Sermon – Matthew 15.10-28, P15, YA, August 16, 2020

Tags

abundance, boundary, Canaanite woman, Elijah, faith, humble, loud, love, mercy, persistence, quiet, scarcity, Sermon, story, talking

If you joined us last Sunday, or saw the archived video of church, you know we talked about how Elijah spent a lot of time talking at God instead of listening to God.  In the cave, wind, earthquake, and fire passed by, but only in the sound of sheer silence could Elijah hear God.  What’s funny is today’s Gospel seems to say the complete opposite.  Instead of the Canaanite woman needing to be silent to hear God, her persistent talking to Jesus is what seems to be the instruction of the gospel.  So, either Holy Scripture has completely lost her mind, your preacher is highly confused (or did not look ahead), or something else is going on here.

Taking a closer look at the texts might help.  You see, when Elijah keeps talking and talking, Elijah has turned in on himself, is wallowing in fear, and cannot see out of his desperation.  And instead of looking to God for relief, he gets caught up in blaming others, self-pity, and an inflated sense of ego.  The Canaanite woman is completely different.  She is an outsider on every level – she’s from Tyre and Sidon – regions who are oppressing the Israelites; historically, she a Canaanite, the land Joshua conquered with the Israelites; she is a Gentile, who does not worship God and is not a part of God’s redemptive plan; she is not only a woman, but also an unnamed woman, with lower social status, whose daughter is unclean and tormented by a demon; and she is not just talking to a man in public, but shouting and making a scene.  Despite all the things that societally should keep her from pursuing Jesus, and despite the ways Jesus ignores her and insults her, she will not stop talking until she gets a blessing.  And in this instance, Jesus rewards her persistent talking.

So what is happening?  Why is Elijah’s persistence shut down, and the Canaanite woman’s persistence encouraged?  Here is the real difference between Elijah and the Canaanite woman.  Elijah looks at his life and sees scarcity.  The Canaanite woman looks at her life and sees abundance.  Now, we would need about an hour to talk about the dialogue between Jesus and the Canaanite woman, because I have a lot to say about Jesus’ behavior.  But since we are limited today, I want to shift our focus on the woman.  You see, despite the fact Jesus ignores her, and despite the fact Jesus seems to think Israelite election means Gentiles are excluded from his attention, this woman sees abundance in Israel’s election for all.  “While mercy may begin with Israel, she knows [that mercy] cannot end there, because of the very nature of Israel’s God.  [That mercy] overflows to others in the house – even to the ‘the dogs’.”[i]  And so she keeps talking, violates boundaries set up because of ethnicity, heritage, religion, gender, and demon possession.[ii]  Unlike last week when Jesus says Peter is of little faith, this woman’s persistence leads Jesus to say, “Great is your faith!”  Elijah and the Canaanite woman both are looking at a bleak situation.  But whereas Elijah sees scarcity, the Canaanite sees abundance – and she is willing to talk, to verbally engage God until God allows justice and unrestrained abundance.

So, which is the way?  Are we to be silent and humble before our God, or are we to keep coming at God until God’s mercy overflows?  The answer is, “it’s complicated.” Truthfully, the differences between Elijah and the Canaanite woman say more about the individuals than they say about God.  What happens to each character is the same:  when Elijah is able to stand in the sheer silence of God, Elijah slowly sees the abundance God has already provided for Elijah;  when the Canaanite woman persists with Jesus, the abundance she identifies is provided for her.  Either way, the answer is the same – God’s love and mercy is overflowing, obliterates manmade boundaries of ethnicity, faith, gender, and power, and can transform the world.

Our invitation this week is to ponder our own place in God’s story.  Maybe we are Elijahs who are going to need some TLC and some humbled silence to experience God’s abundance.  Maybe we are Canaanite women who need to shout from the mountaintop for justice and grace to experience God’s abundance.  Or maybe we will experience God’s abundance another way – through the stranger, the innocence of a child, or an intentional relationship with someone many may see as an enemy.  But the invitation is not just to consider where you are in God’s story.  The invitation is to acknowledge where you are in God’s story, and consider what you will do when you finally come to terms with God’s abundant mercy and love all around you.  That is where your story begins.  Amen.

[i] Iwan Russell-Jones, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 360.

[ii] Jae Won Lee, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 361.

Sermon – Luke 24.1-12, ED, YC, April 21, 2019

Tags

celebrate, celebration, church, confusion, doubt, Easter, faith, Jesus, journey, joy, loud, question, quiet, resurrection, Sermon, unbelievable, uncertain, victory

Easter is one of my favorite days in the church year.  I love how no matter whether we come to church every Sunday or if we haven’t been to church in ages, something about Easter draws us to the Church.  I love the celebration:  the Easter outfits, the fragrant flowers, the boisterous music, and the family of faith gathered at the communion table.  I love the sweet feeling of having emerged from the penitential season of Lent, and counting how many times we can say, “Alleluia.”  There is a loudness to Easter, an unbridled joy, a sense of victory.

What is funny about our experience today though is very little of the boldness of this day is present in Holy Scripture.  In fact, Luke tells a story that is quite the opposite of our experience today.  While we sing loud alleluias and hosannas, all of the characters in our gospel lesson today are in a totally different place.  They are mired in grief, lost in confusion, unsure about what has happened to them.  In a quiet, almost mechanical, numb way, the women who have been beside Jesus his entire ministry and were the only ones remaining at his death, come to the tomb in the fog of dawn, to do the work of tending to the dead body.  In their haze, no sense of closure comes.  Instead, more confusion comes.  Not only is the tomb empty, the angelic figures tell them Christ is risen.  The angels remind them Jesus had explained this to them, and things start to make sense.  But when the women return to tell the men, the men are so resigned and defeated, they mock the women.  Peter goes to check out the story, but even he does not come back with profound clarity.  He is lost in amazement – in awed confusion.  This story tells us very little about what this all means, what we should do, or how we should respond.  Very little about the gospel today is loud, triumphant, or jubilant.

Though I have been begging our musician for years now for more sound at Easter – a timpani to accompany the brass – the truth is, I kind of like how our gospel lesson today takes us in another direction.  Much of what we boldly proclaim today – that Christ is risen, his resurrection brings eternal life, and everything we know has changed – is pretty difficult stuff to believe.  Any of you who has spent time around an inquisitive child or a doubtful friend knows how difficult explaining the resurrection can be.  For our rational, twenty-first century selves, the theology of Easter is not only difficult to articulate, Easter is almost unbelievable.  And when we are really honest with ourselves, in the quiet of our own homes, we sometimes have moments when we are not really sure why we believe what we believe about Christ.

That’s why I love today’s gospel.  Today’s gospel reminds us of how unbelievable the resurrection of our Lord really was.  Sure, Jesus had said he would be handed over to sinners, be crucified, and on the third day rise again.  But his words sounded crazy at the time.  Now that Jesus’ words have come true, the women are perplexed, terrified, and rejected when they share their truth.  The men are paralyzed, doubtful, and downright mean.  On this early morning, the followers of Jesus only have their experiences of Jesus, their uncertainty of faith, and their attempts to believe the unbelievable.

To me, that is very good news indeed.  On this day as we sing songs about Jesus’ resurrection, and as we hear Peter preach with certainty in the book of Acts, and as we, with joy, proclaim, “Christ is risen!  The Lord is risen indeed!” our gospel story reminds us faith is a journey full of doubt, questions, and confusion.  We come on this festival day not because we are absolutely certain about Jesus.  We come on this festival day because in our foggy dawns, we have had encounters with the risen Lord – even when we did not know how to articulate the encounters.  We come to this festival day because in our pain, suffering, and questioning about life – we have had moments when something from scripture or our faith life suddenly connected and made sense.  We come to this festival day because even in our doubts, there is some small part of us that cannot extinguish hope, that suspects Christ might have actually changed the world.

On this day, the Church does not want our theological explanations of the resurrection.  On this day, the Church invites us to recall those moments, however fleeting or miniscule, where we have encountered, or suspected we encountered, the risen Lord.  Our bold singing of alleluias only needs that small flicker of hope – or maybe our desire for that flicker of hope.  Our celebrating today only needs our presence – our willingness to be here, encouraged by others walking through the fog.  Our proclamation today that the Lord is risen, only needs our willingness to say the words.  The community gathered here today will do the rest.  We will say with you, “The Lord is risen indeed,” until someday we can all claim the astounding love and grace of our Lord Jesus Christ ourselves.  Amen.

On Turning Down the Noise…

Tags

Advent, breath, breathe, Christ Child, church, God, loud, noise, quiet

Photo Credit:  www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/lucy-gaskin/playing-the-game-of-shh_b_7894332.html

I live in a noisy house.  We have tried teaching our children about volume control (we use a scale to help our oldest; e.g. “You’re at a 10.  I need you at a 6.”).  We have worked on the concept of taking turns while speaking.  We have tried yoga breathing (which more often sounds like hyperventilating that calming breaths).  And we use a lot of “time out.”  As a parent, most of the time I am used to the volume of our house.  But occasionally I spend time with families who have much more quiet homes, and the experience reminds me of how loud my house really is.

We are currently living in a culture of loud.  Every day I receive emails from some online store who promises that today’s sale is even better than yesterday’s.  When I try to work in public places on my laptop, either music or TVs are blaring loudly.  Our current political discourse feels more like a shouting match than a quiet discussion of issues.  And that does not even include the noise of Christmas preparation.  Our lives are very loud when we stop to listen.

I think that is why I love Advent so much.  It is the one church season that is almost always the total opposite of our secular season.  In a time when the secular world is getting louder and louder, the church invites us to be more and more quiet.  Our liturgies get simplified.  Our educational offerings focus more on quiet reflection than dynamic presentations or lively conversations.  Our calendar invites us to slow down.  We do all this not to be contrary, but because our church wants to give us space to ponder and savor the coming miracle of the Christ Child.

This morning I used on online version of Morning Prayer that I don’t usually use.  The nice thing about the website (or app if you use it on your phone), is the lessons are incorporated into the page so you do not have to find them separately.  Also incorporated are some hymns and canticles.  Today, the hymn was “Breathe on me Breath of God.”  I remember that old hymn from my childhood and it was just what I needed to help me stay engaged in the quiet of Advent.  My prayer for each of you today is not only that you feel God’s breath on you, filling you with life anew, but also that you breathe in God, allowing God to work through you so that God’s light might shine through you with renewed vigor.  Perhaps simply by breathing in God and allowing God to breathe on you, you might find some small way to combat the loudness of life today.

Sermon – Mark 13.24-37, A1, YB, November 30, 2014

Tags

Advent, anxiety, awake, Christmas, contrast, discipline, God, loud, noise, quiet, Sermon

I live a very loud life these days.  If any of you have ever visited the Rectory between the hours of five and seven in the evening, you have witnessed the sheer volume of my life.  Between the baby who can only communicate frustration through crying and the kindergartner who is quite verbose nowadays, mixed in with the fatigue they both feel after a long day of school and nursery care, let’s just say these hours are full of a lot of noise.  That is not to say that all of the noise is unpleasant – there is also the noise of laughter, storytelling, and shaking rattles.  But our house in those hours is not the place where you would want set up a yoga mat and try to meditate.

I sometimes blame all the noise in my life on my beloved children.  But the truth is I am as much a cause of the noise as they are.  I am admittedly loud myself – whether barking instructions around the house, singing aloud, or simply talking my husband’s ear off.  But I am not just loud in the house – I am also loud inside my head.  My mind is in constant conversation:  my to-do list, searching for ideas for a blog post, worrying about a sick friend or parishioner, trying to make plans for the weekend, processing a troublesome conversation, or wallowing in guilt for missed exercise or time in prayer.  As loud as my outside world is, my inside world is probably much worse.  Add Christmastime to the mix, and the loudness of my life reaches levels that can be incapacitating.

That is why I love Advent so much.  In the lead-up to Christmas, the outside world bombards us with noise:   Christmas songs on the radio, shopping to complete, parties to attend, gifts to wrap, houses to decorate, gatherings to host, cards to send, and loud relatives or friends to entertain.  In contrast, the Church at this time asks us to do the exact opposite:  slow down, take a breath, light some candles, breath in the fresh greenery, sing quiet, meditative songs, and worship in the soothing purple of anticipation.  When the outside world is telling us, “Do more, buy more, run more, fuss more, stress more,” the Church says, “Do less, worry less, run less, talk less, be busy less.”  The contrast between the two worlds is like night and day, and at a time of high stress, Advent becomes the Church’s greatest gift to us.

Into this contrast, we hear words from Mark’s gospel today.  The text says, “Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come.  It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch.  Therefore, keep awake– for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly.  And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”  Many of us hear this text today with a sense of anxiety – of needing to keep anxious watch for the Lord.  We might imagine the many apocalyptic movies, predictions, and preachers we have witnessed over the years and wonder whether Jesus really does want us to be more alarmed.  Certainly the outside world would have us also be alert and anxious for the coming Christmas.

But I think the Church is saying something else today.  Instead of an anxious alarm, our gospel lesson sounds like a gentle reminder to me.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the quiet beauty of Advent.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the gift of time set apart in these four weeks.  Keep awake, for you do not want to miss the lead in to the manger, the dramatic retelling of why the manger is so important, and the grounding for this entire season.[i]  Jesus’ words for us to “keep awake,” are not meant to be one more anxiety to pile on top of a mound of concerns.  Jesus’ words for us to “keep awake,” are meant to help us focus on what is really important.

So make a commitment to come to church each Sunday in Advent and spend those Sundays in quiet worship with your church family.  Grab an Advent calendar or devotional to help you more intentionally mark the days leading up to the manger.  Or set up that Advent wreath at home, so that you might bring the quiet candlelight of prayer and meditation to your home.  Whatever the discipline, choose something this Advent that will help you maintain the quiet peace you find here at Church and carry that quiet peace throughout your weeks leading up to Christmas.  My guess is that noise of life will slowly fade into a quiet hum in the background – which is right where it should be.  Amen.

[i] Lillian Daniel, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 22.