On Wrestling with Healing…

Tags

Bible, disciple, gift, healing, Jesus, ministry, power, scripture, vocation

Photo credit: https://www.womansday.com/life/g25224950/healing-prayers/

This summer, my parish is participating in a 90-Day Bible Reading Challenge.  It’s been a powerful journey and companion during this pandemic time.  One of the lessons we have already learned this summer is reading the Bible at a rapid pace is different than in-depth Bible Study.  You tend to get the big picture of God and the people of faith, see patterns more easily, and catch things by reading the books in order as opposed to hearing snippets, like we do on Sundays.

As we have been reading through Matthew, something caught my attention this time.  From the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, he is constantly healing people.  Not just one or two famous stories we may remember, but constantly healing, sometimes healing whole crowds of sick people.  In chapter ten, when Jesus sends out his twelve disciples, he doesn’t tell them to teach people or preach the gospel.  He gives them authority to drive out evil spirits and to heal every disease and sickness.  Jesus also does a lot of teaching in Matthew, but I was surprised to remember how ubiquitous Jesus’ healing ministry is.

Reading Matthew’s Gospel in a rapid, big-picture way, I have been reminded how much Jesus’ healing ministry makes me a bit uncomfortable.  I am generally comfortable with preaching and teaching, but, as one of Jesus’ disciples, healing is not a power I would ever claim.  Additionally, as modern readers, I think healing and miracles are one of those things that lead to all sorts of questions.  Does Jesus really heal people?  When we think of healing, do we soften the words, making the healing more figurative than literal?  If Jesus heals all those people in his time, what do we do with all the people who are not healed in our time, especially as we face a worldwide pandemic?  Shouldn’t healing just be limited to medical professionals and those gifted with the charism of healing, as opposed to all of us as followers of Christ?

Here’s what I do know.  The healing Jesus does allows individuals to reenter communal life, fully participating in the community, and being restored as an equal.  Also, the healing Jesus does clears the way for those individuals to do good with their lives, not only helping others, but also showing others the way to Christ.  As I think about those who are suffering in our communities, part of the healing that is needed is the healing that will restore them to full participation in life – eliminating poverty, hunger, homelessness, and discrimination of any kind.  Making health care, childcare, affordable food, and affordable housing accessible to all.  We may not have the vocation of physical or mental healing, but we all have the vocation of healing our society, respecting the dignity of every human being, and striving for justice and peace among all people.  Perhaps when Jesus sent out those disciples to heal, they all healed others in the ways they knew how.  But they all went out to heal.  We can go and do likewise – healing this world that needs healing so much!

On Teachers, Nurses, and Grandmas…

Tags

appreciation, blessing, care, Christ, God, grandmother, gratitude, Jesus, light, love, ministry, notes, nurses, pandemic, sacred, teachers, thank you, thankful, vocation, work

Photo credit:  https://www.considerable.com/life/etiquette/bring-back-thank-you-notes/

One of the things my grandmother instilled in me from an early age was the importance of thank you notes.  She taught me how to write them, how quickly to send them, and the significance of being a person who reliably sends them.  These days I fear she would be sorely disappointed with how those carefully honed skills have deteriorated over time – not that I do not know how to write them or understand their importance, but how my overflowing plate often means the list of thank you notes to be written makes it to the bottom of my “to do” pile.

That is why I am thankful for the ways in which our country has designated this week as appreciation weeks for two powerful vocations:  teachers and nurses.  Left to my own devices, I regularly forget to show my appreciation for the teachers in our lives.  But this annual week always reminds me that for thirty-five-plus hours a week, teachers are the people who are with my children – teaching them, shaping them into thoughtful citizens, helping them grow into their unique identity, and generally helping them feel loved and valued.  I have always thought of teachers as part of our “village,” who are helping my husband and me raise our children.  And this year, more than ever, I am amazed at the ways teachers are pivoting, learning new technologies, figuring out different ways to engage children in a pandemic, and showing love to our kids while socially distanced.

Likewise, I am grateful for a week to show our gratitude toward our nurses.  My most powerful experience with a nurse was in childbirth.  I had been laboring for the better part of twelve hours when I finally elected to have an epidural.  Everyone left the room, and as I leaned forward for the anesthesiologist, I could not stop shaking – whether from exhaustion or fear, I am not sure.  But the nurse took my arms firmly, looked me right in the eyes, and instilled in me a trust so deep I can still feel it palpably ten years later.  Nurses do this every day – take our lives into their hands, guide us through healing and wellness, and comfort us in ways that build confidence, trust, and care.  And in the midst of this pandemic, they are literally putting their lives on the line to do this often-overlooked work.

I’m not sure this is enough of a thank you note to meet my grandmother’s standard.  But what I can tell you is our teachers and our nurses are doing sacred work every day of the year.  They love us, care for us, and show us the light of Christ every day.  If you have a teacher or nurse in your life, neighborhood, or circle of friends, please be sure to thank them personally for the ways in which they are changing our lives today.  I invite you to return God’s blessing they have been to you back to them.

Sermon – Luke 4.7-18, A3, YC, December 16, 2018

Tags

asking, bully, call, calling, church, clergy, fair, God, John the Baptist, light, love, loving kindness, share, simple, spiritual gifts, unique, vocation

Today we are honoring the beginning of Bob Gay’s diaconal ministry with Hickory Neck.  We do not arrive at this day lightly.  Bob and his family had to discern if coming out of retirement was what God was calling him to do.  Bob had to confirm that call with church leaders, church members, and Diocesan staff.  Bob had to prayerfully consider what a diaconal ministry at Hickory Neck would look like and how that ministry might be different than at other churches.  And today, Bob and our community make commitments to not only support his call, but also recommit to our own senses of call.  Though our celebration of Bob’s ministry may feel brief in relation to all we do today, the gravity of what we do in and through Bob is serious.

Although I am thrilled to honor Bob’s new ministry among us, sometimes these types of days can leave us with the impression that “calling,” is something that happens to those with collars – people are called to be priests, deacons, and bishops.  Sometimes we are willing to expand the notion of calling to certain helping professionals – people are called to be nurses, social workers, fire fighters, and teachers.  But we get a little tripped up imagining being called to be other things – a lawyer, an engineer, a stay-at-home parent, an investment banker, or a business owner.  And when we are younger, we almost never hear people saying we are called to be a student, a babysitter, a friend, or a sibling.  We might think we are good at some of those things, or we enjoy those jobs or roles, but we do not always say we are “called” to do them.

I met a retired priest once, and he said his greatest joy in retirement was in helping parishioners experience God on Mondays.  In partnership with the clergy of his church, his “calling” in retirement was to set up what he called “Sunday-Monday Appointments” with church members.  He would go visit members of Church on Mondays in their places of employment and talk about where they see God in their everyday life – how they make the connection between what they do on Sundays and what they do on Mondays.  Those conversations are meant to help the parishioners name how they experience “calling” in their work place.  For some parishioners, that conversation is quite easy.  But for others, that conversation is much more difficult.  Many of them have never had a priest visit them at work, and they have certainly never prayed aloud at the end of a meeting at work.  When the retired priest asks them about their Sunday-Monday connection, sometimes he finds parishioners do not really have a connection.  Those two days feel very separate in their minds.

Part of what is challenging in claiming that we are “called” to a role outside of church is we feel intimidated declaring what God would want us to do outside of church.  We imagine something a bit like what happened to those around John the Baptist in our gospel lesson today.  We do not like the idea of being called a “brood of vipers.”  We do not like the idea of being told our ancestry does not matter – that being a descendant of Abraham does not hold sway with God.  We do not like hearing about repentance, or axes lying at the root of trees who do not bear fruit.  Perhaps if we had been one of those gathered around John the Baptist, we might have simply concluded that the whole baptism thing was not for us.  Baptized living sounds hard as John describes baptism.

But before we get too far down the path of defeatism, something interesting happens in our gospel story.  Instead of walking away with their heads hung low when John starts calling them broods of vipers, the crowd asks a question, “What then should we do?”  After being called broods of vipers, you might expect the eccentric John to tell them to sell all their possessions, eat insects, and live in rags.  Instead, John says something quite simple, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.”  Basically, John says, share your stuff when you have more than you need.  That is all:  share your stuff.  We can tell John’s answer is pretty benign because the tax collectors jump in, “Teacher, what should we do?”  They ask because although the others get off pretty easy, the tax collectors know they are in a bit of hot water, resembling broods of vipers more than they might like to admit.  But John is mild again, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.”  In other words, John says, “Just do your job fairly.”  The soldiers are emboldened now too, asking, “And we, what should we do?”  John gives them an easy out too, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”  That one is pretty basic too:  appreciate what you have, and don’t be a bully.

What scholar David Lose appreciates “is how mundane, if not downright obvious, John’s admonition proves.  I mean, this is not rocket-science; indeed, [John’s admonition] is the logic of the classroom and playground most of us first heard in kindergarten: share, be fair, don’t bully.  But if somewhat obvious, [John’s admonition] is at least also within their reach.  John does not tell the crowds to join him out in the wilderness, he does not ask the tax-collectors to abandon or betray Rome, and he does not urge soldiers to a life of pacifism.  Instead, he points them to the very places in which they already live and work, love and laugh, struggle and strive, and suggests that these places are precisely where God calls them to be, where God is at work in them and through them for the sake of the world.”[i]

This month in our Sunday Forum series we are talking about our spiritual gifts.  We are hearing diverse voices talk about what gifts each of us have and how we can use those gifts in our various callings.  The idea is not simply to discover what gifts we have so that we can use them in the world; the idea is also to name how we are already using our gifts in the world, and to understand the use of those gifts out in the world and within this community as our calling.  You know as well as I do that some of us are called to teach children, some to read scripture in worship, some to advise the church about financial decisions, some to plan parties, and others to find and stop leaks in water pipes.  And some of us are not called to do any of those things.  But each of us has spiritual gifts unique to ourselves, and each of us are invited to use those gifts in the church and the world.  Those spiritual gifts can be as simple as the fidelity of a parent or spouse, the attentiveness of a friend, the hard work of an employee, the honesty of an employer, the steadfastness of a volunteer, the generosity of participating in an outreach ministry, or the compassion of visiting the sick or homebound.[ii]

What Bob’s new ministry and John’s invitation in our gospel lesson today do is not send us home thinking we must be ordained or be some crazy wilderness prophet to be faithful to God and live out our calling.  What we do liturgically and hear scripturally today is remember that the connection from Sunday to Monday matters.  The things we do in our everyday lives are opportunities to stop seeing work, home, school, and community as simply work, home, school, and community, but instead as our mission field – as the places where we live out the calling we discern here on Sundays.  And if we are not certain what that calling is, the crowd surrounding John encourage us to ask the same question they ask, “And me, what should I do?”  I promise the answer will not be overwhelming.  The answer will be simple:  show God’s loving-kindness in the workplace, at home, at school, and in the community; be Christ’s light in the grocery store, on the playground, with your loved one, and with the stranger; share the Holy Spirit’s love while driving, while emailing, while eating, and while playing on a team.  Our job each Sunday is to keep asking, “And me, what should I do?” and then trust on Monday the answer will be unique to our gifts, within our reach, and fulfilling beyond measure.  Amen.

[i] David Lose, “Advent 3C:  Beyond Scolding,” December 11, 2018, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2018/12/advent-3-c-beyond-scolding/ on December 14, 2018.

[ii] Lose.

On Seeing God in the Body…

Tags

body, body of Christ, Christ, church, gift, God, ministry, play, vacation bible school, vocation, witness, work

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only

One of the things I learned very early on in my priesthood is I cannot do all the work of the church.  The priest cannot be everywhere, at every event, leading every ministry.  And I have wholeheartedly come to believe that she should not try.  In doing so, the priest disables the ministry of the laity, and to be frank, never gets close to the glory of what can happen when everyone contributes their gifts in ministry to the work of the church.  When Paul talks about the Body of Christ being like parts of the body – where every hand, foot, elbow, and nose are needed to make the Body complete – Paul was talking about the leaders too.  The Body of Christ does not function without all the members.

I have been reminded of this truth this week as I have watched our Vacation Bible School program in action.  Months of planning, organizing, imagining, and executing have come to fruition.  I was given 10 minutes this week for teaching and prayer.  The rest of the time – five days, 15 hours, 900 minutes – has been filled with adults, youth, and even children leading a wonderful week of reflection about where we see God, how we can be helpers in God’s mission, and how we can be God’s hands, changing the world.  It has been a glorious experience to watch fingers strumming guitars, adults comforting children, teens running little ones’ energy out, children holding hands, priests from neighboring churches teaching and praying, and, as I like to imagine, God smiling broadly as God hears us asking God to “kumbaya.”

Part of what is nice about this week is I get to see the work of the Body up close.  I get to see church members flexing their vocational gifts, teaching and showing our kids how much God loves them and how they are now empowered to love others.  But much like my contribution this week is just a small part of the whole, I realize Vacation Bible School week is just a small part of the larger whole.  Every week our parishioners – children, youth, and adults – are living out their vocations every day.  They are teaching children, building homes, healing bodies, fighting fires, studying for tests, and holding each other’s hands as faithful children of God.  There are holy moments every week, every day, every hour, every minute, where we live into the gifts God has given us, and show God’s love to others.  Our witness to Christ does not happen unless we are all doing are part as the Body of Christ.

I wonder where you are seeing God and the work of the Body of Christ today.  At home, at work, at play, we can all see God working through each other.  Our invitation this week is to look for that work, to be a part of that work in our own lives, and to witness where we see that work in others.  My suspicion is once we start doing that work, we will be smiling as God has been smiling this week!

Sermon – Matthew 25.31-46, P29, YA, November 26, 2017

Tags

American, Christ the King, Christian, feeding, God, imprisoned, Jesus, king, kingdom of God, Messiah, naked, politics, Sermon, sick, stranger, Thanksgiving, thirst, vocation

This past weekend we celebrated one of the most significant American holidays.  Thanksgiving has evolved over time, but generally involves people gathering with family, friends, or neighbors over a meal to give thanks for the blessings of life.  The concept sounds rather innocuous, but the meal can be fraught with challenges.  A few days before Thanksgiving this year, I caught the results of a poll.  The poll said almost 70% of people were hoping to avoid talking about politics with their family this Thanksgiving holiday.  According to the survey, the percentage of people wanting to avoid talking about politics is one of the highest in years.  Even though the numbers are unprecedented, the results are probably not a surprise to anyone here.  Politics is one of those topics polite conversations are supposed to avoid anyway.  But given the especially high tensions of our political climate lately, I can totally understand why almost three-fourths of us would want to avoid talking about our country’s deep divisions and political differences.  No need to ruin a day of attempted unity with a conversation about the very thing that divides us most deeply.

So, on the Sunday following the day when everyone wants to avoid talking politics, what are we going to do?  Talk politics.  Now before you get too anxious, do not worry.  We are not invited to talk American politics.  Today, our readings invite us to talk about biblical politics.  Today, we celebrate Christ the King Sunday – the last Sunday in the liturgical year before we start Advent next week.  The feast of Christ the King is not actually that old of a feast.  Pope Pius XI established the feast day in 1925 in response to growing secularism and a deemphasis on the primacy of Christ.  At the time, Europe was seeing a rise in non-Christian dictators, many of whom were seeking to influence authority over the Church.  Pope Pius wanted to remind the Church who was the head of the church, and the primacy of Christ for the Church’s identity.  Establishing Christ the King Sunday was not only a bold move by Pope Pius, the feast day was also needed if the Church were going to remain loyal to its identity.

The historical setting of the creation of the holiday is not all that unique from the biblical struggle with kingship.  If you remember, God is not at all on board when the people ask for a king.  You see, the people of God have already been on a long journey.  Abraham had settled them in a faraway land, which God had promised would be their land.  But famine struck, and the people were forced to flee to Egypt for sustenance, submitting themselves to a pharaoh – a new king of sorts.  For a while, that arrangement was not so bad.  But a new pharaoh meant a harsh life of enslavement.  So, God once again led the people out of the rule of a king, into the wilderness and eventually the promised land.  And what do the people ask for upon their arrival?  A king!  You see, they have been watching the other nations who have kings, and they want their own.  God wants them to see how God is their king.  But eventually God submits, giving them their hearts’ desire.  As predicted, an earthly king does not go well.  Sure, there are moments of enjoyment and blessing.  There are even some kings who do well – king David and Solomon.  But even the good kings come with human flaws.  As time goes on, the bad kings outnumber the good ones, and eventually the kingdom of God is ripped apart, and the peoples are scattered.

That is where we pick up things today in Ezekiel.  Recognizing the earthly kings have not worked so well, God promises to take the throne back, to become the people’s king once again.  God becoming king means the people will be gathered once again in their promised land.  They will have their wounds bound, their stomachs filled, and their thirst quenched.  They will return to an abundant land, with the rule of a comforting shepherd.  The promise to the wearied people of God is assuring and soothing; a balm to a scattered, disheartened people.  Their failures are ever before them:  their insistence on an earthly king have gotten them where they are today.  But admitting failure hardly seems onerous with the promise of redemption by God.

By the time we get to our gospel reading today, the people are yet again under an oppressive rule.  Rome has put her heavy hand on the people of God, and their hoped-for Messiah has not arrived.  The expectation of the Messiah was for a mighty, God-ordained leader who would vindicate the people, and establish a time of prosperity, power, and peace.  There are rumors that Jesus might be that Messiah, but much of what he has to say does not jive with what they are expecting.  Take today’s lesson, for example.  Jesus tells them the reign of God will entail feeding the poor, giving drink to the thirsty, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, tending the sick, and visiting the imprisoned.  Those are all certainly good things to do, but they are not exactly what the people are thinking of when they imagine a Messiah.  Though those tasks are noble, they do not indicate a people who have triumphed over oppressive rule.

I suspect we know a little about that sense of disappointment and disorientation.  Now I know I said I was not going to talk about politics, but stay with me for a bit.  You see, no matter who our leader is, we will never be truly happy with an elected, human leader.  Human leaders, like those leaders in the times of Ezekiel are flawed.  Think of your favorite president in American history – the president that really represented the goodness of American ideals.  Think of all the great things he did, the advancements he made, the ways in which he made us a better country.  Now, in balance with all that goodness, think of all the flaws he had.  Every president had them.  For every advancement he made, there was an advancement he neglected.  For every inspiring quote he had, there were things he said that would make us shudder.  For every injustice he corrected, there were injustices he ignored.

That is the funny thing about being both an American and a Christian.  Though we have probably structured the government with the most potential for justice and balanced leadership, we still fall short of the goal – because we are human.  And because nothing we make or conceive or structure will be perfect, we lean into our Christian identity for guidance, comfort, and strength.  You see, the only king who will ever bring about a perfect kingdom is Christ.  And yet, even “perfection” is redefined by Christ.  The kingdom of God is not reproduced through democracy, socialism, monarchy, oligarchy, or totalitarianism.  The perfect system in Christ involves each us feeding the poor, giving water to those who thirst, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, tending the sick, and visiting the imprisoned.

I can imagine what you are thinking, because I am thinking the same thing.  Those jobs all sound nice, but how do we ensure justice, safety, and structure?  How do we govern?  The good news is, just as we talked about last week, we all have a vocation.  If feeding, sating, welcoming, clothing, tending, and visiting are the parameters of perfection, we are each to use our gifts to achieve that perfection.  So maybe your vocation is to physically feed the poor and sate the thirsty.  Maybe your vocation is to advocate for those in prison.  Maybe your vocation is to govern with the intention of creating laws that will tend the sick and clothe the naked.  How we approach perfection will vary widely, but that we strive toward perfection is what Christ asks today.  Christ is not actually all that worried about who our king is or what kind of government we choose.  Christ is concerned that our lives reflect his true kingship over us.  Christ wants us to live lives that, upon observation by others, make obvious who is our king.

Our invitation this week is to take stock of our daily living, making sure we have aligned our lives with the kingdom of God.  If you have gotten off track, there is time and support for correcting course.[i]  If you have mastered feeding the hungry, but are not so great at welcoming the stranger, this community is here to help you expand your kingdom work.  And if you are not sure you can get on board with this kingdom work at all, you may need to do what we all avoided this Thanksgiving – get to a table and start talking politics.  Jesus promises to be with us, joining us in the conversation, blessing our ponderings.  With Christ the King on our side, the work does not feel like work, the conversation does not feel like a curse, and the results produce much more for which to be thankful.  Amen.

[i] Stanley Hauerwas, Matthew:  Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible (Grand Rapids:  Brazos Press, 2006), 212.

Sermon – Matthew 25.14-30, P28, YA, November 19, 2017

Tags

bold, calling, confident, creativity, cruel, discerning, freedom, generous, gifts, God, Jesus, joy, mean, parable, risk, Sermon, servant, talents, trusting, vocation

Our parable from Matthew’s gospel today seems to present two very different versions of God.  When the story opens, the landowner is painted in a positive light.  Within the first line of this parable, we already find a landowner who places a great deal of trust in his servants.  Not only does he trust his servants with his property, he is also thoughtful about what each servant can handle.  Based on their abilities, he give gives one servant five talents, one servant two talents, and the other servant one talent.[i]  Now before we go too much farther, we need to remember that the entrusting of even one talent is a big deal.  You see, a talent is worth about 15 years of what a servant would normally make in wages.[ii]  To the first servant, the landowner is entrusting about 75 years’ worth of wages!  This landowner is not only generous with his property, he communicates a great deal of confidence in these three servants.

The story continues to be remarkable.  Nowhere in the parable does the landowner say, “Okay here are your talents.  Here is how I suggest you manage my wealth.”  No, the landowner leaves, communicating not just generosity, confidence, and trust, but also giving the gift of freedom to each servant.  Implicit is the expectation that they handle the wealth well, but also implicit is the idea that they have some autonomy in their management.

Many years later, the landowner returns, and we find his generous, trusting, encouraging nature continues.  When the first servant tells the landowner of his adventures with the talents, how he is able to double his holdings, the landowner is effusive with praise.  Because he has done such a fantastic job, the landowner says he will reward him with entrusting him to do more.  And then, as if to further prove what a generous landowner he is, the landowner opens his arms widely and says, “enter into the joy of your master.”  What a tremendous gift to this servant who has worked hard, taken on tremendous risk, and hustled for years and years for the sake of his landowner.  We can almost hear the vigorous pats on the back, and imagine the tears welling up in the servant’s eyes as he is affirmed, encouraged, and loved.

But then our story changes.  The third servant seems to evoke a very different version of the landowner.  Clearly the landowner knew the third servant was not as gifted as the others when he only gave the third servant one talent.  Faced with the sudden burden of wealth like he has never seen before, the third servant panics.  He does not want to mess things up or disappoint the landowner.  Unlike the other servants, this servant is full of self-doubt and fear.  And so, he does the best he can.  He goes and he buries the money.  Sure, he does not come back with more like the other servants, but at least he does not come back with less than with what he was entrusted.  To this nervous, timid, perhaps slightly less bright servant, the landowner is suddenly a very different landowner.  The landowner calls the servant wicked and lazy.  The landowner yells at the servant for mischaracterizing the landowner and for being so overcome with fear.  And then, as if the yelling and name-calling is not enough, the landowner strips him of the wealth, gives the talent to the first servant, and then casts the third servant out of his grace and abundance, leaving him in the outer darkness.

So, why is this landowner so kind, generous, and trusting in one breath, and impatient, mean, and cruel in the next?  We have been getting a lot of these kinds of stories from Matthew lately.  First, we got the wedding host who seemed to be generously welcoming all to the party, only to cast someone out who wore the wrong clothing.  Then we got the feuding bridesmaids who refuse to care for one another, and the bridegroom who has no patience for a lack of preparedness.  And then we get today’s parable.  If we simply had just this one instance of God’s harshness or unjust judgment, we could say the parable is an anomaly, a strange outlier.  But given the repeated telling of scary-ending stories, we are cued into the idea that something else is going on in Matthew’s gospel.  Indeed, all of these unsettling parables are what we call eschatological parables – stories about the end times.[iii]  At this point in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is approaching the end of his life.  Instead of continuing to heal, preach, and lovingly teach his disciples, he starts getting real.   I am reminded of one of the first reality television shows that ever aired, MTV’s The Real World.  MTV would pair seven very different individuals and make them live together for a few months.  The tagline of the show was, “This is what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real.”

Understanding that Jesus is facing his immanent death is critical to understanding what is going on with Jesus in these parables.  Any of us who has journeyed with someone who is dying knows that at some point, they stop being polite and start getting real.  This is their last chance to tell others the essentials:  the life lessons learned, the love they want to share, and the stern encouragement they want to give.  Although this landowner seems harsh or even irrationally mean, what he is doing is communicating ultimate significance.

Let’s go back to this third servant.  We know what the third servant does is not all that bad.  He does not squander the entrusted wealth, or act rashly.  He is conservatively prudent and, perhaps based on his skill level, wise to restrain himself.  But ultimately, the landowner is not upset about what the servant does.  The landowner is upset about the servant’s motivation:  fear.[iv]

In a couple of months, our family will be going on a trip that involves a visit to an amusement park.  We have been talking about the park as a family, and most of the members of our family are thrilled.  We have been watching videos about the rides, and the children are getting amped up to try some of the rollercoasters.  I, on the other hand, have no interest in the rides.  I am scared to death of rollercoasters.  I do not like the way they make me feel, I do not like how tense they make me, and I do not like the lack of control I feel when on them.  I gladly prefer to be the “holder of bags” at amusement parks.  But my family has been riding me this time.  They want to experience the adventure with me.  They want to discover which ones are too scary and which ones are just plain fun together.  And yet just talking about that idea has my knees knocking with fear.

That’s the funny thing about fear.  Fear distorts every good thing about our nature.  Fear cuts off creativity.  When we are overcome with fear, we cannot be imaginative and playful, coming to new solutions and ways of being.  Fear also messes with our sense of trust.  When we are overcome with fear, we forget the goodness of others, our previous examples of how things have gone well, or even the bold support of our God.  Fear messes with our confidence.  When we are overcome with fear, all the good, powerful, and holy parts of us gets riddled with self-doubt and inaction.  And finally, fear messes with our willingness to take risks.  When we are overcome with fear, we cannot do the things that will lead to great payoff.

Fear in the abstract is a normal reaction in life.  But we have to remember what Jesus is talking about in this parable to understand why the landowner is so harsh about fear.  You see, talents are not just metaphors for the thing things we are good at or even for the money we have in life.  Talents are metaphors for the vocations we each have.[v]  You see, each person in this room has a calling.  Some of us are called to particular jobs or courses of study.  Some of us are called to particular roles within families or groups.  Some of us are called to use our gifts in particular ways.  We all have a call, a vocation in life.  And our vocation is affirmed by the skills or materials we are given to live out that call.  The problem with the third servant is that he is given what he needs in abundance.  The landowner affirms him, trusts him, and gives him space and time to live out his vocation.  But the third servant allows himself to be so overcome with fear that he does not live out his vocation.  He shuts down creativity, trust, confidence, and risk-taking all because he is afraid.  And that is the ultimate sin for God.

What this parable invites us to do today is not to see this landowner – this stand-in for God – as a mean, cruel, reactive God that punishes.  Quite the opposite, the parable today invites us to remember that our God is trusting, discerning about our gifts, confident in our abilities, and joyful in our obedience.  God gives each person in this room a vocation, a purpose, in this world, gives us the gifts and encouragement we need to fulfill that vocation, and, ultimately, expects us to go out into the world and boldly take the risk of doing what God has already enabled us to do.  No one likes being thrust out of the nest, having to use our wings to sustain us.  But our parable reminds us we can do what we need to do.  We have beautiful wings and our flying will help others, will bring blessing to the world, and will bring us great joy.  Getting scared when God stops being polite and starts getting real is normal.  But letting fear overpower our beauty is not what God desires for us – because God knows you can do it.  God knows your willingness to live out your vocation means great things for the world.  You can do it!  So buckle up and get ready for the ride!  Amen.

[i] Mark Douglas, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 310.

[ii] Lindsay P. Armstrong, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 309, 311.

[iii] Douglas, 308

[iv] Douglas, 312.

[v] Idea presented by Matthew Skinner in the podcast, “SB570 – Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost (Ord. 33)” November 11, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=948 on November 17, 2017.

On Life, Death, and the In-Between…

Tags

birth, death, gift, God, joy, life, promise, thin space, Trinity, vocation

At the hospital where I delivered my second child, they had a practice of allowing the spouse or supporting person of the mother push a button that would play a tinkling song throughout the hospital marking the birth of a child.  The practice has many wonderful implications.  One, it makes room for joy – joy that can be experienced throughout the whole hospital community.  For those of you who have spent much time in hospitals, you know joy can be lacking.  Two, it creates a sense of mutuality between the birthing mother and her support team.  When the mom is doing most of the hard labor, it is nice to have tangible ways for the supporting team to participate.  Three, it creates little moments of celebration for the hospital staff – something they need too when bogged down with the work of health care.

But what felt like a wonderful, life-giving gift as I was delivering has taken on new layers of meaning as a pastor who visits hospitals.  More often than not, I have heard that song played while sitting with someone with a serious illness or who is approaching death.  The sense of irony about the circle of life is never lost on me, the patient, or their family.  It still feels like a gift, but a bittersweet one nonetheless.  I have also wondered what that song does for women and men in the hospital who have struggled with infertility or who have just lost a child.  That song represents so many unfulfilled dreams and heartache.

That being said, I do not think the disadvantages of the song outnumber the advantages.  I think the song actually does for everyday people what those in healthcare and pastoral care experience everyday – the thin spaces between life and death.  I cannot tell you the number of times when I have experienced life and death in a matter of days, hours, or minutes.  I have written about that here.  In a given week, I can hear the tinkling song while I sit at the bedside of a dying parishioner.  In a given day, I can hear elementary children playing and laughing, and then sit with a family member who needs a good cry.  In a given span of hours, I can bury a parishioner and then counsel a parishioner who is burying a marriage, birthing new love, or celebrating a new beginning.  This work is such that life and death are thinly separated.

The consequence of that thin space is that I get regular reminders of the enormity of God’s presence.  If I find the experience of celebrating life and watching life pass away in a matter of minutes, how much more infinitely does God experience the highest of highs and the lowest of lows in the human experience.  The God who created us and the world about us and called it good, and yet stood by as we sullied that creation has seen much.  The God who took on human form to experience for God’s self the complexity of the human experience knows much.  The God who breathes through life, death, and vocation in between feels much.  As we celebrate Trinity Sunday this weekend, I wonder how your appreciation of the three-in-one Godhead might help you appreciate both the promise that God is with us always, but also help you name God with us always for others.

Photo credit:  https://www.everydayfamily.com/blog/worlds-oldest-new-father/

Sermon – Jeremiah 1.4-10, P16, YC, August 21, 2016

Tags

called, calling, church, God, Jeremiah, ministry, priest, prophet, Sermon, vocation

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”  I have lost count of how many times we have asked that question to our oldest daughter.  The answer varies widely depending on what phase she is in or what they have been talking about in school.  I confess that there have been times when I was disappointed when she changed her mind – “author and illustrator” was my favorite, though “engineer” was a pretty good one recently.  But my all-time favorite conversation about what she wanted to be when she grew up was actually a conversation about priesthood.  I asked her my typical question, “So have you decided what you want to be when you grow up?”  She replied thoughtfully, “I can’t decide.  There are too many options.”  Sympathetically I said, “I totally understand.  It took me years to decide what I wanted to be.”  And without a beat, she replied, with disgust, “And you decided to become a priest?!?”

The thing is, I do not think my daughter’s reaction is all that different than most people.  Very few people ever imagine themselves being ordained.  The vocation seems too foreign, to require some mysterious amount of holiness, or to just be too weird.  All of that makes sense to me – not everyone feels called to the priesthood.  But too often acknowledging we do not want to be a priest means that we stop using “call” language altogether.  Instead of being able to talk about what we feel called to do in life, we instead talk about what we want to be when we grow up.  A calling, a ministry, or even a vocation is something that clergy people do, not what we all do.

At least, that is what the secular world would have us believe.  The church says something a bit different.  Throughout our liturgies and Prayer Book, we talk about the ministry of all people.  Our Catechism defines the ministers of the Church as lay persons, bishops, priests, and deacons.  The Catechism further states that the ministry of lay persons is to represent Christ and his Church; to bear witness to him wherever they may be; and, according to the gifts given them, to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world; and to take their place in the life, worship, and governance of the Church.”[i]  In the baptismal covenant, we all promise to proclaim, by word and example, the Good News of God in Christ, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, and to strive for justice and peace.  Now some of you may argue that you do those things – just not as your daily work.  You are happy to be involved in church, but you do not see your life as a student, a secular worker, or a retiree as a vocation.

And stories like the one we hear in Jeremiah do not help us in this distinction.  You see, we hear Jeremiah’s call today like we hear the call of most prophets – and rightly so, since Jeremiah is so similar to other prophets.  Like Moses, Isaiah, and Ezekiel, Jeremiah balks at the idea that God may be calling him to do something.  Jeremiah protests that he is too young.  Similarly, Moses tried to argue he was unskilled, Isaiah that he was unworthy, and Ezekiel that he did not know what to say.[ii]  When God calls people to do big things, they often push back and seek an out.  In most cases, their fear is legitimate.  Being a prophet is often a thankless job – which can certainly lead to suffering, if not death.  But invariably, God reassures the person being called.  In Jeremiah’s case, God tells Jeremiah that he was born for this job.  “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.”

All of that sounds nice. In fact, many of us love this verse from scripture because the verse gives us a sense of comfort, belonging, and affirmation – a sense that we are all known by God.[iii]  But what we forget is that in knowing Jeremiah so deeply, God also knows that Jeremiah will have to do a really hard job.  The touchy-feely part of the text starts to wane when we hear the part about being a prophet – especially a prophet who will need to fear others.  But here’s the real problem with Jeremiah’s call:  we do not think God similarly calls us.  Not even all priests see themselves as prophets.  Prophets, priests, deacons – those are jobs that other people do.  Those are not jobs we do.  We go to school everyday.  We are teachers, financial consultants, government workers, stay-at-home parents, or journalists.  We are retired and are done with the “job” part of our lives.  We hear stories like the call narratives of Jeremiah, Moses, Ezekiel, and Isaiah, and we can keep ourselves at a safe distance because those are the jobs that those people do.

But remember that catechism and baptismal covenant?  The truth is we are all called to something.  We all have a vocation.  That calling or vocation may be our jobs or what we do every day.  We may live out our vocation as a student when we stand up to a bully, play with the new kid who seems lonely, or help tutor the troublemaker clearly needs help.  We live out our vocations at work when we advocate for justice for our coworkers, when we offer an ear to a coworker who is struggling, or when we organize a volunteer day for our company.  We live out our vocations as retirees when we volunteer at the local homeless shelter, when we treat with dignity the workers we encounter who provide us services, and when we use our time to advocate for the poor.

But vocation is sometimes found outside of those typical confines.  Sometimes living into our vocation means calling that person who has been on our minds – only to discover how much they needed a word of encouragement.  Sometimes living into our vocation means helping the mom in front of us in the grocery store line who is clearly juggling children, groceries, and dealing with a cashier who has never handled food stamps or WIC benefits.  Sometimes living into our vocation means praising and giving thanks to a preschool teacher who just got chewed out by a parent who thinks their child is just fine (when you suspect the child is actually really hard for the teacher to manage).

This fall, we will be starting up an adult education series called Discovery Class.  The class is for newcomers and members alike, who want to learn more about our Episcopal Identity, the work of Hickory Neck, and how we can connect to a ministry.  In the final session, participants will take a survey to help us discern how our gifts might best tie in with a ministry at Hickory Neck.  The survey is a great resource because sometimes teachers are the best matches for Sunday School and Youth Group leadership.  But sometimes, best matches for Sunday School and Youth Group are retirees who have been around the block and get how hard the teenage years are.  Likewise, someone may have been may have been in construction or administration during their career, but really want to learn how to arrange flowers with the Flower Guild, or play with babies in the nursery.  Though many of us have vocations and callings out in the world, sometimes the church is another place where our vocations and callings feed us and others.

So if we are willing to agree that we all have a calling or vocation, recognizing that some vocations can change and evolve over time, how do we know if we are living into our calling?  The true test of a vocation might be something like this:  whatever in your life is the most intimidating, daunting, or even terrifying task (be it teaching teenagers, asking for money for church, or praying in front of a group), and yet, when you try doing that task gives you an odd sense of deep satisfaction and meaning, is probably your vocation.  Prophets would not go kicking and screaming if being a prophet was easy.  And yet, prophets would not say yes without the assurance that God is with them, empowering them to be God’s agents.[iv]

This fall, I hope we will all prayerfully consider what ministry God is calling us to do.  Paul says in his letter to the Ephesians, “I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, …The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.”[v]  Though Church is certainly meant to give us comfort and encouragement each week, Church is also the place that strengthens us and sends us out into the world to do the work Christ has given us to do.  One of my favorite church signs looked simple enough from the road – with the name of the church emblazed on front, as you drove into the parking lot.  But on the backside, as you were leaving church each week, the sign had a separate message.  The sign read, “Go in Peace to Love and Serve the Lord.”  That is our dismissal this and every week – to not just consume Church, but to use Church as our foundation to go out into the world to love and serve.  And our response is, as always, “Thanks be to God!”  Amen.

[i][i] BCP, 855.

[ii] Bruce C. Birch, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 367.

[iii] John t. DeBevoise, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 364.

[iv] Thomas R. Steagald, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 366, 368.

[v] Ephesians 4.1, 11-13.

With these hands…

Tags

Christ, control, gift, God, hands, love, ministry, vocation

Courtesy of http://www.alisonslist.com/healing-for-life-day-6-a-healing-hour/

When I was ordained as a priest, the bishop anointed my hands.  The bishop explained to me that my hands would be used by God for the work of ministry.  At the time, I thought about various ways my hands might be used – for consecrating the Eucharist, for blessing the people, for baptizing the faithful, and for writing sermons and blog posts.  What I had not fully understood was that my hands would become a lifeline of support, care, and love – an extension of Christ’s loving embrace.  Though as an extrovert, I tend to rely on my words for ministry, there would be times when my words could not do the work – only my hands were needed.

The lesson was one that my chaplaincy supervisor had tried to teach me many years before.  I had expressed to my supervisor how I was struggling with some of the non-verbal patients because I felt like I was paralyzed.  By not being able to have a conversation, I felt like I was doing nothing.  In fact, my visits with non-verbal patients tended to be the shortest.  But one particular patient that summer helped me start to break through that fear.  I had been visiting the patient off and on for a couple of weeks, when the nurses asked me to come for another visit.  They were worried that the patient was not far from death.  When I went to the patient’s room, the patient was groggy, but was able to speak a little.  Sooner than I would have liked, the patient’s words were no longer available.  Uncertain what to do next, I offered my hand to the patient.  I was surprised at the force with which the patient grabbed my hand – squeezing so hard that had it been any other situation, I would have pulled away.  But instead, I let the patient cling to my hand with a fierceness of emotion, and we sat there in silence for quite some time.  Somehow, the strength of the grasp filled the room like a shout, and all the words that would have normally bubbled out of my mouth were finally silenced.  Later, after leaving the room, I remember the strange sensation of my hands – as if I were seeing them for the first time.

I was reminded of that powerful lesson earlier this week.  I was pumping while my six-month old was swinging in her swing.  She was fussy, fighting off sleep with wails and writhing.  I had tried soothing her with toys, a pacifier, and coos, but nothing was working.  Finally she reached out her hand toward me, and I grasped it.  I could not pick her up, but I could certainly hold her hand.  As I rubbed the back of her tiny hand, smiling and looking lovingly into her eyes, my daughter slowly calmed down, and managed to give in to sleep.  Though the feel of her hand in mine was totally different from the grasp of an adult, I became keenly aware of my hands once again.  As she drifted off, my thoughts marveled at the many different ways Christ has used my hands over the years.  Both in my vocation as priest and in my vocation as mother, God is constantly using me, literally using my hands, to be a blessing;  and in return, filling me up with joy, renewed vigor, and peace.

When my chaplaincy supervisor warned me that I would not always be able to talk my way through situations, I resisted at first.  I suppose words are my way of trying to exert some sense of control – in essence, my resistance in acknowledging Who is really in control.  Several years later, I am so grateful for the encouragement to embrace that lesson.  As God reminds me over and over Who is in charge within my vocations, I feel relief more than frustration.  The burden of being in control is lifted.  The failings of my words no longer feel like failings.  And I am profoundly grateful for the gift of hands that have been anointed to do God’s work.

Both/and…

Tags

and, blessing, both, Christ, maternity, parenting, priesthood, tension, vocation, work

Courtesy of http://www.vineyardusa.org/site/articles/both-and

I was fine until my older daughter’s teacher saw me without the baby, realized I had dropped her off at nursery school, and then asked if I was okay.  I really was fine.  But as soon as I tried to tell her how fine I was, my eyes moistened.  I kept my response short for fear that my eyes would overflow.  The truth is that I was not really fine.  I was sad:  sad to lose those moments of just gazing into my infant’s eyes; sad to lose that new experience of trying to get smiles out of her – especially since now her smiles are also accompanied by her whole face scrunching up in joy; sad to lose those moments of quiet rest, her warm body totally relaxed against mine, with no one else around to distract her.  Though there have been many periods of utter exhaustion, most of these weeks of maternity leave have been filled with the joy of the miracle of new life.  I have been thrilled to have the experience of having a newborn one more time, and I have been trying to soak up every moment.  And so, yes, I am sad for that time to be over.

And, I am also thrilled to be returning to work.  I use the word, “and,” and not, “but,” because I feel these emotions simultaneously.  I am sad to be ending maternity leave and my time with my newborn.  And I am happy to be returning to my work.  My work gives me such joy, meaning, and satisfaction.  It challenges me, makes me stronger, teaches me, and blesses me.  It is a tremendous privilege to serve as a priest – one that I am even more aware of having taken time away from it.  Though there are days that drive me crazy in my work, I cannot imagine living out any other vocation than my vocation as an ordained minister of the Church.  My love of being a mother to two wonderful girls does not negate my love of being a pastor to a community seeking, serving, and sharing Christ.

And so I am intentional these days about avoiding the word, “but,” when talking about my feelings about my two callings.  Instead, I am using the words, “both/and.”  I both grieve the loss of time with my children and I rejoice in being able to return to the other work God has given me to do.  Obviously some days the balance of “both/and” happens more smoothly than others.  But that balance is also the fullness of all the work God has given me to do – the work of being a priest, a mother, a wife, a friend, a sister, a member of the community.  My prayer for the coming weeks is that I can resist those moments when the “but” tries to sneak its way into my language, and hold dear to the “both/and” that is the blessing of my life right now.