Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis Feast, YA, October 4, 2020

Tags

animals, blessing, Blessing of the Animals, connection, creation, God, humanity, interconnected, Jesus, poor, Sermon, solidarity, St. Francis, yoke

Today we honor the life and witness of St. Francis of Assisi.  St. Francis is well-known and beloved for myriad reasons.  Primarily, people tend to appreciate two things about him: his commitment to living in solidarity with the poor, which included dramatically stripping his clothing off, begging for food, and supporting the most needy; and, his affinity for the creatures of God, with stories of preaching to birds, negotiating with a violent wolf to make peace with the local town, and generally valuing the beasts of the earth.  The second component of his identity is why we do things like the Blessing of the Animals. The first component, we tend to get a little uncomfortable with – or at least like to admire his commitment to being in solidarity with the poor, but not actually imitate it. In fact, one author argues, “Of all the saints, Francis is the most popular and admired, but probably the least imitated.”[i]

This week I have struggled with which component to bring to the fore: Francis’ solidarity with the poor, or Francis’ love of creatures.  But as I looked to our gospel lesson, and started thinking about yokes, I realized, the two are not unrelated.  You see, yokes were used to harness two animals for work.  The yoke allowed the two not just to double their work, but to rely on one another – if one was tired, the other could push harder; and then the weaker one could later support the stronger one.  Yokes, like Jesus’ work, were easy and made the burden light. 

But beyond the mechanics of a good yoke, the yoke is also a good metaphor for how we see the gospel.  Being yoked to another makes you connected.  And once you are connected, and see how dependent upon one another you are, you begin to see how that connection extends beyond the two of you – that your yoked interconnection is a microcosm of the connectedness of all of God’s creation.  When Francis was experiencing his conversion, he heard a sermon on another Matthew text.  In Matthew 10, Jesus instructs the disciples to go and proclaim the good news, curing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing the lepers, and casting out demons.  All of this without pay, without backup supplies, and relying on the kindness of strangers.  After the priest explained the text to Francis, Francis’ response was, “This is what I wish, this is what I seek, this is what I long to do with all my heart.”[ii]

But what Francis learned and what we learn when we do likewise is helping the poor and the sick opens our eyes.  We slowly begin to see all of humanity is connected.  And the more we spend time seeing the humanity in others – especially the humanity in those we would rather not – then we start to see that our interconnectedness extends even further – to God’s creation, to God’s creatures, to the cosmos.  If we open our hearts to one, we cannot help to open our hearts to all.  Francis’ love for the poor and Francis’ love for creatures were not two separate things – they were one in the same. 

In our psalm today, we heard the invitation to all of God’s creation:  Mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars;  Wild beasts and all cattle, creeping things and winged birds; Kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all rulers of the world; Young men and maidens, old and young together.[iii]  We bless animals today because Francis reminded us how all of God’s creation is worthy of love.  But the invitation for us today is not just to love on cute dogs, cats, hamsters, and horses.  The invitation for us is to start claiming our yoked nature – yoked to those we love, yoked to our political opponents, yoked to those who have different ethics and values than ourselves, yoked to parents who make different parenting decisions, yoked to those with different skin color or sexual orientation, yoked to those we see as deserving of God’s grace and those who are not.  Our yoked nature allows us to pray the Prayer of St. Francis from our Prayer Book:  “Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”[iv]  We can do the work of St. Francis because of the yoke of Jesus.  Thanks be to God.

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[i] Holy Men, Holy Women:  Celebrating the Saints (New York:  The Church Pension Fund, 2010), 622.

[ii] Hilarion Kistner, The Gospels According to Saint Francis (Cincinnati:  Franciscan Media, 2014), 7-8.

[iii] Psalm 148.9-12.

[iv] BCP, 833.

Homily – Matthew 11.25-30, Feast of St. Francis, October 23, 2016

Tags

animals, Blessing of the Animals, burden, creation, easy, homily, light, manageable, poverty, relationship, solidarity, St. Francis, wealth, yoke

Today we honor St. Francis of Assisi, one of the most beloved saints of the church.  Most of us think of Francis as the patron saint of animals and creation.  When we think of him we may think of a St. Francis statue in a garden.  We may think of various images of him preaching to birds.   Some of us may even recall that tale where Francis negotiated peace between a village and a wolf that had been terrorizing the town.  That is why when we celebrate St. Francis’ feast, we also bless animals – the creatures that were so dear to him.  That is also why we often worship outside – honoring God’s creation, which Francis loved so profoundly.

The challenge with honoring Francis in this way is that we forget the other parts of Francis’ life – quite frankly, the much more difficult parts of St. Francis’ life.  You see, Francis’ love of creation comes from a deeper place.  Francis first started his journey to God out of a new relationship with wealth.  Francis was the son of a wealthy businessman in the 1100s.  He had everything at his disposal, and his father wanted him to enjoy that privilege and pass that privilege to Francis’ own children.  But in his early twenties, Francis had an encounter with a beggar that changed everything.  Suddenly the trappings of wealth no longer felt like a safety net or source of comfort – they feel like a burden – a barrier to the life Christ calls us to lead.

And so, Francis renounced the wealth in his life, reportedly even stripping off the clothes his father had given him to show how fully committed he was to this new way of life.  He married “Lady Poverty,” and invited others to join him.  The lifestyle is so austere that many joke that that Francis is one of the most revered, and yet, least followed saints of our faith.

I remember in college having long conversations about living in solidarity with the poor.  We were presented the idea over and over again, but we could not get our heads around what living in solidarity with the poor meant.  Several graduates tried – volunteering for at least a year after college.  Some joined intentional Christian communities, in the hopes that living simple lives in community might help them get closer to that solidarity.  Some traveled to impoverished countries to serve among the poorest, while others worked in the nonprofit sector in the States.  But we always came back to one crucial question:  can we live in solidarity with the poor?  Most of us have a safety net, whether our safety net is family, wealth, education, or citizenship.  Can we even help the poor if we renounce everything like Francis?

I must confess, I do not think there is a good answer to the question about living in solidarity with the poor.  And I am not convinced that most of us can live like Francis, begging and living in tattered clothes.  But what Francis is trying to do is help us see how money gets in the way of our relationship with everything else.  That is why Jesus talked about money so much.  Jesus even led a life much more similar to Francis’ than ours – wandering through life, depending on the hospitality of strangers, and telling his disciples to give up staffs and bags when they go out to meet the people.  Both Jesus and Francis began to learn that living without the comfort of wealth meant entering oneself into a state of vulnerability – a state where true, holy, meaningful relationships begin; a state where everything’s value changes – down to the birds that sing, the creation that breathes beauty, and even the pets that show us unconditional love.

Of course, each of us has to discern what taking up Jesus’ or Francis’ way means for us, knowing that many of us have family obligations and debts that must be managed.  But what Jesus and Francis do today is invite us to not allow those burdens to become an excuse for not making ourselves vulnerable.  Jesus says today, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  For those of you who have worked with farm animals, you know that yokes are meant to fit smoothly on to animals, distributing the weight and burden in a manageable way.[i]  That is what taking on the yoke of Christ, and walking the way of Francis is like – a life, that if taken on, is manageable.  We may be scared to put on our shoulders the burden of vulnerability.  But Jesus promises the burden is light, the yoke is easy.  And Francis shows us the world of beauty that opens when we simply let go.  Amen.

[i] Douglas R.A. Hare, Matthew, Interpretation:  A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1993), 129

Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis’ Feast Day, YA, October 5, 2014

Tags

animals, blessing, burden, disciple, Jesus, light, reconciliation, rest, Sermon, St. Francis, wolf

Today we honor the life of St. Francis of Assisi.  Francis is one of the most popular and admired saints of all time.  Most of us know the highlights of his story: born the son of a wealthy man in 1182; had a conversion experience and devoted his life to Lady Poverty; shaped monastic and lay devotion; was a friend to all God’s creatures – being know to have preached to the birds.

But the story I like most is the story about St. Francis and the Wolf.  According to legend, there was a wolf that was terrorizing the town of Gubbio, killing and eating animals and people.  The villagers tried to fight back, but they too died at the jaws of the wolf.  Francis had pity on the townspeople and went out to meet the wolf.  When Francis found the wolf, he made the sign of the cross, and said, “Come to me, Brother Wolf.  In the name of Christ, I order you not to hurt anyone.”  In response, the wolf calmly laid down at Francis’ feet.  Francis then went on to explain to the wolf how he was terrorizing the people and other animals – all who were made in the image of God.  The wolf and Francis then made a pact that he would no longer harm the townspeople and the townspeople would no longer try to hurt the wolf.  The two traveled into town to explain the pact they had formed.  The people were amazed as Francis and the wolf walked side-by-side into town.  Francis made the people pledge to feed the wolf and the wolf pledge not to harm anyone else.  From that day on, the wolf went door to door for food.  The wolf hurt no one and no one hurt the wolf; even the dogs did not bark at the wolf.[i]

What I love about this story of St. Francis is that the story is about reconciliation and relationship.  At the beginning of the story the town and the wolf are at an impasse – the wolf is hungry and getting attacked; the people are afraid and are lashing out.  What Francis does for both parties is shock them out of the comfortable.  For the wolf, no one has addressed the wolf kindly – they have either shut the wolf out or actively tried to kill him.  For the people, the wolf has not asked for help – he has simply and violently taken what he needed and wanted.  Francis manages to shock the wolf first – not through violence or force, but with the power of love and blessing.  By giving a blessing in the name of God, Francis is then able to implore the wolf to reciprocate with love.  Francis also manages to shock the village – not with a violent victory, but with a humble display of forgiveness and trust.  By walking into town with a tamed wolf at his side, Francis is able to encourage the town embrace, forgive, and care for the wolf.  Francis’ actions remind both parties that unless their relationships are reconciled, unrest and division will be the norm.

The funny thing about this story is that the story is pretty ridiculous.  I mean, how many of us go around talking to wild animals, blessing them with the sign of the cross, expecting anything other than being attacked?  We will never really know whether the story is true.  But like any good Biblical story, whether the story is true is hardly the point: the point is that the stories point toward “Truth” with a capital “T.”  What this story teaches is that peace and reconciliation only happen through meeting others where they are.  We cannot expect great change unless we are willing to get down in the trenches – to go out and meet that destructive wolf face-to-face.  The other thing this story teaches is relationships are at the heart of peace work.  Only when the wolf and the town began to get to know each other and began to form a relationship with one another could they move forward.

This is the way life is under Jesus Christ.  In our gospel lesson today, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Jesus’ words have layered meaning.  The first meaning we all catch is that Jesus offers us rest and refreshment.  Jesus encourages us to come to him, to cast our burdens and cares upon him, and to take rest, to take Sabbath in Christ.  Our souls will find peace in Christ Jesus.  The second meaning is that peace in Christ Jesus is not without work.  Jesus does not say come unto me and relax forever in happy retirement.  Jesus says we will still have to take on a yoke – the burden of disciple living.  But luckily, that burden of being Christ’s disciple will not be burdensome – it will be light.  Finally, not only will Jesus make the workload “light,” as in not heavy.  Jesus will also make us “light” – as in lights that shine into the darkness and refuse to allow the shadow to overwhelm.[ii]  We become the light when we work for reconciliation in our relationships with others.

That is why we do so many special things today.  Today, we ask for healing prayers – that God might help us reconcile the relationships in our life that need healing.  Today, we ask for blessing on our animals – that God might help our relationship with our pet be one of blessing and light.  Today, we come to Jesus for Sabbath rest – that God might renew us on this Sabbath day, use the rest to fill us with light, and renew our commitment to be agents of reconciliation, gladly putting on Christ’s yoke.  Amen.

[i] John Feister, “Stories about St. Francis and the Animals,” as found at http://www.americancatholic.org/features/francis/stories.asp on September 30, 2014.

[ii] Mel Williams, “Let it go…and rest” Faith and Leadership, July 6, 2014 as found at http://www.faithandleadership.com/sermons/mel-williams-let-it-go%E2%80%A6and-rest  on September 30, 2014.