Telling Secrets
"Finally, I suspect that it is by entering that deep place inside us where our secrets are kept that we come perhaps closer than we do anywhere else to the One who, whether we realize it or not, is of all our secrets the most telling and the most precious we have to tell." Frederick Buechner
Come in! Come in!
"If you are a dreamer, come in. If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, a Hope-er, a Pray-er, a Magic Bean buyer; if you're a pretender, come sit by my fire. For we have some flax-golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!" -- Shel Silverstein
Wednesday, November 13, 2024
A Lament
This reflection is about lament. It's a little long, so if your tolerance is short, best to scroll on by right now.
Before I begin, I want to tell you briefly about my understanding of a biblical lament. A lament is understood as a form of prayer that involves expressing sorrow, regret, or unhappiness, and then calling out to God. It's a way to process pain and find hope.
Far from being a 'pity party' or a time of self-indulgence, a lament is a way to reconstruct meaning in the very midst of suffering. It is a way to shape faith after it has been shattered.
A lament is a transformative way to understand God's character and actions. It is decidedly NOT passive but its power lies in its raw authenticity and deep integrity.
Classic biblical laments, like Psalm 13 and the Book of Job end with a decision to trust in God, which allows the psalmist to even sing God's praise.
This is a lament. These days, I am feeling a little like Hannah on the steps of the Temple. We're going to read a wee bit of her story this Sunday. (1 Samuel 1:4-20) Well, if you follow Track I in the lectionary.
Hannah had a good husband, one who loved and cherished
her, but she was unable to bear a child - a son - which was a woman's only insurance in antiquity.
So she went to the Temple and, in her despair, cried out to God, begging to deliver her from her fragile and vulnerable situation, promising God that the male child she would have would be dedicated solely to God.
In her despair, she was praying but not aloud. Her lips were moving but she made no sound. She didn't need to. Her lament was addressed directly to God.
Eli, the Temple priest, saw her there, on the Temple steps. He couldn't hear what she was saying so, of course, thought the worst. He thought she was drunk.
So, he yelled at her. Chastized her. Shamed her. Told her she was disgracing herself and to put away the wine.
Sound familiar? Anyone? I'm betting lots of women know similar stories and have been in similar places and spaces like Hannah.
We know about this kind of misogyny as well as the everyday, run-of-the-mill "micro-oppression." The side-glances. The dismissive tone they are unable to hear as such because they are really, seriously, honestly, being sincere. Bless their hearts.
I am so tired - so sick and bloody tired of being sick and bloody tired - of being told to be still, be quiet and listen - especially "listen to/for" The Spirit.
Here's the thing: I HAVE been listening. The problem is that Episcopalians have been carefully taught - lulled into believing - that The Spirit sounds "like the murmur of the dove's song." And, don't we just love to clap our hands and sway to "The Sweet, Sweet, Spirit in this place"?
Of course, we do, and this is not to deny that the Holy Spirit can sound like both of those things. But, if you've not met Shekinah Spirit, let me introduce you.
Shekinah is a Hebrew word that refers to the divine presence of God, or the visible manifestation of God's presence among Her people. The word is a transliteration of a Hebrew word that means "the one who dwells" or "that which dwells".
Shekinah is known as "the divine feminine spirit," but don't ever confuse her for a lady with an apron, pearls, and proper pumps who serves tea from a silver tea set.
Shekinah is a badass woman. You do not want to mess with her.
Ah, think I've lost it? Think I've gone over the edge? Think my anger has driven me a bit mad? Well, I have sisters who know better. Sisters - mostly of color - who have taught me about her.
Kristen Johnson Ingram describes her this way: "Shekinah takes other names. She is Shabbat, she is Presence and she is Spirit, the Hebrew Ruach.
In the beginning, Breath or Spirit or Wind rippled over the face of the womb of creation, brooded over and within the womb, stirred the waters to break and gush out and let God give birth to everything."
"She has come as Wind, a passionate intuition, as a blinding light, and a breath-sucking presence. This ain't no handmaiden but a queen, not whispering but crying out like a hoyden in the streets, bringing no consolation but urgency of motion."
I've been listening to her, Shekinah. Hers is no dove murmuring a song. She is howling like a wounded animal for all of her children who have been and will be harmed and injured. She is roaring like a lion because Her pride is threatened by predators, frauds, and thieves who are now in the highest positions of power.
This is my lament to her, as I sit outside the Temple, on the steps. It is based on Psalm 13 and the writings of Kristen Johnson Ingram and inspired by our sister Hannah.
How long, O Presence of God, will you hide your face?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts?
How long will I be mocked and derided?
How long will all that I abhor triumph over me?
Help me not to run from the fire of Divine Love
Let me not settle for warmth but to burn with passion.
Help me live up to your demand to be w/holy as you are.
Consume me - swallow me alive - so I can be more of myself
than I ever dreamed I could be
Help me to eat, yes, a little of this bread,
Help me to drink, yes, a little of this wine.
just to wash it down so I'll grow strong.
Breathe on me until I am filled with your Holy Spirit
Make me fit for the Realm of God.
I sing your praise because you are badass.
You will not let your daughters suffer
nor your sons commit abominations.
I will sing your praise as a song for the journey
As I turn my passion into compassion
and work to bring your justice, your peace
into a world that is broken and dark and
in need of your Light.
This is my lament. Amen.
NOTE: "Hannah on the Temple Steps." Image by Carrie Kleinberger, an "imaginative realist" from Minnesota, she retired from a 21-year career as a public defender for Juvenile and Family Court in Ramsey and Washington Counties in 2001 and works in oil on canvas and on wood panels.
Saturday, October 05, 2024
Job and Marcellus Williams
A Saturday morning Reflection on Facebook.
By the grace and mercy of God or St. Michael or St. Gabriel or Peter Pan or Tinkerbell, or whoever is in charge of these sorts of things in the cosmos this weekend, I am not preaching on Sunday or have any liturgical duties or responsibilities.
Even so, I find that the story of Job - the first lesson in Track I of the lectionary - has been with me all week. It's the story in scripture - though not of real characters - of the epic battle between good and evil, God and Satan.
The richness of the story which lends its durability comes from its many layers of human behavior and deistic thought. It's a story about the problems of monotheism in a pluralistic culture, and the role of community - Job's "friends" - in the midst of great unmerited, inexplicable, and monstrous suffering.
The story raises more questions than provides answers:
Why do bad things happen to good people? How could a loving God be so casually cruel and use such unjustifiable tyranny? What is required of faith in the presence of Evil when we believe the source to be a 'test' from God?
What is to be done about the problem of Evil? Does it come about because God can be so easily seduced by Lucifer? Is it a real entity or a spirit that blows into the soul of a human being, wreaking havoc and mayhem, leading them to make impossible choices for good or ill?
I've been thinking back to when I was newly ordained and hearing the story of a man who had been ordained a deacon with the apostolate of prison ministry and was studying for the priesthood.
Here's the thing: the aspirant for holy orders was serving a life sentence for the murder of his wife and the attempted murder of his infant son.
In 1967, Vaughn Brooks, a 25-year old Black man and member of the historically Black Church, St. Thomas' Church in West Philadelphia, came home at 4 AM after a night of card playing and beer drinking "with the boys," and observed a man leaving his apartment.
When he confronted his wife, Annabelle, she told him that the man had been her lover and that the 15-month old male child asleep in the nursery - Vaughn, Jr. - was not his son but the child she had conceived with her lover.
Mr. Brooks left the room, retrieved his bow and arrow, returned to the bedroom, and let five arrows fly - two to her neck and two to her chest. They entered her body with such force that she was pinned to the mattress.
He said, "I think what was going through my mind was that I was going to kill my whole family."
He then went to the nursery and started to strangle the infant he had thought was his son but then "something made him stop" and he revived the child.
He claims no memory of the confession he scribbled on the kitchen wall -- a few short sentences distinguished by the fact that he corrected his spelling.
Crossing the street, he knocked on the door of his parents' home, told them what had happened, and telephoned the police.
He confessed to murder and was sentenced to life in prison at the Pennsylvania State Correctional Institution outside of Philadelphia. While there, Vaughn came to the attention of the Rev. Frederick F. Powers, an institutional chaplain with Episcopal Community Services of the Pennsylvania Diocese.
Chaplain Powers detected in Booker what the Bishop described as a “serious interest” in the church. The chaplain gave the prisoner some basic studies in the Bible and theology and endorsed him as a lay reader to assist in services at the prison.
At Chaplain Powers's urging, the Right Rev. Robert L. DeWitt, bishop of PA, visited the inmate in prison and reported that he had been impressed by Booker's “earnestness and intelligence.”
After the advice and counsel of the Commission on Ministry and with the approval of the Standing Committee, Bishop DeWitt approved Booker for postulancy.
After a two-year course of study supervised by four priests, he was ordained deacon and then priest.
Eventually, Booker was paroled and released from prison and was called to serve as rector of Meade Memorial Church in Alexandria, VA.
Booker - then 50 years old, three months ordained, nine years removed from the Pennsylvania penal system, a convicted murderer and a priest of God - preached his first sermon.
He offered no further details but disclosed his crime indirectly, preaching of Moses, who murdered an Egyptian and buried his body; David, who lusted for Bathsheba and gave the orders that led to her husband's slaughter; and Paul, who minded the cloaks at Stephen's stoning and "was consenting unto his death."
Each of these biblical heroes, Booker said, was stained by the gravest of sins. Each was redeemed through the extravagant forgiveness of God.
"Scripture tells us that there is great cheering and great celebration in heavenly skies when the sinner who was lost is found," he said.
Meade Memorial Church- which had not had a pastor for 18 years or a Black pastor for 25 years - erupted in cheers.
How does it happen? How does the man who pulled the bowstring rise to become an Episcopal priest, entrusted with the souls of an entire community? And why does his wife's ghastly murder endure, for some, as the first act in a parable of divine mercy rather than the last act in a parable of divine indifference?
I have those questions written down in the chapter of Job in the copy of the Bible I used for study while I was in seminary.
All these many years later, I still have the same answer:
I don't know.
I do know that, all these many years later, I still need to learn lessons about my vulnerability and weakness and the strength of the divine spark within me to claim those two human qualities as companions who know the pathway to God.
I still need to learn what the story of Job has to teach me about mutual interdependency, compromise, and what constitutes "help" before I take my leave.
I think there is a key to these lessons in what Jesus has to say in Mark's Gospel for Sunday:
"Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”
And then, and THEN, scripture tells us, Jesus "took them (the little children) up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them."
I think the mystery of THAT love, the love that is a reflection of "love divine, all loves excelling" may well be the only answer we ever receive to Job's questions.
On this side of the veil, anyway.
Off I go into this day. My heart is filled with gratitude for the love of family and friends and all the lessons life brings us in all its peculiar and unexpected ways.
I hope something good happens to you today.
Bom dia.
PS:
Sunday, September 29, 2024
For a time such as this
Queen Esther (אֶסְתֵּר Hadassah) by Edwin Long
"For Such A Time As This"
St. John the Evangelist Episcopal Church, Milton, DE
Pentecost XIV - Proper 21 B
September 29, 2024
Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
Psalm 124
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50
Of course, I could be wrong, but I think it was Walter Brueggemann
who said, “I take the bible too seriously to take it literally.” There is lots
of humor in the bible but we miss it because we take it too literally. Take,
for example, this morning’s Gospel. Granted, you have to embroider the story a
little bit to find the humor, but stay with me and let’s find it together.
Jesus and his disciples have been walking together through Galilee and the
Villages of Caesarea Philippi (which sounds to me like one of the many new suburban
developments somewhere in Sussex County), through Capernaum. Along the way, the
disciples have been talking amongst themselves about “who is the greatest”.
Jesus says, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of
all.” He tells them that the Realm of God must be entered “as vulnerable
as a little child.”
This morning, we hear John say to Jesus, “Teacher, we saw someone casting
out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him, because he was not following
us.” Did you catch that? John did not say, “He was not following YOU.”
No, John said, “Not following US.”
Again, with the inflated ego. Follow US, not Jesus. Now, in my religious
imagination, I think Mark left out a verse. Or, maybe someone coming after him
decided that, since it was such a short verse, it could be dropped. But, I think
that in between what John said and how Jesus answers could have probably been
one of the most powerful short sentences in scripture since the verse, “And,
Jesus wept.”
I think that before Jesus goes into the obvious hyperbole about tying
millstones around the necks of people, and cutting off feet and hands and
plucking out eyes, is probably the verse: “And, Jesus did a facepalm.”
I mean, seriously! How dense are these apostles? Well, probably about as dense
as those of us who take the bible so literally that there have been those who
have actually tied millstones around necks of people and watched them drown, or
literally cut off body parts, comforted by their self-righteousness that they
were only following the words of Jesus.
The Bible has many funny moments—though you might not know it from the history
of Christian interpretation. Nietzsche’s biggest complaint about Christians is that
we are a joyless people. Theologian Paul Tillich said he almost left Christianity
for the same reason.
One of the best examples of humor in the bible, not as well-known as the story of
Jonah and the Whale, is the story of Esther. That reading was one of the
options we have for today’s lesson from Hebrew Scripture, but since it was not chosen,
allow me a few minutes to summarize the book for you, with the encouragement
that you take a few moments out of your afternoon Sabbath, find your bible,
dust it off, and read the Book of Esther. You won’t be disappointed. I promise.
I want to use the story of Esther because I think Jesus knew it and understood the tool of hyperbole as a way of making a point. And it certainly seems that the disciples need a verbal hit upside the head to understand something about leadership and ministry.
Fair warning: You may miss the humor in the book if you are reading it with
your Victorian scruples intact. The great Protestant theologian Calvin didn’t
include Esther in his biblical commentaries. And, the great theologian of the
Reformation, Martin Luther, felt it had “too much pagan naughtiness.”
So, admit
it. Now you want to run home and read it, right?
So, here's a brief summary: The Book of Esther tells the story celebrated at The
Jewish Festival of Purim. It’s the story of how Queen Esther and her cousin Mordecai
saved the Jewish people from the plot of the wicked Haman, who was advisor to
the Persian King Ahasuerus and who tried to have the Jews destroyed.
Understand: they are Jews living in the Persian diaspora. They are there
because they were under threat of genocide, living in a place where the
religion at the time was a sort of dualism. Persians worshipped one Supreme God
with occasional rare mentions of other Gods. Their Satan was elevated to a much
higher power and position, a near equal and opposite to God.
Esther is not your typical saint. She doesn’t conduct herself like someone who
is zealous about the law, yet she becomes a Jewish heroine. She doesn’t rise up
from unsavory circumstances ringed with white blossoms of purity like St.
Agnes, who was thrown into a brothel but remained, miraculously, immaculate.
Esther is decidedly not a heroine of the nunnish type.
She becomes a heroine because she takes a bold risk of faith. Queen Esther
decides to speak to the King about Haman’s plan to kill all the Jews even
though an appearance at the King’s Court, without an invitation, is punishable
by death. It’s the words of her uncle Mordecai that inspire her:
“For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:14)
Who knows but that you have come to your position for such a time as this? I don’t know about you, but I hear an echo of Mordecai’s words in the admonition of Jesus to the apostles:
“Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us.” (Mark 9:38-41)
We also hear an echo of this position in the words of James, the brother of Jesus, which we heard this morning:
“My brothers and sisters, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and is brought back by another, you should know that whoever brings back a sinner from wandering will save the sinner's soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins.” (James 5:13-19)
Whoever brings back a sinner from wandering.
Whoever is not against us is for us.
And, who knows that you have come to your position for such a time as this?
My friends, hear me: I know
you are grieving this morning. I am keenly aware that last Sunday was your farewell
to your beloved Pastor Tom. Your Senior Warden and I discussed this when we
talked about my being with you this morning. As a Hospice Chaplain, I am well acquainted
with the workings of grief. I know that the hearts of many of you are probably
feeling a bit tender and sore. You are grieving and anxious and that is to be understood.
I know Tom came to you when you were not feeling loved or loveable. I know his
love for you built up this congregation from a mere 15 to, at times, 75 – more at
High Holy Days. I know some of you are afraid that you will never find another
priest and pastor to love you the way Pastor Tom did. It’s going to be hard to
trust anyone – me, other supply clergy, your interim priest, or even your new
rector when she or he comes.
That’s a reasonable anxiety because here’s the hard truth: There will never be
another Pastor Tom. But, here’s another truth: That does not mean that you are
not loveable or that you will never find someone to love you again.
Here's another truth: In the midst of the pain of grief and anxiety of the
unknown, sometimes we confuse taking things literally with taking things
seriously. They are not the same. Taking things literally can cost you one of
the strongest medicines known to the entire human enterprise: Laughter.
It’s so
important not to take things literally but not so seriously that you lose the
ability to laugh at yourself. Don’t be afraid to do a facepalm at yourself
every now and again. I have no doubt that Jesus did. Because Jesus knew what it
was to be human.
Voltaire said it best: "God is a comedian playing to an audience that is
too afraid to laugh.”
Now, even now, God has already prepared people who will be raised up “for such
a time as this”. There are those among you who learned the lessons of love of the
past decade and are willing to take the risks of faith to trust others. Now,
even now, God is already preparing leaders, laity and ordained, “for such a
time as this” who will walk with you into the future.
In the midst of your grief and sorrow – which is good and right and proper
for you to experience because you have had a great loss – know that we are
people of the Eucharist and Resurrection. We are people of Thanksgiving and Life
Eternal. God will never leave us comfortless. Be assured by the words of our
Eucharistic liturgy during a funeral:
“. . . . for we know that life is changed, not ended.”
Life is changed, not ended. That includes our congregational life.
Know that there are Esthers and Mordecais, Eldads and Medads, and Joshua son of Nun, and yes, Hamans and unruly Kings among us. There are also wise teachers like James and Moses, and those who understand the hyperbole in the words of Jesus teaching who can help us laugh at ourselves and do a facepalm when that’s exactly the medicine we need to take.
Open your heart to it all, my friends. Nobody ever looked back and said, “I could have loved less.” Open your heart even though it makes you as vulnerable as a child.
For such is the Realm of God.
For such a time as this.
Amen.
Sunday, September 22, 2024
Like a child
St. Mark's Episcopal Church - Millsboro, DE
Pentecost XVIII - Proper XX - September 22, 2024
Track 1 | ||
Proverbs 31:10-31 Psalm 1 James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a Mark 9:30-37 |
Some of you may already know – and, if you don’t, you will soon discover – that
Ted, your new Priest in Charge, is a big fan of Amy Jill Levine. Huge. I don’t
know what he has in store for your Advent Christian Education Series, but I am
willing to bet solid money that it – and/or a few of his sermons – will at
least include some of Amy Jill Levine’s work.
There is good reason for this. Amy Jill Levine rocks. Hard. AJ (as she prefers
to be called) is Professor of New Testament and Jewish Studies at Hartford
International University for Religion and Peace. Yes, I said, New Testament AND
Jewish Studies. If you stop and think about that for a minute, you’ll see that
it isn’t so strange.
The Gospels are all about the teachings of a Rabbi from Nazareth and the
Epistles were written by Jewish men. Who better to help us understand the
teachings of the Rabbi we follow than a good Rabbinical scholar?
I’ve heard AJ lecture several times. She’s really good: smart and funny and
edgy and provocative. She’s a lot like Jesus. During one of her lectures, Levine
told us about her son. He was a little boy at the time. He had curly hair, she
said. Altogether adorable. Imagine that little boy is sitting in the front row
every time you preach, she said. Right there in front of you. Never say
anything that will harm that little Jewish boy.
I remember that statement so vividly because I remember preaching in front of
my own kids when they were little. I remember thinking that I never wanted to
preach a sermon that they would be ashamed of – or that would shame any one of
them. Or, that wouldn’t be the truth spoken from my heart. Never say anything
that will harm a little child.
In this morning’s gospel, Jesus takes a little child by the hand and says to
the disciples, See this child? This child right here? This is what the reign of
God looks like. THIS, not some old man or old woman with a crown sitting on a
throne.
I know what you’re thinking. Children don’t have any status. They are little
more than chattel, which can be bought and sold like the women who are their
mothers – despite what we read this morning from the Book of Wisdom about wives.
And yet, this is what the reign of God looks like. This is who the reign of God
belongs to. So, says Jesus, wise up and welcome them.
But, the disciples, it seems were pretty clueless. There are 16 chapters in Mark’s
Gospel. We’re at chapter 9 – more than half way through. Jesus has said and
done lots of things. Amazing things. Astounding things. Miraculous things. And
yet, the disciples don’t get it.
After Jesus explains to them – albeit in the third person – about what is going
to happen to him, Mark tells us that they had been arguing among themselves
about who was the greatest. Seriously! Apparently, the boxer Muhammed Ali was
not the first to concern himself with the status of the greatest. Apparently,
he isn’t the last. Probably won’t be, either.
I imagine the disciples look
at themselves rather sheepishly. I mean, who started that conversation anyway? Was
it Peter? Nah, he really hadn’t been the same since Jesus changed his name from
Simon. It had to be the Sons of Thunder, James and John. They might have been thinking,
“Why did we allow ourselves to get caught up in that discussion in the first
place?”
That’s when Jesus, rather than rebuke them, takes a little child by the hand.
Maybe the little boy or girl was standing nearby. Maybe playing with a toy.
Maybe minding her own business. Maybe paying close attention to the energy in
the room. Jesus takes that little one and puts her center stage. I imagine the
room goes silent.
Taking the child in his arms,
Jesus says to the disciples, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name
welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”
You see this child? This face? These curls? Keep them in front of you, Jesus
says. Let them be your guide to my reign. Don’t do anything that will hinder or
harm them. Look to them first, before you speak or offer admission or try to
describe what I came here to do. This little one is all you need to know about
that. Keep her safe. Keep him safe. And know that whenever you welcome one of
these little ones, you welcome me and the One who sent me.
Not a lot of churches I help out in these days have a child – much less
children – sitting in the pew. Sometimes, when I look out at you, sitting there
in the congregation, I try to imagine your faces when you were little children.
If you see me looking at you while the Hebrew Scripture or Epistle is being
read, that’s probably what I’m doing.
I imagine some of you were probably as mild mannered as you are today. But,
there are others of you . . . . well . . . . I’ll just say this: You didn’t develop that devilish smile or that
mischievous twinkle in your eye just yesterday. And I suspect some of you were
born with one hand on your hip and no one had to slip a nickel or a dime into
your hand to persuade you to be bossy.
I see the child in you. The playful child. The mischievous child. I also see the
child who was bullied. The child who was shamed. The child who never thought
she was good enough. The child who thought he’d maybe make the team but he’d never
be accepted.
I never want to hurt that child.
When I preach to you, I know that I am not only preaching to the person you are
today – the person you have become – I am also preaching to the child you once
were. That happy child and that hurt child are also here in this church this morning,
maybe minding their own business or toying with my words, paying close
attention to the energy in the church right now, trying to determine what “Mother”
will say or do next.
As I prepare to preach the Gospel – the Good News – to you, I remember all of
your faces and I hear Jesus whisper in my ear: This – THIS – is the realm of
God. This – THIS – is what God’s reign looks like. Do everything you can to challenge
them to take risks for the Gospel, but keep their souls safe. Protect them even
as you encourage them to stretch themselves in their faith.
And, if they fall – when they
fall – do everything you can to make sure someone – maybe not you, probably not
you, probably not even a deacon or a priest or a bishop – but someone in the
community is there to pick them up and dust them off and help them back on
their way.
For that is what the realm of God looks like, too: The people of God helping
the people of God to be better people of God. And that takes the vulnerability
and openness of a little child. It also takes the resilience of a faith tested
by time.
So, take a minute now to look around this church. Look into the faces of your
neighbor sitting next to you or in front of you or behind you. Go ahead, I
invite you to do that now. I invite you to say to each other, “You are an image
of God.”
And now say, “This is the Reign of God.”
You know, it helps to listen to good Rabbis, those who are Jewish, those who are
Christian, those who come to teach us the word of God not as one who is the
greatest, but from a place of truth and love in their hearts.
Amen.
Sunday, September 15, 2024
Being and Becoming
In this morning’s gospel, Jesus is traveling through the villages of Caesarea Philippi when he asks his disciples, "Who do you say I am?"
It’s important to listen to his answer. After he waits for his disciples to
respond, Jesus doesn’t so much tell them who he is, as what he was about to
become.
Let me say that again: Not who he is, but who he is to become and what
he must do in order to become what he was created to be.
He also told the disciples
about the process of becoming that they, themselves, must experience if they
are to be known as his "followers".
Note, please: Not what he is or they are now – but who they must become and how
to achieve it. And that, of course, requires sacrifice of who they are now. For
Jesus, that involves death. For the disciples, it means the death of their
former self and possibly their actual death.
The other night, I was preoccupied with all that is going on
in the world. I couldn't really focus on anything I'm presently reading .
Network television was, for me, just junk - game shows, talent contests,
reruns, and political commentary, the last being pretty much a combination of
the first three.
I decided to watch a British film called, "Me Before You" on streaming TV.
So, I'll say this and get it out of the way: Emilia Clarke
plays the character Louisa Clark. How many here are a fan of Game of Thrones?
I’m not just a fan, I’m a true fanatic.
Emilia is probably best known for
playing the Khaleesi (or Princess), Daenerys Targaryen, a most formidable woman.
She is known as the Mother of Dragons which were born in the fire of her rebirth.
Her intention is to do what she must to become the first Queen of the Seven
Kingdoms. Hers was not a baptism of water, but a transformation by fire.
One of her most famous lines - when she wasn't shouting "Dracarys,"
to make her dragons breathe fire - was the understanding of what she must do to
become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
Tyrion Lannister, of House Lannister, tells
her that it is an impossible task. All of her family in House Targaryen is
gone. So is House Stark and none of the others will back her.
She says, “Lannister, Targaryen, Baratheon, Stark, Tyrell: they're all just
spokes on a wheel. This one's on top, then that one's on top, and on and on it
spins, crushing those on the ground.”
Tyrion responds, “It's a beautiful dream, stopping the wheel. You're not the
first person who's ever dreamt it.”
“I'm not going to stop the wheel,” says Daenerys, “I'm going to break the
wheel.”
See also: formidable woman.
So to see her go from that character to the silly, flighty, Louisa Clark in
this movie, with her funky fashion and impossibly silly rage of facial
expressions was, well, difficult. I almost turned it off, but I had paid $2.99
to rent it and I'm cheap so I watched.
I'm glad I did.
Very short synopsis: Louisa is a "quirky,"
irrepressible cheerful, and very kindhearted young lass in Northern UK who
moves from one job to the next to help her family make financial ends meet. Her
whole worldview is tested when she becomes a caregiver for Will Traynor, a
wealthy young banker left paralyzed - a quadraplegic - and deeply cynical from an accident two
years earlier.
He wants to go to Switzerland to be euthanized. She wants to
show him that life is worth living. During their six-month relationship, they
are both changed and transformed. But not in the way you might suspect.
Both
have to lose their lives in order to regain them.
I've been thinking about that movie in terms of the question
Jesus asks his disciples. I've been thinking about how we are not - tomorrow,
or next week, or, for some of us, next year - who we are today. Some of us change for
the good and some of us, well, life's unkindness has left some of us unkind.
Or, grumpy. Or, arrogant. Or, pessimistic and depressed and cynical.
Oh, we have the basic qualities and characteristics that are
part of what is referred to as our "nature" - much of which can be
tempered by how we are "nurtured".
The point is that we are always becoming.
Depending on how
we manage the circumstances of our lives - the curve balls and the strikes and
the walks, as well as the line drives, base hits, and home runs - we become
more or less of who we are and the image God had of us when we were first
conceived in the mind of God.
And, that is the point of our life in Christ: to become more
of who we are as we discover why it is we were born here, at this time, in this
place, for this purpose.
Not all of us have grand purposes – to become
President of the United States, or a research scientist who helps to put a
human on a faraway planet or discovers a cure for a previously incurable
disease. Not all of us will ever be an Olympian, much less win a gold, silver
or bronze metal.
For some of us, it is enough that we have discovered something – a passion, sobriety, a relationship – that
has saved ourselves from disaster or catastrophe.
For some, it is enough that
we exhibit courage and strength and bravery in overcoming, to the best of our
abilities, an illness that may eventually take our lives.
Some of us have
stopped the wheel of patterns of family destruction. Other of us have broken
the wheel.
I don’t know why you come to church. I don’t know your individual stories, but
I see your faces. I have looked into your eyes. I know that if you have loved,
you have suffered. I know that you didn’t get here today to who you are and
what you have become without some sacrifice of self.
You can not become who you are without sacrificing at least in part what you
once were.
Some of us had parents, grandparents, and great grandparents who sacrificed
living with their families in the land of their birth to make a new life in
this country. They never knew – could, perhaps dream but not even imagine – the
life we have now. Their sacrifice was not so much for themselves but for the
dream they had for us before we were even conceived or born.
And that is the point Jesus is making in today’s Gospel. No, we’re not as close
to sacrificing our lives as the first disciples were. No, we are not being
persecuted for our faith as the early Christians were. But, to be a Christian
is to always die – at least a little – to self so that we can become better
followers of Christ.
Being in order to become.
Dying to self in order to more fully live in Christ.
Living this life fully until we are called by God to live fully into the
gift of Life Eternal.
This morning’s scripture tells us that Jesus “called to the crowd with his
disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny
themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”
Many of you have taken up your cross and followed Jesus into this wonderful
little faithful church to become The Body of Christ. The good news is that the
journey did not end when you arrived and became a member of St. Mark’s,
Millsboro. Indeed, by the grace of God, the journey has only just begun.
Alleluia! And let the church say, “Amen.”
Sunday, September 01, 2024
A Short Sermon on Sin
A Short Sermon on Sin
Old Christ Episcopal Church, Laurel, DE
Pentecost XV - Proper 17B
When I was planning this sermon and remembering the last time I was here, I
recall that it was hotter than the hinges on the gates of hell. Which is a good
image for this sermon which I’ve entitled “A Short Sermon on Sin”.
I don’t think I’ve ever preached a sermon on sin. It’s not something
Episcopalians do. Oh, we partake in our fair share of sin; we just don’t like
to hear about it – especially in church – and never in a sermon, thank you very
much.
Might make people uncomfortable. That would be awkward. And, they might not
come back to church. Like, ever again. These days, we can’t afford to miss out
on one single pledge.
Well, buckle up folks, because whether you want to believe this or not, Jesus
just preached a very short sermon about sin. We also heard one in the Epistle
of St. James, the son of Joseph and Mary and the presumed brother (Oh, okay,
half-brother) of Jesus.
Here's the difference: the focus of James’ sermon about sin is slightly different
from Jesus. James talks about being not only “hearers of the word but doers of
the word”. Jesus is much more concerned
about the relationship we have with each other and the world rather than the
things we do that are considered sinful.
The religious leaders of his day were horrified that the disciples of Jesus
were not strictly following the religious rules of their day. Specifically,
they were not ritually washing their hands before they ate. This was not a
concern about cleanliness, per se. This was a concern about godliness.
Remember, please the that Levitical Rules that created these cleanliness codes
were in reaction to the concern of the Israelites that their time in bondage in
Egypt had to have been a punishment from God.
Whatever it was they did, they
certainly didn’t want to do it again and make God angry. So, all of these rules
were carefully created about what could and couldn’t be eaten, and how they should
and shouldn’t be prepared, and what one should and should not do, and all very carefully
followed so as not to anger God and find themselves slaves again.
Jesus says, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing
outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what
defile. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come:
fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit,
licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from
within, and they defile a person.”
Bottom line: Jesus is calling us to pay close attention to the content of a one’s
character rather than the content of someone else’s purse. Jesus is calling us
to open our eyes to our relationships with one another rather than following
the law out of blind obedience to it. Jesus
is saying we must honor God not just with our lips but with our lives.
That’s because sin is whatever leads us away from the first and great commandment:
'You
shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and
with all your mind. ' And the second is like it: 'You shall love your
neighbor as yourself.’”
Now, those commandments from God have been around for centuries and it seems
fewer of us in each succeeding generation have been successful in following them.
Otherwise, we wouldn’t still have the sins that Jesus names as coming from the
human heart: “fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness,
deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly.”
Hear me: I am not an anarchist. Rules are not bad. Rules are good things
because they can govern and steer a relationship along a good path. They become
bad when they become a narrow gate through which relationships must always
past. When this happens, the rules become the basis for the relationship.
Sometimes, rules become the substitute for the relationship.
I submit that this is so because, while it may be easy for most of us to love
God, and for some of us to love our neighbor, for many of us, it’s the “as
yourself” part that we mess up on. It’s so much easier to blame others for what
we think we don’t have – enough money, a suitable spouse, a good enough home, a
good reputation. And so we steal and commit adultery and envy and slander, and
so on.
“As yourself.” Love God, love your neighbor AS YOURSELF.
It starts here, in the human heart.
Croatian scholar, theologian, and author of many books on reconciliation, Miroslav
Volf, wrote, “Forgiveness flounders because I exclude the enemy from the
community of humans even as I exclude myself from the community of sinners.”
Understanding ourselves as humans that have also been broken by sin is the key
to opening the door to forgiveness and reconciliation. As a Christian, I cannot
talk about sin without talking about forgiveness and reconciliation.
It's sort of like the
Japanese art of Kintsukuroi, the art of repairing broken pottery with gold or
silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having
been broken. When we understand that we have all missed the mark, when confess
that we have all fallen short, we open ourselves to God’s grace which is like a
gold or silver lacquer that makes us even more beautiful for having been broken.
That admission, that confession, allows us to see the beauty in other people’s brokenness
and find forgiveness and reconciliation and peace.
And, you know, that’s really all I know about sin. Or, all I know to say about sin. And, forgiveness. And, reconciliation. Except, to say this: There is absolutely nothing – no sin of any sort or manner or condition, intentional or not – that can keep you from the love of God. Not even you.
Amen.
The Collect
Lord of all power and might, the author and giver of all good things: Graft in our hearts the love of your Name; increase in us true religion; nourish us with all goodness; and bring forth in us the fruit of good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God for ever and ever. Amen.
The Epistle
James 1:17-27
Every generous act of giving,
with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights,
with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. In fulfillment of his
own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a
kind of first fruits of his creatures.
You must understand this, my
beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for
your anger does not produce God's righteousness. Therefore rid yourselves of
all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the
implanted word that has the power to save your souls.
But be doers of the word, and
not merely hearers who deceive themselves. For if any are hearers of the word
and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they
look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like.
But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere,
being not hearers who forget but doers who act-they will be blessed in their
doing.
If any think they are
religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their
religion is worthless. Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the
Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep
oneself unstained by the world.
The Gospel Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
When the Pharisees and some
of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around him, they noticed
that some of his disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without
washing them. (For the Pharisees, and all the Jews, do not eat unless they
thoroughly wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders; and
they do not eat anything from the market unless they wash it; and there are
also many other traditions that they observe, the washing of cups, pots, and
bronze kettles.) So the Pharisees and the scribes asked him, “Why do your
disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with
defiled hands?” He said to them, “Isaiah prophesied rightly about you
hypocrites, as it is written,
‘This people honors me with
their lips,
but their hearts are far from me;
in vain do they worship me,
teaching human precepts as doctrines.’
You abandon the commandment
of God and hold to human tradition.”
Then he called the crowd again and said to them, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile.” For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”
Sunday, August 18, 2024
Good Sunday morning, children of the Bread of Life.
We're almost done with this summer cycle of John's Gospel and Jesus torturing the metaphor of Bread until we say, "Stop! Okay! I get it! You are the Bread of Life. If I eat this bread, I'll know Life Eternal. Got it!'
Well, you must admit, it IS a difficult concept to get your head wrapped around, even if you are well-acquainted with metaphors and similies.
It's the stuff about "unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you" that really pushes the envelope, I think.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have just left the Metaphor Zone.
I often wonder what it must be like to be a person who has not really been exposed to Christianity except, maybe, little snippets here and there about "love your neighbor," and "love one another" and then decides to walk into church one Sunday morning and hears:
"Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them."
Whoa, Nellie! Mic drop. Mind blown. Where's the door?
Actually, I know this is going to sound sacrilegious and close to heretical, but I can't imagine that when we get to heaven there'll be two lines - one EZ pass lane for Christians and one TSA, take off your shoes, laptop out of the suitcase, only 3-ounces of liquid, full body scan lane for anyone who hasn't been baptized or received Holy Communion.
I think John might have been exaggerating just a teeny-tiny bit to convince The People of The Way to take a right turn away from The Temple and toward Jesus.
I mean, c'mon.
Do you really think that when Gandhi got to the Pearly Gates he got turned away? Or Buddha? Actually, I think Jesus came right out and greeted Buddha at the gate and brought him in himself and the two of them are walking together around heaven even as I write this.
Then again, I can say all this because I'm not a rector and I get a pension that no one can take from me, so I've earned the right to be a little heretical. Especially if I err on the side of generosity.
I think Rachel Held Evans has it absolutely right (and she was an Evangelical who became Episcopalian, so, you know, she's got the creds) when she said:
"The church is God saying, 'I'm throwing a banquet and all these mismatched, messed up, people are invited. Here, have some wine."
Anyway, just this week and next and we'll be done with the metaphor of Bread. The Gospel will be gluten-free once again.
I can't leave you without noting a very important date on today's calendar and Thee Best story that goes along with it - especially since we'll soon be learning to say, "Madame President."
On this date in 1920, the 19th Amendment to the Constitution was ratified, giving women the right to vote.
The first national constitutional amendment had been proposed in Congress in 1878, and in every Congress session after that. Finally, in 1919, it narrowly passed both houses of Congress and was sent to the states to be ratified.
Most Southern states opposed the amendment, and on August 18, 1920, it all came down to Tennessee. The pro-amendment faction wore yellow roses in their lapels, and the "anti" faction wore red American Beauty roses. It was a close battle and the state legislature was tied 48 to 48.
The decision came down to one vote: that of 24-year-old Harry Burn, the youngest state legislator. He had been expected to vote against it, but he had in his pocket a note from his mother, which read:
"Dear Son: Hurrah, and vote for suffrage! Don't keep them in doubt. I noticed some of the speeches against. They were bitter. I have been watching to see how you stood, but have not noticed anything yet. Don't forget to be a good boy and help Mrs. Catt put the 'rat' in ratification. Your Mother."
He voted in favor of the amendment.
In your prayers, please remember one Harry Burn who was a good boy and did what his mother asked and changed history to include herstory. It's not like changing bread and wine but it's pretty damn near miraculous. I think Jesus is well pleased.
I hope something good happens to you today.
Bom dia.