Sermon – John 15.9-17, E6, YB, May 6, 2018

Tags

Christ, church, fail, forgive, God, hurt, Jesus, life, love, pain, pretty, profound, redefine, Sermon, share

Jesus’ words today from John’s gospel have been beckoning me all week.  “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love…I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete…You are my friends…You did not choose me but I chose you.”  These are words that our weary souls need to hear.  We long for the wide, open embrace of God, the unconditional acceptance, the assurance that everything will be okay.  Jesus’ words today are a warm blanket we crawl into and wrap around ourselves, draping over our feelings of sadness, loneliness, doubt, insecurity, and uncertainty.  Jesus’ invitation to abide in his love is the fulfillment of every longing, aching need in our lives, and today Jesus offers that love freely, abundantly, joyfully, completely.

For some of here today, that is your sermon:  Jesus loves you, chooses you, befriends you, and completes your joy.  The humbling, overwhelming love of God invites you into that warm blanket, and you do not need to speak – just accept the gift and abide with God this week.[i]

For others of us, we may be a little too hardened to fully receive the invitation to abide in God’s love.  I used to serve with a priest whose main sermon, no matter what the text, was God loves us.  She said those words so often I remember I would sometimes stop listening.  My cynical self would start the diatribe, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.  God is love.”  The problem for many of us is love has failed us.  We have been in love, been loved by family or friends, or even have felt God’s love.  But we have also been hurt, rejected, or felt abandoned by all those parties.  And if we feel the failure of love too often, “Abide in my love,” sounds too shallow to have meaning, too romantic to last, too wonderful to be sustained.

For those of us who might roll our eyes at the saccharine nature of love we have experienced in the world, we may need a different sermon today.   Part of our challenge is we have defined love in such a way that we will be disappointed every time.  We watch movies, read books, even gaze at couples in those first dreamy weeks of new love, and think we know what love is.  Love becomes two people who agree all the time, who are always able to look lovingly at another never noticing imperfections, who never experience conflict, and who are always happy.  And if that is our expectation of love, we will always be disappointed.  For those of us in this camp, our sermon today is to redefine love.

A few years ago, Paul and Lucy were such a couple.  They had a romantic beginning – meeting in medical school, Paul was funny, smart, and playful.  As they built a life together, they began to dream and to plan.  When Paul finished his 90-hour workweek rotations, and life got back to normal, they would try to have a baby.  Everything was perfect – at least everything was perfect if you did not look too closely.  And then Paul got the diagnosis – a cancer that would give him two more years of life.  And suddenly everything changed.  Lucy’s life began to become about taking care of Paul, walking him through treatments, holding him in pain.  And Paul’s life became about making sure Lucy could enjoy life beyond him.  At one point, Paul assured Lucy he wanted her to remarry after he died.  The two even agreed to have that baby they had been planning.  Lucy worried having a child would make dying worse for Paul.  “Don’t you think that saying goodbye to a child would make your death more painful?” she asked Paul.  He replied, “Wouldn’t it be great if it did?”[ii]

What Paul and Lucy show us is love is not some sappy, sentimentalized emotion best captured by a romantic comedy with a great soundtrack.  Love is beautiful not because love is perfect, pretty, polished.  Love is beautiful because love is “all in,” ready for the ugliness of life, willing to take on pain and suffering and see that pain as a blessing.  Of course, Jesus describes love in the same way in today’s gospel lesson if we are paying attention.  We find ourselves so tarrying in the comforting love language and we sometimes miss the other love language in the text.  “Keep my commandments…love one another as I have loved you…lay down one’s life for one’s friends…go and bear fruit, fruit that will last.”  Jesus shows us what love looks like throughout his life.  He kneels down and tenderly washes the dirty, worn feet of his companions.  He accepts and welcomes adulterers, oppressors, and outcasts of every kind.  He loves and forgives, even when betrayed by his closest friends.  He gives up his life in the most gruesome, humiliating way.  Jesus’ love is not pretty or polished.  But Jesus’ love is profound.

That kind of love is the kind of love that drove most of us to Hickory Neck.  Maybe we came thinking we wanted a perfect, polished, pretty loving community that would make us feel loved too.  And many times, Hickory Neck is just that.  But other times we find a different kind of love at Hickory Neck – a love that stands by us when spouses die, when marriages fail, and when children stumble into dark places; a love that stands by us when diagnoses come, when tragedy strikes, and when sinfulness overcomes us; a love that stands by us when we disagree, when we hurt one another, and when we fail to meet each other’s expectations.  That kind of love sits next to us when we cry, even when no words are exchanged; that kind of love receives awful news and is able to simply say, “this is awful,”; that kind of love prays for us even when we do not realize we are receiving or need prayer.  The love we often find at Hickory Neck may seem to others to be messy, imperfect, and even difficult.  But the love we find at Hickory Neck is much more akin to the kind of love that mimics God’s love for us, that lays down our lives for one another.

The challenge for us today is in four tiny words from Jesus, “Go and bear fruit.”  Both the unconditional blanket of Christ’s love and the messy, ugly, beautiful love of Christ are for us today.  But that gift of love becomes fullest when shared.  We practice that sharing of love every week here at Hickory Neck – with the people we like, and even the people we may not like as much.  But our practicing is preparation for sharing that love beyond these walls – with the family member who drives us crazy, with the neighbor whose annoying habits reveal a lack of love, with the stranger who makes us uncomfortable.  Now, you may go home today and start thinking to yourself, or your friend might say to you, or even Satan himself may start asking you, “Yeah, but won’t that kind of love hurt?  Won’t you be risking pain and hurt by giving that kind of love?”  Today, Jesus invites you to say, “Wouldn’t it be great if it did?”  Amen.

[i] Karoline Lewis, “Abide in my Love,” April 29, 2018, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5142 on May 2, 2018.

[ii] David Greene, “Inside A Doctor’s Mind At The End Of His Life,” February 12, 2016, as found at https://www.npr.org/templates/transcript/transcript.php?storyId=466189316 on May 3, 2018.

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Sermon – John 20.1-18, ED, YB, April 1, 2018

Tags

affirmation, called, church, Easter, encouragement, gift, joy, known, Mary Magdalene, name, reason, Sermon, share

Last weekend, before Holy Week started, our family celebrated my youngest’s fourth birthday.  A dear friend was there and asked me how I was doing, knowing full well that Holy Week and Easter were coming.  I launched into a diatribe about all the things I was juggling – birthday party, work commitments, packing for Spring Break, and the pressures of writing an Easter sermon.  The last complaint caught her attention.  “You’re worried about an Easter sermon?” she asked.  “Oh, yes!” I explained.  “It’s a big day.  The sermon needs to be good!”  She looked at me, dumbfounded, and said to me, in a way that only a best friend can, “You know nobody comes to church on Easter because of the sermon.”

Now as a preacher, you can imagine my ego was a little bruised.  But the more I thought about her observation, the more I realized she was right.  We come to church on Easter for a whole host of reasons.  We come to church on Easter because that is what our family has always done, and the continued observation of Easter somehow connects us to the past, present, and future, creating a sense of belonging and identity.  We come to church on Easter, because we long for a good word – a reminder that even in a tumultuous world, there is the promise of resurrection life, joy, and hope.  We come to church on Easter because we love the music, the flowers, the crowded seats, the Easter attire, and the experience of being a part of community.  And some of us are not sure why we come to church on Easter, but we suspect, or at least hope, we will find something that can revive our weary souls.

I suspect what most of us are hoping for today is an experience like Mary Magdalene’s.  I am not sure Mary knew why she went to the tomb that fateful day.  In John’s gospel, Mary is not there with spices to anoint Jesus’ body.  She does not bring flowers or some memento to leave at the tomb.  In fact, she comes to the tomb in darkness, before the morning light has arisen, perhaps in a fog of knowing she needs something but not sure what that something might be.  And then, not unlike the chaos that may have been your morning to get here on time and half-way presentable, Mary’s life gets thrown into chaos.  An empty tomb means she and the disciples run around like chickens with their heads cut off.  Later, Mary finds herself bemoaning to angels and a stranger alike that she just wants Jesus’ body – a physical reminder of all the horror and love and pain that has happened.  And in the midst of this chaos, a simple, profound thing happens.  Mary is called by her name.[i]  And her world gets turned on its head.

There is something very powerful about being called by your name.  We will frequent restaurants or coffee shops because we love being recognized by name by our favorite barista or shop owner.  If you have ever received a blessing or healing prayer by a person who knew your name, you know the intimacy that is created between the two of you, and the power of hearing your name lifted up to God.  We even try to use nametags here at Hickory Neck because we know how wonderful being known by name feels.  Being known by name creates a feeling of acceptance, affirmation, affection, and acknowledgement.[ii]  I can only imagine the rush of emotions when Jesus calls Mary by name today – not just the recognition of who Jesus is, but the reminder of how much he has loved her.

I suspect we should add that to the list of reasons why we come to church on Easter Sunday.  We want to be known too.  Perhaps we want to literally be called by name.  But perhaps we know just being here creates the same sense of belonging that being known by name creates.  When we sit in these seats today, we know that we are sitting next to someone who is longing for belonging today too – who also rallied to get to church on time – maybe with kids in cute dresses, or maybe just pulling their aching bodies to church.  When we sit in the seats today, we know that we are surrounded by a group of people who also love having their senses overwhelmed – from the smell of fragrant lilies, to the joyous sound of song [brass], to the taste of communion bread and wine, to the sight of fanfare and smiles, to the feel of another hand at the peace.  When we sit in these seats today, we know that we will be offered a word of joy, light, love, hope – and we want our lives to be marked by that same sense of promise.

Now you may feel tempted today to take all that affirmation, encouragement, and joy, and go about the next days on your own personal high – as though the gifts you receive today are solely for you.  But what all this fanfare, acknowledgment, and hope are meant to do is to propel you out into the world.  When Mary is called by name, receiving the blessing of recognition and encouragement, she does not stay at the feet of the resurrected Jesus.  She becomes John’s gospel’s first preacher.  “I have seen the Lord,” Mary says to the disciples.  Now I know some of you will go out from this place today and do just that – you will put on your Facebook page, “Alleluia, Christ is Risen!” or you will hug your neighbor and tell them what a joyous day you just had at church.  But for others of you, sharing today’s joy may take you a little more time, or may look a bit different than proclaiming, “I have seen the Lord,” to your favorite barista.  But what Mary invites us to do today is find our own way of sharing the beautiful gift we receive today – to give someone else the gift of joy and hope, to quietly tell a friend what a cool experience this day was, or to simply call someone else by name – sharing that same sense of belonging and affirmation you receive today.   You came to church this Easter Sunday for something.  Mary invites you to give that something to someone else.  Amen.  Alleluia!

[i] Serene Jones, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 378.

[ii] D. Cameron Murchison, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 380.

On the Power of Hospitality…

Tags

church, community, disciple, Episcopal, faith, gift, hospitality, invite, kingdom of God, powerful, radical, share, welcome, witness

Photo credit:  www.riversouthbay.org/my-river/opportunities/hospitality-team

As a priest, it is pretty rare that I get to sit in the pew, let alone worship in or experience another church’s community.  But last week I had the opportunity to do that in two very different, but blessed ways.  The first was taking my children to Vacation Bible School (VBS) at a local Disciples of Christ church.  The church is one of our ecumenical partners, and I had preached there during a pulpit exchange last Lent.  Our children had requested attending VBS, but our shared Episcopal offering was at a time we could not do.  So off to the Disciples of Christ church we went.  As we ate dinner each night, and as the kids ran off to crafts, music, teaching, and play, and as I sat in on the adult class, I felt like a guest in a wonderful house of hospitality.  I watched as within just a week, the church members fell in love with our children, giving them hugs and high fives, teaching them powerful lessons about how they are made for a purpose and that God is always in their corner.  It was a wonderful gift to be welcomed as strangers and sent off as fellow disciples in Christ.

The other experience was quite different.  A gentleman who had worked for the cleaning company we use at our church passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago.  His church hosted the funeral, and I attended the service on Sunday.  The funeral was admittedly a difficult one.  Lonnie had experienced a rough road in life – from the loss of family, addictions, homelessness, imprisonment, recovery, and new life.  I only knew his story superficially, having been introduced to him through one of our parishioners who was a mentor of his.  But what I witnessed was a community of faith who completely embraced Lonnie in every way – loving him fully, accepting him as he was, incorporating him into the life of the church, welcoming him into their homes, and being active agents of his recovery and faith life.  They offered me a powerful witness about what Christ-like relationship looks like.

I come out of those experiences with two distinct conclusions.  First, I have a renewed appreciation for my own faith community.  Though I learned powerful lessons last week, I also developed a renewed love for Hickory Neck and our distinct work in furthering the kingdom in the greater Williamsburg area.  My experience reminded me of what radical hospitality can feel like as a recipient and made me want to offer it more.

Second, I am impressed with the broad range of expressions of faith in Williamsburg, and I am grateful that there is a place where anyone can find a church home.  The witness for Jesus is strong in this community.  I suspect that the more we appreciate our collective witness, the stronger our individual witness will become.  If you have not invited a friend or acquaintance to church lately, I encourage you to do so.  Experiencing the gift of Christian hospitality, community, and formation at Hickory Neck is not a gift to keep to ourselves.  That gift can be life changing!

Sermon – Genesis 18.1-1, 21-1-7, P6, YA, June 18, 2017

Tags

Abraham, anger, conversation, doubt, dream, faith, frustration, God, honor, lack of faith, laugh, laughter, promise, Sarah, Sermon, share, transform

Today we get one of my favorite stories in scripture – Sarah’s laughter at God’s promise.  The story is perfectly crafted.  The story with a flurry of activity.  Abraham is sitting in his tent in the heat of the day when three guests suddenly appear.  As soon as Abraham sees them, he runs to greet them, begging them to stay.  Then Abraham sends the entire household into a tizzy.  He barks orders about baking cakes, grabs a calf and commands the calf be prepared for the guests.  He gets curds and milk and rushes to plate the feast for the guests.  We can almost imagine Abraham panting as he finally delivers the meals to the guests.

But then the story comes to a screeching halt, with a question that tells us what is really important.  “Where is your wife, Sarah?”  And slowly, the promise of a child to a barren, post-menopausal woman unfolds.  Abraham and Sarah were promised long ago to be the parents of a great nation.  But Sarah had given up on that dream.  She had already asked Abraham to go to her slave-girl and have a child with Hagar as a representative child for her.  Her action with Hagar had been a desperate move, but what else could she have done?  So when this guest, or God, as the text later tells us, says that Sarah will conceive herself, after years of longing, hoping, feeling devastated and powerless, Sarah does what we all might do.  She laughs.  She laughs at the prospect of pleasure in her marriage when she and Abraham are so advanced in age.  She laughs at the impossibility that their pleasure might lead to progeny.  She laughs at the promise because believing the promise would mean opening herself up to unfilled dreams yet again.

Sarah’s laughter has long been used as a criticism for a lack of faith in God.  When God asks, “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” and when Sarah quickly denies her laughter, countless readers have wagged their fingers at Sarah as if to say, “Oh ye of little faith.”  And I can see how we get there.  The exchange between Sarah and God – the laughter that bubbles out from years of hurt and disappointment, the scolding by God, the attempt to lie to cover up embarrassment, and the scolding yet again when God calls Sarah on her dishonesty – is all too familiar to us.  What the accusation of lacking faith forgets is how terribly vulnerable and resigned Sarah is.  I cannot tell you the number of people I have counseled who at the end of second marriage have begun to doubt God’s presence.  I cannot tell you the number of people I have sat with after receiving a bad diagnosis for themselves or their loved one who has begun to whether God has abandoned them.  I cannot tell you the number of people have received yet another rejection letter who have begun to question God’s call on their life.  When Sarah laughs, I do not feel justification for judgment against her level of faith.  When Sarah laughs, I hear the ache of countless believers who know how ludicrous God’s promises can be.

What gets me about the judgment of Sarah is the short memory of scripture readers.  In the chapter before what we heard today, Abraham is given the same promise that Sarah hears – a child by Sarah.  And his reaction?  He does not simply laugh quietly to himself as Sarah does in that tent.  He falls on his face and laughs full-bodied at God.  The only difference in laughter between Abraham and Sarah is that Abraham laughs in front of God where Sarah tries to hide her laughter.  Both are an acknowledgement of doubt about what God can do.  Both take all their disappointment, pain, and hurt, and dissolve into laughter because, quite frankly, sometimes God is laughable.  Sometimes God makes no sense at all, and laughing is the only release and protection from more hurt.  Humans questioning God is a natural part of a genuine God-human conversation, a conventional motif we see throughout the Old Testament.[i]

This week, I stumbled on an Old Testament scholar, Kathryn Shifferdecker, who suggests that God may not be a God of judgment in this passage.  In fact, she sees God as fully understanding the comedy of the situation.  She sees a God with a sense of humor, who when God says, “Oh yes you did laugh,” says so with a twinkle in his eye.[ii]  The theory totally shifted the reading for me.  Suddenly the pieces all fit together.  Instead of an angry or disappointed God, who judges disbelief, our God is a God who understands that God’s promises are sometimes laughable – even if they are true.  Why else would God tell Abraham to name his son Isaac, which means, “he laughs,” in Hebrew?[iii]  As Schifferdecker explains, “Abraham falls on his face in a fit of laughter.  Sarah laughs behind the tent door.  And the LORD (I believe) laughs with them at the divine, wonderful absurdity of it all.  Given the humor of the scene under the oaks of Mamre, and the comedy of a God who acts in unexpected ways to fulfill God’s promises, it is entirely appropriate that the child of the promise should be named ‘Laughter.’”[iv]

The image of the three of them laughing – Sarah, Abraham, and God, makes a lot of sense once we hear the final words of Sarah.  In chapter 21, Sarah, perhaps initially embarrassed or doubtful of God, now says, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.”  This story is not a story of shame for those of us who struggle with doubt, anger, or frustration with God.  This is not a story of an unfaithful follower of God.  This is a story about a woman and a man who look at the absurdity of God’s promise with the fullness of their humanity and laugh – hard, belly-shaking, on-the-floor laughter that only comes when the divine finally breaks through our disappointment, shame, and anger, and brings us to laughter.

I love this story even more as I think about the trinity of Abraham, Sarah, and God laughing.  Their laughter affirms our own incredulous walks with God.  Their laughter takes those moments when we no long trust God’s promises, and transforms them.  No longer do we need to hide away our deepest doubts, but instead we honor them.  We share them.  And we create communities of laughter with them.  Amen.

[i] Leander E. Keck, ed., New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, vol. I (Abingdon Press, 1994), 465.

[ii] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Commentary on Genesis 18:1-15 [21:1-7],” June 18, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=3301 on June 14, 2017.

[iii] Tamara Cohn Eshkenazi, ed., The Torah:  A Women’s Commentary, (Women of Reform Judaism URJ Press, 2008), 97.

[iv] Schifferdecker.

Homily – Luke 2.15-21, Holy Name, YA, January 1, 2017

Tags

alone, community, dependence, elders, Good News, Holy Name, homily, independence, Jesus, Joseph, Mary, need, share, shepherds

Our gospel today picks up where we left off a little over a week ago.  On Christmas Eve, we heard how Mary and Joseph journeyed to Bethlehem to be registered.  We learned of how there was no room for them in the inn, and how they ended up delivering little Jesus, the savior of the world, in a room designated for animals.  Exhausted, they placed him in a manger, in bands of cloth, making the best of an awful situation.  We also learned of some unsuspecting shepherds who experienced an angelic encounter.  An angel appeared to them in the fields and told them of the messiah who had been born, where they could find the messiah, and what they could look for – that manger and those bands of cloth.

Today we pick up where we left off.  The angels leave, and the shepherds decide to check out the story.  They visit with Mary and Joseph, confirm the story, and then share their experience with the tired couple.  We are told Mary treasures the words, but ponders them too.  She is clearly still figuring all this out.  Meanwhile, the shepherds go back to work, praising God.  And Mary and Joseph go back to work too – following the circumcision customs, but perhaps, more importantly, following through with what they were asked to do – naming Jesus as the Angel commanded.[i]

What I love about this story is that no one acts alone.  Mary gets the bizarre news of her pregnancy alone, but then her cousin Elizabeth affirms her and confirms the good news.  Shepherds are minding their business when the angels appear to them.  They could have stayed at home that night, but they go and share the news.  Mary and Joseph go on a scary journey that seems to be making one bad turn after another.  But then shepherds come and give them a good word.  Even the naming of Jesus takes place in community – at least a rabbi or priest comes and performs the naming right, knowingly or not, naming the child the same name the angel gave Mary – Jesus, or “Joshua, meaning salvation”[ii].

Going at things alone is part of our contemporary mindset.  We place a value on people being able to fend for themselves.  The number one goal of parents is to teach their children independence.  And Lord knows we hear a lot of, “I do it by myself!” at our house these days.  In and of itself, independence is not a bad thing.  We have gifts and talents of which God expects us to be good stewards.  But going at life alone can have the opposite effect of what we think.  By glorifying independence we forget the inherent dependence we all have.  If nothing else, we are certainly dependent upon our Lord and Savior, without whom nothing would be possible.  But Jesus teaches us that community is equally important.  Jesus was never a lone ranger in his ministry. He understood the people of faith to be a community – to need each other for learning and understanding.  Unlike what the world might have us believe, life is not all about independence.  Quite the opposite, we need each other in this crazy journey of faith – to learn from each other, to challenge each other, to support each other, and cheer each other on when we get weary.

As our children and I were reading our Advent and Christmas devotional this week, we learned about Simeon and Anna, whose story comes in the verses just following the passage we read today.  If you remember Simeon and Anna are elder members of the faith, living and working in the temple when Jesus is to be presented.  The devotional asked us what elderly people we know and what they teach us.  I was surprised to hear my seven-year old jump in with all sorts of idea about what our elders teach us.  She said that our elders have lived a lot longer and so they have a lot to teach us about the world.  She said they can help teach the children how to live and what they can do in the world.  When I asked the question about what our elders teach us, I had expected the standard, “I don’t know.”  Instead, I got a response that showed a great deal of insight into how much we need each other – young and old, rich and poor, male and female, liberal and conservative – if we are going to survive in this journey of faith and life.

All the parts of our Christmas story are a bit like a puzzle.  Each piece is important in its own right, but once you put the pieces together, the puzzle reveals something much more valuable.  Though the parts we hear about during Christmastide are some of our favorite parts, they are just pieces in the puzzle.  The story of Jesus would not be complete without angelic appearances, shared stories between cousins, and tired, weary people sharing good news together.  Mary would have nothing to treasure and ponder without the ragtag community that has gathered around her.

The same is true for us.  Our Christmas story is a beautiful story.  But unless we share the story in community, unless we share our story in community, we only get a partial glimpse into the good work Christ is doing in our lives.  We need each other to encourage and support each other in the faith journey.  We need each other to interpret God’s movement in our lives, and to teach us wisdom.  We need each other in those moments of treasuring and pondering our own story.  Today we give thanks for the tremendous community of faith who help us in our journeys toward Christ.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

[i] Fred B. Craddock, Luke, Interpretation:  A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1990), 36-37.

[ii] Craddock, 36.

Sermon – Luke 24.1-12, ED, YC, March 27, 2016

Tags

church, disciples, Easter, Episcopal, imperfect, Jesus, Joanna, journey, Mary, Mary Magdalene, Peter, saved, Sermon, share, story, testimony

Where I grew up, the practice of sharing a “testimony” was commonplace.  In fact, many of my friends had no problem asking what my testimony was.  Usually what someone meant when they asked, “What’s your testimony?” was they wanted to know the story of when you were “saved.”  Now, just because I grew up in the culture did not mean that I felt comfortable with that question.  In fact, I can tell you that the question usually led me to lots of stammers and fidgeting.  Once I actually asked, “What exactly do you mean when you say ‘saved’?”  But the answer made me even more uncomfortable.  The basic assumption seemed to be that being “saved” was like having an epiphany moment – a moment of clarity when you heard the voice of God, and you made an active decision to accept Jesus as your “personal Lord and Savior.”

So you can imagine how profoundly grateful I was to stumble into the Episcopal Church as an adult and find that no one ever asked me about my testimony or being saved.  In fact, I am not even sure most Episcopalians have that kind of language around their faith.  If you asked an Episcopalian when they were saved, they might tell you about a near miss with a car or a time when doctors had to administer CPR.  Once I realized most Episcopalians were not going to demand to hear my testimony of how I came to accept Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior, I realized I might have actually found my people.

Of course, I am not sure either tradition really has it right.  In fact, I think the two cultures represent two extremes – the culture I grew up in believed being saved and being able to retell the story was crucial to membership; and the culture I chose to stay in believed that asking anyone about their faith life was way too personal of a conversation that should be avoided at all costs – we are just glad you are here.  Of course, I lean toward the Episcopal extreme, but I do see some of the dangers of our extreme.  You see, in our efforts to be polite and unobtrusive, we forget something very important about testimonies:  testimonies help us grow together.

Perhaps I should back up and talk about what testimonies are.[i]  Now, my childhood friends would define a testimony as the story of how you were saved.  I would actually describe a testimony as the story of how you came to know Jesus – whether you came to know Jesus through all the Sunday School stories you learned, whether you found the church as an adult and slowly felt yourself more and more drawn in by the story of Jesus, or whether you are still figuring out your journey and you are not really sure what you are doing but you know you want to be here.  The cool thing about a testimony is that there is no right or wrong testimony.  Your testimony is unique to you, and your testimony is not only good, but is compelling.

That is what I love about our gospel lesson today.  Today’s story sets the stage for a lot of testimonies.  On this day three women go to the tomb to tend to Jesus’ body and instead have an incredible experience.  On this day the disciples listen to some crazy story by the women of their group – believing that clearly the women are either seeing things, are suffering from sleep-deprivation, or are just out of their minds with grief.  On this day, Peter cannot resist the temptation to check out the scene in the tomb himself – and he is rewarded by being amazed at what he sees.

But those are just the facts of the story as we read them.  Those details are not their testimonies.  No, I imagine the testimonies are quite different.  I imagine Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James’ testimony would go something like this, “You are right.  Sometimes people will think you are crazy when you tell your story.  I remember back when Jesus first died, we had this amazing encounter at his tomb.  We were overwhelmed and overjoyed, but do you think the men would believe us?  They eventually came around, but those first few weeks were hard.”

I imagine the disciples’ testimony came from a different angle.  Their testimony might have gone something like this, “I totally get what you mean.  The story really is crazy.  Even I, one of his closest disciples, did not believe the story when Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James told me.  In fact, I wondered if their grief had not left them mentally unstable.  But slowly my heart warmed.”

And I imagine Peter’s testimony was even more different.  “Trust me,” he might have said.  “I totally understand what you mean about not feeling worthy.  I felt like I behaved even worse that Judas.  I did not betray Jesus for money, but I did deny him three times in public.  When that cock crowed, my heart shattered.  I never thought God would forgive me.  But when I stood in that empty tomb, and remembered what Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James told me, a spark of hope lit in my heart.  Suddenly I understood that Jesus could redeem me – even me – the worst friend and disciple you could be.”

Testimonies are not stories about how pious we are.  Testimonies do not fit into a formula or even make us look particularly good.  Testimonies are stories – our stories – of how we have encountered God.  They are not meant to be perfect stories.  In fact, the more imperfect the story, the better, because testimonies are meant to be shared.  I do not know about you, but I find imperfect stories much more compelling than perfect ones.  When Mary Magdalene tells me people thought her story was crazy, I feel like I can be more honest about my own story – no matter how crazy my story may sound.  When Peter tells me about how unfaithful he was, I feel like I can be more honest about my own unfaithfulness.  When the disciples tell me how dismissive they were, I can be more honest about how I am not always a good listener for God.

On this Easter Sunday, the Church shares her testimony.   We wake up this morning as if from a bad dream.  Lingering in our subconscious are stories of betrayal, unfaithfulness, brutality, and death.  The sting of grief and the sobriety created from deep failure still tingles.  But on this day, something utterly unexpected, confusing, and amazing happens.   Jesus warned us this would happen, but we did not really understand him at the time.  But in the empty tomb hope bursts forward.  Our hearts are filled with joy at the possibility that Jesus’ death changes things.  In the coming weeks, we will hear the rest of the Church’s testimony about how, in fact, Jesus resurrection does change things – stories of eternal life, of the kingdom made present, of sins washed away, of forgiveness and a New Covenant.  The story is admittedly a bit crazy.  But the story, the Church’s testimony, is full of hope, love, and grace.

St. Margaret’s has its own unique testimony.  The St. Margaret’s testimony begins with the stale stench of cigarettes in the Plainview American Legion Hall and journeys through baptisms in a church that was still under construction.  The testimony is full of bowling leagues, choirs, progressive dinners, and youth groups.  The testimony is full of leaders – both lay and ordained – who shaped the different eras of our life together.  No single part of our story is perfect, and no single part of our story is without redemption.  And our testimony is still unfolding, year after year, even when some questioned whether we could keep going.

Our individual testimonies are the same.  Some of them are circuitous, as we took a winding path to get to know our Lord.  Some of them are strange, involving odd encounters and sacred moments.  Some of them have yet to be articulated or understood.  Whatever our testimony may be, our testimonies are not meant to be kept to ourselves.  They are meant to be shared.  Just like the Church models for us today as we shout our long awaited alleluias, we too are meant to share our imperfect, strange, quirky testimonies.  We share them with one another and out in the world because our stories have had a tremendous impact on our lives.  Those stories, in all their glorious imperfection, are also the stories that help us connect with others, to share the Good News, and to grow the body of faith.[ii]  My testimony will now include the stories of my time here at St. Margaret’s, as your testimony and the testimony of St. Margaret’s will also include parts of these last four-plus years.  The joy of this day, the comfort of the Church’s story, and the satisfaction of the Holy Meal are all meant to empower us to go out in the world and share our imperfect, beautiful testimonies.  The world is waiting – and Jesus goes with us.  A

[i] Martin E. Marty, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 350.

[ii] Marty, 350.

Sermon – Mark 6.1-13, P9, YB, July 5, 2015

Tags

baptism, Christian, covenant, disciples, faith, identity, Jesus, liturgy, protection, purpose, seek, Sermon, serve, share, vulnerability

A few weeks ago, as we were planning liturgies, we were discussing the fact that we had two baptisms in a row – last Sunday and today.  A few people in the group kind of groaned, “Two in a row?!?”  I laughed at the time.  But the more I thought about their exasperation, the more I wondered why they were exasperated.  Certainly baptisms can take longer.  Between the blessing of the water, the renewal of vows, and the baptism itself, the service is a bit longer.  And perhaps to groan came out of a place of wanting to spread out the requency of special services – much like one rations out Halloween candy instead of eating it all at once.  But the more I thought about having two baptisms in a row, the more I liked the idea; in fact, the more I thought about the baptismal liturgy, I began to wish we had one every Sunday.

Now before you all issue a collective groan of exasperation, let me explain.  You see, the baptismal liturgy is one of those foundational liturgies.  In baptism, we ritually welcome someone into the family of faith.  But the baptismal liturgy is about more than the cute baby (though Rose is very cute, I admit!).  The baptismal liturgy is the time when we declare who we are, how we are to live, and how we will accomplish that ideal.  In this liturgy, we retell the story of our history – how God moved over the waters in creation, how God split the waters to free the enslaved people of Israel, and how God used the waters of baptism to mark a new way through Jesus’ own baptism.  In this liturgy, we also talk about our nature – how we are prone to sin, how we (despite the fact that we are saved by the waters of baptism) are on a continual journey of repenting and returning to the Lord, and how we need each other if we are ever to keep turning toward God.  In this liturgy, we also declare the radical way that we will live our lives in Christ – what being a Christian actually means.  Being a Christian means regularly gathering to learn together, to pray together, to eat at the Holy Table together, and to join in fellowship together.  Being a Christian means sharing the good news with others – not just by example, but by our words too.  Being  a Christian means seeking and serving Christ in others, loving our neighbor, striving for justice and peace, and respecting the dignity of others.  I don’t know about you, but regular worship, regular evangelism, and regular mission sounds like a lot of work!  And yet, here we are (for the second week in a row!) proclaiming that we will do these things.

So if today is all about defining who we are and who we are going to shape little Rose into being, what might be the best way for us to prepare her for her new life in Christ?  Some of us might imagine the story we heard a few weeks ago about David and Goliath.  If you remember, David was just a boy who agreed to take on the enormous Goliath, that everyone feared.  When King Saul agrees to let David fight Goliath, he first wants to suit up David.  Saul clothes David with Saul’s armor; he puts a bronze helmet on David’s head and clothes him with a coat of mail.  By the time Saul puts his sword over the armor, David cannot even walk!  David realizes the protection weighs him down.  So he removes the armor and weapon and instead takes only a staff, five smooth stones in his shepherd’s bag, and his sling.  Goliath (and if we are honest, probably everyone else gathered, including the people of God) laughs at David’s puny preparation.  The funny thing is that in our gospel lesson today, Jesus does the same thing for the disciples when he commissions them to go out in the world.  Jesus tells them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; they get a staff, one pair of sandals, and one tunic.

When we think about preparing ourselves for the life of faith – of going out into the world to seek Christ, serve Christ, and share Christ – most of us think about preparing the way that Saul prepares David.  We want some armor for all those times that we are rejected when we share our faith; we want a sword in case we run into trouble while seeking Christ; we want some heavy mail so that when we serve others, nothing or no one gets too close[i]  But instead, Jesus sends out the disciples with a staff to steady their walking as they share the good news, a pair of sandals and one tunic so that they can humbly encounter others as they serve Christ, and empty hands and bellies so that they can seek Christ in others.  On this day when we proclaim who we are and how we will live, one might imagine that we are readying ourselves and gathering our supplies, and especially that we are arming this small, vulnerable child for walking the way of Christ.  But instead, Jesus basically tells us that there is no way to protect ourselves; there is no way to prepare.[ii]  We go with our trust in the Lord, with vulnerability, and with a sense of identity and purpose.

That is why I think we could stand to have baptism Sunday every Sunday.  Our tendency would be to find the biggest backpack we can and load that bag with all the things we think we need for our journey.  But Jesus tells us to put that bag down and start walking:  walking the way, the truth, and the light; walking by seeking, serving, and sharing Christ.  In many ways Rose has more to teach us today than we have to teach her.  She came into this world with very little.  In fact, she even came here with very little – sure her parents might have a monster diaper bag with all the “just in case” stuff babies often need.  But Rose herself cannot carry a bag; she is not self-sufficient; she is vulnerable with us all.  Instead of giving Rose an armor for Christ today, she encourages us to take off our armor and swords, and get back to the basics: our staff, sandals, and tunic.  That is the beauty of baptism.  Baptism helps us remember that we need each other.  Rose needs us to teach her the way.  We need her to teach us how to gat back to basics.  Together we find our way to living the faithful life in Christ.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

[i] Michael L. Lindvall talks about the anxiety that evangelism produces in all of us in his article, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 216.

[ii] C. Clifton Black, “Commentary on Mark 6:1-13,” July 5, 2015, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2502 on July 2, 2015.

On love…

Tags

care, God, honor, love, relationship, self, share, vastness

Photo credit: http://thoughtcatalog.com/david-cain/2012/12/what-love-is-not/

This week I have been thinking a lot about love.  It started when I discovered a short film called, “Blind Devotion” by the Jubilee Project.  The film opens with a playful, young couple who seem lovingly devoted to one another.  Unexpectedly, the wife starts to lose her vision and her frustration over the situation begins to pull apart the couple.  She refuses help from her husband and insists on finding a way to maintain her independence.  The husband concedes, but finds that he can’t help himself from helping her in ways that she never notices.  He quickly pushes a tomato toward her while she gropes along the countertop for it.  He follows her to work to ensure that no cars sneak up on her in crosswalks.  He sits a few seats away on her bus just to make sure she gets to work safely.  And then he tiptoes away once he realizes she is comfortably situated at work.  He says that he doesn’t ever want his wife to know how much he does for her because that is how he shows her he loves her – because to him, love is more than just a feeling, it is an action.  And for him, love is not about having the recognition for what he does, but just having the privilege of doing the work.  That kind of selflessness in a relationship reminded me of the love that God showed us through the life and death of Jesus.

Later I stumbled across this blog post.  In it, the author writes what she imagines God would say to working moms.  Basically the letter notes all the ways, big and small, that the mom is constantly trying to care for her family while tending to her work.  The letter is full of affirmation, especially for the small successes, and in the face of what often feel like failures.  As a mom who works outside of the home, I especially appreciated the sentiment.  But I imagine God feels that way about all of us, no matter what familial setting we find ourselves in.  I know that my single brothers and sisters as well as my friends who have partners but no children find similar ways of loving others – and God notices.  God notices because that is the kind of love God hopes that we will show – the same love that God extends to us.

Both the film and the fictional letter got me thinking about two things.  First, I found myself thinking about the myriad ways that people love me and I probably never notice.  Some are more obvious, but I don’t actively acknowledge them:  a short note of encouragement, a phone call, an art project by my child, or help around the house by my husband.  But some of the ways I will probably never know:  the people who pray for me on a regular basis, the people who fill in gaps that I had not even considered, the people who love my child when I am not around.  As I considered the vast possibilities, I was aware of how that vastness pales in comparison to the vastness of God’s love for me.  I am humbled beyond words for the ways in which love envelopes me on every side.

The second thing I realized this week is that I could stand to honor the ways in which I show love.  Too often I beat myself up for the ways I have not said, “I love you,” enough or I have not written that note I wanted to write or made that call I planned to make.  But I began to wonder if instead, I might close each day thinking about the ways I showed love today:  tending to the life of the church and the beautiful parishioners I am privileged to pastor; tending to the daily life of my family, even if my temper gets the best of me sometimes (five year olds can be tough!); and tending to the body that God blessed me with, making sure I treat it like the temple that God made it to be.  Perhaps if I could capture an appreciation for the ways that I love and the ways that I am loved, I could let go a sense of unworthiness and grab hold of the deep love that God has for me – and then share it.

Sermon – John 1.43-51, E2, YB, January 18, 2015

Tags

church, come and see, disciple, evangelism, favorite, God, invite, Jesus, Nathanael, passion, Philip, Sermon, share, testimony

I have lots of friends who swear that Wicked is their favorite musical.  They know all the songs, they have seen the show multiple times, and they reference lines from the characters.  The cult around the musical feels just like that – a cult.  When I confessed that I had not ever seen the show, my friends were aghast.  “You HAVE to see the show!” they would exclaim.  To be honest, they were so passionate about Wicked that I had almost decided that there was no way the show could be that good – surely I would be underwhelmed.  But finally, after much cajoling, I went to see the show with some friends.  And all of a sudden, I got it:  the witty humor, the creative back story, the emotional narrative, and the moving music.  I could not stop thinking and talking about the show for weeks.

Though we have all had encounters with people who are passionate about something – the latest show, a newly released movie, or a favorite restaurant – I imagine that few of us are as passionate about church.  We just do not have the same fervor about church as we do about other passions in our life.  Somehow, being publicly passionate about those other things seems more socially acceptable than being publicly passionate about church.  Our initial concerns are usually about social stigma.  We do not want to become that person that people avoid because we are always babbling on about church.  Our fear may also be about what to say.  How do we explain to others what draws us to this place and makes us spend a good portion of our time here?  Or maybe we have lost some of our passion about church.  Perhaps we come to church out of habit or some longing, but we are not so jazzed about church that we are rushing around, telling friends and strangers alike, “You have to come and see my church.  It is awesome!”

Though we may not be running around like excited new Christians, the disciples of Jesus did in the early days.  In our gospel lesson today, we are told that when Philip meets Jesus and begins following him, he finds Nathanael and says, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.”  And when Nathanael scoffs, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip is undeterred.  Philip excitedly insists, “Come and see.”  You can almost imagine Philip’s big grin and irresistible enthusiasm.  “Come and see,” he says.  This is his simple invitation.  Come and see.  The words are warm and inviting.  The words are gentle and hospitable.  The words, “Come and see,” are not some forceful demand or even a judgmental threat.[i]  There is no, “or else,” at the end of Philip’s invitation.  His invitation is light and easy:  Come and see.

That is our greatest fear when we talk about evangelism.  Because we have such a meaningful relationship with God and the church, we do not want to be associated with Christians who judge and condemn.  We would never be that Christian on a street corner telling people that they are going to hell unless they repent.  In fact, those are the very people who sometimes make us paranoid to even admit our faith in public.  Or maybe we have friends or family who were hurt by the church, and although we still feel drawn to the church, we want to respect their pain.  I have lost count of the number of my own friends and family who have had those negative experiences:  divorcees who felt judged or downright excluded when they wished to be remarried, women who wanted to be priests but felt that sense of call when the church did not affirm the ordination of women, or lesbian and gay friends who just did not feel welcome or treated as equals in the church.  The list is extensive and even if our church experience is not like that, we fear being associated with “those Christians.”

The challenge for us is that we get so caught up in the “what ifs” of sharing our faith that we forget the really wonderful things about our faith.  Philip reminds us today of the simple joy of our faith and our relationship with Christ.  Take a moment to think about your favorite thing about the life we share in this faith community.[ii]  I do not want you to worry about some elaborate theological explanation of your faith.  I just want you to think about your favorite thing about your experience here at St. Margaret’s.  Maybe your favorite thing is the community, and the warm welcome and inclusion you have felt here.  Maybe your favorite thing is the way that the worship experience connects you to God or opens up new truth for you.  Maybe your favorite thing is the way church is like an oasis, a place where you can breathe in the midst of the chaos of life, and find some sense of peace.  Or maybe your favorite thing is something else altogether.  But think about that favorite thing that keeps you coming back here week after week.

Now, imagine sharing that favorite thing with someone else, and inviting them to come and see for themselves.  Before you panic, I want to reassure you.  I am not asking you to go to someone and persuade them to become a Christian.  I am not even asking you to “prove” the truth of the Christian faith.[iii]  I am simply inviting you to invite someone you know to come and see that aspect of our congregational life that you enjoy.  When we have talked about evangelism before, many of you have told me about how you do not really have any friends you can invite to church.  Actually our excuses are numerous (and yes, I say “our” because I have the same excuses too).  We may worry that our friends live too far away, or maybe they already have a church community, or maybe you just do not like to mix your friends community with your church community.  Many of you have turned to me and either said, “Well, isn’t it the priest’s job to grow the church,” or “That is what our website is for.”  And the answer to those things is yes.  Yes, the rector plays some role in people’s attraction to a church and certainly many seekers find us through our website.  But the number one way that people come to a church is by personal invitation.  Every study I have read says that the number one way to attract people to your parish is through personal invitation.

The good news is that the personal invitation is not as scary as the invitation sounds.  Just look at Philip.  When Nathanael scoffs and says, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip could have had any number of responses.  As one person argues, “Philip could have given Nathanael some of his own opinions.  He could have said, ‘This Jesus knows a lot about the Bible.’  Or he might have said, ‘There is something about this man Jesus that draws me to him.’  Even when Nathanael expressed skepticism about ‘anything good coming out of Nazareth,’ Philip might have listed some successful people from Nazareth.”[iv]  But Philip does none of that.  His offer is warm, simple, and gracious.  Come and see.

The beauty of our gospel lesson is that Philip’s testimony to Nathaniel is not that impressive.  His testimony would not win any academic awards or even impress most people.  But his invitation does get Nathanael to in fact, come and see.[v]  And that is what our gospel is inviting us to do today too.  Not to come up with some master plan or some convincing argument.  But to think about the one thing that draws you to this place, and then simply share that one thing with someone else.  Your closing argument will then be easy.  Come and see.  I cannot imagine a better gift that you can give to those you know than to let them see the one thing that gives you life, gives you joy, and gives you passion; and then to invite them to come and see.  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Epiphany 2B:  Come and See,” January 12, 2015 found at http://www.davidlose.net/2015/01/epiphany-2-b/.

[ii] Lose.

[iii] Michael Rogness, “Commentary on John 1.43-51,” as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=2314 on January 14, 2015.

[iv] Rogness.

[v] Ted A. Smith, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 263.

Homily – II Cor. 9.6-15, Thanksgiving Day, YA, November 27, 2014

Tags

abundance, God, homily, sacred, secular, share, thankful, Thanksgiving Day

One of the funny things about being a priest is the way that everyday people interact with me.  The funniest experiences occur when people first find out I am a priest.  I love seeing the raised eyebrows or hearing the stammers as someone panics about any inappropriate things they might have said in the first ten minutes of our conversation.  Parties with strangers or our children’s school gatherings are always fun as people try to figure out how they should modify their behavior in front of me.  In fact, many of my single and dating priest friends have avoided the conversation altogether about what they do for a living, hoping that the other person will get to know them for who they are, not just what they do.  There really is a sort of cultural divide that I forget about until I get in one of these situations and then have work with someone to create a sense of comfort and commonality.

That cultural divide is no more obvious than on a holiday like Thanksgiving Day.  Today we gather to celebrate what is mostly a secular holiday.  This day has become a day about an abundance of food, watching parades and football, enjoying fellowship with friends and family, and post-turkey naps.  This is a day of giving thanks for the good things of life, but often in a secular way.  I know many people who have a tradition of going around the table and saying something for which they are thankful.  But those things are usually listed without a mention of God.  In fact, the non-specific nature of gratitude this day is what makes it a perfect day for interfaith groups, like our own Plainview-Old Bethpage Interfaith Group, to celebrate – because we can all recognize in our own different ways our gratitude and thanks.

But for us Christians, this day is a little different.  We may do all the same activities: feast, fellowship, and fun; but we also root those activities in gratitude toward God – the source of all our blessings.  For us, today is not just a day to be grateful for the good things in life, but to be thankful to God for our blessings.  That may sound like semantics, but I think that, especially today, our language matters.  So we can still go around the table listing our blessing, but we also acknowledge that God is the source of those blessings.  We can still enjoy a feast, but we begin our meal in a prayer that thanks God for the bounty of the earth, the hands that touch our meal in its many stages, and for the privilege and pleasure of good food.  We can still watch the game or the parade, but we are grateful to God for the blessing of shelter and the disposable income to afford that television and cable service.  And we can still enjoy the company of friends and family because we know that God blesses us with companions on our journey.

So why does our naming God today matter?  What difference does our calling this a sacred day have to do with anything?  The difference is that when we name God in the midst of blessing, there is a “so what?” attached.  Our epistle lesson says today, “God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work.”  In other words, when we give thanks today, that is not the end of the story.  When we give thanks today, God is well pleased.  And God also expects us to share that abundance with others.  As the epistle says, our blessing is not strictly for us.  Our blessing is given to us so that our blessing might be a blessing to others.

And that is why we mark this day as a sacred day.  Because if Thanksgiving Day is simply a secular day of being grateful, the day begins and ends with us – our experiences, our gratefulness, our happiness.  But if we celebrate Thanksgiving Day as a sacred day, then the day may begin with us, but the day ends with others – our blessings overflowing to bless others.  That is the true abundance of Thanksgiving Day.  The abundance cannot be contained.  In fact, our epistle lesson says that the more we pass along our abundance, the more that abundance grows, “The one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.”  So, go home and enjoy all the blessings of this day – and then share those blessings bountifully.  Amen.