Sermon – Mark 9.30-37, P20, YB, September 19, 2021

Tags

creative, design thinking, faith, fear, Five Whys, God, innovation, innovative, Jesus, Messiah, Peter, problem, relationship, Savior, seekers, Sermon, solving, stuck, thinking, truth, why

This spring I took a class on Design Thinking.  Technically speaking, “Design thinking is a non-linear, iterative process that teams use to understand users, challenge assumptions, redefine problems and create innovative solutions to prototype and test.”[i]  In layman’s terms, design thinking is a non-traditional way of getting to innovative idea.  Within design thinking are several methods to help people get out of their traditional ways of thinking.  One of my favorites is The Five Whys Method.  You start with a problem, and you ask why the problem is happening.  Then you look at the first “why?” and ask the question again.  Why is that answer happening.  And on and on until you get to the root of the issue[ii] – almost like peeling layers off an onion.  At first, the Five Whys feel a little silly.  But the more you play with the method, the faster you realize the problem you are looking at is not the actual problem.  And when you finally hit the right answer, you may be surprised by how uncomfortably honest the answer is.

 In our gospel lesson today, the disciples clearly have never heard of the Five Whys Method.  In fact, when Jesus, privately teaching the disciples, tells them he will be betrayed, killed, and will rise again on the third day, the disciples say nothing.  The text tells us they do not understand Jesus, and they are “afraid to ask him.”  They are afraid to ask why.  They are afraid to go beyond that first layer of the onion because they do not even like the layer in front of them.  We talked last week about how Peter tried to discourage Jesus from this same fate:  because a Messiah is not supposed to suffer and die – a Messiah is supposed to free them from oppressive power.[iii] 

We can understand their fear.  When taking that class on design thinking I practiced the method using a challenge we were facing at Hickory Neck.  To be honest, I do not even remember the actual presenting problem.  But what I do remember was getting the answer to the third why.  When I answered why to that third question, the answer took my breath away.  I was mortified and ashamed:  surely that was not the answer to the problem.  As I stood stunned at the words that had just come out of my mouth, and after some awkward silence, my partner asked me again, “Okay.  But why?”  As I shook off my paralysis and answered the fourth why, I started getting some more honest clarity.  By the time I got to the fifth why, I was sold on the method.  The method helped me name the thing I could not name just staring at presenting problem.

After the conversation with the disciples, Jesus introduces a child into the teaching with the disciples.  Scholars have many theories about the introduction.  Thousands of years ago, children were not regarded with honor.  As Sharon Ringe explains, “A child did not contribute much if anything to the economic value of a household or community, and a child could not do anything to enhance one’s position in the struggles for prestige or influence.  One would obtain no benefit from according to a child the hospitality or rituals of honor or respect that one might offer to someone of higher status…”[iv]  Most scholars agree Jesus does not introduce children because they are cute and to be loved (even if they are!).  But I wonder if Jesus, having known a few children, knew that children are particularly adept at asking, “why?”  Any of you who has known a preschooler has known the incessant way they can ask the question, “why?”  And as children age, the question does not stop:  the question just gets increasingly uncomfortable.  I think Jesus knew the disciples were stuck on their own conceptions of the Messiah and their role in the divine narrative, and Jesus wanted them to start probing why that narrative mattered to them.  Jesus wanted them to start peeling back the narratives, but saw they were afraid of truth.

That is our invitation today.  Our gospel scene is an invitation for us into deeper, more honest, more probing relationship with Jesus.  Instead of taking our relationship with Jesus at face value, instead of being afraid of hard questions, instead of being afraid of scary answers, our invitation today is to engage in our faith in the same way we engage in innovative thinking:  to keep asking the whys over and over again.  The good news is we have a community of seekers who can ask those whys with us and hold us in the uncomfortable answers until we get clarity.  The good news is we have tools to help overcome our fear and silence, and kids in our community who will keep us honest.  The good news is we have a Savior who is willing to engage with us in a brutally honest, yet radically salvific relationship.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

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[i] Teo Yu Siang, “Design Thinking,” Interaction Design Foundation, as found at https://www.interaction-design.org/literature/topics/design-thinking on September 18, 2021.

[ii] iSixSigma-Editorial, “Determine the Root Cause: 5 Whys,” as found at https://www.isixsigma.com/tools-templates/cause-effect/determine-root-cause-5-whys/ on September 18, 2021. 

[iii] N.T. Wright, Mark for Everyone (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 122.

[iv] Sharon H. Ringe, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 97.

Sermon – Mark 8.27-38, P19, YB, September 12, 2021

Tags

control, cross, God, Jesus, Messiah, Peter, relationship, Sermon, suffering, trust, understanding

Our Gospel lesson today is pretty harsh.  We read with sympathetic ears for Peter:  partly because, objectively speaking, Jesus is being rude.  But we are also sympathetic because we can identify with Peter more than we might like to admit.  Peter has decided that he knows what being a Messiah is, that Jesus is that same Messiah, and that Jesus is not acting how he should.[i]  So he rebukes Jesus in front of everyone.  Peter’s desire to control Jesus makes sense.  His life has been out of control since the moment he left his boat to follow this crazy man.  Trying to control Jesus is the natural response of someone desperate for some normalcy.  For Peter, Jesus being the conquering Messiah will validate Peter’s decisions – but only if Jesus acts in accordance with the definition of a Messiah.  If Jesus starts redefining the concept of Messiah, Peter will be left floundering, his life spinning even further out of control than his life already feels.  Anyone who has been paying attention during this pandemic knows what having little control over life around you feels like.

One of my favorite book and film series is Harry Potter.  In the first movie, while trying to save the Sorcerer’s Stone, the main characters, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, fall into a pit.  At the bottom of the pit is a bed of vines that cushions their fall.  But they soon find that the vines are magical vines, which start weaving themselves around Harry and the others’ bodies.  The more they struggle, the tighter the vines wrap around their bodies.  Hermione remembers from class that the only way to escape one these plants is to totally relax your body – to surrender.  She relaxes, and her body sinks into the bed of vines, disappearing.  Harry and Ron freak out, but Hermione shouts from below that they just need to relax and they will reach the floor.  Harry listens to Hermione and relaxes his body and is also sucked in and released.  Ron, however, totally loses his cool.  He completely panics, and thrashes about so much that the vines wrap themselves around his screaming mouth.  After losing the battle of trying to convince Ron to relax, Hermione has to use a special spell to get the plant to release him. 

Sometimes I think our relationship with God is a lot like Ron’s relationship with that strange plant.  We are creatures who want to be in control.  We want to control how our careers develop, what our relationships will be like, our plans for retirement, and the timing of major life events.  Although we are rarely successful, we try to control other people too – our family members, our friends, our co-workers.  And most of all, we try to control God.  We see this desire most readily in our prayer lives – we ask God for things, we pray for specific solutions to our problems, and we get angry with God when things do not go our way.  We rarely say those words that Jesus says, “Not my will but yours be done.”[ii]  And even more rarely do we sit in prayer with God and just listen.  When we examine our relationship with God, we are more likely to find our hands grasping tightly for control than to find ourselves with open hands, willingly ceding control to God.[iii]

The unfortunate thing about our desperate need for control is that we miss what God is trying to do in our lives – just like Peter.  By being so controlling with Jesus, Peter is unable to really hear Jesus, and unable to understand the radically wonderful way that Jesus will not only redefine the concept of the Messiah, but will do so much more than the expected Messiah could do.  But that is not the scariest part.  The challenge for us today is not just the ceding of control; the challenge is when we finally cede control with Peter, there is more to the story.  In our gospel lesson, Jesus tells us that once we understand what a Messiah really is, we too must behave like a Messiah.  We too must follow the way of Christ – the way of the cross that leads to death.  That cross up there over our altar, the one that we hang everywhere, including around our necks, is not just a symbol for what Christ did for us.  That cross is a symbol for the life that we take up too.  The cross is not simply Jesus’ cross, but the cross is our cross. 

But, if we can trust Jesus, trust God, if we can relax our bodies in those tangled vines that are trying to squeeze the life out of us, we might just fall into the place where we need to be.  We might just realize that taking up our cross does not only lead to suffering; taking up our cross also leads to a glorious life of greater joy than we can imagine, and salvation beyond our wildest dreams, where death and suffering have no power over us.  When we move our hands from being tightly closed fists of control to open hands of trust and acceptance, we create space for God to rest in our hands, to show us the way.  The other side of those tangled vines of our desire for control is a glorious place.  All we have to do is let go and let God.  Amen.

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[i] Martha L. Moore-Keish, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 70.

[ii] Luke 22.42. 

[iii] Patrick J. Wilson, “Cross Culture,” Christian Century, vol. 111, no. 5, Feb. 16, 1994, 165.

Sermon – Ephesians 4.1-16, P13, YB, August 1, 2021

Tags

bishop, call, community, discernment, equip, exceptional, fear, gifts, God, good, ministry, Peter, preach, Sermon

In your senior year of seminary, you are given the privilege of preaching for the entire community.  I remember the week I was to preach, I was sitting at lunch with some classmates and a professor and I confessed to the table that I was a little nervous.  There is little worse than preaching to a room full of preachers; we tend to be a tough crowd.  But I will never forget what my professor said in response to my anxiety.  “Just remember what that old hymn says, Jennifer.  ‘If you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul, you can tell the love of Jesus and say, “He died for all.”’”  At the time, I remember thinking how reassuring his words were – all that mattered was I preached the gospel. 

But sometime later, as I thought back to his comments, I had the distinct thought, “Wait a minute.  Was he saying I was not going to be as good a preacher as Peter?”  Suddenly I was confused by my professor’s words – was he trying to center me for preaching, or just trying to gently tell me not being a good preacher was okay.  I felt the emotional whiplash that seems to be a unique gift of Southerners – a little akin to a solid, “Bless your heart.”

What the words of that professor unearthed in me was a fear we all experience.  Our society tells us we need to be good at all the things – at being exceptional in our workplaces while also being an exceptional parent and spouse; at being a high-performing student and accomplished athlete (and musician, performer, and artist); at volunteering in so many places in retirement that we are working harder than we were working for compensation! 

But that is not what Paul, or the person writing in the name of Paul,[i] tells the Christian community.  Our epistle writer says, “The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.”[ii]  Paul argues that mature Christians understand that they have been equipped with gifts for ministry.  However, as scholar Clark-Soles says, Christians “do not need to imagine themselves as pan-gifted, and there is no reason to compete with one another.  Our job is simply to recognize our particular gifts and use them for the development and augmentation of the body.”[iii] 

Nine months ago, I began to sense God was asking me to live into the maturity of my gifts – perhaps being called to serve as a bishop in the church in a land called Iowa.  The decision to be open to that process was not an easy one because my gifts have also been very much affirmed in this slice of heaven here called Hickory Neck.  A day after the election, with the news that I will in fact not be serving as a bishop, I find myself singing that old tune again, “If you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul…” 

But this time, the recollection of that hymn does not sting in the same way the song stung in seminary.  Former bishop Porter Taylor says, “while the passage [in Ephesians] affirms the diversity of individual gifts, it asserts that these are always to be used for the good for the whole, ‘to equip the saints for ministry.’…To grow in one’s ministry, therefore, is to align oneself with God’s intentions, both individually and corporately…”[iv]  What Bishop Porter, the epistle to the Ephesians, and even the election yesterday remind us all of is that God equips each one of us here to the work of ministry – sometimes as preachers, sometimes as evangelists, sometimes as pastors, sometimes as teachers, sometimes as bishops – but always for the good of the whole and of the greater community.  Even though I was not elected yesterday, my hope is that the process was a good reminder for all of us that our work is to constantly be assessing what gifts God is giving us, how those gifts are evolving over time, and how we can use them for good.  Our one baptism is an invitation, whether we are Peters or Pauls, to share the love of Jesus.  The rest is in God’s hands.  Amen.

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[i] Paul V. Marshall, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 304.

[ii] Ephesians 4.11-13.

[iii] Jaime Clark-Soles, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 305.

[iv] G. Porter Taylor, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 304.

Sermon – Matthew 18.21-35, Genesis 50.15-21, P19, YA, September 13, 2020

Tags

cross, defensive, forgiven, forgiveness, God, heal, Jesus, messy, Peter, reconciliation, Sermon, sins, time, unforgiveable

Forgiveness is a funny thing.  Forgiveness is at the heart of our gospel proclamation.  We regularly talk about how Jesus the Christ died for the forgiveness of our sins.  We spend six whole weeks in Lent repenting of our sins, making the long journey toward Good Friday and the empty tomb, where our sins are forgiven.  We want to be forgiven.  We admire others’ displays of forgiveness – retelling stories of victims who should never have to forgive, but somehow valiantly do.  We sometimes condescendingly tell others they should forgive.  We even ardently require our children to accept apologies, without really explaining what forgiveness is.  But when we are facing an injustice, an injury, an event that pierces our heart when remembered, and we are told to forgive, our immediately response is, “Whoa, now!”

Perhaps that reaction is at the heart of Peter’s inquiry today.  The disciples and Jesus have been talking about reconciliation within the community of faith when someone has harmed another.  At the end of that conversation, Peter wisely asks, “Yeah, but how many times do I actually need to forgive someone.  Seven times should be plenty right?  That’s a good, holy number.”  And Jesus says, “Seventy-seven times,” or as some translators say, seventy times seven.[i]  Whichever number we use, Jesus is not just setting some higher number to track; Jesus is saying forgiveness must be offered constantly, in an ongoing way.

The problem when we talk about forgiveness is we can think of endless examples of things that should be unforgiveable.  In our news streams this week, we saw conversations about institutional racism, stemming from the centuries-long practice of slavery in our country; we remembered the horror of September 11^th and the thousands of people who died, were traumatized by, or whose health was permanently impacted by that event; we saw cases of abuse by spouses or those in positions of power.  And that is just on the meta-level.  In truth, even on the micro-level, we struggle.  We struggle with those instances where someone hurt us personally – the breaking of our trust or the hurtful things said and done by friends, family, or even strangers.  When we need to be the agents of forgiveness, somehow our gilded concept of forgiveness begins to crack.

Part of the problem is our definition of forgiveness.  When we talk about forgiveness, we forget to talk about what forgiveness is not.  Debie Thomas does an amazing job of walking us through what forgiveness is not.  Forgiveness is not denial:  pretending an offense does not matter, the wound does not hurt, we should just forget, or our merciful God cannot be angered or grieved.  Forgiveness is not a detour or shortcut:  forgiveness cannot be offered without repentance, discipline, and confession – there is no grace without the cross.  Forgiveness is also not synonymous with healing or reconciliation:  healing can take a long time and sometimes reconciliation is not possible – in this way, forgiveness is a beginning, not the end.  Finally, forgiveness is not quick and easy:  forgiveness is a non-linear, messy process, that takes time.[ii]

When we let down our defensiveness about forgiveness, we can see those same lessons in Holy Scripture today.  In our Old Testament lesson, Joseph’s brothers come to him after their father’s death, fearing Joseph will finally enact justified revenge for them selling him into slavery.  Now, Joseph has already forgiven the brothers before his father’s death – and is explicit about his forgiveness.  But the brothers know what we just talked about – forgiveness is not quick and easy.  They fear Joseph’s forgiveness has limits.  And in our Gospel lesson, when Jesus uses a parable to talk to Peter about forgiving seventy times seven, he does not tell a story about someone forgiving again and again.  Instead he tells the story of a man forgiven an unimaginable debt – one he could never have paid off in his lifetime, who then refuses to show forgiveness to another in a much smaller, manageable debt.  The parable highlights how forgiveness is not denial – how God is merciful, but can still be angered by our actions.

As one scholar reminds us, “Forgiveness is hard, really hard.  But the good news is that where God calls, God also equips.  God gives us in Christ the gift of forgiveness and helps us to share that gift with others.  And in doing so, God opens doors that are shut.  God opens a future that is shut.  By forgiving those who have sinned against us, we do not allow the past to dictate our future.  Forgiveness breaks the chains of anger and bitterness and frees us to live new lives.”[iii]  The hard work of forgiveness is no joke.  Forgiveness takes time, is hard, and is a winding path.  But the cross of Christ enables us to keep going, enables us claim love – not a love that relativizes evil or negates the justice that is also of God – but a love that can transform both the oppressor and the oppressed – can heal both us and them.  And Jesus tells us today that despite the fact forgiveness is hard, forgiveness is also work we can do through him.  Thanks be to God.

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[i] Lewis R. Donelson, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 69.

[ii] Debie Thomas, “Unpacking Forgiveness,” September 6, 2020, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay?fbclid=IwAR1uTVaenGNYgJX-mpph8V_97k_S-kIWEbuuSMwkzJKLohX0XbYvuveEk9k on September 11, 2020.

[iii] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Forgiveness is at the Core,” Setpember 6, 2020, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5454 on September 11, 2020.

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 – Luke 5.1-11, Isaiah 6.1-8, EP5, YC, February 10, 2019

Tags

call narrative, calling, dramatic, fear, fish, God, Jesus, ordinary, Peter, resist, Sermon, servant, Simon, yes

Stories of God calling individuals into a new mission, or “call narratives,” as we label them, are some of our most beloved stories from scripture.  They are all pretty dramatic:  God speaking to Moses from a burning bush, God having Jonah thrown overboard and swallowed by a fish, God sending an angel to Mary, or today, a seraph placing a burning hot coal on Isaiah’s lips.  At first, almost everyone one of the characters resists – with protests about how they are not good public speakers, how they do not agree with God’s mission, how the thing God is proposing is biologically impossible, or how they are so full of sin, they could not possibly do whatever God has proposed.  And yet, after much arguing with God, each individual usually agrees – and often says the words we hear in Isaiah today, “hineni,” or “Here I am;” send me.  The whole process is very dramatic and awe-inspiring.  We love to hear and reread these stories and we love to see individuals rise to the occasion.

But here’s the problem with call narratives.  The stories are so dramatic and the responses are so confident and selfless, that we cannot see ourselves in them.  Those are stories that happen to those people.  We are not Moseses, Isaiahs, Marys, or Jonahs (ok, maybe we are a little like Jonah, but even his story is a bit extreme!).  We can certainly relate to the resistance each servant offers to God, but the call is a bit harder for us to imagine.  God doesn’t come to us in dramatic ways, and we definitely do not feel like God is doing something dramatic in us to change the world.  The last time we checked, we were not being asked to lead a people out of slavery from a dictator, use our bodies for immaculate conception, or even go around proclaiming judgement to the world.  Those sorts of dramatic things are things other people do; not us.

I think that is why I like Luke’s version of Simon Peter’s call narrative.  This pericope, as Bob taught us last week, or this piece of scripture might be the story we need to help us see call narratives are not just about those people.  The way we get there though, is not jumping right to overflowing boats, full of fish.  The way we get there is looking at all the seemingly innocuous parts of the story.

The first small detail of the story that can sneak past us is how Jesus starts teaching.  The text says, “while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him … He got into one of the boats.”  Jesus does not ask permission of Simon to get in his boat.  Jesus does not negotiate the terms of using Simon’s boat for a period of time.  Jesus literally just gets on the boat. He does not seem to care that Simon and his crew have had a total failure of a night of fishing, and are probably both exhausted and frustrated.  Jesus just gets on the boat with a word to Simon.  As scholar David Lose argues, what we learn about in this brazen action is “sometimes God doesn’t ask our permission to get involved in our life, to encounter us with grace, God just goes ahead and does it.”[i]

Then something even more odd happens.  When Jesus finally does get around to asking Simon to push the boat out a bit so he can teach, Simon just does what Jesus asks.  We have no idea why.  Perhaps he simply responds because he knows this is just the way Jesus is.  We know that Simon Peter already had an encounter with Jesus at this point in Luke’s gospel, when Jesus healed his mother-in-law.  Maybe Simon was so grateful for that healing that he pushed the boat out to sea out of a sense of gratitude or obligation.  Or maybe Simon Peter was just that kind of guy – the kind of guy who even when he is bone tired and frustrated would still lend you a helping hand.[ii]  Regardless, his immediate and silent acquiescence tells us something.

Then another funny thing happens.  The text tells us when Jesus is done teaching, Jesus speaks to Peter.  That half sentence almost seems like a throw-away transition.  But even in this transition, we see something special.  What we see in this transition is even “when he’s all done teaching, Jesus isn’t actually all done.  In fact, that he’s just getting started.  Because God’s like that, always up to more than we imagine.”[iii]

Then comes Jesus’ request – to put the nets back out again.  Now, remember that Simon Peter and his crew have just spent the early hours of the morning cleaning all those nets.  So already, Jesus is asking a lot to this worn down, frustrated crew.  But Jesus’ request is funny in another way.  Jesus does not suggest they try his new and improved fishing method.  Jesus does not suggest a new body of water or a different location.  Jesus does not give them new nets to try.  He just asked them to do the exact same thing they had been trying all night.  The only difference this time, as Lose points out, is “… Jesus spoke to them and they do what he says and the word Jesus spoke makes it different, because God’s Word always does what it says, even when those hearing that Word fall short or even have a hard time believing it.”[iv]  God’s Word changes everything.

Now what happens next is pretty typical.  When the miracle of all those fish happens, and Peter senses Jesus offering a call to him, Peter protests as many a servant has – saying he is a sinner.  But what is interesting in this call narrative is Jesus’ response.  Jesus does not say that Simon’s sins are forgiven, or do some symbolic act to cleanse Simon’s sinfulness.  No, Jesus says, “Do not be afraid.”  Sure, Jesus offers forgiveness of sins.  But Jesus offers so much more.  Jesus offers encouragement and comfort.  Instead of simply insisting Simon can answer the call, Jesus instead offers the words of a pastor.  Those words, “do not be afraid,” will be words we hear over and over again in Luke’s gospel.  Part of this call narrative is a reminder that we do not have to be afraid anymore!

Then Jesus tells Peter something even more incredible.  This miracle he just witnessed is nothing.  Peter is going to do something even greater – be a fisherman of people – “catching people up in the unimaginable and life-changing grace of God.”[v]  Simon Peter really was not someone special.  Simon was not so gifted that he was already a leader in the community.  No, Jesus just picks an average fisherman for this incredible new mission.  That’s something else we learn about God in this passage; this is “how God works, always choosing the unlikeliest of characters through whom to work, putting aside all their doubts and fears and excuses and professed shortcomings to do marvelous things through them.”

And this is how we get back to each person in this room.  Despite the fact that call narratives can be dramatic, call narratives are also full of ordinary little things that remind of us the kind of God we have; the reasons why we trust this incredible, loving God; how woefully unprepared and unworthy any of us really are; and how through our relationship with God we find ourselves saying yes, saying hineni, without an exclamation point, but with scared-out-of-our-minds trust.

We may think call narratives are something that biblical heroes experience.  But the reality is, each one of us here has a call narrative.  Sometimes they are dramatic, but most of the time, they are gradual calls that evolve as we deepen our relationship with Christ, as we slowly, quietly keep saying hineni, as we try, fail, and try again to figure out what God wants us to do with our lives, and as we suddenly realize we are doing it.  We are leaving boats full of fish to follow Christ.  We changing the course of our lives in incremental ways.  We are finally able to see ourselves as Christ sees us – as individuals gifted with special gifts that enable us to share God’s love in our own little piece of this big world.  Do not be afraid, friends.  The secret of you already following God’s call is safe here.  Just keep saying yes, keep saying your quiet hineni and God will keep using you in powerful, dramatic ways.  Amen.

 

[i] David Lose, “Epiphany 5C: Lots to Love,” February 5, 2019, as found on February 6, 2019, at http://www.davidlose.net/2019/02/epiphany-5-c-lots-to-love/.

[ii] Lose.

[iii] Lose.

[iv] Lose.

[v][v] Lose.

Sermon – Mark 8.31.38, L2, YB, February 25, 2018

Tags

cede, Christ, control, conversation, follow, God, guns, invest, Jesus, Messiah, outcome, Peter, relationship, self-interest, Sermon, solution

Last week, as Lent Madness started up, the first matchup was between Peter and Paul.  Our family had a lively debate about which saint we preferred, including how cool it was for Paul to change his mind so radically.  But I advocated for Peter because I love how human he is – always being both the Rock on which Christ will build his Church, and the “Satan” who gets so tripped up in his own desires that he forgets what Jesus is trying to do.  Sometimes Peter’s praise and condemnation happen within verses of each other.  Today is just such a day.  In the few verses before the gospel reading from Mark we heard today, Peter boldly professes that Jesus is the Messiah when none of the other disciples are able to do so.  But then today, as soon as Jesus starts talking about suffering, rejection, and death, Peter slips again.  Like a celebrity’s manager, Peter quietly pulls Jesus aside to remind him that talking about suffering, rejection, and death is not going to help his ratings with the crowds.

I imagine many of us here have had similar conversations with God.  Like Peter, we have taken certain risks in our lives to follow Christ.  We have been mocked by non-believers, we have had to defend our God when the news feed seems to suggest God is absent, we have given up countless invitations for brunch or simply sleeping in because we agreed to read scripture in church or teach Sunday School.  We have taken jobs out a sense of call or we have loved an enemy when we did not want to love her.  We have made sacrifices for our faith.  And like any relationship where we have committed time and energy, we become invested in the outcomes.  So, when someone does not recover from an illness, or when a child is lost too soon, we get angry with God.  When another shooting happens, or when we hear reports of genocide, we voice our frustration with God.  Even when we follow politics, we become convinced that God would want a particular outcome or a particular party to win.

But here’s the trouble.  You see, when we follow Jesus, when we give up things and commit to the relationship, we become invested.  The process is natural – any relationship in which we commit our time is one in which we become invested in the results.  But that is the scary thing about following Jesus.  Not only does Jesus want us to follow him, Jesus also wants us to let go of control in the relationship.  That’s where Peter stumbles today.  You see, he is a faithful follower of Jesus.  But somewhere along the way, his faithfulness is not offered out of a total trust in whatever Jesus has to offer, but is rooted in a conviction that Jesus will behave in a particular way:  the conquering Messiah – the one who will bring redemption.  His rebuking Jesus is because what Jesus says today does not jive with his expectations of the Messiah.  And because he has a relationship with Jesus, because he is invested in his relationship with Jesus, he tries to exert his will over Jesus – to convince him to look like the Messiah he wants.

I once served at a parish that had a longtime missional relationship with a village in the Dominican Republic.  When I got involved with the program, the relationship had been floundering.  The church had worked with the village to build a community center.  Once that was done, not wanting the relationship to end, the church tried some other efforts, including microfinance and teaching different industries.  Most of those efforts failed, and the teams that would travel to the village began to feel like they were wasting their time or were doing busy work.  The more the church tried to control the relationship, the less satisfying the relationship became.

I remember on one of our last nights in the DR talking to the local priest.  I shared with him our concern – that we feared the relationship had accomplished all it could and everything we were trying to do in the village was forcing the relationship to be something the relationship could not be.  The priest understood our predicament, and gave us his blessing to do whatever we needed to do.  I went home convinced the church would gracefully end the relationship.  Instead, years later, I found out the relationship was still going strong – but not because the church had done something.  Instead, when the church was finally willing to let go, to stop trying to control the relationship, and force their own outcome, the relationship took off.  The village came to the church with a new proposal.  Instead of one more coat of paint, or one more attempted microbusiness, the village wanted to build more buildings.  But this time, the buildings would not just service the village – they would serve as a high school for the region.  Last I heard, the government finally noticed what the village was doing, and began to support the school with infrastructure and teachers.

What the church had to learn, what we need to learn, what Peter eventually learns is taking up our cross to follow Jesus means being open to death.  Perhaps that sounds obvious to those of you who have read Jesus’ words time and again.  But this week, when I think about what being open to death means I think Jesus means being open to the death of our self-interest – of our will – of our desperate need for control.  Once we allow that to die, we start to find life – life in Christ as Christ would have us live life.  We find ourselves able to keep our minds on divine things, not on human things.

This past week of dealing with the aftermath of another school shooting, I have been struggling.  Every time our country faces another mass shooting, I feel like I need to do something, to change something, to push our leaders to do something different.  Every time we face another tragedy, I join Christians in prayer and grief.  But, as one Christian theologian points out, “There is something deeply hypocritical about praying for a problem you are unwilling to resolve.”[i]  And so this week, instead of just looking to like-minded people about what to do or whom to blame, I tried something else.  I called up a friend who has very different feelings about these things and asked him to help me understand his point of view on guns in our country.  Instead of trying to convince him of my view, I let go of my own stuff, and listened.  When I let go – when I was open to the death of my self-interest or longing for control, I found that we got a lot closer to a common solution.  We began to discover ways forward.

And then, as I found myself loosening my own grip on a solution, our young people started speaking up.  Instead of the adults in this country trying to tell students how to feel or behave, the students began to teach us.  If we can deny ourselves, let go of our death grip on this issue on either side, our young people are inviting us into a new way of entering this problem – of listening differently to one another and responding in a way that transforms both sides of the aisle.

I cannot imagine a better time for us to grapple with our relationships with God and with one another.  Many of you have already shared with me the ways in which you have taken on Lenten disciplines to help you deepen your relationship with Christ.  What Peter’s experience this week invites us to consider is how we might not simply deepen our relationship, but also how me might cede our self-interest in our relationship with Christ – not simply following Christ, but letting go of how we think that journey should look; not simply taking up our cross, but being open to the fact that we do not know what that will mean or what we will encounter.  If we can engage in that kind of relationship with Christ, then we might just be able to engage in that kind of relationship with one another – no longer maddeningly holding on to what we want in our relationships, but trusting that God is working among us when we let go.  Then we are finally taking up our crosses and following Christ – together.  Amen.

[i] Attributed to Miroslav Volf by Kirsten Powers, “Why ‘thoughts and prayers’ is starting to sound so profane,” Washington Post, Nov. 6, 2017, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2017/10/03/why-thoughts-and-prayers-is-starting-to-sound-so-profane, as referenced by Karoline Lewis, “Open Speech,” Feb. 19, 2018, http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5066, as found on Feb. 22, 2018.

On Parenting and Other Failures…

Tags

children, Christian, disciple, encouragement, failure, faith, faithful, God, hope, Jesus, love, parent, parenting, Peter

I have never really thought of myself as a very good parent.  I am constantly finding myself in the midst of parenting and thinking, “I really could be handling this much better.”  In looking back, I can see countless ways in which I escalated a situation instead of deescalated, in which I got stuck in wanting control instead of fostering independence, or in which I simply lost my cool.  Parenting sometimes brings out the worst in me, and on the really bad days, I feel like I am failing pretty miserably at the whole endeavor.

I feel that way about my faith sometimes too.  I know all the ways I am called to serve God and to be a faithful disciple.  But I often find myself failing.  For as many times as I can be like an insightful Peter, more often I am like the Peter who is sinking into the sea, trying to control what Jesus does, or putting myself in front of the gospel.  Reading about modern saints, or people who are making a difference with their life only makes me more aware of my many failings to live as a faithful Christian.

The good news is that children, and other people, often give us glimpses of hope and encouragement.  The other day, I was stirring from a nap with my youngest (who refuses to nap now unless you nap with her).  As she was waking up, she smiled at me and said, “You can be my best friend, Mommy.”  A few nights ago, my oldest requested to start using the same shampoo, conditioner, and soap that I use, instead of her 3-in-1 tear-free wash we have been using.  I sighed out of irritation, and asked her why.  She said, “Because I want to be like you, Mommy.  Except for your short hair!”

I laughed on both occasions, but both comments reminded me that for all the times I fail, there is still love.  For all the ways in which I mess up this parenting thing, there are glimpses of times when I managed to get it a tiny bit right.  I think the same is true for our faith life.  For all the ways we are horribly imperfect, we also have glimpses of powerful faithfulness.  I encourage you to listen to those around you to hear those little comments that will encourage you on your journey.  And then I invite you to straighten up, take a deep breath, and get back in there.  God is doing amazing things through you.  I can’t wait to hear all about it!!

Photo credit:  www.quoteambition.com/best-encouraging-quotes-words-encouragement/

Sermon – John 18.1-19.42, GF, YA, April 14, 2017

Tags

betrayal, blasphemy, chief priests, confession, cross, denial, evil, failure, God, Good Friday, Jesus, Judas, passion narrative, Peter, scapegoat, Sermon, sinfulness, transform

I have been thinking this week about how every year we read the same story of Jesus’ death.  Unlike the Christmas story that we eagerly anticipate hearing each year, this story seems like a masochistic practice of hearing the same devastating story over and over again.  And we do not just read this story on Good Friday.  In addition to John’s version of the passion narrative, we read one of the synoptic versions on Palm Sunday.  Twice in one week we relive the painful story, catching interesting variations.  But the ending is always the same:  death, finality, failure.  At least on Palm Sunday, we use various voices, making the story feel like a performance.  But today, one sole voice, tells the achingly raw story – a story we would rather skip, or soften, or cry out to the reader, “Please stop!”

In hearing the story this year, I was struck by the failures of three characters.  The first is probably the easiest culprit:  Judas.  In Mathew’s gospel there is at least a feigning of loyalty as Judas greets Jesus as “Rabbi,” and kisses his cheek.  But John does not play such games.  In John’s narrative, Judas is fully on the side of the persecutors.  He boldly brings and stands with the soldiers and police.  He does not greet Jesus, or apologize.  He is confident in his decision.  He stands proud, even as we now are able to see his profound failure.  His ignorance of the depth of his betrayal is almost worse than the actual betrayal.  His confidence that this is for the best, is the first crack in our hearts as we hear this painful story.

Then we have Peter – precious, passionate, pitiful Peter.  For all the times he gets things right, and all the endearing times he gets things wrong, today is just a spirit-crushing failure.  In Matthew’s gospel, Peter denies knowing Jesus.  In John’s gospel, Peter denies his discipleship – his very relationship with and dedication to the Messiah.  In the face of Jesus’ “I am,” claim[i] today, Peter’s claim is “I am not.”[ii]  For all the wonderful, powerful, sacrificial moments in Jesus today, Peter is shameful, cowardly, and self-serving.  Even after being warned that he will deny Christ, Peter denies Christ in spite of himself.  That cock’s crow is the second crack in our hearts as we hear this brutal story.

The third character today does not always get as much attention, but their failure is perhaps the worst.  Whereas Judas and Peter deny and betray a friend, the chief priests deny their very God.  They say seven words to Pilate today that should be more shocking than anything said.  “We have no king but the emperor.”  We often get distracted by their words, because we know that they are meant manipulate Pilate’s sense of authority.  But the chief priests, the religious, moral guides of the people of faith say today, “We have no king but the emperor.”  Of course, we have to think back to remember why this statement is so profoundly painful.  You see, once upon a time, God was the king of Israel.  The people worshiped Yahweh, and Yahweh alone.  But the people got greedy, and begged Yahweh for a king like the other nations.  And so God anointed kings through God’s prophets.  But the chief priests take their self-centered sinfulness a step further than our ancestors.  They deny God today.  Their claim to have no king but the emperor is treason against our God – blasphemy.  And with their claim, our heart lies cracked in two as we hear the rest of the awful story.

Of course, blaming Judas, Peter, and the chief priests would be an easy way to scapegoat our way out of this dark day.  There are even Christians who claim that the Jews crucified our Lord.  But we know the truth.  We know that we are the Jews.  We know that we are Judas and Peter and the chief priests.  We know that our heart fractures with each vignette because they remind us of times when we have stood on our soapboxes, certain of our moral claims, only to later look back and see whom we betrayed and trampled in the process.  We know that that our heart fractures because we are reminded of those times when we knew the right thing to do, said we were going to do the right thing, and then failed to do the right thing – over, and over, and over again.  We have heard that same cock crowing.  We know that our heart fractures because we have put other gods before our God.  Sure, the gods have varied:  money, power, security, ego.  But we have gotten so lost in our gods that we said and did things that would have inspired a gasp from anyone more faithful than ourselves.  The failures of Judas, Peter, and the chief priests are not just failures of those men, two thousand years ago.  The failures of Judas, Peter, and the chief priests are our failures.[iii]

I think that is why we tell this story year after year, twice a week from different gospels.  We tell this story over and over again because we fail over and over again.  Though the specific characters are important, the characters live and operate in us centuries later.  That is why the story is so compelling – not because we can gather together and wag our fingers at those people.  The story is compelling because the story is eerily close to our own sinfulness.  Part of the devastating nature of this story is how complicit we are in the story.  Though the powers of evil might want us to deny our culpability in this story, what is hardest about this story is how close to home the story really is.

Now, you I do not ever like to leave the pulpit without a word of hope, a reminder that risen Lord redeems us all.  But today, I encourage you not to rush to the empty tomb.  Take time to sit in our collective confession, to tarry on those things done and left undone which are separating you from God and one another.  Bring your failures or sense of failure to the cross and lay them there today.  Grieve the ways that you cannot help yourself, year after year, from sin and shame.  The whole season of Lent has been building up to this day.  The whole reason we took on those disciplines and came to church for confession was because we knew, ultimately, that this is where we keep tripping up:  in betrayal and denial of our very identity as beloved disciples and children of God.  We are the ones bombing others.  We are the ones racially profiling.  We are the ones denigrating women, the poor, and the oppressed.  We are the ones, century after century repeating the sins of the faithful.

Lay all that sinfulness at the cross today.  Whether you venerate the cross in the liturgy today, wear a cross around your neck, or pray with the cross on your prayer beads, the power of the cross is to absorb all those failures and to transform them into something worth living.  You can, and perhaps should, feel the powerful weight of your sinful patterns today.  But let them die at the foot of the cross with Jesus.  Lay them naked at the cross, for all the world to see.  There is relief in that confession, the depth of which you may not feel fully until our Easter proclamation.

[i] Susan E. Hylen, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 299.

[ii] Karoline Lewis, John:  Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 222.

[iii] Rolf Jacobson, Karoline Lewis, and Matt Skinner, “SB 535, Good Friday,” April 7, 2017, found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=873 on April 8, 2017.

Sermon – Acts 9.36-43, E4, YC, April 17, 2016

Tags

charity, Dorcas, first Sunday, gestating, God, good works, health, hibernation, Hickory Neck, Holy Spirit, ministry, miracle, new life, Peter, Sermon, servant, Tabitha, work

This morning I want start with some thanksgiving.  I would like to thank the members of the Search Committee and the Vestry for being so faithful in prayerful discernment with me and the other candidates for Rector of Hickory Neck Episcopal Church.  My interactions with them gave me a sense of hope and joy about what lies ahead for us as a community of faith.  Though I know he has moved on to his next cure, I would also like to thank Henry for being such a faithful shepherd among us, especially during a time of transition and upheaval while still being new to the priesthood.  He paved the way for us to be ready for this next phase of ministry.  And finally, I would like to thank each one of you.  You have put a tremendous amount of prayer and trust into this process, and I am grateful for your support of this parish.  I am looking forward to learning about your ministries in this place and helping bolster your good work in the world.

The people of Hickory Neck are in good company today.  In our reading from Acts this morning, we hear about another faithful servant of God.  Tabitha, also known in her community by the name Dorcas, is a disciple renowned for her good works and acts of charity.  We know that she is an adept seamstress, who uses her sewing prowess to clothe the needy in her community.  We know that her witness and work are so powerful that the widows who benefit from her charity are found weeping by her deathbed.  We know that her discipleship is so profound that two men journey to a nearby town to find Peter in the hopes that he might be able to do something miraculous for the woman who was a miracle for so many others.[i]

As I prayed with Tabitha this week, I realized how many similarities her witness shares with Hickory Neck’s witness and ministry.  One of the reasons I was attracted to Hickory Neck during the discernment process was the vibrancy of ministry and the health of the congregation.  I was impressed to learn that thousands of dollars raised by your annual Fall Festival go directly to supporting local outreach ministries.  I have enjoyed hearing stories about making meals, visiting prisoners, and collecting goods for our neighbors in need.  But even more impressive to me is the desire among parishioners to do more:  to dream bigger dreams about how not only we can use our hands to more directly serve the poor, but also how we might use the gift of this property more creatively to be a living witness of the love of Jesus in our community.  What I saw in the discernment process was a church who is healthy and vibrant and who is poised for new and exciting work.

Now what is funny about all those good vibrations is that juxtaposed with that percolating vision is a community who has been treading water.  After the decline of your last rector, a shortened interim period, and making due with only an assistant, many of you have also shared with me your sense that these last few years have also been a time of getting by, but maybe not necessarily thriving.  I would never suggest that these last years have been like a death – but maybe like a time of hibernation.  Like an animal who lives off their stored up energy and fat over the winter, Hickory Neck has been getting by with the things that she learned long ago:  good worship and music, solid pastoral care and welcome, and powerful outreach ministries and educational opportunities.

Now Tabitha is not hibernating.  According to Luke’s writing in Acts, Tabitha is not just sleeping.  She becomes quite ill and dies.  Truthfully, if Tabitha had been in a deep sleep, her story might be a little easier to believe.  I do not know about you, but miracle stories like Tabitha’s are always a little strange to me.  Whether the story is the one from First Kings, where Elijah brings the son of the widow back to life after a strange ritual of laying himself over the dead boy’s body three times[ii]; or whether the story is of Jesus raising his friend Lazarus from the dead after four days in the tomb[iii]; or whether the story is this strange one where Peter prays over a dead disciple and simply says, “Tabitha, get up,” and she does, these stories always seem strange to me.  One, I do not really understand the mechanics of raising someone from the dead.  Having never seen such a miracle myself, I cannot imagine how or why such a thing happens.  Perhaps I am too jaded by modern science, but part of me just does not understand raising people from the dead.  Two, I do not understand why people are raised from the dead.  The idea sounds great in principle.  I am sure the mourning families and friends are incredibly relieved.  But, with the exception of Jesus, all of the people who are raised from the dead must have to die again eventually.  I’m not sure why people even bother.  Finally, what I really do not understand about these stories is what they mean for us today.  Though we love these biblical stories, I know plenty of people who would like to see their loved ones raised from the dead.  Many of them might even have a case based on the good works they have done, like Tabitha.  Surely people like Tabitha deserve another chance to keep making a difference in the world!

Regardless of the fact that the text does not tell us how, or why, or even why not someone else, what the text does tell us is that Tabitha is in fact dead, Peter in fact raises her from the dead, and then the alive Tabitha is presented to her people, presumably to get back to doing all the good works and charity she had been doing before – or perhaps even better works of charity.  Implicit in Peter’s words, “Tabitha, get up,” is the notion that Tabitha’s work is not done yet.  In fact, Tabitha must have even greater works to do.  God is not done with Tabitha yet.

That is what I love about this story for Hickory Neck.  God is not done with us yet either.  As I was reading up about hibernation, one of the things I learned is that some species, like polar bears, hibernate while gestating their young.  I was blown away by that realization.  Pregnancy is that time when the host is usually taking on more calories, building up muscles to prepare for the birth, and dealing with the activity of a developing fetus – especially once the kicking begins.  I cannot imagine sleeping through that whole process or storing up enough sustenance to help both bodies grow and thrive during hibernation.

But the more I thought about the hibernating polar bear, the more I realized that is exactly what has been happening with Hickory Neck.  Perhaps these last couple of years have felt like a hibernation period – a time of lower energy and output.  But I wonder if Hickory Neck is not unlike a hibernating mama polar bear.  Though we have been keeping things steady, we have also been working hard on nurturing and producing new life.  We have not been sleeping to survive a cold spell.  We have been resting to cultivate and grow new life – a new life which is about to be born.

Today, Peter’s words and actions are for us too.  The text tells us that when Peter arrives he sends everyone outside, kneels down, and prays.  We have been praying too.  We have been praying that God guide us through a time of turbulence and transition, we have been praying that Jesus nurture us during our time of hibernating, and we have been praying that the Holy Spirit help us explode with renewed energy and life.  After Peter prays, his words to Tabitha are simple, “Tabitha, get up.”  Hickory Neck has received a similar charge.  When the Holy Spirit led us to one another, we heard the same words.  “Hickory Neck, get up.”  God is not done with us yet either.  That new life we have been gestating is eager to be born in and through us.  Finally, one more thing happens in our text.  The text says, “Peter gave Tabitha his hand and helped her up.”  Though Peter’s words are unambiguous to Tabitha, Peter does not expect Tabitha to get up and get to work alone.  He offers her a hand.  The same is true for us.  Though we are charged to get up and start caring for this new life we have been nurturing, we do not do the work alone.  The Holy Spirit is reaching out to us to help guide us to our feet.  I will be reaching out my hand to each of you, but I will also need you to reach your hand out to me.  And, more importantly, we will also need to reach out our hands to those not yet in our midst, who will be a part of the new life we have been gestating.  I do not know about you, but I cannot wait to see what our new growing family looks like.  So, Hickory Neck, get up!  Amen.

[i] Stephen D. Jones, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 429.

[ii] 1 Kings 17.17-24

[iii] John 11.1-44