Homily – Ruth 3.1-5, 4.13-17, P27, YB, November 11, 2018

Tags

acceptance, Armistice Day, baptism, Boaz, change, covenant, dignity, God, gun violence, honor, life, Naomi, respect, Ruth, sanctity, Sermon, veterans

My intention today had been to talk about Emersyn, whose baptism we will celebrate today, and the gift that she is giving us through her baptism.  When we baptize someone into the family of faith, we also take time to remember our own baptismal covenant.  We remember the promises we make about how we will live our lives, promises we just renewed last week at another baptism.  One of our promises is to respect the dignity of every human being – to respect human life.

We respect human life because we learn to do so in Holy Scripture.  Today, Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz teach us how to respect life.  If you remember, Naomi is a widow who has not only lost her husband and her two sons, but who is left shepherding two foreign daughters-in-law; she is so shattered, she asks people to call her Mara, which means bitterness, instead of Naomi, which means pleasantness.  Ruth, one of those daughters-in-law, is equally bereft; having married into a foreign family, widowed herself, she pledges allegiance to a people who point out her foreign identity at every turn – in fact, she is regularly called, “Ruth, the Moabite from Moab” – or in common language, “Ruth, the foreigner from a foreign land (a land the people hated, by the way).  Boaz is an upright man, put into a precarious situation by Naomi, who sends Ruth to lay at his feet so that he might serve as their redeemer.  But despite the fact life is hard, life brings sorrow, and life treats us like a hated foreigner, Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz respect the dignity of each other.  They respect life.

We need people like Emersyn, Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz because we have been doing a pretty horrible job of respecting life lately.  In just the past two weeks, we have had four “soft target” attacks in our country.  “Soft targets” are attacks that happen in simple, everyday life – where people are having a cup of coffee, celebrating with friends over food and drink, picking up groceries, or worshipping in their house of worship.  In the last two weeks, 27 people were slain in soft target areas:  Two shoppers were gunned down in a Kroger parking lot in Kentucky; Eleven people were gunned down while worshiping in a synagogue in Pittsburgh; Two women were gunned down in a yoga studio in Florida; and twelve people were gunned down in a bar in California.[i]  We can pray for the victims, and attempt to find motives behind shootings, and even bemoan the mental health system.  But until we are willing to make concrete changes, we as Americans disrespect life.  We as Christians fail to respect the dignity of every human being when we do nothing to change our culture of acceptance around gun violence.

Our Veterans helped us understand this failure many years ago.  One-hundred years ago, this day was marked not as Veterans Day, but as Armistice Day – the day we were able to stop a war, to stop aggression, to stop the denigration of life on both sides.  Armistice Day was a day to honor the end of World War I, but perhaps even more powerfully, Armistice Day was a day to honor the dignity of every human being.  On that day, after 8.5 million soldiers had been killed, 100,000 of which were American, you could see the sheer joy in people’s faces as they flooded the streets, realizing death would be no more – that human life would be honored once more.[ii]

Today we have the opportunity to celebrate too.  We have the opportunity to honor and respect the sanctity of life – the life of beautiful baby Emersyn, the lives of our Veterans, and the lives of those shattered by unrestrained gun violence.  The question is whether we will accept the invitation.  Scholar Cameron Howard says in the book of Ruth, we do not experience God in the story as some divine physical presence, as a booming voice from heaven, or as a visible mover of events; instead, we experience God through the characters in the book – God is revealed to the world through the actions of the characters of Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz.[iii]  The world is not that much different today.  The world needs to see God through us too.  Emersyn needs to see God through us.  Our community, state, and nation need to see God through us.  The growing population of those scarred by gun violence need to see God through us.  The only question remaining is whether we will say “yes,” to the invitation, or at least, “I will with God’s help.”  I promise God’s help is waiting for you when decide to respect the dignity of every human being through your actions, revealing God’s presence in the world.  Amen.

[i] Eliott C. McLaughlin, “This is the 4th ‘soft target’ Attack in 2 Weeks,” November 8, 2018, as found at https://www.cnn.com/2018/11/08/us/soft-targets-thousand-oaks-bar-shooting/index.html on November 9, 2018.

[ii] Alexis Clark, “In Photos Unpublished for 100 Years, the Joy of War’s End on Armistice Day,” The New York Times, November 9, 2018, as found at https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/09/world/europe/armistice-day-100th-anniversary-photos.html on November 10, 2018.

[iii] Cameron B.R. Howard, “Commentary on Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17,” November 11, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3890 on November 8, 2018.

 

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GC79: Respecting Dignity

Tags

dignity, Episcopal Church, gender, General Convention, immigration, Jesus, language, outcast, race, respect, sexual orientation

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly (permission for reuse)

One of the many takeaways from General Convention was the need to tend to those outside of the straight, white, male, able-bodied community.  There was a task force assembled before Convention to address issues raised by the #metoo movement.  Out of that group came many resolutions about sexual harassment and abuse, equality in payment and hiring, parenting accommodations, and eliminating bias in bishop searches.  Our African-American brothers and sisters also called for work on pay equity and broader issues, such as voter suppression.  Our foreign language speakers rallied for more translated liturgies and legislation, as well as increased interpreters throughout Convention.  Our disabled and deaf members lobbied for better accommodations during Convention.  Our LGBTQ members called for broader inclusion and more intentional expansive and inclusive language.  Our immigrant members also called for thoughtfulness about our ordination processes, noting that many dioceses are unwilling to consider entering into a formal discernment process with someone if their immigration status is not settled.

There are probably more issues I am forgetting, but what struck me about each of these movements is that they are not just General Convention issues or wider church issues.  These are issues for every parish.  At our own parish, we are struggling to provide hearing assistance to our hearing-impaired members due to lack of volunteers to run our sound system.  Having served on a Commission on Ministry (COM) in another diocese, I realize now how our restrictions around immigration could have limited the movement of the Holy Spirit.  Even the conversation about breastfeeding on the Convention floor made me realize that we all have work to do about making our worship spaces as welcoming as possible.  Having watched these issues unfold at General Convention, I am convinced that there are issues we are overlooking as well.

Jesus always struck me as someone who saw everyone – especially people that society, religious leaders, and even his disciples overlooked or dismissed.  He had a knack for seeing the marginalized, the oppressed, and those cast out or looked down upon.  He asked their stories, engaged them in conversation and relationship, he often restored them to health and status in the community.  He showed us what it means to respect the dignity of every human being.  When we reaffirm our baptismal covenant, or when we say, “The Episcopal Church Welcomes You,” how might we do a better job of bringing what we say in line with what we do?  General Convention’s work was a way of pointing us back to the work of Jesus.  How might Hickory Neck engage in this same work?  How might you engage in this same work in your everyday life?

On the Timelessness of Scripture…

Tags

#metoo, Apocrypha, Christ, Daniel, dignity, harassment, kingdom of God, love, men, power, respect, scripture, sin, Susanna, women

This reflection is from a book of devotions that our youth group at Hickory Neck created for our parish’s use this Lent.  Each day, parishioners offer their reflections on the text assigned for that day in Lent.  This is my reflection on an apocryphal writing, Susanna 1-9, 15-29, 34-62.  If it is unfamiliar to you, I highly recommend reading it first.  You can find the text here.

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I am struck by the timeliness of Susanna’s story.  Because Susana is a book from the Apocrypha, most Christians do not know her story.  But her story joins the chorus of the many #metoo stories of sexual assault and harassment we have discovered in the last six months.  Susanna’s story is a story of the abuse of power.  Though the two elders purport to give Susanna a choice, either choice will leave her devastated.  Though she chooses the option that feels free from sin, her choice will lead to her condemnation and death.  In truth, she has no choice – the men sinfully exert power of her.

What encourages me about Susanna’s story is that there is a man who uses his power for good.  We are told that God stirs up the holy spirit of Daniel, and Daniel (a man of power in his own right), responds, eventually proving Susanna’s innocence.  Daniel’s role in this story reminds us that God longs for us to use our power for good.  The #metoo stories of our day are not just the stories of women.  They are stories about all of us – stories of how we, men and women, are to love as Christ loves, and to respect the dignity of every human being.  How might we be agents of love, using our power today to help those without power?  How might we be agents in bringing about the kingdom of God?

On homes, humanity, and our hands…

Tags

baptismal covenant, common, dehumanize, dignity, Habitat for Humanity, home, humanity, Jesus, light, other, poor, preferential, respect, story

Photo credit:  https://www.mncatholic.org/advocacy-areas/option-for-the-poor-and-vulnerable/

Yesterday, I attended the dedication of a Habitat for Humanity house for which our church had been a financial and volunteer sponsor.  As I watched the family celebrate, it struck me how everyone has a story.  Before becoming a priest, I worked at a Habitat affiliate in Delaware, and I remember that each homeowner’s story varied.  Some had grown up in poverty, and were the first to buy homes in their extended families; some had a health crisis that led to financial and housing problems; some were living in substandard conditions, while others had squeezed their entire families into a friend’s living room.  I do not know the full story of the Fletcher family, except that the matriarch has been working as a nurse for years, has three children, and could not afford to buy a home without Habitat.

What struck me about the Habitat event is how strong our common humanity is.  Get a new Habitat homeowner in the room with a wealthy, privileged person, and I suspect within ten minutes they will be sharing stories of their common humanity.  But get either of them outside of that room, and either person could be seen as an enemy:  someone who oppresses others and does not share their wealth or someone who does not work hard enough and relies too much on outside assistance.  Neither of these characterizations are fair – but we make them all the time.  We forget the story of each individual, and instead create categories that we can then use to generalize – to dehumanize.

I do not usually talk about politics on my blog, but our President’s recent characterization of other countries and their citizens, whom I love, has broken my heart.  The incident itself was not all that surprising.  What put me over the edge was how the comment was so brazenly said and affirmed by others, and how the comment highlighted the ways our country seems to have embraced the practice of dehumanizing others enough that they are able to say things that they would not otherwise say to another human if they were face-to-face.

Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, advocated for a preferential option for the poor.  Time and again, Jesus took the stranger, the outcast, the downtrodden, and healed them, helped them, and loved them.  In fact, “the other,” is a recurring theme in scripture that invites us to examine our own modern designations of “insiders” and “outsiders.”  Our country’s current practice of demonizing and subjugating the “other” is an action in direct conflict with Holy Scripture and the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  We are not living into our baptismal covenant promises of respecting the dignity of every human being, and seeking and serving Christ in all persons.

This week, I invite you to examine our current treatment of the “other” – those for whom Jesus had a particular preference and priority.  Whether you need to spend some time in prayer, have a conversation with someone unlike you, volunteer some time with a charitable organization, write to your governmental representatives, or donate your money to an agency that can affect change – do something.  Do not let your light be hidden under a bushel.  And then share your story with me here, or with a friend on the journey.  I cannot wait to hear how the Holy Spirit uses you.

On Seeing Colors…

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beautiful, color, creation, dignity, fall, God, hatred, hope, leaves, love, peace, respect, violence

For those of you who read here regularly or know me personally, you know that fall is my favorite season.  Though I know many people love the flowers and the vibrancy of greens in spring, I find the turning of leaves in fall much more beautiful.  There is something poignantly graceful about a tree making a vibrant show of color before losing everything and going bare for the winter.  Whether it’s an entire tree that is vividly yellow, orange, or red, or whether it’s stumbling across a particularly beautiful fallen leaf, I find my breath being taken away time and again in the fall.

Fall just finally began to show in force this past week where I live.  The colors could not have come sooner.  In a time filled with anger, hatred, and violence, I have found myself struggling to see beauty around me.  Instead of the vibrant red of love, I have seen the ugly color of abuse and subjugation.  Instead of flaming orange of peace, I have seen the frightening colors of war and gun violence.  Instead of the brilliant yellow of respect and dignity, I have seen demoralizing color of sexism and racism.  In such times, I have longed to stumble on a stray leaf of hope.

As my mind has reeled with yet another mass shooting in Texas, more women coming forward to protest assault and harassment, and legislation that seems to value personal gain over the relief of the suffering of the poor, I have been wondering if fall would come at all.  And then I realized, perhaps the leaves of hope I have been looking for are everyday people who come into my path and show me vibrant signs of hope.  I see hope in a neighboring pastor who told me about the prayer tent he set up in a nearby neighborhood after a shooting that occurred the night before.  Children were overjoyed to see his presence as they got off the school bus the next day.  I see hope in the yoga teacher who, sensing a need in our community, approached our church to see if we could provide space for a sliding-fee yoga class for people of all income levels.  I see hope in children who teach me a profound sense of empathy instead of the reverse.

This week, I invite you to take a look around you in God’s creation to see the signs of hope and love that God is giving you to revive your spirit.  And I also invite you to take a look around you at the people who are offering you signs of hope and love this week – even in the small gestures of kindness, generosity, and love.  I suspect you will be overwhelmed by the beauty you see, and hopefully inspired to unfurl your own beautiful colors of love, peace, respect, and dignity.

On Honoring Christ in Others…

Tags

Christ, differences, faith, honor, light, love, others, respect, witness, yoga

Photo credit:  https://www.shutterstock.com/video/clip-7207990-stock-footage-shaking-hand-begging-for-spare-change-giving-money-to-beggar.html

At my local yoga studio, the teachers share a common practice.  At the end of every session, they say, “The love and light in me honors and respects the love and light in each of you.  Namaste.”  The repetition of the refrain every class, by every teacher, makes the end of our class feel like a liturgy – as though the teacher is sending us out into the world with a blessing.  But what I also love about the words is that I can easily substitute Christian language into their words without feeling like I change their meaning that much.  I have talked about a priest-yoga instructor once before here.  Based on his teachings, I always hear, “The Christ in me honors and respects the Christ in each of you.  Peace.”

With that transformed refrain, I find myself each week wondering how I take that mantra out into the world.  Am I honoring and respecting the Christ in each and every person I encounter?  Am I honoring and respecting the Christ in myself?  Those two simple questions are actually really difficult outside of the yoga studio.  In the yoga studio, we are people who are fairly similar – people of privilege who have the time and money to tend to their physical, mental, and spiritual well-being.  But out in the world, we encounter a much wider diversity of people – people of all types of socio-economic, gender, racial, ethnic, and sexual-orientation backgrounds.  Is the Christ in me honoring and respecting the Christ in others when I listen to political rhetoric, when I’m driving around town, or when I make financial decisions?

The last couple of days I have noticed a few more community members pan handling near stop lights.  I am not sure why there has been an increase, but it has been noticeable.  I usually carry small bags of supplies in my car for homeless individuals, but I recently cleared out my car and they are sitting in my garage.  So yesterday, knowing I was empty handed, I sat at the stoplight, intentionally not making eye contact with a particular panhandler.  But as we drove by, my youngest daughter waved and shouted, “Hi!”

Clearly my daughter has mastered the art of honoring and respecting the Christ in others.  She did not see class, status, or dirt.  She saw a person whom she would honor like anyone else.  That’s the wonderful thing about being a part of a faith community.  When we are struggling with our Christian witness – with truly allowing the Christ in us to honor and respect the Christ in others – other faithful witnesses will model that behavior for us.  Who are your faith models?  How might you engage more faithfully in honoring and respecting the Christ in others – especially those in whom you struggle to see Christ?

On Staying at the Table…

Tags

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sermon – Luke 15.1-3, 11b-32, L4, YC, March 6, 2016

Tags

bad, church, death, family, forgiveness, God, good, grace, honor, layers, Lent, love, parable, prodigal son, refreshment, repentance, respect, Rose Sunday, saints, Sermon

Growing up, my Grandfather was considered a saint.  He was kind and funny.  He was a wiz in the kitchen, and he always made you feel good.  He was beloved by all, and was known as a champion for the underdog.  That narrative was affirmed at his funeral as we told stories of his kindness and generosity.  He was without blemish and probably could have remained so had I not asked questions.  But over coffee one day, I had a conversation about the saintliness of my grandfather with my aunt and uncle.  Over the course of our conversation they slowly opened my eyes about how my grandfather was more nuanced that I realized.  What I interpreted as kindness they helped me see as, at times, avoiding conflict to the detriment of others.  What I saw as peacemaking could be interpreted as not standing up to bullies.  Slowly the one-dimensional man I knew developed layers – layers of goodness and weakness; layers of helpfulness and harm; layers of perfection and flaws.

We regularly do the same thing with those who have died – whether canonized saints or beloved family members.  In death, we honor all the goodness about them and gloss over the bad parts.  A classic example is one of my favorite modern-day saints, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  He spearheaded a movement with grace, insight, and boldness and inspired generations.  But I remember reading later in life how his treatment of women in the Civil Rights Movement was not always as admirable.  Slowly his layers emerged for me.  Although I still admire his work and writings, his life is more nuanced now.

Now some people will argue that we should not speak ill of the dead – that we should show our respect by letting go of the bad and only honoring the good.  In some respects, I understand why people do not want to dishonor the dead.  But I think telling stories that only make others seem perfect without honoring their flaws hurts us more than helps us.  That is why I love the parable of the two sons from our gospel today.  I resists calling the parable the parable of the prodigal son because I think both sons have something to teach us.[i]  In the parable, we can easily see the two brothers in one-dimensional ways.  The older brother is the good and faithful son for loyally supporting his father and the family business.  The younger brother is the bad son who insults his father, squanders his ill-gotten inheritance, and shamefully asks for more than he deserves.  Those one-dimensional stories are stories we know.  We have friends, family members, or maybe some of us even who are those characters – the responsible older sibling, or the troublemaking younger sibling; the child whom the parent always brags about, or the child about whom the parent seems embarrassed; the child who brings the family honor, or the child who brings the family shame.

But like any good parable, these characters are not as one-dimensional as they seem.  I was thinking about the younger brother this week and I realized we never hear about his impression of the party his father throws.  We suspect he is grateful for his father’s forgiveness, and we honor the humble way the younger son repents, but that party must have been hard.  Everyone at the party knows his sin.  Asking for his portion of his father’s inheritance before his father’s death was tantamount to wishing his father were dead.[ii]  In order for his father to give the younger son the money, he would have had to have sold off some land – a fate even worse for a culture who understood their land to be God’s promised gift.[iii]  Though his father’s forgiveness must have been a relief, I cannot imagine the rest of the town being so gracious.  I wonder whether the son stayed humble and repentant during the party; whether he was able to relax into his newfound forgiveness, laughing and joking; or whether he felt uncomfortable, bristling from his neighbors’ judgment and sideways glances.

Of course, we cannot forget the older brother.  The dutiful, obedient, hardworking brother loses all his perfection in his reaction to this party.  The older brother throws a temper tantrum of epic proportions.  He whines about the abundance his father shows his brother – perhaps rightfully so, since the money and fatted calf used for the party comes from what is left of the older son’s inheritance.[iv]  He complains about how he has never experienced such bounty and celebration.  He resents his father’s lack of gratitude for all the older son’s dutiful work.  Some of the son’s indignation is warranted.  He was, in fact, the good son, and his younger brother had behaved badly.  But the rewards of the story are not playing out so simply.  The older brother overreacts.  You see, his response is equally disgraceful to his father.  In the day of this parable, the host of a party was never to leave his guests.  Going to his older son would have been seen as disrespectful to the guests he had invited.[v]  But just like he goes out to meet his younger son, the father goes out to meet the older son, offering him similar generosity and abundance in the face of his son’s sin.

Part of why we love this parable so much is that we can identify with all the characters.  We are a people of nuanced layers too.  We have our younger son moments and our older son moments.  We have moments when we are bastions of forgiveness and grace, and moments when we withhold that forgiveness and grace.  Those among us who are known as having deep wells of patience have our moments when we snap.  And those among us who are known as being judgmental or stern have our moments of insightful kindness.

Our layers are why we have seasons like Lent and days for healing prayers.  In Lent, we shuffle home from our partying, wastefulness, and self-centeredness and return to our forgiving Lord.  In Lent, we bring our resentfulness, jealousy, and self-righteousness to the altar as we long for another way. In Lent, we bring our judgment of others and our judgment of ourselves and exchange them for freedom for humility and compassion.  Having a healing service in Lent allows us to do those things in a tangible way – not just to pray for physical healing of ourselves and others, but to pray for spiritual healing for those layers that are not as beautiful as others.

In order to honor that work of self-reflection and repentance, the church gives us what is called Rose Sunday, Refreshment Sunday, or even Mothering Sunday.  The idea is that being half-way through Lent, we take a day to break our fasting in these forty days.  In many parishes, to reflect the respite from penitence and fasting, the vestments and paraments change from their usual Lenten array to a beautiful rose-colored array.  On this day, we take a break from wallowing in ashes and our sack cloths, and we find refreshment in our Lord’s forgiveness and redemption.  In England, apprentice boys took this day off to visit their mothers, hence the one designation as Mothering Sunday.  We hear that invitation into gladness today in our psalm, “Happy are they whose transgressions are forgiven, and whose sin is put away!  Happy are they to whom the Lord imputes no guilt, and in whose spirit there is no guile!”[vi]  After weeks of repentance, heaviness, and weight, today the church invites us into forgiveness, lightness, and joy.

Rose Sunday is like the father in our parable today – full of forgiveness, grace, and love for us and all our layers – the good and the not-so-good – because we all have the layers.  Today the church runs out to greet us, leaves a good party, and meets us where we are – and loves us.  Today, the church says, “I see your layers, and I love all the parts of you, fully.”  Today the church is a fool for forgiveness, not wisely teaching us a lesson about humility, but senselessly lavishing upon us grace, love, and freedom from our self-centeredness and self-righteousness.  On this refreshment Sunday, the church invites us to remember that we are beloved children of God, a God who knows all our layers and loves us anyway.

I invite you today to take on the fullness of refreshment this day.  Whatever you have been working on this Lent, whatever guilt you have been harboring, or whatever sinfulness you have been examining, know that your sins are forgiven.  Know that you can come forward for healing prayers, not asking for healing and wholeness, but celebrating the healing and wholeness you have already experienced.  Know that you can come to the Eucharistic table not just for solace only but for strength; not just for pardon only, but for renewal.  As we say in our Rite I prayers, Jesus says to us, “Come unto me, all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you.”[vii]  Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, “Perspective Matters,” February 28, 2016, http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4553 as found on March 3, 2016.

[ii] N. T. Wright, Luke for Everyone (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2004),187.

[iii] Leslie J. Hoppe, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 119.

[iv] Barbara Brown Taylor, “The Parable of the Dysfunctional Family,” April 17, 2006, as found at http://www.barbarabrowntaylor.com/newsletter374062.htm on March 3, 2016.

[v] David Lose, “Lent 4 C:  The Prodigal God,” February 28, 2016, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2016/02/lent-4-c-the-prodigal-god/ on March 3, 2016.

[vi] Psalm 32.1-2.

[vii] Matthew 11.28.  BCP 332.