On Listening with New Ears…

Tags

adjust, children, ears, God, hear, Holy Week, humanity, Jesus, listen, passion narrative, powerful, teach, voices

Every year on Palm Sunday, most Churches read the passion narrative.  We read the story from the night before Jesus’ death, all the way through the cross and the sealed tomb.  Because the story is so long (2-3 pages of text at least), many churches read the narrative as if it is a script, with parts assigned, to break up the reading.  This practice helps keep our attention, but also helps us hear the story differently each year.  As someone who has both listened to passion narratives and participated in them, I know how powerful the experience can be.  I will never forget the first time I was asked to read Jesus’ part.  There is something indescribable about having Jesus’ words in your mouth.  Likewise, hearing other people read parts can be powerful.  Imagine hearing the most faithful church elder say the words of Judas or denying Peter; or imagine how a well-placed pause by the narrator can make you hear differently.

As a priest, knowing the power of the voice in the passion narrative, I work hard to make sure the voices people hear on Palm Sunday are moving for them too.  Of course, I am sometimes limited by the available readers, but whenever I get the list of potential readers, I work hard to create synergy – looking for a mixture of male and female voices, looking for variations in age where possible, and also looking for visuals, like varieties in the physical attributes of the readers.  This year, I happened to have some children and youth offer to read and tried to find unexpected roles for them too.  What I did not anticipate was how powerful their voices would be for me.

You see, this past weekend, children and youth from all over the country and globe took to the streets because they feel afraid and threatened, and they are frustrated that adults are either not listening or are unwilling to find a way forward to make them feel safe.  Now, I know some of us may disagree with some of their proposed actions, but if nothing else, this past weekend made me feel like our inability to listen respectfully to one another and work for change was exposed.  Our children this weekend drew back the curtain on our ugly secret – that we are not acting as agents of love in the public sphere – on either side.

Feeling raw and exposed by Sunday, imagine the wave of emotion that hits when a nine-year old reads the part of Jesus to our church in the passion narrative.  Having a child say, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? Enough!” shook me to the core.  As I listened to his clear, steady voice, I began to not only hear the passion differently, but also began to realize that Jesus is speaking to us every day, with voices we may not expect, but voices that speak truth – raw, painful, beautiful truth.  As we continue our Holy Week walk this week, I invite you to listen to the Jesuses speaking to you in your everyday life.  What does God need you to hear this week?  How might hearing a voice that says something you oppose sound differently if you listen with holy ears?  Adjusting your ears will certainly change how you experience Holy Week, but more importantly, adjusting our ears might help to change how we experience humanity in this moment.  Those who have ears, listen.

Photo credit:  Picture taken at Hickory Neck Episcopal Church by John Rothnie, March 25, 2018.  Permission required for reuse.

Advertisements

Sermon – John 1.6-8, 19-28, A3, YB, December 17, 2017

Tags

Advent, delight, evangelism, Jesus, John, John the Baptist, light, listen, point, Sermon, voice, witness

I have been thinking a lot this week about the faith witnesses in my life.  There have been dozens of them: some who were in my life for a short while, and some who still serve as a witness to me today; some who flipped my world upside down by a single observation; and some whose entire life journey has served as a witness.  One who stands out for me was a mentor I met as I came into adulthood.  She was not particularly flashy or dramatic, but her entire life became a living witness to me.  Her witness started in the context of talking about Jesus.  There were things she said that had never occurred to me, and yet made a great deal of sense.  She slowly awakened in me a passion for justice:  teaching me about our country’s impact on the world’s poor; asking hard questions, such as where my clothes were made and what my clothing said about my concern for the least of these; helping me see how incredibly privileged I was even when I did not feel privileged compared to others.  I watched her risk arrest through political protest.  I saw her offer up the spare room in her house time and again to those in transition and trying to find their way.  She even revealed to me at some point that instead of accepting an engagement ring from her husband, they had agreed a more appropriate sign of their commitment to one another would be exchanging rocking chairs – so that they could grow old together in them.

What was telling about my experience with her witness was I knew she would never have wanted me to say, “I want to be just like her.”  In fact, with all my revelatory interactions with her, I was not in awe of her; I was in awe of her attempt to live a life in line with the gospel – to live a life that reflected the light of Jesus.  Her words, our conversations, her decisions were ways of pointing me back to a living relationship with Christ.  Her witness to me was not unlike John’s witness in our gospel lesson today.  Now, if you were here last week, you may be wondering, “Didn’t we just hear this story about John the Baptist last week?”  The answer is yes; and no.  Last week we read Mark’s account of John the Baptist.  Typical of Mark, the text we heard was short, and jam-packed with action.  John the Baptist is preaching a baptism of repentance, people are flocking to him, he wears weird clothes, and he tells everyone someone more powerful is coming.  But that is pretty much all Mark gives us.

This week, we read the gospel of John’s account of John.  We know right away John’s gospel is different because he does not call John, “John the Baptist.”  In fact, some scholars say John’s version of John the Baptist would be called, “John the Witness,” or “John the Voice.”  John’s gospel tells us that John the Witness is just that:  a living witness to the light of Christ.  John’s gospel slows us down so we can talk about who this John the Witness really is.  Temple leaders come to John asking him all sorts of questions:  who he is, whether he is a prophet, under what authority he is baptizing people.  John’s gospel slows us down because the gospeller wants to be very clear who John the Witness is and who he is not.  In these thirteen verses, John the Witness uses ten negatives to distinguish himself from Jesus; ten “nots,” “neithers,” and “noes.”[i]  You see, the religious leaders come to John the Witness because he is showing himself to be a compelling leader.[ii]  But what the religious leaders have missed is John is not trying to attract people to himself; hence all the “not me” language.  John is simply preparing the way – pointing people toward someone even more compelling.

I do not know about you, but there is some small part of me that has always been a tad annoyed that the majority of Advent is spent talking about John.  Even though I am on board with not singing Christmas carols or hearing the birth narratives until Christmas Eve, I have often secretly wanted more of a preview in the weeks preceding Christmas than we get.  I have wondered why we cannot spend all four weeks on the more dramatic pregnancy stories:  Mary’s annunciation, Joseph’s interaction with the angel, the Elizabeth and Mary encounter, and the Magnificat.  Spending two weeks on the crazy cousin who eats locusts and wild honey feels tangential to what is coming, and hardly gets me in the mood for singing Away in a Manger.

But this year, something shifted for me.  John the Baptist, or the Witness, or the Voice, or whatever we are going to call him became more compelling for me this Advent.  If you remember, John had a miracle beginning too.  His mother had been long barren, and when the news came to his father that his wife would bear a son, his disbelief meant that he was struck with the inability to speak for nine months until the baby came.  Then, while John was still in the womb, he leapt inside Elizabeth’s womb when Elizabeth came near Jesus in Mary’s womb.  He clearly had the gift of discernment from before birth.  But what strikes me most is his clarity in identity and purpose.  Despite his miraculous and impressive beginnings, he always understands his giftedness is not about him.  His giftedness is in pointing people to God.  He is not lured in by fame or followers; he is not caught up in the hype; he is not even tempted to claim the authority of someone like Elijah.  He is single-minded in his purpose and vocation, and longs to help people find their way to God.  His delight is in helping people find their delight in Christ.

That is one of our invitations today:  to recall someone who has helped you find your delight in Jesus.  Maybe you will adopt someone new like John the witness today.  Maybe his story and his single-mindedness about purpose and vocation is an inspiration.  But maybe you are recalling someone else in your life who did that for you.  Maybe the person was a relative, a mentor, a friend, or a historical figure.  Recall how that person pointed you to Jesus time and again; how he or she awakened in you a longing for a similar single-mindedness about Jesus.  Remember his or her words or actions, giving thanks today for their inspiration and witness in your life.  Meditate with the baptizer, witness, or voice in your life as we journey in these last days of Advent.

But do not stop there.  John’s witness today is not just for you, meant to help you center your own life.[iii]  John’s witness today offers you a second invitation:   to be a baptizer, a witness, a voice for others.  For some of you, the invitation to be a witness may sound overwhelming.  How can we possibly inspire others in the powerful ways others have witnessed to us?  The main way we serve as witnesses is to listen.  David Gortner talks about evangelism not as being about preaching from a street corner, but as being about meeting people where they are – in the grocery store line, at the coffee shop, at a community event – and listening to their story.  The first step in witnessing is not about telling someone how to live their life, but listening to their life stories.  The next step is where witnessing happens.  After hearing someone’s life story – whether a friend, an acquaintance, or even a stranger – we prayerfully reflect back where we hear the Holy Spirit in their story.  We name where we hear and see God in their daily journey.  We point to Jesus in the conversation.[iv]

One of my favorite stories of Habitat for Humanity founder Miller Fuller was a story of a retiree who was busy volunteering on a roof.  He was the kind of person who liked to work alone, mostly so that he could monitor and maintain quality control.  But on this particular day, a kid kept bothering the volunteer.  He wanted to help, and the man kept suggesting he find someone else.  The kid kept appearing throughout the day, bringing tools, bringing snacks, or just hanging nearby to talk.  Despite his efforts to shoo away the boy, he kept finding him underfoot.  By the afternoon, the volunteer gave up and allowed the boy to help him – under strictest supervision, of course.  Much to his surprise, the boy was quite good.  By the end of the day, they were laughing and finishing most of the work.  As they were leaving, the volunteer apologized for his brusqueness and asked the boy his name.  “My name is Jesus,” said the boy.

Jesus is all around us, all the time.  But most of us struggle to see him or name him because we either do not have a witness nearby or we have not honed our witnessing skills.  John the witness invites us to reclaim our witness today; to listen for the movement of Jesus in others’ lives and to be the witness who points to Jesus.  We are not the light; we are not the Messiah; we are not the prophet.  But we do come to testify to the light – to point others toward the goodness, the holy, the Jesus in their life, and invite them to the light.  God has given you witnesses to shape your journey.   And God enables you to share the gift of witness with others.  Our job is to simply listen and point.  Amen.

[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 71.

[ii] David Lose, “Advent 3 B:  Sacred Leadership,” December 15, 2017, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2017/12/advent-3-b-sacred-leadership/ on December 15, 2017.

[iii] David L. Bartlett, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 68, 70.

[iv] David Gortner, Transforming Evangelism (New York:  Church Publishing, 2008).

Sermon – Matthew 13.1-9, 18-23, P10, YA, July 16, 2017

Tags

business, evangelism, extravagent, fear, fertile, Good News, Jesus, listen, parable, seed, soil, sow, sower

I don’t know about you, but this gospel lesson always makes me a little nervous.  As soon as I hear about the different types of soil where seed is sown, I start to get paranoid.  I think of the countless times when I did not understand what the kingdom of God was about, or what God was trying to teach me, and how the evil one started clouding my thoughts.  Or, I think about that those moments where I have been filled with new fervor for God, only to get distracted or anxious, and lose that sense of intimacy with God.  And the good Lord knows that I have been more than distracted by the cares of the world and the lures or preoccupation around money and lost touch with my faith.  Of course, by the time I get through that litany of doubt and self-loathing, I feel a sense of doom.  I will never work hard enough to be good soil!

The good news is this parable is not about me or you.  At least not in the way we think.  Whenever scholars talk about this text, the text is referred to as the parable of the sower – not the parable of the soils.[i]  By getting distracted by all of the ways we do not measure up or the ways in which our faith is sometimes shallow, unsophisticated, or self-centered, we miss the point altogether.  This is about the nature of Christ – the original sower of the Good News, and the expectations of how the disciples will be similar sowers.  To understand what that means, we need to let go of our anxiety about our soil, and hone in on the nature of the sower.  You see, the sower might recognize that three-fourths of soil is not fertile.  The sower even confesses that of fertile soil, the yield will be different – some hundred-fold, some sixty, and some thirty.

Being aware of this math, you would think the sower would develop a strategic plan, assessing how to maximize productivity, avoid burnout, and get the best return.  That is certainly how modern farmers would go about things.  I learned this week of a new machine produced by a major farming company that has perfected the art of planting seeds.  The planter slows down the seed through the use of a small puff of air.  That puff of air makes sure the seed does not roll where it should not, and perfectly lands where the farmer intends.  The machine is a genius development through science.  And that machine is nothing like the sower in Jesus’ parable.[ii]  Despite all the data – that three out of four seeds will fail to thrive, and of those seeds planted in good soil, the productivity will vary in size, the sower casts seeds in all of the soil.  The sower takes his time, his money, his knowledge and, based on our standards, wastes it.  The sower just throws seed everywhere, letting whatever happens happen.  The sower knows that each seed will do something – whether be feed for birds, or experience the joy of new faith, or even get close to growth before distraction.  But the sower does not care.  The sower seeds with abandon.  The sower sows with reckless extravagance.

I am not sure I am capable of sowing like the sower sows in this parable.  I think about Jesus encouraging his disciples to be recklessly extravagant sowers, and instead, I think my method would be a little more like what Barbara Brown Taylor imagines.  Her modern retelling of Jesus’ parable goes something like this:

“Once upon a time a sower went out to sow.  And as he sowed some seeds fell along the path, and the birds came along and devoured them.  So he put his seed pouch down and spent the next hour or so stringing aluminum foil all around his field.  He put up a fake owl he ordered form a garden catalog and, as an afterthought, he hung a couple of traps for the Japanese beetles.

Then he returned to his sowing, but he noticed some of the seeds were falling on rocky ground, so he put his seed pouch down again and went to fetch his wheelbarrow and shovel.  A couple of hours later he had dug up the rocks and was trying to think of something useful he could do with them when remembered his sowing and got back to it, but as soon as he did he ran right into a briar patch that was sure to strangle his little seedlings.  So he put his pouch down again and looked everywhere for the weed poison but finally decided just to pull the thorns up by hand, which meant that he had to go back inside and look everywhere for his gloves.

Now by the time he had the briars cleared it was getting dark, so the sower picked up his pouch and his tools and decided to call it a day.  That night he fell asleep in his chair reading a seed catalog, and when he woke the next morning he walked out into his field and found a big crow sitting on his fake owl.  He found rocks he had not found the day before and he found new little leaves on the roots of the briars that had broken off in his hands.”[iii]

This version does not work as well as Jesus’ parable.  In fact, this version captures our resistance to the kind of extravagance Jesus is promoting.  We like control, measured actions, and predictable results.  We like efficiency, productivity, and practicality.  Just look at any church that has been planted in the last twenty years.  The Diocese conducts a study, location is considered for months, research is done to ensure maximum yield before a new church is ever begun.  Or even look at our own evangelism efforts.  We are strategically considering neighborhoods that are near the church, where people may be looking for a church home, or how people may fit in with certain demographics before we spend capital on evangelism campaigns.  And all of those efforts are smart business.[iv]

But that is not the kind of business that the sower in the parable is about.  The sower is about throwing the Good News everywhere.  The implication for us is clear.  The sower’s example means that we too need to be extravagant with our sowing of the Good News.  We cannot look around our neighborhood and say, “I mean, he already has a church, or she clearly had a bad experience with the church, or we’re not even that close, so….”  We tend to wait for months to ask someone to even come to a movie or a fall festival, let alone church.  What if they say no?  What if they avoid us afterwards?  What if they assume we’re pushy?  What if they ask me a question I can’t answer?  We get so caught up in “what ifs” that we are like a sower standing frozen with our pouches.  Instead, Jesus’ sower is standing beside us whispering, “Go ahead.  Throw the seeds anyway.”  The sower not only tells us to not be afraid of talking to others about our faith and the Good News of God in Christ, the sower tells us that we should not care – not care if the soil is fertile or what the yield will be.  In knowing the yield will be limited to 25% of those approached, the sower says we should just throw that seed, that Good News all over the place, because ultimately, what the seed does, or how the soil is, is not our responsibility.  Our responsibility is to sow the seed.

The sower in our story encourages us to be another way.  The sower says, “Hey you, on the path, in the thorns, in the shallow soil, and in the succulent soil, I want to share something with you.  Hey you with birds, thorns, rocks, and nutrition creeping in, I want to spend some time with you even though it may be a total waste of time.  I want to listen to you, I want to reflect with you on where God is acting in your life, I want to tell you why I got up today and drug myself to this awesome place called Hickory Neck.”  I know the work sounds scary and even illogical.  I know even attempting to sow seeds may feel like a task you are just ill-equipped to do – or you may assume is the work of the clergy.  But let me leave you with this:  you came here today because this community means something to you.  You came here because you are fed here, challenged here, loved here.  Why wouldn’t you want to invite someone into that wonderful experience?  Why are you clutching onto a pouch of seeds that could mean new life for someone else?  Jesus has already warned us that the return will feel low.  But you never know when you are going to encounter that soil that produces not just thirty- or sixty-fold, but sometimes a hundred-fold.  In fact, scholars tell us that those numbers indicate an unimaginably large amount of productivity.  A good amount of produce would have been seven-fold.[v]  Jesus promises much more return!  We cannot control how our Good News will be received.  Our invitation is to be as illogically, recklessly, extravagantly gracious and loving sowers as our loving Lord who could not care less about the results.  So grab your seeds, and let’s go!

[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven: Sermons on the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 26.

[ii] Rolf Jacobson, “SB549 – Sixth Sunday after Pentecost (Ord. 15),” Sermon Brainwave Podcast, July 8, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=911 on July 10, 2017.

[iii] Taylor, 28-29.

[iv] Theodore J. Wardlaw, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 237.

[v] Talitha J. Arnold, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 3 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 236.

Sermon – Luke 24.13-35, E3, YA, April 30, 2017

Tags

confess, disciples, dream, Emmaus, go, God, hearts, Jesus, learn, listen, ministry, move, movement, road, Sermon, walk

Teachers and group facilitators know there are different types of learning styles.  Some people need to see something in writing in order to follow what is being presented.  These are the folks in church whose head is in their bulletins when the scripture is being read because they need to see the words, not just hear them.  Some people need to hear information orally to absorb information.  These are the folks you will see looking away from their bulletins during readings at church, preferring to watch and hear the words of the lector or celebrant instead of follow the words on the page.  And some people are what are called kinesthetic learners, who need to touch, feel, and do something in order to grasp the concept.  These are the folks who experience God more like our two disciples today – walking, talking, listening, and breaking bread.

I have been thinking a lot about walking this week.  Next month we will be talking about the Christian tradition of pilgrimage – a moving journey with God.  I think one of the primary reasons we walk, why we take pilgrimages, is because we sometimes just need to move in order to see God.  If we think back about Christ’s years of ministry, much of his sacred, life-changing moments happened while walking:  the woman who grabs the hem of his garment and receives healing while Jesus walks; the blind man Jesus encounters while walking in the city; the grieving mother Jesus meets while walking past the funeral procession.  Though Jesus certainly spends time sitting and teaching in homes, in gardens, and on mountains, much of his ministry isspent on the move.

Back in Advent, we had a clergy retreat.  The day was filled with all sorts of activities – conversation, silence, prayer, and readings.  But perhaps my favorite part of the day was when the facilitator assigned us to another person in the room and told us to go for a walk.  One person was to speak about whatever was on their heart and the other was to listen.  At the end, when the speaker was done, the listener was invited to reflect back about what they had heard and where they heard God moving in the speaker’s life.  What is interesting about taking a walk with someone – either being the listener or the speaker – is that you cannot really make eye contact.  Your body is busy watching the path in front of you, avoiding rocks or holes, and navigating turns.  Meanwhile, your mind works harder to focus – keeping your body moving while allowing yourself to speak or listen.  In some ways, that kind of walk is reminiscent of a confessional.  Two people, side-by-side, confessing what is on their heart, without the piercing judgment of eye contact.  Somehow the seemingly simple act of taking a walk with someone becomes profoundly intimate and sacred, something I am not convinced happens as well when we are sitting still.

The two disciples may have been having the same kind of conversation on that road to Emmaus.  They have a lot on their minds:  those last days of Jesus’ life; his arrest, crucifixion, and death; the testimony of the women about his resurrection.  Everything in their lives has been upended, and they are confused, sad, and lost.  But as they walk, Jesus appears on the road alongside them.  Together, the three of them keep moving, sharing hopes, dreams, and fears, while also reflecting where they see God in the midst of this turbulent time.  While their bodies are busy with the steps of that dusty road, their minds and hearts are opening up through their conversation.  The noise all around them fades, and the clarity of truth breaks through.  Though they do not notice the feeling right away, later the disciples remember a distinct feeling of their hearts burning within them.

Most of you know by now or will soon figure out that I am a planner.  I like to sit down and think through challenges.  I spend energy considering the various possibilities, weighing consequences, and working through solutions.  I will do research, talk to people with experience, and try to gauge reactions.  In general, being a planner can be a great asset.  The challenge for a planner is moving.  There comes a moment when you have to move on what you have and make a decision or start the planned action.  And although this will come as no surprise to the more spontaneous folks in the room, sometimes, you have to get moving without doing all the planning.  Sometimes, you just have to take a walk – get out and start doing, and clarity will come.  Sometimes Jesus does not show up until you are on the road.

That is what is interesting about our story today.  The two disciples today are overwhelmed and stuck.  They do not know what to make of all that has happened and they especially do not know what to make of the women’s testimony.  They could have stayed in that room with the other disciples, worrying and talking through the possibilities.  Instead, they get up and walk.  They walk, talk, confess, listen, and learn.  Their hearts burn within them only when they move – only when Christ comes alongside their moving bodies and reveals truth to them, helping them understand the fulfillment of Scripture in all that has happened.

I wonder if Christ is not inviting us to do the same today.  A couple of weeks ago, I celebrated my first anniversary here at Hickory Neck.  It has been an incredible year of growing, relationship-building, serving, and sharing in fellowship.  As I have reflected back, the year has been full of good work, growing discipleship, and energized mission and evangelism.  We really have had a very full year.  But one of the things I keep remembering, and now our Vestry has begun exploring, is the conversation I had with our Search Committee and Vestry over a year ago.  We talked extensively about dreams, many of which had already been articulated.  The one that captured my heart was using the blessing of this property to begin some new ministries – ministries that would serve those in need in our community and would reflect the distinct nature of our neighborhood.  Knowing that we have an abundance of retirees settling in Williamsburg, and an influx of young families moving in as well, Hickory Neck began to dream about how we might serve both constituencies – with childcare, elder day care, or both simultaneously.  The dream was what drew me in, and as colossal as the dream sounded, the dream also sounded inspired and full of the Spirit.

For the last year, we have been sitting, getting to know each other, building trust, and growing in our love of Christ.  But now, your Vestry has started taking some walks.  Your Vestry has started meeting with leaders, service providers, and member of the larger community.  The idea is to walk alongside others, hearing their stories, and listening for the Spirit.  We are also sharing our dream, and making sure our vision is in line with what the community needs.  We are taking those kinds of walks that lay bare our concerns and fears, but also confess our deepest hopes.  Of course, we could avoid these conversations, staying in the upper room with fellow disciples – fellow Hickory Neck-ers.  But instead, we are taking a cue from the disciples today, hoping that on our walk, our hearts will burn with a sense of the presence of Jesus.

The disciples and our Vestry are issuing a similar invitation to us today – to move out of the comfort of familiarity, and to start walking the way in the hopes of encountering Jesus.  What they have learned is that sometimes, in order to clear our heads, in order to get un-stuck in our current path, in order to go deeper with God and to find Christ in our midst, we need to move.  We need to walk, talk, listen, confess, and learn.  We need to step out of our places of comfort and familiarity, and start moving.  On those walks are where we encounter Christ, where scripture becomes clear, and where our hearts burn with renewed energy, purpose, and meaning.  That is work that we are taking on as a community, but also work that we are invited to take on for ourselves.  Taking those first steps can be scary, intimidating, and uncomfortable.  The good news, is that, like the disciples, we do not go alone.  We go with fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.  We go with neighbors who long for justice and dignity for all.  We go with Christ, who whispers truth and who burns in our hearts.  Come, and take a walk with Hickory Neck.

Sermon – Jonah 3.1-10, Psalm 51.11-18, and Luke 11.29-32, Ecumenical Lenten Worship Series, March 8, 2017

Tags

change, ecumenical, God, hero, immature, Jonah, journey, judgment, Lent, listen, neighbor, Nineveh, renewal, repent, repentance, Sermon, sin, temper tantrum, together, witness

I have always loved Jonah’s story.  He is probably one of the most juvenile characters in the Hebrew Scriptures.  When God tells him to go to Nineveh, he runs in the opposite direction.  Only when God makes the seas roar, and he is swallowed by a fish, does Jonah call out for God’s mercy.  Jonah finally submits to God and goes to Nineveh as he is told, but then he throws a temper tantrum at God when God forgives Nineveh.  He is angry God doesn’t punish the city, and so he storms off to pout.  When a bush giving him shade withers, he ramps up his tirade.  God asks if Jonah has any right to be angry, and Jonah, in classic toddler style, whines, “Yes! Angry enough to die!”  You can almost imagine him stamping his foot, pouting his lower lip, and furrowing his brow.

Jonah is easy to make fun of because his behavior is so incredibly immature and self-centered.  We laugh at his adult-sized temper tantrum because we all know adults are too old for that sort of behavior.  But that is what is tricky about Jonah too.  Deep down, in places we do not like to talk about, we know Jonah’s experience all too well.  When we are really honest, we can confess that may or may not have thrown an epic temper tantrum in our adult lives too.  Whether over the reoccurrence of an illness, the death of a loved one, a lost cause, the job we did not get, or the love that was not returned, we have all had our Jonah moments.  Though we publicly all can say, “Silly Jonah, when will he learn?!?”, privately, we all think, “That sounds uncomfortably familiar.  I hope no one noticed my temper tantrum!”

Of course, at the end of the day, Jonah does what he is told – witnesses to the people of Nineveh, as God requests.  But in the drama of Jonah’s story, we often forget one minor, and yet central component of Jonah’s story.  Nineveh is the Rockstar of this story.  Nineveh, for all its sinfulness and shame, has no problem admitting Nineveh is wrong.  When Jonah tells Nineveh the city will be overthrown if Nineveh does not repent and change its ways, the people immediately believe God.  They proclaim a fast, and everyone – adults, elders, and children, put on sackcloth.  Even the king of Nineveh immediately rises from his throne, puts on sackcloth and sits in ashes.  He decrees that everyone in the city – humans and animals – will fast, be covered in sackcloth, and cry out their repentance to God.  He declares, “All shall turn form their evil ways and from the violence that is in their hands.  Who knows?  God may relent and change God’s mind; God may turn from God’s fierce anger, so that we do not perish.”

The king of Nineveh and the people of Nineveh are quite unlike most modern recipients of judgment.  In Nineveh, no one holds a press conference to defend their motives and actions.  No one holds a counter-protest to the judgment.  No one even argues with Jonah or asks, “Are you sure?”  Nineveh is told a cold, hard, ugly truth that exposes their deep sinfulness and grievances, and instead of getting defensive, Nineveh drops everything.  They stop in their tracks and change their ways.  They take the judgment with sobriety and honesty, and they make a change.  Though we like to give Jonah the attention, the real heroes in this story are the king and people of Nineveh.

When Jesus talks about repentance in Luke’s gospel today, and when the Church talks about repentance in the season of Lent, this is the kind of repentance we are talking about.  Jesus basically shares that he is to the people of Israel as Jonah was to the people of Nineveh.  He is their sign that repentance is needed.  The people of God are to use Nineveh as their guide for what true repentance looks like.  Jesus’ instruction and Nineveh’s example come at an opportune time for us.  We have managed to work ourselves into a time of finger pointing and name calling.  Our division is found on the political scene, between denominations of churches, and even in our families.  We have presumed that we are Jonahs and everyone else is Nineveh.  The reality, though, is much scarier.  We are not Jonahs.  We are Ninevehs.  Jesus is the Jonah of our time, calling us into repentance and renewal.  We can follow the model that Nineveh set for us, dropping everything to evaluate our sinfulness and changing our behavior immediately.  We can sit in sackcloth and work to deeply understand the role we play in sinful behaviors.  We can invite our neighbors to sit with us as we both work toward repentance.  That is what Lent is all about.

So how do we repent?  How do we take this time of Lent as a time for intentional, dramatic, meaningful change in our lives?  The psalm appointed for today gives us a few clues.  “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.  Cast me not away from your presence and take not your holy Spirit from me.  Give me the joy of your saving help again and sustain me with your bountiful Spirit.”  First, we ask God for help.  We ask God for help, because we know our God will enable us to do the work God has given us to do.  The psalm also tells us to bring others into our journey, “I shall teach your ways to the wicked, and sinners shall return to you.”  We not only bring our broken, sinful, hurtful selves to God, we witness our work to others, using our own vulnerability and humility as an entry to shared journey.  And then we sing.  “Deliver me from death, O God, and my tongue shall sing of your righteousness, O God of my salvation.  Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.”  We use our mouths to praise our God – a God who can change course, who can see the repentance of God’s people and take away the horror of judgment.

That’s why I am grateful that we are together tonight.  We come to God across denominational differences and we sit together in worship.  We hear the witness of Nineveh tonight, and then we start the work of emulating Nineveh.  First, we hear Jonah and Jesus’ word of judgment, letting God create in us clean hearts and renewing right spirits in us.  Then, we turn to our neighbor, and work on creating a community of repentance, working to love the Lord our God and our neighbor as ourselves.  Finally, we turn to those not gathered here tonight – those who may not have a church home, and we share our witness.  We share our witness of how we have been a people of sin, and how we are hoping to change our ways.  And we ask if they might help us on that journey – not taking the judgment of Jonah out into the world, but taking the repentance of Nineveh out into the world.  Listening to our neighbors, working together for meaningful change, and creating a city that is humble enough to know that God may relent and not let us perish.  God will renew a right spirit within you, will give you the joy of God’s saving help again, and will sustain you with God’s bountiful Spirit.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

On Staying at the Table…

Tags

controversy, conversation, dinner, Eucharist, God, listen, protest, respect, shelter, table

Yesterday morning, I heard a statistic that said 57% of Americans supported Trump’s current immigration ban.  The number surprised me because I had watched all weekend as people poured into airports and joined protests against the Executive Order.  Perhaps one could argue that the press loves to cover controversy and made the hype feel bigger than the numbers.  Regardless, watching the passionate, immediate, and spontaneous emergence of protests, I was surprised to hear such support in opposition to the protestors’ visceral response.  As I thought about that contradiction, I realized that there must be some part of the supporters’ position that I do not understand.

I have been thinking a lot this past week about how we are going to move through this tense time as a country.  One of the constant refrains I have been hearing is about how we need to listen – really listen – to each other and engage in meaningful conversation with the “other.”  I have appreciated articles like this one, that present a point of view without comment, which is one form of really listening.  But I have not been sure how I would go about engaging in these conversations myself.  But, as God often does, I have found it happening in spite of me.

Last week, Hickory Neck joined another Episcopal Church to host an emergency winter shelter week.  I volunteered for an evening shift.  During dinner, I found that the conversation between guests and volunteers slipped into a conversation about politics.  My initial instinct was to shut the conversation down – worrying I might step on some toes.  But I took a deep breath and tried to do what I kept hearing about – listen.  The points of view varied widely among our homeless guests and our parishioners.  Some points of view were extreme – on both sides!  And some of the things we shared I worried would cause alienation between my parishioners and I.  But we all stayed at the table.

That’s one of the things I have always loved about the Episcopal Church – we stay at the table.  Every week we bring our opposing views, our sinful hearts, and poor hearing to the table, and kneel side-by-side, remember whose we are, and go out into the world renewed and made whole.  Our table fellowship at dinner that night was not a Eucharistic meal.  But the results were quite similar.  As my volunteer shift ended, we shook hands, we looked each other in the eye, and we nodded in mutual respect.  Our conversation did not change the world.  But hopefully it changed each of us just a little.  And that may be the most we can hope for – small changes, made possible by staying at the table.  On Sundays, the church shows us how.  Our job is to create table opportunities as often as we can throughout the week.

Photo credit:  www.boundless.org/life-changing-power-of-table/

Sermon – Matthew 1.18-25, A4, YA, December 18, 2016

Tags

ancestors, beautiful, call, calling, discernment, God, Jesus, Joseph, life, listen, messy, ordination, righteous, scary, Sermon

This week, I have been thinking a lot about callings.  Of course, with Charlie’s ordination to the priesthood this weekend, thinking about callings is not unusual.  I have always enjoyed ordinations – and not just because I am a priest.  I remember the first ordination I went to there were six people being ordained.  I only knew one of the six because she was our new assistant at the Cathedral.  But I remember being awed by the service.  The six ordinands seemed set apart.  As they processed down the aisle, wearing their simple albs, I remember wondering how they came to be called as priests, imagining they must have led a special life or be particularly holy.  I remember the swarms of clergy who gathered up front to lay hands on the new priests.  I remember how the new priests somehow seemed bathed in light that day – as if they had some special connection to the holy.

Having been through the ordination process myself, I look at ordinands a little differently today.  Instead of seeing perfectly pious priests processing, I see people who have come through a great ordeal.  I imagine the countless nights of struggling with God about why in the world they should become priests.  I imagine the stressful meetings with bishops, priests, and committees and the ambiguity about what would happen.  I imagine the exams, the sense of failure after messy pastoral visit, and the countless “no”s that come along in the process.  I no longer see perfectly coifed new priests, but instead see the haggard, raw, vulnerable people who have said, “yes,” to what promises to be a life of hard, beautiful, ugly, blessed days.   In that way, I do not see the ordained as all that different from the rest of us – a vulnerable group of people who are trying to figure out what in the world God wants us to do with our lives.

That is why I love that we hear Joseph’s story today.  Most of us think of Joseph as the stable, quiet figure in Jesus’ life.  He is present on the holy night of Jesus’ birth.  He protects Jesus from Herod by fleeing to Egypt.  He teaches Jesus a trade.  He accepts the mighty task of raising a child that is both his own and not his own.  In our minds, he is a righteous, quiet, solid man of faith.

While all of those things may be true, what they miss is the mess of his life behind the scenes. [i]  Joseph is a typical man of faith, righteously living his life, betrothed to a faithful, promising young woman.  He is quietly living his life when his world gets turned upside down.  His betrothed becomes pregnant, which must mean she has been unfaithful, and in Joseph’s time, that means his soon-to-be wife must either be stoned or divorced immediately.[ii]  Trying to overcome this tremendous disgrace and disappointment, Joseph discerns the best, most gracious path forward.  And just when he has settled what is next, God comes along, and flips his world upside-down again.  Now Joseph is supposed to not only believe that Mary is magically pregnant through the Holy Spirit, but he is also to stay with her and take the baby in as his own.  And based on scripture, we know once Jesus hits the teenage years, Joseph’s story disappears altogether.  Even though God calls Joseph to do this tremendous, hard, messy, but beautiful thing, Joseph does not get the spotlight for long.  He goes about his everyday life, living out his calling, relatively unnoticed by the world.

One of the things I have loved about mentoring people over the years is seeing just that same phenomenon.  Throughout our lives we have distinct seasons of discerning call.  Sometimes those moments are obvious:  graduating from school, trying to find a job, figuring out how to spend time in retirement.  The pattern seems to go a little like this:  we hit a point where we need to discern what God is calling us to do; we go through a process of discernment, sometimes formal, but usually informal; we make a decision and take the necessary steps to follow that path; and eventually we look back.  In looking back, we rarely find that the call we heard and answered leads us to where we expected or wanted.  Invariably, there are twists and turns we never could have anticipated.  Invariably, there are failures scattered throughout the successes.  Answering a call is never a simple, clean, or easy process.

Just this week, I was reading about a young man from North Carolina who happened to see a traveling ballet company at his church at age seven.  Four years later, he found himself practicing six days a week.  He eventually joined the New York City Ballet.  He says, “I’ve always seen ballet as my way of serving God.  I think it’s what God has called me to do.”[iii]  What I love about this young man’s story is that whether you are a ballet dancer, cabinet maker, housekeeper, or financial manager, at some point, God has called you to that work for a reason.  The ballet dancer admits he sacrificed a lot to follow his call.  I imagine he failed a lot before he succeeded.  And some day, his body will no longer be able to dance, and he will have to figure out what else God is calling him to do.  His story is the messy, beautiful, challenging story of call we all live.

And if we have never struggled with discerning our professional calling, we have certainly struggled to understand what God is doing in our personal lives.  Though we are approaching a season of joy and merriment, I know there are many of us who are facing medical diagnoses whose purpose we do not understand.  There those among us who are living in relationships – romantic, familial, or otherwise – that are at times loving, hurtful, confusing, and life-giving.  And there are those of us who feel lost, lonely, or restless, even though everything in our lives seems to be moving along well on the outside.  God is in the midst of the personal too – calling us, challenging us, and shaping us.

If we were ever unsure about God’s presence in our messy professional and personal calls, Joseph stands ready to remind us.  He too faces a medical diagnosis that changes his world – a pregnancy that he did not plan, or even participate in, that changes the course of his life forever.  He too faces a relationship that seems broken.  Even when he feels as though he is choosing a kind, compassionate, and righteous decision, God calls him to take another path.  Joseph too understood what feeling lost is like.  Just because an angel tells him to take in Mary and adopt the child as his own, I doubt that things are easy sailing at home, on that journey to Bethlehem, or even after Jesus’ birth.  Though Joseph is listening to God and following God’s call, he is never promised a simple, peaceful, happy life.

So why do we do it?  Why do we listen to God’s call for us if we have no guarantees of a happy, smooth, or peaceful life?  We follow God’s call because we have experienced that sense of dis-ease when we do not follow God’s call – that sense that we are not using all the gifts God has given us, or that discomfort that comes from trying to force what we “should” do in life with what God calls us to do in life.  We follow God’s call because we have experienced the tremendous grace that comes from answering God’s call.  Sure, the road is messy, and hard, and sometimes frustrating.  But the road is also full of beautiful surprises, wonderful accidents, and joyful confirmations that we are right where God wants us.  And we follow God’s call because we are part of a people who have always followed God’s call:  from Abraham, to Moses, to Esther, to Jonah, to Mary, to Joseph.  Our ancestors have taught us that when we say “yes,” God does indeed turn our lives upside down.  But our ancestors have also taught us that in the midst of that topsy-turvy turmoil is where we find out truest selves, where we meet the world’s deepest needs, and where we find ourselves in Christ’s light and love.  So, do not be afraid.  God is with us.  God is with you.  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Matthew’s Version of the Incarnation,” December 17, 2013, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=2961 on December 14, 2016.

[ii] Douglas R. A. Hare, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 93.

[iii] Quote and story from Humans of New York, December 12, 2016, at http://www.humansofnewyork.com/post/154395391126/i-was-first-exposed-to-ballet-at-the-age-of-seven, as found on December 14, 2016.  Photo by Brandon Stanton.  Subject unnamed.

Sermon – Habakkuk 1.1-4; 2.1-4, P26, YC, October 30, 2016

Tags

anger, argue, bold, celebration, cry, dreams, God, Habakkuk, joy, lament, listen, plain, pledge, Sermon, stewardship, vigil, vision, watch, write

I don’t know about you, but there are times when I have to tune out from the world.  I binge watch HGTV or find a mindless comedy and I just zone out.  In part, I do this because my psyche, my spirit, my soul feels overwhelmed.  I cannot listen to one more story of natural disaster – of floods, of famine, of destruction.  I cannot learn of one more part of the world where humanity seems lost – of genocide, of systemic violence against women, of the taking of land from its rightful owners.  And lately, I cannot absorb one more barb by a political campaign – of slander, of innuendo, of plain meanness.  And if I am not trying to hide from the world around us, sometimes I find I need to hide from the world right in front of us – from awful diagnoses, to life lost, to relationships broken.

While one common response is to relieve tension through mindless activity, the other alternative is to do what Habakkuk does today:  cry out to God.  “How long, O LORD, must I call for help, but you do not listen?”  The reading from Habakkuk today starts with what is called a lament – something commonly seen in the psalms,[i] but known by us all because at some point in our lives, we have all cried out a lament to God.  In this particular lament, Habakkuk is angry with God because the world is crumbling around him.  Violence is on every side and those supposed to enforce justice are perverting justice.  You can hear the sense of betrayal in Habakkuk’s voice – as if God has abandoned him and the rest of God’s people.  And so, Habakkuk does what God’s people have done from the days of Abraham – he argues with God.[ii]  He demands a response.  He calls God to task – demanding that God not let this ungodly world continue on its ungodly path.

If you are ever in a crisis, one of the things you will learn about me is what I love about our God:  God can take our anger, our righteous indignation, our arguments.  Our people have been engaging this way with God from the beginning – not victim to an all-powerful God who demands our obedience, but in relationship with a God who can handle all of our “stuff.”  Lord knows God has gotten an earful from me over the years – every time a child is lost, fellow citizens die from senseless violence, or life just seemed too much to bear – God has heard from me.  Sometimes I cry out in a lament, sometimes I cannot even find the words I am so angry.  I learned a long time ago that the good news is God can take it.

After his lament, Habakkuk does something that is quite familiar to me as a parent of young children.  Habakkuk stomps his feet, crosses his arms, and stares in silent indignation, daring God to respond.  Of course, one could certainly label this as the conclusion of Habakkuk’s temper tantrum.  But an alternative may be to see something else in what Habakkuk is doing.  In the face of great sorrow, anger, and despair, Habakkuk does not flee.  Though he feels abandoned, he does not abandon God.  Instead, he demands God’s presence and will not be satisfied until he hears a word from God.  And so he waits.  He waits, and watches.  He keeps vigil, listening for God to speak.

Several years ago, Hickory Neck was thriving and heading toward what looked like a tremendous time of growth and change.  The community rallied around creating this new worship space to house the community that was bursting at the seams.  We even have plans for how to expand this building into phases two and three when we expected we would be bursting at the seams again.  But a few years ago, we hit a bit of snag.  Our pastor became ill and eventually took a new call.  Though we had an interim priest, we had interims without the interim.  I would not say that things ever got so rough that we called out in lament to God like Habakkuk.  But we did take a play out of Habakkuk’s book:  we stood in wait, keeping vigil, listening for God to speak a new word to us.

And slowly, God did just that.  God began to speak.  God began to whisper new dreams, new visions.  We began to dream about mission trips, increased local outreach, repurposing building or building new spaces to house ministries for the growing population of both retirees and young families in our area, and meaningful worship and growth.  God began to open our hearts to what new clergy might join us, and what new visions we might build together.  We began to do what God tells Habakkuk to do today.  When God finally speaks to Habakkuk, God says, “Write the vision; make it plain on tablets, so that a runner may read it.”  Now there is a little scholarly debate[iii] about what the vision is God is communicating – one of promise or one of condemnation – one to be rejoiced or one to be feared[iv] – but the clarity is what strikes me.  Write the vision; make it plain.

A little under a year ago, your Vestry engaged in just that kind of work.  They looked at the state of Hickory Neck, they talked about their dreams for Hickory Neck, they looked at the finances, and then the wrote a vision.  They knew what everyone here knows:  that Hickory Neck is a special place that has been challenged to grow in new and exciting ways.  We have all experienced the power of worship in this place, the transformative nature of formation and prayer in this place, the radical commitment to hospitality in this place, and the passion for Christ’s call to love our neighbors in this place.  And so, the Vestry did what may feel a little like that line from a Field of Dreams, declaring “If we build it, they will come.”  But the Vestry did not just wait for “them” to come.  They soberly looked at finances and decided they would not only fund a rector, but also a curate.  They named their vision to make our buildings not just useful to us, but useful to our communities:  through Winter Shelter and outside guests, but maybe eventually to a preschool or day center for seniors.  The Vestry committed to not just waiting for “them” to come, but employing tools to invite, welcome, and connect seekers into our community.  They wrote the vision and they made it plain.

When I first came on board with Hickory Neck in April, the Vestry began to ask me under what vision we were going to operate.  What I told them is what I will tell you:  we are already operating under a vision.  Now, there are certainly dreams I have for where we will be 5 to 10 to 15 years from now, but for today, for next year, we already have a vision.  Now, being pragmatists, the Vestry wanted me to make it plainer.  And so, we worked in reverse.  We sat down and we mapped out the entire calendar from August to August.  We wrote down everything we normally do and everything we hope to do.  And then we stepped back and said, “Is this us?  Does our calendar reflect who we are and our vision for this place?”  You see, our calendar was just a tool to mark our values and vision.

We have been engaging in that same conversation in our homes, in small groups, and as a community these last four weeks.  As we laid out a vision of being a community that lives generously, we took stock not of our calendars, but of our checkbooks.  We sat down and looked at where our money was going and whether that cash flow reflected our values and vision.  For the Vestry, our budget involves some commitments that are hefty, but reflect a vision of who we want to be.  Each Vestry member went home and engaged in a similar exercise at home, looking to see if their budgets reflected a vision of who they want to be as individuals.

The Vestry and Stewardship Committee have written a vision and made it plain.  Instead of scaling back and being tentative, we have committed to being a parish who boldly is ready to seek and serve Christ in all persons and to share the Good News of God in Christ.  As the Prayer Book says in the Catechism, our vision is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ, as we pray and worship, proclaim the Gospel, and promote justice, peace, and love.[v]  Those are bold promises that will require all of us to succeed.  Today, we are talking about how our treasure is needed to bring that vision to fruition; in January, we will also talk about how our time and talent will bring that vision to fruition.  But because our vision is living generously, this is not a call to sacrifice and struggle.  No, this vision is an occasion for celebration and joy.  I look forward to marking that celebration and joy with you today as we bless our commitments to live generously, eagerly helping Hickory Neck to shine its light on the hill for all to see.  Amen.

[i] Bryan Spinks, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 242, 244.

[ii] Theodore Hiebert, “Habakkuk,” Neil M. Alexander, ed., The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 7 (Nashville:  Abingdon Press, 1996), 632.

[iii] Karl Jacobson, “Commentary on Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4,” November 3, 2013, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1875 on October 26, 2016.

[iv] Corrine L. Carvalho, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 247.

[v] BCP, 855.

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.

The Sound of Silence…

Tags

brokenness, church, contemplations, Episcopal, God, listen, noise, prayer, Rite I, silence, sinfulness, worship

Photo credit:  advisoranalyst.com/glablog/s015/05/27/jeff-miller-the-sound-of-silence.html

In almost every parish I have served, there has been an 8:00 am, Rite I, spoken service.  The crowd usually is not that large.  Because the service is spoken, it tends to be very quiet and to be the shortest service of the day.  Those who are attracted to the service usually like the language (We use “thee” and “thou” language and the service has a more penitential tone.)  Others like the brevity of the service – appreciating both going to church and having the rest of the day free.  While others like the service because it feels more contemplative and centering.

Though the service is always pretty quiet in whatever Episcopal Church you choose, what I have noticed about the 8:00 am crowd at Hickory Neck is that they tend to be not just prompt, but early.  Every Sunday, at least five minutes before the service begins, everyone is seated and is silent.  Up until this past Sunday, I found the practice unsettling.  On Sundays, I am usually amped up, and ready to jump into liturgical leadership.  As an extrovert, I am chatty, and am used to some lighthearted conversation before the service starts.  So the silence immediately before the service feels discordant with my pent-up energy.

But this past Sunday, I remembered a complaint long ago from a fellow parishioner at the Cathedral where I became an Episcopalian.  She used to complain that the beginning of the service was not meant to be happy hour – she was irritated by the chatter all around her when all she wanted to do was kneel on the prayer cushion in front of her and enjoy a moment of silence before the service began.  Even the bulletin had a comment at the beginning that reminded people that we should respect others’ desire to begin our worship in quiet contemplation and centering prayer.  Though I appreciated the guidance, I never really “got” it – until this past Sunday.

The beauty of five minutes of silence before worship is that you can let go of all the stuff on your to-do list.  The beauty of the five minutes of silence before worship is that you can let go of the pain, worry, anger, or stress that is ever present and present yourself humbly before worship.  The beauty of the five minutes of silence before worship is that you can listen to God instead of talk to God.  As a celebrant, I do not know that I will ever be able to use those last five minutes to center myself (I tend to arrive much earlier at church to find that centering time).  But as one who facilitates worship, I have found myself greatly appreciating the gift of those five minutes for our parishioners.  I could use a good five minutes today to just listen.  In the noise of mass gun violence, terrorism, racism, poverty, and suffering, I am a bit out of things to say to God.  Instead I would rather kneel in silence today and give humanity’s and my own brokenness and sinfulness to God.  What might you offer to God today in that silence?  What do you imagine you might hear in that silence?