On Things Ludicrous and Holy…

Tags

best, Christmas, church, division, humble, indignation, joy, light, love, pandemic, praise, resurrection, separation

Photo credit: https://loe.org/shows/segments.html?programID=18-P13-00051&segmentID=1

My children are preparing for their winter socially distanced holiday recital, and we have been flooded with a flurry of details, items to purchase, things to organize.  One of the flyers that came this week was for a t-shirt they could buy promoting the recital and the cause that will benefit from the proceeds.  The shirt says, “Best Christmas Ever.”

I was glad my children were not around when I saw the flyer because my immediate response was to scoff – out loud, in my house, looking at a piece of paper with indignation.  Best Christmas Ever?!?  Had the dance studio lost their minds?  What about this Christmas could possibly be the “best”?  Families are separated, some of whom have not seen each other in over a year.  The Coronavirus is rapidly spreading, with the death toll in the United States now over 300,000.  And despite a transition in political power, we remain as divided as ever, struggling to find peace among our brothers and sisters. 

After recovering from self-righteous indignation, I began to think about the approaching Christmas season, and what the Church, and I as her priest, have invited people to do.  We are still inviting our parishioners, friends, and neighbors to join the Holy Family on Christmas Eve and sing songs of praise and thanksgiving.  Although we honor grief and suffering at our Blue Christmas service on December 21, we are still making a claim for hope, for light, and for love.  Even with our church buildings closed again, we are still encouraging the church to gather in their cars for a drive-thru, or by their hearths with their devices to join with the shepherds as we go to see this thing that has come to pass.  Perhaps to an outsider, the work of the Church this next week seems as ludicrous as claiming this Christmas is the Best Christmas Ever.

This week, I find myself humbled.  I know the Church is going to ask a lot of you over this next week.  You may not feel like singing carols, or hearing the familiar story, or watching candles flicker as we pray.  And that’s okay.  But, if it is alright with you, we are going to keep doing it anyway.  The Church has always been full of resurrection people.  We cannot help ourselves once we know the Risen Lord.  And so, when the Christ Child comes next week, we will keep holding on to light, to joy, and to love.  We will keep holding on to the promise that Christ is with us always, even to the end of the age.  We will keep shining the light of the Christ Child, reflecting his light to all.  And we will keep believing and trusting for you until you can come to the place where you can believe and trust yourself.  You do not need to rush.  We will keep holding the light until you are ready to take it up yourself.

On Searching for Hope…

Tags

Christ, church, division, God, hope, politics, reconciliation, redemption, scripture, sustain, today, walk

Photo credit:  https://clipartxtras.com/categories/view/8acee3134d57ecf959eedd985d89984fd9af8e11/sun-rays-through-clouds-drawing.html

One of my favorite podcasts has become “Stayed Tuned with Preet,” a podcast hosted by Preet Bharara, former U.S. Attorney, that addresses issues of justice and fairness.  The topics vary pretty widely – from law enforcement, to the psychology of leadership, to the opioid crisis, to gun control, to the #metoo movement.  What I appreciate about his podcast is he breaks down a lot of the complicated legal matters in the news into terms I can understand, he shares his passion for justice, and he tries to frame a current specific issue in the broader context of justice in society.  Admittedly, there are times when I listen to Preet’s podcast and begin to wonder if there is any hope.  But what Preet always does at the end of his podcast is tell a story of hope – sometimes entirely unrelated to the current episode, but always life-giving.

What Preet does is what I try to do in preaching.  I am always looking for the problem in the scriptural text assigned for the day (and the related problem in our modern lives), and the hope in the text (and the related hope in our everyday lives).  Sometimes finding the hope is harder than others.  This Sunday, we get the text from I Samuel where the people finally ask God for a king.  That may not sound like an unreasonable request, but you have to remember that God just spent a generation’s lifetime liberating the people from an overlord – from Pharaoh.  And despite God’s faithfulness, and the warning God’s prophet gives them about what life will be like under a king (spoiler alert:  it’s not good!), the people stubbornly demand a king anyway.  In Samuel’s warning, he says, “And in that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves; but the Lord will not answer you in that day.”  As I have been praying on this text this week, I have been wondering where the hope is.

Last night, I sat in on a conversation on racial reconciliation, and we wondered the same thing too.  As we look at the world around us, and see the deep divisions among us (on every issue!), and see the ongoing prejudice among us, many of us found ourselves wondering where the hope is.  We spent time talking openly and vulnerably about where our hope is being dashed and the moments that seem irredeemable in life.  But after some time, our conversation shifted – from the moments that were irredeemable to the ones that were redemptive.  We began to talk about how and where we find hope.  And each bit of hope shared brought more hope into the room.  Though we all come from different backgrounds, we seemed to conclude the night convinced that God, through the instrument of the Church, was going to be the source of hopeful change in the world.

I am wondering where you are finding hope today.  Whatever is going on your life, whatever is dragging you down today, what are the glimmers of hope that are sustaining you?  I could preach to you about how God is always our source of “big picture” hope, but I think more often God provides us with little glimmers of hope that leads us on the path to that big picture hope.  Those glimmers are our food for the daily walk with Christ that nourish our souls and keep us out of the dark and searching for the light.  If you have not found the hope today, keep looking.  And if you get to the close of the day and are still not convinced, reach out for support.  You are not alone.

Sermon – Luke 12.49-56, P15, YC, August 14, 2016

Tags

argue, avoid, conflict, conflict management, confront, cross, disagreement, division, family, forgive, honest, Jesus, listen, love, peace, Prince of Peace, rebirth, reconciliation, renewal, restoration, Sermon, transformation

I grew up in a house without conflict.  No one ever fought, no one ever yelled, and certainly, no one ever hit.  There may have been disagreements, but they were quickly resolved and our house was restored to peace.  Given that was my experience growing up, I assumed all family handled conflict in hushed, quiet ways.  But then I visited a friend who taught me differently.  I was staying with her family for a few days, and on a car ride to dinner, her mother and father started arguing and were quickly yelling at each other in the front seat.  My eyes bulged and my whole body tensed up.  I immediately thought, “This is the most horrible thing I have ever seen!”  I surreptitiously glanced at my friend to see if she was equally horrified, but she just sat there like it was an everyday occurrence.  But even more strange than the fight was how the family acted later.  There was a bit of quiet after the yelling, but by the time we stopped for dinner, everyone was back to normal.  I, however, could not manage to release the tension in my body, and my mind was racing.  Are they okay?  Is this normal?  Will it happen again?  How do I act now?

I remember after that visit feeling relieved and almost proud.  Clearly my family had the better conflict management system.  Clearly we were more in control of our emotions and cared for each other with tenderness and love.  I let myself believe that lie until my parent’s divorce.  My entire world view about conflict and family and love came apart.  Suddenly my quiet house was not simply quiet.  My quiet house was a conflict avoidant house.  The lack of yelling in my house was not simply a lack of yelling, but was a stuffing of hurt and pain for the sake of pretend peace.  Now, do not get me wrong.  I am not suggested that you all go home and yell at your loved ones.  What I am saying is that no matter what your experience of conflict has been – avoidance, dramatic confrontation, reasoned discussion through disagreement – we have all experienced conflict in our family.

All that is to say that nothing Jesus says about families should be shocking today.  Most of us like the loving, caring, gentle Jesus the best.  We like Jesus being hailed as the Prince of Peace, not hearing Jesus say, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”[i]  That is not the version of Jesus we come to hear about on Sundays.  That is not the version of Jesus we want to read about when our best friend is mad at us, our brother won’t talk to us, or our spouse is thinking about leaving.  That is not the version of Jesus we want the preacher talking about on the Sunday we decided to bring our friend to church.

And normally, I would be right there with you in protest.  I like the Prince of Peace who cares for the poor and downtrodden.  I love the Jesus who tells me not to be afraid and not to worry, especially when the lilies of the field are so well tended by God.  I adore the Jesus who forgives and unites all kinds of people into one.  But all of my protest comes from being someone who used to be pretty conflict avoidant.  That is, until I learned another way.  I will always say that one of the greatest gifts of my time on Long Island was learning how to not only handle conflict, but to really appreciate conflict for all that conflict can do.

For those of you not familiar with the cultural dynamic of Long Island, several things are at play.  First, Long Islanders have a different way of communicating.  They are direct, incisive, and honest.  For a Southerner, their style of communication can feel rude, but over time, said Southerner realizes that all that directness and ability to dive into conflict means you get everything out on the table.  There is no listening for innuendo or passive aggressiveness.  There are no cute phrases that sound nice, but really mean something entirely different.  Instead, you know where people stand, and you go home quite clear about the varying viewpoints.  Of course, that style of communication does not always feel good.  If you have sensitive feelings about criticism, your feelings can and will get hurt.  If you get uncomfortable with heated arguments, you will be challenged to stay calm.  If you prefer niceness over brutal honesty – well, you probably should not live on Long Island.

But here is what I learned and came to love about the beautiful people of Long Island.  They taught me how to listen, even if all I wanted to do was flee the room.  They taught me how to sit through criticism instead of getting defensive.  They taught me how to see conflict not as the ultimate evil, but instead as a critical key to transformation, reconciliation, and restoration.

That is at the heart of Jesus’ message today.  Of course Jesus says that he is going to divide fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, and in-laws against one another.  What Jesus is teaching about is a radical reordering of the world.[ii]  We heard that proclamation from his mother’s mouth as she sang out the words of the Magnificat earlier in Luke’s gospel, “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”[iii]  Mary was not just talking about the enemy Rome.  Many of the Israelites themselves were proud, powerful, and rich.  We in the modern world are the proud, powerful, and rich.  And to us, Jesus shouts, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”

The good news is that Jesus is not telling us he wants us to fight.  He is not encouraging violence or abuse, or even neglect or pain.  Jesus is simply telling us that his message is going to upset the status quo.  And as people who benefit from the status quo, we are going to have to face our demons and look at our brothers and sisters who are in need and take real stock of ourselves and our lives.  And when we start upsetting the status quo – when we start making women equal to men, when we start treating minorities with dignity and respect, when we start empowering the poor thrive and turn their lives around, we will have friends and family who push back.  We will have people who try to convince us to protect our power rather than share our power.  We will have family who walk away because they cannot face the truth.  All we have to do is look at the church – look at the hundreds of denominations who could not agree on whom could be baptized, what Eucharist means, and whom can be ordained or married.  We are a family divided because Jesus’ love is so revolutionary that we will be divided about how to define his love, how to share his love, and how receive his love.  Jesus does not want us to fight.  But he knows that if we are going to authentically live into the Gospel life, we are going to deal with conflict and we are going to be divided.[iv]

But that is also why Jesus went all the way to the cross.  His death was an effort to transform and redeem our conflict and to help us live fully into the people of peace and love we are invited to be in him.  Jesus knows that we will have to fight.  But he also knows that if we are willing to enter into conflict with an open mind, with listening ears, and a discerning heart, we will become a people who do not avoid conflict, but understand conflict as the purifying fire that burns away the mess of life and leaves behind the fertile ground for creating something new and holy.[v]  So yes, Jesus is still the Prince of Peace, who brings peace upon earth.  But the path there is not a smooth, straight, simple path.  The path there will take us through conflict, tension, and pain.  But the peace that awaits on the other side is more glorious than any community that will sit through passive aggressive avoidance just to maintain a false sense of security.

And just in case you are already feeling weary, wondering where you can muster the strength to survive such a rocky path, our letter to the Hebrews today gives us a clue, “Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith…”[vi]  That group of people you are going to be in conflict with – whether your biological family, or the crazy family you selected as your church home – is the same group of people who have left us an example of how to work our way through conflict.  They have shown us how to survive the race toward peace and reconciliation, reminding us that Jesus is the pioneer and perfecter who gets us there.  We will not get there avoiding conflict.  But we will get there together, holding hands when we disagree, loving each other when we say helpful but painful truths, and rejoicing when we push through to the side of reconciliation, renewal, and rebirth.  Amen.

[i] Luke 12.51.

[ii] Richard P. Carlson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 361.

[iii] Luke 1.51-53.

[iv] Audrey West, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 360, 362.

[v] Elizabeth Palmer, “Living By The Word:  August 14, 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time,” Christian Century, July 26, 2016, as found at http://www.christiancentury.org/article/2016-07/august-14-20th-sunday-ordinary-time on August 11, 2016.

[vi] Hebrews 12.1-2a.

Sermon – Mark 9.38-50, P21, YB, September 27, 2015

Tags

barrier, boundaries, call, church, division, Episcopal, exclusivity, God, hospital, in, Jesus, out, prayer, priest, Roman Catholic, rules, sent, Sermon

“Are you the priest they sent?”  That was the question he asked me.  I was confused at first, but realized one of the nurses must have called an on-call priest.  I also knew from experience that if he was looking for the “priest they sent” he was not looking for me.  You see, I’m a priest, but I’m also a woman.  When people at hospitals are looking for priests, the majority of the time they mean a Roman Catholic priest.  But he seemed desperate, so I delicately said “No, I’m actually here to see a parishioner.”  But I stayed and talked to him a bit more about what was going on and whether the chaplain’s office had been called.  His wife joined us as we talked.  Then the inevitable question came.  She asked what church affiliation I had.  I told them I was a priest in the Episcopal Church, and that they were welcome to wait for a Catholic priest.  She insisted it didn’t matter – they just wanted a priest to say prayers.

Honestly, I was floored.  That had never happened to me.  Usually when I tell a Roman Catholic person that I am not a Roman Catholic priest, they reveal (subtly or not so subtly) that I am not the kind of priest they want.  And truthfully, I am totally fine with that.  I totally understand and would never assert any differently, especially to someone in crisis at the hospital.  We ended the conversation with the agreement that we would go to our separate rooms.  When I was done, if they still didn’t have their Roman Catholic priest, I would be happy to say prayers.  I went on to my visit, fully anticipating the “real” priest to show up for them while I was elsewhere.

That division among the Church, among the faithful of God, is not unique to Roman Catholics.  We all make boundaries and distinctions about who is in and who is out.  Episcopalians are only in full communion with the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America.  So if I ever wanted to have a United Methodist Minister or Presbyterian pastor celebrate Eucharist, I would not be allowed.  We also make rules around the communion rail.  Most Episcopal Churches say that all baptized Christians are welcome to the table – meaning if you have not been baptized, you should not receive.  Even to serve on Vestry we have boundaries.  All Vestry members have to be financial supporters of the parish, are expected to be present regularly in worship and parish events, and are asked to contribute to at least one ministry of the church.  If the Vestry member is unwilling to make those commitments, they cannot serve on Vestry.  We often think of Roman Catholics as having lots of boundaries – from no women at the altar, to no married clergy, to no communion unless you are Roman Catholic.  But the reality is that, as Episcopalians, we have an equal number of boundaries that keep people in and out of our community.

The good news is that we come by our exclusivity honestly.  In our gospel lesson from Mark today, we are told about an encounter between the disciples and Jesus.  John comes up to Jesus and says, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following us.”  John is so confident of his authority that he almost sounds like he is boasting to Jesus.  “Hey, Jesus, there’s some dude who is trying to do our work and he keeps using your name.  But don’t worry – we shut him down.”  You can almost imagine John expecting Jesus to give him a chug on the shoulder and say, “Good work, John!”  But that is not how the story unfolds.  Instead, Jesus says the total opposite, “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me.  Whoever is not against us is for us.”  You can imagine the disciples’ confusion.  Jesus is constantly pulling them aside and only telling them how to interpret his parables.  When Jesus commissions people, he commissions the disciples, and no one else.  And although people are often following Jesus in droves, his crew, or his posse, is made up of the disciples.  In the disciples’ minds, Jesus is implicitly telling them that they are the insiders, with special privileges, and everyone else is an outsider.  The disciples are in; everyone else is out.  And anyone who tries to break those boundaries is going against the will of Jesus – and, ergo, the will of God.

Despite the fact that Jesus shuts down the notion of insiders and outsiders, the Christian community has been struggling with boundaries since Jesus’ death.  Who is a Christian?  Who can have communion?  What are the rules and what are the consequences of breaking the rules?  Now, boundaries are not necessarily bad.  Boundaries help us define who we are and what behavior is acceptable.  Boundaries help us uphold values and create meaning.  Boundaries can even help us make an informed choice about belonging to a community.[i]  Clearly Jesus created some boundaries.  When he says, “Whoever is not against us is for us,” he implies that there are people who are in fact against them.  Jesus himself creates a group of insiders and outsiders.  What Jesus is trying to communicate is not that boundaries are bad.  What Jesus is trying to communicate is that we are capable of getting so wrapped up in our boundaries that we exclude people from the love of Christ.  And nothing could be more harmful, or even sinful, than making someone feel that they are cut off from the love of Christ.

I had a friend who started going to therapy to help him cope with a spouse suffering from depression.  He imagined that the therapist would share her knowledge of persons suffering from depression and teach him some coping skills.  But after a lengthy explanation about what was wrong with his spouse, the first question the therapist asked was about him.  The therapist wanted to know what his issues were.  My friend interrupted, “No, no, no, I’m not here for me, I’m here to learn more about dealing with my spouse.”  The therapist wisely said, “Yes.  But before we get to your spouse, let’s talk about you.”  That therapist did what Jesus does with the disciples.  Jesus redirects the disciples concern about others by telling them to worry about their own problems – those hands, feet, and eyes that cause them to sin.  You see, Jesus is very clever.  What he realizes is that when the disciples start sorting through their own sinfulness, their own “stuff,” they do not have time to worry about boundaries and rules and barriers.[ii]  And when they let go of those boundaries, rules, and barriers, something incredible can happen – the love of God and the fellowship of Christ can grow and thrive.

By the time I finished my visit with my parishioner, the Catholic on-call priest had still not arrived.  I went into the room of the family and realized they needed more than a prayer.  They were going to be removing life support and wanted someone to offer the patient Last Rites.  I again reminded them that I was an Episcopal Priest.  The wife of the couple said, “It’s still Last Rites though, right?”  “Yes,” I replied.  “Okay, then.”  That was all.  Here I was bringing up boundaries again and again, and this person, who normally has even more boundaries than I do, insisted that I let go of my boundaries and help her family have an experience with God.  The first words the husband had asked me were, “Are you the priest they sent?”  My first answer was correct.  I was not.  But my answer was not complete.  I was not the priest that “they” sent.  But I was the priest that God sent.  You see, God has a call on me – and in fact God has a call on each person here.  God sends us everyday – to our workplaces, to our schools, to our friends, and to strangers.  Everyday we have the choice to get tangled up in boundaries and rules and limitations.  But we also have the choice to remember the ways that Jesus wants us to love God and love our neighbors.  Those are the only two boundaries Jesus really cares about anyway.

That is our invitation this week:  to consider how God is calling you and also to consider how you are getting in the way of God’s call.  The boundaries and the rules really are not as complicated as they sound.  If the Pope can say, “Who am I to judge?” surely we can start letting go and embracing love.  Then, the next time someone asks you, “Are you the person that was sent?” you can reply, “Yes.  Yes, I am.”  Amen.

[i] Harry B. Adams, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 116, 118.

[ii] Amy Oden, “Commentary on Mark 9.38-50,” September 30, 2012, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1357 on September 25, 2015.

Sermon – Luke 12.49-56, P15, YC, August 18, 2013

Tags

baptism, chaos, church, conflict, division, family, Jesus, journey, peace, Sermon

Once upon a time, I lived in a world where there was such a thing as a “normal family.”  These were the families who could sit around a dinner table and have a pleasant conversation, who never had a disagreement, who never had to deal with passive aggressive behavior, and whose dealings could be taken at face value without any hints of ulterior motives.  In this world, people were happy, holidays were perfect, siblings loved each other, and marriages were unbreakable.  Laughter was pervasive, love overflowed, and peace ruled the day in this world.  And since my life did not resemble this world, surely I would find a life partner whose world was like this.  Surely there would be a way to escape my own reality to find that world where the “normal family” existed.

Of course, once that notion crumbled, I created a new one.  Then I lived in a world where there was such a thing as a “conflict-free church.”  This church was one where people welcomed others warmly, where the love of God poured out of every parishioner, where every meeting unfolded in a peaceful, consensual manner, and where everyone felt at home.  In this church, the people all lived Christ-like lives, and they were so focused on serving others that they never fell into serving themselves.  In this church there was no judgment, no division, and no central source of power.  At this church, people were happy, worship was beautiful, and money was never a concern.  Surely such a church existed, and so if my church was not this way, I would find that “conflict-free church” somewhere.

Jesus takes a blowtorch to these make-believe worlds I envisioned in today’s gospel.  Jesus says, “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled…Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth?  No, I tell you, but rather division!”  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jesus,” many of us may want to say today.  I thought Jesus was the Prince of Peace – in fact the same person whose name we invoke when we greet one another with, “The peace of the Lord be with you.”  Today’s Jesus is not the sweet, peaceful Jesus in a manger.  Jesus denies peace altogether today and instead rolls out a campaign of conflict.  There is no peace-loving church today.  In fact, Jesus even goes on to say how he will be turning family members against one another.  Father against son, mother against daughter, in-laws against in-laws:  families will be divided against one another.  Not only do we lose the dream of a “conflict-free church” today, any hope of a “normal family” without pain or strife is obliterated today too.

Of course, what is most painful about this gospel lesson today is that we already know the gospel to be true.  What person here today has not faced conflict within their family?  For the lucky among us, that conflict may eventually pass and familial love is relatively easy.  But for pretty much anyone who has had an honest and frank conversation with me, I do not know one single family who has not been touched by divorce, pain, cutoff, abuse, rivalry, anger, manipulation, or division.  Conflict is not the anomaly – conflict is the norm in our families.  And if church is anything like a family, we have known bitter conflict in church too.  Some of us have left churches because of conflict, pain, or suffering.  Most of us have known conflict here in this place – and if we have not yet, we will.  Why this gospel lesson is so hard today is because this gospel holds up a mirror – a mirror to our broken lives, our broken world, and our broken church.  And quite frankly, most of us do not come to church to look in a mirror; or if we do imagine church as a mirror, we hope the mirror is like one of those carnival mirrors that can distort our broken worlds and reflect something much more beautiful or hopeful than the reality we know.

Despite all the seemingly bad news in today’s gospel, some of Jesus’ words reach out to us in hope:  “I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed.”  The idea of Jesus’ baptism not being completed has been bouncing around in my head all week.  In the early days of the church, fonts were not the pretty, upright fonts we see now that hold a beautiful bowl of baptismal water.  Fonts were more like pools, with steps leading down and steps leading up on the other side.  The person to be baptized would walk down those steps, be fully immersed in the water, and the come up for air again as they emerged from the water and walked up the exit steps.  The symbolism was rich – baptism looked like the emergence from the watery birth canal, and baptism rightly lived into the name “new birth.”  But also weaved into the symbolism is journey – a journey from a former life, into a watery chaos (not unlike the chaos from which God created the earth), and emerging a new creation and a transformed person.

The idea that Jesus’ baptism is not yet complete somehow makes sense when we think of baptism as a journey.  In the midst of all this talk about conflict and division, Jesus is giving us a picture of what living a baptized life is like.  At our baptism, we make promises – to turn away from sin time and again – and to turn into the way of baptized life – seeking and serving Christ, loving neighbor as self, and striving for justice and peace.  The image of Jesus’ baptism not being complete gives some grounding to what all this conflict and division is all about.  The conflict and division is a necessary component to completely live into our baptismal covenant.  We say that when we fall into sin – not if we fall into sin – we will turn back toward the Lord.  The journey of baptism promises then that we will not have a peaceful, conflict-free road and that our baptism in not a once and for all activity.  Baptism is a journey, of fully living into those baptismal promises, in which the challenging stuff will shape and mold us into better disciples and better servants of Christ.  Jesus knows that our baptism journey will never be one of peace – at least not the superficial peace we long to have.  Our baptism journey will be one of division.  That division will not only be because conflict is a necessary part of life, but because the radical way of Jesus can only be achieved by walking through the watery chaos of baptism – a chaos full of conflict and division – but a journey in which we emerge transformed and renewed.

Once upon a time, I encountered a world where conflict was not a curse word.  In this world, conflict was not an uncomfortable experience to be avoided, but a challenging experience that led to new growth and new life.  In this world, everyone was not happy in a superficial, cheerleader kind of way.  But people were happy in a much deeper, rooted kind of way.  In this world, families still fought, but the fighting led them somewhere new and life-giving.  In this world, parishioners grew to expect conflict – but also grew to expect transformation.  In this world, conflict was not the end of relationship, but instead the tool that drug people through rough times into times of unknown joy and peace.  This is the world that I long to inhabit.  This is the world that gives us life.  This is the world that leads to new birth.  Our invitation today is to step into the watery chaos of division and conflict, so that we might emerge a faith community on the baptism journey.  Amen.