Sermon – Genesis 3.8-15, Mark 3.20-35, P5, YB, June 6, 2021

Tags

anxiety, belonging, discomfort, evil, God, goodness, Holy Spirit, Jesus, listen, relationship, relax, restless, Sermon, sinfulness, summer, The Fall

Last week we talked about the long journey we had made in the liturgical year that helped us get to Trinity Sunday.  After Trinity Sunday, we enter into the next long journey of what we call “ordinary time,” that time that stretches through summer and the fall when we settle into the stories about the life and ministry of Jesus.  In some ways, what happens in the Church is like what happens in the summer – we kick off our shoes, pull up a refreshing beverage, and settle into a good summer read.  The shift should be a palpable sigh of relief as we ease into the familiar stories we love.

Except, nothing about scripture lessons today is remotely relaxing – in fact, our Old Testament and Gospel texts do quite the opposite, making us tense with discomfort and anxiety.  We start with the story in Genesis, traditionally call the story of the fall.  Adam and Eve have already consumed the fruit from the forbidden tree, and today we hear the story of their being “caught.”  Right away, God knows something is amiss, and how do Adam and Eve respond?  In a comical exercise of finger pointing.  Adam blames both Eve and God:  Eve because she “made” Adam eat the fruit and God because God gave Eve to him in the first place.  Eve blames the serpent, recognizing she was tricked.  The curses from God fly:  on the serpent, on the land, and later in Genesis, on the man and woman and their habitation.  Historically, this text has been used to subjugate women, but most theologians know this story impacts all kinds of theological concepts – from our sinful nature, free will, promises of salvation, and the covenant.[i]  But you do not have to be a theologian to read this text and know that the finger pointing of humans when caught in sinfulness is not going to lead to goodness.

Then we get this strange story about Jesus in Mark’s gospel.  Jesus is simply sitting among the people and his disciples when things go crazy.  The scribes come and begin to proclaim that Jesus is possessed by Satan, and anything seemingly good Jesus is doing is rooted in evil.  Then Jesus’ own family assume he has had a mental breakdown and they come to restrain Jesus.  The people who should know and love Jesus best and the people who should be able to recognize the power of the Holy Spirit try to cast him out.  In response, Jesus rejects them all.  Instead, he professes to have no family except those who gather around him and do the will of God.  Jesus does not actually define what the will of God is, so we should be careful not to project our own notions of doing justice or serving those in need.  For now, being a part of the family of Jesus seems to involve sitting around.  As scholar Matt Skinner says, “The way into kinship—belonging—with Jesus is sticking around. It’s to acknowledge that you’ve been caught up into a new reality—this transformational alternate reality called ‘the kingdom of God’—and to hold on for the ride. That’s probably not the entirety of what it means to do or to accomplish or to commit to ‘the will of God,’ but it seems to be the biggest part, as far as Mark is concerned.”[ii]

Perhaps that is our invitation this summer too.  We are still invited to kick off our shoes, sit at Jesus’ feet, and pull up a good book.  But instead of rereading a comforting story, this may need to be a summer of reading the stories that ask us hard questions: of whether we are in right relationship with God or hiding who we really are; whether we are insisting on our own will or way instead of the way of Jesus; whether we are too restless to slow down and simply sit with the Holy Spirit.  In the flurry of regathering, of finally getting to experience some familiar practices like sitting in chairs [pews] we have missed, using our voices to sing [speak] among others, and seeing familiar friends and meeting new ones, we can miss why we love this community so much in the first place.  We can forget that Hickory Neck is a place we like to come because we are a community who does not let each other hide, who challenges one another to follow the way of love, who will remind us to slow down and listen for the soft voice of God.  Who we are and what this community does is the reason why we will continue to livestream services – so those who still need to be at home can be a part of us too, so those who are tending to life’s daily commitments can come back to the video for a good word, and so those who are longing for something more in life can get to know this Jesus – who redefines who is in and out – and sit at his feet with us.  Our experience this summer might not be one you were hoping for after a long, hard fifteen months – but I suspect this summer will be even better than you could have imagined.  Amen.

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[i][i] James O. Duke, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 98.

[ii] Matt Skinner, “Stick Around,” May 30, 2021, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/stick-around on June 4, 2021.

Sermon – Acts 8.26-40, E5, YB, May 2, 2021

Tags

baptism, Ethiopian eunuch, God, Good News, guide, Holy Spirit, listen, patience, Philip, posture, proclaim, pursuit, question, response, Sermon

As we continue our journey of Eastertide, we continue to explore the consequences of the resurrection on our daily living.  This week, we turn to the Acts of the Apostles, and the vivid story between Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch.  What seems like a simple witness story, the apostle Philip teaching and converting the foreign eunuch, is not simple at all.  In fact, we learn from both characters, in very different ways, what posture toward God we should assume, what our responsibility to each other and the community of faith is, and what our response to the resurrection and one another can be.

Our first lesson from these two characters is what posture toward God we can assume.  Philip shows us the posture of responding to God, no matter what the instruction.  Philip is told by an angel of the Lord to go south.  There is no explanation about why he should go or what the itinerary will be, or why he should take the dangerous wilderness road.  Later, the Holy Spirit tells Philip to approach a quickly-moving chariot, containing a person of influence, who may reject this disheveled disciple.  Both times, Philip responds immediately, sprinting to follow the Spirit.  We see in Philip no complaining or whining to God.  Philip hears God’s word of instruction and Philip responds, no questions asked.

We also learn from the eunuch’s posture toward God.  The eunuch is a man of color, looking distinctly different from any Jew from Israel; he is a court official, a man of importance and wealth[i]; his sexual status has been altered, making him barred from the temple.[ii]  So this man, this unnamed eunuch, has both power and a lack of power.  But despite his exclusion from the temple, he is pursuing God.  And, despite his half-fulfilled experience in Jerusalem, he will not be deterred from seeking God.  This outsider by all other standards shows us the posture of constant, undeterred pursuit of God. 

After Philip and the eunuch teach us about the appropriate postures toward God, the pair teaches us about our responsibilities to one another and to the community of faith.  Philip teaches us of our responsibility to serve as guides to one another.[iii]  Imagine for a moment the best teacher you ever had.  Usually our best teachers are not didactic, but are more guides who are in the learning journey with us.  That is exactly what Philip offers when he sits beside the eunuch in the chariot.  He sits beside the foreign, castrated man, and treats him like an equal in the pursuit of following Jesus.  Philip teaches us that our work is to be guides with one another in this journey of growing to know God.

The eunuch teaches us a lot about our responsibilities toward one another too.  As a person of influence and power, the eunuch could have easily brushed off Philip, telling this dirty disciple to get away from his pristine chariot.  But instead, the eunuch is completely unafraid to ask questions.  He willingly admits he needs a guide, he wants to know how to interpret scripture, and he wants to know if he too can be baptized.  His willingness to question reveals a sense of humility and engagement, and a willingness to trust someone in the community to teach him.

After teaching us about the appropriate posture toward God, the responsibilities to one another and the community of faith, Philip and the eunuch finally teach us about what our work or response to God and one another can be.  Philip responds to God by proclaiming the good news.  This step is often the hardest for us.  When the time for proclaiming the gospel comes, we clam up, fear we are not qualified, or are afraid to come off as pushy or sanctimonious.  But Philip shares the good news by telling the eunuch about Jesus, sharing stories of Jesus’ historical ministry, his love for the poor, his death and resurrection, and then finally, how Jesus’ life can be seen in the whole of the salvation narrative.  Sharing the good news is simply a matter of telling a good story. 

Finally, the eunuch shows us the other requirement of faithful living – responding to the good news.  For the eunuch, he hears the good news, and he immediately responds by asking for baptism.  Our liturgy invites us into the same response every week.  We come together as a community; we hear the word of God – those stories that make up the whole of the good news; and we are sent out into the community – to love and serve the Lord.  Church is not just a place to come and feel good.  Church is also a place to be so filled that your enthusiasm for the good news that sends you out into the world with the work God has given you to do. 

This week, I invite you to take Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch with you out into the world.  Perhaps you will work on your willingness to be open to the voice of the Holy Spirit; perhaps you will allow yourself to say aloud those questions that you hide in the depths of your heart; perhaps you will share the holy stories of the faith with another; or perhaps you will patiently sit with someone who is struggling with their faith this week.  Like Philip and the eunuch, who boldly go down to those baptismal waters, we too hold one another’s hands as we leave this space, facing the challenges of this world together.  Amen.

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[i] Paul W. Walaskay, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 457.

[ii] Walaskay, 457.

[iii] William Brosend, “Unless Someone Guides Me,” Christian Century, vol. 117, no. 15, May 10, 2000, 535.

Sermon – Matthew 16.21-28, P17, YA, August 30, 2020

Tags

control, cross, follow, God, Jesus, life, listen, love, Messiah, pandemic, Peter, resurrection, Sermon, suffering

I have to tell you, I have been dreading this gospel text all week.  We are in a season of life that feels completely out of our control:  whether we direct our attention to the looming presidential election in just ten weeks, the fires and hurricanes bearing down on our neighbors, the impending start of a new school year – whose daily schedule is still unclear, or the ever pervasive global pandemic and the way the pandemic has disrupted our physical, emotional, spiritual, and financial lives.  Even planning this year’s church calendar with our Vestry this past month felt like a game of pin the tail on the donkey – as we tried to guess where our lives would be in two, four, or even six months.

As experts in living an out-of-control life, we can totally understand Peter’s actions in our gospel lesson today.  An impending sense of doom and the anxiety-provoking lack of control lead Peter to rebuke Jesus, declaring vehemently that Jesus must never experience the great suffering and death Jesus predicts for himself.  Peter, who literally two verses before this text is praised for his bold proclamation of Jesus’ identity as the Messiah, is severely scolded by Jesus.  “Get behind me, Satan!” Jesus yells.  Peter, who has just been called the rock on which Jesus would build his Church, is now a stumbling block, getting in the way of Christ’s mission.  We understand Peter’s actions though.  When Peter declares Jesus the Messiah, he means a triumphal, redeeming Messiah, not one heading to death.  Peter’s Messiah is not supposed to behave this way, and Peter will not stand idly by and let his Messiah self-destruct.

Our tendency is to look at Peter and shake our heads.  Poor Peter – always getting things wrong:  sinking in the water when walking to Jesus, misunderstanding what Messiahship means, getting confused at the Transfiguration, insisting he will never abandon Jesus at the end.  But we have to be really careful with Peter because Peter is not that much different than each of us.  We have all had those instances where we rebuked God for one reason or another.  We too have faced hurricane forecasts and have rebuked God.  As we have watched our political life crumble, we have rebuked God.  As colleges close, mandated technology gets delayed two weeks after school starts, and school schedules are still unknown, we have rebuked God.  As friends are infected, lose jobs, or die from the pandemic, we have rebuked God.  Like Peter, we too have yelled out, “God forbid it!”  We have seen the darkness and pain looming ahead and have desired with every inch of our being to stop the suffering.

And yet, suffering is what Jesus predicts for all of us.  Jesus says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.  For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”  Jesus’s words make us very uncomfortable and confuse our notions of a loving, grace-filled God who beckons us to come to God when we are weary.  We hear these words about suffering, recalling all of the pain in our lives – the loss, the heartache, the loneliness – and we cannot imagine that God plans for us to suffer in these ways.  Predestined suffering does not fit our understanding of who God is.  And yet, here we are with Jesus’ words today.

What helps me with this text is to go back to Peter.  What is interesting about Peter’s rebuking of Jesus is that he seems to rebuke all of what Jesus says without actually listening to all of what Jesus says.  Jesus says he, “must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”  Peter hears the suffering and the killing part and seems to totally miss the part about being raised on the third day.  If Peter had been listening, he would have heard the good news imbedded in Jesus’ words.  He would have heard the promise of resurrection, the promise of everlasting life, the promise of resurrection life for all of us.  Yes, the road will be dark and painful – maybe even unbearable – but there is goodness at the end of that road.  God’s promise of salvation, of resurrection on the third day, is good news for Peter.  Suddenly Jesus’ scolding of Peter seems much more justified.

The invitation for us today the same:  to listen.  Listen to the entirety of what Christ is saying to us.  If we get lost in the words about suffering and death, then we become like Peter.  Now I am not arguing Jesus is encouraging us to go recklessly surfing in this hurricane of life.  Instead, Jesus is inviting us into a life that matters – a life lived not inwardly guarding our own comfort, but a life that lets go of control, not worrying about the cost for self, but a life that is poured out for others.  We can enter into that ambiguous place because God promises us that even if our lives end in the process, God has more life in store for us.  Jesus’ invitation to take up our crosses is not an invitation into death, but an invitation into life.[i]  This week, boldly take up your cross; knowing that on the third day, Christ will be raised.  Resurrection life awaits!  Amen.

[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven: Sermons on the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 80.

Sermon – 1 Kings 19.9-18, P14, YA, August 9, 2020

Tags

Elijah, encouragement, faithfulness, God, listen, quiet, Sermon, silence, sound, speaking

Today’s sermon is offered as the height of irony.  The art of preaching is based on the spoken word.  Fortunately for you, we are Episcopalians, so our sermons are usually under fifteen minutes – and in the times of livestreaming, we shorten them down to less than ten.  In other traditions, the spoken word of the sermon can last thirty minutes to an hour.  In fact, I used to worship at a church where scheduling lunches after worship was nearly impossible because depending on how much the preacher got going, lunch could be a noon, at one, or even approaching two in the afternoon.

I say this is the height of irony because our scripture lessons today seem to point to one instruction:  to stop talking.  Poor Elijah has sunken into a funk.  He shuts down the prophets of Baal in a dramatic, showy display of confidence and trust in God.  But as soon as Queen Jezebel threatens to retaliate by taking Elijah’s life, Elijah flees and becomes so despondent in the wilderness, he would rather the Lord take his life.  Though God shows infinite compassion, tending to Elijah’s needs for food and shelter, when Elijah dejectedly goes all the way to Mt. Sinai, God finally asks a loaded question, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”  Elijah’s response is to start talking – a lot.  He goes on and on, justifying what a great prophet and servant he has been, how he has defended God’s honor, and punished sinners.  Then he complains about how despite his valiant work, his life is threatened, and he is the only one left defending God.

As if to demonstrate how Elijah needs to stop talking and start listening, God makes a dramatic point.  A great wind passes by Elijah’s cave, then an earthquake, and even a fire.  But not until there is the sound of sheer silence does God appear.  Once again, God, in the sound of sheer silence asks, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”  Now this is the point at which Elijah should have gotten the hint:  answers are not in the noise of wind, earthquakes, and fire – not even in endless talking.  Answers are found in the profound silence of God.  But Elijah does not get the hint, and proceeds to answer God with the exact same verbose explanation.

With the exception of those who live in religious orders, most of us struggle with the sheer silence of God.  Our prayers to God are full of words – petitions for loved ones, diatribes of lament over our fractured political state, or words of anger at God when we feel abandoned, anxious, or overwhelmed.  Even our own liturgical tradition is rooted in words.  We are quite good at talking to God.  Our challenge is not in finding words; our challenge in relationship with God is in not using words – in making room for the sound of sheer silence.  Anyone who has been to a Taizé worship service knows that in the long periods of silence – three to five minutes even – the first couple of minutes are filled with the shuffling discomfort of those gathered.  In our resistance to silence is a resistance to God:  perhaps a fear that we will not be able to hear God, or worse, a fear of what we will hear from God.

Professor Christopher Davis says, “One of the hardest lessons we have to learn is that God is in the quiet, the gentle influences that are ever around us, working with us, for us, and on us, without any visible or audible indicators of activity.  We must learn to listen for the God who is quiet and gentle.”[i]  In Elijah’s story, God makes this point dramatically – offering some of the loudest acts of nature to contrast the sound of sheer silence.  Now the good news is God does not see Elijah’s inability to stop talking as justification to abandon Elijah.  In fact, not only does God quietly tell Elijah he is not alone – there are still seven thousand in Israel who are as faithful as Elijah.  But God also provides a solution for Elijah – kings and a prophetic successor, Elisha, who will take up the mantle when Elijah can no longer keep going.

The promise is the same for us.  Even if we are unable to stop talking at God – Lord knows in the middle of this pandemic, with what feels like the world crumbling around us, we have a lot to say to God.  Our invitation though, is to take a pause, maybe even a deep breath, and listen for the sound of sheer silence.  In that silence, God is finally able to speak to us, showing us the signs of encouragement all around us, pointing us to signs of God’s faithfulness in what can feel like abandonment, and helping us physically turn to God when our bodies are much more trained to stay in tense resistance in some attempt to control the chaos all around us.  This week, the Lord reminds us that we cannot always talk our way out of the cacophony of life.  Sometimes only the sheer silence of God’s presence can speak to us.  When God asks us this week, “what are you doing here?” our invitation is not to justify ourselves with words, but to ponder anew with God in the silence.  Whether we speak or manage to stay silent, God is there:  but today, God offers us the gentle reminder that we will find hearing God a whole lot easier if we can simply stand with God in the sheer sound of silence.  Amen.

 

[i] Christopher Davis, “Commentary on 1 Kings 19:9-18,” August 9, 2020, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=4556 on August 7, 2020.

On Race, Earthquakes, and Action…

Tags

action, African-American, beauty, blindness, compassion, complacency, confederate, earthquake, harassed, Jesus, learn, listen, love, power, protest, racism, senses, uncomfortable, value

Photo credit:  https://www.npr.org/2015/05/22/408558234/the-exquisite-dissonance-of-kehinde-wiley

A few years ago, the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts had an exhibit of the works of Kehinde Wiley.  I had not seen his work before, and found his pieces in the exhibit shocking to the eye.  Wiley managed to take traditional poses and settings from art history and infuse them with images of modern African-Americans.  The pieces were jarring to the senses.  As I made my way through the exhibit, it began to dawn on me why my senses were so jarred. By consistently seeing classical art featuring people with light-colored skin, I had been enculturated to expect certain images in art.  The prominence of one kind of subject also created unspoken messages about value, beauty, and power.  Wiley’s vibrant pieces were like an earthquake.  And as someone who considers herself fairly self-aware, I found myself humbled by his work, and sorrowful for my ignorance.

I think that is why I was so surprised by an experience last week.  Last Tuesday night, our family went up to Richmond to take a look at the Robert E. Lee statue and the surrounding damage to businesses and monuments.  For those of you who have not been following the story, as part of the protests about George Floyd’s death and the Black Lives Matter cause, the prominent Confederate monuments in Richmond have come under fire.  The statue of Robert E. Lee’s large stone plinth has been covered in graffiti, protesting George’s death, the treatment of African-Americans by the police, and systemic racism.  As I took in the visceral, pain-filled cries of graffiti, as I looked at pictures of black victims of police violence surrounding the statue, whose names I have prayed for over the years, as I watched families of color take pictures in front of this once pristine, but ever-controversial, statue with a new sense of pride and defiance, what I began to understand is those who are harassed and feel helpless have been begging for our compassion for a long time – cries that could no longer be ignored when staring at that powerfully altered statue.

But mostly, I mourned again for my complacency and blindness.  As a descendant of Confederate veterans, student of African-American history and politics, and pastor of a church built long before the Civil War, I know the issue of Confederate statues and monuments is sensitive.  But watching what was happening at the Robert E. Lee statue created the same feeling as Kehinde Wiley’s art work:  an earthquake for all in positions of privilege and power.  Standing there with my family, I felt like I was on unstable ground, my complicity in systemic racism exposed, and the weight of the question pressing on my chest:  what are you going to do about it?

For my brothers and sisters of color, I am sorry.  I am sorry that you have had to do the work to awaken my senses instead of doing that work myself.  For my brothers and sisters of European descent, we have work to do.  Hickory Neck Church has been posting ways for you to engage this issue – not necessarily telling you what to do, but inviting you into the position of making yourself vulnerable to listening, learning, and acting.  This is our work to do.  It is hard and uncomfortable, and this post may even make you defensive.  Please know that I am here – here to walk with you, here to encourage you, and here to hold us all to Jesus’ message of love.  What you do next will vary widely.  Maybe you can only do one small thing to start.  Our invitation is do something – and keep doing something until we find ourselves doing the work of the kingdom Jesus has desired for a long time.

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only.

 

Sermon – Matthew 17.1-9, LE, YA, February 23, 2020

Tags

action, Calvary, emotion, God, Jesus, Lent, listen, mountain, mountaintop experiences, rollercoaster, touch, Transfiguration

On this last day of Epiphany, as we prepare to enter into Lent this week, we are given the text of Jesus’ transfiguration.  The text in and of itself is mesmerizing:  Jesus and three disciples go up a mountain, which is a hint to all of us that something dramatic is about to happen; Jesus is transfigured, his face shining like the sun and his clothes turning dazzling white; Moses and Elijah appear, two giant figures in our tradition – so giant we heard about Moses’ mountaintop experience today too; a cloud comes down around them and God speaks; and when the experience is all over, Jesus gently touches the disciples and says, “Get up and do not be afraid.”  We could easily get lost in this spellbinding moment, longing to stay on the mountaintop this morning.

But as many scholars point out[i], this mountaintop story, situated at the end of the Epiphany season, is not told in isolation.  Because we tell this story when we do, we have to take a wider view today.  The end of this season is bookended by the end of the season we are about to enter:  Lent.  That season ends on a mountain, of sorts, too – the hill of Calvary, where we see a very different kind of scene.  In this Sunday of transition, we hold the two mountains in tension together.  As scholar N.T. Wright reminds us, on Transfiguration Sunday, “…on a mountain, is Jesus, revealed in glory; there, on a hill outside Jerusalem, is Jesus, revealed in shame.  Here his clothes are shining white; there, they have been stripped off, and soldiers have gambled for them.  Here he is flanked by Moses and Elijah, two of Israel’s greatest heroes, representing the law and the prophets; there, he is flanked by two brigands, representing the level to which Israel had sunk in rebellion against God.  Here, a bright cloud overshadows the scene; there, darkness comes upon the land.  Here Peter blurts out how wonderful it all is; there, he is hiding in shame after denying he even knows Jesus.  Here a voice from God himself declares that this is his wonderful son; there, a pagan soldier declares, in surprise, that this really was God’s son.”[ii]

Looking at the transfiguration of Jesus in that way as opposed to a momentous, isolated event feels like riding a rollercoaster – seeing the glorious and the disastrous all in once glance, feeling the high of sweet affirmation and comfort and the low of betrayal all in one breath, knowing the promise of victory and reality of failure all in one moment.  When you take the expanse of the mountaintop transfiguration, the journey through Lent, the culmination on the hill of Calvary, you can almost feel dizzy from the range of emotions.

In some ways, that sensation of being on a rollercoaster of emotions has not been dissimilar to the experience of emotions lately at Hickory Neck.  In the course of one week recently, we said goodbye to a beloved curate, labored intensively with our homeless neighbors, and then had the Presiding Bishop rock this very Nave.  In the course of these next months, we live into the reality of switching from a staff with two full-time priests, to one full-time priest, and will discover how that will shape and shift not only our experience with our staff, but our experience with caring for one another.  In the course of these next forty-plus days, we will go from the high of pancakes and talent shows, to ashes and repentance, back to alleluias, butterflies, and Easter eggs.  I can feel viscerally that rollercoaster of Transfiguration to Calvary right here in the life and ministry of Hickory Neck.

But that is why I am also deeply grateful for Matthew’s transfiguration text today.  We get two instructions today – one from God and one from Jesus.  God speaks first, with words we heard earlier at Jesus’ baptism.  “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased.”  Those words are another declaration and reminder of Jesus’ identity.  But God adds something else today.  “Listen to him!” God says.  In those three words, God tells us what to do when caught in the whirlwind of life and transition:  listen to Jesus.  For a people who live in a culture marked by the spirit self-determination and can-do attitude, we are not necessarily the best at listening to Jesus.  Listening takes time and patience and discernment, and we just want to get on with the “doing.”  But today, God’s words are for us.  Listen to Jesus.

I used to be a part of a group who opened our gatherings with prayer.  One particular leader had a unique method of prayer.  He would introduce the prayer normally, saying, “Let us pray.”  But then he would say nothing.  For a long time.  So long was the silence, that the first time I experienced his prayer method, I kept discretely peeking through my eyelashes to make sure nothing was wrong.  I wondered if something had happened, or if he was struggling for words, or maybe even if he had fallen asleep.  But he remained sitting in a serene body posture, in silence as we waited.  When I finally conceded he must be doing this on purpose, I tried to relax and just sit in the silence.  Eventually his spoken prayer began and was lovely.  But I needed several more times praying with him before I could settle into the silence he created.  In that silence I began to stop talking in my head, and began to do what God commands today.  Listen to Jesus.  That is one of our invitations as we enter this Lent, and as we settle into this liminal time of transition at Hickory Neck.  We are to listen to Jesus.  Listening will not feel like doing.  Listening will sometimes be frustrating.  But in listening, we will be equipped to hear Jesus speaking to us and guiding us.

The other words spoken today are by Jesus.  Actually, Jesus does something powerful before he speaks.  He touches the disciples.  Jesus’ touch reminded me of a story from a priest friend of mine.  The priest was at his Diocesan Council a few years ago, an event at which he rarely speaks.  But an important issue arose, and he felt as though he could not avoid speaking.  He stood up, argued his case, and faced a heated confrontation.  In the end, the assembly agreed with him and his opinion won over.  As he sat back at his table, a friend quietly whispered in his ear, “You’re shaking.  I’m going to touch you for a little bit.”  As the friend laid his hand upon his shoulder, my friend could feel his blood pressure lowering and the tension releasing from his body.[iii]  In a world that has become extremely and wisely cautious about touch, we sometimes forget the power of touch.  We all have had powerful experiences with touch:  whether we received a similar hand on the should as reassurance that all would be well; whether we received a hug that was just slightly longer than normal, but much needed, after confessing some bad news; or whether someone just held our hand for a while, as a silent, encouraging gesture.  That is the kind of touch Jesus offers today.

But then, Jesus speaks.  Jesus says, “Get up and do not be afraid.”  For those of us who are doers, these words are anchoring today.  God tells us to listen to Jesus, Jesus gives us a reassuring touch, and then Jesus tells us to get up and not be afraid.  In other words, Jesus is speaking to us, Jesus is reassuring us, and then Jesus is telling us to get up and get going.  I hear in Jesus’ words today more modern words for Hickory Neck, “You’ve got this!”  As we enter into the season of Lent, we commit to what we always do in this season – to returning and repenting, to listening and discerning, to seeking comfort and renewal, and then getting back in there.  In what can feel like a rollercoaster of emotions, today’s lesson offers us grounding, comfort, and encouragement.  In a season of journeying from one mountain to another, we have the promise of a comforting hand, soothing words, and inspiring action.  We are not off the rollercoaster yet, but we have each other, and the promise of those unknown to us who join us in this journey.  As we stand here on our hill in Toano, I am grateful for good companions on what promises to be an awesome ride.  Amen.

[i] Thomas G. Long, Matthew (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Pres, 1997), 194; also, Rolf Jacobson, Sermon Brainwave podcast, “#708 – Transfiguration Sunday,” February 15, 2020,  http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=1232, as found on February 20, 2020.

[ii] N.T. Wright, Matthew for Everyone, Part 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 14.

[iii] Steve Pankey, “The Power of Touch,” as found at http://draughtingtheology.wordpress.com/2014/02/27/the-power-of-touch/ on February 27, 2014.

On Gifts and Giving…

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challenge, Christ, church, encounter, gifts, God, Holy Spirit, listen, ministry, new, passion, talent, time, volunteer

Photo credit:  https://www.plitvice-etnogarden.com/team-building/

As every year of ordained ministry passes, I become more grateful for my work before ordination.  For about six years, I was the Director of Volunteer Services for a Habitat for Humanity affiliate in Delaware.  Coordinating over 2000 volunteers a year, a major part of my job was helping people find just the right volunteer position based on their gifts.  Most volunteers that came my way expected that volunteering at Habitat meant wielding a hammer.  And sometimes that was true.  But sometimes you were hanging drywall, or painting, or putting down flooring.  Sometimes you weren’t doing construction work at all.  Volunteers were needed in the office, partnering with families as they worked on their sweat equity hours and financial training classes, helping raise funds, and serving on the Board.  Sometimes the gifts of a person were a perfect match for what we needed, and sometimes volunteers wanted to try something totally out of their comfort zone.  Figuring that out took time, listening, and a little bit of experimenting.

The same is true in churches.  We all come to church with many gifts, and sometimes those gifts are just what is needed:  the elementary music teacher who takes on the pageant, the architect who takes on property management, the financial planner who serves on the endowment board.  But sometimes, church is where we want to find and use other gifts:  the engineer who is also great relating with kids, the military officer who is also great with technology, or the construction worker who is a fantastic listener and discernment partner.  And sometimes, the things we think we would never be able to do we discover we can do through service at church.

This week at Hickory Neck, we are spending some time discerning our gifts and how we might use them to build up the church.  For some, this is a time to renew our passion for a current ministry we serve, and rededicate ourselves to making that ministry more powerful.  For others, we need a break from serving in one capacity, and want to try something new.  For others, we have yet to commit to serving the church and are nervous to step forward.  What the church reminds us during this time of connection is each of us has gifts, and the church is better when we gift those talents and our time to the church.  The church knows that when we give of that time and talent, we get so much more back.  We learn, we grow, we make new friends, and we come closer to God.  Whether it’s picking up sticks on a cleanup day, making meals for the homebound or new parents, or editing a newsletter, in those activities we have holy encounters with Christ.

I cannot wait to hear how you will give of yourself this year at Hickory Neck.  I cannot wait to hear how you are challenging yourself, and listening to the whisper of the Holy Spirit.  I cannot wait to hear in the coming year the ways in which you bump into God, even in the most unlikely places.  When each of us tends to our gifts and our journey at Hickory Neck, the community as a whole benefits.  We all get a bit closer to God when we simply show up and use our gifts.  I look forward to hearing about your journey in time and talent this year!

On Sacred Listening…

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blessing, conversation, evangelism, faith, God, hear, listen, sacred, share, stories

Photo credit:  https://www.npr.org/programs/ted-radio-hour/411697251/the-act-of-listening

Last week and this week, our curate is leading Hickory Neck in a forum on evangelism.  The work of the class is ultimately about sharing and listening to sacred stories.  True evangelism happens not when we tell people what they should believe or that they should come to church with us, but when we listen deeply to people’s stories and reflect where we see the sacred in those stories.

I realize this all may sound a little touchy-feely for many of us, but the truth is, even if you never called it “sacred storytelling and sacred listening,” you have likely experienced the phenomenon.  Think about the last time you encountered someone who was such a good listener you were pouring out your soul to them, without even actively choosing to do so.  Or recall those times when you have shared some of the heavy things on your heart and the listener pointed out where they saw God in the darkness in a way that lightened your entire perspective.  Those holy moments do not happen very often, but when they do, we feel a sense of transformation and the nearness of God.

That’s what evangelism is all about – not a manipulative way of coaxing out stories so that you can convert someone, but a willingness to stand in the fray with people (be it friend, neighbor, or stranger) and wait for God.  That kind of openness is a tremendous gift and privilege – to you, to the other, and to the world.

This past week, I have had the privilege of having lots of conversations – about faith, religion, children, church, and politics.  Some have been with church members, some have been with new acquaintances, and some have been with strangers.  And to a person, in every conversation, I find that I experience more blessing and renewed faith in our God than I even realized I needed.  This week, I invite you into those sacred storytelling and sacred listening opportunities, whether it’s with someone you know or someone you have never met.  I know that sounds scary, but you will be surprised how often someone is willing to share if they know someone is really listening.  If you are willing to accept the invitation, I suspect you will come to church on Sunday with a sense of renewal and restored faith.  I can’t wait to hear your stories!

On Letting Go and Listening…

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church, control, faithful, God, hear, let go, listen, Pentecost, rain, voice

Our church is currently being blessed with a lot of activity.  This week, the site for the school that will join our property has begun construction.  Footers are ready to be dug and the foundation laid.  Meanwhile, this weekend, we are hosting our second Annual High Fiber Festival.  Volunteers are being recruited, parking layouts are being designed, and signs are being hung for this great event that raises money for outreach ministries.  Both events are wonderful signs of vitality and life at Hickory Neck – and yet both events have been the victim of all sorts of things out of their control.  Permit approvals delayed construction at the school.  Delays in school construction have created challenges for parking at the Festival.  And now rain seems to be threatening progress and success for both.

I have been thinking that both projects seem to be challenging my long-held battle with control.  As I imagine many of us do, I sometimes fall under the illusion that more things are under my control than actually are.  I consider myself a pretty faithful Christian, but when issues like control arise, I realize how far I have to go.  I think that phrase, “Let go and let God,” was written for me!  Lord knows, I cannot control the rain!

That is why I love that we get the Acts lesson for Pentecost this Sunday.  Talk about a people whose life are completely out of control!  If the cross, death, resurrection, and ascension were not enough to make the disciples realize they are not in control, perhaps Pentecost would be.  I imagine the disciples were finally getting their feet on the ground and preparing themselves to take up Jesus’ mantle of spreading the Good News.  But none of them could have prepared for the dramatic event of breaking into tongues all at once.

What I love about Pentecost though is everyone hears in the din of noise.  Despite the chaos and seeming utter loss of control, those gathered can hear clearly.  I wonder if that might be an invitation for us this week – to look at the chaos and situations in our lives that seem out of control and see where we hear God’s voice.  Maybe God’s voice is speaking to us directly.  Maybe God’s voice is speaking to us through a wise friend or confidant.  Maybe God’s voice is speaking to us through strangers or the seeming “coincidences,” of life.  I’d love to hear your stories of where you have heard God this week!

Photo credit:  https://www.voices.com/blog/4-lessons-singing-in-the-rain/

On Listening with New Ears…

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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.