Making hay…

Tags

abundance, church, enjoy, God, goodness, make hay, proverb, summer, time, work

Photo credit:  www.cattlenetwork.com/advice-and-tips/cattle-feeding/make-hay-supplies-last-through-winter

“Make hay while the sun shines.”  That has been the motto this summer at our household.  Being new to our town, we are discovering all sorts of fun things – places to go, foods to try, even a community pool to enjoy.  I suppose coming from a climate that has long, sometimes tough winters, summer in a new place has felt like an open invitation to enjoy all the goodness around us for as long as we can (even though we have heard that winters are not so bad here).

In some ways, living by that old proverb has been a ton of fun.  For those of you who know me, I can be a creature of habit – Mondays are laundry day, Fridays are pizza night, etc.  Plus, we have young children who can be quite cranky if they do not get enough sleep or who can be quite rowdy if they do not get proper nutrition (e.g. too much ice cream from the awesome homemade ice cream joint within walking distance means sugar-crazed bedtime routines).  But despite my penchant for order and predictability, I am trying to embrace the “Make hay while the sun shines” mantra because we having a lot of fun.

That proverb is embraced at church over the summer too.  In the ebb and flow of church life, the program year (September through May) is the busy time of year – more programs, more activities, and more meetings.  In the summer, people travel, kids are off on adventures, and some of us are “making hay.”  Based on that shift, one might imagine that all is quiet at church during the summer.  In fact, we too are busy “making hay.”  The program year is being planned, calendars are coming together, and groups are meeting to strategize for needs in the fall.

I am grateful for time set apart for hay making.  Parishioners at Hickory Neck are working hard so that when things kickoff in the fall, all runs smoothly.  I am grateful for the time that people are committing to the church, the creativity they are contributing, and the joy and laughter with which we do it all.  Thank you to all those contributing behind the scenes!  I am happy to be making hay with you this summer!!

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Sermon – Lk 9.51-62, Gal 5.1, 13-25, P8, YC, June 26, 2016

Tags

campaign, Christ, cranky, Elijah, focus, Galatians, God, Jerusalem, Jesus, leader, love, Moses, neighbor, politics, purpose, Sermon, single-mindedness

Whenever we are in an election year, I find myself wondering how Jesus might fare in a political race.  I mean, he has a pretty awesome platform:  liberation for the poor, forgiveness of debts, healing, even eternal life.  But Jesus would be a modern campaign manager’s nightmare.  I can imagine the harried manager running around in circles after hearing this week’s text.  Just as Jesus is gaining ground and growing his constituency (or as the text calls them, disciples and followers), and just as Jesus is starting to gain prestige with comparisons to other great leaders, like Moses and Elijah, Jesus starts running his campaign into the ground.

We hear the campaign crumbling through four different incidents in our gospel lesson today.  First, we hear the story of how Jesus and his crew need shelter.  The Samaritans refuse them hospitality, and James and John, remembering how the great Elijah brought down fire on his opponents, ask Jesus if they should do the same thing.  Reigning down fire on the enemies would certainly make for great evening news coverage and might even result in a surge in the polls.  But Jesus does nothing of the sort.  Instead, Jesus just ignores the affront and keeps going.  Surely Jesus’ campaign manager would be crushed when his prepared speech about the Samaritans does not see the light of day.

Next, Jesus gets some promising news.  On the campaign trail, someone shouts, “I will follow you wherever you go!”   The campaign manager must be salivating as he hopes to tweet the comment and post the interchange on Vine or Snapchat.  But, then Jesus ruins the whole moment by saying, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”  Not exactly the best promotional video for Jesus’ campaign.  Who wants to follow a guy whose response to “I’ll follow you anywhere!” is basically, “If you follow me, get ready to feel ostracized, abandoned, and alone.”?

The day keeps getting worse for the campaign manager.  Two other people are ready to commit their lives to supporting the Jesus campaign.  But instead of joyfully receiving them after they have packed their bags and said goodbye to their families, Jesus crankily says, “Let the dead bury their own dead,” and “No one who puts the hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”  At least the great Elijah showed a little more patience than Jesus in his leadership.  If you remember, when Elijah called Elisha to follow him, he gave him the chance to say goodbye to his family.  But not Jesus.  A new sheriff is in town and he has no patience for other agendas.  I can just imagine the team of writers that the campaign manager would have to assemble to wax Jesus’ words and make them more palatable.  Jesus would be a modern political campaign’s worst nightmare.

The way the text reads today, Jesus comes off as heartless and dismissive.  But if we are really honest, Jesus can come off as heartless and dismissive through much of the gospels.  We like to remember the lovey-dovey stuff about Jesus:  the healings, the tender moments of compassion, or the motivational parables.  But like any good marriage, with all the love that comes from Jesus, we must also take the hard, uncomfortable stuff too.  Yesterday, two of our parishioners got married.  The day was a day for love and joy.  But the day was also a day for honesty and reflection.  You see, the bride and groom had both lost their first spouses to disease and death.  Between them, they have enjoyed over 90 years of happy marriages.  Though both of them are thrilled to have found love and companionship again, they entered their marriage yesterday with the sobriety that can only come when you really know what you are getting into.  I can do all the premarital counseling I want with a young couple getting married for the first time.  But eventually they will have to learn for themselves that marriage is hard and love is even harder.  Love is not all roses and champagne.  Love is working through tough times, making sacrifices, and living with a partner who can sometimes be as cranky as Jesus.

The reason we stay in committed, loving relationships is that we understand the ultimate goal:  to love and care for one another for the long run.  Jesus is probably cranky in our vignettes today because he too has an ultimate goal:  his love for us which leads to the cross.  At the beginning of our story today, the text says, “When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.”  This is our cue about Jesus’ seemingly bad mood.  Jesus does not have time for teaching and coddling.  He does not have energy for a leisurely stroll, where he can tell long parables and then explain their meaning.  No, Jesus has turned his face to Jerusalem.  We can hear in that one sentence, “When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem,” an indicator of Jesus’ demeanor.[i]  I am not sure Jesus would have ever made a savvy politician anyway, but he certainly would not have done so at this point in his ministry.  Where we are in Luke’s gospel is a turning point – a dramatic shift in the narrative.  When Jesus turns his face toward Jerusalem, everything else fades away.  He takes on a “singlemindedness of purpose that is prompted by God’s profound love for humanity and all the world.”[ii]

In his epistle to the Galatians we read today, Paul has become a bit cranky too.  The Galatians are fighting and Paul tells them to “stand firm,” or, in other words, to be single-minded in their love for one another.  Paul says, “…through love become slaves to one another.  For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”  As one scholar argues, “Being good at love, …requires a fair share of determination.  Loving another is not the easiest of commitments to make.  Love, it ought not surprise us, is going to require a little crankiness along the way.  Everything that has value does, and love is what has ultimate value for, of course, it is the only thing that lasts.  According to Paul and Jesus, it really is the only commandment, the only thing life is really about.”[iii]

Though both Jesus and Paul sound cranky and harsh today, I do not think they are either.  Why Paul asserts that the Galatians stand firm and why Jesus condemns those who put their hand to the plow and then look back is because both of them know our tendencies.  “Perhaps Jesus recognizes our tendency to put off the moments in time that might actually make a difference in what we say about him.  Perhaps Jesus sees that we come with ready excuses to defer our proclamation because we think we need to be in a better place, a better time, a time when the stars align so as to make our experience of the Gospel the perfect it was never meant to be.  Perhaps Jesus simply says stop making excuses and start imagining experiences that invite ‘let’s see what happens’ instead of ‘I need all my stuff figured out.’”[iv]

That is what happens when we really love one another.  We do not worry how savvy our political campaign is.  Instead we worry about what really matters – our call to love one another as Christ loves us.  Once we start doing that, party affiliation and grandstanding matter very little.  In fact, politics becomes a lot easier when we use the Jesus standard of love.  When we single-mindedly focus on love, our actions fall less into one political party or another of this world, but instead fall into focus on the kingdom of God.

Now, like our newlyweds will you tell, loving our neighbor is not easy.  Love as a political campaign will be frustrating and at times will make us quite cranky.  But by focusing on love, we allow ourselves to let go of all the extraneous stuff of life and focus single-mindedly on God’s purpose for us.  Sorting priorities becomes easier, caring for one another becomes more satisfying, and living into our purpose in this life comes more naturally.  Perhaps that would be the slogan that Jesus’ campaign manager would eke out of all Jesus’ interactions today:  All we need is love.  Amen.

[i] Elaine A. Heath, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 190.

[ii] David J. Lose, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 195.

[iii] Stacy Sauls, “Cranky Jesus,” June 30, 2013, as found at http://day1.org/4897-the_cranky_jesus on June 23, 2016.

[iv] Karoline Lewis, “Every Moment Counts,” June 19, 2016, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4679 on June 22, 2016.

Looking for Love…

Tags

death, God, growth, hesed, love, loving kindness, marriage, plant

One of the things you may not know about me is that I am terrible with plants.  Though many people have a green thumb, I am a textbook example of a brown thumb.  My instincts and habits are terrible.  Either I water the plant too much or not enough.  I never know how much sun is enough.  I am lucky if a plant lasts more than a month in my house.  If I am really honest, most of my plants suffer from neglect.  I just get too busy and by the time I remember the plant, the plant is past the point of redemption.  One of my former parishioners was convinced she could convert me to a green thumb.  She even regularly put plants on our front porch – right near the water spigot.  I am sure she mourned many a plant on my behalf.

There is, however, one exception to this rule.  It was a plant given to us as a wedding present almost fifteen years ago.  Of course, when we received it, my immediate thought was, “Great!  There goes another plant in the trash!”  But much to my surprise, the plant was hearty.  No matter how long I forgot to water it, it managed to forgive me and perk back up when watered.  No matter how many new places I took it, it kept on going.  I jokingly started referring to the plant as our “love plant.”  It was a reminder of our special day, and like a loving marriage, it held together through thick and thin.

But during our most recent move, I pretty much killed our love plant.  I left the plant in the car.  It was not that warm in April, so I figured it would be okay there.  But I think our love plant just got scorched over the several-day move.  I had never seen the plant look like it did.  Normally the leaves naturally fell off when it was getting thirsty (my number one sign to water it!!).  But these leaves just shriveled and refused to fall or separate from the stem.  One stem seemed salvageable, but the other was totally gone – shriveled and dry.  I was devastated – not only for the plant that lasted almost 15 years with me, but also because of the significance the love plant had assumed.  What did its death mean?  Was it a sign about my marriage?!?

I refused to throw the plant away.  It just broke my heart too much.  So it sat on a window sill and I just let it be a sad reminder of my failure.  But then last week, something incredible happened.  At the bottom of the “barely alive” stem of the plant appeared new foliage.  I almost cried.  The plant has never gotten new foliage at the bottom – only at the top.  I don’t know what it means or if they will just fade too, but the joy I felt for those new little guys was overwhelming.  And then, today, I noticed some new foliage on the “dead” stem too. 

I do not know if there is any real symbolism in the new growth, but I have to imagine there is.  My husband and I have started new jobs, our kids have begun new schools, and we have begun a new phase of our life.  Almost fifteen years later, love continues to find new ways to grow in our marriage, even on days when it feels like the love is dried up.  That kind of faithfulness is the same faithfulness we see in God’s hesed, or loving-kindness, for all of us.  Even when we feel like God’s love has abandoned us, we find new springs of life bubbling up where we least expect it.  Today, I encourage you to look for the new growth in your life.  Where is love sneaking in and gifting you with joy?

Sermon – I Kings 19.1-15a, P7, YC, June 19, 2016

Tags

abandoned, body of Christ, comfort food, desensitized, done, Elijah, fight, food, go, God, healing, life, love, Orlando, peace, sacred, Sermon, serve, shooting, strength, tragedy, tree, wilderness

Last Sunday, after the parish picnic, I found out about the tragedy in Orlando.  When the youth and I gathered for Holy Eucharist that night, we lifted up our prayers for the victims and their families.  Being able to name the tragedy in the context of Eucharist was comforting, but by the time I got home and poured over news coverage, I found myself bereft.  I was not in shock, for this kind of tragedy has honestly become commonplace in our country.  I think I wanted to be in shock or at least surprised.  But instead, I felt a sense of familiarity and coldness.  I realized that my psyche has become desensitized to this sort of tragedy.  Instead of feeling sad, I just felt numb.  I felt powerless, with nothing to do but be resigned to the fact that this is the way our life is now.  Nothing can change.  Mass murder is normal – whether by a religious radical, a mentally unstable person, a racist, or a disillusioned teen.  Mass death is normal – whether LGBT brothers and sisters, people going to the movies, African-Americans worshiping, or children attending school.  All I could comprehend in my numbness was the fight, the outrage, and the compassion draining out of me.

The same thing happens to Elijah in our story today.  If you remember, a couple of weeks ago we heard about how Elijah has been putting Ahab’s practices to shame.  You see, in an effort to keep the political peace, King Ahab agreed to take a foreign wife, Jezebel, and worship her god, Baal, in addition to Yahweh.  The God of Israel is none too pleased, and so Elijah dramatically challenges the prophets of Baal to a duel.  Elijah is full of confidence, taunting, and dramatic flair.  And when Yahweh wins, Elijah slays the entire lot of Baal’s prophets.  But today, Jezebel proclaims she will avenge their deaths, and all of the fight leaves Elijah.  He runs into the wilderness until he cannot run any longer.  He crumbles under a tree, and proclaims that he is done.  He feels that he is all alone.  He asks God to take his life.

We all know the feeling that Elijah has.  Maybe we or a loved one has been fighting cancer.  We go for one last evaluation only to find that things have made a turn for the worse.  Or maybe we have been advocating for a particular political issue and the tide seems to be turning.  But a court decision is made or a vote is cast and the decision or vote does not go our way.  Or we think we have finally seen an addicted friend reach the end of his addictive behavior.  We are relieved to see healthy patterns until we get a late night call about how he has gotten into trouble again.  The fight leaves us.  We no longer feel a sense promise, victory, and confidence.  Instead the darkness settles over us like a fog, and we crumble under a tree and say, “Enough.  I am done, Lord.”

But something seemingly small happens to Elijah in his moment of despair.  The story goes, “Then Elijah lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep.  Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, ‘Get up and eat.’  He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again.  The angel of the Lord came a second time, touched him, and said, ‘Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.’  He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God.”  God gives Elijah food.  No words of encouragement, no pep talk about how things will get better.  God feeds Elijah in the wilderness, in a moment of despair, in a time of darkness.

There is a reason why we have something called “comfort food,” in our culture.  In fact, every culture has some version of comfort food.  Whether the food is a southern mom’s chicken and dumplings or a Jewish grandmother’s matzah ball soup; whether the food is Burmese mohingar, Vietnamese pho, or a New Mexican posole; or whether the comfort food is North Carolina, Memphis, or Texas barbeque, we all have food that brings us back to ourselves.  Somehow the taste of something familiar and rooted in our identity or a fond experience connects to our entire body in a visceral way.  The smell of the food, the flavors that are just right, the warmth filling our bellies, and the happy memories that flood our consciousness allows our entire body to relax.  Whatever has been ailing us – a sore throat, a homesickness, or a broken heart – can be wiped away by that simple, familiar, healing meal.

But comfort food does not just make you feel good.  Comfort food gives you strength:  mends your heart, heals your soul, and emboldens your spirit.  Elijah does not simply eat the food from God and wallow longer at the tree.  Elijah gets up.  He journeys for forty days on the strength from that bread.  His renewed spirit allows him to have a deep conversation with God, where he eventually finds out that he is in fact not alone.[i]  God has not abandoned him.  God has enabled other prophets to stand with him.  God is not done with Elijah yet.  Though God does not expect Elijah to go at it alone, God does expect Elijah to get back in there.[ii]

I am fully aware that we as a community are a diverse group of people with a wide range of political opinions.  My guess is that the violence of Orlando brought out a wide variety of responses to the event and the politicking that has happened since then.  But no matter how you feel about the shooter, the victims, or the instruments of the victims’ death, a week ago, 49 of our brothers and sisters died.  Life is sacred, and that sanctity was snuffed out last week.  And this is not the first time this has happened.  Though the stories behind the shooters, the motives behind the shootings, and the demographics of the victims are different each time, invariably, more life is desecrated.

We learn from Elijah’s story that God knows we need to mourn.  God knows we need to wallow for a time.  God knows that we may feel alone, or powerless, or just plain tired.  That is why God gives us trees in the wilderness.  But eventually, God will send us some comfort food – to soothe our aching heart certainly, but more importantly to strengthen us to continue the journey.  Because whether we feel like we have the inner strength or not, God is calling us to step out of the shade of the tree, and get back on the journey.[iii]

What that means for each of us here may be entirely different.  Certainly our work is to be grounded in prayer – prayers for the victims and their family members, prayers for the shooter, prayers for our nation as we sort out how we will govern ourselves, and prayers for us as we figure out how to be witnesses for Christ in the midst of the chaos.  But prayers are not all we are called to do.  We could do that under a tree or in a cave.  Instead, God sends us comfort food to heal our broken hearts, soothe our wearied souls, and embolden our spirits.

Today, and every Sunday, our comfort food, like Elijah’s, is also in the form of bread.  We call that bread the body of Christ.  That bread has power.  That bread has power to forgive our sinfulness and complicity with sin.  That bread has power to comfort our aches and sorrow.  That bread has the power to make us Christ’s body in the world, witnesses to the love that Jesus taught us about.  We know that our prayers and our consumption of Christ’s body does that for us because the very last thing we do – the very last thing we say – in our worship service is “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”  We do not say, “Have a good week.”  Or “Be at peace.”  We say “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”  How God will use us to love and serve the Lord in the world varies widely.  We all have a variety of vocations that take us to varied and sundry places.  But wherever we find ourselves, God has work for us to do.  Our work is to not only say, “Thanks be to God,” but to mean, “Thanks be to God.”  We thank God for our call to love and serve others.  We thank God for food for the journey.  We thank God for the ways that God does not leave us alone.  We thank God the ways that God will empower us and use us to be agents of love in the world.  So take a little more time today to pray and to mourn.  But then get ready to be sent out into the world to love and serve the Lord.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

[i] Trevor Eppehimer, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 150.

[ii] Haywood Barringer Spangler, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 151.

[iii] Terrance E. Fretheim, “Commentary on 1 Kings 19:1-4[5-7]8-15a,” June 19, 2016 as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2876 on June 16, 2016.

Everyday Theology in the News

Occasionally I write guest blog posts on other sites.  Here is a recent one you might like:

https://ministryandmotherhood.com/2016/06/15/jennifer-andrews-weckerly-everyday-theology-in-the-news/

On Fathers…

Photo credit:  breadwinningmama.com/2013/06/14/an-open-letter-to-my-husband-on-fathers-day/

One of the major changes when we moved to Virginia has been the bus stop.  In New York, my daughter was one of two kids who were at the same bus stop.  Now, there are easily 20-25 kids who board the bus.  That means I get to see all kinds of family dynamics.  Parents who have to work, and so entrust a grandparent or nanny to accompany their child.  Children of divorce, whose parents take turns waiting at the bus stop.  Parents who wait in the car so they can jet off to the next obligation, and parents who walk with their kids.  What I have especially liked about the bus stop is watching the dads with their children.  So often, dads get a bad rep.  Historically, the role of fathers was to be the primary income-earner of families.  Whatever time or energy was left to be hands-on with the kids was limited.  But that is not the case with the dads at this bus stop.  I see high-fives, big hugs, and kisses.  I hear pep talks about good behavior, and the words, “I love you.”  There is even one young boy who regularly jumps out of the bus line to run back to his dad for one more hug and an “I love you,” before getting back in line.  I have even seen this same kid shout from the top of the steps a warm, “I love you, Dad!!”

Watching the boys with their dads has really shaken up my concept of what fatherhood can look like (not that I do not have examples of that kind of affection in my own circle – I just do not always see it in other circles).  The challenge is that not everyone gets that kind of dad.  That is probably why Father’s Day is so hard for me.  I do not dislike the holiday because I have ill feelings toward my own father.  In fact, that relationship has been quite positive.  I have even added similarly positive relationships with a step-father, father-in-law, and my husband, who is now a father too.  But being a pastor means I am fully aware of the pastoral implications of such holidays – those for whom Father’s Day this Sunday will be quite difficult.  Whether your father was absent or abusive, your father died recently, or whether you always wanted to be a father but did not get the opportunity, Father’s Day can be a painful day of reminder instead of an occasion for joy.  It can be a reminder of all the times you wanted to say or hear, “I love you,” and were denied the opportunity.

For those of you for whom Father’s Day is a mishmash of emotions, I offer you this prayer.  May it be a source of comfort, encouragement, and compliment.  May love find its way to you this Sunday.

A Pastoral Prayer for Father’s Day[i]

Loving and Merciful God, whose power is beyond our scope and whose wisdom is beyond our understanding, we turn to you in faith assured that you know our every emotion and are aware of our every need.  Our thoughts and prayers today are turned towards our fathers.

For those whose fathers have increased the joy in their lives, we give you thanks.

For those whose father’s presence is greatly missed may we take time to gratefully recall all they have given to us, providing for us in our growing.

For those who have recently lost or who are facing the imminent loss of their own fathers, may they find comfort in their grief, hope in their despair, courage in the love that their fathers have given them.

We give thanks, God, for those good men who sustain and support us in our living, who love us no matter what!  What a blessing they are to all who know them!

We give thanks to you, O God, for all those whose gift for fatherhood is so strong that they have allowed their caring to spill over into the lives of others providing the guidance and stability, the nurture and the love needed.

How distressing it is for us to consider that not all fathers have been good fathers.  We pray, compassionate God, for those whose father has been a source of hurt and pain, for all those for whom one or more members of their family has caused them to suffer.  May their wounds be healed.  May they find in you, in us, in others, the nurturing, sustaining love that is needed for their growth and well-being.

We recall with sadness fathers who are separated from their children through life choices made by them or others.  Give them the insight and wisdom, the courage and perseverance to parent in whatever creative and life-giving ways are open to them.  Give them the courage to make the decisions which allow their children to prevail.

We remember before you single fathers and mothers who struggle to be both parents to their children –to provide all the emotional, physical and spiritual needs without the constant support of a spouse.  May they find the strength, the courage and wisdom for their task.

We pray for those fathers whose relationships with their children have been difficult or disappointing.  We pray, too, for those who have been denied a chance to be fathers, and for those whose years of parenting have been cut short by the loss of a child.  We turn to You, most holy God, knowing, trusting that you can console where consolation seems impossible.  May they receive comfort for their soul and peace and hope for living, that their gifts may not be denied to others.

Finally, O God, we rejoice with you, at the many fine men, who have taken their place as fathers with open hearts, with willingness and joy.

And we join all fathers everywhere in praying that their children may be well and happy, a source of joy for years to come.

Hear our prayers this day, O God, and give to us such assurance of your love that your love may spill from us into the lives of others.  Amen.

[i] The Rev. Jenny Sprong, June 13, 2016, as found at http://dentalmethodist.blogspot.com/2013/06/pastoral-prayer-for-fathers-day.html on June 15, 2016.

Homily – Luke 7.37-8.3, P6, YC, June 12, 2016

Tags

awkward, extravagant, foolishness, forgiven, generosity, gratitude, homily, hospitality, Jesus, little, love, Pharisee, scandal, Simon, sin, woman

Most of you know that before I went off to seminary, I worked with a Habitat for Humanity affiliate.  My time at Habitat taught me a lot about politics, about motivating volunteers, and about organizing people for change.  But some of the more profound lessons came from the homeowners themselves.  The Habitat program includes sending homeowners to financial counseling so that once they purchase the home they are financially stable enough to stay in the home.  I remember getting feedback from one of our financial counselors.  You see, in looking at one particular homeowner’s budget, the counselor realized that the homeowner was giving 10% of her income – a tithe – to her church.  The counselor tried to reason with her – that the 10% could really get her out of the hole – even if she only gave 5% to church, the homeowner would be able to manage some of her debt.  But the homeowner refused.  The Lord had gotten her this far – and there was no way she going to stop giving to the church now, she argued.

Our staff conversations were all over the map about the issue.  We wondered what arguments might convince her – the welfare of her children, the parable of the talents, or something else.  We wondered whether her pastor had guilted her into her tithe.  We wondered how much of the issue was cultural, as most of us were of Caucasian descent, while the homeowner was African-American.  While most of respected her decision, and did not pressure her to give up her tithe, what we never talked about was our own practice around giving.  Being people who work in nonprofit, one might argue that we were already big-hearted people.  But our discomfort with and unwillingness to talk about our own financial generosity probably said more than we ever realized.

That is what is so hard about our gospel lesson today.  The sensationalism of the story tempts us to be distracted from the heart of the story.  I mean, what this woman does with Jesus is scandalous on so many levels.  One, she is a known sinner in the community, so she has no place at the table.  Two, she is showing a level of intimacy that makes us uncomfortable even by today’s standards – kneeling by Jesus, crying on his feet, using her long hair to dry his feet, touching him in a vulnerable way.  Three, she shows no sense of shame – she does this in public, in front of everyone, and she, according to Jesus, does all of this because she knows that she is forgiven[i] – she claims her forgiveness boldly like a slap in the face.

But while our minds are filled with visually stimulating, scandalous images, the real story is happening off stage.  The Pharisee, Simon is exposed as a mess.  He disregards conventional hospitality norms, neglecting to offer Jesus water for his feet, a kiss of greeting, and oil for anointing.  He judges the woman (muttering about her known sinfulness).  He judges Jesus (muttering about his claim to prophecy).  He begrudgingly admits that the answer to Jesus’ parable about the forgiven debts is that the one with bigger debts is more grateful than the one with few debts.  To all this commotion, Jesus says, “the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.”

This is the turning point in Jesus’ interaction today.  Jesus does not say, “Watch out, Simon, because the one who loves little is forgiven little.”  But rather than render judgment, Jesus instead simply offers a description:  Those who have been forgiven little love very little.”[ii]  Now, it could be that Jesus is not talking about those who are not forgiven, but those who don’t notice their forgiveness.  Or perhaps those who don’t even think they need forgiveness.  If we cannot admit our need, we cannot receive the remedy for our lack, will not experience the gratitude of those who have received, and so are unable to love with abandon.[iii]

If, then, we are people like Jesus says, who need little forgiveness but then risk loving little, what can we do to find a well of gratitude and generosity that goes deep into the soul?  The number one thing we can do is to surround ourselves by people for whom much has been forgiven.  That means not just helping other people or those less fortunate than ourselves, but really getting to know those less fortunate than ourselves.  That means listening to the stories of those whose struggle is not like our own.  That means examining our lives in light of those experiences, and turning our hearts to abundant gratitude too.

I often think back to that experience with the Habitat staff and wonder whether we could have asked each other different questions.  We could have asked each other how much of our own budgets are designated for church giving – and what that says about our priorities.  We could have had longer conversations about what our financial practices say about our lives of faith – where our sweet spot is between trust, responsibility, and faithfulness.  But mostly, we could have trusted the homeowner – perhaps even admired the homeowner.  The implication was that her tithing was foolishness – but perhaps her tithing was extravagant generosity in the face of threat.  Those questions, like the interaction between Jesus and this woman, are going to feel awkward sometimes.  But the tunnel of awkwardness leads to the freedom of abundance.  Amen.

[i] M. Jan Holton, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 144.

[ii] David Lose, “Forgiveness & Gratitude,” June 9, 2013 as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2601on June 9, 2016.

[iii] Steven J. Kraftchick, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 143.

On Big Changes…

Tags

baptism, being, celebrate, change, church, Holy Spirit, identity, nature, ontological change, ordination

The Reverands Jody Burnett, Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly, and Charles Fischer III, Cathedral Church of St. John, June 24, 2009

Later this month I will celebrate the seven-year anniversary of my ordination.  What most people remember about that day was that I was very pregnant.  I confess that my large belly in an alb and a stole were rather extraordinary.  But what I remember about that day was a brief, but profound encounter.  I had gotten to the Cathedral early to make sure everything was in place and everyone knew where to go.  I was bustling around, managing logistics, when I ran into my boss, who was the rector of the church where I was serving.  She saw that I had my clergy shirt on but that I had not yet put on my collar.  You see, although you are not technically ordained until midway through the liturgy, you put your collar on before the liturgy starts.  The idea seemed strange to me to put it on before the bishop laid hands on me.  And if I am really being honest, I was really nervous about the whole endeavor.  My rector put her hands on my shoulders, looked me square in the eye, and said, “Jennifer, it’s time.  Go put on your collar.”

When we talk about ordination, we talk about the newly ordained experiencing an ontological change – a change in who the person is and in the nature of her existence.  It sounds rather dramatic because the change is dramatic.  When we ordain someone, we forever set them apart for a specific role in the church.

This Saturday, we will join our new curate, Charlie Bauer, as he is ordained to the transitional diaconate.  Charlie will be facing a similar ontological change – committing the rest of his life to this new way of being in and for the church.  Ordained persons do not simply start a new job.  Their whole person and existence is changed.  That is why an ordination is so special – because it is a day set apart for honoring this tremendous change.

Of course, all people in the church have access to ontological change.  Both baptism and confirmation are considered similar ontological changes – something profound happens in those moments, moments that only happen once in a lifetime.  We are marked as something different, and the way that we live our lives changes forever.  Because that change for all of us is so profound, the church sets apart days that we reaffirm our baptismal covenant and ordination vows.  We want to remember those tremendous moments when we put on a collar or stole, when water was poured over our heads, when a bishop placed heavy hands on our heads, and when we felt the Holy Spirit whisk through the room.  I hope you will join us as we celebrate this ontological change with Charlie.  But I especially hope you will take a moment to remember your own change and how the Spirit invites you to reclaim your changed identity.

 

 

 

Sermon – Luke 7.11-17, I Kings 17.8-24, P5, YC, June 5, 2016

Tags

Elijah, eyes, God, heal, Jesus, look, miracles, mundane, see, Sermon, suffering, vision, widow

The scene that day is pretty chaotic.  Two parades collide – a parade of life and a parade of death.[i]  The parade of life includes Jesus and his disciples, high off the sermon on the plain and the healing of the Centurion’s slave, Jesus’ followers are full of hope and optimism.  People are beginning to talk about who this Jesus might be and the enthusiasm is palpable.  Meanwhile, another parade is underway – a widow has lost her only son.  Widows were already at risk in that day due to their lack of financial stability and support from a husband.  Having a child, especially a male child provided a slight assurance that all hope was not lost.  Not only would the son be able to provide for his widowed mother, he is also the legal heir of his father’s inheritance.  But when he too dies, not only does she mourn his loss, but her safety net is totally gone.  She and the mourners with her wail their way to the cemetery.

Two groups full of noise and energy, but their energy could not be more different.  Into this chaotic scene of wails and cheers, people struggling to carry the lifeless body of promise, and people struggling to lay claim on the messenger of hope something tremendous happens.  The text says, “…the Lord saw her.”  That simple phrase may not sound like much.  The Lord saw her.  But surrounded by a growing crowd of faithful, Jesus could have been distracted by the hype.  On a long journey of travel, Jesus could have seen the coming commotion and steered another way.  Or Jesus could have been in deep thought about the next phases of his own journey.  But in the middle of the chaos, as if in a movie that screeches into slow motion, we see Jesus’ eyes lock on the grieving widow and mother.  The noise of the surroundings disappears and all that is important in this moment is that Jesus sees her.

On Memorial Day, my family and I went out for lunch.  We were managing our own little bubble of chaos:  multiple orders; hungry, cranky children; and the looming, necessary nap time.  As I stepped out of our bubble to throw away a pile of trash, I noticed a veteran sitting by himself at the table beside us.  He was silently sitting with his meal, seemingly in moment of deep quiet.  Seeing him almost made me stumble into halted motion.  I wondered what his story was.  I wondered if he was remembering those who had died by his side while he fought for our country.  I wondered if he was one of the veterans who managed to have reentered after war relatively unscathed or whether he was struggling to get by.  I wondered if Memorial Day meant something more to him than Memorial Day meant to me.  But my seeing him and wondering about him was not the same as Jesus.  You see, I was looking at him, but I was not seeing him – not with the same eyes as Jesus.  I couldn’t even get up the nerve to talk to him that day.

That is what is so profound to me about this story in our gospel lesson today:  Jesus’ ability to see the childless widow.  We actually get two very similar stories about widows in our readings today.  But despite the similarities, the contrasts are more informative about what is powerful about Jesus’ encounter.[ii]  In the lesson from first Kings, the widow of Zarephath also loses her only son.  Her son is also revived by Elijah, but the encounters with the widows have a lot of differences.  First, the encounter between the widow and Elijah is passionate.  The widow in that story accuses Elijah of being at fault for her son’s death.  She is outraged and Elijah panics, pleading with God to save the boy and the family from whom he has taken so much.  But the widow in our gospel lesson and Jesus have no such encounter.  The gospel widow does not talk to Jesus and does not plead her case.  She does not blame others around her – in fact, she does not speak at all in the story.  Were it not for Jesus seeing her and stopping the procession, we can only presume this woman would have slipped into dangerous oblivion.

Next, in the Elijah story, Elijah knows the son who dies.  The three have already bonded over the miracle of food.  So Elijah is intimately familiar with how precarious the family’s situation is.  But Jesus does not encounter the widow in his story until her son is already dead and being processed for burial.  Jesus’ saving action then comes not from relationship, but from seeing the grave nature of the widow’s loss.  No one introduces Jesus to the widow, no one whispers to Jesus that the grieving woman is a widow in addition to being a grieving mother – Jesus manages to see all of the complexity of this woman’s life in one glance.

The final contrast to the Elijah story is the healing itself.  Elijah has to stretch himself over the boy three times and cry out to the Lord for help.  His healing requires great effort and exertion.  Meanwhile Jesus simply touches the funeral bier and commands the young man to arise.  The immediate response of the boy sitting up and speaking demonstrates the extent of Jesus’ power.  Healing comes not by a request from God but from Jesus himself.  Jesus is not simply a prophet through whom God speaks – he is the long awaited one who is to come – the Messiah.[iii]

The differences between Elijah and Jesus teach us something about God.  Jesus’ teaches us that God sees us – sees us when we are most vulnerable, without us ever having to speak or ask for help, and is actively compassionate toward us.  Now that reality may leave us wondering today, “Well then why doesn’t Jesus see my suffering and offer me compassion?  I wanted things to go differently for me and they did not.”  That is why I find those words so powerful today.  “Jesus saw her.”  I do not think the story of the widow today is about how Jesus rescues us from our deepest pain and suffering.  This story is about how Jesus sees us when we are suffering and invites us into a similar vision.

“While we wish for signs and wonders, for the parting of the seas, for the lightning bolt of a Damascus road conversion, we risk missing the miracle of the mundane, says Thomas Lynch.  We miss seeing our friends and family who show up when we need them, ‘the ones who have known us all along.’  [Like those friends of the paralytic who lowered their paralyzed friend down to Jesus], or the widow who helped Elijah, these ordinary, obscure, and unsung people…, ‘do their parts to get us where we need to go, within earshot and arm’s reach of our healing, the earthbound, everyday miracle of forbearance and forgiveness, the help in dark times to light the way; the ones who show up when there is trouble to save us from our hobbled, heart-wrecked selves.’”[iv]  Today’s lessons about healing are not meant to make us question why we cannot receive similar healing.  Today’s lessons encourage us to see God in all the tiny miracles around us every day – the miracles that come in less dazzling forms.[v]  To see as Jesus sees.

When we attempt to see with the eyes of Jesus, something shifts dramatically for us.  What is so powerful about seeing as Jesus sees is that Jesus does not see without action.  When Jesus sees he also acts.  Once we have honed our better sense of vision, Jesus’ invitation to us is not just to see with the eyes of compassion, but to use those compassionate eyes for the service of God.  I have already begun to see the ways in which Hickory Neck is a place where that kind of active vision is in place.  You already see that the homeless man does not simply need food or money – you throw in a pair of socks because you know how hard life is without the decency of clean socks.  You already see the indignity of prison and see how a homemade cookie, while seemingly trivial, provides that miraculous glimpse into the tender care of Christ.  You already see how unexpected medical costs can push a struggling family over the edge and how free, compassionate, quality healthcare gives more dignity than we can imagine.  That is our invitation today:  to see the mundane miracles around us every day and to be reinvigorated to see as Jesus sees – with the eyes of compassion and insight that offer tangible, sometimes small acts of compassion to our brothers and sisters who struggle.  My guess is that when we offer that compassion to others, we will see more clearly how we receive that same compassion from Christ every day in similarly small, mundane, and yet profound ways.  Amen.

[i] Gregory Anderson Love, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 120

[ii] Steven J. Kraftchick, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 117, 119.

[iii] Kraftchick, 121.

[iv] Dan Clendenin, “The Miracle of the Mundane,” May 29, 2016, as found at http://journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay on June 2, 2016.

[v] M. Jan Holton, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 120.

On Being Overly Generous…

Tags

eyes, generous, God, goodness, gratitude, prayer, see, worthiness

Photo credit:  https://gooddayswithkids.com/tag/sticker-charts/

In the last several weeks, our six-year old started a “star chart” for herself.  Any time she helps around the house or with her sister, she can add a sticker to the chart.  We are not really rigid about it, and we have not even designated a reward – the satisfaction of stickers alone seems to be working.  Yesterday, I overheard her talking to herself as she placed stickers on the chart.  Her list of “good deeds” seemed endless – from holding her sister’s hand across the street, to saying thank you for something, to putting clothes in the dirty pile.  As her list got longer, I thought to myself, “Well, that’s being a little overly generous.  Stickers should be for really good things, not just everyday niceties.”

But as I thought about my reaction some more, I wondered if perhaps I had missed something.  I once had a spiritual director who encouraged me to switch up my prayer life.  Instead of praying about my concerns and worries, he suggested I pray about all the things that had gone well that day.  The switch was difficult at first.  I am really good at articulating my worries and stressors.  But I am not always good at celebrating what has gone well – even the smallest things on my to-do list.  Those good things seem negligible somehow – as not being as important as the things not yet done.

I wonder if my spiritual director was trying to capture for me what my daughter has captured in her star chart.  In celebrating the small victories every day, we allow our hearts to fill with a sense of gratitude.  And, like those multiplying stickers, the more goodness we articulate, the more goodness we begin to see.  In some ways, when we begin to see all the little bits of worthiness in ourselves, I imagine we begin to get a glimpse of the way that God sees us – as beautiful creatures who mess up from time to time, but who, day in and day out, do a lot of tremendously good things – both big and small.  If you were to start a star chart with the eyes of God in mind, how might you fill up your chart this week?