Sermon – John 4.5-42, L3, YA, March 15, 2020

Tags

anxiety, Caronavirus, flesh, God, human, incarnate, incarnation, intimate, Jesus, Messiah, relationship, Samaritan, Sermon, vulnerable, well, woman

Today’s gospel lesson is one of those lessons that can be so full of intrigue that we miss what is happening in the text.  Most of us have heard this lesson hundreds of times, and have probably lingered on the part of the conversation where Jesus calls out the woman for living with someone who is not her husband, after already having had five husbands.  The conversation sounds straight out of Jerry Springer or Dr. Phil, where in the next scene we expect the other husbands to arrive, and a fight to break loose.

The problem with that kind of reading is we have the tone all wrong.  By narrowing in on what sounds like a “gotcha!” statement from Jesus right in the middle of about 40 verses, we forget all of the words and actions surrounding this event in the middle.  We have clues all along in the reading:  Jesus going through Samaria (when most Jews avoid Samaria); a woman appearing at a well at noon (when most of the woman have come and gone); Jesus (a Jew) talking to a Samaritan woman in broad daylight (a triple no-no); disciples appearing and engaging in conversation that sounds like The Three Stooges; talk of prophets, messiahs, disciples, and evangelism.

When we step back and take the broad view of this lesson, we are able to not be distracted by the sweep of the narrative, the scandalous and the absurd details, and the confusing stream of thought.  When seen broadly, we find a story that illuminates what having an incarnate God really looks like.  Too often, when we talk of the incarnation, we think of the baby Jesus, or the bodily, gruesome crucifixion.  But we sometimes forget the everydayness of the incarnation:  the fact that Jesus is thirsty and needs something from another, namely this Samaritan woman; the fact that Jesus initiates an intimate relationship, where two people can talk about the pain, suffering, and societal rejection of a widow and/or divorcee, who is simply trying to get by in a community that ostracizes her, even from drawing water from the well in the cool of morning; the fact that Jesus understands barrenness and empowers her to instead birth new believers.[i]  As Karoline Lewis says, says, “To take the incarnation seriously, to give it the fullest extent and expression, demands that no aspect of what it means to be human be overlooked.  To do so would truncate the principal theological claim of [John’s] Gospel.  At stake for the fourth evangelist is that Jesus is truly God in the flesh and every aspect of what humanity entails God now knows.”[ii]

I find this reading immensely meaningful today, because we are living in a moment when being flesh and bone is particularly precarious and unnerving.  A pandemic has gone all over the world and landed in our schools, our churches, our gathering places, and our homes.  Our lives have been upended by the threat of the Coronavirus, knowing the vulnerability of some in our community, and understanding suddenly how intricately intwined our lives are, even at a time when we have opined about how socially distanced we are.  This is a time when we feel very fleshy and vulnerable and here is Jesus talking to a vulnerable woman about his own fleshiness.

I don’t know about you, but I find this strange, circuitous conversation very comforting today.  In a time of anxiety, fear, and upheaval, Jesus is right there, in the midst of everyday messiness, and saying, “I feel you.  I understand.  I, your God, am incarnate, and I see and know you.”  And in response, the woman who is seen, known, and heard in turn goes to her community and becomes Jesus for others.  As Lewis says, “The woman at the well is not only a witness.  She is Jesus, the ‘I AM’ in the world, for her people.”[iii]

This is our invitation today too.  In the midst of upheaval, of disorientation, of anxiety, we are invited to be fully enfleshed Jesuses for others – to see their pain, their suffering, their uncertainty, and offer solidarity, comfort, and encouragement.  Even in a time of physical separation, we are invited into intimate relationship with one another, into relationships that honor the holy in one another, and help us all move forward.  This is what the Messiah does for us.  This is what we can do for one another.  Amen.

[i] Karoline M. Lewis, John:  Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2014), 64.

[ii] Lewis, 55.

[iii] Lewis, 65.

On Shining Our Light…

Tags

abundance, anxiety, church, community, giving, Jesus, joy, light, money, nervous, passionate, pledge, relationship, shine, stewardship

Photo credit:  https://wels.net/let-your-light-shine-3/

A couple of weeks ago, Hickory Neck had a wonderful guest preacher who talked to us about stewardship.  He led with a participatory set of questions.  The first was, “What is your reaction when I tell you today is a Stewardship Sunday?”  The responses ranged from “anxiety,” “nervousness,” “dread,” and “frustration” (though some people studiously responded, “gratitude”).  The next question was, “How do you think your rector feels about Stewardship Sundays?”  The responses were fairly similar, and the preacher surmised that stewardship is something rectors dread too because so much of what they can do is based on what parishioners are willing to give.

The funny thing is though, as I sat there listening to the preacher’s question about my own feelings, my initial response about how I, as rector, felt about stewardship season was “joy.”  I know what you are thinking, “Come on, Jennifer, we know you get stressed out about money as much as we do!”  And there is probably a latent sense of anxiety or at least uncertainty.  But mostly I feel joy.  I love talking about stewardship because to me, talking about stewardship is a lot like evangelism.  Both involve talking about something you love and inviting people into that passion.  And I absolutely love and am passionate about the community of Hickory Neck and the powerful ministry we are doing.  I see every day what a powerful place this is for people, and what an incredible impact it is making on their lives.  So, asking people to financially support this place is really just a matter of inviting people to affirm that goodness in their life – to give with the same abundance that is experienced within this community.

The other reason I feel joy in talking about stewardship is because talking about our financial giving is what people do when they are in relationship with one another – they talk about what it is important to them, and what effects their everyday lives.  Money is one of those things that is at the very heart of our lives – we need it, we use it, and we often wish we had more.  Jesus even talked about money perhaps more than any other issue in his ministry.  But the reason many of us get uncomfortable talking about money is because money feels personal and intimate.  But being in authentic relationship means sharing things that are personal and intimate.  With whom else can you talk about money if not with those to whom you are closest, who support you in your darkest moments, and who love you unconditionally?

The last couple of months I have run into many colleagues and long-time friends, and invariably they ask me how things are going at Hickory Neck.  I have noticed when I answer that inquiry, my body has a visceral response.  I immediately and unconsciously smile and let out a sigh of satisfaction before I launch into what I love about our community and the work we are doing together.  As you are working on your pledge cards this week, I hope you can first think about what those things are at Hickory Neck that give you joy, that make you excited to be here, investing your time and energy.  Then I hope you can allow your financial pledge to be a testimony to that joy.  Come, shine your light with me!

On Resurrection and Race…

Tags

anxiety, comfort, cross, Easter, Jesus, kingdom of God, light, light of Christ, privilege, race, racism, resurrection, shade

Photo credit:  https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2017/august-web-only/reflections-on-cross-and-lynching-tree.html

This Sunday at Hickory Neck, we kick of a three-week series on James H. Cone’s book The Cross and the Lynching Tree.  Only a few pages into the book, and I confess this will be a heavy discussion for us as a parish.  You might be wondering why we chose such a book in Eastertide – isn’t race and violence a better topic for Lent?  Or maybe you are wondering why we are talking about race – again – at church.  Surely we can move on to talk about other topics!?

When my family I visited the Mississippi Civil Rights Museum in April, something poignant happened to me as I shepherded our young children through the museum.  There was an exhibit about the Jim Crow era in Mississippi.  As you walked through the exhibit, there were motion detectors that triggered recordings.  The recordings were of white men and women saying or shouting the things that were said or shouted to persons of color – about not belonging, about watching out, about even just existing in a segregated world.  Since I had small, active children, the motion sensors were triggered a lot, meaning these voices were shouting at me constantly.  I found by the time we exited that portion of the museum, my nerves were totally shot.  The exhibit was a powerful reminder of how, even when civil liberties were won, African-Americans were still not treated equally.  In fact, their existence then (and I suspect even today) was one of walking on egg shells – never knowing when someone would say something offensive, physically-threatening, or even life-threatening.  That kind of lifelong anxiety must do things to your psyche and mental, emotional, and spiritual health.

But as a Caucasian, I have the privilege to not experience that egg shell kind of life.  I have the privilege to decide when “we’ve talked about race enough.”  I even have the privilege of deciding when a good season to talk about race is – lest we confuse happy seasons with sad or contemplative ones.  And that is why we try at Hickory Neck to engage in at least one book or film study a year – to remind us of the privilege we hold because of something totally out of our control:  our skin color.  And if we are an Easter people, then celebrating resurrection life means bringing about the kingdom of God here on earth.  One of the ways we advance the kingdom is to live out the gospel – to live out the life of Jesus, instead of one that is counter to the life of Jesus.

I know the reading will be hard, and I know you have hundreds of things to do.  But for the next three weeks, I invite you to join us.  Join us in setting aside the comfort of our privilege in life, and stepping into the shady places of life.  Join us in being open to hearing other experiences, learning new things, and seeing race and reality differently.  Join us in living into the true meaning of Easter – a life where the resurrection means reconciliation and renewal.  Walking into the shady parts of life will allow us to more authentically proclaim the light of parts of life – the light of Christ.

On Waiting with God…

Tags

ambiguity, anxiety, comfort, crisis, expectations, God, hurricane, Jesus, plans, strength, waiting

Photo credit:  http://www.makemommygosomethingsomething.com/2016/03/25/the-waiting-room/

The last few days have been marked by two contrasts in our family.  The first was a broken bone for one of our children.  What had been planned was a relaxed dinner of my daughter’s favorite meal, some homework, an early bedtime, and some evening chores.  Instead, what happened was scarfed down meals, scooping up of activities for the waiting room, dividing up of the children with parents, and a long evening of x-rays, diagnoses, and treatment.  After putting the patient to bed, then followed the flurry of emails to teachers, coaches, and parents to cancel classes, rearrange plans, and arrange for care.  Basically, the experience was a classic experience of dealing with an unexpected crisis, the adrenaline that helps you manage everything, and the upending of expectations.

Also happening this week is the opposite experience.  Our region is intently watching the weather forecast as a large, destructive hurricane is approaching the East Coast.  Unlike an immediate crisis, the build-up is much slower with a hurricane.  We can see several days out that the storm is coming.  We can ascertain from previous experiences with hurricanes what sorts of supplies we should have on hand.  Some areas are being evacuated in preparation, and schools have closed.  But unlike an immediate crisis, this kind of crisis is like waiting for a crisis in slow motion.  And these kinds of storms also involve much more ambiguity:  the storm could create massive damage and even death, or the storm could take a different path, destroying other areas, but leaving our area less impacted.  Instead of adrenaline, clarity, and decisiveness, this crisis involves lots of planning, worrying, and waiting.

As I have held these two experiences in tension this week, I have begun to see spiritual parallels.  Often, we relegate our relationship with God to crisis mode.  We lean into God when we need God, but most of our days are spent doing the work we have been given and are equipped to do without thinking much about God.  But in a situation where there is a long wait with an uncertain outcome:  a marriage that is struggling, a friend with a cancer diagnosis, an economy that puts one’s future in jeopardy – we find leaning into God more difficult.  When we lean into God during ambiguous times, we not only have to share all our ourselves with God (the hurt, the doubt, the fear, the anger), we also become much aware of how little control we have in this world.  Ambiguity in life tests our relationships with Jesus more than just about anything in life.

This week, my prayer for all of us is that we push against of our natural patterns.  Instead pulling away from God in ambiguity, my prayer is that you might saddle up next to God and give the anxiety that ambiguity creates back to God.  I promise that God can handle the weight of your anxiety.  And in freeing you up from some of that anxiety, you might be able to offer that same comfort to a neighbor, friend, or stranger.  I know God will give us strength to support one another once this storm hits.  We will do the work we need to do.  In the meantime, my prayer is that we help one another lift the burden of waiting.  God is with us!

 

GC79: Reconciliation in Real Time

Tags

anxiety, bishops, change, cheer, concern, Cuba, Episcopal Church, family, General Convention, God, home, House of Bishops, humbling, mercy, reconciliation, right, wrong

In 1966, in light of the Cuban Revolution and the political response of the United States, the House of Bishops voted to separate from the Diocese of Cuba from the Episcopal Church, leaving it an autonomous diocese without a provincial home.  The clergy scattered, some returning or immigrating to the US, but some who remained in Cuba were imprisoned, executed, or disappeared; priests lost their pensions, and they operated in isolation from the Church.  Cuba officially requested to be reaffiliated with the Episcopal Church and was given a list of requirements before admission.  As of GC79, all of those conditions had been met.  However, leading up to the resolution coming to the floor of both the Deputies and Bishops, there was controversy on what it would mean, how this admission might impact the admission of other Dioceses (or their exit), how to affirm already elected bishops (assuming they had not followed the current practices of approval for bishops in the Episcopal Church), among other concerns.  In other words, there was a desire to right the wrong done 52 years ago, but some anxiety about the implications of the decision.

As an alternate deputy, I had the leisure of observing either House.  On Tuesday, I happened to be observing the House of Bishops when resolution A238 came to the floor.  Each testimony pleaded for righting the wrong done by the House of Bishops in 1966.  Retired bishop Leo Frade from the Diocese of Southeast Florida spoke passionately about the resolution.  As a Cuban American who had been a part of the Church in Cuba, he got quite emotional in his plea for the bishops to do the right thing.  When it came time for the vote, the vote was a unanimous approval for readmittance.  The entire house – bishops and visitors – exploded.  Cheers and clapping filled the room, and the standing ovation lasted several minutes.  Unbeknownst to me, the Bishop of Cuba was present and was invited to approach the platform to address the House.  Bishop Curry embraced her.  The House broke into singing the Doxology.

Bishop Griselda Delgado’s speech was the most humbling.  Despite every reason to feel resentful or hurt, Bishop Delgado communicated nothing but forgiveness and reconciliation.  “We are family,” she insisted.  And although we severed the relationship so many years ago, she insisted, “Cuba never left.”  Her sentiments struck me as the exact way that God sees us.  When we reject God, God never leaves us.  When we abandon God, we do not abandon our familial ties with God.  Bishop Delgado’s profound sense of right relationship, reconciliation, and forgiveness brought the House to tears.  We did not deserve her mercy, and yet there she was, offering mercy.  When Bishop Delgado said, “The Holy Spirit is here,” I knew she was right.  In response, Presiding Bishop Curry said, “The Bishop may take her seat at Table 7.”  Those words were words of righting a wrong – fully, completely, unconditionally.

The experience the next day was equally powerful in the House of Deputies.  They too needed to approve the resolution, and it also passed unanimously.  Bishop Delgado spoke there too, but equally powerful was the triangular sign with the word, “Cuba” written on it.  It was processed to a table, and the deputies from Cuba were seated in the House of Deputies.  “Welcome home,” pronounced President Jennings.

What I loved about the approval of this resolution was seeing how legislation can powerfully effect change.  Sometimes, in the weeds of parliamentary procedure, and canonical revisions, one can wonder if all we are doing is navel gazing.  But on these days, we watched first-hand the commitment to change, the willingness to boldly repent, and the receiving of mercy.  Surely the presence of this Lord has been in this place!

On Keeping Watch…

Tags

Advent, anxiety, Christ Child, Christian, community, devotional, God, Holy Spirit, insight, inspiration, keep, photo, speak, tension, watch, Word

Photo credit:  https://it.pinterest.com/pin/628252216738231468/

One of the themes we find in Advent is keeping watch.  Throughout the four weeks leading up to the birth of the Christ Child, we are to keep watch, preparing our hearts for the nativity of our Lord.  Traditionally, I have kept watch by using an Advent calendar or a special devotional book.  But this year, I am trying something new.  I have joined the Anglican Communion in a participatory Advent devotional called “Advent Word.”  Each day of Advent has an assigned word, and participants are invited to post a picture on social media that captures that word.

When I decided to join the Advent Word community, I was a bit nervous.  I worried what I would do if I could not figure out a picture to take or use that went with the daily word.  I have found my initial anxiety has not disappeared, but has created a sense of anticipatory tension.  Each day, I open up my email, and find a word and picture, with an invitation to prayer.  Then, throughout the day, I am keeping watch – for inspiration, for insight, for the Holy Spirit speaking to me anew through the images of everyday life.  By praying the word throughout the day, I am finding myself much more aware throughout the day, and much more attuned to God speaking to me in fresh ways.

In some ways, the anticipatory tension of participating in Advent Word has helped me accomplish the bigger goal of keeping watch during Advent.  Instead of having Advent slip by in the bustle of the season, each day has a poignancy and sense of meaning.  Instead of wishing away the days until Christmas comes, my Advent has become much more intentional and meaningful.

I wonder how your Advent is going?  Are you finding ways to keep watch?  If the days are slipping away, I invite you to find ways to slow down, and listen for the Holy Spirit who longs to prepare your heart for the Christ Child.  If you have found other ways to keep watch this Advent, I would love to hear about your experience.  If nothing else, I have learned this year that Christian community can be a wonderful partner in helping us keep watch.  If you are looking for such a community, Hickory Neck is full of everyday people who are happy to keep watch with you.

Homily – Matthew 28.16-20, TS, YA, June 11, 2017

Tags

always, anxiety, baptize, disciples, evangelism, evangelist, fear, go, God, Great Commission, Holy Spirit, homily, Jesus, teach

When I first sat in the chapel at my seminary, I immediately got a little nervous.  You see, over the altar was a huge stain glass window.  Around the edges of the window were emblazoned the words, “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel.”  I remember staring at those words and thinking, “When I said I wanted to be a priest, I didn’t mean I wanted to go out evangelize people.”  Sure, I wanted to gather communities around the sacraments, encouraging us to serve the poor and needy, and creating groups of people set apart.  My early vision was about the people who were already there.  But that is not what Jesus commands in the Great Commission.  Though Mark’s gospel is where the instruction comes from to preach the gospel, Matthew’s intent in similar.  They are to go, make disciples, baptize, and teach.  In other words, they are to be evangelists.  I don’t know about you, but no matter how many sermons I hear from Presiding Bishop Curry about the Jesus Movement, I still get nervous thinking about going out into the world to make disciples.

I have been thinking a lot this week about why, after all these years after Jesus’ commission, we are still a little skittish about the idea of going out, making disciples, baptizing, and teaching.  I think a lot of our anxiety is about fear.  We are afraid of what people will think.  We do not want to be perceived as one of those faith groups that goes door to door, pressuring someone to come to Jesus.  We do not want to be perceived as judgmental, as if by sharing the Good News we are saying someone’s life is incomplete.  We do not want to be perceived as fanatical, nosy, or just uncool.  And as we all know, the minute you start talking about God, you can get into all kinds of trouble around interpretation of Scripture, historical sins of the Church, and modern heresies.  Forget being judged – we could lose friends!

So why in the world would we ever do what Jesus is asking?  Why would we go out, make disciples, baptize, and teach?  We do what Jesus asks because we were once baptized, and faithful people surrounded us, promising to journey with us, to raise us into the life of faith, and to help us get to know the mysterious, loving, life-giving entity that we call Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  We do what Jesus asks because we have been taught – by countless faithful people.  Some of them were priests, professors, and Sunday School teachers.  But some of them were everyday people, just trying to make sense of the Word of God, who spoke truth to us and changed our lives.  We do what Jesus asks because we were made disciples.  At some point along the line, we learned enough, prayed enough, struggled enough, served enough, and were loved enough that we decided to walk in the way of Christ – even on those days when we do not understand fully what that means.  If all of those wonderfully converting things have happened to us, have brought beautiful children of God into our lives, and have changed our lives for the better, why wouldn’t we want to share that with others?!?

I imagine you may not still be convinced.  You may be still sitting there thinking about that scary window at the seminary thinking, “There is no way I can do that.” After rereading Matthew’s gospel this week, here is what I wish that seminary window had done.  In that big arched window, emblazoned with the words “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel,” I would have put under the window, perhaps even in parentheses, the words Jesus says today:  Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.  The going, the baptizing, the teaching, the making disciples is all done because Jesus, coeternal with that creative, blessing God we read about today, through the ever-present power of the Holy Spirit is with us always, to the end of the age.[i]  Not just back then, in a historical moment with the disciples, not just tomorrow when we are finally ready, but now, this very moment, God – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – is with us, always, to the end of the age.[ii]  Our God created you in God’s image, making you very good.  This community, as the community of the Corinthians did with Paul, has taught you how to agree with one another, live in peace, be a people of love who greet one another with holy kisses.  And Jesus sends you out to do some hard, life-giving, joyful work, which you can do because the Jesus, through the Spirit, is with you always, to the end of the age.  When we dismiss you today, we will dismiss you to love and serve the Lord.  But we also dismiss you to go, make disciples, baptize, and teach.  And we all say, “Thanks be to God,” because we know that God is with us, always, to the end of the age.  Amen.

[i] Thomas G. Long, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 49.

[ii] David Lose, “Trinity Sunday A:  The Great Promise,” June 7, 2017, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2017/06/trinity-sunday-a-the-great-promise/ on July 8, 2017.

Sermon – Mark 13.24-37, A1, YB, November 30, 2014

Tags

Advent, anxiety, awake, Christmas, contrast, discipline, God, loud, noise, quiet, Sermon

I live a very loud life these days.  If any of you have ever visited the Rectory between the hours of five and seven in the evening, you have witnessed the sheer volume of my life.  Between the baby who can only communicate frustration through crying and the kindergartner who is quite verbose nowadays, mixed in with the fatigue they both feel after a long day of school and nursery care, let’s just say these hours are full of a lot of noise.  That is not to say that all of the noise is unpleasant – there is also the noise of laughter, storytelling, and shaking rattles.  But our house in those hours is not the place where you would want set up a yoga mat and try to meditate.

I sometimes blame all the noise in my life on my beloved children.  But the truth is I am as much a cause of the noise as they are.  I am admittedly loud myself – whether barking instructions around the house, singing aloud, or simply talking my husband’s ear off.  But I am not just loud in the house – I am also loud inside my head.  My mind is in constant conversation:  my to-do list, searching for ideas for a blog post, worrying about a sick friend or parishioner, trying to make plans for the weekend, processing a troublesome conversation, or wallowing in guilt for missed exercise or time in prayer.  As loud as my outside world is, my inside world is probably much worse.  Add Christmastime to the mix, and the loudness of my life reaches levels that can be incapacitating.

That is why I love Advent so much.  In the lead-up to Christmas, the outside world bombards us with noise:   Christmas songs on the radio, shopping to complete, parties to attend, gifts to wrap, houses to decorate, gatherings to host, cards to send, and loud relatives or friends to entertain.  In contrast, the Church at this time asks us to do the exact opposite:  slow down, take a breath, light some candles, breath in the fresh greenery, sing quiet, meditative songs, and worship in the soothing purple of anticipation.  When the outside world is telling us, “Do more, buy more, run more, fuss more, stress more,” the Church says, “Do less, worry less, run less, talk less, be busy less.”  The contrast between the two worlds is like night and day, and at a time of high stress, Advent becomes the Church’s greatest gift to us.

Into this contrast, we hear words from Mark’s gospel today.  The text says, “Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come.  It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch.  Therefore, keep awake– for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly.  And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”  Many of us hear this text today with a sense of anxiety – of needing to keep anxious watch for the Lord.  We might imagine the many apocalyptic movies, predictions, and preachers we have witnessed over the years and wonder whether Jesus really does want us to be more alarmed.  Certainly the outside world would have us also be alert and anxious for the coming Christmas.

But I think the Church is saying something else today.  Instead of an anxious alarm, our gospel lesson sounds like a gentle reminder to me.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the quiet beauty of Advent.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the gift of time set apart in these four weeks.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the lead in to the manger, the dramatic retelling of why the manger is so important, and the grounding for this entire season.[i]  Jesus’ words for us to “keep awake,” are not meant to be one more anxiety to pile on top of a mound of concerns.  Jesus’ words for us to “keep awake,” are meant to help us focus on what is really important.

So make a commitment to come to church each Sunday in Advent and spend those Sundays in quiet worship with your church family.  Grab an Advent calendar or devotional to help you more intentionally mark the days leading up to the manger.  Or set up that Advent wreath at home, so that you might bring the quiet candlelight of prayer and meditation to your home.  Whatever the discipline, choose something this Advent that will help you maintain the quiet peace you find here at Church and carry that quiet peace throughout your weeks leading up to Christmas.  My guess is that noise of life will slowly fade into a quiet hum in the background – which is right where it should be.  Amen.

[i] Lillian Daniel, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 22.

The gift of role models…

Tags

anxiety, gifts, glorify, God, non-anxious, role model, stress, tension

This Saturday our parish has its Annual Fall Fair – a festive gathering with vendors, food, children’s activities, raffles, and other fall merriment.  We are blessed with an 11-acre property, so the event is a wonderful way for us to welcome people to our grounds and remind the community that they are welcome here.  Having done this event for so many years, most of our parishioners know what needs to be done – signs, publicity, donors, coordinating vendors, setting up the property, making baskets, bringing in donations.  The list goes on.  But even though we all know what needs to be done, there is usually a bit of anxiety and stress to make sure the event is a success, especially in the week leading up to the event.  As someone who can become easily stressed, I totally understand the reaction.  Though I am not involved in the execution of the event, I always empathize with our parishioners as the tension builds in this final week.

But this year, something has shifted.  I do not know if it is due to their personalities or if they are being intentional in their behavior, but our co-chairs for this event are being the epitome of a non-anxious presence in the community.  Don’t get me wrong, they have had plenty of reasons to become anxious: several key volunteers are unavailable this year, leading to some out-sourcing; the vendors are coming in a little more slowly; and we are trying some very different, new things this year.  But the co-chairs seem to be rolling with the punches, creating solutions, and keeping their cool.  And although the church is abuzz with activity, I sense that the non-anxious presence of the co-chairs is rubbing off on others.  People are doing their assigned tasks, and there seems to be much less tension going into the event.

It is in moments like these when I am grateful to be in a community with a wide variety of gifts.  Being a non-anxious presence is one of my primary goals in my role as pastor and priest in this community.  I feel like that action alone reduces challenges significantly and enables the body to live out its ministry in a healthy and God glorifying way.  But being non-anxious takes work and intentionality, and some days I exude that calm better than others.  This week, I am grateful for parishioners who are serving as healthy role models, and who invite me to live into my call in a more healthy way.

Courtesy of http://collegesoup.org/2011/03/31/reducing-college-test-anxiety/

Sermon – Matthew 3.1-12, A2, YA December 8, 2013

Tags

Advent, anxiety, dreams, hopes, John the Baptist, re-orientation, repentance, Sermon, vision

Today we are going to do something a little different.  We are going to try an exercise I found recently.[i]  I want you to pull out your bulletin or a scrap of paper, and grab the pencil in your pew or a pen you brought with you.  Next, I want you to make a quick “to do” list for Advent.  I want you to put all the things you need and want to get done:  maybe shopping for gifts, decorating the Christmas tree, sending those Christmas cards, or attending the kids’ school Christmas concert.  Maybe you want to make some end-of-year charitable contributions, or need to get those Christmas Eve services on your calendar.  I want you to put all the things on the list and feel free to be fairly exhaustive about what you want to get done in these next two and half weeks.  I am going give you a second, as I imagine your list is probably as long as mine.  And this is probably the only time I will ever encourage you to make a to-do list during the sermon, so enjoy!

Now, I want you to take a deep breath, clear your mind a bit, and I want you to daydream about what you hope Christmas will be like this year.  Think about the kind of day you want to have or maybe the kind of relationships you want to be a part of your life.  Think about what kind of world you want to live in this Christmas, and maybe even beyond Christmas Day.  Your hopes can certainly be about your immediate wants and needs, but they can also include your larger families, communities, and the world.  If you want, go ahead and take just another moment to write a brief sentence below your other list that captures your hope for your life and the world this Christmas.  As you are thinking about the kind of world you want to live in, think about the passage we heard from Isaiah today:  a world where the wolf shall live with the lamb, the cow and the bear graze together, and a nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp.  Perhaps this kind of harmony and peace is a part of your Christmas hope and can certainly be a part of your dreaming today.

Okay, now that you have your to-do list and your Christmas hope in mind, I want you to work backwards.  Look at the to-do list you made and circle those tasks that might contribute directly to your own deep hopes and longings about your life and this world.  Certainly, there are going to be some items on your list that are important in the short-term, but maybe do not contribute to your larger vision and hope.  Here is where our invitation lies today.  Perhaps this Advent can be a time of putting things in perspective and channeling our energy and resources to those things that matter most to us, to our families, to our communities, and to God.

Of course, that invitation may not have been what you initially imagined when you heard John the Baptist’s words today in our gospel lesson.  His words of repentance and judgment are honestly more scary than comforting this time of year.  I have many times wondered why we have to hear John’s words now, as we approach that blessed holy night, as opposed to some other text about happy anticipation or blessed expectation.  But John does not mince words, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

I have been reading a lot these last couple of weeks about the season of Advent and people’s varying opinions about whether Advent is a penitential season or not.  I have been part of parishes that have insisted that Advent is not a mini-Lent, and refuse to take on anything that resembles the penitential nature of Lent.  But I have also been a part of parishes who see the themes in our collects this season and hear words like John the Baptist’s words today and cannot help but to claim the penitential nature of Advent.

Part of the challenge is that we all get a bit hung up on the fact that we think of repentance as being about guilt, inadequacy, and unworthiness.  We imagine that repentance is about our standard of moral worthiness or about our feelings of remorse.  Barbara Brown Taylor explains, “The kind of repentance most of us shrink from is all about us, in case you hadn’t noticed.  It is all about me, me, me, the miserable sinner.  No wonder it is so revolting.”  But, Taylor suggests that there might be another way to look at repentance.  “The other kind of repentance, the healing kind is far more interested in God.  It spends more time looking at the kingdom than the mirror.  It has more faith in God’s power to make new than in our own power to mess up.”[ii]  In fact, some have argued that repentance is about God’s desire to realign us with Christ’s life, God’s hope to transform us into Christ’s image.[iii]  Real repentance is not about our failings, but about God’s desires for us.

I think many of us want to avoid texts like our gospel lesson today, because the last thing we want to hear as we try to struggle through those Advent to-do lists is that we need to repent, and think about the kingdom of heaven coming near.  But John is not trying to push us to feel bad about ourselves this Advent season, or even to wallow in apologies.  Instead, repentance is about “re-orientation, a change of perspective and direction, a commitment to turn and live differently.”[iv]  Our gospel lesson today is not trying to get us to limit our hopes or define ourselves by our ancestry or piety, but to dream bigger dreams, and to work toward those bigger hopes on that Christmas hope list you just made this morning.  This is what John means when he says to bear fruit worthy of repentance.

Now if you imagine that I am saying that you have more work to do this Advent season, you are partially right.  I am inviting you to take up the work of living into your bigger hopes and dreams this season.  But I am also giving you permission to let go of those things on that to-do list that are not allowing you to focus on the real joy of this season: the joy of a life of repentance – of re-orientation.  Now you may not be able to get out of that party or those Christmas cards, but maybe your presence at that party will be marked by your new Advent re-orientation.  Maybe those cards will have a different message than you originally planned, or your approach to completing them may be full of love and compassion instead of obligation and annoyance.  John’s words for us today are a wake-up call, but not the wake up call that fills us with dread and self-criticism.  John’s wake-up call is a reminder of the hope of this season – the hope that is ours to claim when we are ready.  Amen.

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[i] David Lose, “Hoping for More,” as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2901 on December 2, 2013.

[ii] Barbara Brown Taylor, “A Cure for Despair: Matthew 3:1-12,” Journal for Preachers, vol. 21, no. 1, Advent 1997, 18.

[iii] John P. Burgess, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 46.

[iv] Lose.