Homily – Mt. 11.25-30, St. Francis Feast, YB, October 21, 2018

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blessing, easy, healing, homily, hurt, Jesus Christ, light, love, pets, reconciliation, relationship, rest, sabbath, Sermon, St. Francis, village, wolf, yoke

Photo credit:  http://thewildreed.blogspot.com/2007/10/st-francis-of-assisi-dancer-rebel.html

Today we honor the life of St. Francis of Assisi.  Francis is one of the most popular and admired saints of all time.  Most of us know the highlights of his story: born the son of a wealthy man in 1182; had a conversion experience and devoted his life to Lady Poverty; shaped monastic and lay devotion; was a friend to all God’s creatures – being known to have preached to the birds.  But the story I like most is the story about St. Francis and the Wolf.

According to legend, there was a wolf that was terrorizing a nearby town, killing and eating animals and people.  The villagers tried to fight back, but they too died at the jaws of the wolf.  Francis had pity on the people and went out to meet the wolf.  When Francis found the wolf, he made the sign of the cross, and said, “Come to me, Brother Wolf.  In the name of Christ, I order you not to hurt anyone.”  The wolf calmly laid down at Francis’ feet.  Francis then went on to explain to the wolf how the wolf was terrorizing the people and other animals – all who were made in the image of God.  The wolf and Francis then made a pact that the wolf would no longer harm the town and the town would no longer try to hurt the wolf.  The two traveled into town to explain the pact they had formed.  The people were amazed as Francis and the wolf walked side-by-side into town.  Francis made the people pledge to feed the wolf and the wolf pledge not to harm anyone else.  From that day on, the wolf went door to door for food.  The wolf hurt no one and no one hurt the wolf; even the dogs did not bark at the wolf.[i]

What I love about this story of St. Francis is that the story is about reconciliation and relationship.  At the beginning of the story the town and the wolf are at an impasse – the wolf is hungry and getting attacked; the people are afraid and are lashing out.  What Francis does for both parties is shock them out of the comfortable.  For the wolf, no one has addressed the wolf kindly – they have either shut the wolf out or actively tried to kill the wolf.  For the people, the wolf has not asked for help – he has simply and violently taken what he needed and wanted.  Francis manages to shock the wolf first – not through violence or force, but with the power of love and blessing.  By giving a blessing in the name of God, Francis is then able to implore the wolf to reciprocate with love.  Francis also manages to shock the village – not with a violent victory, but with a humble display of forgiveness and trust.  By walking into town with a tamed wolf at his side, Francis is able to encourage the town to embrace, forgive, and care for the wolf.  Francis’ actions remind both parties that unless their relationships are reconciled, unrest and division will be the norm.

The funny thing about this story is that the story is pretty ridiculous.  I mean, how many of us go around talking to wild animals, blessing them with the sign of the cross, expecting anything other than being attacked?  We will never really know whether the story is true.  But like any good Biblical story, or even any good midrash, whether the story is true is hardly the point: the point is that the stories point toward “Truth” with a capital “T.”  What this story teaches is that peace and reconciliation only happen through meeting others where they are.  We cannot expect great change unless we are willing to get down in the trenches – to go out and meet that destructive wolf face-to-face.  The other thing this story teaches is relationships are at the heart of reconciliation.  Only when the wolf and the town began to get to know each other and began to form a relationship with one another could they move forward.

This is the way life is under Jesus Christ.  In our gospel lesson today, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Jesus’ words have layered meaning.  The first meaning we all catch is that Jesus offers us rest and refreshment.  Jesus encourages us to come to him, to cast our burdens and cares upon him, and to take rest, to take Sabbath in Christ.  Our souls will find peace in Christ Jesus.  The second meaning is that peace in Christ Jesus is not without work.  Jesus does not say come unto me and relax forever in happy retirement.  Jesus says we will still have to take on a yoke – the burden of disciple living.  But luckily, that burden of being Christ’s disciple will not be burdensome – it will be light.  Finally, not only will Jesus make the workload “light,” as in not heavy:  Jesus will also make us “light” – as in lights that shine into the darkness and refuse to allow the shadow to overwhelm[ii]; as in lights that shine on this very Holy Hill where Hickory Neck rests.  We become the light when we work for reconciliation in our relationships with others.

That is why we do so many special things today.  Today, we ask for prayers and then exchange signs of peace – that God might help us reconcile the relationships in our life that need healing.  Today, at our 9:00 am service, we ask for blessing on our animals – that God might help our relationship with our pet be one of blessing and light.  Today, we come to Jesus for Sabbath rest – that God might renew us on this Sabbath day, use the rest to fill us with light, and renew our commitment to be agents of reconciliation, gladly putting on Christ’s yoke.  Amen.

[i] John Feister, “Stories about St. Francis and the Animals,” October 4,2005, as found at https://faith32.livejournal.com/61897.html on October 18, 2018.

[ii] Mel Williams, “Let it go…and rest” Faith and Leadership, July 6, 2014 as found at http://www.faithandleadership.com/sermons/mel-williams-let-it-go%E2%80%A6and-rest  on October 18, 2018.

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Homily – Matthew 11.25-30, Feast of St. Francis, October 23, 2016

Tags

animals, Blessing of the Animals, burden, creation, easy, homily, light, manageable, poverty, relationship, solidarity, St. Francis, wealth, yoke

Today we honor St. Francis of Assisi, one of the most beloved saints of the church.  Most of us think of Francis as the patron saint of animals and creation.  When we think of him we may think of a St. Francis statue in a garden.  We may think of various images of him preaching to birds.   Some of us may even recall that tale where Francis negotiated peace between a village and a wolf that had been terrorizing the town.  That is why when we celebrate St. Francis’ feast, we also bless animals – the creatures that were so dear to him.  That is also why we often worship outside – honoring God’s creation, which Francis loved so profoundly.

The challenge with honoring Francis in this way is that we forget the other parts of Francis’ life – quite frankly, the much more difficult parts of St. Francis’ life.  You see, Francis’ love of creation comes from a deeper place.  Francis first started his journey to God out of a new relationship with wealth.  Francis was the son of a wealthy businessman in the 1100s.  He had everything at his disposal, and his father wanted him to enjoy that privilege and pass that privilege to Francis’ own children.  But in his early twenties, Francis had an encounter with a beggar that changed everything.  Suddenly the trappings of wealth no longer felt like a safety net or source of comfort – they feel like a burden – a barrier to the life Christ calls us to lead.

And so, Francis renounced the wealth in his life, reportedly even stripping off the clothes his father had given him to show how fully committed he was to this new way of life.  He married “Lady Poverty,” and invited others to join him.  The lifestyle is so austere that many joke that that Francis is one of the most revered, and yet, least followed saints of our faith.

I remember in college having long conversations about living in solidarity with the poor.  We were presented the idea over and over again, but we could not get our heads around what living in solidarity with the poor meant.  Several graduates tried – volunteering for at least a year after college.  Some joined intentional Christian communities, in the hopes that living simple lives in community might help them get closer to that solidarity.  Some traveled to impoverished countries to serve among the poorest, while others worked in the nonprofit sector in the States.  But we always came back to one crucial question:  can we live in solidarity with the poor?  Most of us have a safety net, whether our safety net is family, wealth, education, or citizenship.  Can we even help the poor if we renounce everything like Francis?

I must confess, I do not think there is a good answer to the question about living in solidarity with the poor.  And I am not convinced that most of us can live like Francis, begging and living in tattered clothes.  But what Francis is trying to do is help us see how money gets in the way of our relationship with everything else.  That is why Jesus talked about money so much.  Jesus even led a life much more similar to Francis’ than ours – wandering through life, depending on the hospitality of strangers, and telling his disciples to give up staffs and bags when they go out to meet the people.  Both Jesus and Francis began to learn that living without the comfort of wealth meant entering oneself into a state of vulnerability – a state where true, holy, meaningful relationships begin; a state where everything’s value changes – down to the birds that sing, the creation that breathes beauty, and even the pets that show us unconditional love.

Of course, each of us has to discern what taking up Jesus’ or Francis’ way means for us, knowing that many of us have family obligations and debts that must be managed.  But what Jesus and Francis do today is invite us to not allow those burdens to become an excuse for not making ourselves vulnerable.  Jesus says today, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  For those of you who have worked with farm animals, you know that yokes are meant to fit smoothly on to animals, distributing the weight and burden in a manageable way.[i]  That is what taking on the yoke of Christ, and walking the way of Francis is like – a life, that if taken on, is manageable.  We may be scared to put on our shoulders the burden of vulnerability.  But Jesus promises the burden is light, the yoke is easy.  And Francis shows us the world of beauty that opens when we simply let go.  Amen.

[i] Douglas R.A. Hare, Matthew, Interpretation:  A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville:  John Knox Press, 1993), 129

Homily – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis, October 4, 2015

Tags

burden, comfort, crazy, discomfort, easy, give up, holy, homily, imitate, impossible, inspire, Jesus, life, light, missions, Pope Francis, saint, sanitized, St. Francis, uncomfortable, yoke

I once led a book group that read the book The Prison Angel.  The Prison Angel is the story of Mother Antonio, a woman of privilege from California who had a mid-life crisis, took on the role of a nun, went to the largest prison in Tijuana, Mexico, and began a ministry of transforming guards, inmates, and families connected to the prison.  Her work was amazing – the way that she was able to love everyone equally, the way that she was able to harness resources and get them where they needed to be, and the way that she was able to devote her life to this system – even living in her own prison cell for a while – were all examples of her awesome witness.  As we finished the book, I had hoped that people in our book group would be inspired, and might even consider their own contribution to a prison ministry.  Instead, the response was more like this:  Mother Antonio is truly amazing.  But let’s be honest.  I can’t be like her.  I’m not going to drop everything – my family and life – and become totally devoted to a ministry.  And just like that, I lost them.  No longer was Mother Antonio inspiring.  She was impossible.  And once she was impossible, no one felt compelled to do anything.  I definitely felt like I failed my mission of inspiration leading to action.

As I was preparing for today’s celebration of St. Francis, I ran across this quote:  “Of all the saints, Francis is the most popular and admired, but probably the least imitated.”[i]  You see, we have a sanitized version of Francis in our minds.  He was nice to animals and took care of the poor.  He devoted his life to Christ as a monk.  We even put up statues of Francis in our gardens and outside our churches.  When we think of Francis, we think of a gentle man gingerly allowing a bird to perch on his finger, and we smile.  We like our sanitized version of Francis because the real version is a little scary.  When Francis renounced his rather significant wealth, he stripped naked in front of his father and the bishop.  Francis didn’t just help the poor, he became poor, begging on the streets.  He worked with lepers – people no one wanted to touch, touching them with his bare hands and kissing them.  Barefoot, he preached in the streets about repentance.  He preached to the birds, and is rumored to have negotiated with a wolf.  If we met St. Francis today, most of us would not imitate or venerate him.  We would just see him as another homeless beggar with a serious case of mental illness.

That is the challenge for us when trying to live a holy life.  St. Francis is the obvious example today.  Though we love and admire St. Francis, few of are comfortable with his total identification with poverty, suffering, and care for our creation.  The same can be said of Jesus.  Though we profess that Jesus is our Lord and Savior, we regularly fail to live in the ways that Jesus taught – in fact, some of us have given up even trying.  Even looking toward a modern-day example of holy living trips us up.  When we watched Pope Francis come through last week, we marveled at his radical witness.  We loved what he had to say – except when he had something to say that made us uncomfortable or that we disagreed with.  When thinking about the radical life that is following Jesus – whether through the Pope, through St. Francis, or Jesus himself – most of us stumble and feel like giving up.

Luckily Jesus offers us a promise today.  Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  My yoke is easy and my burden is light.  When we look at St. Francis’ witness and we think about the poverty, the preaching, and the penitence, we get nervous.  We like our stuff, we like being comfortable, and we like being Christians without having to be too loud about it.  When we think about St. Francis, we think of a yoke – but not a light one – one that is heavy and onerous.  But Jesus harkens us back to his original words.  My yoke is easy and my burden is light.

One of the reasons I am a proponent of international missions is that they help you experience reality in a totally different way.  When we go on local missions, we can keep our smart phones, we have access to clean, accessible health care, and we can always find a McDonalds for a burger fix.  But when we are in a rural town in a third world country, things change.  We may not get to shower everyday, we may have to boil our water before drinking it, we will eat food that you are not so sure about, and we pray that we don’t get too sick while abroad.  And forget about a cell phone and internet access.  Most of us don’t even take a watch or jewelry to ensure they do not get lost.  Now that may sound like torture to most of you.  But here is what we learn when we are stripped of comforts and living and working in a foreign setting:  We learn to appreciate your massive wealth comparable to the poor in the third world; we learn what hospitality – real hospitality in the face of nothing – really feels like; we forget about email, phone calls, and even stop obsessively checking the time, because those things do not really matter that week; we hear birds and other creatures in a way that we never have before – maybe because of their proximity, or maybe because we normally distract ourselves with a hundred other things; and – now this is the crazy one – we talk about Jesus and no one is uncomfortable (well, except maybe us because we haven’t done that very much).  When stripped of everything familiar, we discover that Jesus’ burden really is easy and his yoke truly is light.  And sometimes we need to be stripped of the familiar so that when we are back in our comfort zone, we can more tangibly remember how easy that burden was and how light that yoke felt.

You may not be able to go on an international mission trip.  But each of you has some experience – a heartfelt expression of gratitude when you cared for the poor, a prayer with someone who was really hurting, or surprisingly easy conversation in a coffee shop about church and your faith.  Though Jesus, St. Francis, and even the Pope sometimes go to extreme measures, they all ultimately are trying to do the same thing.  To remind us that Jesus’ burden is easy and his yoke is light.  And then they all invite us to get comfortable with discomfort or even with the label of being crazy – and to go and do likewise.  Amen.

[i] Holy Men, Holy Women:  Celebrating the Saints (New York:  The Church Pension Fund, 2010), 622.

Homily – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis, October 6, 2013

Tags

creator, gift, God, gratitude, homily, Jesus, life, possessions, St. Francis, stewardship, stuff, yoke

Today we honor the life and work of St. Francis of Assisi.  Francis was born in 1182, and was the son of prosperous merchant.  But later in life, he was moved by the beggars and lepers he saw and decided to devote his life to a life of poverty – despite his father’s intense opposition.  Francis gathered a community together – although his ideal of strict and absolute poverty was so stark that almost no one could maintain the ideal.  But what Francis was trying to get the brothers to see was that “stuff” got in the way of life with Christ.  Once he renounced his “stuff” he was better able to see – see his neighbors’ poverty and suffering.  And giving up his “stuff” allowed Francis to take in a bigger view of God’s creation.  Though we sometimes narrow in on Francis’ love of animals, St. Francis had a much larger sense of the creative God and God’s created world.  Francis reveled in the creator God, who time and again during the creation process saw that, “it was good.”

Our Sunday School children have been working on the creation story this Fall.  They are learning about the vast expanse of interstellar space, as well as this fragile earth, our island home.  They are learning about how God created plants and every living creature.  They are also learning about how we are created in God’s image and we are to be stewards of God’s creation.  They are learning how we are designed for goodness and generosity, and that all of life is a gift – that we do not own any of it.  St. Francis knew this well.  His understanding of life as a gift is why he could give up everything.

But we struggle – we clutch to our resources and we use words like “earned,” and “deserve” and forget words like “gift” and “generosity.”  St. Francis’ life is all well and good, but when we really look at our resources, we more often find our hands clenched around our possessions than our hands openly giving them away.  I invite us to ponder this contrast not to make us feel guilty, but to invite us to live into God’s generosity.  That is what St. Francis wanted too.  He did not want to guilt people, but to welcome people into the freedom of knowing that all we have is gift, and to live a life in celebration of that gift.  Francis had experienced this radical way of living into the people God calls us to be, and he wanted to share that blessing with others.

Our Gospel lesson today gives us some clues about what all this means in practice.  Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Those words from Jesus are echoed in St. Francis’ life and witness.  We may not be able to walk around shoeless in the depths of winter like Francis, or even beg for our food, but when we enter into relationship with God with a greater sense of God’s invitation into the life of generosity, we can image and experience the light yoke.  This is the reflection work we will be doing throughout our stewardship season this fall – but Francis and Jesus give us a little preview about what stewardship really looks like.  So take a moment to start today.  Take in the beautiful creation of our property, as its Fall glory begins to unfold.  If you are an animal lover, look at the generous love of your pet.  Look at one another, remembering the vulnerable beauty of each person here – even those who annoy you the most.  Let this wonder and gratitude fill you up – so that you can slip on that light yoke of generosity and live into the goodness that God has created for you and has created you for.  Amen.

Sermon – Mt. 11.25-30, Feast of St. Francis, October 7, 2012

Tags

burden, discipleship, Sermon, yoke

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”  These words from Jesus are familiar, comforting words.  In Rite I, we often hear this passage quoted immediately after the confession.  They seem to offer a word of peace to us, who so often feel weary from life’s stresses, anxieties, and pains.  And, when we are suffering, these words can certainly be a tender word of encouragement and promise for us.

But these words today from Jesus offer so much more to us.  Jesus offers these words in the context of commissioning disciples.  Jesus has described the way of discipleship in the gospel of Matthew; discipleship means serving the poor, working for justice, and striving for peace.  This work will be long and hard; this work will be work that will make the disciples weary.  But to those willing to take on the work of discipleship, Jesus offers these words of comfort.  And then Jesus explains how this work of discipleship can be accomplished, “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Now I do not know how much you know about yokes, but I have been learning a lot about them this week.  There are two kinds of yokes.  There are the kinds meant for one person:   imagine if you will the person hauling water from a well in the village, the yoke over her shoulders, while two buckets full of water hang below.  Although the yoke distributes the weight, the yoke is not necessarily easy.  The other type of yoke is a yoke for two animals.  Two oxen work together, making the workload easier.  If one ox is tired, the other pushes a little harder; later the roles reverse.  When constructed properly, a yoke for two is built to balance the work between two animals – the yoke does not chafe or rub.  A good yoke does make the work easier and light.

This is the metaphor that Jesus uses for the work of discipleship.[i]  When Jesus invites the disciples into the work of discipleship, he admits that the work will be difficult – but when yoked to Jesus, the work feels light.  When they fashion their steps in the steps of Jesus, they find that the suffering they face seems light.  Fighting for the poor, struggling for justice, striving for peace feels easier when yoked to Christ.  So often, when we are doing this work of discipleship, we forget this promise.  We think that we need to solve the world’s problems on our own, and we feel overwhelmed.[ii]  The “Study, Sup, and Serve” group has been talking about the issue of hunger the last couple of weeks.  As we learn more and more about how complicated hunger is – how hunger is not simply solved by giving someone food – we have all felt a bit overwhelmed.  Where do we begin?  How do we keep from being paralyzed by the weight of the work?  The problem of hunger seems impossible to solve.  But with Jesus yoked to us, we are promised that the yoke of alleviating hunger will be easy – the burden will be light.

On Friday, at our first edition of “Movies with Margaret,” we watched The Blind Side.  The movie is about an affluent white family in the south who encounter a poor, homeless, inner-city African-American boy named Michael.  They take him into their home, and all of their lives are transformed.  In the movie, the mother of the family, Leigh Ann, is challenged by some of her affluent friends who worry about the safety of her children with this boy around.  One friend concludes, “Well, you are changing that boy’s life.”  Leigh Ann insists, “No, you’re wrong.  He’s changing mine.”  Leigh Ann could have ignored Michael when she noticed that he was cold and homeless.  We have all made hundreds of excuses about why we cannot help this person or that person.  She could have only allowed him to stay in her home one night, having certainly fulfilled her Christian duty to shelter the homeless.  But she does not.  She keeps letting him stay.  She buys him clothes.  She helps him get academic help.  She builds his self-esteem.  And even though she takes on this very risky proposition – because Michael could have been violent, he could have stolen from her, he could have ruined her reputation in the community – even though she takes on this work, the work does not feel burdensome.  In fact, her helping Michael makes her happy.  The yoke is easy – the burden is light.

St. Francis, who we honor today, came to know Jesus’ burden as light as well.  Francis came from a very wealthy family.  He had a joyous youth, marked by revelry and social honor.  But once he encountered beggars and lepers, he suddenly gave up this way of life.  He renounced his privilege, and assumed a life of poverty, honoring the poor, the sick, and the disenfranchised.  By stripping himself of earthly wealth, which had become its own burden of sorts, Francis took on a new burden:  the burden of discipleship in Christ.  Francis began to see Christ in everyone – honoring the poor by living in poverty, caring for those less fortunate through the alms he collected, and by loving God’s creation by engaging that creation – whether by preaching to birds or negotiating peace between animals and humans.  Francis saw the bigger picture of God’s creation, and he was a faithful steward of that created order.  Through his work, he found great joy in the companions on the journey.  The yoke was easy – the burden was light.

The invitation of our gospel lesson is not simply a word of comfort – an invitation to curl up next to Jesus and hide from the world of pain and suffering.  The invitation from our gospel lesson today is to find comfort in the work of discipleship, of following Jesus.  Whatever the work might be – whether the work is alleviating hunger in our communities, caring for the poor and disenfranchised, or even sharing the Good News of Christ with a total stranger – the work will not be burdensome.

The first time I went on a mission trip was in college.  My mother was visiting during parents’ weekend, and the campus ministers had a meeting for parents to ease their concerns about us staying in a rural village in Honduras.  I remember my mom embarrassing me with questions about where we would go to the bathroom and whether we would be able to shower.  To her credit, I am not really a camper, and am pretty wigged out by bugs and filth.  But to both of our surprises, I found the trip was liberating.  When I travel on a mission trip, a different version of myself emerges.  I do not worry about my hair or makeup.  I seem to manage all manner of toilets – even if the toilet is a hole in the ground.  I seem to roll with whatever bugs I catch – and yes, I have caught everything from stomach bugs, sinus infections, and worms.  I morph into a person who does not need the comforts of this life.  The burden of being in a foreign and uncomfortable place rarely feels like a burden.  The joys that come from doing that work far outweigh the weight of the work.  That yoke of mission is fashioned so comfortably, and Jesus walks with me so steadily by my side in the yoke, that the yoke is easy – the burden is light.

This is the promise that Jesus offers today.  When we are wearied by trying to affect change for the poor and hungry, or even when we cannot get over the hump of inaction, Jesus promises us a yoke that is perfectly fashioned for us, and in which he will be our yoked partner.  Jesus yokes himself to us because we need him – for comfort, for encouragement, for strength.  But Jesus also needs us – to be his hands and feet in the world.  We do the work together.  In fact, the work will feel unlike work at all.  Because the yoke is easy – the burden is light.  Amen.

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[i] Douglas R. A. Hare, Matthew, Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1993), 129.

[ii] Barbara Brown Taylor, The Seeds of Heaven: Sermons on the Gospel of Matthew (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 21.