Sermon – John 21.1-19, E3, YC, May 1, 2022

Tags

coping mechanism, discipleship, discomfort, follow, Jesus, ministry, pandemic, Peter, Sermon, transform

One of the things I found fascinating about the pandemic was the coping mechanisms people developed.  For some coping took the form of fitness or wellness – instead of exercising a couple days a week, a daily run or walk was the way many kept their sanity.  For others, picking up new hobbies, like baking bread, did the trick.  We even had shortages of flour and yeast so many people were baking.  For others they turned to less healthy outlets – shopping (online, of course), drinking one more glass of wine, or binge watching one more show, sacrificing sleep and anything else productive.  All those coping mechanisms did just that – helped us cope with a world that was falling apart around us.  And since we could not control the availability of vaccines, the mandates for masks, the requirements to isolate, what we could do was the familiar – go for a run, use our baking skills, escape into the familiar.

Coping is exactly what Peter does in our gospel lesson today.  His world has been upended, his hope destroyed, his shame irrecoverable.  The finality of the cross breaks him, the empty tomb leaves him dumbfounded, and the resurrected Lord standing with his wounds before him has him in shock.  And so, he mumbles to the other disciples, “I am going fishing.”  The other disciples go with him – likely relieved for the sense of familiarity, grateful for something to do that they are actually good at, and likely a bit afraid to stay where they are doing nothing. 

We did a similar thing here at Hickory Neck during the pandemic.  In March of 2020, as the bishop was closing all church campuses for the first time, I was in a hospital waiting room, cancelling a Vestry Meeting, messaging our staff, and trying to listen to post-operation care for my daughter from the nurse.  The world was imploding and like a dazed Peter I said, “Let’s worship anyway.  I mean, I know how to use Facebook Live.”  And so that is what we did:  we worshipped online – not just one day, but every day; we offered pastoral care – not in person, but on the phone, by text, by email, and by card; eventually, we figured out how to help others and began offering to pick up groceries, care for the sick remotely, and deliver prescriptions. 

But a funny thing happened along the way.  As we dove into our coping mechanisms, albeit in creative ways, we started reaching new people.  When Pop-Up Prayers started, people we had never met before – sometimes people who are literal next-door neighbors – started tuning in to our prayers.  People who had always wondered about us were finally able to take a peek without having to cross our threshold; and they liked what they saw so much they started coming in person long before our longtime members ever did.  People who moved here during the pandemic and were longing to find a new community of support were able to come here – either virtually or masked and distanced.  They were willing to sacrifice discomfort just to find a sliver of comfort here.  What initially felt like a coping mechanism suddenly transformed our ministry altogether.

One of the more dramatic parts of today’s gospel is the conversation between Peter and Jesus over a charcoal fire.  The only other time a charcoal fire is mentioned in John’s gospel is the one Peter warms himself by as he denies Jesus three times.  In the synoptic gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Peter denies that he knows Jesus; in John’s gospel, he denies his very discipleship.[i]  “Aren’t you one of his disciples?” was the question they had asked him three times.  And so, Jesus asks Peter three questions as a mirror to those three questions Peter was asked.  Many scholars argue this interaction is Jesus’ way of forgiving Peter, or Jesus’ way of reinstating Peter as a disciple, or even Peter’s rehabilitation after a failure of loyalty.  But as Karoline Lewis argues, “None of these summaries adequately recognizes the significance of Jesus’ request of Peter.  Peter is not simply restored to his role as disciple, but he will have to imagine discipleship in an entirely different way.”[ii]

Our work this week is to figure out how, in the midst of a post-pandemic Eastertide, how are we being invited to redefine our discipleship.  I know as we have returned to the altar rail and begun to share the common cup, many of us have sighed with relief.  Some of us have been begging to drop the annoying gift of Zoom, and some have wondered if we really have to keep thinking about livestreaming everything.  And yet, when Jesus asks Peter to feed his sheep, “Jesus essentially asks Peter to be the good shepherd for the sake of God’s love for the world when Jesus cannot be…the demands of discipleship take on a more acute and critical role.”  In other words, as Lewis says, “Jesus is asking Peter to be the ‘I AM’ in the world.”[iii]

That is our invitation too.  Just this week I experienced two church and diocesan meetings where people would not be able to participate without Zoom.  Just this week, I visited and spoke with suffering parishioners who said the livestreamed services are their lifelines right now.  And just last week, a visitor explained how perusing our website helped in the decision to take the next step through our door.  This pandemic has stretched us, challenged us, and invigorated us.  But the reward of getting through to the other side is not to go back to “normal.”  The reward is we have learned a new way to be disciples of Jesus – and Jesus is asking us to consider how we – corporately and individually – can be the “I AM” in a world that wants to know God.  Jesus promises today to help us along the way – showing us where to cast our nets again, feeding us abundantly, and reminding us again and again how to be love in the world.  Our invitation is to consider how Jesus is already transforming our coping mechanisms into gifts of love for the world.  And then, in our discomfort, to stand up and follow him.  Amen.

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[i] Karoline M. Lewis, John: Fortress Biblical Preaching Commentaries (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 255.

[ii] Lewis, 256.

[iii] Lewis, 256-257.

Sermon – John 3.14-21, Numbers 21.4-9, L4, YB, March 14, 2021

Tags

belief, choice, cross, glory, God, grace, Israel, Jesus, Lent, light, Moses, salvation, Sermon, serpent, sin, transform

Our scripture lessons today offer two contrasts:  a story from the Hebrew Scriptures which might be unfamiliar to you or at least may seem wildly strange, and a story from John’s gospel that is so familiar, you can probably quote a portion of the text if I simply tell you the citation, “John 3.16.”  What is strange about this combination is the unknown, uncomfortable story is a window into the overly familiar, commonplace story.  If we have any hope of understanding either of them, we need to dive into both.

At the point where we join the story from Numbers, God has been infinitely patient with God’s people.  Some might argue too patient.  God has saved God’s people time and again, wresting them from brutal slavery, miraculously helping them flee through the Sea of Reeds, helping sweeten bitter drinking water when they murmured, granting them manna when they complained of being hungry, giving them water out of a rock when they grumbled about being thirsty, offering them birds to eat when they whined of manna-fatigue.  Grace and patience abound with God.  Until this day.  The Israelites throw yet another fit, and God snaps.  This time, God sends poisonous serpents among the people, and many of them die.  When the people beg for help to Moses, God instructs Moses to put a bronze serpent on a pole; if people gaze upon the serpent, they will live.  For a God who asks the people have no idols or gods before God, a serpent on a pole is, quite frankly, just weird.

Meanwhile, we have a super familiar text from John.  “For God so love the world that he gave his only Son.”  We love this verse because the verse reminds of our abundant, loving, graceful God.  Of course, we sometimes gloss over the rest of the troublesome parts of this text.  The rest talks about how Jesus saves the world – as long as the world believes.  Here is where the questions start to pile up for us.  Do we really believe that some people are condemned?  Is God’s love conditional?  What happens if we doubt?  Does that count as not believing?  Can eternal life be given and taken away based on the seesaw of my behavior?  The trouble is if we focus on God’s grace, we can make salvation seem arbitrary, with no essential place for human response.  But if we focus on human faith, we may be in danger of making salvation a human accomplishment, restricting God’s initiative universally.[i]  The only thing that seems to be clear is that God gives us a choice.  When we commit evil deeds, when we deny God through our behavior, when we linger in the darkness, we are making a choice.  And the text tells us today that the consequence of that choice is condemnation.

The answer to so much in these texts seems to lie in verse fourteen of John.  Jesus says, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”  As scholar Debie Thomas writes, “In the Old Testament story, God requires the Israelites to look up.  To gaze without flinching at the monstrous thing their sin has conjured.  It’s the thing they have wrought, the thing they fear most, the thing that will surely kill them if God in God’s mercy doesn’t intervene and transform the instrument of pain and death into an instrument of healing and life.  In order to be saved, the people have to confront the serpent — they have to look hard at what harms, poisons, breaks, and kills them.”[ii]  The same seems to happen with Jesus on a cross.  Thomas goes on to say, “In the cross, we are forced to see what our refusal to love, our indifference to suffering, our craving for violence, our resistance to change, our hatred of difference, our addiction to judgment, and our fear of the Other must wreak.  When the Son of Man is lifted up, we see with chilling and desperate clarity our need for a God who will take our most horrific instruments of death, and transform them, at great cost, for the purposes of resurrection.”[iii]

The truth is, I am not sure either of these texts answer some of our basic questions, especially around those of belief.  But tying them together today, we do find an invitation – to change our gaze away from the judgment of others, the wondering about who is in and out, the questions about God’s retribution, and gaze on the cross – the body that reminds us of the goodness of God in spite of our sinfulness, that reminds us of God’s grace in spite of our lack of deserving, that reminds us of God’s unconditional love despite our inability to keep failing.  Our invitation is to take seriously the words of that old hymn, “Turn your eyes upon Jesus, Look full in His wonderful face, And the things of earth will grow strangely dim, In the light of His glory and grace.”  As we continue on the path of Lent toward the cross, today’s texts remind us of where we are going and why.  Our invitation is to look up at the horrible, wonderful truth of what Jesus does in the cross, and stand in the light of his glory and grace.  Amen.

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[i] Joseph D. Small, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 118.

[ii] Debie Thomas, “Looking Up,” March 7, 2021, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2944-looking-up, on March 12, 2021. 

[iii] Thomas.

On Light, Community, and Being All In…

Tags

community, gift, give, harness, idea, Jesus, light, loving, loving kindness, ministry, neighbor, pledge, power, shining, stewardship, together, transform

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; resuse with permission

This past weekend, our family traveled to Staunton, Virginia, for their annual Queen City Mischief and Magic weekend – a weekend to celebrate all things Harry Potter.  We had a great time discovering what houses we were sorted into, observing how to duel with wands, and learning dances for the next Yule Ball.  The kids busied themselves collecting trading cards from costumed characters and from local establishments.  The whole downtown area shut down and found creative ways to channel the world of Harry Potter – from the local train station taking on the persona of Platform 9 ¾, to a photography business creating keepsake photos, to a toy store changing out their stock with Potter toys, games, and books, to the local university offering lectures related to themes from the series, to the local spirits store selling “butter beer.”  For those who love the Harry Potter books and movies, it is a great fun-filled weekend.

As we drove home, I realized what amazed me most about the weekend was not the characters, the paraphernalia, or the crowds.  What amazed me was how a few years ago this small town had a crazy idea to convert the town to this magical place – and everyone bought into the idea.  Staunton does not have some significant tie to JK Rowling or the filming of the movies.  They are just a small town in the middle of the state who decided to do something – and the whole town was all in.  I do not know the history of that idea, or how many people said, “but we’ve never done anything like this,” along the way, or how they figured out the logistics and convinced people to get on board.  But what I can tell you is after two years of attending the festival, the whole town is not just grudgingly on board, but wholeheartedly comes together to welcome people to their town that might not otherwise ever step onto their streets.

I know Staunton converts itself for just three days.  But the more I thought about the event, the more I wondered what kind of power our community might be able to harness for good.  I have certainly seen hints of that kind of energy with the WMBGkind movement in Williamsburg – a community of people committed to being a community of kindness as their dominant identity.  I think that is why I have always thought WMBGkind and the faith community can be such great partners.  Though we use religious language, the end result is the same.  We want our community to be a community that lives Christ-like lives of loving-kindness.  In that way, no matter what our denominational or faith differences are, we can step out of our day-to-day operations and be a part of something much bigger – of a people all united around mission of loving neighbor as ourselves.

This week, Hickory Neck kicked off its stewardship campaign, “Shining our Light.”  What I love about the campaign is the campaign reminds us to look at how much light we are gifted with (in worship, in learning, and in play), and then to gift that light the community around us – to shine our lights, rallying the entire community to live life differently.  That is a cause I am happy to pledge our financial giving to; that is a cause I am excited to pledge our time and talent to as well.  This month, as we pray about our own stewardship, I encourage you to think about how your giving not only supports the ministry of Hickory Neck, but might just have the power to transform our community into something much bigger than ourselves.  I am all in.  Won’t you join me?

Photo credit:  https://www.facebook.com/Hickory.Neck/photos/p.2601111426611768/2601111426611768/?type=1&theater

On Walking toward Christ through Kindness…

Tags

Acts, Christ, faith, grace, humility, kindness, life, love, model, patience, receive, student, teacher, transform

Photo credit:  https://www.truefaithcogic.org/put-on-the-lord-jesus-christ/

Many people I encounter, both church-going and non-church-going, tend to think my role as a priest is to teach people how to live holy lives.  The expectation is not unfounded.  When I was ordained, the bishop asked me several questions in front of the congregation.  One of them was, “Will you do your best to pattern your life and that of your family in accordance with the teachings of Christ, so that you may be a wholesome example to your people?”  Not only does the Church anticipate I will teach my community how to live holy lives, the Church expects me to exemplify how to live a holy life.

The reality of that expectation sneaks up on me sometimes.  This week has been one of those times.  On Sunday, I challenged our church community to participate in Random Acts of Kindness Week, doing at least three acts of kindness this week, and reporting back next Sunday.  Just a few days in, two funny things have struck me.  One, I have felt a pressure to do kind acts myself.  As a servant leader, I need to set the tone with my own behavior.  And so, I have been plugging away – purchasing food for our local food pantry, collecting prom dresses and accessories for a program that helps low-income teens, and writing some kind notes.  But planned acts are almost easy.  It is the everyday inculcation of kindness that I am not as sure about.  Just two Sundays ago we heard the passage from 1 Corinthians, “Love is patient, love is kind.  Love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude.  It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.  It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”[i]  Although I may be performing kind acts, I have a bit further to go before I am living a life of kindness:  of patience, humility, flexibility, and generosity.

The second thing that struck me this week is how often I have been the recipient of kindness since we started honoring this week.  Already a parishioner has offered to cook me and my family a meal – just because.  Another parishioner sent me a thank you note for my kindness and work on behalf of the church.  Two classmates came to support me on Sunday, even though they have their own church homes.  And the kindness is not limited to people I know.  I have noticed people holding doors for me, waiting patiently for me as a pull out of a parking space, asking how I am doing (and really wanting to know).  I am not sure if people are inspired by this week, or if they are already living faithful lives of loving-kindness.  Either way, I find myself inspired by those around me, who are managing to be kind in the mundane parts of life.

If anything, this week is teaching me that the work of modeling faithful living will go way beyond a week.  And although the intentional acts I am doing this week are great, they are just a small part of transforming my entire life into a model of kindness and graciousness.  The other thing I am learning is that all of the modeling does not have to come from me.  In fact, I am also a student of Christ, still on the path to learning how to walk in Christ’s path.  The good news is that I have more than a week to master this transformation.  In fact, Hickory Neck will be taking up a Lenten kindness challenge this year.  I am so excited to see what forty days of living a life of kindness might teach me.  If they are as powerful as this first seven, then Hickory Neck is in for some incredible inspiration.  I cannot wait to hear what you are learning about this week too!

[i] 1 Corinthians 13.1.13

On Leading with Kindness…

Tags

act, Community of Kindness, conflict, God, hesed, inspire, kindness, lead, loving kindness, transform, Williamsburg

Photo credit:  https://www.mediumsizedfamily.com/acts-of-kindness-in-words/

Recently I have been feeling pretty defeated about the ways we have been treating one another in our country.  It happens in all sorts of ways.  It happens in the tribalism in politics that makes us unable to even listen to alternate perspectives or work toward respectful compromise.  It happens in the ways in which we give ourselves permission to believe stereotypes instead of getting to know individuals.  It happens in the ways in which truth is distorted and disregarded.  It even happens in our wonderful hometown, when people submit hateful, anonymous comments in what our local paper calls “The Last Word.”

I think that is why I have been finding such joy in a new endeavor here in this same hometown.  I am a part of the LEAD Greater Williamsburg program, a community immersion program that provides opportunities for recognized and emergent leaders to collaborate on issues of importance to the region, run through the Greater Williamsburg Chamber and Tourism Alliance.  The issue that our class is working on is kindness.  I know that may sound simple or even too ephemeral, but the more we work on helping the Greater Williamsburg Area become the next Community of Kindness, the more excited I become.

The program will launch on February 1, 2019, but already I am seeing the power of kindness.  First, the LEAD with Kindness program is already uncovering all kinds of efforts by schools, businesses, and non-profit organizations to promote kindness.  Just learning about these efforts has lifted some of that defeatedness I had been feeling.  But it has not stopped there.  The more we talk about promoting, developing, and honoring kindness, the more I have started seeing kindness.  I see it in my parishioners at Hickory Neck, I see it in my family members, and I even see it in that “Last Word” column in the paper.  And the more I see kindness, the more inspired I become to live into kindness – in fact, the more I see the loving-kindness, or hesed, of our God in others.

You will be hearing a lot more from me about this kindness project, my dreams for seeing the Greater Williamsburg area become the next Community of Kindness, and our church’s role in the movement.  But for now, I invite you to try a few things.  First, put on your “kindness glasses,” and just start looking around you for acts of kindness you see every day.  Two, acknowledge the kindness you see around you – whether it’s a high five, a pat on the back, or even a note about how someone’s kindness inspired you.  And three, perform one act of kindness today.  It does not have to be anything grandiose.  Just one small act of kindness.  And then let me know about it.  Let’s let God’s loving-kindness take root in us, transforming our community, our region, and maybe even the world!

On Race and the Pilgrimage Ahead…

Tags

action, call, God, journey, pilgrimage, race, racism, sin, transform

Photo credit:  parentingsquad.com/6-ways-to-improve-race-relations-at-home

Last summer a confluence of events happened.  I heard an interview with the author of Homegoing that made me want to read her novel about the history of the slave trade in Ghana and America.  I learned of a Diocesan pilgrimage to Ghana.  I was invited to a racial reconciliation discussion group in the community.  And my Netflix queue brought up two movies in a row – Lee Daniel’s The Butler and Straight Outta Compton.  As I read, watched, listened, and prayed, I wondered if God might be inviting me and our church community to talk more deeply about race.

So we did.  We read Homegoing at our church and our discussions were vulnerable and beautiful.  We went to a play in Colonial Williamsburg about the difficulty of serving as black and white interpreters in a time of slavery.  We hosted an Anglican priest from Ghana, prayed for this year’s Ghanaian pilgrims, and encouraged parishioners to consider a pilgrimage themselves.  We hosted a Bible Study with a predominantly African-American church. And we watched sports films that addressed racial relations.  At some point this summer, about a year after my initial epiphany, I began to wonder if I were beating the same drum too often.  Maybe race was a conversation we needed to give a rest.

And then the protests and counter-protests happened in Charlottesville.  As I watched hatred, racism, and violence on full display, as I saw rage, indignation, and entitlement in protestors’ eyes, and as I watched peaceful resistance dissolve into violent resistance, I knew we were not done with this race topic.  The scars are so deep and the impact is so rampant that we may never be done.  But fatigue, especially by white people, is not an excuse to disengage.  This week, I invite you to consider what you want to do in your life and in your community about racism.  If you are looking for suggestions, I commend the concrete suggestions by the Diocese of Virginia found here.

For me, I am committing to staying involved in our local ecumenical racial reconciliation discussion group.  I will keep inviting our church into race-related conversations, and encourage our exploration of our own complicity with the sin of racism.  I will keep reading and learning.  And I want to commit to going to Ghana with our Diocesan pilgrimage group.  I am not sure our family can afford it (I guess you know what to get me for my birthday!), but I feel God pushing me to walk through those slave castles, to learn in-person our shared history, and see the impact of slavery on another country.  I feel drawn to walking with fellow pilgrims of both white and black races, seeing how God might transform me on the journey.  If you feel similarly called, please join us next summer.  Or if you know you cannot make the pilgrimage, but want to financially support our engagement, I will help you become a partner with us.  Whatever you choose, do something.  I look forward to hearing about how God is calling you or how God is already using you for change.

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.

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

Tags

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sermon – Job 42.1-6, 10-17, P25, YB, October 25, 2015

Tags

abundance, faithfulness, gift, God, happily ever after, happy, Job, new normal, opportunity, Sermon, stewardship, suffering, theology of gratitude, transform, wealth

I remember well the reentry experience I had after my first major international mission trip.  A team of about 20 of us traveled to Honduras for ten days, spending seven of those days in a rural, impoverished village.  When I came back to Duke, I came back a changed person.  Suddenly the mounds of food available in the dining hall seemed exorbitant, if not wasteful when I remembered the hungry children of the village.  Although the long, hot showers felt glorious, I also could not help but feeling guilty for using so much water and having that water so ready at my fingertips when I had become so accustomed to having only a bucket of water to bathe with every other day – a bucket that I had to share with someone else.  Even being able to go to the student health center for the stomach bug I brought back with me felt like a luxury after having run a health clinic with meager supplies and only one doctor.

All that would be enough to make me feel out of place.  But what made the experience worse was that I felt like a transformed, confused, vulnerable person in a sea of people going about their everyday lives.  In fact, I was very clear that I was the weird one.  All I had to do was have the basic, “What did you do for Spring Break?” conversation, and I could tell that no one could relate to my new reality.  They had been to Cancun, Cabo, or Costa Rica for Spring Break.  They had stories about partying, pools, and pina coladas.  There biggest stressors were navigating taxis without speaking Spanish, haggling with shop owners about prices, and trying to figure out how much to tip the cabana guys.  My stories about a lack of indoor plumbing, sleeping on cement floors, and boiling water to drink just led to blank stares and quick exits.  Instead, I was left alone, on a campus full of abundance, with students who have never had to worry about money or even their basic needs being met, in a place where my only responsibility was to study and attend classes.  Having seen real poverty, I would never again be able to look at the campus and people and privilege around me and see all of that in the same way again.

I think that is what makes me so uncomfortable about the happily-ever-after ending we get in Job today.  These last few weeks we have been reading through Job.  We hear the confusing conversation between the Adversary and God about how the Adversary will test Job’s righteousness by taking everything away – his children, his livestock, his home.  We remember how his friends try to tell him he must have done something to deserve his suffering.  We hear Job lash out at God, demanding to know why he is suffering so.  And last week we heard God put Job in his place, asking how Job thought he had any right to presume he knew God’s ways.  The today, when Job humbly confesses and submits to God, God suddenly relieves Job of his suffering.  He brings back his wealth – twice as much as he had before.  He blesses Job with children and livestock again.  On the surface, the whole story sounds so simple.  Job has everything taken away, he remains faithful, and then is restored his fortunes.  But something about that ending does not sit well with me.  How could Job ever look at his ten children without remembering the ten he had before?  How could Job ever look at that livestock and wealth without remembering how he once had nothing?  How could Job receive his consoling brothers and sisters without remembering how they had all deserted him and left him to sit with his sores and grief?  For some reason, I just cannot imagine how all that abundance in the face of recent tragedy somehow makes up for all his suffering.

Of course, we all try to make that transition in life.  I know widowers or divorcees who have had countless people ask why they do not start dating – as if a new spouse could ever make them forget the one with whom they shared a lifetime.  I know pet owners who have lost a beloved pet, only to have someone say, “You should just get a new puppy.  A puppy will make you forget your old dog.”  I even know young mothers who have lost a pregnancy or even an infant, only to have someone say, “You’re young.  You can always have another.”  To their credit, I genuinely think our friends and family are trying to say something that they think is helpful.  They are facing the abyss of pain too, and simply want to make everything okay.  And so they, and we, say something that even sounds awful to us coming out of our mouths.  But we do not know what else to say.

As I have thought about Job this week, I realized the end of his story is not a happily-ever-after ending.  The end of his story is a story about the new normal.  The new normal is not just a return to the same – or even a doubling of what was before.  The new normal for Job is learning how to be a person of faith in the midst of abundance.  Job teaches us a lot about living in the new normal.  Job prays for his friends who tried to blame Job’s suffering on Job.  Job eats with his siblings who disappeared during his suffering.  And Job does something radical.  When he has those ten children, three of them are daughters.  The text tells us that he gives the daughters an inheritance along with their brothers.  That kind of action was unheard of in Job’s day.[i]  Women were not given inheritances.  If they wanted security, they got married.  But Job, in his new normal, decides not just to enjoy his wealth, but to make his wealth count for others – for the most vulnerable:  for women.

Though I would never wish Job’s fate on anyone, Job’s suffering and trials teach him something about faithfulness.  Job moves from basically espousing a prosperity gospel – one in which he was blessed with good things because of his faithfulness – to espousing a theology of gratitude.  His wealth is no longer something for him to possess as a reward, but is now a tool for making a difference in the world.  That is not to say that Job is not a righteous man before his trials.  The text tells us he is.  What the text does infer is that Job’s relationship with his wealth is transformed, along with his faith.[ii]

A few weeks ago, Deacon Anthony told us about an experience of a man in New York City that he saw on the website, “Humans of New York.”  The story about the man in his own words goes like this, “Not long ago it looked like I was about to get everything.  I was one of the first employees at a company that sold for a billion dollars.  So I started a new company, and everything seemed to be going perfectly, but suddenly everything came apart.  This has been the toughest year of my adult life.  I went bankrupt, my company failed, and a person I loved died.  I didn’t commit suicide—though I considered it.  But my ideas of myself have definitely died.  I thought I was better than everyone.  I saw my success as the culmination of all my positive merits.  Losing everything forced me to realize how much of my good fortune was due to things that had been given to me.”[iii]  I think that man from New York understood Job’s reality deeply.  His year of tragedy taught him the same thing that Job’s time of tragedy taught him.  Everything is a gift:  our wealth, our abundance, our comfort, our security.  Everything is a gift.  And once we realize that everything is a gift, we are irrevocably changed.  We cannot go back to living life in a haphazard, oblivious way.  Our perspective toward abundance, and our responsibility to manage that abundance, changes.

Job found a way to transform the lives of his daughters with his wealth – even though society would have never have considered asking him, let alone expected him to do so.  Often we talk about wealth being a burden or a responsibility.  All we need to do is think about the lesson we heard recently about the rich getting into heaven being like a camel going through the eye of a needle.  Or we know those familiar words from Luke, “to whom much is given, much is required.”  But Job does not teach us that lesson today.  Wealth is not a burden or a responsibility.  Wealth frees us for opportunity – opportunities to bless, to transform, and to flourish.  Like that man in New York understood, wealth is a gift.  Our invitation this week is to consider how we might use our wealth as a gift.  Instead of seeing this stewardship season as a reminder of the burden we all have to support the operating budget of the church, I invite you to consider this stewardship season as a gift – an invitation to use your wealth to create opportunities to bless, to transform, and to flourish the ministries of this place.  Like Job joyfully watched his daughters experience a new freedom, I wonder what new opportunities your wealth might create in this community.  Amen.

[i] Dale P. Andrews, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 199.

[ii] Kathryn M. Schifferdecker, “Commentary on Job 42:1-6, 10-17,” October 28, 2012, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=1455 on October 22, 2015.

[iii] Found at “Humans of New York,” October 10, 2015, found at https://www.facebook.com/humansofnewyork/photos/a.102107073196735.4429.102099916530784/1105944539479645/?type=3&fref=nf on October 23, 2015.

Sermon – Matthew 2.1-12, Epiphany (transferred), YB, January 4, 2015

Tags

change, Christ, Epiphany, eventful, God, Holy Spirit, magi, observant, seeker, Sermon, transform

At St. Margaret’s, one of the things we talk about a lot is being a seeker.  In fact, our motto is that we are a community of faith seeking, serving, and sharing Christ in Plainview.  Though we talk about being seekers or being a people who are seeking Christ, sometimes I am not sure we are all on board about what that actually means.  That is why I love this story of the magi today in our gospel lesson.  Though we may not feel like we have much in common with wise men from the East who have expensive gifts, the gift of the wise men for us today is that they show us what the experience of being a seeker is really like.

First, the magi show us that being a seeker means being observant.[i]  The text from Matthew today says that the wise men observe the king’s star at its rising.  Now, in order to observe a star, one must be paying attention.  One must be on the lookout for the movement of God in order to have an encounter with God.

We have a group within our parish who has taken to looking at the stars too.  Our Praying with the Stars offering is a way for us to connect with God through the observation of the stars.  That offering is one more way that St. Margaret’s helps us seek Christ in creation.  But the truth is that Praying with the Stars is about more than astrology.  Praying with the Stars is about creating space to observe the movement of the Holy Spirit.  If stars are not your thing, that is fine.  Perhaps movies or books or music is more your thing.  The point is that one can never really be a seeker unless one is attuned to the movement of God – or at least creates opportunities to open oneself to the movement of God.  The magi offer us that gentle push to create space in our own spiritual lives for observing, watching, and listening for the movement of the Spirit.

Next, the magi show us that being a seeker means that our journey will be eventful.  In this story alone, the wise men have two very different encounters.  First, they encounter those who are resistant to their journey.  King Herod on the surface seems quite inquisitive and eager to hear about the magi’s journey.  But we learn from the text that Herod acts more out of fear for his own power and control.  What was good news to the wise men was not seen as good news by all.  Second, the wise men experience being overwhelmed by joy.  When they encounter the Christ Child, the wise me are so overwhelmed that they are brought to their knees, pay homage, and pour out abundant gifts.  Experiencing Christ is so overwhelming that these men find themselves doing things they may not have expected.

Many of us know exactly what this experience is like.  We get roped into volunteering for a workday at Habitat for Humanity, and in the middle of the workday, as we are hanging drywall with a prospective homeowner, the homeowner says something that stops us in our tracks.  We are so overwhelmed by the encounter that all we can do is marvel at God working in our midst.  Or we are sitting in worship for the millionth time, hearing the same Eucharistic prayer again, when a word or a phrase catches us up short.  Suddenly, what we are doing at the Eucharistic table takes on a fresh, jarring perspective.  Or maybe we are having a simple conversation with a fellow parishioner about the way that their sacrificial giving has changed their walk with Christ.  The next time we write our pledge check, something is changed in us forever – even the sensation of the pen on the paper of our check feels different.

Finally, the magi show us that being a seeker means that our lives will be changed.  When the wise men are done with their visit with the holy family, they do not simply return home the same way that they came.  They do not even return to Herod as Herod had asked them to return.  No, in the midst of their visit, the wise men have a dream that warns them to go another way.  And so, they return home, but by a way that is not familiar.  The magi teach us that when you meet Christ, “Nothing is ever the same.  You don’t take the old road any longer.  You unfold a new map, and discover an alternate path.”[ii]

For those of us who have assumed the life of the seeker, we know this truth all too well.  If we commit our lives to truly seeking God, not idly going through the motions, we experience things that are just too transformative to leave us the same.  We can no longer be the old selves that we once were.  My friends who are vegetarians all have a story.  Whether they read The Jungle in high school, or they saw Fast Food Nation after college, some experience led them to disavow the eating of meat.  Whatever they learned or experienced, they could not unlearn.  And so they were transformed and their eating life was transformed.  The same is true for us.  When we seek and experience Christ – whether in our experiences with the poor, in our experiences with fellow parishioners, or even as we taste Christ in the holy meal – we too are transformed into something that cannot be undone.

That is the gift of the magi for us today.  They show us how to be seekers:  seekers who are observant, seekers who expect eventfulness, and seekers who realize they will be forever changed.  As the drama of their journey unfolds, they invite us to allow our own spiritual journey of seeking to unfold.  The promise is that the Holy Spirit will transform us, over and over again.  We only need to take the first step.  Amen.

[i] Steve Pankey, “Are You Paying Attention?” December 29, 2014 at https://draughtingtheology.wordpress.com/2014/12/29/are-you-paying-attention/.

[ii] James C. Howell, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 216.