draughting theology

Draughting Theology is moving

2011-10-01T14:15:00.003-04:00

After six years with blogger, I've decided it is time to move. Please adjust your rss feeds to reflect my new site at http://draughtingtheology.wordpress.com/

Thanks for following! I appreciate each of you.

Have you never read the scriptures?

2011-09-29T07:44:00.001-04:00

I'm pretty sure that Jesus could not have hurt the Pharisees any worse than by asking then, "have you never read the scriptures?" That was their job. They were among the very few who were literate. They were the teachers, nee the perfecters, of the law. All they did, day in and day out, was read the scriptures and argue about their meaning in daily life.

When Jesus asks them, "have you never read the scriptures," he says openly what he's been veiling in parable all this time, "y'all don't have a clue." It hurts to have your worldview challenged like that. Especially as it relates to one's religion, to be accused of being so ignorant of the basics as to have never even read the scriptures, that's about the worst challenge I can think of.

No wonder the Pharisees, realizing he's talking about them (clueless even here), want to arrest Jesus immediately.

As an Episcopal priest, I have two sacred texts: the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer. It assumed, rightfully, that I've read, marked, learned, and inwardly digested both of them. Despite some holes in the narrative of the Old Testament that I've failed, as yet, to inwardly digest, I can honestly say that I take those texts very seriously, and when it comes to the BCP, when I break a rule, I do so knowing the tradition in the rubric and the reasons for my changes.

What comes to mind this morning, is that challenge. What could Jesus look at in my life and ask, "have you never read or heard or lived my message?" That, I'm certain, would sting just as much as it did for the Pharisees.

the produce?

2011-09-28T13:41:00.001-04:00

When Jesus asks the Pharisees what the father would do to the evil tenants in his parable, they highlight something that is easily glossed over in this story, especially as it gets used in many pulpits as the basis for the first sermon in stewardship season. Their response is as succinct as it is hard to hear, "The father will put those wretches to a miserable death and lease the vineyard to tenants who will give him his produce at the harvest time."

Did you catch it? Here's a hint, look at the title of this post. Riiiight, the produce.

The story starts, after the allusion to Isaiah 5, with the landowner sending his slaves "to collect his produce." They didn't go to take his cut of the profits. They didn't go to get the first fruits. They didn't go for any partial payments. They went to get the produce.

All of the produce.

Or at least that's how I read it (disagreeing with my recent favorite translation the NLT in doing so). We did stewardship during the Great 50 Days of Easter, so our worship services in October are safe from the fall stewardship campaign, but lots and lots of preachers will use this text as a reminder to give God his due. Then they'll say something like, "and the biblical model of giving is the tithe, 10%." Which is well and good, and if everybody gave 10% the Church would not be in need, ministries to the poor and sick would be overflowing with cash, and natural disasters wouldn't require a $10 donation by text message, BUT the biblical model of giving is not 10%. The biblical model of giving is the Father sending his slaves to collect his produce.

None of it is ours. It is all a gift from God who created the land, built the seasons, waters the plants, and gives breath to the workers. Lopping 10% off the top is going about it the wrong way round, God gives us back 90%, which is more than we could ever need. The evil tenants in Jesus' parable don't get it. They think they've done all the work. They think they can rebel and take ownership of the vineyard. They forget where it all came from. And often times, so do we. Offer the Lord his produce, and you'll be amazed at the results.

but... and...

2011-09-27T15:19:00.001-04:00

At lectionary group yesterday, I noticed something. When M read the lesson appointed for Sunday, the NIV differed from the NRSV in its usual ways. Except for one big difference, coming in verse 44.

NIV - He who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces, but he on whom it falls will be crushed.

NRSV - The one who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces; and it will crush anyone on whom it falls.

But...

And...

These are very different words, and, at least as far as my Greek knowledge goes, both are acceptable translations. There is the funny form in Greek that makes a statement contingent but doesn't define its contingency. So verse 44 could read "but" or it could read "and."

Let me tell you why I prefer the "but" translation. I think, what Jesus is asking for in this exchange with the Pharisees, elders, and chief priests, is that they lay themselves down upon the altar of the Lord - the altar finished by the capstone of Christ. Sacrifice to self. Death to self. Repentance. Baptism. This plays to the surrounding context in the story and is the call of discipleship right through time to today. Die to self, live for Christ.

He who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces...

But...

But he on whom it falls, the one who refuses to die to self, who seeks after selfish ambition, who ignore the pleas of the poor, who hoards the kingdom for himself, who defines who is in and who is out. On that person the altar of the Lord will fall hard, and they will be crushed (and literally in the Greek scattered).

Jesus desires that we repent and live. He desires that we choose to be broken into pieces and rebuilt in his image. But when we refuse, he'll do that work for us.

So I choose "but." I'm sure others will read this differently, like, say, the folks who translated the NRSV, but I'm OK with that.

Actions speak louder than words

2011-09-26T17:02:00.000-04:00

Here's my sermon from yesterday. You can listen here - or read below----

Posts are going to be behind this week - sorry. I'm just behind already.

I heard a story this week about a guy, let's call him Jason, right here in town, who got a phone call at home one evening. On the other line was a person who lived next door to one of Jason's rental properties. Seems someone had broken into his vacant rental house a block or so from where he lived. He hung up, called the cops, grabbed his pistol, and met the would-be robber on the front porch. As the robber tried to continue on his way out, Jason suggested as kindly as one can with a loaded gun, that he should probably not move. The robber responded by saying, “Did I break into your house? I didn't mean to break into your house, I meant to break into another one.” Obviously neither Jason, nor the police took much solace in the man's story. Actions, it seems, always speak louder than words.

That's the theme of the story Jesus tells the elders and chief priests in this morning's gospel lesson. In case you missed it, which you most likely did since the lectionary skips the details of it all, as our long summer season of Pentecost comes to an end, we join Jesus and his disciples in Jerusalem during the final week of Jesus' life. In between the portion of chapter twenty we heard last week and today's lesson, Matthew's gospel tells the stories of the mother of James and John asking Jesus for choice spots at the dinner table for her sons. Chapter twenty-one begins with the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday which brings Jesus into the Temple Court where he turns the tables of the moneychangers and heals the blind and the lame. Monday finds Jesus cursing the fig tree for not bearing fruit and promising his disciples that if they have faith they can tell the mountain to jump into the sea.

AND THEN, we get to our lesson for today. Jesus is back in the Temple after yesterday's tirade. If you look carefully, you can still see the glimmer of a piece of change or two, strewn across the Temple floor, as the men who make their living selling sacrificial animals try to put their businesses back together. The collective breath exits the room as Jesus walks through the door, and order to eliminate any further problems before they start, the elders and chief priests meet Jesus near the Temple gate.

“By whose authority do you do these things? By whose authority did you mess up our well established system? By whose authority are you causing a raucous? Who gave you such authority?” They know that the only valid answer is “from God.” They know that only the anointed one of God could justifiably act like Jesus acted. They also know that if he answers that way, they’ve got him, dead to rights, for blasphemy and treason.

Jesus knows that too. Jesus knows that the trap has been set; it’s been there a long, long time. He can see the writing on the wall, but the time isn’t right. It’s only Monday, there is still a lot to accomplish before it all comes crashing in on him. And so, as a good Rabbi, he answers their question with a question. The long running game of oneupsmanship continues as Jesus looks at the group standing before him and pulls something of a Willy Wonka, “I’ll tell you where my authority comes from... but first, answer me just one, simple question. Where did John the Baptist get his authority? Was if from heaven? Or was it merely of human origin?”

And with that, the hunted-one escapes to fight for at least another day. Matthew spells out for us the catch-twenty-two. If they say that John’s Baptism was from God, then they admit that they didn’t catch on to what God was doing at the time. If they say it was merely human, they risk a mob scene as the vast majority of Jerusalem had heard John, been baptized by him, and believed his message of repentance and the kingdom. Collectively, they look at their sandals, shuffle their feet, and answer in a mealy-mouthed chorus, “we don’t know.”

Jesus won’t be answering their question, at least not directly, but if answering a question with a question was Jesus' favorite activity on earth, then telling a parable must have been a close second. “Tell me what you think about this. A certain man had two sons. He went to the older boy and said, ‘Go out and work in the vineyard today.’ The son answered, ‘Nope, not gonna do it,’ but later changed his mind and went to work. Knowing only his elder son’s rejection, the man went to his younger son, ‘Boy, you go and work in the vineyard.’ This son answered, ‘Yes, lord, I’ll go.’ But he didn’t go. Which one did the will of his Father?”

The obvious answer, of course, is the first son because actions speak louder than words. And that’s the answer the religious leaders give, and Jesus seems to tell them they’re right when he responds, “Truly I tell you, corrupt tax collectors and prostitutes will get into the Kingdom of God before you do.” But honestly, this has bothered me all week. Maybe I expect too much from people, but it seems to me that neither son did the will of his father. One son disrespected his father in saying “no,” but felt guilty enough or sorry enough or whatever enough to put down his xbox controller and go to work. The other son heaped politeness upon his dad, calling him “kyrie” (sir or lord), but then goes right back to staring at the new facebook layout trying figure out if he likes it or not, never giving a second thought to his dad’s request for him to work. Both boys ruined their credibility by disrespecting their father. Both boys fell short of the ideal Jesus sets forth in the Sermon on the Mount, “let your yes be yes, and your no be no. Anything else,” Jesus says, “is of the devil.” The one who did the will of his Father is the one who says yes, follows through, and does it.

John the Baptist said yes to God and followed through.

Jesus said yes to God and followed through.

These men had the authority that comes from authentically living into the will of the Father. It brought them both to early ends, but that seems to be what happens in this world when your “yes” is yes and your “no” is no and your goal in life is to seek after the Kingdom.

Going to work in the vineyard is hard. It’s hot, dirty, back-breaking work. And it is the ultimate privilege to be called. This conversation that Matthew lets us overhear is between Jesus and the religious leadership of his time, but the call to work in the vineyard is not exclusively the purview of guys and gals who wear collars and get paychecks from churches. By virtue of your baptism, you too are employees of the Kingdom pursuant to all rights, privileges, and obligations thereof.

Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?
Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?

The answer, in case you’ve forgotten, is “I will, with God’s help.” Roughly translated, that means “Yes Lord, I’ll work with you.” Many of us have answered “yes” to these questions more times than we can remember. Most of us are actively doing that work on an ongoing basis. All of us, from time to time, fall short, get distracted, or otherwise shirk our duties. But the LORD is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger and of great kindness, and despite our shortcomings, he allows prostitutes, tax collectors, priests, sinner, saints, and all the rest into his Kingdom. Let your “yes” be yes and your “no” be no. But when you fall short, remember that actions speak louder than words. Repent, return to the Lord, and get back to work. The vineyard, and the Father are waiting. Amen.

Jesus' actions speak louder than my words

2011-09-22T09:55:00.000-04:00

There are four possible outcomes in the story of a dad asking his sons to work in the vineyard. Two of them, the two that sit in the gray areas of life, are mentioned by Jesus in Sunday's Gospel.

1) Son says "yes" but doesn't work.
2) Son says "no" but does work.
3) Son says "yes" and does work.
4) Son says "no" and doesn't work.

Ideally, as we discussed yesterday, the son says "yes" and then goes and does the work, and I think I'm leaning towards this as THE only scenario in which the will of the Father is actually fulfilled. But, it seems clear from the interaction between Jesus and the elders and priests that one can, at the very least, partially fulfill the will of the father by going out into the vineyard.

Actions speak louder than words.

Saying yes and doing no sucks. It is a lie.
Saying no and doing yes is pretty crummy, but at least you DID something.

It is the work of the vineyard (a topic of conversation last week, this week, AND next week) that is important. In Jesus' setting, Israel was the vineyard. God asked the priests to tend his vineyard, to help the people grow in faith, to live the will of the Father. The priests, in taking on the mantle of their office, said "yes," but failed miserably at the task at hand. The prostitutes, tax collectors, and Joe the Plumbers or Israel, the vineyard, were left to figure it out on their own. Weeds were growing unabated, irrigation ditches were clogged with debris, grapes were going unharvested. And so the Father went to his only Son and said, "go to work."

Jesus said yes, went to work, and died because of it.
Jesus fulfilled the will of his Father.
Jesus made the vineyard ready for harvest.

As much as I want this story to be a moral tale that we should "get to work," I'm realizing this morning that the work has already been done. In many ways, I'm just a grape. My job is to soak up the sun, the drink in the water, to receive the gifts of grace from the Father, and to await the harvest.

Use your words

2011-09-21T17:46:00.000-04:00

We'll deal with actions tomorrow.

On Wednesdays, because of five15 and Draughting Theology on Ice, my work day begins at noon. It is my attempt at keeping some semblance of a family life in this 24/7/365 world. This morning was a bit of a rough one as FBC decided to sleep past 6:30 for the first time in months.

Trouble is, the school bus stops right outside her window at 6:55am. The squeaking breaks woke her up, of course, and she was a grouchy, sleepy two-year-old until nap time blessedly arrived at 11:55. When she is tired like that, her favorite activity is the point and cry game.

She points at what she wants and cries until she gets it.

This is not my favorite game.

All morning SHW and I took turns saying, "use your words. Tell me what you want. I don't know what uhhh-ahhh means."

What, you know this game? Great, then you're up to speed.

Anyway, for whatever reason I thought of the annoying brothers featured in Sunday's Gospel lesson. They both use words, but neither uses them positively. The first says, "heck no, I'm busy," but puts down his Edward Forty-hands and goes out to work. The second says, "sure dad, I'll do it," and then goes back to playing Halo Reach on XBox Live.

Earlier in Matthew (5:37 to be exact), Jesus is teaching about all sorts of serious life issues like divorce, revenge, and vow taking. Here, he rather famously states, "let your yes be yes and your no be no. Anything else comes from the evil one. I take this to say that neither son did his Father's will, despite what the Priests and elders suggest in 21.31, and another lesson in the ongoing saga that is "use your words."

Use them honestly. When you say yes, honor it. When you say no, mean it. When your word is suspect, what else is left?

DT on Ice #1 - air puffers and rubber gloves

2011-09-21T14:57:00.002-04:00

Draughting Theology (on Ice) the real-life, face-to-face, get together restarts tonight at Gelato Joe's and the Tropic Ice Deck Bar @ 6:11pm. We're loosely basing on conversations on the Rob Bell & Don Golden book, Jesus wants to save Christians. Here's tonight's handout for those who can't make it but want to be involved.

Air Puffers and Rubber Gloves
But first... The introduction to the introduction

Rules1. Courtesy and respect will be shown at all times.
2. Commitment will be made to listen to the perspectives of others.
3. All statements that are not explicit facts must include the attitude of “it seems to me.”
4. All participants will work hard to increase their understanding of the issues between meetings.

Disclaimers
“In the Scriptures, ultimate truths about the universe are revealed through the stories of a particular people living in particular place. As [we] explore, the nation of Egypt and the Jewish people feature prominently in the biblical narrative. When we [talk] of Egypt then, we are not [talking] about Egypt today. When we mention the Jews then, we are not speaking of our Jewish friends and neighbors today. We realize that some of these words, such as Egypt and the Jews, have power to evoke feelings and thoughts and attitudes about the very pain and division in our world that [Jesus wants to save Christians and this group] will address. We join in this tension, believing that the story is ultimately about healing, hope,and reconciliation.” (p. 008)

Definitions
Theology – from the Greek theo meaning “God” and logos meaning “word” - Theology is a word about God.
Draughting – the British variation of draft – here we use it two ways.

Draught – verb – to make a blueprint of – our vision of God is never fully formed, the box we use is always too small, here in this group we strive to hold loosely to what we already have, while always seeking to redraw our theology of God.
Draught – noun – beer from a keg, you are welcome to have some, but always in moderation.

OK, now to our topic at hand –
Jesus Wants to Save Christians by Rob Bell and Don Golden
Introduction - Air Puffers and Rubber Gloves

Biblical Text – Genesis 4:1-16 (Cain and Abel)
Now Adam slept with his wife, Eve, and she became pregnant. When the time came, she gave birth to Cain, and she said, "With the LORD's help, I have brought forth a man!" Later she gave birth to a second son and named him Abel. When they grew up, Abel became a shepherd, while Cain was a farmer. At harvesttime Cain brought to the LORD a gift of his farm produce, while Abel brought several choice lambs from the best of his flock. The LORD accepted Abel and his offering, but he did not accept Cain and his offering. This made Cain very angry and dejected. "Why are you so angry?" the LORD asked him. "Why do you look so dejected? You will be accepted if you respond in the right way. But if you refuse to respond correctly, then watch out! Sin is waiting to attack and destroy you, and you must subdue it." Later Cain suggested to his brother, Abel, "Let's go out into the fields." And while they were there, Cain attacked and killed his brother. Afterward the LORD asked Cain, "Where is your brother? Where is Abel?" "I don't know!" Cain retorted. "Am I supposed to keep track of him wherever he goes?" But the LORD said, "What have you done? Listen-- your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground! You are hereby banished from the ground you have defiled with your brother's blood. No longer will it yield abundant crops for you, no matter how hard you work! From now on you will be a homeless fugitive on the earth, constantly wandering from place to place." Cain replied to the LORD, "My punishment is too great for me to bear! You have banished me from my land and from your presence; you have made me a wandering fugitive. All who see me will try to kill me!" The LORD replied, "They will not kill you, for I will give seven times your punishment to anyone who does." Then the LORD put a mark on Cain to warn anyone who might try to kill him. So Cain left the LORD's presence and settled in the land of Nod, east of Eden. (NLT)

Getting our frustrations out first, why is it that the first family, the very first people, who were supposed to be closest to God – physically and spiritually – was already dysfunctional? Why did God create in us the ability to rebel?

What sort of indicators do you experience in your day-to-day life that we are living East of Eden?

Is it your sense that we are moving further east, or have you found ways in which (individually or corporately) movement is headed back westward?

We are east of Eden. Something is not right.

Ursprache – German word and thought for the primal, original language of the human family. It's the language of paradise that still echoes in the deepest recesses of our consciousness, telling us that things are out of whack deep in our bones, deep in the soul of humanity. Something about how we relate to one another has been lost. Something is not right in the word. (p017)

Am I my brother's keeper? Am I supposed to keep track of him wherever he goes?

How does the way in which we relate to one another tell us things are out of whack?

In what ways do you see us harming ourselves?

Do you hear/feel/experience that Ursprache deep within your bones?

What does it say? How does it call?

Is there a way to turn this eastbound train around?

Next Time – 10/5 @6:11pm – the cry of the oppressed – exodus 1:1-2:11, 23-25

Authority

2011-09-20T11:21:00.001-04:00

I enjoy going back and forth on issues of churchmanship with friends who are of a higher ilk than me. We rag on each other about vestments, manual actions, and all the minutia of life as a parish priest. It is usually good natured, sometimes funny, and never to be taken too seriously,

Putting all that stuff aside, since most everyday disciples don't care much about it anyway, the real question of the warring factions in our church, be it the high church, low church battles of the 19th century or the progressive, evangelical arguments of today, surround the question of authority.

By what authority do you do these things?

My anglo-catholic friends would say that we operate under the authority passed down from Christ to St. Peter and through the laying on of hands in the Episcopate. This is not a bad argument, though I feel like it gives too much power to people. Instead, my argument is that we operate under the authority of Christ as He is continually revealed through the Holy Spirit. I like the authority buck to stop at someplace higher than some human being's desk.

Either way, the authority we carry as lay and ordained ministers of the gospel, is given to us, primarily through our being made in the image of God. We are his children, inheritors of his kingdom, and our work, be it through the Church or through the Spirit or both, is done under the umbrella of the authority of the King.

Questions of authority plague the Church. They have been the motivating factor behind the vast majority of schisms throughout history. They have been the impetus for war. They continue to muddle the message of the kingdom to this day.

No matter where we think our authority comes from: Bible, Bishop, Bag-o-tricks - we must not forget that their authority only matters because it has been given them of the Father. May God guide us in his will, for his honor and glory.

ahead of you, not instead of

2011-09-19T14:49:00.001-04:00

Rob Bell's latest book Love Wins happened because of an event at a community art show held at Mars Hill church, where Bell is a pastor. Here's Time Magazine's take on the event.

As part of a series on peacemaking, in late 2007, Pastor Rob Bell's Mars Hill Bible Church put on an art exhibit about the search for peace in a broken world. It was just the kind of avant-garde project that had helped power Mars Hill's growth (the Michigan church attracts 7,000 people each Sunday) as a nontraditional congregation that emphasizes discussion rather than dogmatic teaching. An artist in the show had included a quotation from Mohandas Gandhi. Hardly a controversial touch, one would have thought. But one would have been wrong.

A visitor to the exhibit had stuck a note next to the Gandhi quotation: "Reality check: He's in hell." Bell was struck.

Really? he recalls thinking.
Gandhi's in hell?
He is?
We have confirmation of this?
Somebody knows this?
Without a doubt?
And that somebody decided to take on the responsibility of letting the rest of us know?
Read more

There have been numerous discussions like this one that have come up in my life in the Church. Is Gandhi in hell? What about those with special needs? What about those who live on a deserted island? What about... Heck, is Rob Bell going to heaven?My answer is always, "I don't know." I can't. I'm on the wrong side of the River Styx to have definitive answers. I know that I believe Jesus when he says "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father but by me." But I kind of think that confining one's ability to live in grace to the years they spend on earth is selling God short.

Anyway, this all came to mind today as I read the Gospel appointed for Sunday. Jesus is embroiled in a debate with the religious powers that be. After he tells a parable (more on that later in the week) he tells them, point blank, "Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you." For the first time, I was struck by that one, simple phrase, "ahead of you."

So much of our time is wasted trying to change what Jesus says here from "ahead of you" to "instead of you." We want, for whatever reasons, for some people to be outside of the Kingdom. We want to know, for certain, that there are boundaries, walls, even pearly gates, that will keep riff-raff, wrong believing, nasty types out. And while Jesus does, very clearly, tell us there will be some outside the Kingdom, most of the time, the people he describes as in are those nasty types.

Prostitutes and Tax-Collectors?
C'mon!

And those wrong believing types, the Pharisee, Saducees, Scribes, and other powers that be? Well even they are still in, just at a later seating.There is a lot of power in Jesus' declaration of "ahead of." I'm just beginning to wrap my head around it.

anxious about earthly things

2011-09-15T17:58:00.001-04:00

The prayer appointed for this Sunday is one of my least favorite. Not because it isn't eloquent, it is. Not because it isn't theologically compelling, it is. Not even because it is hard to understand, it isn't. I dislike the Collect for the 14th Sunday after Pentecost, Year A because it hits too close to home.As I preached and written about before, I am an expert worrier, and to pray that God might grant that I might not be anxious about earthly things means that I'll have to find another use for a lot of brain power I otherwise waste worrying. I worry about how I might spend that time I now spend worrying.I might be alone in this. Perhaps you don't worry. Perhaps you've got it all together. Perhaps the Spirit is active in your life that you don't have time to worry. To be honest, I'm kind of anxious that I'm the only one who does worry.How great would it be, in the midst of things that are passing away, to hold fast to those things that will endure?How great would it be to be free from worry?Not by my own merits. Not by my own hard work. Not because I've some how convinced myself that I've got it all together. Not because some big toothed "pastor" told me to think of every day as Friday. But because I trusted in God enough to say, "it isn't about me and what I can or can't do, but it is about God and the amazing, mighty, miraculous things he does."How great would that be?

Angry? Yep... angry enough to die!

2011-09-14T16:03:00.000-04:00

The end of the Jonah story is tragic. You can watch the VeggieTales interpretation, one I've seen too many times to count, on youtube. The story closes with a question mark, and not just because it ends with a question from God. It ends with a giant question mark because we never hear Jonah's response. We never hear Jonah's response, I think, because he's too angry to speak. God asks him, after the Unpredictable Plant dies and Jonah gets miffed about it, "Is it right for you to be angry?" Jonah's response is emphatic, "Yes! Angry enough to die!"Sometimes, God's grace is like that. The story is usually about the serial rapist/murderer/child abuser sitting on death row who is converted by the prison chaplain, and as they come to the end of their days, they are at peace because they know they will be with Jesus and the thief who repented in paradise. It offends us. It makes us uncomfortable. It just doesn't sit right.For some people, it makes them angry enough to die. Or at least angry enough to leave the church. As it is with the story of the generous landowner, God's grace is offensive to those of us who keep worldly score. The undeserving always get God's grace.Of course, we forget that we too are undeserving. It is just that our sins are paltry compared to that other guy. Our failings don't hurt anybody... right?For some people, the extravagance of God's grace is just too much to bear, too offensive to be plausible, too big to be accepted, and that is a real shame. As soon as I narrow down God's grace, I'm afraid the first one falling outside of it is me.I'll end today's post in the same way Jonah ends, with a question mark.Should God not be concerned with those who still need his grace?

What time did you show up?

2011-09-13T10:43:00.001-04:00

I think I've written on this topic before, but I can't seem to search it in a way that blogger/google can find my old posts, so I'll write this as if it is a new idea.Caution! The story Jesus tells about the landowner and his day laborers is a trap! I'm guessing you fell into it. I know I did.The trap lies in this question - what time did you show up?In the scene that follows this parable, Jesus predicts his death for the third time. Immediately following that, the mother of James and John brings them to the feet of Jesus, kneels down and says, "Grant that one of these my sons will sit at your right hand and the other at your left in your kingdom." Or, to put it in the context of the parable, "Jesus, my two sons, James and John, have been in the field since before sun up. They were there yesterday, and they'll be back tomorrow. Promise me you'll pay them better than everyone else." The assumption made by Mama Zebedee is wrong in two ways.1) How does she know what time her sons showed up?2) She forgets that the last will be first and the first will be last.I've been in church since I was three. I went to Sunday school. I attended 3 different youth groups. I accepted Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior at 17. I answered the call to ordained ministry at 22. I plan on (and hope to) serve the Lord in full-time ministry for the rest of my days. I'd like to think that I'm the worker who showed up first thing in the morning. And if I am, I'd like to think I'll be happy with my full days wage, no matter what everybody else gets. I'd like to think these things, but I know myself better than that. I know that most days, I don't really show up until at least noon. I know that most days, I'm relying on me rather than God. I know that most days, I'll be grumbling when we all get paid the same.See the trap? We all like to put ourselves in the starring role in Jesus' parables, but more often than not, I'm showing up late, grumbling, weeds sown on rocky soil.But God loves me anyway. And for that, I'm eternally grateful.

bad for business

2011-09-12T15:27:00.000-04:00

For good or for ill, my brain thinks in management terms. Cost/benefit analysis, while not always the perfect model in parish administration, is my go to decision making tool. Thus, it always grieves me to read the parable of Jesus assigned for Sunday. I guess it is well and good that the Kingdom of Heaven can be related as a generous land owner, but it is just bad business.Imagine the scene the next day. The landowner hits the Home Depot, ready to pick up another mess of day laborers, and, low and behold, nobody is there. He returns at nine; nobody. Noon; nobody. Three; maybe a few brave souls. By five o'clock, with the day nearly spent and nothing accomplished, he returns to find 100 guys ready to work for a full days wage.What about the poor slobs who own other pieces of land? Are they supposed to suffer at the hand of this landowners generosity (i.e. foolishness)?When Jesus told parables, people got mad. That rarely happens when we read the parables of Jesus these days, mostly because our cultural vocabulary is so different. But this parable makes me angry. As one who holds a BS degree in business administration, this makes me angry. And, if I'm honest, as a disciple who like to think of himself as one who was in the field no later than 9am, this makes me angry.Am I the only one?

The Lord is full of compassion... and we are not.

2011-09-11T13:34:00.003-04:00

Here is the unedited text of today's sermon. The audio will be up tomorrow. The text is Matthew 18:21-35 and my life experience in the 10 years since 9/11. The LORD is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger, and of great kindness... So began our reading of a selected portion of Psalm 103. Truth be told, the Lectionary allows the option to read all of Psalm 103 on the 19th Sunday after Pentecost, but it seems to me, that on this day, we should echo the prayer of David by giving particular attention to this ancient creedal statement, The LORD is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger, and of great kindness. And we should probably rightly finish it by adding, “and we are not.” The LORD is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger, and of great kindness... and we are not. Which is, for many of us, why gathering for worship on this particular day, this 11th of September, 2011 is so very different than just about every Sunday we have experienced. We join with Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Agnostics, Atheists, and whatever else, united not by creed or color, but by universal memory, we all mark this day as a somber anniversary when two-thousand-nine-hundred-seventy-seven men, women and children senselessly lost their lives and more than six-thousand others were injured. If you are anything like me, you come today with a myriad of mixed emotions, which is why, I believe, our mantra for today should be, “The LORD is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger, and of great kindness... and we are not.” September 11th, 2001 fell on a Tuesday, and by the weekend, for most of us, life had at least found its way back to some semblance of routine. On Friday night, as was my custom, I joined my work buddies in the basement of the Travelodge to drink some beer while terrible karaoke singers ruined good songs. We were all a bit dazed, still in many ways in shock at the events of the week, but as is the case after tragedies, life, though changed forever, goes on. I remember this evening more vividly than most, not because the singing was any better or any worse than usual, but because of an impromptu speech given by the Karaoke Jockey. With words unfit for the pulpit, he turned his emotions into a very graphic description of what he would do to Osama Bin Laden should he ever run across him on the streets of Lancaster or the caves of Aghanistan. I remember feeling icky, to use a technical term, profoundly icky. I want to think I felt that way because, even thought I was a 21 year-old who spent too much time at the bar and not enough time in church, I could recognize the dignity of every human being, and the thought of one human being feeling such hatred and anger toward another made me uncomfortable to the point of feeling icky, but I'm afraid I felt icky because, in a lot of ways, I understood what the guy on stage was feeling, and I didn't like those emotions in me. The LORD is full of compassion, and mercy, slow to anger and of great kindness... and we are not. On the 26th of May, 2009, Lt. Col. Mark Stratton, very much a child of this parish, died with two others, from wounds suffered when an improvised explosive device detonated as their Humvee traveled the well worn road outside of Bagram Airfiled in Eastern Afghanistan. Mark was serving as the commander of a Provincial Reconstruction Team helping to rebuild the war torn region, and was, in many ways serving to ensure and protect the freedom of the Afghani people more so than his own country. To think that people tasked to build a school that would help bring children up from the depths of poverty would be the target of such an attack is hard to stomach. This community gathered, filling this nave beyond capacity to remember and give thanks for Mark's service. Today as we mark the 10th anniversary of 9/11, we also remember the five-thousand-seven-hundred-ninety-six American lives that have been cut short and forty-one-thosuand-two-hundred-twenty-one others forever altered by injury in the ongoing war on terror. No matter our political affiliation, we all grieve these numbers, especially the multitudes who, like Mark, were killed not on the field of war, but in the honest attempt to offer a better life to those who had nothing to do with the geo-political machinations that lead to 9/11 and the war on terror. The LORD is full of compassion, and mercy, slow to anger, and of great kindness... and we are not. On the 2nd of May 2011, mastermind of 9/11 and leader of Al Qaeda, Osama Bin Laden, was killed in an well orchestrated strike on his family compound by a skilled team of Navy Seals and CIA operatives. As news spread, massive celebrations spontaneously erupted around the country. As the pictures of those celebrations filled our 24 hour news cycle, many looked arrogantly and begrudgingly down their noses at the joy, and I was, once again, feeling profoundly icky. On one hand, I gave thanks that a seed of hatred and violence had been eradicated from the earth. On the other hand, I grieved that another one of God's created children, broken and sinful as he was, had found a violent end. One one hand I felt like celebration was the wrong response, and on the other, I thought smug self-righteousness wasn't any better. The LORD is full of compassion, and mercy, slow to anger, and of great kindness... and we are not. BUT... But God calls us to strive after compassion, mercy, and kindness no matter how hard it may be to attain them. Perhaps by chance, but more likely by Providence, the universal theme running through today's lessons is the one topic we really don't want to talk about today: forgiveness. After Jesus taught his disciples the art of reconciliation that we heard last week, Peter, probably acting as spokesman again, walked up to Jesus, stretched the very limits of his imagination and asked, “If a brother or sister sins against me, how many times should I forgive them? As many many as... seven times?” Peter is beginning to figure out that Jesus works on a much larger scale than the rest of the world. Earlier in their time together, Peter would have said something like, “Should I forgive someone two or three times?” Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, I might forgive you. Fool me three times, and forgiveness is just a crazy pipe dream. But by now, Peter has expanded his thinking, how about seven times? Jesus, however, is thinking even bigger than that. Even if you get burned seventy-seven times or seventy times seven times – forgive, forgive, forgive. “Forgive beyond your ability to keep track,1” and then forgive some more. Conceptually, this sounds fine and good, but with a nod to C.S. Lewis, “everybody agrees in principle that forgiveness is a mostly lovely idea and this agreement continues right up until that moment when you have an actual person in front of you whom you must forgive—then suddenly caveats, nuances, and provisos start to fill the air.”2 Forgiveness is hard because forgiveness is a life changing endeavor. To hold onto a grudge is to yoke yourself to another person. To forgive them not only frees them from that bondage, but it removes the weight from your own shoulders as well, and most of us don't know what it feels like to stand up straight, free from the bonds of animosity. Be it a husband, or a wife, a child, or a parent, the Republicans, or the Democrats, Al Qaeda, or Timothy McVeigh, the inability to forgive another, whether they deserve it or not, whether they ask for it or not, is detrimental to your health: spiritually, emotionally, and even physically.3 Jesus never tells Peter that forgiving someone four-hundred-ninety times is going to be easy. Seven times is hard enough. The reality that we all know, is that forgiveness is difficult and messy and awkward and sometimes sad, but it is always a requirement. On the 2nd of October, 2006 a man named Charles Roberts backed his pick-up truck up to the entrance of a one-room Amish school house in West Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania. Based on the elaborate materials found at the scene, his plans were grotesquely sinister. His sloppiness allowed the police to respond quickly, but in then end, five young girls were dead and five more critically wounded before he turned his gun on himself. As early as that afternoon, a grandfather of one of the dead little girls was quoted by CNN warning others against hating Roberts, saying, “we must not think evil of this man.” Another man reiterated the point, “I don't think there's anybody here that wants to do anything but forgive and not only reach out to those who have suffered a loss in that way but to reach out to the family of the man who committed these acts.”4 And reach out they did, as community leaders met with his family, attended his funeral, and one Amish leader even held Robert's sobbing father in his arms for an hour. As one unnamed Amish man told CNN, “The acid of hate destroys the container that holds it.” Our culture is not rooted in forgiveness the way it is for the Amish. They have their own areas of brokenness, just like us, but I add the story of the Amish 9/11 to our own corporate memory to prove my point, “The LORD is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger, and of great kindness... and we are not... but with God's help we can be.” May we always remember. May we strive to forgive. May we seek to be set free. All for the glory of him though whom all thing are being brought to their perfection, Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

not for the purpose of quarreling

2011-09-08T12:26:00.001-04:00

Paul's advice to the church in Rome is sound, "welcome those who are weak in the faith." Here at St. Paul's we are taking a look at the ways in which we welcome the stranger, whether brand new or a mature disciple, when they walk through the doors. One topic we haven't broached is whether or not we should welcome them for the purpose of quarreling with them. Maybe it is because Paul has already made it clear we should not.In many ways, however we (St. Paul's, sure, but the Church as well) do welcome the stranger and immediately get to quarreling. Allow me to explain. How many folks, weak in the faith as they may be, walk into a church and are expected to:1) Know the layout of the physical plant, including but not limited to bathrooms, nursery, and even the worship space2) Know which of the five books in the pew to pick up when the service starts.3) Know how to read music and/or follow along to words on a screen with no music4) Know what H82, BCP, S108 means5) Recite the Creed6) Know the proper procedures for receiving the sacraments/blessings7) ... ?Maybe we don't take them to task on the theologies they carry with them through the door, but often we do a pretty good job of making them feel like a big, fat, outsider - often before the first hymn is sung.My friend Eric tells his congregation, ad nauseam, that the church is the only institution that does not exist for the benefit of its own membership. I agree, but I wonder how often, by our very nature, we work toward the opposite goal?This, quite frankly, has no bearing on a sermon for this week, just a question that bounced around my brain as I read the lessons today.

weaving

2011-09-07T12:32:00.001-04:00

Joseph speaks an extremely interesting line as his tumultuous story comes to a head in this week's Genesis lesson. His brothers, having once again attempted to lie, cheat, and steal their way through life, come seeking (maybe) forgiveness in the hopes (certainly) of not being killed for their past sins. Joseph, unable in his humanity to offer much forgiveness, lays it all at the foot of God."Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God? Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good..."Margaret Odell over at WorkingPreacher does an amazing job with this whole story, but her understanding of this peculiar line is extremely helpful.Whether we know it or not, this response of Joseph gets a high place in modern, western Christian philosophy. How often has it been said, "God has a plan"? How often has tragedy been shrugged off by saying, "God's will is perfect"? How often has damage been inflicted to a grieving family member, especially when a life has been cut way. too. short. by a well meaning friend or pastor who said, "We may not understand this, but God knows what he is doing"?That is, admittedly, one way of reading Joseph's word to his brothers. God's plan includes short-term evil, but in the end, it is all good.This is, I'm afraid, a terrible image of God.Odell argues, and I have no reason to disagree, that this word "intend" has its roots in weaving, and so we should read this not as God using evil to make good, but that evil stuff happens, children die, planes crash, cancer strikes and God, in his infinite wisdom, can even incorporate, can even weave, that great evil into his good plan. See how that turns things around?David Lose can say it better than me, "Joseph perceives that God can weave from whatever strands of brokenness, heartache, or calamity we have suffered a future that is, in the end, good. Care needs to be taken with these potent words -- "what you intended for harm, God intended for good" -- as they have too often been used to relativize evil or suffering in light of some larger "plan." That is not, however, what I think this scene -- or certainly the whole of Scripture -- advocates. The betrayal and treachery of Joseph's brothers is real. But so also is God's relentless intent to wring redemption and healing even from the most difficult of circumstances."It doesn't help with the "why bad things happen" question, but it does make some progress into the way in which God's plan plays out in everyday life. And for that, as a human being and as a pastor, I am exceedingly grateful.

Forgiveness

2011-09-06T15:17:00.001-04:00

That's it. If you are preaching from the Revised Common Lectionary on track 2, then forgiveness is the theme of the lessons for Sunday.Joseph's brother's conniving attempt to receive his forgiveness.The Psalmists understanding of the way in which God blots out our offenses.Paul's call to cease judgment.Peter's hope that there is some end to the river of forgiveness.That's what you have, dear friends, forgiveness. Normally, this would be easy enough to preach. Even those of us who desire platitudes rather than sermons could find something to say this Sunday. "I remember the time my brother stole the last slice of key lime pie..." 7, 77, 490 - forgive.But this Sunday isn't just another Sunday. This Sunday is already headline news, already the stuff of the History Channel, already inundated with PBS specials for this Sunday, in case you haven't heard (or looked at a calendar) is the 10th anniversary of 9/11/01. This Sunday has weight that many (nee most) other Sundays do not. If you live in the greater New York and Washington DC metropolitan areas, the weight might be too much to bear. If you live on the Eastern Seaboard, it'll be tough. If you live on or near a military base, it'll be a different kind of heavy. And in some locals, it won't feel too bad at all, but watch, every person who walks through your doors will be carrying a little extra baggage.What then, does forgiveness look like on the 10th anniversary of 9/11? How does the releasing of the other's yoke lessen the burden of our own? How do we extend the question of Peter about a member of the Church (literally "a brother") to this pluralistic world? How can I, like Peter, limit the bounds of forgiveness? How does God, in Jesus, call me to the carpet for doing that?It is a tough Sunday on a short week. Forgive me, I've got a lot to do.

Gentiles and Tax Collectors

2011-08-31T15:23:00.000-04:00

As I said earlier this week, the good Lord willing, I'm not preaching this Sunday. That being said, I'm not delving exegetically into the Gospel lesson as I normally would on a preaching week, therefore I'm not as up to date on the current debates surrounding Matthew 18:15-20 as I could be. But I bet I can guess what they're talking about."If the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector."It is the great question of church discipline. What do you do with the person who refuses to repent, acknowledge fault, seek forgiveness, is a stubborn pain in the...?Jesus tells us to treat that person like a Gentile and a tax collector.Fine.But treat them like who treats Gentiles and tax collectors?If we treat them like the Pharisees do, then we ignore them, leave them for dead, and pray that God never brings them and their rampant uncleanness back into our lives. If we treat them like the earliest of early church leaders did, then we pray that they might be converted to right living (and, in the case of Gentiles, expect circumcision to be a sign of that right living). I fear that these two understandings have dominated the interpretation of Matthew 18:15-20 for, I don't know, 1900+ years. Maybe not in the the ivory towers of academia, but certainly in (too) many pulpits.If we treat them like Jesus treated Gentiles and tax collectors... well, then we're screwed. We have to eat dinner with them. We have to talk with them when we see them. We have to engage them, and though that might be nice and dandy for Jesus, it is really, really hard for us.This, I think, is where grace comes in. And not that happy, clappy, white light, gentle breeze, peace pipe sort of grace, but the down and dirty incarnational kind of grace that puts that stubborn SOB in your path over and over and over again, until you have no choice but to summon every bit of strength the Holy Spirit has to offer and offer a handshake, a hug, a cup of coffee, you'll know the right course of action for this particular gentile and/or tax collector in your path.It ain't easy, folks, but its the way of the kingdom. No wonder so many of us choose to walk in the ways of the world.

Aidan of Lidnisfarne

2011-08-31T14:29:00.002-04:00

Did I spell that right?Anyway, here's my homily for his feast today.“Many who are first will be last, and the last will be first” This is one of those statements that most of us wish Jesus had never said, the classic catch 22, damned if you do, damned if you don't situation. If you listen to the world, and follow the American dream, if you seek success, luxury, material happiness, if you strive to be first, if you get everything you wish for on earth, you will only end up last in the kingdom of God. If, instead, you seek after the kingdom, giving up material luxuries to help the poor, risk being used to help the needy, endanger your relationships to love the unlovable, if you seek after God by giving up everything and becoming last in this world, well, then, you will be first in the Kingdom of God. It would be a whole lot nicer if we could be first both ways, right? First here, first there... shouldn't it work that way?Jesus says, you can't have it both ways, and Aidan of Lindisfarne, whom the Church remembers today, learned that the hard way. Christianity first made its way to northern England in 627 with the conversion of King Edwin of Northumbria, but after his death in 632 a vicious pagan uprising threatened to squelch the Gospel for good. Eventually, Edwin's nephew, Oswald became king and summoned from his place of exile, the island Monestary of Iona, a missionary named Corman, who failed miserably in his attempt to convert the Anglo-Saxons of northern England. Bishop Corman, note that key title, returned to Iona complaining that the Northumbrians were a savage, stubborn, and unteachable people.Here's where the story gets fun, or at least where the story gets real human: a story that could have taken place anywhere at any time in human history. The young upstart, Aidan, suggested to the good bishop that “perhaps he was too harsh with them, and they might have responded better to a gentler approach.” Needless to say, Aidan found himself on the first ferry off Iona with instructions to convert Northumbria. The first shall be last.But the story doesn't end there, as I believe, it doesn't in Jesus' classic conundrum. Aidan, an Irishman who spoke no English, now on a hopeless mission to convert the English speaking Northumbrans, would, by the grace of God find his way back from last and least, to a saint remembered fifteen hundred years later. So successful was his mission, that it has been suggested that Aidan be named the Patron Saint of all England. His approach was simple, be a human being and talk to people. Aidan would walk from village to village, politely conversing with whoever he met along the way and slowly bringing forth in them an interest in what made him tick: his faith in the resurrected Jesus. It is said that King Oswald, who often acted as interpreter for Aidan, gave him a horse so that he wouldn't have to walk, but Aidan promptly gave it to a beggar. Aidan patiently walked along side people, he talked to them on their own level, and turned the tide of Northumbria toward faith in the risen Christ.Often, I make the mistake of reading Jesus' words without any human quality to them. They become like fortune cookie slogans, useful only on face value. But this well known saying of Jesus, that the last will be first and the first will be last, I'm starting to think of it more like shampoo instructions: wash, rinse, repeat. The first will be last, the last will be first, and when the first become last, they're next in line to be first, and vice verse. As I'm keen to say, it isn't just about the next life, but this stuff makes sense here and now too. In the end, however, whether you are first or last or somewhere in between, we can glean some good advice from the life of dear Aidan, just be real, be a fellow human being on the journey of life, listen to people and you'll impact more for the gospel than any big-tooth-smiling-thousand-dollar-suit-wearing-fancy-story-telling-tv-preacher could ever dream of. The first will be last and the last will be first, and thanks be to God the cycle continues. Amen.

tell two or three...

2011-08-30T21:52:00.000-04:00

And then the whole congregation will know.

I'm guessing that's not what Jesus had in mind as he explained his disciplinary procedure to his disciples. Gossip, I'm sure, was not what he hoped for in the ideal situation.

But, we're human, and we sin, and we all know that gossip happens. It is the reason why prayer lists are closely guarded secrets. It is the reason that HIPPA laws make going to the doctor a matter of national security. It is the (a? probably a) reason why confession has gone out of style in most denominations. It is part of what makes my job difficult - a long history of priests (and bishops) who couldn't keep other people's secrets under the stole.

And, in many ways, it is the reason why we all read these instructions from Jesus, roll our eyes, and come up with Title IV revisions. (Title IV is the portion of Episcopal Church Law that deals with misconduct).

What if, in our conflict averse, gossip-page obsessed culture, we took these instructions from Jesus seriously? What if we, privately and with tact, told people when they hurt us? What if we trusted two or three elders to help mediate? What if the Church, the ekklesia (yes 18:17 is the other place Matthew uses this word, and he uses it twice) the community, was serious about its role in real reconciliation (and not just the white guilt sort of reconciliation that for too long has defined the *former* mainline)?

Imagine the example that would set for the whole world? Imagine how it might impact Washington? Imagine how what it might mean as we approach the 10th anniversary of 9/11. What if Jesus knew what he was talking about?

Ekklesia - when community is broken

2011-08-29T12:24:00.000-04:00

My friend Evan wondered aloud on facebook this morning whether preachers would re-preach this weekend whatever they talked about two weeks ago. Seems as though Matthew and the Revised Common Lectionary people are very much concerned with what the church is binding and loosing. I'm not preaching this weekend, and Keith talked about the keys rather than the fetters of the Kingdom, so I'm guessing he won't just rehash everything. I'll probably come back to the whole binding and loosing thing later this week, but today I'm pondering the implications of ekklesia (community) or rather the lack thereof.

See, the NRSV translates Matthew 18:15 as " another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one." But alas, this isn't the only other time Matthew uses that great word, Ekklesia, in his gospel. Instead, he chooses to translate Jesus' word as adelphos, brother.

The NIV gets credit for the better translation this time, "If your brother sins against you, go and show him his fault, just between the two of you. If he listens to you, you have won your brother over." The implications are clearly for the community of the faithful, but the word here is not community, not church, but it is about one person sinning against another (all singular), and boy how that changes things.

Or does it.

When members of the body of Christ act as individuals, and not surprisingly, screw it up, how does it effect the community at large? How does forgiveness and reconciliation or the lack thereof affect the larger body? What difference does it make that a brother sinned against a brother?

Jesus seems to make it clear that the first step is one-on-one relationship (re)building. Go and meet with that person alone, point out the fault, and if reconciliation happens, rejoice. But if it doesn't, if it begins to spread like a cancer to the whole community, well then additional steps are needed. More on that tomorrow.

For now, I'm really wondering about that word, brother, and how it impacts the whole issue of sin and forgiveness within the ekklesia.

Who's the Co-Pilot Here?

2011-08-29T09:51:00.000-04:00

You can listen to my interpretation of the text below by clicking here.

--

I find bumper sticker theology to be a fascinating area of study. Somehow, in the space of twelve inches by three inches, hopefully in a font size big enough to be read by the car behind, whole systematic theologies can be spelled out. Take, for example, a few of my favorites, “Warning: In case of rapture, this car will be unmanned.” Obviously, this is a dispensationalist Christian, who expects Jesus' second coming to not only be soon, but also to involve the immediate whisking away to heaven of all believers. Another classic reads, “If it ain't King James, it ain't the Bible.” Assuming the owner of the vehicle isn't being cleverly ironic, this is a grammatically challenged biblical literalist who understands the only true English version of the Scriptures to be the beautiful, if difficult to understand, prose or the 1611 King James Version. One of the best theological bumper stickers ever made is actually a response to one of the worst. The original bumper sticker read, “God is my co-pilot.” Some wise person, upon seeing all the flaws contained in such a statement, printed another set of stickers that read, “If God is your co-pilot, swap seats!” I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure this bumper sticker is directed at St. Peter.
Things are looking great for Jesus and his disciples during their visit to Philip's newly updated Ceasarville. They have paused for a bit to regroup after a series of storms, miracles, and a few run ins with the religious and political powers that be. Last week we heard Jesus trying to get a feel from his disciples of the popular opinion, “who do people say the Son of Man is?” Then, in that great turning point moment, we heard Simon Peter declare without question that Jesus is the Messiah, the anointed one, the Son of the living God. The passage ended with Jesus sternly warning his disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah. Did anyone wonder about that? I did. Why keep important news quiet? Why not tell the whole world? The disciples had an idea of why they had to keep things quiet, it was the wrong idea, but that didn't much matter at the time. The best way to enter Jerusalem and overthrow the Roman occupiers would be through the element of surprise. Keep the news quiet until an army is gathered, then BAM, strike down the Romans and their sympathizers in the Sanhedrin: the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes. Remove them from power before they even know what them. A brilliant military strategy, but a terrible understanding of the way in which God works, for Jesus, you see, had other reasons why things should be hush hush.
“From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hand of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.” Let's be honest, none of them heard anything beyond “be killed.” To a man, their brains began to swim with anxiety, misunderstanding, and, most likely anger. And so Peter, as spokesman, takes Jesus aside to explain to him the error of his ways, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” This way Jesus is describing is messy. It is unseemly. It is not the way things are supposed to work out for the anointed one of God and his disciples, and so Peter, as spokesman, as favored son, as the Rock, politely tells Jesus, “why don't you let me drive, clearly you don't have the directions quite right.”
In a lot of ways, I'm a lot like Peter. First and foremost, I'm a terrible passenger, literally and figuratively. As sad as this statement may be, two of my worst nightmares are sitting in the passenger seat for a trip lasting any longer than 30 minutes and sitting in a meeting where the person in charge is running without an agenda. I hate that feeling of being out of control. I hate not knowing the path ahead. My friend Ashley was recently accepted into the discernment process to become an Episcopal priest. Before his last interview, the Bishop suggested I help him flesh out a piece of his story that seemed to be lacking and that the Commission on Ministry would want to hear. As I prepared for our meeting, I recently had the opportunity to read through some of my old discernment process papers and quickly realized just how terrible a passenger I really am. In my letters to my rector, my bishop, the Commission and even in my seminary choices, I tried over and over and over again to steal the reigns away from God and take the road that seemed easier, faster, and smoother, and every time, by way of some very human organization God told me, in no uncertain terms, that he knew the directions just fine, and he'd be driving.
“Get behind me Satan! Peter the Rock, you are a stumbling block to me, for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” In a matter of a few seconds, Jesus finds himself being swept from the room he shared with his disciples in Ceasarea Philipi to the wilderness of his temptation. All of a sudden Satan is back to tempt him. Turn this rock into bread, worship me, throw yourself from the pinnacle of the Temple, raise up an army and take over Jerusalem – you don't have to suffer, you don't have to die, there is always another way. Jesus has had his identity challenged by the Pharisees, the Sadducees and a Canaanite woman, his world has been spinning out of control for some time, and now, in his moment of weakness, Satan returns to tempt him yet again. In five short verses Peter the bedrock of the Church has become Peter the stumbling block of Jesus as he tries to wrestle control away from him, but Jesus is prepared, he knows the directions, he has his mind set on the things of God.
One of the hardest parts about being a disciple is the whole following piece. The rugged individualism of 21st century America predestines us to be leaders, if only of ourselves, and so we find it hard to follow, to sit right seat, and to trust someone else's set of directions. As Peter's encounter with Jesus shows us, our own path, as beautiful and simple as it may seems, is the way of destruction. The way of Jesus, on the other hand, is hard and dusty and fraught with danger, but it is the way of life.
“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” Jesus lays out before his disciples the way of life: set your mind on divine things, deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow.
If, as I suggested in a sermon several years ago, the Great Commandments of loving God and loving neighbor are impossibly simple, then this lifestyle of denying oneself and taking up one's cross is simply impossible. Denying ourselves the privilege of taking the driver's seat is hard enough, but to bear our own cross, the feel the weight of our own torture device, to know the pain of the splinters digging into our shoulders – that is just too much to bear. Fortunately, no one uses crucifixion as an execution technique these days. Thankfully we can't really understand the powerful image Jesus is raising in his disciple's minds. But, unfortunately, the act of taking up one's cross has become so trivialized, that we've lost all concept of the life, the way, Jesus is describing here.
If you were with us for our evening service on Ash Wednesday this year, you heard a little bit of what it means, and doesn't mean, to take up your cross. Your chronic back ache is not a cross to bear. Your pain in the neck mother-in-law is not your cross to bear. Your tough work schedule is not your cross to bear. A cross is only a cross when you make the choice to carry it on behalf of someone else. Jesus chose the cross, he chose to die so that he might raise all of creation to new life. He chose to take your sin and mine with him so that everyone might come within the reach of his saving embrace. As Keith's friend, Max Lucado says, “He chose nails.” Through the power of Christ living within you, you too can make that choice. You can choose to live a life of self-giving love. You can choose to live a life focusing solely on the will of God. You can choose to live a life that stands up for the outcast and oppressed, the widow and the orphan, the poor and the alien. It may seem simply impossible, but by the grace of God, you too can move yourself out of the way, and gain the life that God had in mind for you from the very beginning.
The battle over who's driving never seems to end. Standing by a charcoal fire, late on a Thursday night in Jerusalem, Peter will three times deny Jesus in a fruitless effort to save his own life. Jesus will take Peter's life back for the kingdom around a different charcoal fire on the shores of Lake Galilee. I continue to struggle with my control issues, wanting God to fit into my plans rather than the other way round. We all struggle to live fully into our identity as children of God, but God, ever faithful, ever merciful, continues to point to the map and say “Trust me, I know a better way.” Is God your co-pilot? Because if he is, you are surely in the wrong seat. Amen.

following

2011-08-25T14:53:00.000-04:00

I am a terrible follower. I'm an even worse passenger. I hate being out of control. I hate not knowing where were going. It isn't that I don't trust someone else to lead or to drive or to instruct, it is just that I'd rather do it myself.

This makes being a disciple very difficult, but don't take my word for it. Peter learns very quickly and very harshly how incongruent it is to be a disciple in the driver seat.

Peter wants to be in control. He is fine with Jesus being the Messiah, but that anointedness comes with a certain set of expectations that do not, in any way, include Jesus being arrested much less killed. Peter is so worked up, it seems as though he can't even hear Jesus finish his thought: the whole, rise on the third day lynch pin to the Incarnation gets lost in translation. Jesus rebukes Peter, "Get behind me Satan!" Or, as I like to imagine it "Follow my plan, my route, my way! Let me sit in the driver seat, Peter, I've got it under control."

As the bumper sticker above says, Peter's in the wrong seat, and often, so am I. A good friend of mine has just been formally accepted into the discernment process for ordination to the priesthood in the Episcopal Church. As I talk with him about "the process" it brings back all sorts of memories that are deeply wedged into the recesses of my mind. I'm reminded of the thousand ways I tried to hijack the process from God's hand in order for it to fit the way I wanted it to work. I'm reminded of all the times that I fought to get my hand on the yoke, only to send the plane into a sputtering tailspin while begging God to take over again. I pray he doesn't struggle in the same way.

It is really hard to be a control freak and be a disciple, but, it is possible. Jesus graciously invites us to hand over the reigns and follow his lead. Jesus gracefully leads us forward into the unknown. Jesus mercifully forgives us each and every time we wrestle control away from him (even if that mercy feels a lot like an angry rebuke).

What about you? Are you any good at following?

What has Jesus begun to show you?

2011-08-23T11:46:00.000-04:00

We are halfway through Matthew's Gospel and Jesus is just now beginning to show his disciples what's in store. They've seen healings, heard teachings, storms have been calmed, thousands have been fed, and they've been sent out to share the good news.

And now he tells them he's going to be arrested, killed, and on the third day rise again.

Sometimes we take for granted that the disciples had all the details, and they most certainly did not. Sometimes we take for granted that we know all the details, and we do not.

Jesus is always out there, on the horizon, at the margins, on the edge, calling us to follow him. I wonder, what has Jesus begun to show you?

And as he unveils us, are you able to receive it? Do you want to keep moving forward? Or are you content with where you are? Peter, as I said yesterday, has a set of expectations - he wants Jesus to act a certain way, and as Jesus begins to show him this different way, this better way, it is hard for Peter to get on board.

The same is true for all of us. Change is hard, but when we put God in control, change is inevitable. He loves us just the way we are, but he loves us too much to leave us there.

One time...

2011-08-22T16:37:00.000-04:00

I love my new Pandora Station. What was once a station based around The Avett Brothers, by the great wisdom that is the Pandora algorithms I am currently listening to Bob Dylan sing "The Hurricane." Based on the story of Rubin Carter, and the racial tensions of the mid-1960s, Dylan's story-telling, sing-songy rendition of the song written by Burt Bacharach, Carole Bayer Sager, and Neil Diamon is amazing.

There is a line about midway through the song that struck me as I reflect on Matthew 16:21-28 for this Sunday.

"Put in a prison cell, but one time, he could-a been the champion of the world."

This line made me think of Peter. Peter so desperately wanted (needed?) Jesus do be the champion of the world. He wanted Jesus to overthrow the Romans. He wanted Jesus to reestablish God's reign in Jerusalem. He wanted Jesus to subvert the corrupt religious system of the day.

But Jesus told him that he was fixin' to be put in a prison cell.

And that wasn't OK with Peter. All the couldas and wouldas and shouldas start to race through Peter' mind, and he can't stand the thought of it. "God forbid it!" He says. "This can't, this won't happen, not if I can help it."

But it would happen. It had to. Like in the case of Rubin Carter, sometimes the cards are stacked against somebody. Like Jesus, sometimes, when you act a certain way, live a certain way, call people to account in a certain way, you end up on the wrong side of the executioner. It happens. It is unfortunate, but it happens. In the case of Jesus, of course, the unfortunate events of Good Friday will be transformed on Easter Day. But Peter couldn't hear that yet.

Ekklesia - what is the church?

2011-08-18T12:02:00.000-04:00

I've written elsewhere about the whole, "what you bind on earth will be bound in heaven" business and my friend Bill the Greek scholar, helped a lot in the comments. I'll leave that for another year.

Instead, I'd like to deal with a peculiarity in Matthew's version of Peter's declaration, one that I know so well, I forgot it only appears in Matthew - Jesus' renaming of Peter.

"Jesus answered him, "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. 18 And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. 19 I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven."

We so quickly skip over that word, church, when we read this lesson. We all know what church is. Or do we? For some, church is 10am on Sunday morning. For some, church is a building with stained glass and a steeple. For some, church is lively worship music. For Jesus, church was ekklesia, and it only shows up three times in the Gospels, only in Matthew, and twice in one verse.

What is the church? Ekklesia, according to the Friberg Lexicon, is "(1) in a general sense, as a gathering of citizens assembly, meeting (AC 19.32); (2) as the assembled people of Israel congregation (HE 2.12); (3) as the assembled Christian community church, congregation, meeting (RO 16.5); (4) as the totality of Christians living in one place church (AC 8.1); (5) as the universal body of believers church (EP 1.22)

Church is people, gathered together, confessing the name of Jesus and, as Acts will later flesh it out, following The Way. It has nothing to do with music, prayer books, vestments, buildings, or, for that matter, going to heaven when you die - it has everything to do with living as a disciple of Jesus right here and right now, to the glory of God.

Peter took his job seriously. He went to the cross, upside down, because of his life of faith in Christ Jesus. Our means of doing, of being Church are a lot less dangerous, but they are just as necessary. Standing up for the poor, the outcast, the oppressed, the resident alien. Sharing our resources with those who have none. Lifting up people from the depths of despair. Offering a place of silence in a world full of noise where people can hear the voice of God.

To be that, and do that, you necessarily have to have places and lights and air conditioning and leaders (who may or may not be masters educated, paid, full time staffers, but they should be mature in their faith, which is a whole different post for a different day) and service times and newsletters and discretionary funds. But when that stuff becomes the priority, and the community and the way get lost in a plethora of line items, well then ekklesia, the church is no more.

May God look with favor upon his ekklesia, guard us from getting in our own way, and show us The Way that is life. Amen.

Proper 15a - Homily

2011-08-17T15:40:00.002-04:00

In many ways we use the Psalms in the same way the ancient Israelites did, and in many ways we don't. For starters, the Psalms were sung, but as far as I know, there is no extant music for us, modern day worshipers to follow. The Psalms were used during worship to lift up the prayers of the gather community. They echoed the words of David as they cried out in lament, asked for forgiveness, or praised God for his loving kindness. If we take seriously that we are praying the Psalms during worship instead of reading them, or hearing them be read to us, then we too take part in that ancient practice of joining with King David to call upon the Lord.
Today's Psalm, number 67, we join with David in doing something we rarely do as a community of faith: we ask God for his blessing. Sure, Keith or I pronounce God's blessing at the end of each service, but most of the time, when we come before the Lord, we ask for everything but his blessing. I tend to think of God's blessing being the stuff of prosperity preachers – God wants you to be rich, so send me ten-grand and I will be – but Rolf Jacobson from Luther Seminary really got me thinking this week in his reflection on this Psalm. You might want to open your prayer book to page 675 again as we walk through this poem, verse by verse.
The Psalm begins at the end of the traditional worship service. The blessing of Aaron from the book of Numbers gets tweaked by the Psalmist, and opens this liturgy of blessing by asking God simply to bless his people. “May God be merciful to us an bless us, show us the light of his countenance and come to us.” The poet then goes on to deal with the crux of God's blessing – something you've heard me say a lot over the years – we are blessed to be a blessing to others. This blessing for which Israel is asking, isn't just for them, but it is to fulfill the promise of God to Abraham and Sarah in Genesis 12, “You will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you... and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” After the Exodus, God reiterates his promise, “You will be a priestly kingdom and a holy nation.” (19.6) “And what did the priest do in ancient Israel? Channel the divine blessing upon the people. Israel was the conduit through which God's blessing flowed to all the earth. When God blessed Israel, God blessed all of creation.
“Let your ways be known upon earth, your saving health among all nations. Let the peoples praise you, O God; let all the peoples praise you. Let the nations be glad and sing for joy, for you judge the peoples with equity and guide all the nations upon the earth. Let the peoples praise you, O God; let all the peoples praise you.” Three times the Psalmist uses the word all – all the peoples, all the nations, all the peoples. God's blessing was not, is not, reserved just for a few, but is the free gift of all. It is given to us so that we might give it away.
And blessed we have been. The Psalmist won't let the congregation get away with only asking for future blessing, but instead reminds them, and us, that we have already been blessed. “The earth has brought forth her increase” and here I agree with Jacobson (and almost every other translator) over our Prayer Book Psalter, “God, our God, has blessed us.” As we read stories of children starving to death in Africa or the poverty rate in America increasing, it might be hard to see where the earth is bringing forth her increase, but if we look around, there are plenty of places to find God's blessing in our world, this very day: low humidity, sun shine, health, loving friends and family, the list goes on and on. It is helpful, as we ask God to bless us, to remember that he has and is blessing us already. It runs through my mind time I celebrate that I've already announced that God will bless you for ever more, but I also know it is always helpful to have that constant reminder.
The Psalm ends by asking God, once again, to bless us so that the ends of the earth might be blessed, “May God give us his blessing, and may all the ends of the earth stand in awe of him.” We have been blessed to bless others. We are being blessed to bless others. We ask God to continue to bless us so that we might be a blessing to others. Pour it out upon us Father, make us overflow with blessing, to the honor and glory of your name. Amen.

Proper 15A Sermon

2011-08-16T16:32:00.002-04:00

I forgot to post this on Monday, sorry. I entitled this sermon "Jesus called her a dog - the moment that changed everything." You can listen to it here. Or, read on.

[It is always wonderful to stand in the center aisle, surrounded by cute, impressionable children while reading Matthew's account of Jesus calling a women, begging for his aid, a dog.] This is a tough lesson, easily top five toughest in the Gospels mixed in with Jesus turning the tables in the Temple, Jesus cursing the fig tree, and perhaps a few others. It shocks us to hear Jesus act this way. He begins by ignoring the woman's cries – the only time he ignores a cry for help – and then goes so far as to call her a slur, an epithet, a DOG! It offends us, and it should, but as Paul said to Timothy, “all scripture is inspired by God and useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness.” (2 Tim 3:16). I'll come back to Paul's useful words to Timothy, but first, a classic Steve Pankey extended metaphor.
After vestry on Monday evening, Cassie and I loaded up the baby and the car to meet some friends way over on Florida's Atlantic coast. We arrived Tuesday evening, and by the time Wednesday afternoon rolled around, everybody was ready for relaxation. Eliza took a four hour nap (as did our friend Josh) and I sat down with the History Channel's special presentation on the wreck of the Britannic three miles off Greece's Kea Island in 1916. The Britannic was the younger sister of perhaps the greatest ship wreck in recorded history, the Titanic. Built after Titanic sunk, Britannic was fitted with several upgrades meant to keep her from joining her older sister in Davey Jones' Locker. All of her upgrades were for not, however, as she sank in what the History Channel called a record time for a ship of her size, a mere 55 minutes. The History Channel had sponsored a team of elite divers, charged with the task of finding out why Britannic sunk so quickly. An ironically long 55 minutes later, it was time for “The Dive.” On the second to last day, a team of divers was finally set to wind their way through the generator room to find out if a key door was open or shut. I watched as they entered the crack in her hull, made their way down the narrow corridor, through the craw space next to boiler number 5, only to find the lead diver's progress thwarted by a wheel barrow wedged in the middle of his path. The show went to commercial showing only cloud of silt and hearing only the radio transmission, “Topside to Dive Team One.... Topside to Dive Team One.”
Finally, the divers responded, “abort” and after four hours of decompression compressed into 10 seconds they arrived on the top disappointed, but safe. Luckily, there was still a day of diving left so they could try the longer route past boiler number 3. Except, the Greek antiquities observer on board says they've violated their permits, and there will be no last day of diving. The show ends with the team, regathered several months later, talking about how much they accomplished in finding that wheel barrow, but honestly, I find it a hallow victory for the hour of my life I invested in their program.
Finding a wheel barrow is not what I had in mind when I started the journey to Britannic. I wanted to know if her double skin filled with water. I wanted to see that door, still opened, spelling her demise. I wanted definitive answers in return for the lazy hour I spent on the couch, but all I got were more questions. As the team leader stared, amazed at the first-ever, 3D rendering of the boiler room, as he stared at another piece of his life work coming into focus, all I saw was a wheel barrow, but he saw the bigger picture.
That, finally, is what this story from Matthew's Gospel is like. If we see the bigger picture, if we recognize that all, A-L-L, all of scripture is inspired by God, then we can understand that this seemingly innocuous healing story, this silly example of Jesus' sometimes dirty humanity, this side note of a pericope has something to teach us. What we find in this story, shocking and ugly as it may be, is a turning point in salvation history, and one for which we, Gentile Christians should be exceedingly grateful.
Matthew describes the woman who seeks Jesus' attention as a Canaanite Woman, but Canaanite was an ethnicity that no longer existed by the time of Jesus. Sure, Joshua had left some folks behind after being ordered to enter the land of Canaan, and kill every man woman and child (a top five Old Testament doozy for those of you who are into such things), but they had become so mixed with other races and cultures that Canaanites proper no longer existed in first century Palestine. Matthew chooses not to follow Mark in calling her Syro-Phonecian and in doing so, he evokes in the minds of his hearers the whole range of salvation history – From the First Adam to the Second Adam, the Re-Creator of all things, Jesus of Nazareth. This woman stands as a caricature of everything Israel believed. They, as God's chosen people, were in, and the Gentiles – of all sorts – including Canaanite women, and you and me, were out.
Jesus, as a first-century Jewish Rabbi was ingrained in that culture, in that teaching, in that understanding of the Kingdom, and so, true to who he is and what he came to do, he's focused on the lost sheep of Israel – the Pharisees among many others – who were so lost in the rules, who wasted so much time washing their hands, feet, pots, and pans, who focused on themselves more than others and more than God. He had a lot of work to do to get their attention.
And the Canaanite woman had a lot of work to do to get his. “Have mercy on me! Lord! Son of David! Have mercy on me! Kyrie Elison. Kryie! Elison!” She shouts and cries and shouts some more, until, exasperated, the disciples come to Jesus and say, “Shut her up! Send her away! Apolyson!” But she is undaunted, until she gets what she wants, until her daughter is healed of her demon, she will not leave, she will not be quiet, she will not be ignored. “Kryie Elison! Have mercy on me, Lord!”
As if he hadn't heard her at all, Jesus only responds to his disciples, “I was sent for the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” Suddenly, she sees her way in, as she rushes up to him, and takes on the traditional posture of worship, down on her knees, begging, pleading, worshiping, and hoping that Jesus will hear her cry and be merciful. His response, is filled with thousands of years of hurt feelings, theological squabble, and all out warfare. “It isn't fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs.” The woman, still undeterred, has heard it all before. She's been called worse, but worse people, for sure. “Yep, dog, that's me, but even the dogs get the crumbs that fall from the master's table.”
And in an instant, in the bigger picture, everything changes. The walls of Jericho come tumbling down, and everyone – even this Canaanite woman, emblematic of every stereotype, ignorance, and hatred that ever separated any person from another – everyone comes within the reach of God's saving embrace.
“Woman, great is your faith,” is all Jesus can muster, “let it be done for you as you wish.” Her persistence pays off, thanks be to God, and even the Son of God has an Epiphany. In God's Kingdom there is no box, no in or out, just love, grace, and mercy, and that, my friends, changes everything. The Canaanite Woman trusted in that truth, but do we, do I, do you? Do we trust enough to know we've been forgiven? Do we realize that we are loved? Do we accept the grace that we don't deserve, confident in the Master's love?
During the dust bowl of the early 1930s, a preacher scheduled a special prayer service to pray for rain. The church was packed with people from far and wide as the preacher stepped into the pulpit. He scanned the assembled congregation, and told everyone, “Y'all can head on home. This service is over.” The people protested, “But we've not prayed for rain!” “Won't do a lick of good,” the preacher replied, “ain't none of you brought your umbrella!”
The Canaanite Woman brought her umbrella. She believed, fully and surely, despite hundreds of years of history to the contrary, that Jesus would heal her daughter, and because of her great faith, in the great scheme of things, the gates of Kingdom of God were flung wide to include you, me, and every Canaanite Woman in history.
Can you see the bigger picture?
Is it coming into focus?
Have you brought your umbrella?
Do you believe in what God can do?
I do. I believe God has a role for each one of us as the story unfolds. I believe that God has equipped each of you specially for the tasks he has prepared for you. I'm praying for big things. I'm praying for walls to crumble. I'm praying for small things to forever alter the bigger picture. I've got my umbrella. Do you?

Who do you say that I am?

2011-08-16T12:42:00.000-04:00

Jesus, while concerned with what the world was saying about him, cared more about the understanding of those who followed him. He knew that this rag tag group of fishermen, tax collectors, physicians, and sundry taggers on would be his representatives, his body, in the days to come, and it was important that they begin to get it.

So far, they hadn't gotten it.

While the world thinks the Son of Man might be Elijah, John the Baptist, Jeremiah or somebody else, it is becoming increasingly important that the disciples know who Jesus really is. Jesus, as Peter declares, is the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.

I kind of got on the Church yesterday, accusing them of not being able to articulate who they thought Jesus was. The world does a pretty good job of telling us who they think he was, or at least they're good at telling us what they think of his followers. We're crazy, homophobic, anti-intellectual Bible thumpers. And, we've done nothing to agrue to the contrary but act like crazy, infighting, litmus testing, morons (I'm looking at you on the left and the right).

I think we haven't been able to respond eloquently or wisely because we really don't have an answer we believe in when we're asked, "Who do YOU say Jesus is?" All of our definitions are negative - he's not, we're not, they're not, you're not. But who IS he?

Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God.
Jesus is the perfect example of God's will for the world.
Jesus is the One who turned the world right side up.
Jesus is the King of kings and Lord of lords.

If we begin to turn our answers around, to become less defensive, less angry, less... well... crazy, then I'm confident we can begin to turn around the perception of Jesus (and by extension his followers).

So, dear friends, Who do you say Jesus is?

Who do people say that the Son of Man is?

2011-08-15T11:54:00.000-04:00

It is a clunky sentence, that question from Jesus. Does he mean, "Who are people saying is the Son of Man?" Does he mean, "Who are people saying I am?" Is he looking for affirmation? Has his encounter with the Canaanite woman brought up real questions of identity in Jesus?

It is a clunky sentence, that question from Jesus, but it is far weightier than its clunkiness would lead us to believe.

What if you asked that question of your congregation this week? What sort of answers would you get? In Episcopal circles, I suppose some would look to CS Lewis and say he is either a liar, a lunatic, or the Lord. Some might say he was a great teacher. Other would say he was the perfect the Son of God, born of the Virgin Mary, killed by Pilate, dead, and risen from the dead. And, I'm afraid, some might stare blankly back at you, unable to express, in any way, who they understand the Son of Man to be.

I started reading "Almost Christian" a few months ago. It is an academic book based on the results of a study of the religious habits of youth and young adults. It was too dense for me. Impractical. The stuff of seminary. So I put it down and bought "Missional Youth Ministry" instead. This is a book I can get behind, a book with feet, a book with heart. Anyway, the gist of both books is this - For 50 years we've taught a bastardized version of the Gospel, and our students are so ingrained in this false message, taught to them by parents who learned it from their parents, who learned it, by example, from folks whose lives were marked by two World Wars and a Great Depression, that they can't speak, intelligently or otherwise, about their faith because all they know is 1) be nice and 2) God's there when you need him.

Tomorrow, we'll look at Jesus' more pointed question, "who do you say that I am?" Today, I'm wondering, how has the Church failed to share the Good News? How have we missed our chance to express who the Son of Man is to a culture hungry for faith? Who do others say Jesus is? Are they right? Or have they hijacked the faith from us all?

That dog thing

2011-08-10T15:35:00.001-04:00

Can we make a deal? Can we agree to quit watering down the stuuff that makes us uncomfortable? We don't like it that Jesus turns the tables in the Temple. We don't like that Jesus curses the fig tree. We don't like that Jesus calls the Canaanite woman a "dog."

So we try to soften it to make us feel better. "He was just joshing her, trying to teach the Pharisees and the Disciples a lesson." "He didn't call her a dog, he called her a puppy, it was cute not racist and condescending."

Oh come on!

This stuff should and does make us uncomfortable. Jesus was a Jewish rabbi. He lived in a culture that looked with contempt upon certain outside groups. He carried the same prejudices that we all struggle with. He had to deal with that universal question, "who's in and who's out?"

And he decided, learned, grew to understand (however you want to say it) that even the dogs, even the most outside, a Canaanite woman, was inside the realm of God's kingdom. Her persistance paid off. Her daughter was healed of her demon, and we, us gentile types, are now the predominent followers of Jesus, the Jewish Messiah.

It makes us uncomfortable, and that has to be OK. So what do we learn from our discomfort? What do we learn from Jesus?

Oh Come On!

2011-08-08T07:56:00.001-04:00

Food laws and Jesus comparing a woman to a dog?!? Are you serious? On a short week of sermon prep?!? Oh Come on!

Let's start this week with the optional reading from Matthew. It contains one of my favorite lines in all of Scripture - a sentance that is almost a mission statement for me. "Do you know the Pharisees took offense when they heard what you siad?". Appeasing the powers that be was, at this point in Matthew's gospel, second to last on Jesus' list of lifelong goals. He had been sent precisely because what the religious leaders of Israel were doing with the will of God.

God saw that they were bending religion to suit their own political and financial goals, and God was angry. A flood didn't work, slavery didn't work, the destruction of the Temple didn't work, exile didn't work, and so he tried again by sending his only Son to bring grace. And contrary to the current prevailing opinion, grace only comes through judgment. You've gotta know you need grace, i.e. you have to know you are sinful, for grace to work.

So, when Jesus ticks off the powers that be, he isn't doing it all willy-nilly, but in order to offer grace. The Pharisaical obsession with purity had taken the focus off of God and placed it squarely on them. Jesus says, get over it, and focus on what matters, the stuff of the heart, the place of God.

In contemporary life, we've probably gone the other way. Ignoring all calls to purity, both external and internal, and focused instead on "I'm OK, you're OK." In reality. This says, God, we're good, we don't need your grace. It puts the attention squarely on ourselves and places us in the role of the Pharisees as we use religion for our own self interests. Jesus calls us to a higher standard. "I'm broken, but God is faithful and his grace is sufficient for me."

Now, what to do with that dog stuff?

Proper 13A - a sermon for Parish Staffs

2011-08-03T14:51:00.001-04:00

For the last, I don't know how long, I've thought there was a prayer, attributed to Martin Luther hanging behind my desk. When I went to look at it in preparation for this homily, however, I realized it was gone, and I have no idea where it went or how long it has been missing. After I read this prayer, you'll understand how coincidental that all is.
Lord God, You have placed me in your church. You know how unsuitable I am. Were it not for your guidance I would long since have brought everything to destruction. I wish to give my heart and mouth to your service. I desire to teach your people, and long to be taught your work. Use me as your workman dear Lord. Do not forsake me; for if I am alone I shall bring it all to naught. Amen.
Over in the office, we are in the throws of fall planning. Liturgy, Sunday school, EYC, five15, lifelong Christian formation, special events – I feel like it is the first week of a seminary semester all over again. The list of things to do seems so long and the list of available time seems so short, and I can't even keep a printout of a prayer from disappearing off my bulletin board.
O God, you know how unsuitable I am. And while my brain won't believe it, I know in my heart of hearts that it really isn't all about me. The programs, the music, the liturgy, God will provide. But in the meantime, my blood pressure is through the roof. Thankfully, God hears the prayers of his people and does not leave us alone, to bring it all to naught. He hears our cry, “Let your continual mercy, O Lord, cleanse and defend your Church...” and he put it on the hearts of the Revised Common Lectionary Committee to appoint these lessons for Proper 13a. They were tailor suited for church staffs stressed at the prospect of another program year speeding down the pike because they are all about God's abundant provision.
In Isaiah, we hear of God's gift being offered to everyone: “Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat!” Even the unfaithful, even *gasp* the nations that don't know the LORD are invited to come and find sustenance in God.
In the Psalm, we listen in as David sings praises to the Lord. “The LORD is gracious and full of compassion, slow to anger and of great kindness. The LORD is loving to everyone and his compassion over all his works.”
Matthew's telling of the feeding of the 5000 is THE PERFECT LESSON for this time of year. The disciples, with whom I can readily associate, feel like they are running out of time and there just isn't enough to go around. It is getting late, and all we've got is five loaves and two fish, what on earth are we going to do Jesus?
What on earth? Well nothing of earth can help this situation. Left to your own devices, yes it would all come to an end, but in the Kingdom of God, where abundance is the name of the game, there is plenty of time and plenty of food and all will eat and be satisfied.
I often comment that most of my sermons are written for me, but today that is more true than ever. You might not be planning a program year, but all of us know what it is like to feel like there is not enough time, energy, money, food, whatever to go around. We all find ourselves at that point where our rope has run out, but God is so good. His mercy IS everlasting. His love IS for everyone. And thankfully, when our rope ends, God's is there waiting for us to grab hold. There is more than enough in God's economy: more than enough time, talent, money, space, whatever. We just have to invite him in, let go of our own stuff, and grab a hold of God.
O Lord, you open wide your hand and satisfy the needs of every living creature. Help us to see your abundance and to be thankful. Amen.

confess, believe, and be saved

2011-08-03T10:37:00.000-04:00

This little tidbit from Romans 10 is oft quoted:

"If you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved"

But that gem is rarely understood. We simply don't have working definitions of the key words in this verse. What does it mean to confess Jesus as Lord? What does it mean to believe that God raised him? And, perhaps most importantly the question that is most urgent for the future of American Christianity, what does it mean to be saved?

I sound like a broken record, but if being saved means "I get to go to heaven when I die," then we've got it all sorts of backwards. If we are just waiting for our just rewards because we said the right prayer and (looked like) we did the right things, then we are setting ourselves up for a serious disappointment.

If we have our ticket punched and are waiting for Jesus to come, like Calgon, to take us away, we would be well served by going back and really looking at what it means to confess and believe, because, dear friends, these things are not passive, past tense activities - these are life changing and ongoing activities.

Confessing that Jesus is Lord isn't something you tell God. He knows it already. It is something you tell your family, friends, co-workers, bosses, politicians, news reporters... it is something you tell by word and deed to every person, power and principality within your circle of influence.

Believing that God raised Jesus from the dead isn't an intellectual assent confined to the recesses of your mind. If God did raise Jesus from the dead, and the Kingdom of God has started to invade the kingdom of the world, then you have a part to play. You are called to work alongside God in the restoration of his Good Creation from the power of sin and death. If Jesus was raised from the dead, then you have a lifelong task - help God raise the rest of us too. When your whole life is turned toward God, well then you are saved, and heaven will be a nice reward, but in the mean time the work is never done.

Confess, believe, and be saved. Simple enough?

on being afraid

2011-08-01T17:11:00.000-04:00

I follow the comedian, Jim Gaffigan, on Twitter. He's always good for a laugh and today was not different.

@JimGaffigan - Last night I explained to my 5 year old son that the dark is not nearly as scary as your wife bringing home a pregnancy test.

The fears that we carry often change over time. I remember FBC's pediatrician explaining to us that for a while, she would freak out every time we left the room because her brain had not yet learned to process the fact that we returned every time. She was afraid we deserted her, every single time.

I have not idea if there are studies to prove it, but the fact that more people are afraid of public speaking than death has been quoted so often, it has to be true.

In Sunday's Gospel lesson, the disciples are fear-mongers. Matthew doesn't name it, but I'm guessing they were anxious all night as the waves battered the boat and the strong wind pushed against them. They were terrified when they saw "a ghost" walking across the sea. So scared they cried out in fear! Cried out! When was the last time you did that? At a haunted house? The latest installment of Final Destination? When your wife brought home a pregnancy test? Peter is afraid of the wind and the waves as he tries to walk to Jesus. He is afraid when he sinks. And he's probably afraid when Jesus declares him "you of little faith."

Fear is an interesting thing. It is a strong motivator. It is a powerful adversary. It is on my go to list of reasons we all seek God. Twice! (Fear and Anxiety)

What are you afraid of? What is the Church afraid of? Fear... an interesting thing to ponder.

Joining in on God's Miracle of Abundance

2011-08-01T12:36:00.000-04:00

My Sunday sermon can be heard here - or read on!

As the calendar prepares to roll over to August, September is already looming large. Back in May, the Bishop reminded his clergy that the tenth anniversary of September 11th will fall on a Sunday. My preaching resources, twitter feed, and facebook news are already teeming with resources on how to handle that delicate day. Because of the constant reminders, I've relived September 11th dozens of times over the past few months, and will certainly do so again in the coming weeks. Like many in my generation, September 11th is a defining moment and I remember the day vividly. Hearing the first reports of a plane hitting one of the World Trade Center towers on the radio as I drove to class. Standing in front of the hastily wired TV in the Student Union with others, slack-jawed as the details unfolded. Cassie calling me as the University of Pittsburgh dental school closed after flight 93 crashed less than 90 miles away. Staring at CNN.com in my office at the all but shut down for the day RR Donnelley plant. Finding my parents at St. Thomas Church and giving them huge hugs because, as I said to them, “today is a day that you just want to see your parents.” We all handle bad news differently. Some reach out to others. Some get to work on mindless tasks. Jesus, as we will see, sought out a deserted place.
Chapter 14 of Matthew's Gospel should be subtitled “A tale of two dinners.” The first, which we skip in the RCL, is a dinner of great opulence served in the comfortable setting of Herod Anitpas' palace in honor of his birthday. Out of sight, but not out of mind, sitting in the basement dungeon was John the Baptist who had arrived there for getting in the way of ugly family drama. Herod had taken his brother's wife as his own and John stood up and said, “No! This is unlawful.” Now Herod, at the urging of said wife, Herodias, wanted to put John to death, but he feared what the people might do to him, and so, John sat in prison awaiting his fate while Herod and his friends got plastered upstairs. Herod got so snockered and found his step-daughter's dance routine so pleasing that he offered to grant her whatever she might ask. And so, the young girl, at the prompting of her mother, asked for the head of John on a platter. Which she got.
Which brings us to dinner number two, and our Gospel text for this morning. When Jesus heard the news of John's death, he hopped in a boat and sought out a deserted place. We all handle bad news differently, but no matter our actions, most us, in tough times, try to God. When life doesn't make sense most of us find ourselves most hungry for God. That's what I did as I sought out contact with loved ones on September 11th. In their words and hugs they were God to me. That's what others do when they got lost in the millions of details, they seek God in the mundane – a place where he is easily found. Jesus sought to fulfill his hunger for God by getting out into the wilderness, in the peace and quiet. He needed some time to talk to His Father and sort it all out. He needed to hear, probably for the millionth time, that God's plan is good and perfect even though people are often flawed and terrible. He just needed some space, but the crowd was hungry too. They had a lifetime of bad news to process, and their way of handling it was to seek out Jesus. The crowd needed him, and so as soon as they heard that he had taken off, they began to search for him. Like paparazzi looking for the perfect picture, they sought him out from every surrounding town, until they found him, still in his boat, just offshore.
Jesus returns to shore, after a break that I can only guess wasn't nearly long enough, some how ready, willing, and able to reach out with compassion to the crowd swarming around him. The way Matthew tells the story, the miracles begin almost immediately, “Jesus went ashore, he saw and great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick.” Jesus came back from his brief respite ready to share God's gift of compassion and he did so with vigor, but let's be honest. You didn't come here today to hear about Jesus healing some folks. As you flipped through the bulletin before the service started and you glanced at the Gospel lesson, most of you thought, “Oh good, The Feeding of the 5000, I love that story.” It is The Miracle of Jesus. It even has its own action figure play set.
As the last of the sick came forward to be healed and evening approached, the disciples, weary from a long day, approached Jesus with a problem. “This place, where you tried to escape, is deserted, and the hour is growing late, we should send everybody back to the towns so that they can hit the drive-thru or pick up some take out before everything closes.” Jesus, as usual, has other plans. Here, in the wilderness, in the place where God fed the Israelites manna from heaven, where Elijah was nourished by ravens, where Elisha fed a hundred men with twenty loves of bread, where John the Baptist set up shop, and where Jesus was tempted for by the devil to turn stones into bread, in that very wilderness, Jesus is going to perform one of his most powerful miracles. He's going to feed these five thousand men and every last woman and child there too. Just as he healed the sick, Jesus could have miraculously placed a happy meal, cooked their way, right away, in every persons hand, but this miracle of sharing is one to be shared. He looks at his disciples and says, “There is no need to send them away, you are going to give them something to eat.”
“Us?” They reply, bewildered, “Us? No way. Impossible. We've got nothing but five loaves and two fish.”
“Bring 'em here,” Jesus responds. Then, in language that should be very familiar to Episcopalians he took, blessed, broke, and gave the bread back to his disciples who distributed it to the throng of tired and hungry people. They ate until they were filled, and then the disciples went back around, collecting twelve large baskets full of left-overs.
The Gospel writers rarely give us glimpses into what is going on behind the scenes with Jesus. We hear about his sweating blood in the Garden of Gethsemane on the night before his crucifixion. We hear about his anger in the Temple courts when he turns the tables. We see him weep for his friend Lazarus, but most of the time all we get to know about Jesus is what is on the surface. In its proper context, however, this story of the feeding of the 5000 shows us Jesus in all of his human vulnerability. From the midst of his own mourning, fear and uncertainty – from one of the Son of God's most human experiences – we find Jesus reaching out with supernatural compassion. As the story opens, we find Jesus in the same position as the crowd: lost, sick, and wandering. I imagine him looking out from that boat and feeling the same way the disciples did when they looked in their picnic basket. “There are thousands of people who need me, and I barely have enough energy to keep myself going. From a lifetime of experience, however, Jesus knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt “that wherever there is plenty of God, there will be plenty of everything else.”1 There was plenty of God in that otherwise desolate place and there was plenty of compassion in Jesus. There was plenty of God in the crowd and there was plenty of bread and fish to go around.
Maybe you've come here this morning feeling run down. Maybe you are looking for a place to hide. Maybe you are hungry or thirsty or tired or scared. In a few moments, Keith will step behind this altar and take what little bit we have to off and ask God to bless it, break it, and share it with everyone. There is plenty of God in the bread and wine we share at this table and there is plenty of grace to go around, plenty of healing, plenty of restoration.
We all handle bad news differently, but in his Son, God with us, the Father invites us to share that pain, that sorrow, that fear, that anxiety with him. He invites us to receive his compassion and mercy. He offers us the bread of life that sustains us beyond overflowing. But then, like the dumbfounded disciples, he expects us to pick up a basket and go forth to share the abundance. God's gifts are not ours to keep. They are only given in order to sustain us so that we can continue passing them along. So come, you who are weary and burdened, receive the sustenance of God and go forth renewed for his service. Take your part in God's miracle of abundance. Amen.

Needing to be fed

2011-07-28T13:23:00.000-04:00

I haven't looked in the official Revised Common Lectionary (Episcopal Version) Lectern Book, but I'm guessing it follows pretty closely to lectionarypage.net in the way it leads the reader in to the opening verse (14:13) of the Gospel lesson for Sunday. Here at St. Paul's we use the NRSV (New Revised Standard Version) for our lessons.

Here is how verse 13 reads in the NRSV, "Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns."

Here is how verse 13 reads, pulled from its context in the larger story of Matthew, "Jesus withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns."

Do you see the difference?

In context, we read that Jesus withdrew because of what he had heard. In the RCL we get no reason for Jesus' withdraw. So, what did Jesus hear that we didn't?

Matthew 14:1-13 is the story of a different kind of meal; one held in the the comfort of the Herod's palace. There was food beyond measure, wine beyond debauchery, that awkward scene with Herod's step-daughter dancing much to Herod's pleasure, and finally John the Baptist's head on a platter.

That's what Jesus heard before he withdrew to a deserted place by himself, and I don't blame him. Jesus felt what most of us feel when tragic news comes, he was hungry for God. He needed to spend sometime with His Father in order to sort it all out. He needed to hear again that the Father's will is good and perfect even when people are bad and ugly. He returned from his time away, short as it seems to have been, fed and ready to share with a crowd of people who were hungry as well. God's gift was shared by Jesus through compassion. Sure, real bread and real fish were consumed, real people were cured of real infirmities, but the real gift was God's amazing grace poured out from the perfect vessel of love, God incarnate.

I rag on the RCL a lot. I know that choices have to be made, we can't read all of Matthew in one sitting on a Sunday morning, but sometimes the context tells the story. Leave those few leading words in and make the preacher explain what is happening. And since they aren't there, dear preacher, do the work of telling the whole story. The people are hungry, we ought follow the example and feed them.

John R. W. Stott 1921-2011

2011-07-28T12:21:00.000-04:00

In recent years, as evangelical has become more of a pejorative in Western Christianity, to call him the father of modern evangelicalism is to do a disservice to this great man. He was a missiologist before missiology became the "in" thing and theological schools offered D.Min programs in it. His books line my shelves and as editor of "The Bible Speaks Today" commentary series, he has impacted congregations, including St. Paul's Foley, around the globe.

My rector sent this to me yesterday upon hearing of Stott's death,

"One of the most searching tests to apply to any religion concerns its attitude to death. And measured by this test much so-called Christianity is found wanting in its black clothes, its mournful chants and its requiem masses. Of course dying can be very unpleasant, and bereavement can bring bitter sorrow. But death itself has been overthrown, and ‘blessed are the dead who die in the Lord’ (Rev. 14:13). The proper epitaph to write for a Christian believer is not a dismal and uncertain petition, ‘R.I.P.’ (requiescat in pace, ‘may he rest in peace’), but a joyful and certain affirmation ‘C.A.D.’ (‘Christ abolished death’)." - John Stott

—From “The Message of 2 Timothy” (The Bible Speaks Today series: London and Downers Grove: IVP, 1973), p. 39.

Follow this link to read my seminary paper on the missiology of John Stott. (Warning - it is 14 pages long and not that great).

CAD John Stott

Among many others

2011-07-27T12:57:00.000-04:00

There are a lot of stories from the Bible that we know so well, we've forgotten what they actually say (let alone what they actually mean (assuming we ever did know that)). The Feeding of the 5000, as I told you before Final Jeopardy last night, appears in all four Gospels. The feeding of a multitude appears six times in all. We get it. Jesus did a lot with a little.

As I said yesterday, it is The Miracle of Jesus.

But what we miss, is that it happened in the midst of a whole lot of other miracles. (I'll stretch the context outside of the pericope tomorrow). Jesus, trying to find some peace and quiet, sees that the crowd has followed him, sought him out, and has compassion on them. Then, Matthew tells us, he cured their sick. The word he uses here isn't the typical word for healing (iaomai) but instead is the basis for our word "therapy" (therapeuo). The first definition of which being "to serve."

Jesus' Big Miracle of feeding, where the disciples participated by serving the crowd is precipitated by Jesus' many smaller miracles of healing, where he himself served the crowd. Maybe this is a superfluous detail, but I think it shows us something big. God does miracles in two ways.

Sometimes, he takes care of it himself. BOOM - miracle done, person healed.

Sometimes, he invites disciples to be the agents of his miracles by handing out food, teaching the forgotten, loving the unlovable, starting an IV, whatever. Sometimes big miracles happen because a lot of people listened to God and acted as his agents of change.

The Miracle in this story, the one we learn about our call to discipleship, is the feeding of the 5000, but we learn that lesson only because we know from the many other examples, that God is quite able to do it all on his own.

The Miracle

2011-07-26T11:48:00.000-04:00

The picture at left is of one of the shelves in my office bookcase. A, my able youth ministry volunteer/Sunday school coordinator gave me "Miracle Jesus" for Christmas a couple years ago. Two miracles are featured with the glow-in-the-dark handed Jesus action figure: The turning of water into wine and, what I have dubbed The Miracle, The Feeding of the 5000.

You'll note the five loaves and two fish on the paten (next to the water jug that flips over for wine) and the multitude in the background.

I think if you took a man-on-the-street type survey of the miracles of Jesus, the feeding of the 5000 would be the clear winner. Never mind the fact that it was more a feeding of the 10 or 15 thousand, this miracle gets our attention because it has to do with the one basic we all share: food.

It is the only miracle that appears in all four gospels and as the NAB notes state below, it is full of allusions both forward and back.

"The feeding of the five thousand is the only miracle of Jesus that is recounted in all four gospels. The principal reason for that may be that it was seen as anticipating the Eucharist and the final banquet in the kingdom (Matthew 8:11; 26:29), but it looks not only forward but backward, to the feeding of Israel with manna in the desert at the time of the Exodus (Exodus 16), a miracle that in some contemporary Jewish expectation would be repeated in the messianic age (2Ba 29:8). It may also be meant to recall Elisha's feeding a hundred men with small provisions (2 Kings 4:42-44)."

As our news is full of billionaire owners and millionaire football players, political wrangling over a looming debt crisis, and historic droughts in Africa, the abundant provision of Jesus in this story seems as profound as ever. How does the Church, as the body of Christ, re-create this miracle on an ongoing basis? How are we called, like the disciples, to feed people even in our scarcity? How is God's abundance alive and well even in the midst of our philosophy of scarcity?

Lots of questions this week, and short week to ponder them, but I'm glad to be back.

One Square Meter

2011-07-14T09:23:00.000-04:00

Jack Daniel's fans who are lucky enough to become Tennessee Squires are deeded one square inch of land.

Habitat for Humanity of Baldwin County supporters can donate one square foot of a house.

The more I think and pray about the Parable of the Wheat and the Tares, the more I'm convinced that none of us is just one plant in this story. I think that perhaps each human being comprises more like one square meter in the field of God.

As I take stock of my own life, I am keenly aware of the ways in which good fruit (wheat) and bad fruit (tares) grow up side by side, often intertwined, within me. Like the Apostle Paul said in the Epistle lesson a few weeks ago, "I don't understand my own actions."

Plants have no choice as to whether they are wheat or weeds. They have no ability to tear up the weeds that are choking them out. They are stuck until harvest.

Human beings, on the other hand, have choices to make. Am I content having my square meter be more full of weeds than wheat? Am I willing to ask God for help pulling the weeds? Am I able to be patient enough to wait for that to happen?

Parables are never as simple as they seem on Monday, but I'm still glad I don't have to preach this weekend.

God keeps his promises - a homily

2011-07-14T09:10:00.001-04:00

Here's my homily from yesterday's noon Eucharist.

Over the past six months, I have watched the Veggie Tales version of the Jonah story more times than a good parent would care to admit. I have learned a lot from the adventures of the poor asparagus names Jonah: his escape to Tarshesh, his time in the belly of a big fish, and the repentance of the people of Nineveh. One thing of which I am certain, the life of a prophet is never dull. Hosea was called by God to marry a prostitute who would cheat on him so that he could experience the pain God felt as Israel worshiped idols. Ezekiel was told to lay on his left side for 390 days while God laid the iniquity of Israel upon him. Isaiah walked around naked for three years to show Isreal's enemies the shame that was to come upon them. Prophets spoke words of correction and rebuke to people of all strata – from peasants to kings – individuals and whole nations. They found themselves, unsurprisingly, in all sorts of jams and in need of the very God who sent them into the storm for safety. My spiritual director in seminary told me she thought I had the gift of prophecy, and I've been scared to death that she was right ever since. Being a prophet is a life of unease, at best.
There are moments, however, when being a prophet is a pretty sweet gig, and not just on the other side of the River Styx. There are scores of stories in Scripture where, when all the prophecy and rebuke is over, when wars have come and gone, when people have been killed, exiled, and humiliated, when God gives the prophet a word of restoration – a promise that even in the midst of the worst possible situation, God promises goodness for his people. We get a piece of that in the Isaiah lesson.
Chapter fifty-five ends what is called Second Isaiah, the portion of the book that takes place during the Babylonian Exile, and this word is desperately needed. Their time in exile has been almost too much to bear. Their beloved holy city of Jerusalem was destroyed, families were torn apart, houses burnt to the ground, and their country leveled. Jeremiah and a group were left in Israel while others were taken by force to Babylon where they could no longer follow the rules of their religion. Their God, who resided in the Temple Court, was no where to be found. Hope is almost lost, when the man who warned them all of this would happen, offers a new word, one filled with hope.
His word of rain and snow comes to a people, not unlike us, who know the dangers of parched ground. They've seen crops fail, fires rage, and livelihoods lost. They know what it is to hope for rain to come and refresh the earth, and, Isaiah says, that is exactly what God's word is like. His word comes, and renews the face of the earth. People who see nothing but sadness, will have their hopeful vision restored. People who in the midst of death and mourning, long for a glimpse of life, will have their lives renewed. God will pour out his word of hope upon his people and they will rise up with joy and singing. The restoration will be so joyous, so spirited, so lively that even the very mountains and hill will sing and rejoice. The words of condemnation, the thorns and the briers, will be transformed into luscious green myrtles and cypress trees. Where Babylon scorched the earth, God's word will bring forth fresh life.
Today marks the middle of our ninth real week of summer. We've had 0.05 inches of rain in July, 2.17 inches of rain in June, and 0.11 inches in May – putting us nearly 8 inches behind for these 9 weeks. We watched 1000 acres of Gulf State Park burn as we smelled smoke for more than a week. We've been stuck in traffic on 59, long lines at the grocery store, and found slivers of sand on crowded beaches. We've got 13 weeks until hurricane season ends. And we can't even begin to understand how desperate the Isrealites in Babylon felt, but there is still hope for us in the words of Isaiah,
God keeps his promises, and he promises to restore his whole creation. No matter how dry, how frustrating, how messy, how fearful the earth becomes, God promises to restore it and us in due time. He's done it before. He's given Jonah, Hosea, Ezekiel and Isaiah good news to share, and been true to their word. May God continue to prove faithful to his word as we seek to faithfully serve him, even in the midst of dry times. Amen.

The Wisdom of Solomon

2011-07-12T13:01:00.000-04:00

If you are running with RCL Track 2 this summer, you'd better pull out your Roman Catholic Bibles this week because it is time again for "Readings from the Apocrypha!" Remember to tell your lectors not to end the lesson with "The Word of the Lord" lest lightning should strike your lectern/ambo (sarcasm font here). Also, be prepared for questions about why the lesson isn't in "my bible." Someone will ask. Mark my words.

I'm struck this morning by one line from chapter 12 of the Wisdom of Solomon. It reads, "You show your strength when people doubt the completeness of your power." And it is such a good reminder to those of us in leadership positions.

How often do we get to a point where we, effectively by our actions, tell God, "Thank you very much, I'll take it from here." Often, right?

And how often does that work out? Never, right?

God shows his strength when we doubt the completeness of his power and trust in our own instead. He gives us the opportunity to walk away from him, knowing full well that without him, our plans are fruitless. "Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain" (Ps 127.1)

I've seen it happen at all levels of the Church, and, without fail, the program sputters and flops because God was not invited to the party. As we plan for the fall here at St. Paul's it is a helpful reminder to call upon the Spirit for wisdom and discernment. Otherwise, God might just who us the completeness of his power.

Children of the Evil One?

2011-07-11T12:38:00.000-04:00

I sure am glad that I'm not preaching this Sunday. The Wheat and the Tares is such a messy parable. If one reads the text at face value it sounds like some people were created to always be destined for hell. They even get a name, Children of the Evil One.

It all feels very Calvin-y to me.

As I reread the parable, letting the shock of my first read wear off (every time I read it, it shocks me) I began to wonder who the Children of the Evil One are. If the Creed is to be believed, then God created everything, seen and unseen, in heaven, on the earth, and under the earth. So, did God create children of the evil one, destined for hell, and hell bent on taking the rest of humanity with them?

Or, are the evil one's children a separate creation? Does the devil have such power? Are these children fellow humans? Are they demons? Are they evil powers? Are they principalities?

I feel like this has to be addressed on Sunday morning. I feel like this is all people will hear. We skirt the issue of good vs. evil, of heaven and hell, to our detriment. So, dear reader, how will you preach this text?

The Prodigal Sower - an impractical sermon

2011-07-11T11:25:00.002-04:00

You can listen to this here - or read it below.

When I was in seminary, some body of the Church decided to survey Episcopal Parishes on what they most desired from the then thirteen Episcopal seminaries. One question asked something to the effect of “What is the most important attribute for a priest?” The overwhelming majority said “relevant, practical biblical preaching.” I remember hearing that and thinking, “of course, and that is exactly what I will do. I'll preach relevant, practical, biblical sermons.” And for the most part, I feel like I do. I've heard, and I understand that I could be more practical. I could spell out for you exactly how to live your lives, what activities to partake in, what charities to give to, what prayers to say and what scriptures to read. Instead, I think of a sermon like a coloring book. I draw the lines, giving you a general idea of the picture on the page, your job is to take your crayons and bring the page to life. It is an arrangement that for the most part works out well, but there is a problem with relevant, practical biblical preaching. The problem is that sometimes the Bible is ridiculously impractical. Today's Gospel lesson is no exception.
The crowd following Jesus continues to swell. It has become so large, in fact, that Jesus is forced to push out from shore in order to teach to the whole group. Jesus knows, however, that many of them are there for the wrong reasons. Many, if not most, of those following him (including his disciples) are convinced that Jesus' is the military leader who will bring them freedom from the oppressive Romans. They are eagerly and impatiently waiting for Jesus to give them their marching orders, when he pushes the boat out from shore and launches into this third teaching discourse. His language is veiled in the ancient art of parables, probably because there are spies in the crowd. His cousin, John the Baptist is already in prison. Jesus scans the crowd, sees their hearts, and knows that his message must be on point. The Sea was surrounded by fields, so there is a good chance that as Jesus scanned his audience, he saw a farmer planting seed for the new season. “You see that farmer over there sowing seed? Let me tell you about The Farmer,” and he launched into this first kingdom parable about seed that fell on four very different types of ground: the path, where birds ate it up, rocky ground where the fresh sprouts were scorched, thorny soil that choked out the new growth, and good soil that produced a crop in record abundance: a hundred, sixty, or third fold.
The practical preacher would now say something like, “be good soil and give to the building fund.”1 He would then follow up with various ways in which you could tend the soil of your heart to make the Gospel message flourish in your life. The practical preacher can do this, even if it feels a lot like a to-do list for getting yourself into heaven, the dreaded works righteousness, because of the allegorical explanation, attributed to Jesus, that follows right after. The path is like a hard heart that can not hear the Word and so the devil snatches it away. The rocky ground is like a heart eager to join up, but ill prepared for the trials of discipleship, so when the going gets tough, the rocky heart runs away. The thorny ground is a heart too focused on the worries of the world and seeking after wealth, too preoccupied to produce any fruit. The good soil is a fertile heart that hears, understands, and lives the Word producing yields of ridiculous proportions. The Practical Preacher gets to look at her congregation and say, “All you have to do is listen and understand, cut out the worry and the money grubbing, and you'll be good soil.” But I don't buy it. Parables weren't meant to be understood at face value, they were supposed to disturb the hearer and make them think. They were supposed to have many sides, to be looked at from many angles, and to bounce around in the hearers mind for days on end until, when it finally seems to make sense, the process starts over again. So, despite the fact that most Episcopalians surveyed want this sermon to be relevant and practical, I have to agree with Barbara Brown Taylor who asks, “What if this story is not about us at all but about the sower? What if it is not about our own successes and failures and birds and rocks and thorns, but about the extravagance of a sower who flings seed everywhere, wastes it with holy abandon...” What if this parable is totally impractical for our lives except where it opens our eyes to the fact that God is reckless in his love for us? And if that's the case, well then maybe it isn't impractical at all. Surely we can make this more relevant, with just a few easy twenty-first century changes. Let's hear the parable again.
“The Farmer, having hooked up his planter to the back of his John Deere tractor, started out of the barn. He put the machine in gear, turned on his four way flashers, and flipped on the PTO setting the blades of the planter spinning and seed flying about. He slowly made his way down the long gravel driveway, turned right onto County Road 97 and began the two mile journey to his southern fields. Seeds bounced off the asphalt roadway, some fell into the ditch, some pinged off the windshields of cars attempting to pass. When he finally arrived at the south forty, he cut across the weedy, thorny right of way, seed still flying, and then began the slow, methodical process of seeding the well groomed, fertilized, lush field.”2
No farmer in their right mind would be that reckless with seed. Not in first century Palestine and not in the cut throat twenty-first century American agricultural industry. Seed is just too expensive to throw it away in the barn, on the driveway, along the road, and in the right-of-way. No farmer would be so prodigal in their flinging of seed, but God is. God, the creator of all things, seen and unseen, in heaven and on earth can afford to be “confident that there will be enough seed to go around.3” He sees into our hearts and even though he sees barns with treasure stored up for ourselves, gravel driveways parched from lack of living water, roadways paved over and over and over again by doubt and cynicism, and the thorns of fear, addiction, pride, and greed – he keeps throwing seed, again and again and again. He lavishes his good seed not just on the good soil, but on every heart that he has made.
Our modern day parable finishes up like this, “Several months later, when the harvest was finally ready to come in, the farmer started up his combine, turned right onto County Road 97, made the two mile drive to the southern forty and reaped a harvest that was in some spots 100 fold, in others 60, and still others 30. He who has ears, let him hear. She who has ears, let her hear.” The harvest is so plentiful that even with all that wasted seed, there is more than enough to go around. More than enough to fill the barns of every neighbor to the point of overflowing. More than enough grace for every man, woman, and child ever created.
For the practical preacher, this a story of seed falling on four soils. Good Protestant work ethic combined with the “I can do anything” American ethos wants to tell us that we can choose what type of soil we are. The bad news is, you can't. You have no more choice about the soil of your heart than the soil of the earth does about whether it is paved, built upon, left fallow, or tended to with care and craft. And truth be told, none of us, if we were to be really honest with ourselves, would find only one type of soil in our hearts. All of us, carry all four types of soil within us. It would be wise, of course, to do our best to remove what thorns we can, to water what dry ground we find, to give up worrying about wealth, and generally to keep the soil of our hearts in good order, but we all know that is easier said than done. Ultimately, it is only by the grace of God that any real change takes place. In the meantime, the good news for us today is that this is this a completely impractical story of our God, The Prodigal Sower, who will keep flinging seed in your direction, from now, until the end of time. Which, for those of you, who, like me, still struggle with sin everyday, is actually quite practical indeed. Amen.

Follow the Word

2011-07-07T11:54:00.000-04:00

At our 10am service, we have, for several years, tried to make it more family friendly. Parent's have a hard time paying attention because their kids are fidgety. Kids have a hard time paying attention because they are kids. And so, our families were averaging maybe an every-other-week attendance.

Over the past six months or so we've tried something new, that seems to be working pretty well. The Gospel book is processed to the center aisle where the children (up to grade 5) are invited to join the preacher. The Gospel is read and the book is handed to a child who leads the rest of the group to the chapel where some sort of art project, apropos to the lessons, is attempted. The kids bring the project back in during the offertory as their "Word Offering" each week.

The key verse for this activity is featured in this Sunday's 2nd Old Testament lesson from Isaiah 55.

"As the rain and the snow come down from heaven,

and do not return there until they have watered the earth,

making it bring forth and sprout,

giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,

so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;

it shall not return to me empty,"

It is our hope that the word going forth to the chapel will meet up with the Word and what returns, while a cutesy art project on the outside, is a changed life on the inside. As the parable of the prodigal sower tells us, however, we won't know the fruit for quite a while.

Sermon on Proper 9A

2011-07-05T14:54:00.000-04:00

You can listen here, or read below.

I don't understand my own actions - office equipment edition

“I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” With these words, Paul speaks a universal truth beyond something any preacher could dream to muster. He speaks the truth about himself, about the rest of the Apostles, about the early Church, and about you and me. Sometimes, we all do the very things we hate. Sometimes, I don't do what I want to do. Sometimes, I don't understand my own actions.
Take this week as an example. As the only one in the office this week, I had the distinct pleasure of being not just the Associate Rector while the big wheel was out of town, but I also had the dreaded task of filling in for the parish secretary. Keith being gone is one thing, but Karla leaving means at least a dozen extra items on my weekly to-do list. And that dozen multiplied at about 10:30 on Wednesday morning when the copier went down. Error Code C7300. So, I turned the machine off, per the instructions on the machine's screen, let it cool down and tried again. Ten copies later, Error Code C7300. And so, I bit the bullet and called our service contractor. “No problem,” they said, “we'll get someone out there shortly.” “Sounds good,” I responded, and twenty-nine hours later, a technician finally arrived.
“I don't know these machines very well,” is how the interaction between the tech and me began, and somehow things went downhill from there. Seems our friendly neighborhood copier service was bought out by a mega-office-soluitons company, and this nice man was from the big boys regional office because all of the techs from the old company were out servicing other machines. They assumed, I suppose, that I would be glad for the prompt and courteous service. A dubious assumption on their part. Anyway, the tech thought the C7300 code was a toner code, but t make sure he called on the the guys who was too busy to come out and see me. He was right, and thanks be to God, we actually had extra toner. With his phone tucked between his shoulder and his head, the nice man proceeded to fumble through figuring out how to removed the old toner cartridge, finding the power switch, and asking the guy on the other end if he had to shake the new cartridge.
Somewhere in there, I cam to realize that prompt courteous service, while nice (and in not actually a reality in this particular case) would be a whole lot more effective if it were simply knowledgeable service. Anyway, he made a few copies, instructed me to call the office to order more toner and headed off to his next service call at a place, quote “he'd never heard of before.”
I went back to attempting to print today's bulletin, when ten or so copies in... you guessed it... Error Code C7300. And here's where this rubber on this long, rambling story, hits the road. Here's where I did what I didn't want to do, the very thing I hate. Here's where the parts of my personality that I can't understand come to the fore. I called up the help desk again, calmly explained to them that the nice man they had sent clearly didn't have a clue what he was doing, and then sat behind Karla's desk a stewed over his incompetence for what felt like an hour.
“O God, you have taught us to keep your commandments by loving you and our neighbor...” That's the way our Prayer for Today begins. We know, O Lord, that we can live up to everything you expect of us if we could just love you and love our neighbor. It is that simple. The yoke is so easy. The burden is so light. And yet. And yet, over and over and over again I fail to love God and I fail at loving my neighbor and I find myself, metaphorically, sitting at Karla's desk, stewing in my own contempt over something that in the grand scheme of things, doesn't matter at all. It is in those moments that Paul's rhetorical question in verse twenty-four come to a head in my life, “who will rescue me from this body of death?”
Our prayer continues, “give us the grace of your Holy Spirit, that we may be devoted to you with our whole heart, and united to one another with pure affection...” Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” The burdens we carry are as different as each one of us. Grief, guilt, illness, fear, depression, contempt, anxiety, stress, addiction – the list goes on and on. The world continuously ties new weights upon our shoulders until we can barely stand under the strain, and then, we heap some more upon ourselves, just for good measure. We are told, even in Scripture, that suffering produces endurance, but most of the time, this sort of suffering only leads to broken relationships between us and God and us and our neighbors.
Jesus can take those self-imposed and world-imposed burdens from our shoulders. He longs to replace them with the easy yoke of his Gospel, if only we would let him. I know I want rest for my soul, but instead, for reasons I can't understand, I choose instead to sit at a desk and fume over some poor copier repair guy who got dropped into an unfortunate situation. I honestly don't understand my own actions.
What about you? What burdens have you heaped upon yourself? What loads have you allowed the world, your work, your family, your church to place upon your shoulders? What are you yoked to that is pulling you away from God and toward fear, contempt, guilt and sin? In Follow the Word this morning, the children are making mobile, just like this one. At the top is a cartoon Jesus, hand extended. He's carrying a barbell, a boulder, and an anchor. He's carrying a lot of weight, to be sure, but he words written next to him are all the weight we need to worry about. “Jesus carries my burdens for me.” No matter how much junk you've heaped upon yourself, Jesus is strong enough to carry it for you. Just hand it over to him. Lift it up one more time so that he can take it away. As Paul says, in response to his own rhetorical question, “Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
Handing your weighty garbage over to Jesus doesn't mean it will all go away and life will be all hunky-dorry. There will still be stresses, struggles, and trials. What handing them over does mean, however, is that you won't have to go through it alone. You'll have the God of all Creation, the Son of Redemption, and the Spirit of Sanctification there to help. And, perhaps just as importantly, you'll have the community of the faithful there to walk wit you as well. Sure, we can't necessarily help carry anything for you, since we've all got our own loads to bear, but we can surely walk alongside, encouraging, praying, and being a friend and neighbor in the meantime.
Now to be sure, when you hand it all over to God today, new stuff will come down the pike tomorrow. Perhaps an adaptation of today's Collect might be fruitful as a prayer for when your feet his the floor in the morning. Almighty God, thank you for the gift of another day. Thank you for the promise of an easy yoke and light burdens. Grant us the grace of your Spirit, O God, that we may be devoted to you with our whole heart (without any of the garbage there to get in the way). Grant us the grace of your Spirit, that we may be united to one another in pure affection (loving one another even in the midst of the messes we create). Grant us the grace of your Spirit to hand it over, to lift it up, to give it away so that we might find rest for our souls and serve you worthily to the honor and glory of your name. Amen.

A New Understand of Seeds

2011-07-05T12:49:00.000-04:00

My wife decided she wanted to plant a garden this year. So, we dug up a plot of sod, marked it out with landscape timbers, turned the soil, and planted seeds.

Real, honest to God, seeds.

And, by some miracle of her green thumb, Lower Alabama's fertile soil, and a high water bill, things grew.

Sunflowers that stand nearly 8 feet tall. Basil plants so fruitful we can't eat enough spaghetti, and zucchini so numerous we're turning green ourselves.

But the poor watermelon plant. About where SHW's shadow is in this picture is where we planted a watermelon seed. It grew, slowly but nobly, in the beginning. Until the zucchini plant grew so large that it nearly took over the whole garden. The poor watermelon tried to survive. It wrapped itself around the strong leaves of the zucchini, and it continued to grow, slower yet, and bit less noble. Until, one day last week, when SHW called time of death, cut the vine, and removed the poor plant.

Much to her shock and sadness, she found one tiny little watermelon growing on the vine. "I could have cried," she texted me. And all of a sudden the parable of the seeds came into a new light. Faith is kind of like seed strewn by a sewer, but the success rates vary day to day rather than lifetime to lifetime.

Sometimes, the seed grows to 100 fold yield, like that dang zucchini plant. Sometimes it fizzles out due to lack of water, or sun, or nutrient rich soil. And sometimes, it fights like hell to survive despite the worst of conditions. Our poor watermelon plant did that, and so has each one of us who claim discipleship of Jesus. Sometimes our faith gets tested, but sure enough, with some love and some living water and some bread and some wine, we survive, despite the odds and for the glory of God.

Next year, one zucchini plant, and, for sure, a watermelon.

Independence v. Freedom

2011-06-30T10:08:00.000-04:00

The Gospel lesson for Sunday, July 3, 2011 is very topical. Frighteningly topical. Dangerously topical. As I sit and read headlines of President Obama's unsurprising economic news conference and the unsurprisingly partisan responses to it, I'm left wondering just how close to the "don't talk politics from the pulpit" line.

If you know me, you'll know that I probably won't take a particular party's stance on anything. Instead, if I were to compare our current political climate to anything it would be children (yes, children) in the marketplace (only these children would never deign themselves to enter the marketplace until reelection time rolls around) yelling at one another, "We played the flute for you, and you didn't dance. We wailed and you did not mourn."

The Daily Show, as always, portrays this childish back and forth quite well.

The Daily Show - Broke Bank Mounting - America's Dystopian Future
Get More: Daily Show Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,The Daily Show on Facebook

All of this, with The 4th of July upon us as well, has me thinking about the difference between Independence and Freedom. We celebrate the 4th with its official title, Independence Day, to our detriment. Before you accuse me of being one of those anti-American Episcopal priests, let me explain.

Though the fight in 1776 was to gain our independence from the crown, our goal was not, at least I don't think, to isolate ourselves in an individualist utopia. That is to say, moreso now than ever, independence is impossible. As the world grows flat and the economy is increasingly global in scale, we are more dependent on more people than ever before. Over the past 200 or so years, we have bastardized the Gospel to make it about independence rather than about freedom.

Jesus never offered independence. He offered a yoke, that is, by its very nature, an instrument of dependence. Jesus did, however, offer freedom. His yoke is gentle, his burden is light. The freedom Jesus offers is by way of loosing the bondage of sin. He wants us to be free to be in right relationship. Free to be dependent, you might say. Oxymoronic, sure, but truer to the message of the Kingdom than either the "I'm OK, you're OK" message of the left or the "Personal salvation" hope of the right.

Now, all I need to do is throw this all away and find something that will preach. Here sermon, sermon, sermon!

Good News

2011-06-29T15:54:00.000-04:00

Not The Good News, but good news none-the-less.

My Rector decided on Old Testament Track 2. No weird Genesis lesson this Sunday. Yay!

Well, that's not really the good news I was talking about either. The good news that struck me today was the word of restoration from Zechariah. Every prophet has a moment like this in their story. God is most certainly angry. Humanity has most certainly failed to live up to expectations. God might even punish by way of war or famine or pestilence.

But God always promises to restore. The story never ends in condemnation, it always returns to joy. I'm reminded of my favorite verse, John 3.17, "The Son of Man came into the world not to condemn the world, but that the world, through him, might be saved."

The good news of Zechariah is that God once again promises restoration.

Saints Peter and Paul

2011-06-29T15:46:00.001-04:00

Usually, when we gather on Wednesday to celebrate a feast day, it is somebody most of us, myself included, have never heard of. Today, however, we celebrate two of Christianity's three most famous men. Jesus, the obvious pick for number one, is celebrated everyday, of course, but today we remember the lives of Saints Peter and Paul, numbers two and three (and the order probably flips depending on who you talk to.
Paul, a well-educated Pharisee and Roman citizen was late to come to the party. As we all know, his conversion happened only after he was a persecutor of the Church. Peter, an uneducated fisherman from Galilee was with Jesus almost from the beginning. As the Church began to form after the Day of Pentecost, Peter and Paul had several well documented spats over the inclusion of Gentiles in the Way. Paul writes several times of his need to rebuke Peter who continually called for Jewish exclusiveness, or, to use my favorite seminary term, Judaizing, the need to follow Jewish law in order to be a follower of Jesus.
It might be one of the best lessons for the modern church that we remember both Peter and Paul on the same day. Despite their disagreements that touched to the core of what they believed, their common faith in Jesus as the Messiah led them to work together for the glory of God. Their belief led them both to Rome where both were martyred during the persecutions of Emporer Nero in 64AD. Paul was granted the right of a Roman citizen and beheaded while Peter was crucified upside down.
In the year 96, Thirty-two years after the deaths of Peter and Paul, Pope Clement of Rome, writing to the Corinthians says, ““Let us come to those who have most recently proved champions; let us take up the noble examples of our own generation. Because of jealousy and envy the greatest and most upright pillars of the Church were persecuted and competed unto death. Let us bring before our eyes the good apostles—Peter, who because of unrighteous jealousy endured not one or two, but numerous trials, and so bore a martyr’s witness and went to the glorious place that he deserved. Because of jealousy and strife Paul pointed the way to the reward of endurance; seven times he was imprisoned, he was exiled, he was stoned, he was a preacher in both east and west, and won renown for his faith, teaching uprightness to the whole world, and reaching the farthest limit of the west, and bearing a martyr’s witness before the rulers, he passed out of the world and was taken up into the holy place, having proved a very great example of endurance.”
I could go on for hours with the history of these great two saints, but I'll spare you the details and instead focus for a moment on the example they left for those of us who two-thousand years later are still doing are best to follow the Way of Jesus. The first comes from Paul's second letter to Timothy. Writing from prison in Rome, his death not far away, Paul calls on young Timothy to take on the mantle of a teacher, leading new believers along the pathway of righteousness. And while it seems like this letter might be intended for pastors, I think these words apply to us all, “proclaim the message, be persistent, convince, rebuke, and encourage... and carry out your ministry fully.” As Paul talked about elsewhere, each of us has been given gifts of the Spirit, and in faithfulness we should exercise them for the good of the Kingdom.
The second example comes from the mouth of Jesus himself, after the resurrection, on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. Jesus gives Peter his marching orders: “Feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep.” Much ink has been spilled to decode what Jesus is saying here, but it seems simple enough to me: If you love Jesus, take care of one another, serve one another.
In the two thousand years since Peter and Paul were martyred, we've done a lot to make Christianity complicated, but when it comes down to it, the lessons we learn from these great Fathers in the faith are sufficient: love God, love neighbor, and use the gifts God has given you. Now, go and do likewise. Amen.

Welcome back?

2011-06-28T08:03:00.001-04:00

Good morning, dear reader. My apologies for a week's absence, and many thanks to God for a week's vacation. As mt last post said, rest was much needed.

I've entitled this post welcome back? because of the messy nature of this Sunday's lessons. The Genesis lesson, which though semi-contimuous, still begins in a very weird spot and expects the congregation to recall last week's lesson, Paul's famous "I do what I don't want to do" rant, and what might be Jesus' toughest kingdom parable, all on a short week. So good to be home.

I think I'll start this week by going back and rereading the section of Rob Bell's "Jesus wants to save Christians" about yokes. It is an interesting bit of metaphorical history as a Rabbi's yoke was his teaching. Some had very heavy yokes full of laws and their strict interpretations. Others, as Jesus claimed, had yokes that were lighter. Jesus' yoke is only two laws heavy, as we claim in the Collect for Sunday, love God and love neighbor.

Have a great week! I'll see you again tomorrow.

Rest

2011-06-16T07:55:00.001-04:00

After six days of creation, God rested.
After two days of junior high missions, we rested.

Sort of.

The infighting seems to have cooled some.
The questions are still rapid fire.
But after three hours of hard gardening work at the East Lake UMC Community Garden, we retired to Alabama Adventure, a local water/theme park for an afternoon of fun in the sun. The kids had a great time, and, though I did partake in a couple of rollercoaster rides, I tried to just relax.

Rest is an important thing. Without it we get grumpy. Without it we get touchy. Without we get unhealthy: physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Sin creeps in with tiredness. We are less attuned to the Spirit when all we can think about is sleep.

God rested on the seventh day, and commands us to rest in him as well. We are to take time for refreshment because God cares deeply for us and wants us to know that our humanity relies upon him rather than our own ability to push through.

So we rested.
I'm still tired, of course, but we rested.

The list is not exhausting

2011-06-14T07:46:00.001-04:00

As Jesus prepares to leave his disciples, he instructs them to preach, baptize, and teach. The teach piece has me this morning as his instructions are to "teach them to obey everything I have commanded you."

This is not a terribly long list.

Love God. Love neighbor as self.

And yet. And yet, as we talked about at our adult forum on Sunday, many churches are Pauline rather than Christian. Many Churches teach the many rules of Paul, written to the many issues of a young church, addressed to several different communities and cultures, as the commandments of Jesus. We need a lot of rules as we start out in the faith, its true, but as we develop our sense of spiritual hearing, the rules become less important as the Spirit begins to lead with power and might.

Jesus told his disciples (that is to say, us) to preach, baptize, and teach. He commanded that we obey just a few impossibly simple rules, and gave us the Spirit to guide us along the way. Too often ,however, pastors use the rule thing to gain power and authority rather than allowing the Spirit to empower and strengthen another. Jesus' list of rules is exhaustive, but it shouldn't be exhausting.

But some doubted

2011-06-13T07:50:00.001-04:00

It is a real shame that we have to read the Scriptures through post-enlightenment, 21st century, western eyes. In our current context (though I think/hope the follow statement is less true everyday), doubt is something to be avoided. Thanks to the scientific method, we can know with near certainty about every minute detail of the world around us. To doubt is either to be too lazy to test a hypothesis or to be grasping at unprovable ideas.

But I don't think that was the case for Jesus' disciples. I think the doubt we hear about in Trinity Sunday's Gospel lesson was a holy doubt. The sort of doubt Jesus wished had been applied to some of the Pharisaical interpretations of Torah. The sort of doubt that takes it slow, listening, waiting, discerning between the Spirit of God and the rules of men. This doubt allows the disciples the chance to experience Jesus in all his majesty and mystery. This doubt is not a sign of weakness, but a beautiful engagement between human and divine.

We need to re-engage the ability to doubt, to allow folks to ask questions, to wait, to sit, to listen, to discern. It is not a weakness, a defect, but a chance to find God.

Whitsunday

2011-06-09T11:15:00.000-04:00

Every Pentecost I'm reminded by the liturgical calendar that it is also called Whitsunday, but I've never taken the time to look up what that meant. It's Pentecost, who cares. But as I struggle to find the words to speak to St. Paul's this weekend, I'm grasping at straws, looking for where the Spirit is lurking, waiting for me to find her.

I googled Whitsunday today and found an interesting article about it on wikipedia. (Don't tell the Board of Examining Chaplains) In reading the article, especially this quote from 15th century Canon, John Mirk, "Good men and wimmen, this day (Dies Penthecostes) is called Wytsonday by cause the holy ghost bought wytte and wisdom into Crists dyscyples, and so by prechying after in all Cristendom and fylled him full of holy Wytte" I all of a sudden came to realize the real meaning behind the second collect for the day:

O God, who on this day taught the hearts of your faithful people by sending to them the light of your Holy Spirit: Grant us by the same Spirit to have a right judgment in all things, and evermore to rejoice in his holy comfort; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Sometimes the Holy Spirit is made manifest in the life giving breath of God.
Sometimes the Holy Spirit is made manifest in tongues as of fire and a mighty rushing wind.
Sometimes the Holy Spirit is made manifest in wisdom and discernment.

I think too often people think the are lacking the Spirit in their lives because they don't do miracles or speak in tongues, but honestly, the Spirit is most often present in the everyday decisions of life; those moments where the choice is between self and other. When we make those right judgments, we can be assured the Spirit is at work within us.

From Disciples to Apostles...

2011-06-08T14:41:00.000-04:00

From Apostles to the Body of Christ.

Most people don't know that there are two Creation stories. Some people would call me a heretic for even saying such a thing.

Most people will hear the Revised Common Lectionary's appointed lessons read on Sunday and not realize that they are hearing two Pentecost stories. Of course, there is the Day of Pentecost, 50 days after the resurrection, a high feast in the life of 1st century Judaism. We all know the Acts story. Tongues like fire. A might wind. Many languages. Peter's speech.

John's pentecost (lowercase because it isn't The Pentecost) plays second fiddle. But I think it plays a huge roll in the transition that happens over the Great 50 Days of Easter. Think about it.

Day 1 - Easter Day - Jesus appears before his disciples behind locked doors. He breathes the Spirit into (a better translation than on, at least according to workingpreacher.org) them as they are sent.

Disciple = student
Apostle = one who is sent

On Day 1, the disciples become apostles (yes, I know some of them already were apostles, but bear with me)

Days 2-39 - Jesus makes other appearances, offers last lessons, gives final instructions

Day 40 - Ascension Day - Jesus leaves the earth for good having told them, when the Holy Spirit comes you'll be my witnesses (literally, matyrs) to the ends of the earth. Two men in white robes tell the apostles, he's coming back, but it ain't gonna be today.

Days 41-49 - the apostles hang close, trying to figure out what it all means.

Day 50 - The Day of Pentecost - the Holy Spirit comes with power and might and the Church is born when 3000 are baptized. The Church, ecclesia, what Paul will later call "The Body of Christ" is formed. Those who have been taught (disciples) and sent (apostles) are now infused with the Spirit who gives them the Word to speak and they are, until his return, the Body of Christ, the incarnate Word on earth.

Days 51-today - we continue to struggle with what it means to be disciples, apostles, and the Body of Christ. Sometimes we skip ahead, sometimes we try to stay at step one, sometimes we forget that the Gospel is to be shared, but with the help of the Spirit we grow into this new creation, the Body, in fits and starts, each and every day.

Sent

2011-06-07T17:22:00.000-04:00

John 20:21 is a mantra here at Saint Paul's.

As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.
As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.
As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.

Sometimes we are sent to far away places like Haiti or Kenya or General Convention.
Sometimes we are sent to not-so-far away places like Birmingham, New Orleans, or the Diocesan Office.
Sometimes we are sent to nearby places like the Family Promise Day Center, a Habitat Build, or Camp Beckwith.
And sometimes we are sent next door.

Truth be told, and despite what we may come to believe over time, God's sending never stops. We have 85 year old members who help their "elderly" neighbors with yard work. These folks hear the Spirit moving and follow her lead. Others don't. Other's choose to act like the disciples by shutting the door, drawing the blinds, and sticking close to home.

I guess they just choose not to listen. That has to be it, because the Spirit is always moving, always calling, always leading. If we find ourselves comfortable and complacent, then we have tuned the Spirit out. Maybe it is time to reinvigorate our mantra. Time to pick it up again. Time to speak it, as a community engaged in God's work of restoration.

As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.
As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.
As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.
Amen.

A spiritual kick start

2011-06-06T07:59:00.001-04:00

It is often noted that the Church, especially the western Church, has a very weak understanding of the Holy Spirit. There are many theories as to why, but this morning, as I read the lessons appointed for Pentecost, I'm pretty sure we are light on the Spirit because the Spirit is dangerous.

Think about it. In the Pentecost story from Acts the Spirit shows up like a mighty wind and tongues of fire. And that's not the scariest part. the worst part (at least for my 21st century, former mainline church ears) is that the apostles and disciples find themselves in the streets, speaking in foreign tongues, preaching the good news of Jesus. If we are honest, that sort of behavior frightens probably 98+% of us.

Or take Paul's treatise on spiritual gifts. The things the Spirit calls us to: healing, prophecy, giving, etc. are scary. They require us to leave the comfort of our holy huddle. They might make us look strange before others. They could get us in trouble with the powers that be.

And what about John's Pentecost? "As the Father sent me, so I am sending you"? Jesus' being sent put him on a cross. His life was one of nearly constant hardship. "The Son of Man has no where to lay his head."

Trying to live into the teachings of Jesus is hard enough. When you add in the supernatural stuff of the Spirit, things get downright dangerous, but in the end, you can't have faith in the triune God without all three persons being represented in your life. We ignore the Spirit to our own detriment. Worse, we ignore the Spirit to the detriment of God and the Gospel. This is dangerous stuff we're dealing with, but Jesus never promised it'd be easy.

Eternal life

2011-06-01T08:26:00.001-04:00

"And this is eternal life, to know the Father and his only Son Jesus Christ."

In the 2000 years since Jesus walked the earth the details around eternal life seem to have grown. Truth be told, the imaginations of artists, writers, poets, and theologians have created a bit of a mess for those of us in the trenches of everyday ministry. The question asked of Jesus about the woman married to seven brothers seems tame compared to the many ways in which our modern conceptions of heaven and hell have become convoluted.

How old will I be?
Will that kid who picked on me in middle school be there?
Does Alabama always win in heaven?
Does Alabama always lose in heaven?
Will I have my hair back?
Will I catch the big one?
Will my ex still bother me there?

It is really hard for us not to think of heaven in terms of this mortal life because this mortal life is all we know. So we picture pearly gates, mansions, rivers, and trees. We picture angels playing harps as we walk around in white robes thinking lofty thoughts and, at least occasionally, praising God. We think we have a list of questions to ask, things like: why didn't you cure cancer, why didn't you stop the tornadoes, why'd you take my mother/father/sister/brother so young, etc.

Jesus talked a lot about the Kingdom. He talked some about eternal life. He talked very sparingly about heaven. For all the speculation over the last 2000 years, it has to be said that Jesus' description, nay, definition of eternal life in the High Priestly Prayer should be sufficient. Eternal life is knowing God the Father and God the Son. Sure, it is a little weak in the pneumatology, but still, knowing God is a sufficient description of eternal life. The other details, sights, sounds, smells, or Will Farrell movies are insignificant in the light of God's grace and love.

On being a good steward of hope

2011-05-31T11:58:00.000-04:00

You can listen to this sermon here. Or read the unedited text below.

Good morning! It is so great to be back here with you this morning. The folks at St. Stephen's in Brewton were gracious hosts, but there truly is “no place like home.” This morning we gather on the thirty-sixth day of Easter as we continue our 50 Days of Stewardship: searching for ways in which to live as a people of the resurrection. So far we've looked at Stewardship of Money, Stewardship of Service, the lack of stewardship in debt, and Stewardship of Power.
This week, I have the distinct pleasure of combining two of our least favorite topics into one uncomfortable package: Stewardship and Evangelism. I call this the Stewardship of Hope, and it is nowhere more present than in today's lesson from First Peter. Peter writes to a church spread far and wide by persecution – a church afraid – a church in hiding. He writes to a Church that finds itself as a minority within a minority – a church without much cultural significance - a church struggling to find its voice. His advice is as needed today as it was two-thousand years ago, “Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence.”
There are two pieces of this admonition that make it difficult for most Christians to live into: the being ready part and the gentleness and reverence part. I'll readily admit that the being ready part is the hardest for me. I realized very early on that my life as an ordained person would be a life filled with awkward conversations. Just over a week after I was ordained a deacon, Cassie and I began our two day journey down here. We left Alexandria on Sunday morning, set to spend the night just outside of Spartanburg, South Carolina. We arrived at our hotel at about 5pm, got the cats settled in, and set out in search of a beer and a bite to eat. The only place within walking distance was a little hole in the wall called the Rendezvous. It was a private club, seems you can't buy alcohol on Sundays in South Carolina outside of certain city limits. We applied for membership and paid out one dollar lifetime dues, and sat down for fried cheese sticks, chicken fingers, and a bucket of miller lite, when the man next to us, who had certainly been there quite a while, began to talk with us.
As these sorts of conversations go, we quickly arrived on the “how'd you get here?” topic. Cassie and I explained that we were on our way to Foley, Alabama hoping to meet our moving truck in the next couple of days. “What takes you to South Alabama?” He asked. “Well,” I responded nervously, “I've been hired as the assistant minister at an Episcopal Church down there.”
Over the past four years, I've noticed that there are mainly two ways the conversation can go from there. The first is for the conversation to come to a grinding halt. The other party responds with something like, “Oh, wow. Umm... good for you.” And then spins around on their barstool or zones out at the 1976 Sugar Bowl replay happening on ESPN Classic. That's not how this conversation played itself out. Instead, we went through door number two, the “I'm lapsed, but generally a good person, and let me tell you why” path. Depending on how long someone has been at the bar before we meet, this path can be short and sweet or very long and very painful. A week into my life as an ordained minister, this particular journey felt very, very long. I was ill-equipped. I wasn't ready. And so that man, a fellow lifetime member of the Rendezvous, never heard about the hope that is within me. He just got some hems and haws and ring spinning.
The Apostle Paul is the king of being ready. He was so ready to share his hope that he didn't even wait for folks to come to him, he hit the town running. This morning we heard a portion of the story about his time in Athens. He finds himself there, waiting to be joined by Timothy and Silas because his previous attempts at sharing his hope got him run out of Thessalonica and Berea. While waiting for his companions, Paul did what he always did and found his way to the Synagogue where, as a guest teacher, he was invited to share with the congregation. He told them the Good News about Jesus and he resurrection, and after a cool response, he took his message to the marketplace where he ran into the stoics and the epicureans who thought he was nuts. They, in turn, took him to Mars Hill where he was invited to speak before the Areopagus, basically the city council, where he gave the stirring sermon we heard read this morning.
Three years ago this weekend, I joined Cassie, Doug, her dad, Paul, his friend, a Presbyterian minister, Bart Campolo, a Christian missioner, John, an insurance executive and Christian philanthropist, and John's brother, who I don't know very well because he always has to leave before the race is over, at the Indianapolis 500. I'm sure I've mentioned this particular race before, it was full of sermon illustrations. As we approached the track, at the historic corner of 16th and Georgetown, we were grated by the familiar sound of men holding placards, shouting through bull-horns, “Repent! God hates sinners. Repent or be damned!” This is always an interesting moment for our particular group, as it seems as though the assumption is “if you go to The 500, you are an enemy of Christ.” A title which doesn't really fit anyone in our group, but one that helps prove my other point this morning.
The second way in which we fail to live up to Peter's call to evangelism is that we lack gentleness and reverence.” The men shouting through megaphones are, unfortunately, not the only one's who lack the necessary tact to share the Good News. The media has been full of stories in recent months of Christians who have failed to live into gentleness and reverence. The Westboro Baptist Church people protesting military funerals, the preacher in Florida who burnt the Koran, the kindergartner in Hokes Bluff whose yearbook message said he wanted to “beat up all those BAD MUSLIMS.” Too often, we fail to share our hope with gentleness and reverence. Too often, we forget the commandments of Jesus to love God and love one another.
In this morning's Gospel lesson, Jesus promises his disciples another Advocate who will be with them, with us forever. This Advocate, the Holy Spirit, cannot be received by the world because the world does not see him or know him. As disciples of the risen Jesus, we have been given this Advocate. The Holy Spirit abides in us, leads us, carries us. Those who believe, those who are engaged in an active, ongoing relationship with God, through Jesus Christ, are engaged in the work of God by way of the Holy Spirit. When we find ourselves in those places where words cease, when fear overwhelms, God's promise is that the Holy Spirit will give us words to say. Too often, however, when we find ourselves in a place of fear, put on the spot to share our faith, instead of trusting in the Spirit and speaking in love, we react emotionally and defensively and the hope we share comes with anger and contempt, rather than gentleness and reverence.
As Paul stood before the Aeropagus, he was disturbed to the point of anger, but his words weren't arrogant or rude, but loving and hope-filled. “Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, `To an unknown god.' What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in shrines made by human hands, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things....” Paul quoted their own poets, “In Him we live and move an have our being” and shared with them the hope of resurrection from the dead. And he did it all in love, with gentleness, and reverence.
Are you ready? What is the hope inside of you? Is it that you'll get to heaven when you die? Is it that before you get there, God will use you to bring heaven to earth? Can you articulate that hope without getting defensive or angry? Can you share the Good News in love, with gentleness and reverence?
Over the course of my thrity-one years, I have not been the best steward of hope. I've kept the message bottled up. I've been afraid and uncomfortable. I've been argumentative and scornful. But God continues to work on me, as I'm certain he does you as well. He gives us his Spirit, our Advocate, who walks alongside us. Who, when we'll listen, will give us the words we need to speak.
O God, help us to always be ready to make our defense to anyone who demands from us an accounting for the hope that is in us; and help us to do it with gentleness and reverence, all for the glory of your name, by the indwelling of your Spirit, and through the grace of your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

the world

2011-05-31T11:50:00.000-04:00

There are many ways in which 21st Century Americans have a hard time reading scripture formed over a thousand years, two thousand years ago. This Sunday, as we hear John's rendition of Jesus' High Priestly Prayer, we hear one of those sticking points.

"I pray (ask) not on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me..."

There is a tendency in modern theology to look at Jesus not just universally (i.e. he came to save us all/he saves us all/he will save us all), but, in fact, cosmically (i.e. he came to redeem all creation/the whole world).

So why does Jesus make it clear that this last prayer, this intimate moment between himself, his Father, and his disciples, this chance to ask for God's protection in his absence, isn't for the world? Doesn't God want to redeem everything and everyone?

Well, yes. But. In John's Gospel "the world" has very little to do with the planet earth and the plants, animals, and humans that dwell there-in. In John's Gospel "the world" is the stomping ground of Satan, the darkness that tries to overpower the light. The world is those powers and principalities that are corrupt, those systems that are oppressive. Jesus prays that his disciples and those who will come to faith through them, might be protected from the world whose desires are mutually exclusive from those of the Kingdom of God.

The danger comes when we hear this read on a Sunday morning, without education and without its original context. Too often, we hear that Jesus cares about me, but not about the world. Whole political machines have been based on this misunderstanding. Whole (a)theologies. Disasters happen when we hear the Scriptures and think we understand.

Jesus cares deeply for the world God created. His prayer is that it would be redeemed from the darkness and come into the light. His prayer is that the powers of the world might be overthrown so that the light of his Kingdom can shine. His prayer is that his disciples, namely us, might be protected from the infection of greed, sloth, anger, oppression, and corruption. Jesus asks that we might glorify him, and in doing so, bring the world back from the brink.

stewards of hope

2011-05-26T09:37:00.000-04:00

During our Great 50 Days of Stewardship, as we've looked at what it means to be a people of the resurrection, we've talked about money, service, debt, and power. As the season begins to wrap up, the tendency, as I wrote yesterday, is to go back to money. It is the unfortunate side effect of the co-opting of the word "stewardship."

But the more I think about it, the more I think this week's focus is stewardship of hope. Next to the very breath we breathe, God's gift of hope is the greatest gift creation has been given. Imagine life without it. All that's left when we die is the crematory furnace or the bugs. All that's left when we struggle is the same crap on a different day. All that's left, when we are without hope, is despair.

Peter, in his instructions to the persecuted diaspora, calls each and every Christian to "Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence." To turn the language around, we are to always be ready to be stewards of hope.

There are two cliche questions that come to mind this morning.
1. If you were put on trial for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?
2. If your church were to close its doors, would anybody outside of the parish directory care?

If the answers to 1 and 2 are both "yes," then being good stewards of hope, ready to give an account of the hope that is within you, will be necessary. People will ask questions. "Why did you respond that way?" "Why are you here?" "What causes you to be so peaceful?" Whatever.

If the answers are no. Well then perhaps we should first figure out if hope exists at all. If it does, then our response should be the follow the commandments of Jesus, which will then necessarily lead us to be good stewards of hope.

As TKT said on Sunday, Jesus has gone to prepare a place for us so that we can get to work in the meantime.

When Jesus will Return

2011-05-25T15:31:00.000-04:00

My sermon from Sunday at St. Stephen's Church, Brewton, AL

Good morning. It is a pleasure to be here with you this morning. I bring you greetings from your brothers and sisters in Christ in Foley. They also send their regrets that their patron saint, Saint Paul held coats and looked on approvingly while your patron saint, Saint Stephen was stoned to death becoming the first to follow in Christ's footsteps and die at the hands of his persecutors. We hope there are no hard feelings.
I'm actually quite relieved to even be here this morning. I don't know if you heard, but the world was supposed to come to an end in a series of massive earthquakes yesterday. An eighty-nine year old, former Civil Engineer turned Christian radio preacher named Harold Camping thought he had stumbled upon a truth that even Jesus himself had missed: the exact date and time of the Second Coming of Christ. I tried really hard all week to avoid the press that Camping was getting. To be quite honest, it grieved me that honest to goodness news organizations like CNN and The Washington Post would even bother to pick up the story. I shouldn't be surprised, I guess. The media seems all too excited to jump on a story that makes Christians look silly. I was also sad for the folks who follow this radio prophet, especially the children whose faith might be irreparably broken by the fact that Jesus didn't return at eight pm Pacific Time on May twenty-first, Twenty-eleven. I was avoiding all the hoopla out of silent protest for the scores of ways this man and his math made my life's vocation harder.
But on Thursday morning I caved. I followed the link on CNN.com to an interview with Mr. Camping in which he declared that he knew “absolutely, without any shadow of a doubt that May twenty-one will be the day.” I read with sadness the stories of people who gave away everything they had, walked away from jobs and family and friends to drive RVs around the county declaring the end of the world. And assuming that Camping isn't lining his wallet, a generous assumption, considering his family radio group is worth over one hundred million dollars, I prayed that God would somehow redeem the mess that one well meaning follower was managing to make. And then I went back to work, looking over the scriptures for today, asking God what he wanted me to share with the good people of Saint Stephen's in Brewton on the day after the world was supposed to end, and I realized, as if in a flash of lightning, when the world would actually end. Well not really end, what I came to understand is when Jesus would actually return. or perhaps better said, when Jesus will return again.
The funny thing about the Great Fifty Days of Easter is that we very quickly run out of resurrection stories. On Easter Day we get the empty tomb. On Easter Two we hear about the upper room on Easter Evening. Easter Three we met Jesus on the road to Emmaus. And then, by Easter Four we were back in pre-crucifixion days listening to Jesus interact with his disciples. This morning we are back on Maundy Thursday in John's Gospel. Jesus and his disciples are in the upper room, the Last Supper has been served, feet have been washed, Judas has left to finish the deal that will cost Jesus his life, and Jesus has predicted Peter's denial. The mood in the room is so heavy with grief that even now we can taste the sadness, and yet Jesus looks at his disciples and says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God and Trust in me. In my Father's house there are many mansions, and I'm going to prepare a place for you. I'll be back to get you, but in the meantime, you know where I'll be.” Jesus will spend the next four chapters, roughly twenty percent of John's Gospel, helping his disciples understand how to live as a people “left behind.”
Good old Thomas isn't having it. He speaks up as the rest of the group stands in bewilderment, “What do you mean we know where you are going? We don't have clue? How can we know how to go somewhere when we don't know where it is?” He wants seven habits, ten commandments, or twelve steps. He needs Google Maps to tell him to swim the Atlantic Ocean to get to England. Thomas wants a date and a time to meet Jesus. But Jesus doesn't offer concrete details. Jesus is soon headed off to be at the right hand of the Father. He'll be the firstborn of the dead. He'll be in that great by and by. And not even his disciples can join him there just yet. Their job is still on earth.
Jesus dangles heaven in front of his disciples, and then proceeds to tell them that the journey is the more important part for now. That's so hard for us humans to handle. That's why Harold Camping got all sorts of press this week. We don't really want to die, and we certainly don't want the world to end, but if there was a way to have heaven right now without the perceived bad stuff, we'd take it in a heartbeat. My friend Scott from Michigan puts it this way, “If you tell your child that tomorrow you're getting in the car and heading to Orlando to spend some time at Disneyworld, the kid will have a mighty tough time enjoying the trip along the way. Suddenly, she will want to be there yesterday. It would be a foolish parent who would dangle Disneyworld in front of a kid as the final destination but who then also told the child, 'But now, Janey, we're going to take our time getting there. There is a neat museum in Ohio where President Rutherford B. Hayes was born which I want to visit first as well as an excellent fabric store in Kentucky where your mother will be picking up quilting supplies. And then...' And then nothing, as far as Janey is concerned! You can't get to Orlando fast enough from her point of view. Everything else along the way is either just a delay or flat out a waste of time.”
That's where Philip is. “Just show us the Father and we will be satisfied.” In a culture where you couldn't even say the name of God, lest you would die, seeing him would be instant death. Not even Moses got to see God face to face, he had to hide the the cleft of a mountain while God passed by. Philip wants to jump to the end, but Jesus asks his disciples to wait. He's got to leave them behind for now, but in doing so, he is giving them a gift.
“You'll do greater works than what I've done because I'm going to the Father.” In essence, Jesus says, “With me out of the way, you're going to be God Incarnate on earth. You'll be his hands, feet, mouths, and ears. You'll do the work of declaring the Kingdom of God, bringing good news to the poor, proclaiming release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and letting the oppressed go free. To put it bluntly, as the note in my HarperCollins Study Bible does, “Believers are Jesus' successors and Jesus 'returns' through their work.” Jesus returns through the work of those who trust in him. Jesus returns through you and through me.
Jesus Christ did return yesterday, and the day before yesterday, and the day before that. Jesus will return today, and tomorrow, and the next day. Jesus returned several weeks ago when this parish called to reach out to a former member after the tornadoes, sparking a vibrant relationship between Brewton, Trussville, and Cullman. Jesus returns in the chaos of tornado debris and in hospital rooms. In pulpits and around dinner tables. In search committees and Youth Sundays. Everywhere his commandment of love is lived out in word and deed, Jesus returns to earth incarnate in his bride, the Church.
This morning we gather as a people left behind. Maybe the Rapture did happen last night. Maybe it didn't. There was about 30 minutes on my way up 31 this morning that I thought maybe it had, but still, we are still a people left behind in the same way Jesus' disciples were left behind. He is still with the Father, preparing a place for us, and he is still the way, the truth and the life. Do not let your hearts be troubled, there is trouble enough to go around. Instead, trust God and trust Jesus and keep up the good work. Keep reaching out to those in need. Keep visiting the sick and infirm. Keep sharing the good news that the Kingdom of God is available to everyone. Keep raising your children in the knowledge and love of the Lord.
Jesus Christ is coming back: yesterday, today, and tomorrow. It doesn't mean the world is going to end, but I does mean that heaven is coming to earth, if only for a moment, in the faithful work of a faithful disciple. May God bless you as you take part in that work. May he make you his very hands a feet. May he show you the need and give you the means to address it. And may you do it all in the love commanded us by his Son, who is the way, the truth and the life. Amen.

Coming Back Around

2011-05-25T08:19:00.000-04:00

As our season of stewardship begins to draw to a close, it seems only right that the Lectionary would invite the topic to come full circle. We began on Easter 2 with Jesus and his disciples in that upper room. They were afraid, doubtful, needy. Jesus offered them shalom and his Spirit. As I preached this text, I brought to mind the words of King David in 1 Chronicles:

"Yours, O Lord, are the greatness, the power, the glory, the victory, and the majesty; for all that is in the heavens and on the earth is yours; yours is the kingdom, O Lord, and you are exalted as head above all. Riches and honor come from you, and you rule over all. In your hand are power and might; and it is in your hand to make great and to give strength to all. And now, our God, we give thanks to you and praise your glorious name... For all things come from you, and of your own have we given you."

And now we have Paul in front of the Areopagus, preaching to the Athenians about his God, "The God who made the world and everything in it, he who is Lord of heaven and earth..."

If we believe that God made the world and everything in it. And if we believe that our God is not served by human hands. And if we believe that our God does not need any thing from us. Then stewardship (and anything else we speak of in the Church) is never a matter of desperation (we'll never make it without...), but rather a matter of gratitude (a response to the gifts given to us by God).

In a parish where money is tight or where membership is dwindling or where leadership is embattled, it can be hard to stay away from desperation, but when it is your key motivator, when everything you do is done to perpetuate "what has always been", well then you are doomed to fail. Desperation is the thing of unknown gods. Hope and life are the gifts of our God.

Jesus is coming!

2011-05-19T13:54:00.002-04:00

I've really tried to ignore all the May 21st Rapture talk going on, but today I caved in and read an interview with the group's founder, Harold Camping, posted on the CNNBelief Blog. It really is quite scary, his vision for the rapture, massive earthquakes that by then end of the 24 hour day that is May 21st will cause the end of the Earth. What is scarier to me is the way in which the folks who follow this man are spreading the message; leaving everything they know, giving away everything they have, to spread the news that God's so angry that he's going to destroy his creation (before saving those who since the 1994 end of the Church age (Camping's last failed prediction) belong to right believing churches).

What is amazing to me is how apropos the Sunday Lectionary is given it will be read the day after the world is supposed to end. Jesus and most of his disciples are in the upper room. The Last Supper has been consumed, feet have been washed, Judas has left to finish the deal, and Peter knows that three times he will deny his friend and Rabbi, and then Jesus says,

"Don't let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God and Trust in me. In my Father's house there are many mansions, and I'm going to prepare a place for you. I'll be back to get you, but in the meantime, you know where I'll be."

Jesus will spend the next four chapters, roughly 20% of John's Gospel, telling his disciples how to live in his absence. They will be left behind. He shares with them that while the final destination is good, their job is to make the here and now just as good. The Spirit will work alongside them, prod them, lead them, but it will be their hands, feet, mouths, ears, that will be God Incarnate while Jesus is gone. As the note in my HarperCollins Study Bible says, "14.12-14 Believes are Jesus' successors and Jesus 'returns' through their work."

Jesus will return on Saturday. I can guarantee it. It probably won't be the way Camping and his followers have pictured it, but in the midst of tornado debris, in hospital rooms, in pulpits, around dinner tables, Jesus will return when his disciples do the work that he left for them to finish, declaring the Kingdom of God, bringing good news to the poor, proclaiming release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, letting the oppressed go free." (Luke 4:18).

The Good Shepherds Voice - an unpreached sermon

2011-05-18T15:18:00.001-04:00

It's not that great anyway, so I'm kind of glad the Holy Spirit gave me something else to say at noon today.

One of the resources I use in sermon preparation dares to call itself “The Center for Excellence in Preaching.” It is a rather heady resource offered by Calvin Seminary in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Before last week, I would have called it a “awfully heady resource,” but then, in their illustration idea section they shared this story.
Several years ago there was a story carried in various newspapers about a woman from Missouri who was startled out of a dead sleep one night by some desperate cries of "Help! Help!" You know how it is when you awake to some sound: you are not at all certain whether you really heard something or if it was just a dream. At first she thought perhaps her husband had cried out, but he was sleeping soundly next to her. Then suddenly she heard the cries again: "Help! Help!" Finally she threw back the covers and headed downstairs toward their living room. "Help!" went the plaintive voice yet again. "Where are you?" the woman replied. "In the fireplace," came the rather shocking answer.
And sure enough, dangling in the fireplace with his head sticking through the flue was a burglar, upside down and quite snugly stuck! The police and fire department got him out eventually, though not before having to disassemble the mantle and some of the masonry. Perhaps the best part of the story was what this woman did in the meantime. She flipped on all the lights and videotaped the whole thing. I don't know what the two talked about while waiting for the police and company to arrive, but had I been she, I think I would have hauled out a Bible and given the crook a pointed reading of John 10: "Verily I tell you, anyone who does not enter by the door but climbs in another way is a thief and a robber!"
On Sunday morning, I talked about the ways in which advertisers attempt to climb over the fences of our lives in order to get inside our heads and convince us to listen to their voice, but it certainly isn't just advertisers. Politicians tell us they have the answers to our national ails. News corporations sell the opinions of a talking head as fact, and try to convince us that their spin is right, and everyone else is wrong. Pharmaceutical corporations create diagnoses in order to sell the new pill they've developed to fix it. There is an almost constant barrage of thieves and robbers who do their best to sneak inside the sheepfold. Once they get there, often times they sound a whole lot like Jesus, but as we all know, there is only one Good Shepherd.
A few years ago, Keith told a story about he and Lynn at a banquet. The room was full of people and even more full of their sound. Hundreds of conversations, all happening at once, forks rattling against plates, the hum of the chocolate fountain motor, and yet, in the midst of all that ambient sound, and with Lynn across the room, all he had to say, not shout, but say, was “Lynn” and she heard his voice and found him.
As the sheep of the Good Shepherd, our only real job is to be able to discern the voices that call our in our lives. Lynn could hear and know Keith's voice because of a 30 plus years of conversations. It seems to me, then, that we too ought to take advantage of our two ears and one mouth and listen for Jesus twice as often as we talk. Over a lifetime of listening, we grow to know the one true voice, the voice of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, who doesn't just give us life, but gives us life abundantly. There are a lot of voices out there, each vying for your attention, but if you'll listen carefully, you'll hear the Good Shepherd calling for you by name. Listen. Believe. Follow. Find abundant life. Amen.

A Holy Spirit Moment

2011-05-18T15:17:00.000-04:00

Seems my blog post from Monday was part truth and part self-fulfilling prophecy. I do that sometimes; I get so stuck in the blank slate that is my head that I'm of no earthly good. Oh I pray, and I listen, and I read, and I reflect, but sometimes I'm so convinced I don't know what to say, that I can't possibly hear and understand.

I guess I'm like the disciples in that way.

Anyway, I had one of those ah-ha moments today, unfortunately, it hasn't helped with Sunday yet, but I share it with you anyway.

I didn't blog yesterday because of an internet issue. We've been having connectivity problems at the Parish Office for quite a while now. We narrowed down the problems to the router, so we bought a new one. It arrived over lunch yesterday, so I told TKT that I'd have it all up and running in "10 minutes." Three hours later, I was late getting home to watch FBC while SHW went to a meeting, and the office was without internet with notes and boxes and wires everywhere.

I was mad.

I wrote a sermon for the noon service at about 6:30am (Thank you God for letting FBC sleep until it was finished), which you can read in my next post, and headed to work ready to fix the internet problem, but wondering what it was all about - how does having the internet at the office help the Kingdom of God?

Thanks to a very helpful tech support person, we got everything up and running, and by about 11am, I was back on schedule: E-Pistle sent, Bulletin proofed, ready for the noon service. Just before it started, however, I received an email from a parishioner who because of infirmity is unable to make it to St. Paul's any more. She had just finished listening to my sermon from Sunday and was grateful to have seen the E-Pistle posted on facebook.

A Holy Spirit Moment.

I threw out the sermon for noon, and instead shared this 24 hour crisis of faith with the congregation in the light of Acts 2:42. We might not be able to break bread online, but we can offer people the Apostle's teaching, fellowship, and prayers.

Thank you, Lord God, for the internet, and the ways in which your Kingdom are revealed through it. Amen.

blank

2011-05-16T10:36:00.000-04:00

This Sunday, I'm supply preaching at St. Stephen's Episcopal Church in Brewton, AL. I've supplied a couple of times over the past couple of years: filling in for a sick colleague, a random Sunday evening service, the usual. Every time I supply preach, I run into the same problem - my mind goes blank.

I read the lessons appointed for Sunday this morning, like I do every Monday morning, but this time, I'm at a loss. It isn't because there isn't anything interesting to say, there is always something to preach, Stephen gets martyred on the Sunday the Rev. Steven Pankey preaches at St. Stephen's Church for crying out loud! The reason I'm drawing a blank is because the people of St. Stephen's are a blank slate to me. I only really know one member, who served as a facilitator for the Fresh Start program I attended three years ago. I knew their former Rector, though not very well, from the same Fresh Start experience. I have a vague sense of how the relationship ended, but, in all reality, I have no idea what this collection of souls in the Body of Christ needs to hear this Sunday.

Do I comfort the disturbed?
Do I disturb the comfortable?
Do I preach with the Bible in one hand and CNN.com in the other?

To make matters worse, its Youth Sunday! Can I really preach the angry mob stoning Stephen to death while a young Saul holds coats and nods approvingly?

I have a deep respect for my brothers and sisters who do this supply priest thing on a regular basis. It is hard, much harder than preaching to a community that one knows intimately and has walked with for years. Prayers are appreciated this week, I could use all the help I can get.

The Thief and Abundant Life - A Sermon

2011-05-16T09:26:00.000-04:00

You can listen here, or continue reading below.

In 1997, I was seventeen years old and a senior in high school. I made about ten thousand dollars working part time at a local grocery store and after putting gas in my car and paying to insure it, I spent the vast majority of the remaining eight thousand dollars eating out with friends at our favorite twenty-four hour greasy spoon, Eat-N-Park. Life was nice in those days. Money came in, I ate butter covered sweet rolls and drank decaf coffee, and the money went out. In 1998, I was eighteen years old and walking across campus at the University of Pittsburgh when I saw a kiosk offering free “Go Pitt!” T-shirts. I like T-shirts and I like free, so they had me, and before I knew it, I was holding a shiny, new, University of Pittsburgh Visa Platinum Card with a five thousand dollar credit limit. Don't ask me how I got platinum status at 18 years of age with no discernible income, all I know is that on that day in 1998, life got complicated. No longer was it so simple as money in, eat junk food, money out. Now money could go out before it ever came in.
In 1999, I was nineteen years old and a student at Millersville University when a Visa bill for four thousand some odd dollars arrived in my mailbox. Seems the guy who got my old mailbox at Pitt had activated a replacement card and gone on a shopping spree. I got the mix up taken care of, thanks be to God I had actually gone to class and shown up at work and could prove I was in Lancaster and not Pittsburgh when the purchases took place, but I didn't learn my lesson about the dangers of credit. By the time 2007 rolled around and I graduated from seminary and moved to Foley, I was the proud owner of a Wachovia Credit Card, a Capitol One Credit Card, a Whitehall Jewelers Card, a Banana Republic Card, a Lenscrafters Card with 0% interest for six months, a Wolf Furniture Card with 0% interest for twelve months, a sixty dollar a month student loan payment, a three hundred dollar a month car note, and a nine hundred dollar a month mortgage. And then it took Cassie nine months and almost ten thousand dollars to get licensed to work in Alabama.
Jesus said, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that [my sheep] may have life and have it abundantly.” Isn't that why we are all here? We are desperately searching for a life of abundance. “The chance to not simply persist, but to thrive, to not simply exist, but flourish. To have a sense of meaning, purpose, and fulfillment; to know and be known...”1 If it isn't the reason we are all here, it is certainly the reason why people like Joel Osteen are surrounded by throngs of followers all wanting their “best life now.” It is what the American Dream has come to be, “a life of personal happiness and material comfort.”2 It is the playground of Madison Avenue, Wall Street, Capitol Hill, and too often, the Church, and it is all based on a lie; the lie of scarcity. Madison Avenue spends most of their rather significant effort and brain power convincing us that what we want, that thing that will make us the happiest, won't be available for ever; it is a limited time offer, and so we'd better buy it now, before its too late.
But wait, there's more. Not only are we fully convinced that there won't be enough snuggies, Disney movies, sixty inch lcd three-d TVs, and quality built brick homes to go around, we are also subtly tricked into believing that if we are one of the lucky ones who actually gets these things, we will in some way be happier, better off, or, to steal a turn of phrase from Jesus, “we might have life and have it abundantly.” I say all of this not to disparage advertisers in any way, they are doing exactly what they are paid to do, through “emotional branding” they are filling holes that were once filled by the things that sat at the center of town: the school and the church. In 2004, PBS's Frontline did an episode called “The Persuaders” that looked at this new form of advertising. The money quote, pardon the pun, comes from Naomi Klein, author of the book No Logo, who says, “When you listen to brand managers talk, you can get quite carried away in this idea that they are fulfilling this need we have for community, and narrative, and transcendence, but in the end it is a laptop and a pair of running shoes. And they may be great, but they aren't going to fulfill these needs. Which serves them very well, because then you have to go shopping again.” And so we do, often with credit card in hand, in the vain hope that someday we will make that singular perfect purchase that will for ever make us happy, that will help us understand the meaning of life, and that will make us members of a community of other enlightened, fulfilled people.
All the while, we have given up our freedom for slavery. As the ancient Hebrew Proverb says, “Just as the rich rule the poor, so the borrower is servant to the lender.” I'm convinced that debt is the only way an otherwise rational person would ever sell themselves into slavery, and unfortunately the slavery of debt isn't isolated to the individual. This morning, this community gathered is a slave to the debt of the education building. The eighteen hundred dollar a month payment is, for all intents and purposes, the reason for our cash flow deficit each and every month. And we are not an isolated case, parishes, institutions, dioceses are all barely keeping their heads above water because of the debt service they carry on new buildings and property, built when growth seemed never ending and interest rates were so low the banks were practically giving money away. For the four years since I arrived here, Cassie and I have been enslaved to monthly payments on credit cards with short-term, low interest rate deals. We've robbed Peter to pay Paul only to turn around and borrow the money back from Paul to repay our debt to Peter. How many churches are slaves to the debt service built when cotton was high and he boll weevil was nowhere to be seen? How many families are torn apart by the over-availability of easy credit cards? How many of our recent ails as a parish, a community, and a nation are the result of debt?
And it is all based on that lie of scarcity. There isn't enough to go around, so you better get it now, even if you can't afford it, otherwise you'll never be happy. Jesus says, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that [my sheep] may have life and have it abundantly.” Jesus shines a light on the falsehood of scarcity and calls us to a lifestyle of abundance. The truth he speaks says to us “there is more than enough for everyone and everything in this world to flourish, so we should take what we need, when we need it, and share our excess with one another.”
Two weeks ago, Cassie and I officially paid off the last of our credit card debt. We celebrated by buying the ceiling fan that we've wanted to put up on the back porch for four years. We paid... in cash! The breeze feels so much cooler knowing that we waited and saved and the fan is ours, no strings attached. I tell you this not to pat myself on the back, but to tell you that it is possible. With wise spending habits, and Jesus, even Steve Pankey, Visa cardholder since 1998, can get out of credit card debt.
Back in 1997, when money came in, I ate butter covered sweet rolls and drank decaf coffee, and the money went out, I was living the dream: I had a job, I was getting an education, I had a community of good friends, and I was doing my best to follow Jesus. It was as close to transcendence as I'll ever get, not because of the sweet rolls and coffee, but because of the relationships they helped foster. No matter how hard we try, it is impossible to buy transcendence. There is no price tag on the meaning of life. You can't barter your way into authentic community. By trying to buy stuff to make us feel good, we, as a society, have enslaved ourselves to creditors, banks, and foreign nations; none of which has our best interests in mind. The abundant life we so desperately seek can not be bought, it is only offered as a free gift, given to us by the only being outside of ourselves who seeks our best interests, the God of all Creation. He bought us out of slavery to sin in the life, death, and resurrection of his only Son, and begs us not to sell ourselves back by way of debt. He offers us lasting joy, rather than fleeting happiness. He offers us access into the perfect community of the Trinity. He offers us abundant life, rather than a life constantly in search of more. Have you unwittingly welcomed the thief into your life? Jesus calls on us to trust in him, to follow him, to give of ourselves to him, all in thanksgiving for the gift of freedom he has so graciously given us. Jesus invites to you be set free, to loose the bonds of slavery, and to live abundantly. Authentic life as a people of the resurrection begins when we say “no” to the thief, when we reject the lie of scarcity, and rest our hope in God's abundance. God, the good shepherd, offers you a cup that is overflowing beside still waters. He longs to restore your soul. All for the low-low price of grace. No debt, just freedom. Now that is the good life. Amen.

A Symbol of the Mainline Church

2011-05-12T09:10:00.000-04:00

Last night the clergy and lay deputies and alternates to General Convention were invited to Bishop and Kathy Duncan's home for dinner. It was a lovely evening: good beer, good conversation, and an excellent meal. As the evening wrapped up our Diocesan Administrator, who we also think happens to also be the longest tenured deputy elected to the 2012 Convention gave us a brief overview of the next year's worth of prep work.

He handed out to each of us a 1GB flash drive (some call it a thumb drive, he called it a pig drive containing three pdf documents: a list of contact information for deputies and alternates, the outdated draft schedule for the Convention, and a copy of an email sent to all of us regarding a June Synod meeting that most of us will not attend. I chuckled at the flash drives, and told Cassie how excited I was the Diocese had nearly reached the year 2000 with its technology. At least they are trying, though, and I have to give them credit for that.

Well, I went to plug in the drive this morning, and after my PC went through the usual machinations to install the drivers, it told me I had to restart my computer for the software to work correctly. At the very same time, it opened a window showing the contents of the drive: the three pdfs I mentioned earlier. I tried to open them, but to no avail, they were either corrupted or not found, which I assume meant, "follow the restart instructions, hot shot!"

I restarted my computer, and tried to open the drive folder again, but now my computer is recognizing it as either a floppy or CD drive and telling me to insert a disk into drive e:. I went to the website of the brand name on the thumb drive but all the FAQ pages are bad links. And so, here I sit with a 1GB piece of useless plastic.

And I thought to myself, is this a symbol of the Mainline Church?
We try.
We over buy.
We aren't quite sure how to make it all work.
And our FAQs have as many answers as we do members.

Are we stuck with over-sized structures that are essentially useless? Or, is there a way to format what we've got in such a way that it is useful to a world that is desperately in need?

Acts 2:42 Church

2011-05-11T11:54:00.000-04:00

"Those who had been baptized devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers."

I guess there is some debate as to whether the Church described in Acts 2:42 was actually the early Church or just the ideal to which it aspired. Either way, it continues to be the the fullest description of how the contemporary Church, in all of its variations and forms called churches, should live out its mission.

We are called to teach and be taught.
We are called to fellowship.
We are called to break bread.
We are called to pray and be prayed for.

Emil Brunner has famously said, "The Church exists by mission as fire exists by burning" and while I don't disagree with the famous Swiss Reformed theologian, I tend to think that Mission comes as a natural side effect of hearing the lessons of Jesus' life and ministry, seeking to share the joy that comes from Christian fellowship, receiving the grace of God's Holy Communion, and earnestly desiring God's will for ourselves and the rest of God's good creation.

Taking Brunner's analogy to the edge of its usefulness, if fire requires fuel, heat, and oxygen to produce a flame then the Church needs teaching, fellowship, breaking bread, and prayer to produce mission. When one is lacking, the focus turns wrong way in, and the problem isn't a lack of mission, which tends to get the attention. Instead, it is almost always a lack of prayer or a hubris against education, or a lack of fellowship. At least in The Episcopal Church there's never a lack of bread breaking. ;-)

abundance

2011-05-10T12:04:00.001-04:00

One story tells us that there isn't enough in this world, so you better grab up all you can as fast as you can. This is a philosophy of scarcity.

Another story says that there is more than enough for everyone and everything in this world to flourish, so we should take what we need, when we need it, and share our excess with the rest. This is a philosophy of abundance.

Madison Avenue, Wall Street, and Capitol Hill operates under the former.

The Kingdom of God calls us to live by the latter.

Jesus had just healed a man born blind. With mud. And spit. On the Sabbath.

The Pharisees were not happy with this obvious display of power, and so Jesus responds by telling them a story. Not a story of power about an emperor or an army, but a story about mercy about a shepherd who calls his sheep to follow. The Pharisees grasp to the power they have accumulated thinking that there isn't enough to go around. Jesus holds with an open hand the power given to him, eager to share it, to empower others, to live in the Kingdom.

Abundance doesn't mean more. More doesn't mean better. Abundance is better. Abundance is a gift.

The Thief

2011-05-09T14:04:00.000-04:00

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy"

Boy do I know that thief. Well, more accurately, I know several thieves, but as we continue our 50 Days of Stewardship as a People of the Resurrection, my thoughts this week are aimed at debt. For so many of us, the main thief, the one who does the most damage, is debt. And it steals. kills. and destroys.

No doubt about it.

How many churches are slaves to the debt service built when cotton was high and he boll weevil was nowhere to be seen? How many families are torn apart by the over-availability of easy credit cards? How many of our recent ails are the result of debt?

Credit convinces us that while today resources are scarce, someday they won't be and therefore we should buy now and pay later. As most of us have come to realize, however, that someday never comes. When we subscribe to a philosophy (or a theology) of scarcity, that lens becomes a defining factor in our lives. I don't have enough, so I'll buy on credit. I might not have enough, so I'll keep a little extra. My neighbor doesn't have enough, so I'll sell at a handsome markup.

Scarcity, however, is a lie. Our wants have replaced our needs, and the thief is all too willing to help us fill the void. The thief offers us more and more and more, until he takes it all away.

Jesus offers a different way, but that, dear reader, is the stuff of another post.

Feast of Monnica - Homily

2011-05-04T17:11:00.001-04:00

Today we celebrate the Feast of Monnica who died in the Roman Port of Ostia in 387. If the Episcopal Church assigned patron saints, Monnica would be the patron saint of faithful mothers. Maybe that's why we didn't change her feast day from being near Mother's Day to the end of August like the Romans did after Vatican Two.
Monnica was born about 332 in modern day Algeria, and grew up as the riotous daughter of two devoutly Christian parents. One of her biographies says that “as a girl, she was fond of wine.” Not as a young woman nor even as a teen, but as a girl, she was fond of wine.” She only gave up the sauce after a young slave girl made fun of her and Monnica vowed never to drink again. She married a pagan name Patricus who followed the example of his mother as an angry adulterer.
Monnica prayed for her husband, his mother, and their children. She prayed and prayed and prayed that they would come to know the gift of grace offered by God in his son Jesus. Once, when their eldest son, Augustine was desperately ill, Monnica convinced Patricus to allow him to be baptized, but before a priest could be found, Augustine was healed, and Patricus withdrew his permission.
Monnica continued to pray and live the life of a faithful disciples. As Augustine grew, it became apparent that he was a gifted young man, and Monnica attempted to help him marry into a fine family, but when those attempts failed and as Monnica grew in her faith, her sole ideal became the conversion of her husband, mother-in-law, and sons. Her patience and faithfulness paid off as both Patricus and his mother-in-law were baptized before their deaths. Augustine, however, continued to resist as he was fond of both wine and women. After studying at Carthage, Augustine so upset his mother with his philosophies that she ran him off from the dinner table. After a vision told her that should would not die until her son was converted, Monnica followed Augustine to Rome and then to Milan where she happened upon the famous bishop, Ambrose of Milan, who disciples both Monnica and the less than enthused, Augustine, who was finally baptized at the Great Vigil of Easter in 387.
Monnica, a younger son, and Augustine prepared to return to North Africa after the baptism, but while waiting for the ship at Ostia, she took ill and died. That rebellious elder son, Augustine, would later tell her story in his autobiography, The Confessions and was consecrated as Bishop of Hippo in 395 and is also remembered with his own feast on August 28th (the day after his mother's feast on the post-1969 Roman calendar).
Monnica's story reads like the story of many of us. She made mistakes. She sought after prideful things. She like wine a little too much. Her children had their struggles. And in the midst of it all, she remained faithful. She prayed. She sought out the will of God. She served. She mostly did the best she could with the hand she was dealt and the mercy of God. How many of us do the same thing, day in and day out?
Often, the folks who get remembered on the calendar are so extraordinary that they are hard to relate to, but Monnica is the working man's or woman's saint. We remember her faith and her faithfulness. We remember her patience and her faults. We rejoice that God's mercy is unfailing, even in the midst of our messiness. Amen.

Really, really stuck

2011-05-04T16:46:00.000-04:00

Last night, in Mobile, a man was shot. It tends to happen all too often, 20 or so murders already in Mobile County in 2011. Most of the time the story gives me quick pause, but I quickly move on. I hadn't even heard last night's story, it didn't cross my two local news apps this morning. Instead, I returned from lunch and K, our parish secretary, told me that TKT needed me to look something up on the internet while he drove to preach in Greenville, AL.

So, I called Keith and he told me about a news story he heard while falling asleep last night. It was about a man who had been assaulted in downtown Mobile and his name was WW. "I wonder if it is our WW," he said, "and if so, I doubt anybody will be able to pay for his cremation or anything."

The three of us who hang out at 506 North Pine Street everyday know a WW pretty well. I don't know if the WW we know is the same WW who died last night, but my guess is the chances are pretty good. Our WW is one of our regulars. We've all heard his whole life story: his Father was a jerk, he never had a chance, and if he did, he didn't take it. WW drove broken down cars, lived in broken down apartments, and lived a broken down life. Thanks to a pretty terrible childhood, mental illness, and (I'm guessing) some recreational drug use, WW was really, really stuck.

Stuck feeling sorry for himself. Stuck in a go nowhere existence. Stuck driving a 90 mile loop from Mobile to Pensacola, stopping at churches, sharing his story, and asking for help. Whether the man who died last night was our WW or another, it is a sad story, but it is even sadder, for me, if it our WW because he never allowed himself the chance to get unstuck. He lived as a lone ranger, isolated by the voices of sadness bouncing around his head.

It would have been easy for the disciples to wallow in their self-pity after Jesus died - to close themselves off completely, even from each other, but they didn't. The group huddled together in that upper room. Cleopas walked to Emmaus with somebody else. They, at the very least, stayed in community, and so, when Jesus appeared, they weren't stuck with the voices in their head, but were able to corroborate with the person standing next to them.

I pray that the WW shot and killed last night wasn't our WW. I pray that our WW is alive and that someday he'll be able to realize his potential as a beloved child of God. I pray for all of those souls, lost in their own minds, who today find themselves, really, really, stuck.

stuck

2011-05-03T17:00:00.000-04:00

It seems as thought every time I read a well known piece of scripture, I find something I had never seen before. This morning in our Lectionary Group, TKT noted that Cleopas and the other disciple stop walking in order to talk to Jesus. They weren't moving very quickly to begin with, heads drooped, discussing the crushing sadness of the weekend, but when the stranger asks them what they are talking about, the stop completely.

They are stuck.

It got me thinking about all the times that I've gotten stuck. Stuck in an ideal. Stuck in an emotion. Stuck in my fear. Stuck with no real desire to get unstuck. Sometimes, I just want to stop and wallow in my self-pity. Sometimes, my fear keeps me from moving. Sometimes, I just don't want to get unstuck.

Cleopas and the other disciple seem to be there. They saw (from a distance) their Rabbi be arrested, condemned, tortured, and killed. They had come to the life altering realization that their hopes were now dead. They heard the women say, "he's gone and an angel told us he is alive." And yet they are still moping their way from Jerusalem to Emmaus. They're leaving town, giving up, moving on. They are stuck on Saturday, but Sunday has already come.

Lots of things get us hung up. Hopes dashed, budgets trimmed, taxes raised, life altered. We get stuck when there isn't enough. We get stuck when the power of evil gets the edge over the light, but if Easter teaches us one thing, it is that light always wins. In word and sacrament, in the exposition of scripture and the breaking of bread, God's glory is revealed again and again and again, helping us to get unstuck again and again and again.

Shalom versus Fear - A sermon on Resurrection and Stewardship

2011-05-02T14:00:00.001-04:00

If you'd prefer to listen to this sermon as it was preached at 10am, then follow this link. Otherwise, continue reading.

Fear is an awfully strong motivator. By that I don't mean that fear is really really strong motivator, but rather that fear is awful and a strong motivator. Fear leads to all sorts of bad decisions. The fear of “I'm going to die alone” leads people into all sorts of doomed relationships. The fear of rejection leads people away from all sorts of wonderful relationships. When fear is our motivator, awful things tend to happen.
Last Sunday we heard the story of Mary Magdalene meeting the risen Jesus. She was instructed to go and tell the rest that Jesus was on his way to meet with his Father and their Father, his God and their God. Mary went and told them, and today we hear the rest of what happened. The disciples were terrified. While last week everyone was doing what a sane person would do, this week, the disciples do what any fearful person would do: they hide. They huddle up in that famous upper room and lock the door for fear of the Jews. Wouldn't you go look for Jesus? Wouldn't you want to see him for yourself? Fear does funny things to us. It makes the illogical, logical. It makes the rational, irrational. It makes the smart do stupid things. And so, out of fear, that first Easter Day was not spent hunting eggs, eating ham, and enjoying family. Instead, the disciples locked the doors and hid.
When I announced on last week that St. Paul's was entering a season of renewal, resurrection, and whole life stewardship, I know that a few of you felt that tinge of fear course through your veins. Maybe you even thought about it as you got ready this morning, “Maybe I won't go this week, I just don't want to hear money talk.” I get it. I'm not stupid. I woke up this morning terrified to preach this sermon. Sex, politics, religion, and money. We just don't talk about these things. But we should. Fear has led us to not talk about the important issues of our lives, and not talking about these things has led us to near crisis situations in all four arenas. On sex, just this week the Washington Post reported that 1 in 4 children in the United States is being raised by a single mother: more than any other industrialized nation. In Politics - While Congress was in recess, they were still back-biting one another over whose fault it is that we got into the current economic mess rather than seeking realistic solutions. In Religion - Mainline denominations continue to shrink while we joke that “evangelism isn't our thing.” And Money - Exxon announced that thanks to higher gas prices, it earned almost eleven billion dollars in just the first quarter of 2011.
When fear motivates us and awful things happen.
Eighteen months ago, I stood in this pulpit and shared with you that Cassie and I give the first 10% of our household income for the work of the Kingdom of God. What I failed to tell you is how hard it was for me to get there. Prior to heading to seminary, I was content to give God everything I had... in my wallet... on the Sunday's I went to church... and wasn't serving at the altar. After Friday night out with friends, and Saturday night out with friends, Sunday morning usually rolled around with maybe a five or a ten dollar bill in my wallet. I faithfully put that in the offering plate... if I was at church... and not vested and at the altar. I was, in my mind, doing all I could. I was afraid to give any more because it would mean not paying the cell phone bill or buying groceries or, more likely, not going out Friday AND Saturday nights with friends. Once I got to seminary and we were writing a twelve-hundred dollar check to the seminary every month, it was easy to call that our gift for the Kingdom, even though, deep down, we both knew that was probably cheating. Still, we were afraid that if we gave any more, there wouldn't be enough for rent or groceries or, more likely, good Indian food. Fear motivated us to keep our wallets and, by extension, our hearts closed to God.
Back in that upper room, as fate would have it, another person managed to make his way in, through the locked doors and drawn windows. Suddenly, standing in their midst was the man at the center of all the controversy, Jesus of Nazareth, their Rabbi and friend. He begins to speak by offering a very traditional Jewish salutation, “Shalom. Peace be with you.” His words, however, aren't just a casual hello, but a call to action. Jesus understands that fear is an awful and powerful motivator. He knows why the group is huddled up with the door locked and he simply says, “no.” No, fear will not motivate my followers. Shalom will be the order of the day. Again he speaks and says, “Shalom. Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you.” Fear caused them to hide, God's peace propels them out in love, service, compassion, and evangelism.
Poor Thomas wasn't around on Easter evening, and he wants so desperately what the rest of the group got. He wants to hear Jesus' word of comfort and shalom. He wants to receive the Holy Spirit. He wants to touch the holes in his hands and put his hand in his side. He needs that one-on-one encounter with the risen Jesus in order to shake of the fear that still paralyzes him.
And so did I. As seminary came to an end, it became abundantly clear that God had blessed us so richly during our time in Alexandria and by calling us to serve in Foley. We decided that if we were called to be church leaders, then one way we should lead is by giving 10% of our income to the Kingdom of God. After we got settled, we created our budget worksheet and realized that after tithe, taxes, bills, gas, and groceries we would have about zero dollars left each pay check. It would have been easy to put three-hundred dollars back in our monthly budget by not tithing, but that simply was not an option. For too long fear had been our motivator, but after a three-year, intensive, one-on-one encounter with the risen Lord we were able to shake the fear that paralyzed us.
Thomas needed that one-on-one encounter with the risen Jesus, and so did I, and so do we. Over the last three years, St. Paul's has done some amazing things. Things that many people would have thought impossible. You know the list, but I'll name them anyway. We've launched a volunteer ministry at the Elementary School, we began hosting Family Promise, and collecting food for Ecumenical Ministries weekly rather than one month a year. We have a monthly men's dinner, a Saturday night service, a highly successful pig-out fundraiser, a singles group, an ecumenical Vacation Bible School, monthly Bunco nights. We've done mission work in the DR, Katrina ravaged Mississippi, and given support to tornado victims last year, and today, and tomorrow. We have a weekly newsletter, a website, a facebook group, online sermon recordings, and a whole list that I'm forgetting. While the disciples were busy hiding, we've been busy doing, doing, doing. In recent months, however, Keith and I and your vestry have begun to wonder how much of our doing has been to avoid big pink piggy bank in the room: our deficit budget. St. Paul's Parish, like most households in America, has lived paycheck to paycheck for the last three years. When the money ran out before the month did, we relied on the relative ease of band-aids by asking for special gifts. In so doing, we made a mistake. Rather than rely on God's abundance, we allowed darkness and fear to convince us that resources were scarce. We sought “blood from a turnip” rather than the Spirit of God. We went back to the same well over and over again instead of drinking from the unending water of life.
As you leave church this morning, you will receive a letter and a worksheet. The letter is going to look a lot like what I've just described: going to the same old well, digging deeper, and asking for more. On behalf of Keith and the Vestry, I'll ask you to look at this letter differently. While, of course, we will ask you to considering increasing your gift, what we hope you'll prayerfully discern is where your gift is coming from. There was a time when I gave God what was left over, but now, thanks to proportional giving, Cassie and I give God the first fruits. Our tithe is the first thing in our budget, and all other decisions are based on that non-negotiable number. It was a change in priorities: a change in worldview. A move from fear to faith, and one that has impacted every area of our life.
But even that letter, as much of a change in worldview it is for us, is useless if it is all about money. If we are seeking only the cash flow to keep the staff paid, the lights lit, and the doors open, then we've forgotten why we exist in the first place. We are a ministering community... for the glory of Jesus Christ, and so today we come before God and ask him to turn on the faucet: to pour out his Spirit so that we might be overflowing: to forgive us for our lack of faith and to allow us, once again, that one-on-one encounter with the Risen Jesus. We pray, as today's Collect says, “that we might show forth in our lives what we profess by our faith.” We cry out to God and say, “help us to walk the walk! Not just with our money, but with our whole lives. Bring to our lips the praises of King David “Yours, O Lord, are the greatness, the power, the glory, the victory, and the majesty; for all that is in the heavens and on the earth is yours; yours is the kingdom, O Lord, and you are exalted as head above all. Riches and honor come from you, and you rule over all. In your hand are power and might; and it is in your hand to make great and to give strength to all. And now, our God, we give thanks to you and praise your glorious name... For all things come from you, and of your own have we given you.”
Fear is an awfully strong motivator. It causes us to do wildly irresponsible things. It is the root cause of most of our sin. In the resurrection, God freely, I repeat freely, without any cost or strings attached, offers us his shalom, his peace. During these 50 days, reflect on that peace, seek after it, spend time in honest one-on-one encounters with the risen Jesus, and I'm convinced that you will find that peace is just the the first-fruit, the foretaste of the amazing blessings God longs to pour out upon you if you will only say no to fear and receive his peace. Amen.

God does not desire the death of the wicked...

2011-05-02T10:24:00.002-04:00

... but rather that they turn from their sin and live.
(para of Ezekiel 18:23 and from the Ash Wednesday Liturgy in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer 1979)

On the weekend after 9/11, I found myself at my usual hangout in the basement of the Travelodge listening to bad Karaoke with my friends after work. I remember vividly the Karaoke Jockey standing on the stage railing against Osama bin Laden with shockingly violent language involving hot oil and defecation. Even as a 21 year-old who spent too much time at the bar and not enough time at church, I remember feeling queasy about the vitriol directed toward one human being, but in many ways understanding the anger that lie at the root.

My life has changed a lot in the nearly 10 since. I'm now a husband, a father, a master's educated theologian, and a priest. My priorities have shifted since the days when the 'lodge put Miller Lite on tap just for me and my buddies, but today, as our nation comes to grips with the reality that OBL was killed by an American bullet, I once again find myself not sure how to feel.

I give thanks to God this morning that a seed of great evil has been destroyed, but I mourn with God that one of his children, as depraved as he may have been, has died.

My Father-in-law and I had a conversation many years ago about the men who hijacked the four jets in 9/11. He, coming from a strong Presbyterian background and me an Episcopalian. My argument was that up until the moment those jets crashed, the hijackers still had a chance to find Jesus, repent, and be saved. His understanding was that their depravity was too deep: they could never be restored. Ultimately, since they followed through with their plans, he was right, but I can't help but shake the fact that God created human kind in his image.

Our depravity is never so deep that God can't set us free, but it is often too deep for us to look up and see the light. OBL could never see the light, and that grieves God. He was killed by violence, and I think that too grieves God.

As I look within myself at the vast array of emotions I feel this morning: gladness, sadness, relief, worry, excitement, anxiety, and many others, I'm drawn to the words of the prophet Ezekiel. In the eighteenth chapter of his book, while he deals with all types of sin, he writes to the people of Israel (and to me and to you):

²¹Suppose wicked people stop sinning and start obeying my laws and doing right. They won't be put to death. ²²All their sins will be forgiven, and they will live because they did right. ²³I, the LORD God, don't like to see wicked people die. I enjoy seeing them turn from their sins and live.

²⁴But when good people start sinning and doing disgusting things, will they live? No! All their good deeds will be forgotten, and they will be put to death because of their sins.

²⁵You people of Israel accuse me of being unfair! But listen--I'm not unfair; you are! ²⁶If good people start doing evil, they must be put to death, because they have sinned. ²⁷And if wicked people start doing right, they will save themselves from punishment. ²⁸They will think about what they've done and stop sinning, and so they won't be put to death. ²⁹But you still say that I am unfair. You are the ones who have done wrong and are unfair! (Ez 18.21-29 CEV)

I pray this day that I don't fall into evil as I react to the death of one who did. I pray this day that I don't fall ito evil as I react to the ways in which others react to OBL's death. Be they causticly overjoyed, smugly self-righteous, or anything in between. May God have mercy on my soul.

Fear

2011-04-28T14:58:00.000-04:00

What are you afraid of?

I have an unnatural fear of insects. I'll tell a story on myself. Last night, after several days of two two year-olds going in and out, in and out, in and out of our back door, we found 14 flies in our living room. As the night wore on and we got ready for bed the lights in the bathroom drew 5 flies into our bedroom, which made SHW none-too-happy and sent her on a fly killing spree. One of the dazed, but not dead, flies landed on my pillow.

NOPE. Didn't like it.

Rather than squish the thing on my pillow, or flick it off, remember I'm afraid for insects for no real reason, I picked up the whole pillow and hoped to drop the thing in the toilet before it could wake up. It was, without a doubt, a stupid plan, but in my fear it was the only reasonable one.

Fear does funny things to us. It makes the illogical logical. It makes the rational irrational. It makes the smart dumb.

For the disciples, on that first Easter they huddled in an upper room, behind a locked door, out of fear. Someone had either taken their beloved Rabbi's body or he was risen from the dead, and either way, they were terrified. Jesus enters the locked-up room and twice offers them shalom, peace.

As I reflect on the Gospel today, I'm struck by how often fear is a motivating factor in the decisions we make. In God's economy, however, fear is to be replaced by peace. How often does peace motivate my own decisions? Rarely.

It seems as though the only way to fix that tendency toward fear is a one-on-one encounter with the risen Lord. Not just seeing, not just touching his hands, but a sticking my whole hand in his side sort of encounter. To do that these days, requires extra special vision, the type that allows one to see Jesus in the midst of troubling circumstances. The type that allows peace to reign over fear. I've got a set of those glasses, thanks to the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, not if I would only use them more often.

walk the walk

2011-04-27T16:27:00.000-04:00

Sorry I've been a little lax in posting the past couple of weeks. Holy Week and now Easter Week (with dear friends in town to boot) have made my time better used elsewhere. But, dear reader, I'm back, and ready to go, especially since I'm preaching again this weekend.

AND

At St. Paul's Foley for the Great 50 Days of Easter, we will be embarking on a season of renewal, resurrection, and stewardship. We are repenting of our sin of fear and trusting in God for everything. We are hoping to, in the great words of the Collect for the Second Sunday of Easter, "show forth in [our] lives what [we] profess by [our] faith."

In other words, we are hoping that God will give us the ability to walk the walk. We've lived paycheck to paycheck as a Parish for the last three years. We've subscribed to either the laziness of band-aids or the falsehood of scarcity, and beginning last Sunday with an empty tomb, we say, "no more."

From now on, we will believe that "Jesus did many other signs" (John 20:30) and that "All things come from our LORD" (1 Chron 29:14). We will name our doubts and fears. We will repent of our lack of faith. We will, we hope, come to realize what amazing gifts God has poured out upon us; gifts that many of us don't even think to look for.

If my posts over these next five weeks seem skewed toward stewardship, please understand that it is where we are as a Parish, but I hope that even then, they might be fruitful to you as well.

Happy Easter! The Lord is risen! Alleluia!

Easter Day Sermon

2011-04-26T14:26:00.001-04:00

You can listen to it here. (after 6:30pm tonight). Or read it down here.

Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!

So what? What difference does it make that the tomb was empty on that famous Sunday morning? What difference did it make for Mary Magdalene? For Peter and the disciple Jesus loved? For you? For me? For Foley? For Alabama? For the United States? For the world? For all of creation? What difference could an empty tomb possibly make?

Mary arrives at the tomb while it was still dark on Sunday morning. It is peculiar that John would include this detail, especially as it contradicts the stories of Matthew, Mark and Luke. But John has been all about light and dark. His Prologue that we heard read the day after Christmas, set the stage for where we find ourselves this morning, “The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness did not overcome it.” As Mary made her way to the tomb on that Sunday morning, however, the sky was very, very dark. Mary arrives at the tomb convinced that death has won. Her Rabbi and friend, Jesus of Nazareth was mocked, beaten, tortured, and executed. Her hopes for a restored Israel were dashed in the rolling of a stone. On Friday, just before sunset, the tomb closed on Jesus, on her hopes, on Israel's dream, forever. Her world is very, very dark when she arrives and finds that the unthinkable has happened. A situation that couldn't possibly have gotten worse, got worse. The body was gone! Rather than peek in to see what was what, she does what any sane person would do, and high tales it out of there. In this moment, the empty tomb has changed her life for the worse.

Mary comes to Peter and the disciple Jesus loved, out of breath, heaving for air and gasps in a barely audible voice, “Someone has taken Jesus!” The disciples, without a moment's hesitation race back to the tomb. There they find the stone rolled back and the linens lying neatly folded. For Peter and the disciple Jesus loved, there is seemingly no immediate difference. John tells us that the unnamed disciple believed. What he believed, we don't know, John only says that he believed, but did not yet understand. Maybe he had to see the empty tomb with his own eyes to believe what Mary had said. Peter, we are lead to believe, felt nothing, and Easter Day, Scene One closes with both men returning to their homes under the cover of darkness, as of yet unchanged by that empty tomb.

The story, however, does not end there. For you see, Mary, in the midst of her sadness; cloaked in darkness, doesn't leave the tomb. Her world, shattered on Friday afternoon, has been crushed into dust this morning. She doesn't know what to do, where to go, how to live. And so she stands and sobs and sobs and sobs. And as she sobs, she leans over to look into the tomb, as if she still can't believe what is happening. And as she sobs and looks she sees, much to her surprise, two angels dressed in white sitting where her friend and teacher had once been laid out, wrapped in the clothes of burial.

“Woman, why are you weeping?” they ask, as if they don't know. She answers, turns and finds herself standing before a man she has never before seen. “Woman, why are you weeping?” he asks, as if he didn't know. She answers, and he replies,

“Mary!”

And in an instant, her dark world is made as bright as the noonday sun. Mary shrieks, “Rabbouni!” and reaches out to grab a hold of her friend who was dead, who was lost, and who is now very much alive. She once again finds herself running to find Peter and the rest, but this time it is not in darkness. This time she carries the light of the Gospel, “I have seen the Lord!”

Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!

So what? What difference does it make? I'm glad you asked that question, because I'm here to tell you it makes every difference in the world. The empty tomb is the single most important event in the 13.7 billion years since God first said, “Let there be light.” From that moment forward, darkness has done everything in its power to snuff out that light, to return creation to chaos, and to end God's reign in the universe he created. Darkness has filled the hearts of angels and humans alike. Darkness has tempted us with power, prestige, fame, and fortune. Darkness has made a pact with each and every created being, except one.

Maybe you know what I'm talking about. Maybe you've come here this morning, not even wanting to be here, forced by guilt or fear or the expectations of a loved one, reluctant to sing praises, knowing full well the power that darkness can hold. Maybe you're here with the dark veil of mourning covering your face, unable to shake the sadness that comes from losing a loved one: father, mother, husband, wife, daughter, son. Maybe darkness has lied to you and made you feel unworthy to be here: It's been too long, you've been to bad, your life is too messy. Darkness uses all sorts of ploys to keep us from seeing the light, but the truth is, in an instant, in an empty tomb, in one word, “Mary,” darkness was defeated for good.

In the midst of our messiness, the light of God's love breaks in and cleans up. In the midst of our sinfulness, the light of God's love breaks in and forgives. In the midst of our shattered lives, the light of God's love breaks in and picks up the pieces. In the midst of our darkness, the light of God's love breaks in and shines with a brightness that darkness can never overcome.

And while that is nice and good for us on that grand cosmic scale of good versus evil and light versus darkness, the light of God's love breaking into the world is especially important for me and for you. As Peter said in his great speech from Acts chapter ten, “God shows no partiality.” If God is there for Mary in her darkness, then he is there for you in yours. If God is shining light into the chaos of someone else's life, then he is there shining light into your life as well. Jesus Christ is Lord of all, not some, not a select few, not the chosen frozen or the frozen chosen, A-L-L, all. He is Lord of you and of me and of all creation. If Jesus is in the garden, calling Mary by name, then he is right here, calling you, by name, out of your sin, out of your despair, out of your falsified unworthiness, and into a resurrected life in him, right here and right now.

Mary didn't see Jesus and go home to pack her bag for heaven. Mary ran to find Peter and the rest. She would have shouted from the rooftops if she could have, “I have seen the Lord.” This resurrection, this empty tomb, this light means that God's Great Cleanup^¹ of the world has begun. We are invited to pick up a broom and sweep the floor, to take hold of a polishing rag and shine up the candle sticks, and in some cases, we are invited to grab a shovel and scoop up the crap. No matter the task, we who have been raised with Christ, are invited to roll up our sleeves, step in alongside God, and get to work.

Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!

So What? So, quit feeling sorry for yourself, quit feeling unworthy, quit listening to the voice of darkness and rejoice in God's steadfast love, God's unending mercy, God's ridiculous grace! The problem is, of course, that darkness won't take no for an answer. Over and over again, weekly, daily, and sometimes by the minute, darkness continues to tug at our hearts, asking if it might borrow our light for just a minute. It is so tempting to give just a little bit of ourselves over to that darkness, but as those who have been raised with Christ, that is to say, every one of us, our light isn't ours to give. The resurrection calls us to a new way of living in every fiber of our being. It calls us to a new understanding of our time; it isn't mine, it is God's. It calls us to a new understanding of our families, they aren't mine, they are God's. It calls us to a new understanding of our skills and talents, they aren't mine, they are God's. It calls us to a new understanding of our money, it isn't mine, it is God's. All things come from you, O Lord, and of your own, have we given you.

Over the next five weeks, the clergy, Wardens and Vestry of St. Paul's invite you to join us as we look at what it means to live a resurrected life. We'll start, just like Mary did, with fear and trembling, doubt and despair. As the weeks progress, hopefully you'll find yourself ready to shout from the rooftops, “I have seen the Lord.” We'll talk about God's abundance and they ways in which a resurrected people respond to that overflowing gift of light and love, and I hope that you will join us these next five weeks. The work of restoration didn't end on Easter Day, but it has only just begun.

Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!

1Thanks to Borg and Crossan for “God's Great Cleanup.”

Holy Wednesday

2011-04-20T17:36:00.000-04:00

No post today. My day started when my alarm clock went off at 2:50am. There is something powerful in setting your alarm clock back 3 hours and 10 minutes. I'm a little dazed by the long day, so I'll send you to my facebook photo album from today's events.

Click here.

Holy Tuesday Meditation

2011-04-19T17:58:00.000-04:00

Here is my meditation for our Holy Tuesday Service of Evening Prayer. It starts in an hour, so if you'd like to hear this sermon instead of read it, c'mon out!

The Parable of the Wicked Tenants is a terrible story filled with greed, envy, violence, and death. The worst part of the story, however, is the stupidity of the land owner. He sends a slave to collect his share of the produce, but the tenant-farmers beat him and send him home empty handed. So, the landowner sends another slave. This one they didn't just beat up, but they hurled insults at him while they beat him up, and he too returned home empty handed. So, the landowner sends a third slave to pick up what is rightfully his, but this slave never comes home. The tenant-farmers don't just beat him up, they don't just dishonor him, but they kill this slave.
Most of us would have learned our lesson at this point. No more slaves, these people are too violent, too greedy, I'll just cut my loses and focus on my other properties. But that isn't the story that Jesus tells. Instead, Jesus says that the landowner kept sending slaves, over and over and over again. “And so it was with many others; some they beat, and others they killed.” Many others. Many? How stupid can this land owner be that we would continue to send slave upon slave to seek out what he should have known he would never receive. He does this over and over and over again until there is but one man left.
The one. His beloved son. I'm not sure where this parable of Jesus goes from sad to tragic, but if it hasn't already, it is certainly tragic once the landowner decides to send his beloved son. It is tragic because we know what is going to happen. If the tenant-farmers killed his slaves, certainly they will kill his son. So why on earth would the landowner send him off to certain death? How could he be so dumb?
This is not an academic, head in the clouds kind of question, either. I hear this question a lot, often from young folk. “Why did Jesus have to die?” Part of what they are asking, I think, is “why couldn't the God of all creation come up with a better way to fix it all? Didn't he see the writing on the wall? Didn't he know that we are greedy, ugly people and that his son would get a three punishments inflicted on the slaves? He'd be beaten. He'd be insulted. He'd be killed. How could God be so stupid as to send his beloved Son?”
It is safe to assume, I think, that since we humans are part of the problem, we will never fully understand the solution, but it is equally safe to assume that God isn't dumb. What the story of the wicked tenants tells us, in all of its ugliness and tragedy, is that God is doggedly faithful, longing from generation to generation for his people to return to him. Hosea, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel call this quality of God “long-suffering.” I prefer to call it mercy. Something that Psalm 118 tells us endures for ever.
God never gives up on us. Even to the point of sending his beloved son to certain death at the hands of the very greedy, violent people he is trying so hard to save. Tonight, as we take another step closer to Good Friday, I invite you to remember God's unending mercy and faithfulness, and be thankful. Amen.

forgive to be forgiven

2011-04-19T09:44:00.000-04:00

Or is it forgiven to forgive?

The lesson of the withered fig tree is one of my "top 5 things I wish Jesus had never done or said." I mean really, "ask, believe, and it will happen," that makes my job as a pastor very, very difficult. What happens when prayers go unanswered? Did I not believe? Did I not pray hard enough? Did Jesus sell me a bridge to nowhere? These are tough questions that hit at the heart of one of the mainstays of Christianity, intercessory prayer. I'll go ahead and admit it here, I struggle with intercessory prayer. What, exactly, should I be praying for?

God's will to be done?
The peace that surpasses all understanding?
Billy to be healed?
Sally to get that job?
Mikey's house to sell?

Where does the line get drawn? And if God is all powerful, all knowing, and never-changing, then what difference do my prayers make anyway? In my mind, point three above seems to be a tipping point. God's will and God's peace are always freely given. Healing sometimes happens only after death. But jobs and houses and other things of this world, well sometimes, I think, we expect a little too much from the God of All Creation. All of this doesn't mean that I don't pray for and with people, I do, and I fervently believe in the power of prayer, I just don't understand it - kind of like I don't understand the Eucharist or the Atonement. I'd love someone to sit down with me to share the tradition behind intercessory prayer someday, but, as the title above suggests, this wasn't supposed to be a post about intercessory prayer, it is supposed to be about forgiveness.

"If you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins."

Some manuscripts have a phantom verse 26 that says, "But if you do not forgive, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your transgressions." That, my friends, is tough stuff from Jesus. Being a good Protestant, I'm all about grace and works flowing therefrom. I'm of the "forgiven to forgive" school of thought, but here Jesus seems very clear that sometimes it works the other way. I can't know God's forgiveness until I forgive my grudges. Here, like yesterday, I think Jesus speaks from a very human experience. He's been red-hot with anger at the system of oppression that has defiled God's holy Temple. His grudge is righteous and yet, he can fell within himself a change. Anger brings contempt and contempt is not from God, forgiveness is from God.

It will take him three more days to reach a point where he can forgive. He'll beg for a different way, he'll be tempted to take up arms, but in the end, as he hangs on the cross he'll call up to the Father and say, "forgive them Father, for they know not what they do." As he forgives, so is he forgiven, and with him, the whole world finds forgiveness and redemption. Am I forgiven today, I hope so, but first, let me forgive another.

that poor fig tree

2011-04-18T12:19:00.000-04:00

Monday in Holy Week - Mark 11:12-19

There have been times in my life when I have, very rightfully, been accused of projecting my stress, frustration, anger, etc. toward something or someone that did not deserve my wrath. I'm certain that I'm not the only one who does this. It seems like a pretty standard human coping mechanism. When the stresses of work get too great, and you can't flip out on a co-worker or your boss, you are mean to the Starbucks barista. When every check stand at the grocery store is stacked 4 deep, your cart has 3 items in it, the person in front of you in the express lane has two carts full, and your child asks you for candy, you lose your temper at the poor kid.

What? I'm the only one?

Liars.

A lot of ink has been spilled on Jesus' rather odd encounter with the fig tree. Matthew and Mark both give us this strange event. In Matthew, the fig tree withers right away, but in Mark, the Gospel of choice for our parish this Holy Week, we don't see the "fruit" of Jesus' curse until the next day (and we learn a second lesson from it, I think, two chapters later).

Looking at Mark's version and its context in the whole week, I have to think that Jesus' wrath is in some way unnecessarily transferred to the poor fig tree. He's come into the Holy City on a donkey to the shouts of Hosanna, only to look into the Temple court and feel his heart break within his chest. Nothing is as God intended. The sacrifice is the object of worship. The rules are keeping the poor enslaved to the Temple authorities. Nobody is worshiping the one true God.

As the rag-tag group makes its way back to the Temple on Monday morning, Jesus is still angry. He knows that he's gonna pitch a fit, and maybe is afraid of all that power he possesses. Best not kill everyone with a fiery rain of sulfur, so he takes the first swing of his wrath at a fig-tree that had no business having fruit that morning anyway. Better to kill it than to destroy the Temple, or punch out a high priest, or something.

It is helpful for me and my faith to see Jesus as very much a human being at this moment. This week, that by now he has to know will be his last, is going to be hard. Lots of stress, lots of confrontation, lots of emotions, and Jesus experiences all of that. As I look ahead to a busy week, thinking about all the turmoil in lives right around me, my prayer is one of thanksgiving: Thank you Jesus for being a human being, it takes a lot of the pressure off me to not have to be a god.

Turmoil

2011-04-14T15:14:00.000-04:00

In recent weeks it has become nearly impossible to write these posts at home. FBC has been waking up early since the time change and once she is up, there is no sitting down to read scripture, let alone to consider it thoughtfully and prayerfully, and even if I could do all that, the odds of getting anything coherent typed out. My beloved mornings routine has been in turmoil for the last month or so. But this morning due to the budding pecan tree in the front yard and several stuffy nose related wake-ups last night, it is 7:06am and she is still asleep.

Matthew is the only Gospel writer who sets Jesus' Triumphal Entrance in a Jerusalem in turmoil. Not just the Pharisees who dislike what Jesus's disciples are saying, but the whole holy city is in an uproar. Speaking of uproar, FBC just woke up saying "achoo, achoo." Anyway, this morning I'm wondering about this turmoil and how it spread. As Eugene Peterson puts it, "Unnerved, people were asking, 'what's going on here? Who is this?'"

...

It is now 2:08pm, and the intervening hours have been full of turmoil. One of the parish freezers was mysteriously unplugged following last night's fish fry. This morning, it was found almost entirely defrosted and having fully soaked the carpet. I was able to share that turmoil with several others who aided in sopping up the mess, brining in wet/dry vacs and carpet cleaners, and emptying the room.

Funny how turmoil spreads, isn't it. I wonder how the turmoil of Jesus' entrance into Jerusalem affected the people? Matthew says "the whole city" was up in arms. The whole city!?! Wow, that's a lot of turmoil. Maybe the cry of the crowd was the cry of the whole city, "save us, Lord God!"

Give thanks to the LORD,

2011-04-13T15:58:00.000-04:00

For he is good. His mercy endures for ever. (Ps 118.1)

I kind of feel bad for Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29. Does it ever get read? Does anyone choose to read the portion of Psalm 118 assigned for the Liturgy of the Palms when All glory, laud, and honor is such a good hymn that only fits in that particular spot in that particular liturgy for that particular day? I've never heard it. Even during those early services, you know the one's where "we don't sing", I've never heard a congregation break in to Psalm 118 at 7:35 in the morning on Palm Sunday.

It should get read just for the first two verses, but unless it gets utilized on Palm Sunday, verses 1 and 2 of Psalm 118 are never read in the usual Sunday Lectionary, and it is quite a shame. Read this aloud:

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good;*
His mercy endures for ever.

Let Israel now proclaim,*
"His mercy endures for ever."

Would that we believed that God's mercy endured for ever! But I'm pretty convinced that we don't really believe that. We think that at some point, God will lose patience with us, throw up his hands, and say "I quit." But that's not the case. God's pursuit of us is never ending. Noah, Abraham, Moses, David, the Prophets, the list goes on and on as God strives to change our foolish hearts, to turn our stiffed necks around. He is good. His mercy endures for ever.

As Jesus rides in to Jerusalem this coming Sunday, as your thoughts turn to the Last Week, as your liturgy moves from shouts of "Hosanna" to "Crucify him", as that good old fashioned Holy Week guilt begins to creep up upon you, please, please, please remember that God's mercy is everlasting.

Hosanna

2011-04-12T10:14:00.000-04:00

The question seem to come up often, "Why can't we say Alleluia during Lent?" Often the follow up to that is, "Well, then, why can we say Hosanna?" The issue gets slippery with and educated laity. They get that Sundays are "in" Lent and not "of" Lent - that every Sunday of the Church Year is a resurrection day, a mini-Easter - so why then, especially on Sunday do we give up that ancient word of praise.

According to Stuhlman the Alleluias are omitted because "signs of festivity are customarily omitted."* In the same way the colors are subdued and flowers are replaced by greenery, so too is Alleluia omitted from our worship - a way of highlighting the fast that is at hand. And that, I think, makes sense. Even as Sundays aren't really counted in the days of Lent, still, we highlight in our whole lives, individually and corporately, the activity of self-denial, repentance, and preparation that is happening during the season.

So why do we say Hosanna? This is probably the better question, and one that should be repeated with all of those ancient words that the Church uses freely and often assumes her members understand. Hosanna comes to us from our fore-bearers, the Hebrews. Hoshana, found in the procession of the Feast of the Booths (Psalm 118.25-26) means "save, I pray" or "O save now!"* Our common usage on Palm Sunday is the Greek version that eliminates the second h, giving us "Hosanna."

Jesus, as he entered Jerusalem on a donkey or a colt or (in Matthew's confused case) both, was seen by his followers as the hope of Jerusalem. He was to save them from the boot of Pax Romana. He was the savior of the world, the Son of God, over and above Caesar who claimed those titles.*

Today, as the world remains totally out of whack, we join with our ancestors in the faith, our brothers and sisters today, and those who will come after us and ask again (and again and again), "Save us now, O Lord." Hosanna. Less as a word of praise, though it sounds like that in context, and more as a sign of our hope in the power of God to restore all things to him.

So, my sisters and brothers, shout in expectant joy this Sunday as we once again lift up our voices and say, "Hosanna in the highest!"

* I am indebted to Byron Stuhlman's "Prayer Book Rubrics EXPANDED", "The Westminster Dictionary of Theological Terms", and Borg and Crossan's "The Last Week" for help with this post.

we are kind of weird

2011-04-11T08:15:00.000-04:00

I am opposed to reading the Passion narrative on Palm Sunday. I prefer to walk the way of the cross with Jesus from his Anointing at Bethany on the Saturday before his triumphal entry all the way to the events of Good Friday. Last year, we didn't read the Passion. Most people didn't even notice, but a few did, and objected to our omission. As liturgical scholar, the late Rev. Dr. Marion Hatchett said, "Don't make liturgical choices based on what you like."

This year we are reading the Passion, but we are saving it until the very end of the service on Palm Sunday. We'll process with palms singing "All glory, laud and honor." We'll hear the lessons from Isaiah and Philippians, and hopefully notice how they foreshadow and reflect on the glory of the cross, respectively. We'll hear the word preached, say the prayers, confess our sins, receive absolution and celebrate the Eucharist.

And then...

And then we'll sing the last two verses of "All glory, laud, and honor" as we make our way back to the pavement in front of the Narthex where, standing around a 10' cross, we will hear the passion read. When one of last year's objectors (a person with whom I can joke about these things) asked if we'd be reading the Passion this year, I told them "yes, just for you, but not until the very end." They responded, tongue firmly planted in cheek, "why are we so weird?"

We are kind of weird. I get that. We do funny things to make certain nuances a little less nuanced. On weird thing we do is expect folks to walk the Way of the Cross, at least partially, through the days of Holy Week. We expect that they will hear the Passion on Good Friday, the day the Passion was lived out, rather than on Sunday when we shout Hosanna and wave palm branches. We expect folks to wash each others feet and, while we've given up the Easter Vigil dream (for now), we hope that our people will spend an hour on Saturday afternoon waiting, albeit impatiently, while Christ lies in the tomb.

So this week, as I reflect on the Scriptures, you won't hear me pondering the Passion. It isn't time yet. I'll probably look at Bethany, where Jesus is anointed with nard. I'll surely give a nod to the Triumphal Entry. Next week, as our people walk, day by day, so will this blog, which, I suppose, is kind of a weird thing.

notable quotable

2011-04-06T11:04:00.000-04:00

Have you ever said or written something and thought to yourself (with all due humility, of course), "Wow, that is really good!" Has your next thought ever been, "Now, what does that mean?"

I had one of those moments in lectionary group yesterday morning. As we discussed the interaction between Jesus and Martha, Mary, Lazarus, and the crowd I said, "The strength of our faith leads to the depth of our doubts."

TKT echoed the thoughts bouncing around my head, "That's good, but what does it mean?" he asked.

I think what it means is that when we put our whole trust in Jesus we expect him to act a certain way. Take the crowd, for example, they see Jesus weeping and ask, "couldn't this guy, who made a blind man see, stop his friend from dying?"

This is a believing crowd. They've heard stories of Jesus' signs. Some of them have probably been witness to one or two of them, and they know what Jesus is capable of. They expect that if he could save lives, wouldn't he choose to save those he loves? Family, friends, favorite barber - these folks should be on Jesus' short list of folks who won't die.

Their faith, however, leads to their doubts. When Jesus doesn't act like they think he should, they begin to wonder about his plan, his abilities, and maybe even the God that he represents.

You probably know what that's like. I know I do. It is that old law of momentum. When life is rolling along well, I begin to expect it to stay that way, and when it doesn't, my first instinct is to get irked at the Creator of the Universe for making things happen the way they did. "Why me, O Lord, why me?"

The good news, of course, is that our faith calls us up from the depth of our doubts, and new life begins, yet again. Sometimes multiple times in the same day (hour, minute), and sometimes, we're blessed with another long lasting smooth ride.

Ruach

2011-04-05T16:18:00.000-04:00

TKT has an amazing quality about his voice. It is deep and gravely and good for preaching. He has a lot of Keithisms (but don't all of us preachers), but my favorite thing he says from the pulpit is Ruach. That great Hebrew word that means breath or spirit. It is onomtopoetic words that sounds like what it is describing.

Go ahead, say it out loud.

Ru-ach..................

Nobody says it a well as TKT, but I'll be darned if it just doesn't feel good to say it.

Ru-ach................

This weekend our little ones, say up to grade 5, will have the chance to write Ruach in Hebrew. They'll be studying the Dry Bones story from Ezekiel as they ponder in a child-like way, how does God give us life?

The answer, as you might guess, is Ruach. Not only does he give us breath, but real life, abundant life, well that is the stuff of the Spirit. The stuff that makes us more than bones and sinews and flesh, the Spirit gives us real life.

As Elisha says, "I'll take a double portion, please."

I once was blind but now I see

2011-04-04T15:00:00.000-04:00

This is my 24 minute sermon from yesterday. If you prefer to listen to it, click here.

Close your eyes, and picture this scene:

You are blind, been that way since birth. Today you are in your usual spot, sitting on the steps of the synangogue begging. You hear a crowd approaching. It isn't the Passover, nor the Feast of the Tabernacle. It's not Yom Kippur. It is the sabbath, but this group isn't the usual Saturday crowd, and their timing isn't right. As you ponder why a crowd is approaching, you begin to hear the tone of their conversation. One you've heard over and over again in your years.
"Who sinned, his parents or him, that he is blind?"
Oh boy, here we go again. Another group of well-meaning religious types who have come to look at your plight in order to feel better about themselves. "Just keep the cup out and smile," you think to yourself, "this too shall pass."
Somebody pipes up from the crowd, "nobody sinned, this man is blind so that the glory of God's amazing works can be revealed."

"Nut job!" you mutter under your breath, "Thanks, but I'll take my parents sin as reason for my blindness over God's direct hand. How is God glorified in my being ignored at the very steps people use to enter his worship? Bologna!"
The man's voice continues, “We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

“We? The one who sent him? The light of the world? Who is this guy and what on earth is he talking about? How is me and my blindness some sort of work for him to accomplish? Who is doing this work? Who is shining this light?”

The sound of a man spitting on the ground startles you.

“Really, now you are going to spit at me too? Isn't it enough that you look at me with a blend of pity and contempt? Isn't is enough that you think God is somehow glorified in all of this? Haven't you done enough damage already?

All of a sudden you feel something cold, slimy, and sticky upon your eyelids.
"What the..."

Your blood pressure spikes, fight or flight takes over, you clinch your fist to swing at the unseen bully when you hear, calmly and with care, "Go, wash yourself in the pool of Siloam."

Emotions are spinning around your brain like flies at a Fourth of July Picnic. Anger, fear, frustration and yet there is hope and peace mixed in there as well. None of this makes any sense. What is happening? Who are these people. And then, without a clue as to why, you find yourself, with the help of some others on your way to the pool. They help you kneel at the edge of the pool, you lean over, splash water in your eyes, and...
"What the..."

You can see. And not just that, you can process the new found sight. Your reflection in the pool startles you for a moment. I really look like that? Not bad. I guess. Well, this is the first face I've ever seen. You look around, first to your guides to the pool. They look like people, well meaning people. You look further and see trees and they look like trees. As you make your way back to the front steps of the Synagogue, you wonder, “now what? I can't beg anymore. I can't go back home. What should I do now?”

Lost in your thoughts, you begin to notice faces again. These faces look less well meaning, more confused, some disgruntled. The closer you get the the Synagogue, the larger the crowd, the more the whispers grow into audible sounds.

“Isn't this the man who sits at the Synagogue and begs?” “Yeah, I think its him. It looks just like him.” “No way, it has to be someone who looks like him, blind people don't just start to see. Especially those who have been blind since birth. Can't be him.”

“It is me. I was blind but now I see. I am the man. I was blind but now I see. The syngagogue steps beggar, me, seeing clearly. I was blind but now I see. I was blind but now I see.”

“No way. How'd you go from blind to seeing? It just isn't possible,” the people respond.

“This guy, I guess his name is Jesus, a real strange guy, talking about works and sin and light. He made mud, spread it on my eyes,and sent me to Siloam to wash. For no apparent reason, I went and washed and received my sight. I was blind but now I see. I am the man born blind.”

“Where is this miracle man?” they ask, condescendingly.

“I don't know,” you respond, and with that they grab you by the arms and begin to carry you up the stairs into the synagogue. As fear begins to invade your brain you have a brief moment of clarity, “I've never been in here before,” you think to yourself.

“This man was healed on the sabbath,” the crowd shouts in protest, “what does this mean? What shall we do?”

You look up to see men in long robes with funny tassels tied to all the fringes sitting before the crowd. These guys must be in charge, the crowd is aiming their frustration and confusion at them. Their faces betray the thoughts racing through their heads. Some frustrated, some angry, some confused, some with a glint of hope. “How did this happen?” one of the bearded men asks you.

Some of the elders look discouraged, “This man, Jesus, is not from God, for he does not observe the commandments around the sabbath.”

As you think about it, there probably was a lot wrong with your miraculous healing. Jesus broke the sabbath in at least five different ways. First, He and his disciples surely walked more than the allowable sabbath day travel distance which equals WORK. Second, he made mud which you supposed equals WORK. Third, he sent me to the Pool of Siloam which is certainly more than the allowable sabbath day travel distance and thereby caused you to do WORK. Fourth, he healed you, you were blind but now you see and that has to be WORK. Finally, he disappeared into thin air when everybody started debating the issue of the sabbath. Disappearing equals magic and certainly magic equals WORK.

Others in the group, aren't as sure, “How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs? It just isn't possible.” The group is obviously divided, and clearly not used to being that way. There is discomfort, palpable unease, oozing from the men in charge.

“You are the one whose eyes have been opened, what do you say about this Jesus?”

“What do I say,” you think to yourself, “I don't know. I didn't even get a look at the guy. I thought he was a bully, a jerk of the highest degree, but that tone in his voice, soothing calm. And for crying out loud he healed me.” Finally, after a long silence to collect your thoughts, you speak up, “He is a prophet.” But you still aren't really sure what that means.

Things seem to settle down. The crowd disperses some, but the Pharisees hang around, still talking amongst themselves with the occasional sideways glance in your direction. Not really sure what to do, you slowly walk home, dazed, confused, joyful, and scared.

By the time your reach your house, you see your mother and father headed back the way you came. They don't look too happy, and neither do the two guys who are leading them that way. They don't see you coming down the road, there is too much going on. You decide to follow them and find yourself back on those steps: cold, hard, and yet the most comfortable place you could be right now. As you sit, you listen, and you can overhear what is happening inside. The leaders, after interviewing you, aren't sure the story is legit. Leaving the relative comfort of the syngagogue steps you head inside. The man who asked questions of you asks them of your parents now, “This man,” he points to you, “Is this your son? Was he born blind? How then does he now see?”

Your dad, fear in his eyes, responds, “We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; be we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.”

“Thanks Mom and Dad,” is your first thought, but then as you give the whole thing more thought, you realize just how hard all of this must be on them as well. They've carried the burden of your blindness for these many years. They've wondered what they did to deserve a son blind from birth. The only hope they've had has been coming to the synagogue to offer prayers, praying that maybe God's favor would rest upon them one day. To throw that away would be really, really hard on them. The leaders have made it clear that anyone who confesses Jesus as the Messiah will be banished. Not their best parenting moment, to be sure, but you understand why they said what they did, when, the sound of your name shocks you again out of your thoughts.

“Give glory to God! Tell us the truth! We know that this man is a sinner.” They want you to throw this Jesus character under the bus. A miracle like this is too hard to make sense of in their system. The devil pops up on your shoulder and whispers in your ear, “Just say that Jesus is a sinner and that this is a fluke and be done with it.” But you can't. You were blind but now you see. It is amazing. You open your mouth and out comes these words, words that you barely know you are speaking.

“I do not know whether he is a sinner. The only thing I know is that I once was blind, but now I see.”

“Then tell us again, what did he do, how did he open your eyes.”

“I already told you, but you would not listen to me. Why should I go through it all again? Do you want to become his disciples?” Woah! Where'd that come from?

The insults start immediately, the snears, the spitting, you remember what this sounds like, what this feels like. “You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we don't even know where he comes from. Heck, you don't even know where he is.”

Your mouth opens again, before you can even think to keep it shut, “Well, I'll be. Isn't this an interesting turn of events. You don't know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. Everyone knows that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to those who worship him and obey his will. Never since the world began has anyone heard of someone opening the eyes of person born blind. If this Jesus fellow is not from God , he couldn't do anything, let alone this amazing thing he has done for me. I was blind, but now I see!”

The leader of the group leans in to speak, “You were steeped in sin at birth! And you would try to tell us how God works? No, we know how God works and it isn't like this, not with mud and spit and sabbath breaking. You, the man born blind, are banished from this place!”

As you walk down those old familiar stairs you think to yourself, “Isn't that something. I was never allowed in the synagogue when I was blind. They didn't like the unclean to set foot in their place of worship, and now that I am healed and whole, I'm not allowed in their either. I wonder what it takes to be allowed access? Nah, I don't really care, if they don't want me, I don't need them. I was blind but now I see!”

Just then, the sound of the crowd returns. A voice that is familiar to you, calm, soothing, peaceful, comes from the midst of the noise, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?”

Even a blind man knows that Caesar is the Son of Man, but this guy seems to be talking about someone, something else entirely, “Who is this Son of Man? Tell me, so that I may put my trust in him.”

The man, now standing right in front of you, looks deep within your eyes and says, “You have seen him., and the one speaking to you is him.”

In awe and reverence and fear you fall to your hands and knees, bowing prostrate before the Son of Man you give him honor and glory the only way you know how, “Lord, I believe.”

The familiar grumbling of the Pharisees starts again, but you pay it no mind as Jesus continues, “I came into the world for judgment so that those who were blind might be able to see. Because of that, those who see so quickly become blind.”

The Pharisees ask him, “Surely we are not blind... Are we?”

Jesus responds to them, “If you were blind, what you did to this man would be excusable, you simply did not understand, but you claim to be able to see and in so doing sign your own confession of guilt. You knew what you were doing, and did it anyway.”

You can tell that he's riled up now, the words begin to flow like a great sermon, he's pointing and flecks of spit fly from his lips. The Pharisees have made this Jesus fellow angry.

“Here's the truth, only thieves and robbers climb over the fence instead of going in through the gate to the sheep pen. The gatekeeper opens the gate for the shepherd, and he goes in through it. The sheep know their shepherd’s voice. He calls each of them by name and leads them out. When he has led out all of his sheep, he walks in front of them, and they follow because they know his voice. The sheep will not follow strangers. They don't recognize a stranger's voice, and they run away.”

The crowd looks confused. “Sheep, gatekeepers, strangers? What is this man talking about? He's lost his mind.” They murmur and mumble.

But you know, you get it. That voice. You know the power of that voice. You were blind but now you see. From swinging a fist to washing in Siloam, that voice has changed your life forever. You followed that voice when so many other voices had sent you running, fearing for your life in the midst of the unseen and unknown. This man, this Son of Man, this Messiah, this Jesus, you know his voice.

Jesus continued, “I tell you again, I am the gate for the sheep. Everyone who came before me was a thief and a robber, and the sheep did not listen to any of them. I am the gate. All who come in through me will be saved, Through me they will come and go and find good pasture. A thief comes only to rob, kill, and destroy. I cam so that everyone would have life, and have it abundantly.”

Abundant life is something you've never known. Your life was closed off, scary, small. Confined to your house and the steps of the synagogue, you could sum up your existence as sleep, beg, eat, repeat. Abundant life. Full life. That's what made you listen to his voice in the first place. What will that abundant life look like for you? How has your sight changed anything? You still aren't allowed in the synagogue, you still have no discernible skills, and now you can't even beg because thought you were blind, now you can see and everybody knows it. Your sight may have made your life even smaller, but your relationship with this Son of Man, it has implications beyond your wildest imagination. Not only has he healed you, but when he heard you had been banished, he came back to find you. This is a love you've never experienced, a love that you now have to share with everyone you meet. A love that brings abundant life.

He's still talking, as you come out of your thoughts yet again, “I am the good shepherd, and the good shepherd gives up his life for his sheep. Hired workers are not like the shepherd. They don't own the sheep, and when they see a wolf coming, they run off and leave the sheep. Then the wolf attacks and scatters the flock. Hired workers run away because they don't care about the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep, and they know me. Just as the Father knows me, I know the Father, and I give up my life for my sheep.”

He points to the synagogue steps as he continues, “I have other sheep hat aren't in this sheep pen, aren't tied up by your rules and regulations, and I must bring them together too, when they hear my voice, they too will follow my direction like Slomo here, the man born blind. There will one day be one flock of sheep and one shepherd.”

“Ah. He used my name. He knows my name. He calls us each by name.” The Pharisees are arguing again amongst themselves. Some shouted, “He has a demon in him. He is crazy. Don't listen to him!” But others, looking straight at you, ponder aloud, “How could anyone with a demon in him say these things. No one like that could give sight to a man born blind!”

“All I know,” you think again to yourself, “is that I once was blind but now I see. I don't know why I followed voice. I had never heard it before, but thanks be to God I did. There was hope and joy and freedom in his commandment to go to the pool and wash. What a ridiculous thing to do, to allow a man to cover my eyes with spity, slimy, goo and then listen when he told me what to do. And yet, here I am, free to live a new life, one of abundance and grace. I once was blind but now I see. I once was blind but now I see. I once was blind, but now I see.”

Open your eyes to Jesus, calling you forward into his amazing grace. Amen.

editorial additions

2011-04-04T14:29:00.000-04:00

If you read this blog regularly, you probably know that I am a rather hard to define type of person. I am an arch-conservative on some issues, while my heart bleed liberal blue on others. It is a really fun way to live; it means that most everyone will be upset with me at some point.

Usually, I stand on the conservative side of scriptural interpretation. Oh, I believe that we all interpret scriptures, I'm not that conservative, but I'm not all tied up in the historical stuff. If the Gospel says Jesus said something, I believe that Jesus said it. The Jesus Seminar is a waste of time and colored ink, if you ask me.

There are, however, certain passages that make me really wonder. Passages that don't sound like Jesus at all. Passages like John 11:42. Jesus is standing before the grave of his friend Lazarus when, in verse 41, he looks up to heaven and says, "Father, I thank you for having heard me." That makes sense; he just raised a dead man to new life. I get that Jesus would give God the glory, that's what he does, that's how the Trinity thing works.

But then in verse 42, Jesus continues, "I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me."

There are a few other examples of this type of verbiage coming from Jesus, but I'm not convinced that Jesus would really say something like this. It sounds way too much like John trying to prove his theological point. There must have been something sticky in John's church about Jesus' relationship with the Father. John seems to feel the need to make it clear that Jesus didn't have to thank the Father, he didn't have to worry that God wouldn't hear him. He did all that stuff for everybody else, as if raising Lazarus from the dead wasn't enough to make the people get that this guy was doing something special.

I'm not one to deny that Jesus said something that the Bible says he said, but, well, this really feels like an editorial addition to me.

I'm not so sure this little aside in verse 42, be it actually from Jesus' lips or, more preferably, from John's pen. It weakens the scene for me, makes it heady and theological rather than amazing and miraculous. Still, I'd never preach any of this; why take the story down the tangent of a tangent?

Lenten Meditation

2011-03-31T14:03:00.000-04:00

I was invited as a guest speaker at Foley UMC's Community Lenten Lunch program this week. Below you will find my reflection on Lent through the beauty of our Ash Wednesday Collect.

Would you pray with me please.
Almighty and everlasting God, you hate nothing you have made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of you, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
It is with this prayer that Anglicans around the world have been invited into a Holy Lent since Thomas Cranmer's first Book of Common Prayer in 1549. In my opinion, it is an absolute miracle that this prayer has survived and is still in use in 2011. To have such a prayer offered these days is most certainly bad PR for God. It uses that awful “S” word, sin. It dares to look down upon humanity as wretched. It seeks out God's forgiveness. These are not the things of highly enlightened, 21st century, American Christians. Our prayers sound more like, “God, I'm gonna go ahead and do this, so you should probably bless it now. Amen.” Common sense says Lent and all the icky language that goes along with it is bad for the Church.
But for some reason, this season, Lent, continues to intrigue us. Conventional wisdom says Lent is dark and sad and ugly and should at all costs be avoided in the name of seeker sensitivity. And yet. And yet, every morning I read the blog of a guy named Jay Wilson, part-time monk. Jay is keeping the traditional fast of the Paulaner Monks by consuming only water and liquid bread, a specially designed dobble-bock beer for the entire season of Lent. He is not your traditional lenten-fast-type. Jay is a beer lover and a historian. He has dabbled in the Christian life, but as far as I can tell, never been one to jump into life in Christ head first. He is walking his lenten journey, very intentionally, with the help of a Presbyterian Minister who is helping him see where God is in the midst of the whole thing: from dehydration and high potassium levels to media inquiries to his work and life with a wife and a couple of kids. Jay's sometimes irreverent insights into finding God in the midst of the absurdities of everyday life are delightful.
Then there is the story of Nate McKay. Nate grew up in a Christian home, but in the back of a bus at the age of 19 he first confessed his disbelief in God. No longer could he handle the tension of what his faith community taught and what the world around him looked like. And so, in 2008 he began his journey as an atheist. This year, however, Nate has taken on Christianity for Lent. He's praying again, reading scripture again, and is finding that somewhere between the Christianity of his childhood and the atheism of his early adulthood there is something beautiful and amazing happening.
Clearly there is something to this Lent thing, some reason that brew-heads and atheists of Christian upbringing are drawn to it. Something that has kept the Church calling her people to keep a holy lent for centuries. I think it is in part summed up in the way Cranmer's great invitation into this season effects our psychology. The 24 hour news cycle is built on the fact that our brains crave bad news. We eat it up. And so, when we hear this prayer we hear those key buzz words: “lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness” but we miss the beautiful declaration of the very nature of God that begins the prayer. God hates nothing that he has made. Let me repeat that because I know that some of you don't believe it. God hates nothing that he has made. He doesn't hate Jay for drinking nothing but beer and water for Lent. He doesn't hate Nate for walking away from him four years ago. He doesn't hate the people of Japan or Haiti or New Orleans. He doesn't hate Muslims, Jews, or Jehovah's Witnesses. And he doesn't hate you, no matter what you may have done or left undone. As our Ash Wednesday Service goes on to say, “God does not desire the death of sinners, but that they turn from their sin and live.”
God's desire is not to see us suffer, but to see us live life abundantly. The song that Lynn sang for us this afternoon sums this need or whole life repentance up so beautifully when in the second verse it says, “We are the broken, you are the healer; Jesus redeemer, mighty to save.” That song, “Be Unto Your Name,” was written by Lynn DeShazo of Birmingham, Alabama. In her 2010 book, More Precious than Silver: the stories behind the songs, Lynn talks about how powerful that line was for her personally. “I agreed with all the Scriptures like Romans 3.23 (for all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God), which meant that I, too, was a sinner. Who'd be dumb enough to argue with God about that matter? But it's only been in recent years that I've come to understand how great a capacity I have for sin or, consequently, how much woundedness was in my own soul. I have to tell you that as disturbing as it was to discover such things about myself, it is both a blessing and the mercy of God. I simply could not come to repentance and healing for my sinful and broken condition as long as I was blind to it.”
That's what this season of Lent is all about. Not a season of darkness, but, as the old English word Lent suggests, a season of increasing brightness. As we take the time to honestly look at our lives, and allow God's light to shine in the darkest recesses of our souls, we find that God is not angry and smiteful, but ready and waiting, with open arms, to forgive and restore. Lent is a time when the stark reality of our brokenness leads us not into the pit of despair, but rather into the brightness of God's amazing gift of love and mercy. As we journey through Lent we ask God to remove our sinfulness and wretchedness and replace it with forgiveness and thanksgiving. That transition is possible only because of the merits and mediation of Jesus and his perfect love offering on the cross. “Holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, Worthy is the Lamb Who was slain! Highest praises, honor and glory, be unto your name.”
As we gather this afternoon, a day shy of the mid-point of our Lenten journey, it is important to remember where we've come from. Ash Wednesday reminded us of our mortality, our sinfulness, our messiness. Ash Wednesday is our darkest night. Every day we walk the way of the Cross with Jesus, the light of Christ grows a little bit brighter in our lives. Every day we find ourselves a little bit freer, a little bit lighter, a little bit more able to love and be loved. May this season be for you one of growth until the bright shining light of Jesus Christ shines into the whole world. Amen.

He Revives My Soul

2011-03-31T08:42:00.000-04:00

I believe in evil. I believe that evil has a face and hands and pulls a lot of strings. I have too much experience of strange circumstances around holy moments to believe anything else. So, though I'm not sure why yet, I am certain that yesterday afternoon was almost lost to the Tempter.

It was an afternoon full of frustration both personally and professionally. It started at about 2pm when I headed to the chapel to setup the video presentation for TKT's Lenten program "The Gospel According to Buzz Lightyear." I turned the projector on, the lights flashed as usual, and then it shut down. I tried it again, and the same thing happened. Uh Oh.

I decide to give it a break and sit down to work on the slideshow when a parishioner comes through the door, visibly upset, saying, "I'm about to ruin your afternoon." Seems the group of Spring Breakers who have come to volunteer with our local outreach organization didn't clean the kitchen very well after breakfast. (I would find out later that several folks had been through the kitchen that morning and early afternoon but decided not to say anything about it).

Dutifully, I head to the kitchen, which, quite honestly, isn't that messy. Some crumbs on the counter, scrambled egg residue on the cooktop, some dishes in the sink and a rag on the floor. 15 teenagers can do a lot more damage than that, and I'm just not sure where to direct my frustration. Part of me just wants to wipe down the counter myself and forget about it, but no, they did leave a mess and should probably clean it up before our parish dinner. So I call, and they agree to send someone back. In the meantime, the fourth group of folk through the kitchen that day do the dishes and pick up the rag, so their return trip was kind of in vain, but still, lesson learned.

The man from tech support tells me the bulb is blown on our projector, but he'd be happy to sell me a new one for $299 plus tax, shipping, and that oh so slippery "handling" term. I decline, but now I'm really getting wound up. TKT agrees to pray for the projector and suggests as fix. I try one of my own first and after the longest 2 minute warm up in history, the projector comes alive. Seems the power cord was not fully plugged in.

Back in my office, finally, I'm working on a sermon for Sunday when an email from the Treasurer of my Property Owners Association pops up. Seems one guy, who has always been disgruntled, decided to certify that feeling by certified mail. He'd like to sue us (I'm on the board for 2 more months), though I'm not sure how or why. Still, not a happy feeling. Lots of anger welling up inside me. The Tempter is doing his best.

In the midst of the valley of the shadow of death, however, the Lord revives my soul. Thank you Psalm 23. And it happens is such mundane ways. Last night, it was in the form of 6 noisy children busily coloring Nemo during the Lenten program. Sure, they can be distracting, but boy do they need to be right there, in the midst of us, coloring and giggling and moving around.

Perfect bliss in a world gone mad. The Lord indeed revives my soul, thanks be to God!

Sabbath

2011-03-30T12:33:00.000-04:00

Yesterday's post was number 1,000 at draughting theology. That boggles my mind. I didn't know it was #1K as I wrote it, but perhaps subconsciously my mind was already boggled when I wrote that Jesus' healing of the MBB wasn't on the sabbath.

Of course it was. That's the big freakin' deal. Jesus broke the commandment to keep the sabbath holy so he can't be from God so the healing is a huge huge problem.

I've been trying to consider how many ways Jesus broke the sabbath. 1- he and his disciples surely walked more than the allowable sabbath day travel distance = WORK. 2- he made mud - WORK (I guess). 3- he sent the MBB to the Pool of Siloam which is probably more than the allowable sabbath day travel distance - CAUSING SOMEONE ELSE TO WORK. 4- he healed a guy = THAT'S GOTTA BE WORK. 5- he disappeared into thin air when everybody started debating the issue of the sabbath = magic = WORK.

I think that is all the text gives us. Jesus broke the sabbath in at least 5 different ways. Part of the job of the Pharisees was to massage the commandments to make them make sense in everyday life. Take, for example, the sabbath. If your donkey fell into a ditch on a Saturday morning, was it lawful to pull him out? It is certainly work, but if he's going to die if you don't, well then does the life of a donkey merit the breaking of the sabbath? These were the discussions of the Pharisees. They were kind of like perpetual seminary students, always dealing with the absurd.

Apparently, healing a man blind from birth was not worth breaking the sabbath. Jesus could have just as easily waited until sundown to deal with the man's whole issue, but he didn't. Right away, while they were still walking along, Jesus healed the man, Saturday be damned.

What rules do we have that make no sense in everyday life? What is our modern day equivalent of rigid sabbath keeping? In the Episcopal Church, the issue around who can receive communion is viewed this way. Many would ask, "isn't God's grace-filled gift of Jesus' body and blood more important than silly rules around baptism?" What about the silly debate around tweeting from the House of Bishop's meeting at Kanuga? How do we take our place in the life of the Church when the leadership wants to keep everything a secret? Isn't sharing it more important than whatever heresies might be mistakenly shared via twitter. (My guess at one of the reasons not to tweet, though I have no evidence that this is a real concern).

What rules do we have that make no sense in everyday life? What rules do we have that bring death? What rules do we have that exclude for no good reason? Jesus healed on the sabbath, so should we.

Picture This

2011-03-29T16:39:00.000-04:00

You are a blind man, sitting out front of a large parish church begging. One afternoon you hear a crowd approaching. It isn't Christmas, nor Easter. It's not Ash Wednesday or even the sabbath. As you ponder why a crowd is approaching, you begin to hear the tone of their conversation. One you've heard over and over again in your years.

"Who sinned, his parents or him, that he is blind?"

Oh boy, here we go again. Another group of well-meaning religious types who have come to look at your plight in order to feel better about themselves. "Just keep the cup out and smile on," you think to yourself, "this too shall pass."

Somebody pipes up from the crowd, "nobody sinned, this man is blind so that the glory of God's amazing works can be revealed." "Nut job!" you mutter under your breath, "Thanks, but I'll take my parents sin as reason for my blindness over God's direct hand. How is God glorified in my being ignored at the very steps people use to enter his worship? Bologna!"

The sound of a man spitting on the ground startles you from your anger cycle, and all of a sudden you feel something cold, slimy, and sticky upon your eyelids.

"What the..." Your blood pressure spikes, fight or flight takes over, you clinch your fist to swing at the unseen bully when you hear, calmly and with care, "Go, wash yourself in the pool of Siloam."

Without a clue as to why, you find yourself, with the help of some others on your way to the pool. They help you kneel at the edge of the pool, you lean over, splash water in your eyes, and...

You can see. And not just that, but you can process the newfound sight.

"What the..."
---
Why did the Man Born Blind (MBB) follow Jesus' instruction to go to the Pool of Siloam? Based on the details John gives us the man should have slapped the fool out of Jesus for messing with a blind man, not faithfully listened to his words. What on earth possessed him to get up and go?

The folks at Luther Seminary and workingpreacher.org are adamant about using the whole pericope this Sunday. Not just the interminably long John 9.1-41 (which roughly translated means ALL OF CHAPTER NINE) but they want us to read all the way through John 10:21. The Seven Signs in John's Gospel follow a pattern: 1) sign, 2) conversation, 3) teaching discourse. The RCL gives us parts 1 and 2, and I guess assumes that part 3 comes in the amazingly insightful sermons that follow the Gospel lesson. They aren't buying that, and quite frankly neither am I.

When Jesus goes on to explain the sign of healing the MBB, he tells us that seeing is important, but hearing and following are moreso. "The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice." (John 10.3-4)

They follow because they know his voice. The MBB knew Jesus' voice even though he had never heard it before. He knew that there was hope and joy and freedom in his commandments, and so he followed them. He got up and did the ridiculous thing of washing off the spity, slimy, goo where the man who abused him told him too. And he could see. clearly. fully.

Picture that.

The Church has no choice...

2011-03-28T12:57:00.000-04:00

... but to ordain sinners.

I went to seminary with unreasonably high expectations of the people I would meet there. Truth be told, I went with unreasonably expectations of the me that I would meet in seminary.

In the pressure cooker that was the Post-Gene Robinson Episcopal Church, personal morality loomed like a storm cloud over VTS for my first 12 to 18 months there. Articles written in the student run magazine made the holy hill to look like an every-weekend-swingers-retreat. People looked at each other with suspicion, wondering what sort of skeleton was in their closet. It was an ugly time, full of intense and unhelpful emotions. The fracture in the church was manifest in the fracture in the student body.

Conservatives wanted to find dirt on Liberals to point out how unsuitable they were for ministry. Liberals wanted to find dirt on Conservatives to shine a bright light on their hypocrisy. As we held each other to the impossibly high standard of someone else's expectations, we created pedestals for ourselves that were precarious at best.

At some point in my second year, however, things began to change. The Presidential election was over. One whole class of students mired in the clay of division had graduated. And somebody, somewhere, finally said aloud, "The Church has no choice but to ordain sinners."

All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. As we heard in last week's Epistle reading, "While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

On Sunday, when we hear the story of the man born blind, we will get a glimpse into the damage that can occur when people, especially those in leadership, forget that WE ARE ALL SINNERS. The man, healed by Jesus, is thrown out of the Synagogue. The official reason, "You were born entirely in sin, and yet you try to teach us!?!"

None of us has it all together. Everyone struggles with something. None of us is beyond redemption and none of us is without need.