

Today we celebrate John Raleigh Mott.  John was born in 1865 and was known as an evangelist and ecumenical pioneer.  As a young man he worked with various organizations including the World Student Christian Federation and the YMCA.  He helped organize the International Missionary Conference in 1910 – one of the broadest gatherings of Christians up to that point.  Of Christian mission he said, “It is a startling and solemnizing fact that even as late as the 20^th century, the Great Command of Jesus Christ to carry the Gospel to all mankind is still so largely unfulfilled … the Church is confronted today, as in no preceding generation, with a literally worldwide opportunity to make Christ known.”  His work developing the ecumenical movement continued, and in 1946 he received the Nobel Peace Prize for his work establishing and strengthening international organizations that worked for peace. 

What is interesting about John’s comments from the early 1900s is that they seem to ring true 100 years later.  We, too, are not fulfilling Jesus Christ’s command to carry the Gospel to all mankind.  Forget around the world – we don’t even want to talk to our next-door neighbors about Jesus.  We get so caught up in not wanting to offend that we can’t even share the story in our lives that brings us such joy.  So where do we find inspiration despite our fears?

I think our lesson from Isaiah helps with this.  “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you … Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.”  We forget that our joy, our story of faith when told honestly and vulnerably, shines before others.  I have seen that light in each of you here as you share your faith stories.  Joy inspires joy, and makes us radiant.  We even hear the same in the Gospel lesson.  The joy from seeing Jesus interact with the widow causes people to spread the word throughout the surrounding area – their joy became a light to the nations.

Joy is why we celebrate John Raleigh Mott, too.  His joy drew people in and propelled him out into the world to share that joy.  John invites us today to remember that same joy in ourselves.  We will find, like him, that as we go out, people also come to us.  Nations shall come to your light – our invitation is to share that light!  Amen.

Sermon – Luke 16.19-31, 1 Timothy 6.6-19, P21, YC, September 29, 2013

Tags

boldness, generous, God, Lazarus, other, rich, Sermon

Today’s scripture lessons are a bit uncomfortable.  The gospel and the epistle lesson really hit the rich hard.  We hear that familiar tale of the rich man and Lazarus and we almost sympathize with the rich man.  As he blindly goes about life ignoring Lazarus, we want to shout out to him, “Pay attention to Lazarus!  Take care of the poor!”  Of course, our reaction is much like the rich man’s once he realizes how doomed he really is.  He begs Abraham to send Lazarus or anyone from the dead to warn his brothers.  But Abraham responds with a deafening, “no,” and the silence at the end of the lesson is heart-wrenching.  This stark judgment is only heightened by our Epistle lesson, which boldly proclaims, “The love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.”  The writer does not simply say that wealth can be dangerous, but instead declares that the desire for wealth drives people to ruin and destruction.  There is a little bit of grace at the end of the lesson, which declares that the rich can somehow mitigate this fate by not being haughty, by setting their hopes on God, and by doing good, being rich in good works, generous, and ready to share.  Not all hope is lost, but we are also clear that the rich have a lot to worry about and a lot of work to do.

The biggest challenge about our lessons today though is not just the judgment of the rich, but the fact that we do not think of ourselves as being rich.  We can think of hundreds of thousands of people who are in better financial positions than we are.  Many of our members are struggling to get by – either because of fixed incomes or unexpected situations.  And even if some of us are making all our bills, we still have to watch our budgets – perhaps spending less on leisure, clothing, or the foods that we might like.  The last two parishes I served had a one and two million dollar budget respectively – we could easily look at our budget and the last two years of deficits and say that St. Margaret’s is not a place of rich people.  All you have to do is look around at our come-as-you-are culture, and assume that our parishioners in jeans and t-shirts do not have much money.

Of course, all of this is false.  All of our rationalizations and mind-games can never erase the fact that based on worldwide standards, simply by living in this country, we are rich people.  These lessons are not about “those people.”  These lessons are about us.  That is what makes them so hard.  We secretly want them to be about other people, but at the end of the day, we are the ones in danger of stepping over Lazaruses everyday and we are the ones who must struggle with our own love of money.  We are the rich in today’s lessons.

In the aftermath of the crisis of the Kenyan Westgate Mall Terrorist attack, an article surfaced about the media’s treatment of the crisis.[i]  In the first days of coverage, the mall was described as “being popular with ‘wealthy Kenyans, expatriates, and diplomats.’  It was also referred to as an ‘upscale mall’ ‘frequented by foreigners.’”  On the face of things, the description seemed relatively accurate and harmless.  But what the author of the article noted was that the sentiment that began spreading was that maybe the rich were getting their due, being terrorized in ways that the poor feel terrorized everyday.  But by the second day of reporting, the language started to change.  People began to see that not just the rich were suffering in the attack – ordinary people were being injured and killed too – in fact, even Muslims were being killed, despite the fact that the attack was committed by the so-called Islamist terrorists.  As pictures emerged of Kenyans helping internationals, and Muslims helping Christians, the vulgar labeling of “otherness” had been put to shame by the people’s common humanity and decency.  What I appreciated about this article is how the author saw our tendencies to not see ourselves in the other – how quickly we want to remove ourselves from judgment instead of seeing ourselves in the sinfulness of the world.  What happened in Kenya is not far from what happens every time we open our wallets and decide that we are not the rich man in our gospel or epistle lesson today.

Seeing our own culpability in our lessons today, what can we do from here?  There are two gifts in our scripture lessons today.  First, by watching the story of the rich man and Lazarus unfold, we get the benefit of what the rich man wanted for his brothers.  We are reminded through Abraham that the warnings are all there for us.  Though the rich man’s opportunity for repentance and renewal is gone, ours is not.  We have Moses, the prophets, and even Jesus himself rising from the dead as our reminder that our wealth is gifted to us to use for good.  Second, the hope of the epistle lesson is our hope as well.  We too can be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share.  Even when we feel like we have nothing left to share, all we have to do is remember that our sharing is our active relinquishing of the power that the love of money has over us.

This week, a priest friend of mine was featured in a story in Chattanooga, Tennessee for the bold move his church is taking.  Another church in town erected three 100-foot crosses on their property at the cost of $700,000.  On reflection, my friend and the Episcopal community of faith that he has gathered began to wonder how else they could spend $700,000.  In response, the community established the Southside Jubilee Fund.[ii]  They will raise $700,000 themselves in order to give all the money away.  Considering the call for Jubilee in Leviticus, the requirements for receiving money from the funds will be biblically based – any group doing work feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, giving drink to the thirsty, clothing those in need, caring for the sick, loving your neighbor, forgiving your enemies, honoring widows, or healing the land can receive from the fund.  Who knows whether the church will be able to raise the full $700,000, but that kind of boldness is the kind of boldness our epistle lesson calls for today.

We at St. Margaret’s are embarking on some of our spending.  We are finally fixing a long-term water problem that has been plaguing our undercroft.  As we repair the years of damage, mold, and old asbestos tiles, and as we restructure our outdoor drainage, we will also be reconstructing a space that not only holds our social events, but facilitates education and formation for adults and children, welcomes support groups, and perhaps can become used for more community gatherings.  This kind of expense may feel like the expense of the rich – but I actually think this kind of spending is a bit like the kind of spending the epistle encourages.  We will have to be both generous to fund the project, but also use the space for good works and share the space with others.  And if we are really embracing the call to share, perhaps we can consider some sort of matching program – matching the dollars we spend on our building with the dollars we spend on outreach.  That matching might not be dollar for dollar like in Chattanooga, but the invitation for boldness is there.

But the invitation for boldness is not just for St. Margaret’s.  The invitation for boldness is for each one of us here.  I would like us each to take a moment and pull out our wallets.  Look at how much cash you have in there.  I want you to make a mental note of that amount, and then I want you to watch over the coming week or weeks how you spend those dollars.  I want you to watch where the dollars go and what your spending says about your relationship with money.  Even if you cannot be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share those specific dollars, perhaps you can spend the next month watching the ways you do and do not share your other dollars and what that says about the power that the love of money has in your life.  If you find that those dollars are not being used boldly for good works and generous sharing, perhaps you and your family can consider how you might live differently:  how you might, as our epistle says, live the life that really is life.  And as you make those observations, I hope you will share that experience with me and one another – so that we might encourage one another on the journey toward bold living.  Amen.

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[i] Charles Onyango-Obbo, “Nairobi Westgate Mall Terror Attack, And The Folly Of ‘Otherness’ – What Al-Shabaab Revealed About Us,” as found at http://nakedchiefs.com/2013/09/24/nairobi-westgate-mall-terror-attack-and-the-folly-of-otherness-what-al-shabaab-revealed-about-us/ on September 26, 2013.

[ii] As found on http://southsideabbey.dioet.org/ on September 25, 2013.

Homily – Psalm 63.1-8, Lancelot Andrewes, September 26, 2013

Tags

God, homily, Lancelot Andrewes, passion, seeking, thirst

Today we honor Lancelot Andrewes, Bishop of Winchester in the early 1600s. Andrewes was the favorite preacher of King James I.  His eloquent sermons were admired by many, and known as witty, grounded in Scripture, and exhibiting his massive learning.  Andrewes was a distinguished biblical scholar, and one of the translators for the King James Version of the Bible.  He was dean of Westminster, educating many noted churchmen, including poet George Herbert.  He was also known for his piety, for defending the catholicity of the Church of England, and for generally being a model bishop.

What is challenging for us today is accessing Andrewes as modern readers.  His eloquent sermons were so academic that they make difficult reading for modern people.  I remember reading Andrewes for a theology class in seminary – and though I loved his work, I did have to slow down significantly to read his work. That often happens to us – something gets so academic or heady that we stop reading or listening, cutting ourselves off from the potential for learning.  As a church that praises learning, sometimes we are not always diligent with challenging ourselves beyond our comfort zones.

That is why I love our Psalm lesson today.  The psalmist says, “O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, as in a barren and dry land where there is no water.”  The psalmist knows a kind of pursuit of God that is passionate, all-consuming, if not desperate.  The psalmist longs for refreshment from parchedness, because the psalmist knows how incredibly satisfying finding God can be.

This kind of passion for seeking God is the same passion Andrewes had for God. This is the passion that the psalmist and Andrewes would want for us too.  We may not seek God in the same ways or through the same books or experiences, but the psalmist and Andrewes invite us into a more passionate seeking of God in our lives.  When we say we are a community seeking, serving and sharing Christ, this is the kind of passion with which we do that work.  May your soul thirst for God today.  Amen.