Sermon – Isaiah 1.1, 10-20, P14, YC, August 11, 2019

Tags

action, blame, change, do something, God, guilt, hypocritical, injustice, innocent, love, meaning, renewal, Sermon, serve, strength, worship

One of the topics in Confirmation Class is how the Episcopal Church interprets and talks about Holy Scripture.  Confirmands are often surprised to hear the labels “Old Testament” and “New Testament” are not helpful labels.  Instead of calling the first portion of Holy Scripture the “Old Testament,” we call that portion the “Hebrew Scriptures.”  We make that change for two reasons.  One, we want to remind ourselves that the Christian Scriptures do not eliminate the importance of the Hebrew Scriptures – as if the “new” testament makes the “old” testament obsolete.  Two, the use of the “old” can connote irrelevance.  Neither of those things being true, we try to reframe our language.

Today’s Hebrew Scripture reading is a classic example of how our language can taint our interaction with Scripture.  Many of us hear the words of Isaiah and the judgment of Israel’s worship, and we slip into “they” language.  They are being as sinful as Sodom and Gomorrah – the same people who “had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy.”[i].  Their worship, their sacrifice of animals, is meaningless to God.  Their prayers will be ignored by God.  They have blood on their hands.  The shifting of audience is easy enough for us; not being a community that offers sacrifices anymore, this piece of Scripture really can feel like an “old” testament.

That’s why I like one scholar’s rereading of this passage.  He argues we need to reframe today’s passage in our modern context.  Instead of condemning ancient practices, he rereads the text for the modern church as God saying thus:  “I hate your worship.  Your prayers make me sick.  I loathe your music.  Your sermons are a sacrilege.  Who asked for your offerings?  Your Holy Communion stinks.  I want none of it.”[ii]  I do not know about you, but that rewording made this passage come alive in ways “old” texts never do.  Suddenly, God is not talking about them; God is talking about us – our worship, our actions, our behavior.  With new ears for this text, God is not criticizing outdated, foreign practices – God is criticizing the thing we are right in the midst of: our worship, our music, our prayers, our communion, this very sermon!

Hearing this passage as a modern reading shook me up this week.  All week I have been pondering our worship – the primary marker of our identity.  Does our communion stink?  As I thought about the sacred meal this week, I could imagine how communion could be so rote communion loses its meaning.  But then I began to think about my experience with communion.  As a priest, I receive communion two to three times on a Sunday – sometimes more.  Despite that repetition, something about the physicality of communion keeps communion fresh.  Sometimes the wafers are stale, making them hard to swallow; sometimes the bread is dry and crumbly, making a huge mess around the altar; sometimes, especially by 11:15, my breakfast is so far gone that eating communion feels like a desperate attempt to ease the rumbling in my empty stomach.  The same happens with the wine:  sometimes the wine burns going down; sometimes the wine soothes a dry throat; sometimes I wish I could take a long draw of wine to wash down the gluten-free wafer that is stuck in my teeth.  Those experiences may sound silly or trivial, but I find God in every one of them:  How often have I longed for God the way I long for food when I am hungry?  How often have I cursed the mess of life before realizing Jesus makes our life messy?  How often has something from church or a word from God nagged at me like a wafer that scraped my throat on the way down.

I like thinking about those physical-spiritual connections in Eucharist because they do what God is challenging us to do in Isaiah today.  God is not saying worship is inherently bad.  The sacrificing of animals, the prayers, the offerings were all thing the community of God had been instructed to do.  There are whole books of the Bible that laboriously detail how to do these things, thoughtfully making concessions for those lacking the resources to make the recommending offerings.  God is not saying God hates the festivals, is repelled by their sacrifices, and will ignore their prayers because God finds them archaic or brutal or wrong.  God’s fervent and harsh criticism of their worship is the hypocrisy of their worship.  In verse fifteen, God says, “I will not listen; your hands are full of blood.”  What God is pointing out is the irony of their worship. Here they are, their hands covered in the blood of the sacrificed animals – what should be a pure, sacred offering to God for the blessings of this life.  But what God sees is different blood:  their raised hands are not simply covered in the holy blood of sacrifice; their raised hands are covered in the blood of the oppressed, the orphan, the widow.  God, rather bluntly, says, “Do not come to me with the pretense of humility and righteousness when nothing about your life is righteous.  Do not come to me as though you are pure and sanctified, when I see you covered in the blood of the innocent you trampled on the way into the temple.”

In the aftermath of two more mass shootings last weekend, the cities of Dayton and El Paso gathered in vigil, in prayer, and in conversation.  In Dayton, the governor offered the kind of speech one usually offers in times such as these – a sense of condolence, an encouragement to come together in mutual support, an acknowledgment of grief.  But the residents of Dayton were not having that speech this week.  As the governor was speaking, someone in the crowd shouted, “Do something!”  The governor continued his speech, and two more voices cried out the same call, “Do something! Do something!”  The governor maintained his cool and kept going with his scripted speech, but within moments, the crowd was chanting in one voice, “Do something!” so loudly the governor’s speech was completely inaudible.  Perhaps reflecting the tenor of a nation who is emotionally exhausted by the repeated trauma of mass shootings, the people of Dayton broke.  No longer content to receive prayers and idle words, the people of Dayton demanded the governor do something to change their reality.

I think that is what God is really upset about in our scripture lesson today.  God is not bored by their worship or saying the acts of worship of the Israelites are inherently bad.  What God is saying is their worship is invalidated by their actions outside the temple.  The people of God cannot do evil, ignore injustice, forget the oppressed, shun the orphaned, and leave the widowed behind while still seeking refuge in God.  God wants us to do something.  In fact, in verse seventeen, God says, “Learn to do good.”  We can pray all we want, we can mourn mass violence, we can even criticize politicians about their lack of action.  But God is looking straight into our eyes today and saying, “I am glad you are here and I love you.  But you need to do something.”  And if we are unclear about what that something is, God tells us right here in Isaiah:  cease doing evil, do good, seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.  When tragedy strikes, when the world feels like the world is falling apart, when we feel helpless or overwhelmed by the evil of this time, God says your worship of God is odious unless you are doing something.

Now I do not want you to leave today thinking this service is meaningless.  Quite the contrary, “worship is essential for us and requires of us an awed and candid engagement with God that is life giving, community transforming, and world altering.”[iii]  What would be meaningless is for you to go through the motions, or for you to seek solace only, and not strength; pardon only, and not renewal.  The prayers, your offering, our music, the sacred meal are meant to empower us to go out in the world and do something.  I know that can be scary.  I know you may be thinking, “well, I have very strong opinions about guns and what our country should be doing.”  But I also know the people I have spoken to on both sides of the issue do not want the slaughter of innocents.  To that, God offers us encouragement.  God says in verse eighteen, “Come now, let us argue it out.”  God does not want you to run away from the evil of the world, but to dive in and figure out a way to do something.  God wants you to engage because God knows you can.  In fact, God says, “though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be like snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool.”  God does not hate our worship; but God does not tolerate our worship when our worship is void of action – when we forget the dismissal of our deacon, to go in peace, to love and serve the Lord.  Today, God invites us to wash the blood of the innocent off our hands, and to go out and do something:  to go in peace, to love and serve the Lord.  Amen.

[i] Ezekiel 16.49.

[ii] Paul Simpson Duke, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 319.

[iii] Duke, 321.

Sermon – Luke 2.1-14, CE, YC, December 24, 2018

Tags

action, birth, Christmas, Christmas Eve, comfort, God, Grinch, imitate, incarnate, Jesus, kindness, lesson, movie, Sermon, story, teach

One of the things I love about Christmas are Christmas movies.  I know we all have our favorites, and some are related to our generation.  My two favorites are The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (the original, not the Jim Carey one) and Home Alone.  What is fun about Christmas movies is we watch them over and over again because we like something about their message.  The movies teach us something.

This year, I introduced my younger daughter to The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.  She was fascinated by the movie, asking all sorts of questions – why they play bad music when the Grinch is around, why he stole all their presents, and why he hits his dog.  But the question she asks most frequently has been about the Grinch’s heart.  For those of you not familiar with the story, the Grinch tries to ruin Christmas for Whoville by stealing all their presents, decorations, and feast items.  But when Whoville does not cry and wail about all that is lost, and instead returns to the town center to sing as a community, without their “stuff,” the Grinch’s heart is strangely warmed, growing three times the size the heart was.  My daughter keeps asking me about the Grinch’s growing heart, and her questions have allowed us to talk about what Christmas is really about, and why someone’s heart might grow.

Every year we watch our favorite Christmas movies and cartoons because we enjoy revisiting the lessons the movies teach us.  But what is interesting about those movies is, over time, the lesson the movie teaches us takes on new meaning.  We meet new Grinches over our lifetime – or sometimes we become them!  We get to know presumably creepy or scary neighbors who we eventually learn are beautiful human beings.  We experience Christmases where everything goes wrong, but we find joy in the unexpected.  We know part of what the story is teaching us, but as we age and mature, the movies speak to us in new and fresh ways.

We tell the story of Jesus’ birth every single Christmas for a similar reason.  We tell the same story every year because God did this amazing thing.  God is all powerful, and conceivably could do anything God wants – and has:  from kicking Adam and Eve out of the garden, to flooding the earth, to cursing generations for one person’s sins.   God can rule and govern and do anything God wants, and yet the one thing God does is become human.  God becoming incarnate is such an amazing thing that when we say the Creed, many people bow or genuflect during the part of the Creed that talks about God becoming incarnate from the Virgin Mary, being made man.  Becoming human is God’s ultimate expression of God’s lovingkindness, that hesed, we have been talking a lot about lately.  Becoming incarnate is the way God shows God’s love for us.

I am a part of group that is creating a kindness initiative in 2019 in the Greater Williamsburg area.  We will be encouraging the faith community, business community, local schools, and nonprofits to engage in acts of kindness, with the ultimate goal of making Greater Williamsburg the next community of kindness.  I like the initiative because I know doing acts of kindness helps me get a small glimpse into God’s lovingkindness; doing acts of kindness helps me honor God, and embody God to others.  When we talk about shining Christ’s light in the world, or being Jesus to others, we are often talking about doing acts of kindness.  The ultimate form of flattery or honoring someone else is when we do acts of kindness.  When we, as persons of faith, do acts of kindness, we honor God by imitating God’s lovingkindness.  Any of you who has a sibling knows that siblings often copy what we do.  How many times have you heard the complaint, “He’s copying me!” or “She’s keeps stealing my clothes.”?  The reasons our siblings do this, besides to annoy us, is because they want to be like us – they want to honor us by imitating us – just like we imitate God.  Of course, they would never admit that reality to your face, but the truth is, imitation is the best form of flattery.

Tonight, we tell the story of Mary and Joseph, of innkeepers and registrations, of shepherds and angels because we love the story.  The story makes us feel safe, loved, and reassured.  And sometimes we really need opportunities to feel good about life, ourselves, and our God.  But we also tell the story because the story is formative – the story shapes who we are and how we behave.  Over the years, different parts of the story touch us, and as we grow and change, the lesson grows and changes.  So we listen to the story to remember who we have been and who we are.  But we also listen to this familiar story to remind us of what we will do tomorrow.  This story invites us to share God’s lovingkindness like the shepherds.  This story invites us to ponder God’s amazing love like Mary.  This story invites us to sing loudly like the angels, shouting our love for God and the world like an army of kindness.  I cannot wait to learn what hearing the story this year leads you to do in the days, weeks, and months to come!  May this favored story not just be a story of comfort, but also a story of action.  Amen.

Sermon – Psalm 23, E4, YB, April 22, 2018

Tags

action, church, dying, funeral, God, Good Shepherd, goodness, life, living, promise, pslam, pursue, Sermon, shadow

Many years ago, I was planning the funeral of a longtime, beloved church member.  We had visited on multiple occasions, and I knew all the stories about her children, including the son who was no longer going to church.  We talked about Jesus and her faith walk, and I always looked forward to sassy, witty, heartfelt stories.  When I sat down with her children to plan her funeral, I had an idea of what I could expect.  As we chose the lessons for the funeral, I shared with them that many people appreciate hearing the 23^rd Psalm.  “Oh, no, we can’t do the 23^rd Psalm,” the family protested.  A bit taken aback, since the parishioner I knew would have loved the psalm, they explained to me what had happened in her last days.  Her daughter had been comforting her one afternoon and decided to start reading scripture with her mom.  She started with the 23^rd Psalm, and the mother snapped at her, saying, “Don’t read that one!  I’m not dead yet!”

Every year, on this Good Shepherd Sunday, we hear the 23^rd Psalm.  Though many of us are more familiar with the King James Version, the words of Psalm 23 are words that are familiar even to those who do not attend church regularly.  Whether we have heard the psalm at a funeral, or read the psalm at someone’s deathbed, or seen the psalm on someone’s wall, the 23^rd Psalm is one of the most well-known psalms in our culture.  Even in surveys, when asked about their favorite piece of scripture in times of trouble, many respondents name Psalm 23.[i]

In some respect, this familiarity and preference is a blessing and something to be celebrated.  But in other ways, this familiarity can be a tremendous hindrance to hearing these sacred words with fresh ears.  For example, most of us hear the psalm’s words as words of comfort for the dying.  We hear the words, “the valley of the shadow of death,” and we assume the whole psalm is about death.  Lying down in green pastures, remaining by still waters, gathering at a table, and having goodness and mercy follow us all sound like end of life images.  We envision the peaceful, beautiful resting place, gathered around the heavenly banquet table, and we take home the promise that no matter what happens in life, at least the ending will be a place of respite and relief.  And in some ways, that is true.  But I am not sure that is what this psalm is ultimately about; this is a psalm not about death, but about life.

The 23^rd Psalm is a psalm on the move.[ii]  Throughout the psalm, we hear the activity of life.  Those green pastures we are going to lie down in are the places where we will find rest after a long day.  Those still waters are the sources of water we will need to drink in this earthly life.  Those righteous pathways we will be on are the paths of ethical living, those paths where we will seek and serve Christ, loving our neighbor as ourselves.  That rod and staff that will comfort us because those are God’s tools that will push and pull us toward our vocations and the purposes God gives us.  The dwelling we do in the house of the Lord is not the eternal dwelling place, but the earthly church where we find renewal for the journey.  That valley of the shadow of death is not the valley of death, but those shadowy places in our lives where we are reminded of the darkness of death:  times of illness, divorce, unemployment, loneliness.  The 23^rd Psalm is not ultimately about a promise in death, but about the promise we are given in life – the promise of refreshment, restoration, reinvigoration for the journey of life.

This winter Charlie and I attended a training on church development.  One of the first images from the presentation was that of a base camp on a mountain.  We talked about the purpose of a base camp – what people need from and do at a base camp.  Ideas included rest, refreshment, preparation, and stocking up for the journey.  No one mentioned making a permanent home or using base camp as a place of escape.  Our instructor then asked us how a base camp is similar to Church.  We began to talk about how Church does the same thing – is a place of refreshment, rest, preparation, and stocking up for the journey.  Church is not a place to escape the real world or to hide away from hurt and pain.  Instead, Church is the place where we refill our tanks so that we can go out into the world – gathering the strength we need for the journey.  Church is not the house of the Lord where we will dwell forever.  In fact, that translation, “to dwell” is not helpful.  The word in Hebrew that is translated as “dwell” is better translated as “return.”[iii]  So instead of talking about a place where we will hide out from the world or imagining the heavenly kingdom where we will dwell, the psalmist is talking about the place we will keep returning – the base camp, the Church, where we will keep returning for strength so that we can get back into the world doing the activity of discipleship – the life where we will rest, drink, walk, be righteous, commune, and serve.[iv]

So just in case I have ruined Psalm 23 for you forever, making the psalm feel more like a psalm of work and labor as opposed to a psalm for rest and relief, have no fear.  There is one more line that similarly gets mistranslated which may open this text for you in another way.  In verse six, the psalmist says, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”  Again, understanding the original Hebrew is helpful.  The word translated as “follow” is better translated as “pursue” or “chase down,”  Goodness and mercy shall chase me down all the days of my life.[v]  Shifting that word does a similar thing as the rest of the verbs in this text.  When goodness and mercy follow us, we often think of hindsight.  Bad things happen to us, but when we look back, we will see goodness and mercy came out of the bad things.  But the psalmist says something more powerful than that.  The psalmist says that goodness and mercy will pursue us – will hunt us down and knock us over with their power.  We will feel threatened by that valley of the shadow of death, or we will worry about places to lie or drink or walk.  But the psalmist tells us those worries are futile because even in the midst of those stresses, God’s goodness and mercy is constantly seeking to bowl us over.

Scholar Gary Simpson says this about God’s goodness, “The goodness of God is in every place before we ever arrive at any particular place.  The good things that happen to us along life’s journey do not happen because we have arrived.  God’s goodness has already been where we are planning to go.  The goodness of God is so present that every direction that we turn to look, wherever we are, we bump into goodness again.  It is perhaps egocentric and arrogant to think that goodness follows us.  The goodness of God goes ahead of us, clearing out new ground, pulling us to new terrain, lighting a pathway in the dark places of new possibility, opening doors that no one can shut.”[vi]

I think that parishioner resisted hearing the 23^rd Psalm in her last days of life because like many of us, she had trapped the psalm in the land of the dying.  But the 23^rd Psalm is a psalm for the land of the living – a psalm that commissions us to continue our work of discipleship, to move out into the world with the promise of the essentials we will need, to keep returning to God’s house for sustenance and refueling, and to remember that no matter what we face, God’s goodness is already there, chasing us down.  On this Good Shepherd Sunday, perhaps you were hoping to hear a few words of comfort, longing to dwell in this house for longer than an hour today.  But today, that Good Shepherd is prodding you with a staff, filling up your tank so that you can go out into the world, serving as God’s disciple in all the green pastures and right paths where God leads.  You can do your work because no matter how much those shadows linger, God’s goodness will chase you down – all the days of your life.  Amen.

[i] Rolf Jacobson, “Commentary on Psalm 23,” March 30, 2014, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2004 as found on April 19, 2018.

[ii] Joel LeMon, “Commentary on Psalm 23,” April 25, 2015, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3646 on April 19, 2018.

[iii] LeMon.

[iv] Cameron B.R. Howard, “#602 – Fourth Sunday of Easter,” April 14, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=1008 on April 17, 2018.

[v] Gary V. Simpson “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 438.

[vi] Simpson, 440.

On Race and the Pilgrimage Ahead…

Tags

action, call, God, journey, pilgrimage, race, racism, sin, transform

Photo credit:  parentingsquad.com/6-ways-to-improve-race-relations-at-home

Last summer a confluence of events happened.  I heard an interview with the author of Homegoing that made me want to read her novel about the history of the slave trade in Ghana and America.  I learned of a Diocesan pilgrimage to Ghana.  I was invited to a racial reconciliation discussion group in the community.  And my Netflix queue brought up two movies in a row – Lee Daniel’s The Butler and Straight Outta Compton.  As I read, watched, listened, and prayed, I wondered if God might be inviting me and our church community to talk more deeply about race.

So we did.  We read Homegoing at our church and our discussions were vulnerable and beautiful.  We went to a play in Colonial Williamsburg about the difficulty of serving as black and white interpreters in a time of slavery.  We hosted an Anglican priest from Ghana, prayed for this year’s Ghanaian pilgrims, and encouraged parishioners to consider a pilgrimage themselves.  We hosted a Bible Study with a predominantly African-American church. And we watched sports films that addressed racial relations.  At some point this summer, about a year after my initial epiphany, I began to wonder if I were beating the same drum too often.  Maybe race was a conversation we needed to give a rest.

And then the protests and counter-protests happened in Charlottesville.  As I watched hatred, racism, and violence on full display, as I saw rage, indignation, and entitlement in protestors’ eyes, and as I watched peaceful resistance dissolve into violent resistance, I knew we were not done with this race topic.  The scars are so deep and the impact is so rampant that we may never be done.  But fatigue, especially by white people, is not an excuse to disengage.  This week, I invite you to consider what you want to do in your life and in your community about racism.  If you are looking for suggestions, I commend the concrete suggestions by the Diocese of Virginia found here.

For me, I am committing to staying involved in our local ecumenical racial reconciliation discussion group.  I will keep inviting our church into race-related conversations, and encourage our exploration of our own complicity with the sin of racism.  I will keep reading and learning.  And I want to commit to going to Ghana with our Diocesan pilgrimage group.  I am not sure our family can afford it (I guess you know what to get me for my birthday!), but I feel God pushing me to walk through those slave castles, to learn in-person our shared history, and see the impact of slavery on another country.  I feel drawn to walking with fellow pilgrims of both white and black races, seeing how God might transform me on the journey.  If you feel similarly called, please join us next summer.  Or if you know you cannot make the pilgrimage, but want to financially support our engagement, I will help you become a partner with us.  Whatever you choose, do something.  I look forward to hearing about how God is calling you or how God is already using you for change.

On the Legacies we Leave…

Tags

action, change, dignity, immorality, indignation, legacy, Monticello, righteous, sin, slavery, Thomas Jefferson

This past weekend, my husband and I took a trip to Monticello.  Before I tell you much about my experience, I must confess that I am not a Thomas Jefferson scholar by any means.  I knew his role as a founding father, how revered he is – especially in this part of the country, and more recently, that he was likely the father of several children through a slave he owned.  Though my knowledge was admittedly superficial, that combination of information left me wanting to know more about this prominent man in American history.

Knowing the role Jefferson played in history and his relationship to Sally Hemings, I was surprised to learn Jefferson had written quite a bit about the immorality of slavery.  He found the practice of slavery and the slave trade to be an abomination; and yet, he also found extracting himself from the institution to be insurmountable in his generation.  As I listened to Jefferson’s revolutionary words, I felt myself becoming angry.  If Jefferson was so incensed by the system, feeling morally convicted, why didn’t he do something about it?  Why didn’t he work for change?

Now, I know the counterarguments.  Of slave owners, Jefferson was one of the less brutal ones.  Jefferson was a product of his day – an entire nation and economy caught up in and dependent upon the institution of slavery.  But despite those acknowledgments, I felt frustrated.  Of all the amazing legacies Jefferson left, and with the brilliant mind he had, why not more action against slavery?  And if he could not affect systemic change, why not at least change the system at Monticello, freeing and hiring the slaves he owned?

Luckily, my righteous indignation only lasted a few minutes.  In the midst of my anger at Jefferson, a deeper truth hit me like a ton of bricks.  I realized I am leaving a legacy around the issue of race too.  When relatives look back at my life hundreds of years from now, what will they say about my inaction around racial reconciliation?  Will they look at the violence against and degradation of African-Americans in the twenty-first century and say, “Why didn’t she do more?  If she believed in the dignity of every human being, why didn’t affect change?”  It would be easy to leave Monticello or any discussion about slavery feeling a sense of moral superiority.  Instead, I invite you to join me in reflecting upon our complicity with the sin of racism in our own day, considering how we might change our own legacy.

Sermon – Luke 11.1-13, P12, YC, July 24, 2016

Tags

action, active, disciples, God, goodness, Jesus, Lord's Prayer, Our Father, passive, pray, prayer, profound, relational, relationship, Sermon, tangible

This morning I have a little confession.  When I look at the texts for the upcoming Sunday each week, I rarely am excited about what lessons are presented.  Invariably, Jesus will say or do something controversial or, like today, the Old Testament lesson will say something super provocative that I do not want to think about addressing in the pulpit.  But this week was a bit different.  When I read today’s gospel, and heard the disciples asking Jesus to teach them how to pray, I wanted to cry, Yes, yes, Jesus!  Tell us what to do.  Teach us how to pray.  Because lately, my prayers seem hollow.  Whether I am praying about the nastiness and disrespect within this year’s political campaigns, whether I am praying about the sinfulness of racism in our country, whether I am praying about the way we dehumanize one another enough to think it is okay to shoot each other, or whether I am praying about someone who is not likely to recover from their illness and is facing the reality of mortality – I need Jesus to teach me how to pray.  I need Jesus to teach me how to pray, because I do not feel like my prayers are working.  “Lord, teach us to pray,” the disciples beg with a spirit helplessness, hopelessness, and haplessness that we can all identity with this week.

Into that sense of despair and longing, Jesus does two incredible things.  First, he gives the disciples something simple and tangible – something to cling to in the most desperate of times.  Jesus gives them what we call, “the Lord’s Prayer,” or the “Our Father.”  Luke’s version is not the version of this prayer that we are most familiar with – we know Matthew’s version much more familiarly.  In fact, even Christians who have been away from church most of their adult life can recall this one prayer.  We know the words so well that they become their own prayer beads, each word a talisman that our fingers and souls can cling to when our head and hearts are a jumbly mess.  The Lord’s Prayer is one for the ages – telling us what we know about God, what we hope for about the kingdom, and what we need as we go about our earthly lives.  Surely those words address all that we are facing right now.  Surely, when we have run out of our own words, those are words that we can mutter over and over again.  Surely those are the things we need:  God to reveal God’s self, to right the world, to sustain us, to forgive us and help us forgive others, and to protect us from ourselves and the enemy.  And on days when we do not have words, those are words that we can pray.  Jesus is very practical with his gift of a prayer for the ages.

But then Jesus does a second thing.  After giving the disciples something tangible, then he tries to teach them something much more profound.  He teaches the disciples about what prayer really is.  After giving the disciples the “Our Father,” Jesus does what Jesus always does – he sits them down for a little story.  Basically, an annoyingly persistent friend comes pounding on the door of a neighboring friend, looking for food to give to an unexpected guest. It’s midnight, and the irritated friend tells him to go home – everyone in his house has finally settled in for the night, and there is no way he is getting up.  But the friend “persists, and eventually the poor householder relents, not out of the charities of friendship but simply for the sake of his own peace and quiet.”[i]

The story is not the prettiest, but anyone who has had to put down a toddler for the fortieth time that evening knows how persistent that friend would have to be for the neighbor to risk waking up his children.  Jesus’ conclusion about the story of a persistent friend is, “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you.”  This is where Jesus’ teaching gets tricky though.  Too many of us know that there have been times when we asked and we did not find, it was not given to us, and the door was not opened.  Those words from Jesus can seem empty for those of us who have experienced the opposite.  But Jesus is not describing the economy of prayer: that you insert a request, and, with persistence, you get what you want.  What Jesus is trying to say is that prayer is about relationship.  Like the relationship that we have with the buddy who will get up in the middle of the night, our prayer life with God is a reflection of the relationship with have with God.  Our prayer life is dynamic, involves conflict, necessitates initiative, and is relational.

One of my favorite hymns growing up was “What a friend we have in Jesus.”  The hymn is a sweet, simplistic hymn that basically says that we too often try to shoulder our burdens on our own.  The hymn argues that if we take our sins and grief, our trails and temptations, our weakness and heavy laden burdens, we will find solace in God.  The hymn is comforting, and its simplicity can make us feel good.  But as I thought about that hymn this week and our text today, I realized that the hymn tempts us in the same way that this text does.  The hymn tempts us into concluding that all we have to do is ask, seek, and knock, and everything will be okay.  All we have to do is “take it to the Lord in prayer,” or even say the Lord’s prayer, and everything will be okay.

But I do not think that is what Jesus is saying today.  By talking about how prayer is relational between God and us, how prayer is a practice that resembles the relationship of friends, we can come to understand prayer a little differently.  Like any healthy relationship, our relationship to God in prayer is going to change us.  Our time in prayer with God might lead us to finding, receiving, and having doors opened.  But our time in prayer might also lead us to acting, giving, and knocking doors down.  Jesus says that the sleeping friend gets up because of his friend’s persistence.  That word “persistence” in the Greek is translated alternatively as, “shamelessness.”[ii]  In other words, our prayers to God are to be shameless:  bold, audacious, and unfailingly confident.

As we think about our prayerful relationship with God, I was struck by a reflection by David Lose.  He asks, “How might we act differently this week if our prayers were offered to God confidently, trusting that God will respond so much more generously than any earthly parent?”   Perhaps [we] wouldn’t just sit back and wait for God to answer but would start moving, get to work, actually start living into the reality of what [we have] prayed for.  So rather than pray for someone who is lonely, maybe [we’d] go visit.  Rather than pray for an end to violence, maybe [we’d] campaign against the legality of military-grade semi-automatic weapons, or protest when police use unnecessary force, or go visit the police station to tell officers that [we are] grateful for their service and pray for their safety.[iii]  In other words, what if a prayerful relationship with God is not passive, but is active and challenging?

The good news is that despite all the heaviness of the news lately, and despite all the examples of intolerance and degradation, there are also examples percolating of goodness – the fruits of shameless prayer with our God.  In Dallas, I saw protestors hugging counter-protestors.  In Kansas, I saw police officers and Black Lives Matter protestors not only holding a block party together, but also making time during the party for a real, raw question-and-answer period.  In Cleveland, I saw protestors holding hands with a police officer and offering a prayer before the day’s events began.  Now, I am not saying that shameless praying with God is going to be easy or even lead to the open doors we want or think we need.  Anyone who has long-term friendships knows that friendship is hard.  But what I am saying is that prayer is powerful and when tended to, can lead to transformation.  So if you do not know where to start this week, start with the Lord’s Prayer.  If you are too frustrated or jaded to say those words, then just show up at God’s door.  As with any good relationship, showing up is half the battle.  Wherever you are in your prayer life, know that our God is a God who will answer – and will use us for goodness.  Amen.

[i] Stephanie Frey, “On God’s Case,” Christian Century, vol. 121, no. 14, July 13, 2004, 17.

[ii] James A. Wallace, C.SS.R., “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 291.

[iii] David J. Lose, “Pentecost 10C:  Shameless Prayer,” July 19, 2016, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2016/07/pentecost-10-c-shameless-prayer/ on July 20, 2016.

Sermon – Philippians 1.3-11, A2, YC, December 6, 2015

Tags

action, affirmation, community, faith, family, God, Good News, Jesus, letter, love, mission, overflow, Paul, Philippians, seeking, Sermon, serving, sharing

This sermon was given on the occasion of our Annual Meeting.

My dearest St. Margaret’s, “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.  I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.  It is right for me to think this way about all of you, because you hold me in your heart, for all of you share in God’s grace with me…For God is my witness, how I long for all of you with the compassion of Christ Jesus.”

If ever I were to write a love letter to St. Margaret’s, I would steal these words from Paul to the Philippians.  You see, Paul saw in the Philippians what I see in you:  a community of faith alive with the Holy Spirit, sharing the Good News of Christ Jesus in our community.  A little over four years ago, I became your rector.  You were bruised and battered, having not only survived a tumultuous relationship with your last rector, but also a strained relationship with an interim, as well as the absence of consistent leadership for over two years through the limits of a supply priest.  Having had years of struggle, I quickly came to realize that St. Margaret’s had some baggage.  But St. Margaret’s also had a sense of tenacity, determination, and a deep-rooted joy that could not be stifled.  You see, as Paul writes, I could see that over fifty years ago, “the one who began a good work among you [would] bring [that good work] to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.”  I knew God was not done with us yet.

And so, over time, I came to love each of you:  not the dreamy romantic love of love birds, but the kind of love that family has for each other.  That is what people usually describe as being so wonderful about St. Margaret’s:  that we are like family.  Now when I first heard that description, I got a little nervous.  I have served at too many funerals and weddings to know that every family has some drama.  Every family has a loud Uncle Carl, crazy Aunt Bessie, or overbearing Grandma Jones.  Every family has experienced sibling drama or tensions between parent and child.  Describing St. Margaret’s as being like a family made me wary.  I began to wonder who the loud uncle, the crazy aunt, or the overbearing grandma were in this community.  But over the years, I began to understand more fully why the description of St. Margaret’s as family works so well.  Don’t get me wrong, we have our loud uncles, crazy aunts, and overbearing grandmas – though I will never tell you who they are!  But like a family, we know each other.  We know each other’s foibles, quirks, and tendencies.  We know each other’s hurts, failures, and embarrassing moments.  We even know how to predict the reactions of each other to any given situation.  But also like family, we love each other anyway.  We love each other in the way that loving mothers, protective fathers, supporting sisters, and encouraging brothers can.  We love each other not despite our weaknesses but because of those weaknesses.  In fact, no matter how much we might annoy each other at times, those foibles, quirks, and tendencies are what we have come to love about one another.  In essence, we have come to see each other with the loving eyes that Christ has for each of us.  We have come to love like Paul.[i]  Somewhere deep in our hearts, we too pray, “I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you.”

Paul gushes about the Philippians today:  about how much he loves them, how proud he is of their work to spread the Good News, and how he sees Christ moving and acting among them for good.  But Paul’s letter is not simply a letter of affirmation – a love letter for the Philippians to put under their pillows and pull out when they are feeling low.  Paul’s letter is more.  Paul’s letter comes with a charge.  “And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.”  Paul does not want the Philippians to keep this love to themselves.  He wants them to let their love overflow into action.[ii]

The more and more I read Paul’s charge this week, the more and more I began to see the mission of St. Margaret’s in his words.[iii]  Several years ago, St. Margaret’s took up a mantra.  We want to be a community of faith seeking Christ, serving Christ, and sharing Christ in our community and beyond.  First, we want to be a community seeking Christ – a community committed to learning more about this God we follow, and deepening our journey with Christ.  As Paul says, we want to build up knowledge and full insight to help us determine what is best.  And so that is a part of our work here.  We are teaching our children how to walk in the way of Christ.  We are studying God’s word and challenging one another to grow through prayer, reading, and reflection.  We are engaging in meaningful worship that inspires and delights us, and helps us to connect with our God.  We are a community of faith seeking Christ.

We are also a community of faith serving Christ.  As Paul says, we are letting our love overflow.  St. Margaret’s is a community that cares about others – not just those inside the doors, but outside the doors too.  I see that love in the ways that wallets open as soon as we learn of a need in our community.  I see that love when you think of others when grocery shopping for yourselves, adding in a few extra cans or boxes for people you have never met.  I see that love when we spread peanut butter and scoop jelly, praying that the recipient of that sandwich might know the love of Christ that you have known and be encouraged in their struggle.  Our love overflows into vegetable gardens, into grief support groups, and into the hearts and minds of those who long for love.  We are a community of faith serving Christ.

We are also a community of faith sharing Christ.  As Paul says, we are to let our love overflow so that it might produce a harvest.  What I have loved about this community is that although we are nervous about sharing the Good News – of evangelizing – we share the Good News anyway.  When you gush with friends about the meaningful thing that happened at church, when you tell a stranger about how your church is doing good work, or when you serve as an example of Christ-like love in the world, you are sharing the Good News.  We do that when we walk in the parade, we do that when we put our name on baseball jerseys, and we do that when we wear our St. Margaret’s shirts to the gym, grocery store, or shopping mall.  We are a community of faith sharing Christ.

We are a community of faith seeking Christ, serving Christ, and sharing Christ because the love, joy, and acceptance we have found inside these walls is not just for us.  Fifty-two years ago, God began a good work in us.  God planted the seeds of righteousness in this community, and today we are invited to harvest that work.  And Paul assures us, as he assured the Philippians years ago, that God will bring to completion the good work began in us.  All we have to do is let our love overflow – overflow from us, overflow from our beautiful, complicated relationships with one another, and overflow from our community out into the world.  So tuck that love letter under your pillow when you need affirmation and a reminder that you are doing the good work that God calls you to do.  But also pull out that love letter when you feel weary – when you need to be inspired to get back out there, to seek Christ, serve Christ, and share Christ.  God loves you with a deep affection; and God wants your love to overflow to others more and more.  Amen.

[i] Leander E. Keck, ed., New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 11 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2000), 484.

[ii] Philip E. Campbell, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 39.

[iii] Edward Pillar, “Commentary on Philippians 1.3-11,” December 6, 2015 as found at  http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2695 on December 3, 2015.

Sermon – 1 John 3.16-24, E4, YB, April 26, 2015

Tags

action, comfort, discomfort, Good Shepherd, Jesus, lay down one's life, life, love, Sermon

This Sunday, informally touted as “Good Shepherd Sunday,” is a favorite of many churchgoers.  The words of the 23^rd Psalm remind us of the many times we have turned to God for comfort – whether at a loved one’s bedside, at a funeral, or in our own desperate prayers.  Or maybe we associate the image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd with our gospel lesson today.  Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd.  I know my own and my own know me…”  As we hear Jesus declare how he lays down his life for his sheep, perhaps we imagine the various artistic depictions of Jesus – with a staff in his hand or with a lamb draped over his shoulders.  Many churches love the image so much that they even use this image as their namesake – much like our partner in ministry, Good Shepherd Lutheran here in Plainview.  Imagining our Lord as the Good Shepherd is one of the more comforting, assuring, life-giving experiences of our faith.

Despite the ways this Sunday is meant to be a Sunday of assurance and affirmation, I find myself a bit unsettled.  Though our psalm and gospel lesson offer us comfort, our epistle lesson does not let us stay there long.  After telling us that Jesus lays down his life for us, the very next line in the epistle reminds us that the Good Shepherd’s actions have consequences.  “…and we ought to lay down our lives for one another,” says First John.  “How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?  Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.”

Instead of being comforting, these words have been discomforting me all week.  Every sentence leaves me feeling more and more convicted.  Yes, the Lord is your shepherd who lays down his life.  Now go and do likewise.  Yes, God’s love abides in you and blesses you with more goods than most of the world has.  Now go and help your brother and sister in need – do not refuse to help anyone that you see.  And certainly the Lord your shepherd is proud when you speak or sing about loving your neighbor.  Now stop talking about love and go do loving things.  Be love to your neighbor.  If the gospel and psalm today are about comforting images of a loving Shepherd, our epistle lesson reminds us that our Good Shepherd loves us, but loves us so that we can similarly be a loving shepherd to others in the world.

In 2011, Egypt erupted in what we have now come to call the Arab Spring.  Hundreds of people died and thousands were injured when protestors took to the streets to protest the corruption of President Mubarak’s regime.  Though the protestors tried to be peaceful, calling for justice, freedom, and governmental reform, they were met with brute force.  One of the most striking images to me from this time was a picture of Egyptian Christians, surrounding a group of fellow Muslim protestors as they prayed.  As the Muslim protestors knelt down in prayer, the Christians protestors held hands, creating a human wall of protection around those in prayer.[i]  When I saw that image four years ago, my immediate thought was, “That is what laying down one’s life looks like.”  The Christian protestors knew how vulnerable their Muslim brothers and sisters would be if they knelt down in prayer in the public square.  The brutal police force would take advantage of any vulnerability they could find.  The Christians became like the Good Shepherd, risking their lives because they saw their neighbors in need.  Their actions showed their love better than any words could have.

That is what love looks like.  We can talk about love in sermons or in Sunday School.  We can sing about love in our hymns and make speeches in the square.  We can write an op-ed or a letter to our congressman expressing our concerns for our neighbors in need.  But today, our epistle lesson does not let us rest there.  Our epistle says that our love must be shown in truth and action.  We must lay down our lives for one another like the Good Shepherd does.

That charge today may seem hard, or even impractical and imprudent.  Many of us cannot even imagine an opportunity to lay down our lives for someone else.  And yet, that is the instruction for us in our epistle – not just to talk about injustice, but to love so greatly, to care so deeply for other children of God that we are willing to put ourselves aside in love and care for the other.  I do not know what that looks like for each one of us here.  But here is what I can tell you.  In 2011, those Christians in Egypt surrounded Muslims in prayer, willing to give their lives for their Muslim brothers and sisters.  In 2013, two years later, Muslims in Pakistan returned the favor.  When a Christian church in Peshawar was attacked, and over 100 Christians were killed, over 200 Muslims formed a human chain around the church to enable the Christians to celebrate Mass in a show of unity and love.[ii]  Just two years later, in 2015, after terrorist attacks in Copenhagen, Muslims stood up for their Jewish brothers and sisters, forming a human ring around the perimeter of the synagogue to protect them while they prayed.  The teenager who organized the ring called for 30 volunteers – and at least 630 showed up in an act of love and peace.[iii]

This is why Jesus laid down his life for us – to show us the life giving force of love.  When the Good Shepherd laid down his life for us, the disciples spread that love over the entire world.  When we show love to others, that love keeps moving beyond us in ways that we will likely never know.  That is the beauty of our God.  God loved us so much that God sent God’s Son.  God’s Son loved us so much that he laid down his life.  And we love others because we have known the love of the Good Shepherd.[iv]  The action of our love – not just the words and speeches – but the action of our love can transform the world.  When we love in action and truth, we continue the work begun in the Good Shepherd – and we give others their own loving image to hold on to and to harness for change in the world.  Amen.

[i] Daily Mail Reporter, “Images of solidarity as Christians join hands to protect Muslims as they pray during Cairo protests,” February 3, 2011, as found at http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1353330/Egypt-protests-Christians-join-hands-protect-Muslims-pray-Cairo-protests.html on April 24, 2015.

[ii] Aroosa Shaukat, “Pakistani Muslims Form Human Chain To Protect Christians During Mass,” October 8, 2013, as found at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/10/08/muslims-form-human-chain-pakistan_n_4057381.html on April 24, 2015.

[iii] Hana Levi Julian, “Young Muslims to Protect Oslo Synagogue as Jews Pray in Norway,” February 18, 2015, as found at http://www.jewishpress.com/news/breaking-news/young-muslims-organize-to-protect-oslo-synagogue-as-jews-pray-in-norway/2015/02/18/ on April 24, 2015.

[iv] Ronald Cole-Turner, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 442.

Sermon – Luke 1.26-38, A4, YB, December 21, 2014

Tags

action, Advent, Angel Gabriel, Black Lives Matter, burden, favored, God, Jesus, light, Magnificat, Mary, submission

This week, the song The Angel Gabriel has been running through my mind over and over.  Our choir sang the song at Advent Lessons and Carols a few weeks ago.  The lyrics go, “The angel Gabriel from heaven came, With wings as drifted snow, with eyes as flame:  ‘All hail to thee, O lowly maiden Mary, Most highly favored lady.’  Gloria!”  When sung the song has a soft, gentle feel to it.  You can almost sense the intimacy of the encounter between the Angel Gabriel and Mary.  The lyrics go on to say, “Then gentle Mary meekly bowed her head; ‘To me be as it pleaseth God,’ she said.  ‘My soul shall laud and magnify God’s holy name.’  Most highly favored lady.  Gloria!”  The description of Mary as a “most highly favored lady,” and her humble, bowed acceptance of God’s call all depict a meek and mild version of Mary, someone who obediently follows God’s will at the sacrifice of her own will.

Of course, that path is one that her son will take later in his life.  We remember the scene of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane.  As Jesus wrestles with God in prayer, he prays, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.”  Like his mother who faced the impossibility of a virgin birth at a young age, Jesus faced a violent death.  And both responded with humble submission.  They gave over their lives to God, not knowing what was ahead, but trusting fully in the Lord.

My problem with our scripture this week is that the scripture just does not jive with what is happening in our world.  These last couple of weeks I have been overwhelmed with the sheer volume of stories about violence and degradation:  from the excessive use of force toward persons of color by the police force, to stories of sexual assault on college campuses, to the execution of children by terrorists in Pakistan.  As wave after wave of bad news comes, I keep hearing echoes of Eric Garner’s last words, “I can’t breathe.”  That is how these stories have made me feel – like I cannot breathe.  I ponder how our country has gotten to the point where black people feel like their lives do not matter.  I wrestle with how some of our young men have come to believe that they can exercise power over and violate women.  I am perplexed at how a group of faithful people can use that faith to justify killing others.  With these visceral stories bombarding me from every direction, the last kind of lesson I want to hear about is a lesson about how one should mildly and meekly submit to God.  I do not want to submit to God – I want to act!

What I really wanted to hear from scripture today was not the Angel Gabriel calling Mary a lowly maiden, but instead the Magnificat, Mary’s song that we sang today, which is found just a few verses after the gospel lesson today in Luke.  Right after Gabriel leaves, Mary reunites with Elizabeth.  When they connect over their miracle pregnancies, Mary sings a song of praise called the Magnificat.  In that song she proclaims, “…the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.  His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation.  He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”[i]  This is the kind of song I wanted to hear this week when current events are so dire.  I want the promise of a God who favors the oppressed, the hungry, and the violated.  I want a God who lifts up the poor and scatters the proud.  The Magnificat has all sorts of musical settings because Mary’s song is sung at the service of Evensong throughout the year.  Some of the settings are meek and mild, like our gospel reading today.  But some are actually quite powerful, connoting the strong victory you hear in Mary’s song.  I realized that is what I want to hear from scripture today – not a story of mild submission, but of victorious uprising and justice.

But the more I struggled this week with Luke’s words, the more I realized a deeper truth.  I have been looking to God for answers – some sort of response about how God could let these things happen, and why I feel like our world is falling apart.  But what I realized the more I heard these two competing songs in my mind is that victory for God does not always feel like victory for God’s agent.  So, yes, Jesus is ultimately victorious when he rises from the dead.  But at that moment of Gethsemane, he humbly submits to God, not knowing what evil awaits.  Likewise with Mary:  she will become the venerated mother, the one whom people will pray through for centuries.  God is victorious through her.  And yet, she is still a mother whose son is murdered by the officials.  In fact, being highly favored, as Gabriel claims Mary is, may not feel like being highly favored.  Months later, when Jesus is presented as a baby at the Temple, Simeon confirms this hard truth.  Simeon says to Mary, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed – and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”[ii]

Of course, that is the way that being called to serve God usually is.  Though Moses was called by God in a dazzling display of a burning bush, he was also almost murdered by pharaoh and the very people he had saved.  Though David was the blessed and anointed king of Israel, David also had to flee for his life when Saul became jealous of God’s favor for David.  Though Thomas Cranmer was the Archbishop who basically founded and shaped the liturgy of the Church of England, and by association the Episcopal Church, he was also martyred for his commitment to the reformation of the Church.  Though eventually Nelson Mandela became the leader of South Africa and the facilitator for ending apartheid, he was first imprisoned for twenty-seven years.  That is the sad truth of Mary this week.  Favor in God’s eyes does not mean a smooth, satisfied, simple life.  When we accept God’s call, when we humbly submit to God’s invitation to serve in our own lives, we can only expect to journey through trials on the way to glory.  That is the sobering truth Mary offers us today.

But that is not the end of the story.  I think that the reason the songs about Mary have been battling in my head this week is because there will never be one victor.  Being highly favored in God’s sight is neither an invitation to a life of mild obedience and suffering, nor a life of victorious dominance.  Being favored in God’s sight is a bit of both.  So though Mandela suffered, he also came to know and love his prison guards.  He found hope and grace in the midst of darkness and oppression.  I think the same is happening in our current events today.  Despite the destruction caused by riots in Ferguson and the arrests from protests in Staten Island, people across racial lines are encountering one another.  A white police chief in Richmond, CA was photographed standing with other protestors holding a sign that read, “#Black Lives Matter.”  And when two officers were murdered in retaliation for Eric Garner yesterday, the black community immediately spoke out against such violent retaliation.  Despite the flurry of stories about sexual assault on college campuses, college campuses are now taking seriously their handling of the violence.  Despite the horror of students being murdered in Pakistan, advocates for change are beginning to see how desperate the need for change and collaboration is.  In the darkness of our world, God is using God’s favored ones to be light.

That is our invitation today.  Through Mary, we are reminded that answering God’s call on our lives will not be easy or even pleasant at times.  There will be times when serving the Lord will feel like more of a burden than a joy.  But when we submit to our God, God can use us in powerful ways.  God can make us agents of light, in a world that is striving to find a way out of the darkness.  Mary responds to that invitation with the words, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”  You can say those words today too, accepting God’s desire to use you as an agent of light.[iii]  The promise of being highly favored holds many blessings waiting to unfold.  Amen.

[i] Luke 1.49-53

[ii] Luke 2.34-35

[iii] David Lose, “Favored Ones,” December 11, 2011 found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1611 on December 16, 2014.

Sermon – John 21.1-19, E3, YC, April 14, 2013

Tags

action, disciples, follow, Jesus, quiet, Sermon, surrender

There are two layers to our gospel lesson today.  In one layer, there is a lot of movement and action.  We have disciples fishing, a man shouting about where to put nets, Peter leaping out of a boat to swim ashore, breakfast sizzling in a pan over a crackling fire, and Peter and Jesus having this strangely repetitive conversation.  This layer of the text is really distracting.  There is so much happening that by the time we get to Jesus telling Peter to feed his lambs, we forget the part of the story about Peter getting dressed to jump into water.  The frenetic nature of the text leaves us with more questions than answers.  Why is Peter fishing at a time like this?  Why is he naked?  Why do the disciples not recognize Jesus at first?  Why is Jesus cooking breakfast?  Why does Jesus repeat his question to Peter three times?

In truth, I think there is so much activity in our gospel lesson because the disciples are a little frenetic themselves.  They had all settled into certain identities in their lives – many of them were fishermen, many of them had families that they worked with, and all of them had homes where they resided.  Their lives were simple and predictable.  Then this guy came into their lives and their identity and purpose got totally out of balance.  They had no consistent daily routine, they left behind everything they knew, this man they were following was compelling but also completely confusing, and they were being asked to totally change their lives.  And just when they had found the rhythm of managing their unpredictable lives with Jesus, then everything turns over on its head again, and they lose everything – their leader, their purpose, and their identity.  So in an effort to find something to hang on to, the disciples become punchy with action.

We all do this.  I know that I am particularly stressed out when I find myself intently scrubbing something in the house.  I may not be able to solve some problem at work, or I might not be able to fix some relationship that needs mending, but I can have a clean floor.  I might not have responded to the forty-eight emails and the twenty-nine items on my to-do list, but my desk will be cleared of all clutter and looking freshly dusted.  My neurotic behavior is cleaning, but we all have some neurotic behavior.  Some of us need to find a mall to clear our minds of all the stuff going on inside of us.  Somehow finding the perfect dress or pair of shoes takes away our other anxieties.  Others of us get out in the garden and dig our way to peace of mind.  Something about a freshly weeded garden makes us feel like something was accomplished, even if the rest of us is in shambles.  Still others hit the gym.  There is nothing like sweating away anxieties or feeling the burn to take away the other feelings going on inside of us.[i]

What is interesting about all the activity and noise found in our gospel lesson is that there is another layer of this text that is completely quiet.  We start with the disciples silently staring at that Sea of Tiberias.  There is nothing left to say among them, because they have talked this whole resurrection thing to exhaustion.  Then we find the disciples on the boat fishing in the middle of the night.  I do not know the last time you went fishing, but fishing is one of the more quiet, uneventful activities you can do.  Despite the splashing of Peter to swim to Jesus, once they all gather on the beach, no one says a word.  The air is only filled with the quiet lapping of water and the sizzling of a pan over a fire.  The disciples have questions, but no one says anything.  Even the conversation between Jesus and Peter has a quiet tone to the conversation.

In some ways, I think this is where the text is really pointing.  The disciples, who have irritated Jesus to no end, finally fall silent.  No more asking about who shall be first, and nor more asking what Jesus means or who he is.  No more crazy proposals like building booths for Moses, Elijah, and Jesus, and no more insisting that Jesus wash all of their bodies, not just their feet.  No more insisting that they would never betray Jesus.  There is nothing left to say.  And so they stare quietly, they fish in silence, and they answer in hushed voices.

This layer is the most important because this layer marks a shift.  The disciples stop trying to muscle their way to discipleship, and they finally learn to let Jesus take the lead.  They have become so physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted that they stop trying to control everything, and they simply wait for Jesus to tell them what to do.  This is a critical moment in the disciples’ journey with Christ.

I think many of you know this about me, but I love to dance.  I grew up doing all sorts of dancing, but the most difficult form of dancing I stumbled into was formal partnered dancing – the fox trot, waltz, etc.  In the other forms of dancing I learned, I was responsible for myself, learning the steps, and making sure I knew the rhythm so that the dance looked beautiful.  But in partnered dance, especially as the woman, you have to learn how to follow.  As someone with pretty good rhythm and memory for steps, you have no idea how incredibly frustrating it is to follow a man who does not know what he is doing.  The tendency is to want to use your arms or legs to start guiding the man, or even to whisper the directions.  But the role of the woman is to follow where the man leads – perhaps the only time in a woman’s life that she is forced to do this!  But what I also found in this kind of dancing is that when you have a really good partner, he can make you feel like the most graceful, beautiful woman on the dance floor.  In fact, you stop worrying about the steps and the count, and you start moving with fluidity and ease.  The price for such a feeling is total surrender and trust.  But the payoff is that you find a joy so strong that you will hunt down that partner and beg them to save you a dance.

This is the kind of submission the disciples finally master on that beach.  No more trying to muscle Jesus into the way they want him to behave.  No more trying to talk their way through their relationship with him.  They surrender all they have to him, longing for the clarity that only he can give them.  And when they finally do that, in the quiet of that morning, they finally hear the words of purpose for their lives.  “Follow me,” Jesus says.  They are the same words Jesus said to them at the beginning of their relationship with him.  But now they finally hear.  And now they can finally respond with their whole being.  Jesus’ words are as clear as they can be.  Jesus’ words give their life meaning.  And their spirit is finally in the place where they can hear and respond.  They are truly and thoroughly ready to follow him.

This is what Jesus invites us to do as well.  This morning, as we sit in the sacred place, Jesus invites us to shove those piles off the desks of our minds, to rip out the weeds blocking our hearts, and to drop our armfuls of distractions and to listen to his simple words for us.  The words are there waiting.  The direction is clear.  The peace and comfort of clarity and purpose are ours for the taking.  So when you come to this table for the Eucharistic feast, quietly listening for Jesus’ words for you, you will be able to hear those words, “Follow me,” and do just that when you walk out those church doors.  Amen.

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[i] Gary D. Jones, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 420.