Sermon – Luke 4.1-13, L1, YC, March 10, 2019

Tags

beloved, children of God, devil, disciplines, doubt, God, identity, Jesus, Lent, reclaim, relatable, Sermon, temptation, trust

After Ash Wednesday services this week, Father Charlie caught me in my office eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  “Guess we’re not observing that whole fasting thing, huh?” he joked with me.  We then talked about how both of us struggle with fasting.  Prone to being what some call “hangry,” or in my case of low-blood sugar, even faint, neither of us is particularly good at fasting.  When I was finally diagnosed with having low-blood sugar many years ago, a great mystery was solved.  Upon hearing the news, all of my friends would, with relief, say, “Oh!  That explains soooo much!”  Only then did I discover my friends had been involved in a huge coping conspiracy.  Jennifer is acting weird or annoying or cranky – who has food?  I may even be the inspiration behind those Snickers commercials where cranky people are suddenly transformed back to their lovely selves as soon as they get the candy bar.

The trouble with people like me, or maybe even most of us, is that we hear the temptations of Jesus today and we immediately see ourselves in them.  We think about the times we have been hangry or desperate for food, and we know the difficulty of the devil’s temptation to turn stones into bread.  Or maybe we relate more to the temptation of the ego to be all powerful, or to temptation to test God, just to be sure we are secure in God’s protection.  Because the temptations in the gospel lesson are so relatable, we can almost too easily see ourselves in them and miss the point.  You see, the temptations of Jesus aren’t really about bread, power, and safety.  Just like the Lenten disciplines we take up are not really about chocolate, scripture reading, or prayer.  The temptations of Jesus are about something much deeper:  they are about identity.

In Luke’s gospel, Luke has already described Jesus’ baptism by John, when God declares, “You are my Son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  Then, just before this passage, Luke articulates the genealogy of Christ, emphasizing the importance of who Jesus is based on his ancestors.  So, when Jesus goes into the wilderness, the devil is not actually trying to tempt Jesus with bread, power, and safety.  No, Jesus is being tempted to deny his identity.  As Karoline Lewis says, “the identity test for Jesus is not so much a test of who he is, but how he will live out his identity as Son of God.  The devil knows perfectly well who Jesus is.  The devil does not question who Jesus is, but tries to get Jesus to question who he is…”[i]

And that is a temptation we understand all too well.  “…temptation is not so often temptation toward something – usually portrayed as doing something you shouldn’t – but rather is usually the temptation away from something – namely, our relationship with God and the identity we receive in and through that relationship.  Too often Christians have focused on all the things we shouldn’t do, instead of pointing us to the gift and grace of our identity as children of God.”[ii]  In the end, the temptations Jesus faces could be anything.  They could certainly be “Bread, power, and safety.  But [the temptations] just as well might have been youth, beauty, and wealth.  Or confidence, fame, and security.”  The devil does not care about the content of the temptation.  The devil seeks “to shift our allegiance, trust, and confidence away from God and toward some substitute that promises a more secure identity.”[iii]

In part, that is why we take on disciplines during Lent.  We fast, pray, and study Scripture not because we need to imitate Jesus’ temptation.  We give up chocolate, coffee, or wine, or we take up kindness, fitness, or quiet not to simply push ourselves into new patterns.  We take on disciplines in Lent because we need to remind ourselves of our genealogy – to remind ourselves that we too are beloved children of God.  We know that when we claim that blessed status as beloved children of God, the devil will try to make us doubt the abundant, enduring, graceful love of God for each of us.  Because only when we doubt or forget our identity do we really fall into the temptations of this world.

No matter what our spiritual discipline, our invitation this Lent is to reclaim our identity.  Our invitation is to use these forty days to reaffirm, to recover, to reassert we are beloved children of God.  In yoga speak, when we have distracting thoughts, we are encouraged to acknowledge the thought, and then let the thought go.  Our invitation is to do the same this Lent.  As the devil puts distracting thoughts of inadequacy, unworthiness, and insecurity in our minds, we acknowledge them for what they are, and let them go.  Because we are beloved children of God.  Because when we boldly remind the devil that we are beloved children of God, we are empowered to remind others they are beloved too.  Together, affirmed in our identity, renewed in Christ’s love and light, we can do the real work of Lent – not just showing the world we are beloved children of God, but transforming that same world through our beloved status.  Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, “Identity Test,” March 3, 2019, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?m=4377&post=5294 on March 7, 2019.

[ii] David Lose, “Lent 1C:  Identity Theft,” March 7, 2019, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2019/03/lent-1-c-identity-theft/ on March 7, 2019.

[iii] Lose.

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Searching the crowd…

Tags

beloved, child of God, city, crowd, familiarity, God, hope, Jesus, known, Lent, love, recognition

Photo credit: http://www.anonymousmags.com/september-23-2015-warning-date-extremely-significant-deadline/

Any time I am in a city, I have a strange habit of expecting to see someone I know. Somehow being around that many people makes me feel like I must surely know someone in the crowd.  Now, when I lived in Wilmington, Delaware, my habit was not unwarranted.  In fact, the better expectation was how many people you would run into and from what connection you would know them.  But in cities like New York City or Washington, DC, the habit is a little silly.  We all say “It’s a small world!”  But I am pretty sure I have never accidently run into someone I knew in Manhattan.

So imagine my surprise this week, while on a quick trip down to the DC area, I ran into a former parishioner while waiting to get on my return Amtrak train.  What I had anticipated as being a long, quiet trip of catching up on work and sleep turned into a fun, vibrant train ride with an old friend.  Being from Delaware, he got off at Wilmington, while I continued on to NYC.  But the unexpected moment of recognition and time together was a tremendous treat.  Suddenly my searching the crowds in DC did not seem so unreasonable!

Though I often make fun of myself about my silly habit, I wondered this week if my practice of searching crowds of strangers for familiarity is, in fact, an exercise in hope.  One of our deepest longings is to be known and loved.  Being known makes us feel valued, affirmed, and comforted.  It gives us a sense of belonging, and harkens back the knowledge that we are beloved children of God.  But asking to be known is a hard thing to do – it requires vulnerability, openness to rejection, and letting down one’s guard.  Most of the time, when I scan crowds, I am sorely disappointed.  But every once in a while, a joyous reunion of recognition and being known happens – not unlike stumbling into Jesus’ open arms.

This coming Sunday in Lent is referred to as “Rose Sunday,” a Sunday of refreshment half-way through Lent.  I wonder in what ways we might take a break for penitence and reflection on our sinfulness and remember to walk in the world as a people of hope.  In what ways are you searching the crowds for reminders that you are a beloved child of God?  Keep an eye out so you don’t miss those gracious moments of recognition, affirmation, and hope.

Sermon – John 3.14-21, L4, YB, March 15, 2015

Tags

beloved, darkness, Divergent, God, insider, Jesus, John 3.16, judgment, light, outsider, repent, scripture, turn

Today we get one of the most beloved passages of Scripture.  Most everyone knows the line, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  But even for those of us who do not know the words by heart, we have seen the marker “John 3.16” all over – at sporting events, on road overpasses, on tattoos, and on Tim Tebow’s face.  Even Episcopalians, who can rarely quote scripture citations, know this one.

What is funny about the popularity of this scripture verse is that this particular verse is one of the more complicated verses in scripture.  On the surface, the verse sounds full of promise:  God so loved; God so loved the world; God gave; So that believers should not perish; Everlasting life.  All those words sound wonderful.  They make God sound loving and generous.  They make life seem full of promise.  Why would you not want to parade John 3.16 around in celebration?

John 3.16 sounds wonderful until you really start to dissect the verse.  John 3.16 makes God sound loving, generous, and caring.  Until you read that one pesky clause, “everyone who believes.”  So God will love, be generous to, and give everlasting life to anyone in the world – as long as they believe.  But what about those who do not believe?  We all know lots of people who do not believe in Jesus Christ.  They are our neighbors, friends, family members, and classmates [colleagues].  Do we really believe God does not love them too?  All we have to do is read John 3.18 to learn that “those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God.”

Now I do not know about you, but although this scripture lesson is known worldwide, and is beloved by many, I have never really felt comfortable with the implications of this passage.  I think two things either happen when we really start to look at this passage.  One, by recognizing that we are the “believers” of this passage, we both feel a sense of pride and acceptance and a sense of pity for the non-believers.  We feel bad for the non-believers, but we do not really know how to console them.  So we secretly just feel grateful and blessed, and wipe our hands clean of the non-believers.  They will have to fend for themselves.

The other way that many of us approach this text is that we sweep the verse under the rug.  We know a lot of other verses about God, and those verses tell us of a God whose love is much bigger.  We might imagine that there is hope for all the faiths of the world, and even for those without faith.  We prefer to focus on the part that says, “God so loved the world,” knowing the vast diversity of that world, preferring to imagine that our God is not a judgmental one, but a loving one.  And even if we concede that there might need to be some form of judgment, we will leave that judgment up to God.  We will let the business of who is in and who is out be God’s business, and we will just go on loving everyone anyway.

Either of those ways of thinking – the one where we pity the non-believers or the one where we brush aside the text – ignores the fact that those approaches come from the assumption that we are the insiders in this situation.  As Christians, we know that we believe in Jesus Christ.  So we must be the ones that John is talking about – the ones that God loves and saves, and to whom God gives eternal life.  But the problem with that underlying assumption is that the assumption puts us in a place of comfort, when, in fact, I think John 3.16 is supposed to put us in a place of discomfort.

In John 3.19-20, Jesus says, “…This is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil.  For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed.”  Instead of sitting on our comfortable “believer” cushion, I think what this passage is really inviting us to do is to recognize how we are in fact the people in the darkness.  We have been talking a lot in this Lent about our sinfulness – our separation from God and neighbor.  Our Lenten disciplines are meant to be ways for us to contemplate our sinfulness, to repent, and return to the Lord.  None of us is spared from being sinful.  We have all fallen victim to pride, envy, and hatred.  We have all had malicious thoughts and done hurtful things.  We have all forgotten about God, making our lives about our own wants and desires.  And I am sure many of us have had something in our lives that we have wanted to hide in darkness.  None of us feel entirely comfortable exposed, being bathed in light.  Like that makeup mirror that is just a little too bright, not many of us are ready to be seen under the bright light.

There is a book and movie series out called “Divergent.”  It is a dystopian, futuristic series that captures what happens when the world destroys itself and the society that is rebuilt to prevent such destruction from happening again.  Though the premise is a bit complicated, one of the pieces about the series I find fascinating is the presentation of one group who believes that the truth is the answer to solving the world’s problems.  So all the members of that particular group must take what is called a “truth serum.”  When they take the serum, they must then be asked a slew of questions before all the members of the group, including extremely personal and private questions.  The idea is that if all your secrets are exposed, there is nothing left to hide behind.  Everyone is on equal footing and no one can hide their true selves.

I imagine the world in that group from the Divergent series as being like the one that Jesus is talking about today.  We are people who would avoid a truth serum – who would avoid the light – because we do not want all of ourselves exposed.  There are some things – those really dark, embarrassing, or shameful things about our lives – that we do not want the world to know.  We like the dark, if for no other reason than we can hide those ugly parts of ourselves there.  In fact, we like keeping a little bit of darkness in our lives.  And I imagine most of us would quite quickly decline a truth serum.

If we can admit that truth – that part of us that prefers there be just a little bit of darkness for us to hide in occasionally – then we might be able to see why John 3.16 is so brilliant.  If we can be humble about our own darkness and our own sinfulness, and approach God in that way, then Jesus’ words are much more meaningful.  For those of us who have a bit of darkness in us, God so loved us that God gave up God’s only Son so that we might have eternal life.  In this way, John 3.16 is refreshing.  When we realize that we are the ones in darkness, John 3.16 does not make us feel self-righteous, pitying others.[i]  Instead, John 3.16 is a harbinger of light.  In fact, John 3.16 calls us into the light with the promise of love, forgiveness, and grace.  Once we get ourselves out of the “insider’s circle” this passage becomes much more redemptive and much more full of hope.  And perhaps that is the point.  Not to make us relieved because we are on the inside looking out, but to make us relieved because we are on the outside looking in – and being beckoned in by our Lord and Savior.  If we can come to see this passage in this light, then I say go ahead and get that tattoo, embroider that wall hanging, and even make that poster for the big game.  Perhaps your artwork will remind you to keep turning from the darkness and turning into the light.  Amen.

[i] This idea shaped by the conclusions made by Paul C. Shupe, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 120.

Sermon – Mark 1.4-11, E1, YB, January 11, 2015

Tags

baptism, beloved, God, Jesus, sacred, Sermon, water

I have always had an affinity for water.  I am not sure why, but something about water connects to something deep in my soul.  Whether listening to water bubble over rocks in a river, hearing the roar of a waterfall, listening to a lake lap on the shore, or hearing the crashing of waves on the beach, something about the sound of water quiets my mind and connects with some deeper part of me.  Some of my most intimate conversations with God have taken place near water – times when I was facing a big transition, times when I was worried about a major life event, or times when I had run out of things to say and just needed a place to just listen.  Whether a quiet drip or trickle or a roaring rush, somehow the noise of water connects me to the mysterious and transcendent voice of God.

To be honest, I have always thought my connection to the water was a little strange.  But this week, as I studied our lessons, my connection suddenly made sense.  Water has always been a part of our faith narrative.  When we celebrate a baptism, we always retell the biblical story of water.  One denomination retells the biblical story this way, “Eternal Father, when nothing existed but chaos, you swept across the dark waters and brought forth light.  In the days of Noah you saved those on the ark through water.  After the flood, you set in the clouds a rainbow.  When you saw your people as slaves in Egypt you led them to freedom through the sea.  Their children you brought through the Jordan to the land which you promised.  In the fullness of time you sent Jesus, nurtured in the water of a womb.”[i]  Of course we know there are countless other water stories in scripture: Jonah who is thrown into the sea and swallowed by a great fish, Jesus who calms the seas and walks on water, women encountering God as they draw water in wells, and eunuchs running to rivers to be baptized.  Water is everywhere in our biblical narrative, and is where many people see, hear, taste, and feel God in their lives.

Today, we hear one of those ultimate stories of water – in fact, today is a feast day in the Episcopal Church:  Jesus’ baptism in the waters of the river Jordan.  When Jesus comes to be baptized, baptism in the river Jordan has already been transformative for many.  People from all over the Judean countryside have been coming to John to confess their sins, repent, and be baptized into forgiveness.  As if those experiences of conversion were not enough, something even more extraordinary happens in that water.  Jesus comes from Nazareth to be baptized by John, and when he comes up out of the water, the heavens are torn apart and the Spirit descends upon him like a dove.  Then a voice comes from heaven, saying, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  Just like all those other stories of water in the biblical story, something sacred and transformative happens in water – something so powerful that the heavens are torn apart, the Spirit descends, and the Lord proclaims favor, love, and affection.

Many of us do not remember our own baptism in water.  Though adults and young people are certainly welcome to be baptized later in life, most of us are baptized as infants.  Unless our parents or godparents told us the story of our baptism, we have no idea if we cried or cooed that day.  We have no idea what emotions or thoughts the priest or our sponsors had that day.  We have no idea whether we were inherently changed by the water that was poured over our heads.  For most of us, the holy experience of water at our own baptism is a lost memory.  But the Church does not let us forget the power of baptismal waters.  Every year we celebrate the feast of Jesus’ baptism.  Every year, we reaffirm our baptismal covenant – often multiple times per year.  And depending on the membership of the church, every year we baptize new members into the life of the church.  So even if we do not remember our own baptism, the repetition of the story of baptism, and the experience of reaffirming our vows, creates new memories for us.  That formation is so powerful that many of us will dip our fingers in Holy Water, looking for a blessing and a reminder of another water that was once poured over our heads.

But today is not a day just to celebrate sacred experiences with water.  Today is not just a day when we think back to our own encounters at the font and how holy they were.  Today is not just a day we think back to those biblical stories of water in our faith and marvel at the miracles that have happened through water.  Today is not just a day that we remember those moments by a river, lake, or beach where God seemed to be whispering comfort, truth, or blessing to us.  The danger with the text we hear from Mark today is that we could be tempted to do just that.  Our lesson ends with those words from the voice of heaven that says, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  We could sit here today and savor those words for Jesus.  In fact, I could tell you today that those words are words for you – that you are God’s beloved and with you God is well pleased.  I could do those things because they are true.  You are God’s beloved and God is well pleased with you.  The baptismal waters should always remind you of that – and others waters, like rivers, waterfalls, and oceans, may do the same.

But today we do not simply celebrate the gift of blessing, beloved-ness, and bounty.  Today is the day when we celebrate the “so what?” of Jesus’ baptism.  As one scholar explains, “Jesus did not receive the Spirit in order to enjoy privately its spiritual benefits, but rather in order to pass it on.”[ii]  In Mark’s gospel, in the immediate next verse, Jesus is driven out into the wilderness to be tempted.  His baptism opens a road that will lead to the cross.  For Jesus, his entire ministry is informed by this moment – this tremendous in-breaking of the Spirit and a declaration of Jesus as being the beloved of God.  But Jesus does not tarry in this moment.  Jesus keeps on moving, holding fast to the moment, but using the moment to change his future.

That is our invitation today too:  to think about the “so what?” of our own baptisms.  When I think about all of those sacred moments I have had near water, a distinct part of that memory is what walking away from those moments felt like.  Sometimes I walked away from that bubbling brook with a sense of peace that God would be with me in the trials that were ahead.  Sometimes I turned from that lapping lake with a sense of empowerment and energy about what new thing God was calling me to do.  And sometimes I walked away from that roaring ocean having no idea what was to come, but knowing that God would help me face whatever came.

Our invitation today is to consider the “so what?” of our own sacred watery moments.  You can come to Jesus’ story today like you would come to a body of water for renewal and refreshment.  You can soak in the blessing and affirmation that come to Jesus and to you.  But you will also need to walk out of those doors today.  In fact, our liturgy does not let you leave this place without a dismissal that sends you out in the world to do the work that God has given you to do.  The question this week is what that work is.  What is God renewing you for?  What is God empowering you to do?  The answers will be different for each of us.  But the answer is there, if you are willing to listen to the sacred sound of water.  Amen.

[i] Barbara Sholis, “A watery solution,” Christian Century, vol. 119, no. 26, December 18-31, 2002, 19.

[ii] Lee Barrett, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 240.