Oh Come On!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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.