Sermon – John 10.11-18, Psalm 23, E4, YB, April 25, 2021

Tags

belonging, children, control, Good Shepherd, intimacy, Jesus, love, mutuality, parent, relationship, respect, Sermon, sheep, shepherd, vulnerable

As a new parent, I struggled during the toddler years – those years when the child is first asserting their will, realizing they want to be in control too.  And so, after trying calm coaxing and verbal reasoning, I eventually honed the art of muscling:  I realized I was stronger than my toddler, so I could just sweep them up and carry on doing what I knew we needed to do anyway.  Sometimes the swooping was playful, swinging the child around or letting them hang upside-down.  But more often, it was just a strong, steady sweep – getting us out of the grocery store during a meltdown, getting us out of the house and into the car for an appointment, getting us away from the television.  But that kind of parenting only works for so long – approximately as long as you can physically lift a flailing child, which for me, was not that long.  That is when parenting gets real.

I have been thinking a lot about the Good Shepherd this week, and the similarities between shepherding and parenting.  As children, or more aptly, as sheep, we want a shepherd who will take care of us.  The words from today’s psalm and John’s gospel lay out the idealized caregiver:  The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want[i]; the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.[ii]  When we think about what we want from God, especially after a long year-plus of a pandemic, of political divisiveness, of struggling with the institution of racism, we want a God who will cradle us in, and love and protect us unconditionally.  I suspect that is why so many churches have paintings, stained glass windows, and statues of Jesus carrying a perfectly clean, cute little lamb on his shoulder.

I confess, I do not know enough about shepherding, but even from watching the lambs in Colonial Williamsburg, I can assure you, those lambs are not perfectly clean and well-behaved.  There is something about our saccharine-filled images of the Good Shepherd that feel unrealistic to me.  As much as I want to crawl in the lap of a loving, protective Jesus, something about our images of the Good Shepherd does not quite capture reality.  This week, I watched a YouTube video of a man trying to rescue a sheep.  There was this long narrow ditch alongside a road, and the sheep’s hind end was hanging out of the ditch.  A man, carefully using his strength, managed to grasp the sheep’s legs and pull the sheep free.  The freed sheep bounded away from him, bouncing gracefully toward freedom – of course until he bounded back over the ditch toward the other side of the road, jumping head-first, right back into the ditch.  In your imagination, you can almost hear the deep, audible sigh of frustration by the man who had just helped him.

I think that is why I like verse 14 of John’s gospel so much, “I am the good shepherd.  I know my own and my own know me.”  The shepherd knows how to love unconditionally; but the shepherd also knows all our “conditions”:  the times when we stubbornly do things our way, the times when we refuse wisdom and jump right back into trouble, the times when we project our anger and frustration on others.  And the sheep know the shepherd:  the times when the shepherd will try to reason with us instead of muscling us to do the shepherd’s will, the times when the shepherd forgives us when we confess our sins, the times when the shepherd sighs deeply in disappointment at our refusal to lie down in green pastures.  There is an intimacy to that relationship, as one scholar describes, a “mutual recognition and a mutual belonging together.”[iii] 

Our invitation this week is an invitation into that mutuality and intimacy.  The invitation is not an invitation into a snowy-white, paternalistic, cradling love.  The invitation is into a messy, complicated, but respectfully intimate relationship where we are known, and we know our shepherd.  Through this real, honest, vulnerable place we find strength to then go back out into the world, allowing “the Shepherd’s voice to speak through us as we reach out to the lost and hurting we encounter on the way,”[iv] sharing the love of the risen, shepherding Jesus that has saved us from many a ditch!  Amen.

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[i] Psalm 23.1

[ii] John 10.11

[iii] Stephen A. Cooper, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 448.

[iv] Nancy R. Blakely, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 452.

On the Why of Church…

Tags

attend, belonging, church, community, God, habit, hope, invite, Jesus, journey, love, meaning, purpose, worship

Photo:  Hickory Neck Episcopal Church; reuse with permission only

I spent the last almost three weeks on vacation.  It was a time relaxation, refreshment, and restoration.  It was a time of unplugging, unwinding, and uninterrupted space.  It was a time of sabbath.  And because most Sundays I am in church, I experienced not going to church.  On Sundays, it turns out lots of people are eating brunch, exercising, spending time with their families, enjoying nature, working, or just enjoying a good read.  And for a couple of weeks, I did just that.

The weeks away got me thinking:  why do we go to church on Sundays, when there are so many other things we could be doing?  As I contrasted the time of not going to church with my years of going to church, I realized I go to church for so many reasons – some big and some small.  The big ones may be obvious.  I want to connect with, learn about, and feel loved by God.  I want a sense of community, where I belong and am known.  I want a sense of purpose rooted in Jesus’ command to love God, self, and neighbor.

The small ones are less obvious.  I love the beauty of the people in church:  the elders laughing heartily, children and their looks of wonder and their awesome questions, people caring for the needs of others when they think no one is looking.  I love the power of music:  from the familiar song that takes me back to fond place, to the unfamiliar song with a lyric that blows my mind, to the transcendent way harmonizing voices can bring me to tears for some unknown reason.  I love the little moments:  when an invitation to prayer reminds me of a hurting loved one, when sharing the peace with someone with whom I have had hard feelings dissolves all tension, when the burn of the communion wine down my throat lingers for several minutes – as if Christ is not ready to leave me yet, when the light shines just so on the cross, reminding me once again of the big stuff of Church.

Going to Church every week gives me a sense of belonging – to God and to other people, gives me a sense of meaning in a world that is often confounding, and gives me a sense of hope.  Maybe you have gotten out of the habit of going to Church, for a hundred little and good reasons.  If so, I invite you to shake things up this week and try Church again.  Maybe you left the Church in hurt or never really were introduced to Church.  If so, I invite you to consider stepping in the doors and giving the Church a chance to share Christ’s love with you.  Or maybe you go to Church every Sunday, but things have begun to feel stale.  If so, I invite you to take a deep breath, sit in a different place, or simply allow yourself to be surprised by the Holy Spirit.  I invite you to my Church this week – for some of the reasons here, for your own reasons, or for reasons unknown to you.  I will be there with open arms, ready to introduce you to a group of awesome people, on the same journey to know our awesome God.

Flip-Flops and Fresh Looks…

Tags

adventure, belonging, casual, church, communion, God, Jesus, mass, meaning, passion, purpose, routine, scripture, Sunday, table, worship

Photo credit:  https://www.facebook.com/events/1137823373087599/

This Sunday, our church is trying something new called “Flip-Flop Mass.”  The concept began with the idea that we wanted to move our “Mass on the Grass” indoors because, let’s face it, even in early June, Virginia is hot and humid.  We also had some rearranging with musical leadership, and we wanted to keep the casual vibe of our outdoor service.  But as we shifted to the idea of an indoor casual mass, the ideas started flowing.  What if we totally rearranged the space?  What if we played with the liturgy and how we interact with Scripture?  What if we not only went casual, but we also went ancient?

What has resulted, after a ton of logistical plans, gathering different supplies, and coordinating with servers, is a worship service like that of the earliest church – an intimate meal around the table reminiscent of the meal between Jesus and his disciples.  I suspect the service will have its fumbles and things we did not anticipate, but I am also hopeful that the service will shift our routine just enough that we thoughtfully reflect on what it is we do on Sundays and what it all means.

Whatever style of church you prefer (and believe me, Hickory Neck manages to artfully offer lots of different styles), I encourage you to join us this Sunday for the adventure.  I suspect whatever you are used to or you prefer, this Sunday will give you the opportunity to engage just differently enough that you experience the elements of worship more powerfully:  the gathering of a community of strangers and friends, seeking a sense of belonging and meaning; a space to wrestle with Scripture, especially when Scripture is sometimes difficult to relate to modern-day life; a fresh way to experience God’s presence, using all of your senses; a place where you can find a renewed sense of purpose and passion for serving the world.  I don’t know about you, but I am thrilled to be invited to experience church with fresh eyes this weekend.

So, grab your flip-flops, grab a dish to share for lunch, grab a friend (or a stranger!), and come to church.  We’ll save you a seat at the table!

Sermon – John 10.22-30, Psalm 23, E4, YC, May 12, 2019

Tags

belief, belonging, character, God, Good Shepherd, group, image, Jesus, longing, question, Sermon, sheep, shepherd, uncomfortable

One of my good friends is enamored with the image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd.  She can describe the chapel of the Good Shepherd at the National Cathedral in minute, passionate detail.  In her office are images of Christ the Good Shepherd.   I suspect that if you asked her who Jesus is to her, she would say he is the Good Shepherd.  And she would not be alone.  The verses of John immediately before the text we heard today about Jesus being the Good Shepherd is a favorite when planning funerals.  The 23^rd Psalm, which says “The Lord is my Shepherd,” is perhaps the most well-know scripture passage of all time – known even by people who have not attended church in ages.  The passage from John we hear today talks about the intimacy between Jesus and Jesus’ followers being like sheep who know their shepherd’s voice.  The fourth Sunday of Easter is even called “Good Shepherd Sunday,” in the liturgical year.  We probably should have all worn those awesome sheep hats the Praise Band wears during the Epiphany pageant to show our sheep solidarity.

Despite all that – despite the familiarity, the wide-spread popularity, and the commitment of an entire day in the church calendar to shepherd imagery – I must confess something I have told very few people in life:  I do not really like the imagery of Christ as the Good Shepherd.  Now I know some of you may be shocked – how can a priest not like one of the most popular biblical metaphors?  Some of you may be perplexed – what’s not to like about the image of a good shepherd?  Some of you may be downright offended – how can I not relate to the metaphor that has sustained you countless times?

Let me break my dislike down for us.  I do not like the image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd primarily because I do not like the idea of being sheep.  Now I know we have the Fiber Festival coming up this weekend, and I like wool as much as anybody, but sheep are not the brightest animals.  They are easily spooked, they tend to be a little clueless, they seem to lack individual intelligence, and they make a horrible bleating noise that sounds nothing like the “baa” of nursery rhymes.  Sheep are easily corralled – dogs are used to herd them in simply by nudging them all back together.  That rod and staff the 23^rd Psalm talks about is used to physically push and prod sheep into uniformity.  And let’s not forget they are notorious for getting lost.  I mean, of all images to conjure up and celebrate on a given Sunday, we get to be sheep?!?

But as you and I both know, the things that make us the most uncomfortable are usually the things that are the most true.  Take for example the question and request of Jesus by those gathered around him in the temple, in the portico of Solomon.  They say to him, “How long will you keep us in suspense?  If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.”  Jesus responds, “I have told you, and you do not believe.”  I cannot count the number of times we have asked Jesus this same question.  Sometimes the question is the exact same question as the one the people of faith ask today – are you the Messiah?  Can we believe in you?  Should we believe in you?  For anyone who has struggled with their faith – worried like those gathered at the tomb whether any of this Jesus stuff is true – the question and request today are not unfamiliar.  But we often ask this question in other ways.  As one writer confesses, there are countless times that we petition God with, “‘If you are.’  If you are good.  If you are powerful.  If you are loving.  If you are real.  If you are the Messiah, then stop talking in riddles.  Stop hiding when I long for your presence.  Stop awakening in me holy hungers you won’t satisfy.  Show up, speak plainly, act decisively.  Take this world of swirling, dubious gray, and turn it black and white, once and for all.”[i]  To all those questions, to all those longings, the response from Jesus to us is the same response of Jesus to the people of faith in our scripture lesson:  I have, but you do not believe.

Now here is where the text gets even more uncomfortable.  Jesus’ full words are, “I have told you, and you do not believe…because you do not belong to my sheep.”  Now there are all kinds of awful things that have been said historically about this text – the supersessionism of Christians over Jews, predestination, you name it![ii]  But I do not think Jesus was trying to exclude one group, or say, only one group will ever belong and everyone else is out.  I think what Jesus is trying to do is challenge people like me who do not like the idea of being sheep.  Jesus is saying today – I know you do not like being sheep, I know you do not like submitting control to me, I know that you do not like admitting that you do not have things all figured out.  When Jesus says, you do not believe because you do not belong to my sheep, I think Jesus is saying, we do not belong because we are unwilling to belong.  In other words, we do not belong not because Jesus excludes – we do not belong because we actively fight belonging.  And because we fight belonging, we also struggle with believing.

One of my favorite church welcome videos features a series of concerns that often keep people away from church:  feeling like they do not lead lives that are good enough, worrying about unfamiliar or even weird cultural practices that might be uncomfortable, concern they might not fit in because of what they wear, or a sense that they could never belong to a group that has shown a history of hypocrisy.  To each concern, the church-goers have response.  Not sure what to wear?  Wear clothes.  Not sure your past sins will make you worthy?  We all have pasts that make us unworthy.  Worried about secret handshakes or stiff worship?  You’ll just find love and affirmation here.  Know the church is full of hypocrites?  Aren’t we all hypocrites?  What I love about the video is that belonging is more natural that belonging seems – and the more you spend time belonging, the more you realize your belonging helps you believe.  Belief does not come first.  It cannot come first.  Belonging comes first.

Author Debie Thomas says knowing belonging comes first is where our hope is today.  “According to this text, whatever belief I arrive at in this life will not come from the ups and downs of my own emotional life. It will not come from a creed, a doctrine, or a cleverly worded sermon.  Rather it will come from the daily, hourly business of belonging to Jesus’s flock — of walking in the footsteps of the Shepherd, living in the company of fellow sheep, and listening in real time for the voice of the one whose classroom is rocky hills, hidden pastures, and deeply shadowed valleys.  If I won’t follow him into those layered places — places of both tranquility and treachery, trust and doubt — I will never belong to him at all.”[iii]

For the longest time, I have resisted the metaphor of Jesus as our Good Shepherd because I did not like what being a sheep implied about my character and intellect.  But what I forgot in my resistance is that there are a whole lot of sheep around when I simply consent to belong.  Bumping into fellow sheep reminds me that I have companions along the journey who are also sometimes resistant to the guidance of Christ.  Bumping into fellow sheep reminds me that I am not alone in the things of life and faith I do not understand.  Bumping into fellow sheep reminds me going solo often leads to peril.  Bumping into fellow sheep really is not all that bad.  Not only do we have a shepherd who loves us unconditionally and irrationally, we also have a community where all our weakness, foibles, and sins are held in common, and forgiven.

Our invitation is to remember what John is actually saying today in his gospel.  As one scholar reminds us, “God is the one who initiates a relationship to us.  God seeks us out long before we seek God.  Christ makes us his sheep; we do not make him our shepherd.”[iv]  That is why we have long said as a people of faith, “The Lord is my shepherd…He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside still waters.”  I mean, if you want to keep fighting the invitation to belong, by all means.  Lord knows, I have tried that route.  But on this Good Shepherd Sunday, your invitation is to consider another way:  to lean into the sheep all around you today, to trust that the Shepherd actually is good; and to know that wherever you are in your belief journey, belonging is the easiest step to get you there.  Amen.

[i] Debie Thomas, “Tell Us Plainly,” May 5, 2019, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?id=2201 on May 8, 2019.

[ii] Thomas H. Troeger, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 447.

[iii] Thomas.

[iv] Troeger, 449.

On Being Blessed to Belong…

Tags

belong, belonging, blessed, Christ, church, commitment, delight, fellowship, Holy Spirit, joy, love, pledge, stewardship

Photo credit:  https://www.silversneakers.com/blog/activities-for-seniors/

A couple of Sundays ago, something magical happened at our 11:15 service.  As we transitioned from adult formation to setting up for our last service, every time I turned around, someone special had arrived.  First it was an older couple who have limited their driving.  Their daughter was in town and brought them to church.  You should have seen their faces light up as one parishioner after another rejoiced in seeing them back in church.  Then there was the graduate student who we see occasionally, but whose studies keep him super busy.  I was delighted to see him again, and I think he was delighted to be recognized and warmly greeted.  Then there was the couple who have both had health issues.  I noticed early into the service they had quietly sneaked into the back row of the church, and when our eyes met, we both lit up with smiles.  And none of that accounts for those who had returned after vacations, visiting family members of our Choral Scholars, and our regulars who were equally happy to experience the sense of reunion that Sunday.

That overwhelming sense of joy and reunion is at the heart of what has been our stewardship season this fall called, “Blessed to Belong.”  In a world that can feel stressful, isolating, challenging, or discouraging, having a place where you can experience blessing and belonging is a priceless gift.  That sense of belonging creates a sense of protection, comfort, encouragement, and hope.  That sense of belonging creates so much joy you want to share the joy with others.  That sense of belonging is one known through the love of Christ and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit.  Though belonging can connote exclusivity, instead, at church, belonging begets belonging.  The bubbling sense of delight we experience at Hickory Neck cannot help but be shared.

This Sunday, we will gather in our financial pledges for the 2019 budget year.  Even our ingathering is a festive demonstration of belonging, as the community organically rises from their seats and joins the throngs showing their commitment to the work and ministry of Hickory Neck.  The procession in our way of saying, “Yes, I want to belong here, and have my belonging mean something.”  I cannot wait to join you all as we shuffle our way to the altar, blessing our commitment to Christ and Christ’s church, and hugging each other along the way.  Oh Lord, I want to be in that number!  When the saints go marching in!

On Glimpses of Goodness…

Tags

belonging, care, community, fall, festival, glimpse, glory, God, goodness, home, neighbors, witness

Photo credit:  https://bscomt.org/donate/community-fall-festival/

This weekend our parish is holding its Annual Fall Festival.  I look forward to the event every year because it showcases all the wonderful things about our parish.  All the proceeds of the Festival are used to support outreach ministries in our community.  The Festival is a great way for us to share our property with the community – from time for fellowship and yummy food, to fun activities for children and families, to vendors being able to display their wares, to being able to get an in-depth tour of our historic chapel.  Our “Attic Treasures” section is a wonderful example of being good stewards of creation – allowing one person’s underused items to find new life with someone else (plus all the unpurchased goods get donated to a local ministry).  Our “Amazin’ Grazin’” section allows neighbors to have access to home-baked goods – a privilege that is sometimes lost in this fast-paced, pre-packaged world of consumption.  Even our silent auction is a wonderful example of local businesses and individuals donating their services to benefit the great community.  And that does not even touch the volunteer labor that goes into this one day – both before, during, and after.

If you are paying attention on Saturday, you will learn that Hickory Neck is a community that cares.  We care about our neighbors in need.  We care about children and families, and creating safe, fun places for them.  We care about partnerships and collaboration in the greater Williamsburg area.  We care about the environment, and using our creativity to enrich the earth.  We care about creating a space where a sense of home can be found.  We care about using our time, talent, and treasure to the glory of God.  We care about you.

So, yes, I will be out and about enjoying a festivities of our Fall Festival.  But more than that, I will be thrilled to show you a glimpse into the awesome community of Hickory Neck.  Come join us as we celebrate belonging, believing, and becoming.  The treasure you leave with will be more than just what you purchase; it will be a sense that, for a moment, you are a part of Hickory Neck too.  And if you like how that feels, then come join us again on any given Sunday.  I promise you’ll see more of the same!

Sermon – Mark 9.38-50, P21, YB, September 30, 2018

Tags

belong, belonging, blessed, church, conversation, disciples, generous, giving, God, Jesus, Sermon, stewardship, wideness

This week we kickoff a season of stewardship called, “Blessed to Belong.”  You will be receiving packets of information as you leave today from our Stewardship Committee and you have also all been invited to a Stewardship party.  Several of those parties are coming up, but a few of us have already attended parties, and the conversations about belonging have been rich and engaging.  We are sharing stories of how we found a sense of belonging in this community, the ways in which our belonging here has blessed our lives, and the dreams we have to deepen those ties of belonging.  The conversations have already been life-giving to me, and I am looking forward to having those conversations with the rest of you.

But as I read our gospel text this week in preparation for today, I realized the text is pushing us a step further.  You see, when most of us talk about belonging to Hickory Neck, we often share our stories of personal belonging:  how we were welcomed, how we were cared for, and how our lives have become more blessed by this place.  That work is especially important as we think about our financial giving, because our sense of belonging impacts our giving.  We support the ministry of Hickory Neck because Hickory Neck is an important part of our lives.  We give generously because we have been generously blessed.  We increase our giving because we want that sense of belonging, identity, and purpose to continue for ourselves and generations to come.  We give out of a sense of personal investment, commitment, and benefit.

But our gospel lesson today challenges us to think about belonging in a way that is even bigger than us.  Often times, when we talk about our faith or our spiritual journey, we talk about our personal connection to Hickory Neck or to God:  how God has changed our lives, how Jesus has journeyed with us, how the Holy Spirit has led us out of dark places.  But our spiritual journey is not just about us – about our own personal walk with God.  Certainly our gospel lesson last week was about that.  Jesus called out the disciples for arguing about who was the best among them.  Our work this past week was about checking ourselves, making sure we do not become so self-focused that we forget what Jesus is trying to do through us.  Our work this past week has been about examining the self.

But this week, as the disciples journey on with Jesus, we realize the disciples have shifted from a self-centered mentality, to a group-centered mentality.  The disciples have basically shifted from wondering who among them will be the greatest disciple of all time, to how they as a group are the greatest community of disciples of all time.  The disciples discover an outsider casting out demons in Jesus’ name.  John proudly boasts to Jesus, “Don’t worry Jesus, we tried to stop him because he is not following us.”  In other words, this demon-caster did not belong to the inside group, or even follow behind the inside group, so he certainly could not proclaim to do anything in the name of Jesus.  He needs to belong to believe and to become.

I moved around a lot as a kid, and one of the things that I learned pretty quickly is that there are distinct groups, and belonging to one of them is a tricky endeavor.  There are the cool kids, whose belonging standards seem to be about fashion, looks, and behavior.  There are the smart kids, who are rarely confused as being fashionable, but whose knowledge can be intimidating.  There are the athletes, who have played more and with better teams than you can imagine.  There are the alternative kids, who seem define themselves as being the anti-all-the-other-groups group.   The list goes on and on.  What typically defines these groups is who is out:  who is not cool enough, smart enough, athletic enough, or anti-establishment enough.

The disciples are doing the exact same thing.  In a quest to gain importance, and in the face of Jesus’ rebuke last week, the disciples do more of the same.  They shift from arguing about who among them is the best to who outside of them should not be let inside the group.  The difference is subtle:  they are superficially following Jesus’ instruction to not compete for individual advancement, but they are totally disregarding Jesus’ point by seeking group superiority in the same way they were seeking individual superiority.

Jesus sighs deeply (or at least I imagine him doing so) and he tells them something simple, “whoever is not against us is for us.”  In other words, the disciples belong to Jesus and have incredible value.  But they are not the only ones who belong.  Even the guy who has no idea what he is doing but knows there is something special about this Jesus – so special he tries invoking his name – even that guy belongs to Jesus.  Jesus’ standards are pretty low – if you aren’t against him, you are for him.  Jesus casts a pretty wide net for belonging.  In fact, if we keep reading, we come to find out that even those who are against Jesus can be redeemed.  Look at Paul’s life and you can hear that old hymn coming back to you, “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy, like the wideness of the sea…”  In Jesus’ eyes, there are few barriers to belonging – and even those can be broken down in time.

So what does this all mean for Hickory Neck and those warm, fuzzy feelings we have for this wonderful place and these beautiful people?  A few things.  The sense of belonging we feel here happens because generations of people have espoused Jesus’ words, “whoever is not against us is for us.”  This amazing community is amazing because people who belong here do not hoard their belonging or use their belonging as a weapon.  Instead, people give belonging away freely because they experienced belonging freely.  Just ask Bill Teale, and he will tell you how within weeks of joining Hickory Neck, he was considered “belonging” enough that he was given the position of chair of the Fall Festival – an event he had never attended!

The sense of belonging we feel is because we have adopted certain standards of behavior.  We are a community who will not get in your way because you do not have the right credentials; we know we may not have had the right credentials once upon a time, and we would rather hang that millstone around our necks that get in your way and in the way of something amazing God is going to do through you.  We are also a community that is working so hard on ourselves that we do not really judge your work; the hands, and eyes, and salt reserves we need to tend to ourselves teach us not to judge the challenges of your hands, eyes, or salt.  But instead of stopping at humility, we go the next step, and offer you a hand as you struggle with your own stuff.

The sense of belonging you feel here is because members of this community give generously from their abundance to ensure that this community continues to be a place of belonging to all those who are making their way to Jesus.  That is what today’s gospel lesson is really trying to teach us.  The wideness of God’s mercy and the broadness of God’s love are what inspire us to make this amazing community a community of belonging, believing, and becoming.  We invest our resources here because we learn here what that wideness and broadness feels like, and we want to be agents of expansion.  We want to step out of our tendencies to become self-centered or in-group-centered,[i] and create a community that is so wide that all feel a loving embrace when they walk through our doors.

In the coming weeks, I encourage you to pray about your own experiences in blessing and belonging at Hickory Neck, and how your own financial giving reflects that blessing.  I invite you to meditate on moments of blessing and belonging at Hickory Neck, and consider how your financial giving can create more of those moments.  I challenge you to talk to your Hickory Neck friends about their journey of blessing and belonging at Hickory Neck, and how your collective financial giving might grow that blessing.  This is our opportunity to widen the net of belonging, and grow Hickory Neck’s gifts to one another and the world.  Amen.

[i] Harry B. Adams, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 116.

Sermon – John 20.1-18, ED, YA, April 16, 2017

Tags

affirmation, belonging, call, church, clarity, despair, Easter, Good Shepherd, grief, identity, Jesus, love, Mary, name, purpose, Sermon

Every generation has a baby name that is popular.  In my generation, that name was Jennifer.  As I was growing up, every grade had tons of Jennifers.  I became quite accustomed to the experience of eagerly looking up when someone called my name, only to be disappointed to see they were calling out to someone else.  The name was so common that by the time I got to college, I learned to ignore people calling out my name because more likely than not, they were not actually calling me.  They were calling one of the other twenty Jennifers nearby.  Although the practice helped me save face, the practice was a bit of a hindrance when someone actually was trying to get my attention.

The solution, of course, was a nickname – something to distinguish me from the sea of other Jennifers.  So in college, most of my buddies just started calling me “Andrews.”  It may sound silly, but having a name that was distinct, that when called, I knew I could answer, gave me a sense of belonging and identity.  When someone shouted, “Andrews” across the quad, I knew a friendly face would be looking for me when I raised my eyes.  Though seemingly simple, that nickname made me feel known, especially at a time when everyone is trying to figure out their new identity, where they belong, and who they will be.

I suspect that Mary was the common name in Jesus’ generation.  All we need to do is read through the New Testament to know that there are more Marys than we can count.  Sometimes I even have to look back when I come across a Mary to be sure I am thinking of the right one.  So when Jesus calls Mary Magdalene by name, I imagine there must have been some way she knows not only that this is Jesus, but also that he is talking to her.

Easter morning has been a rough morning for Mary.  She comes in the tomb before the first light of dawn has broken.  She is probably still a bit bleary eyed – that kind of haze one has in the days after a death of a beloved one.  She comes to halt before she gets all the way to the tomb though.  The stone that is supposed to be covering the tomb, protecting Jesus’ body, is gone.  Before even going in to assess the situation, Mary runs – runs hard to find the disciples, demanding that they get up and help her.  Two of them, the beloved disciple and Peter, sprint ahead of Mary.  She is too tired from her first run to keep up.  By the time she reaches the tomb, the two disciples are already stepping out of the tomb, Peter looking perplexed and the other disciple with an enigmatic smile.  And without so much as a word to her, they leave – just like they left Jesus on that fateful day.[i]  Mary, overcome with the memories of Jesus’ crucifixion and the continued emotion of this morning, breaks into tears.  When she finally checks inside the tomb herself, she not only sees two angels, she also has an encounter with a supposed gardener.  Frustrated by their insensitive questions, she exasperatedly asks the gardener to just tell her where the body is.

That is when the big news today happens.  The supposed gardener calls her by name.  Not the common name that everyone has.  The supposed gardener calls her by the name that only Jesus calls her.  The haze dissipates.  The tears halt.  The cloud of despair vanishes.  And she calls Jesus by the name that only a few call him, “Rabbouni!”  This is a tremendous moment in our text today.  In the flurry of running, and confusion, and questions, and tears, and despair, two people see each other crystal clearly.  Mary is called by her name – Jesus communicates to Mary that she is known, the she is beloved, that she has an identity and a purpose unique to her.  She is his sheep who knows and recognizes the voice of the shepherd – the Good Shepherd.[ii]  Her relief is palpable.  The return of her confidence is immediate.  Her sense of celebration is ready to explode!

When I was in high school, I had a summer where I attended both a short conference and then a long summer program.  Both were residential.  The conference was the Hugh O’Brian Youth Leadership conference, or HOBY for short.  I made a few fast friends, but was there just a few days.  A week or so later, I was off to a six-week residential program.  It was my first time staying away from home that long, and I was admittedly a bit nervous since no one else from my high school was going.  After I unloaded my bags, and was getting ready to say goodbye to my parents, someone behind my shouted, “Hey, HOBY!”  Without even looking at who it was, I knew I did not need to worry about belonging.  I was already known here.  I had a place here.  I could have a purpose for those six weeks.

We have all had those moments of clarity around identity, belonging, and purpose.  Whether we are returning to our home town after a long time away, whether we develop good friends at school or in a civic group, and whether that happens at a reunion, we all know the deep, profoundly affirming feeling that comes from being known.  For those of you with a church home, and especially for those of you who have found a home here at Hickory Neck, you most likely found that feeling here.  Perhaps the liturgy was what brought you a sense of identity – either the liturgy reminded you of a practice from your earlier life, or the liturgy offered something to you that you did not even know you were missing.  Perhaps a ministry at church brought you a sense of identity – those little sacred moments that come when you realize that you are actually really good at inspiring people to serve the world, making beautiful music, or teaching children about the love of God.  Or perhaps the community brought you a sense of identity – that first time when someone remembered your name or a part of your story, when someone came to you for expert advice, or when someone knew just by looking at you that you were hurting – and then offered to take you to lunch or coffee.  The church is a place where both Christ and the community call you by name.

Now I would love to tell you that the wonderfully affirming and life-giving feeling of being known is an end unto itself.  I would love to send you home on this beautiful Easter Day with simply a sense of love and affirmation.  And that is certainly part of the gift I am giving you today – to tell you that you can be known and loved here.  But something else happens to Mary at that tomb.  After that profound moment of affirmation, Jesus tells her to go and be a witness to the disciples.  Jesus always gives his beloved homework.  He is that teacher that even on a Friday will give you an assignment for the weekend!  But Mary does not see this as a burden.  Even though Jesus will not let her cling to him – cling to the way things used to be, Jesus’ affirmation this day propels her to go out and share the good news of the risen Lord with the disciples.  In this way, Jesus not only recognizes and honors her identity; Jesus also gives her purpose – a call.

That is your homework on this Easter Sunday.  I know you want to go eat those big Easter meals ,go find those Easter eggs, and find what Easter chocolate awaits at home.  But remember that while this place is a place that calls you by name and affirms your beautiful identity, this is also a place that commissions you to go out and share the good news.  That wonderful sense of affirmation is not for you to bottle up and keep for yourself.  That sense of affirmation is meant to embolden you to share that affirmation with others – to meet people where they are, to hear their stories, and to share how this day of resurrection, love, and affirmation is for them too.  In the same way that you have a vocation, a call on your life, you also are to affirm vocation and call in others.  So this week, as you bask in the warmth and beauty of this day, go out and share that good news with others.  Someone may be waiting for you to call them by name.  Amen.

[i] Richard B. Hays, “Do Not Cling to Me,” Christian Century, vol. 109, no. 10, March 18-25, 1992, 299.

[ii] Karoline M. Lewis, John:  Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 241.

Sermon – John 13.1-17, 31b-35, MT, YB, April 2, 2015

Tags

belonging, brokenness, church, dinner, Eucharist, failings, footwashing, forgiveness, God, home, identity, Jesus, joy, Last Supper, Maundy Thursday, peace, renewal, sacred, Sermon, sinfulness, strength, table

The dinner table is where sacred things happen.  The dinner table is where food is served that can satisfy a hunger, can heal an ailing body, can delight the senses, and can invoke a nostalgia like no other.  The dinner table is where stories are told, days are recounted, prayers are said, and laughter is had.  The dinner table is where places are set, dishes are passed, plates are cleared, and remnants are cleaned.  The dinner table is the host of all things mundane – like that frozen meal you threw together before you ran off to the next thing; and the dinner table is the host of all things momentous – like that gloriously planned and executed Thanksgiving meal that you hosted for your friends and family.  Because the dinner table can do all these things, the dinner table becomes the place in our home where sacred things happen – a holy site for one’s everyday and one’s extraordinary moments.

The dinner table where Jesus and his disciples gathered for that Last Supper was no different.  They had gathered at table hundreds of times in the three years they had spent together.  There had been learning and laughter, stories and questions, arguments and celebrations.  In many ways, all of these things seem to happen in the course of this one night during the Last Supper.  Jesus and the disciples are likely chatting up a storm, talking about the days events, when Jesus does something extraordinary.  He gets up, takes off his outer robes, and washes the feet of his disciples.  This kind of event is unheard of.  Hosts and well-respected teachers do not wash others feet; that task was assigned to a household slave.[i]  And some of the midrashic commentary suggests that not even a Hebrew slave was expected to perform such a menial task.  Instead, the slave might bring out a bowl of water, but the guest would wash his own feet.[ii]  So of course, a lively debate ensues with Peter, who does not understand what is happening.  Jesus washes Peter’s feet anyway – and washes Judas’ feet – before returning to that dinner table to explain what he has done.  He goes on to explain that not only will he die soon, but also that he expects a certain behavior after he is gone – that they love one another.

That is the funny thing about dinner tables.  They can bring out the most sacred and holy of conversations.  The dinner table is where one tells his family that he has terminal cancer.  The dinner table is where one tells her best friend that she lost her job and has no idea what she is going to do.  The dinner table is where the young couple announces that that they lost their pregnancy.  The dinner table is where the college student tells his parents that he is dropping out of school.  We tell these awful, scary stories at the dinner table because we know that the table can handle them.  The table is where we gather with those who we care about and is therefore the place where we can share both the joys of life and also the really hard stuff of life.  Though our table may have never hosted a dinner as beautiful as one of the tables Norman Rockwell could paint, our table is still a sacred place that can hold all the parts of us – the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly.  We can share the awfulness of life there because we know that those gathered can handle it, and can carry us until we can be back at the table laughing some day.

What I love about our celebration of this day is that all of those things – the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly – were present that night with Jesus and his disciples.  So yes, earlier in the evening, there probably is a raucous conversation.  The disciples are gathered at the table, in all their imperfection: those who love Jesus with a beautiful innocence and those who greedily hope to be at Jesus’ left and right hand; those who humbly understand Jesus and those who want Jesus to victoriously claim his Messianic power; those who profess undying faithfulness (even though they will fail to be faithful) and those who actively betray Jesus.  At that table Jesus not only talks about how to be agents of love, Jesus also shows them how to love.  On this last night – this last night before the storm of Jesus’ trial, crucifixion, and death – a sacred moment happens at the dinner table.  And though we do not hear the story tonight, we also know that Jesus then breaks the bread and offers the wine, instituting the sacrament of Holy Communion.

We know the rest of the story.  The disciples, who still do not really understand Jesus fully, muddle their way through footwashing and Holy Communion.  Then those same dense disciples sleep their way through Jesus’ last prayers.  One of those disciples becomes violent when a soldier tries to seize Jesus.  And eventually, most of the disciples betray and abandon Jesus altogether.  To this unfaithful, dimwitted, scared group, Jesus offers a sacred moment at the dinner table, inviting them into the depths of his soul and a pathway to our God:  and encourages them to love anyway.

Our own Eucharistic table is not unlike that dinner table with Jesus.  Tonight, we too will tell stories, sing, and laugh.  We too will wash feet in humility, embarrassment, and servitude.  We too will hear the sobering invitation to the Eucharistic meal, and will walk our unworthy selves to the rail to receive that sacrificial body and blood.  We too will argue with God in our prayers, pondering what God is calling us to do in our lives and resisting that call with our whole being.  We too will lean on Jesus, longing for the comfort that only Jesus can give.  And we too will hear Jesus’ desperate plea for us to also be agents of love – not just to talk about love, or profess love, but to show love as Jesus has shown love to us.

In this way, our Eucharistic table is not unlike the dinner table in your own home.  Our Eucharistic table has hosted countless stories, arguments, and bouts of laugher.  Our Eucharistic table has witnessed great sadness and great joy.  Our Eucharistic table feeds us, even when we feel or act unworthily.  And our Eucharistic table charges us to go out into the world, being the agents of love who are willing to wash the feet of others – even those who betray us and fail us.  This Lent, we have been praying Eucharistic Prayer C.  In that prayer, the priest prays, “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.”[iii]   This Eucharistic table, like our own dinner table, can handle all of us – all our failings, sinfulness, and brokenness.  This table can fill us up with joy, forgiveness, and peace.  This table can be a place where we find belonging, identity, and security.  But this table is also meant to build us up – to give us strength and renewal for doing the work God has given us to do – to love others as Christ loves us.  Sacred things happen at this table.  Those sacred things happen so that we can do sacred things in the world for our God.  Amen.

[i] Guy D. Nave, Jr., “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 279.

[ii] Mary Louise Bringle, “Homiletical Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 279.

[iii] BCP, 372.

Sermon – Luke15.1-10, P19, YC, September 15, 2013

Tags

belonging, church, faith, God, Jesus, party, people, Sermon, sinfulness, welcome

One of the cool things about wearing a collar around in public is the very interesting conversations that I get to have with total strangers.  For me in particular, many of the questions are not just about being a priest, but also about my gender.  Most people come from religious traditions that have not exposed them to female priests, and so they have all sorts of interesting questions – and to be honest, I think most of them are trying to figure out if the Roman Catholic Church started ordaining women without them noticing.

But once we get past the surface stuff, I usually end up asking them about their own faith experiences.  All sorts of emotions flit across peoples’ faces – from discomfort, to mistrust, to guilt, to simply hesitancy.  Just this week I had a long conversation with a woman at Staples who had a cemetery connection to St. Margaret’s; but as soon as I asked her about what church she currently attends, the stammering and eye-contact avoiding began.  I was truthfully just trying to see if the woman could use a church home, but I think she interpreted my question as judgment.  These kinds of reactions happen to me a lot, and I think the reason is that people have a lot of assumptions about church based on past experiences or even stereotypes.  There is a sense that they need to have their life more together before they even darken the door of a church; that certain people will not be accepted in church; that if they do not agree with everything that others believe they will not be welcomed; or that church is full of a bunch of hypocrites.  There is even a video that we posted on our Facebook page this week about the reasons people give for not coming to church, and all those fears and suspicions are articulated with vulnerability and honesty.

So on this “Welcome Back Sunday,” as we think about what the church is and who belongs, who do we get in our Scripture readings today?  First, Jeremiah tells us of a people so far steeped in sinfulness, that refuses to repent and return to God, being utterly destroyed.  If you remember, God invited Israel back into covenant relationship in our lesson last week – to be molded into a new people by the potter.  But the people did not listen, and now their sinfulness and unwillingness to return to God has led to judgment.  Then, in our Epistle lesson to Timothy, we hear about Paul, an apostle who admits that he was once the most horrible persecutor of believers in Christ.  If you remember, Paul used to be named Saul.  He was a faithful Jew who was persecuting the Christians because he believed them to be proclaiming a false Messiah.  Only after his dramatic conversion experience does he become Jesus’ apostle.  Finally, in our Gospel lesson, we hear about a sheep that has wondered off from the flock.  Though the shepherd has 99 other sheep to worry about, he leaves them in the wild to find the one that is lost.  If I had to pick three people to feature for an advertising campaign for the church, whose attractive features I could promote as being representative of the appealing nature of the church, I doubt the Israelites, Paul, or the lost sheep would be on the top of my list!

Of course, that is the funny thing about churches.  As much as we want people to know that all are welcome, we also are always trying to put our best foot forward.  We do choose pictures of happy, young, diverse people in our advertising because we want people to believe that we are all those things.  And in some ways those things are true, certainly of St. Margaret’s.  We are a group of people who are happy to be here, and we do have young families and some diversity.  But what our glossy advertising glosses over is that we are also all humans here.  We all have our flaws, and we all fall into separation from God and from one another at times.  There have been times when each person in this room, like the Israelites, has fallen so far into sinfulness or separation from God that we do not even know how to begin to make our way back.  There have been times when we have been as hateful and judgmental as Paul – at times our hatefulness directed toward others; or worse, at times our hatefulness directed toward ourselves.[i]  And there have certainly been times when each of us has wandered away from the flock – maybe because we just could not relate to church anymore, maybe because we were hurt by or angry at the church, or maybe because life just got the best of us.

We sometimes think about church as having insiders and outsiders.  Even in the gospel lesson, we see that division.  At the beginning of the gospel lesson, we hear the Pharisees and the scribes grumbling about how Jesus welcomes the tax collectors and sinners.  Jesus spends the rest of the lesson explaining that insiders or outsiders are totally different in Christ.  In fact, when that one lost sheep is found what happens?  A party!  Now, if we had been the shepherd, and if we had even considered the ridiculousness of leaving 99 healthy sheep at risk, our next response upon finding the sheep might have been to scold or punish the sheep.  Or if losing the sheep had been our fault, we might have been privately relieved upon the sheep’s return or quietly told a few close family members.[ii]  But no, this shepherd shouts on the mountaintop and invites all the neighbors in to celebrate.  A party ensues because in Jesus’ world, every person is important, valued, and loved – no matter where they are or where they have been.

When I was in high school – I know this might surprise you – but I was a bit of nerd.  Although I developed a wide variety of friends, I never quite felt like I fit in wholly to any one particular group.  I sort of patched together a network of friends, but no one group make me feel fully accepted and like I could be fully myself.  One summer, I went away to a six-week program that gathered talented high school students from all over the state.  My focus area was math, but other focus areas included literature, choral music, art, Spanish, and dance.  I left home that summer not knowing anyone who would be in the program, and yet as the summer went on, I found like I had found a place where I belonged.  Finally, I was meeting people like myself, who also felt slightly off from the rest of their high school classmates, who introduced me to all sorts of music, expression, and life.  I came back for that following school year knowing that I still did not have a group like that at high school, but there were people out there who knew me and loved me fully.  That sense of belonging, and total acceptance kept me going for years to come.

As I think back to that summer at Governor’s School, I realize that they taught me what church, at its best, is really like.  At church, all are welcomed in – the person thought to be beyond saving, the judgmental persecutor, and the one who feels lost or who has strayed away.  But those descriptions do not fit just one person.  The truth is we have all been each of those persons at some point in our lives – and I am sorry to break the news to you – but we will all be each of those persons again at some point in our lives.  Sometimes we are the lost person who will be feted, and sometimes we are the flock or the neighbors who will celebrate someone being found.  In fact, the reason why we can be those celebrating is because we know the feeling of being the one who is celebrated.  Because the roles are ever shifting, we know what the experiences are like on all sides.

That is the beauty of a church community.  We are all welcome because we have all been, are currently being, or will be in the future in any of the roles we hear about in Scripture today.  And the party just is not the same without each one of us there.  That party is the same party we hold every week, when we gather around the Eucharistic table, having confessed our sins, having embraced one another at the peace, and then gathering around the table to receive the celebratory food of Christ – knowing fully that each of us is welcome no matter where we are on the journey – because we have all been there.  Amen.

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[i] Stephanie Mar Smith, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 66.

[ii] Mary H. Schertz, “God’s Party Time,” Christian Century, vol. 124, no. 18, Sept. 4, 2007, 18.