Homily - Easter 6 B (Sixth week after Easter, in Year B)

Easter 6 B – 5/13/12

Have you everbeen so enraged by someone or a group of people, it changed your perspective, changedyour mood, made you behave differently with people you love?  Made you think differently about people youdon’t even know?

What aboutbeing angry at a system, or a class of people or a politically chargedword?  Sometimes we don’t even know who“they” are, we just know “they” are wrong and “they” make us angry.  OccupyEugene. US Politics.  CorporateGreed.  Marriage equality.  Immigration.  If I haven’t mentioned something that makes you angry, changed yourmood, made you behave differently with the people you love, or made you thinkdifferently about people you don’t even know, fill in the blank with your ownperson or system that does make you angry.

For some of you,anger is more out of reach, it’s not one of your regular responses.  For you, substitute apathy.  It’s no lessdraining, and far more insidious in our society.  The author Leo Buscaglia wrote, “The oppositeof love is not hate… it’s apathy”  Notfeeling anything.  We find ourselvesapathetic to the needs and cries around us. 

A personalgrudge, anger at a system or apathy – this is the context within which we live,what is around us, how we’re treated, or how we treat others. 

And maybe thispervasive non-love is exactly where Peter found himself in the story fromActs.  He’s in a setting ofbelievers.  Sure they believed in God’slove and forgiveness.  Peter understandsand has seen first hand self-sacrificing love, and he’s talking with“believers”, presumably people who believe in the same encompassing love. 

But I have tobelieve those feelings we have, feelings of anger and apathy towards the“other”, were also prevalent in Peter’s time. We’re all human.  How could theynot have the same reactions, perceptions, and fears that we do.   While their society may not have beenconcerned about middle-eastern terrorist as ours is, they could have hadsimilar concerns and fears about Roman terrorists.   

Like us, theywere taught that Jesus loves everyone, and that’s a wonderful, love-filledthing.  They were believers in the middleof anger at people and anger at systems, and in the midst of apathy.  Just like we are. 

Yet, we aretold that they were surprised that God’s Holy Spirit was shared with even theGentiles.  I can imagine them saying,Yes, God loves everyone. But them??

And here wesit, thousands of years later, in many ways, exactly the same place.  Cognitively we know that God loves everyone,that Jesus loves all the little children of the world.    We’ve heard it.  And we believe it.   Atleast we mostly believe it.  If we werehonest with ourselves we could each probably name our own group or person, likePeter’s friends, who could not comprehend how God’s love would extend to thegentiles.  Who are the gentiles in yourlife?  Who is it that is beyond the reachof God’s love?  The answer may be thesame as the answer to who makes you really angry, systems that make youangry.  Or maybe it’s the people youdon’t see, don’t think about, and don’t cry for.      

But like theGentiles, God’s love does extend to exactly those people.  Jesus doesn’t love all the little childrenexcept the undocumented ones.  He didn’tsay everyone can abide in his love, except the Occupy Eugene people.   Or that God’s love is conditional, anddependent upon our behavior, or our misbehavior.  He doesn’t love the person involved in streetcrimes to support a drug habit, the man involved in white collar financialcrimes, or me, any more or any less. 

To be clear, Jesusdoes not ask you to love their cause, or their actions.   And I’m certainly not advocating for oragainst any of these issues.  Rather,Jesus asks that you love the person.  Notwhat they do, how they dress, or what you believe they stand for.  We are asked to see beyond their clothes,their money, their issues, their politics -  to the person, the child of God who’s in themidst of that.  Love everyone. 

The hymn wejust sung says this beautifully.

Still east and west his love extends and always, near or far,

he calls and claims us as his friends and loves us as we are.

Where generation, class or race divide us to our shame,

he sees not labels but a face, a person and a name. 

The Gospeltakes this further to involve us in this messy love game.  We are asked, no, commanded to love eachother.  Not some.  Not the nice ones.  Everyone. 

This is hard,and few of us, if left to our own, would choose  such a job. Therefore, we don’t have to choose.  Jesus says, “You did not choose me, I chose you” . 

We don’t havethe choice about whether we’re chosen by God. Done deal.  “I chose you”.  Butwait, you mean I’m not free to choose? But I like my options.  I don’tlike anyone being the boss of me.   WeAmericans, particularly us ruggedly independent Oregonians, don’t like beingordered, commanded, or volunteered for a job.   We want to keep our options open,and   definitely don’t like being told what todo.  We want our freedom. 

Luckily for us,the Gospel clears that issue up for us. It explains that freedom - perfect freedom – can be ours.     We’ve got the key to perfect freedom.   Yes, we do.               And the key? Follow Christ’s commandments.  

If we don’tlike rules, orders, or commandments, how is following a commandment possibly“perfect freedom”??

I think thefreedom stems from God’s perfect love for each of us.  The Gospel says the  greatest love is when someone lays down theirlife for their friends.  God loves us somuch, not by our choice or actions, but by his. Jesus died as the ultimate “perfect love”.  He laid down his life for his friends.  If only we could see that love all around us,how much God loves you and you and you. Perfectly.  If we knew that, we’dbe bubbling over, smiling at people, able to forgive, and share that love.  It would be near impossible not to. 

You can seeit.  You can see love in the actions andattitudes of others.  More tangible, youcan touch and taste it right here, in the Eucharist, where we encounter thereal presence of Christ, who in love, “laid down his life for hisfriends”.   And that love fills everynook and cranny of our lives, of our breath, of our space, and if we could knowthat, if we had magic glasses so we could actually see it, it would overflow.  Overflow through, to those around us. 

Again, the hymnwe just sung.

Thus freely loved, through fully known, may I in Christ be free

 to welcome and accept his own asChrist accepted me.

Know that youare chosen.  And you are loved in such animmense incomprehensible way.  In thishustle, bustle, dog-eat-dog world, it’s sometimes hard to see that, to rememberthat.  But when you do, share it.  Love your neighbor.  God loves you, your neighbor, the Gentiles,and those on both sides of every headline-grabbing, gut wrenching issue. 

Loving the person is not thesame as condoning or supporting the cause. But when we can know God’s love, and let it bubble through us to thosearound us, we can begin to shed some of the anger, the pain, the isolation, eventhe apathy.   It is in this act of loving others, even thegentiles of our lives that we can be free.   As the collect for this morning said, “Pour into hearts such love that we may obtainyour promises which exceed all we can desire.”

Have you ever been so loved bysomeone, it changed your perspective, changed your mood, made you behavedifferently with people you love?  Madeyou think differently about the people you don’t even know?  

Homily - Great Vigil B (Easter Eve, Year B)

Two weeks ago, we had that freak spring snow storm.  At our house, we had 6” when we awoke, and it was still snowing.  It took the community by surprise. Even the high school kids didn’t know it was coming; they weren’t plotting for their imminent snow day, making plans in hopes that the weatherman would help them out.  Our neighbors had a tree fall on their house, and we lost power.  Being transplanted Midwesterners, my husband and I braved the snow and headed into work, even though the snow and branches were still falling.

By noon, we called it a day, and headed home.   With nearly 12” of snow on the ground, we had our power back, although I wasn’t sure for how long.   We steeled ourselves for more outtages; I made soup, John found the candles, Jessie did homework that required the computer.   Sure enough, the power went out again that evening.  That time, I felt slightly better prepared.  Although it still didn’t feel right.   Being without power, whether it’s a surprise, or there’s some advance warning, is discombobulating.  It’s so different from what we’re used to, that although it’s not inherently dangerous, being in the dark, even temporarily is surprisingly unsettling.  And for as much as we expectantly await the return of the light, it seems to also catch me by surprise.  I’m sitting in the darkness and stillness, and all of a sudden, there’s bright, disconcerting light.

I experience that same unsettled, somewhat disoriented state, coming to Church for this night, the Great Vigil. Church is normally a place of light and warmth.  I come in to the darkness and stillness and think, “that’s not right”, even though I know this is only temporary.  When the light returns, it’s surprising, even though I know it’s coming.

This is the only service in the entire church year that has that stark contrast between the dark entrance - a very Lenten feeling, and the festive Easter Eucharist that ends the service.  Part of what makes tonight, like last night’s service feel so abrupt is that we don’t start in the normal way.  Tonight is the last day of an extended three day service that began on Maundy Thursday.  That service didn’t end like we’re accustomed.  The Good Friday service has neither a customary beginning or ending, as it is just a continuation of Thursday’s service, which then continues on to tonight.  Tonight, we pick up where we last left off, last night.  It’s unsettling.  We know it’s just a part one night’s service, and we know what’s coming.  But still. 

During this part of the vigil, we hear several stories from the Old Testament.  These accounts tell the story of our salvation.  Of God’s consistent and repeated care and attention to humanity.   We hear about God the Father, fully divine.  The stories were originally scribed by people trying to understand the unimaginable, God the Father.   Tonight, the stories are retold, by other people, from other perspectives.  As we read or hear the stories, there’s a great deal of human attributes ascribed to God.  God saw that it was good.   God said.  God told Noah.  We can’t possibly know God, so we do our best to understand through the people willing to interpret and tell the stories, beginning with the original authors, and most recently by tonight’s story tellers.   Stories, told or written by humans about God, inspired by God, are how we can understand God. 

Contrast that with the later reading from Mark’s Gospel.  In this story, three women went to Jesus tomb to finish anointing his body.  Jesus, fully human.   Throughout the Gospels, we hear about what Jesus says, does, thinks.  Being fully human, I can better understand and empathize with Jesus’ story. We all can share in his story, because we’re all human, just as Jesus was human.   If you’ve ever shared a meal with friends, helped a child, or been deserted or betrayed, you know.  Our humanity we share with Jesus helps us also understand the emotions of those around him.  Peter, the friend who’s worried because he’s gone too far, the mother who fears for his safety, the women who watch him die.  It’s not hard to understand the immense grief of those women as they headed to the tomb.  Things were not right. They’d lost a dear friend in a dreadful cruel way. 

And when they get to the tomb, they find Jesus’ body missing. Their only consolation are words of the strange messenger in the tomb, “do not be alarmed”, he says.  Jesus is not here. He’s been raised. 

After discovering the empty tomb, Mark writes that the women fled in amazement and terror.  From that dark, unsettled place of death, amazement and terror seem like a fitting response.  Jesus’ body is missing, and the first witnesses are amazed and terrified.  While it may be appropriate responses in their circumstances, it does not feel like a fitting ending to this, our first resurrection story of Easter.  And yet, that’s the end of our story tonight.   Amazement and terror. 

Although there are a few additional verses in Mark’s Gospel, which provide a neater resolution to this amazing story, many scholars believe this was how Mark originally ended his Gospel.   And regardless of that argument best left to scholars, it’s where our Gospel reading ends tonight. The witnesses fled in terror and amazement.  It’s not much of an ending.   Nothing is resolved, and we, the readers nor the people in the story don’t even know where the protagonist of the story is at this point. 

But of course, we know the rest of the story.  We heard about in the Exsultet, the ancient chant that heralds in Easter.   The risen Savior shines upon you, and darkness is vanquished forever.  Hatred is cast out.  Peace and justice find a home.  Beautiful images, and belief in these are foundational to our faith.    Christ is risen from the dead and his flame of love still burns within us. 

But what about Mark’s ending.  What about missing Jesus?  Why end there, on this festive night?  I like tidy endings.  I like Hollywood movies for that reason.  This isn’t a Hollywood ending.  It requires much more thought, and the resolution isn’t handed to us. 

Jesus is not in the tomb.  He’s been murdered, and laid in a stone tomb.  But he leaves.  He cannot be contained by death.  He’s not there.   He surprises everyone by not being where he’s supposed to be -in this story, throughout his life, and now, throughout ours.    

When we leave tonight, we leave church, Easter, all of this.  We know Christ has risen, and that’s a good thing.  And tomorrow when we come back to church, we’ll rejoin the story, take communion and again be connected with Christ. 

But what if Christ doesn’t stay where we put him?  What if he’s not in this church?   What if he’s out there?  He’s not in the tomb.  He’s left the building.

 Christ is out there.  We meet him every day.  If I meet him, and I’m not expecting him, not loving him, not serving him,  that is a little terrifying. 

I think that we, like the women of Mark’s story should be a little nervous about just exactly where Jesus is.  He’s not where we conveniently left him.  He’s not waiting for us to return to our pews to continue our relationship with him here. 

Where’s Jesus now?  He’s present in your world, in your coworkers, your estranged family members, in the person on the street corner.  If Jesus can’t be contained by a tomb or by death, he cannot be contained by our convenience or comfort.  He’s out there, waiting to meet us.

At the beginning of this service, we heard again and again about God’s covenant with us, and the dance between humanity and the Divine, through the telling of our salvation history.   Later, we renewed our baptismal covenant where we continued that dance.  

Through that covenant,  we committed to strive for justice and peace among all people.  Because Christ is out there, how could we not?   Christ is present in the people who need desperately need our striving. 

We committed to seek and serve Christ in all people.   Think about that.  Serve Christ in All People.   To live in easter joy, free from any  fear, we need to do that. 

Christ is not in the tomb.  Christ is risen.  Christ is among us.  Alleluia, alleluia.

Homily - Maundy Thursday B (Thursday before Easter in Year B)

Love.  Love and serve.  Love.  Serve.   The themes tonight are pretty clear, and oft-repeated.  We hear about Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, in a role-reversing servant leadership story. Because of what it teaches us, every year, we recreate the foot washing tonight.  More than being an uncomfortable moment where someone sees your feet, it’s an amazing human-to-human contact, modeled by Jesus.  More on that another year. 

In addition to the foot washing, on Maundy Thursday we share a communal meal before the service, as we honor that first holy banquet, the Eucharist.  The Eucharist is so central to our faith, we repeat it every Sunday, and at services in between.  It is sure and certain way to encounter Christ. That and Baptism are the two great sacraments.  Through communion, we strengthen our union with Christ, and with one another.  

The catechism or the Outline of Faith in the back of the prayer book instructs us about what is required of us when we come to the Eucharist.  It says that in preparation of coming to the table, each of us should “examine your lives and repent of your sins”.    But did you know that it lists another requirement too?  It says to come to the communion table, we are required to be in love and charity with all people?  All people. 

While that is a tall order, the simple act of coming to the table strengthens us to love more, which in turn makes us better able to come to the table in love and charity with all people.  At each Eucharist we are strengthened and bolstered to love and serve more. 

Tonight we heard about Christ’s first Eucharist, and we celebrate that every week at church.  Whenever you do this, do this in remembrance of me.  One of the beauties of the Eucharist is that it is comprised of simple, every day items and every day actions.  It includes something to eat - bread, and something to drink - wine.  I encounter things to eat and drink every day, frequently bread and wine.  These things are all around us, not just here at church.  Whenever you do this.    

Not only are the things in the Eucharist commonplace, the actions are too. In the Eucharist, a meal is prepared, served and shared, we feast and we show hospitality.  Those actions are not reserved for the Eucharist, we all do them daily. The Eucharist is comprised of things we do and things we encounter every day.   

In the Old Testament reading, we hear about a traditional Passover meal, similar to the one Jesus was sharing with his friends, with lots of details provided.  A year old male sheep, roasted, not boiled, calling for specific herbs.  The details are provided to assure that the food quality, food safety and presentation are just right, and they  indicate the care taken in preparing the meal.  A meal prepared, whether it’s a Passover feast, the Eucharistic table, peeling pounds of acorn squash for Lenten dinners, making dinner for your family, or stirring oatmeal at a community breakfast, preparing a meal is a holy thing. Through it, you take a gift from God, the food.  You mix it with another gift from God, your skills and time.  And you create a brand new creation for yourself or someone else.   

We refer to the Eucharist as the banquet feast.  And holy feasting isn’t reserved for Eucharistic feasts.  Whether it’s a gourmet feast, or pigs in a blanket on a busy night, or dinner at the drive through, you are receiving the gift of food from God, harvested and prepared for you by a child of God. A holy thing indeed.  

Preparing, serving, sharing and eating a meal are things we all do.  They are sacred at this table.  They are sacred whenever you do this.  

That first Eucharist teaches us about more than just food, as much as I love food. It teaches about being hospitable, which Webster’s defines as the generous and cordial reception of guests.    

Imagine that evening that we celebrate tonight.  Everyone is gathered. Jesus knows he will be betrayed.  He probably has at least an inkling of how the night will turn out.  Instead of fleeing, hiding, or fighting, he spends the evening with his closest friends, sharing a meal, being quite hospitable.  He was being generous and cordial with his companions, despite what he was facing, and despite the fact that Judas, who later betrayed him was at the table with him. 

At that table, Christ says to all those gathered whenever you gather, “do this in remembrance of me”.  More than just a sentimental or nostalgic notion of remembrances, the word remember originally was the process of putting everything back together.  Re-member.  We are all members of Christ’s body.  So to re-member means to re gather, reconnect, rejoin all of us. And not just all of us in this room, all of us.  Everywhere.  All of God’s people.  Even Judas.   Do This for the Re-Membrance of me.  It’s in our together-ness, we can re-member Christ.

Madeline L’Engle, author of the “Wrinkle in Time”, and a great theologian, wrote a story that speaks to this.

“After his death Judas found himself at the bottom of a deep and slimy pit. For thousands of years he wept his repentance, and when the tears were finally spent he looked up and saw, way, way up, a tiny glimmer of light. After he had contemplated it for another thousand years or so, he began to try to climb up towards it. The walls of the pit were dank and slimy, and he kept slipping back down. Finally, after great effort, he neared the top, and then he slipped and fell all the way back down. It took him many years to recover, all the time weeping bitter tears of grief and repentance, and then he started to climb up again. After many more falls and efforts and failures he reached the top and dragged himself into an upper room with twelve people seated around a table. "We've been waiting for you, Judas," Jesus said. "We couldn't begin till you came."

Through the Eucharist, we are shown hospitality, and we are strengthened and encouraged to show that same hospitality to others.  Martin Luther, John Calvin, John Wesley, and others have seen hospitality as a ministry to Christ.  When hosting strangers in his home for a meal, Luther said “God himself is in our home, is being fed at our table.” 

Imagine that.  Serving God through your hospitality.  That could be newcomers or visitors at St. Thomas. It could be your neighbors.  It could be the people at the community breakfast. It doesn’t matter.  When you are hospitable in your home, at coffee hour, you are being welcoming.  More important, you are recognizing the dignity and value of others, serving Christ in the other.   

When we do that, we are able to take a step closer to re-membering Christ.

You may be thinking that you couldn’t serve or show hospitality to strangers, especially strangers who are different.  It would be too awkward.  But think about the last supper.  Jesus showed hospitality to Judas.  Judas.  And Christ knew what was in store. The man who was to betray him was at his table, welcomed and loved by Christ.  Following his lead, we should strive to be hospitable to everyone, friend, stranger, betrayer.  Everyone. 

So where does that leave us?

Try to see the holy in the food you prepare, share and eat. 

Strive to be welcoming and hospitable here.  Invite others to this feast, and make it accessible to them.  

Be strengthened by the Eucharist to come to the Eucharist in love and charity with all people.

And having been strengthened here, go out into the world and using these common items and actions, bread, wine, preparing, sharing, feasting,  and serving, to share God’s love.  

Whenever you do this, do this in remembrance of me. 

Homily - Epiphany 4 B (4th week after Epiphany in Year B)

Epiphany is a time of revelations, of sudden insights.   And the readings during Epiphany point to new characteristics or insights about Jesus.   As people in community, I believe everything we learn about Christ also has something to say about us.  About my relationship with God.  My relationship with my community.  Our relationship with God.  Today is no different.   And today, we have some insights about Authority.

The Gospel is pretty clear.  CHRIST HAS AUTHORITY.   This story is early in Mark’s Gospel. Mark skips the stories about the nativity and baptisms and heads right to stories intended to show us who Mark believes Christ is.  In this story, Jesus enters the synagogue and astounds the people, because he teaches with authority.   The story goes on that while he’s teaching,  he is confronted by a man with an unclean spirit.  Jesus didn’t start this conversation, the man did.  The unclean spirits recognize Jesus as the Holy One of God, initiates a conversation, and directly challenges Jesus, asking “have you come to destroy us?” Jesus orders the unclean spirits out of the man, and performs what amounts to an exorcism in the synagogue. Not only does Jesus teach as one with authority, he has power and authority over even the unclean spirits.   God is all powerful.

The psalm tells us that God is full of honor and majesty. God is gracious and merciful, faithful and just.  God is loving.

Have you ever wondered why bad things happen to good people?  If God is so all loving and all powerful, why does God permit bad things to happen?      For thousands of years, people have argued about whether God can be both all powerful and all loving at the same time.    Bad things could be explained by a God who isn’t all powerful.  Bad things could also be explained away, if God weren’t truly good.  But I think there’s another answer, and I think today’s readings gives us a glimpse of that other possibility.

All powerful.  Loving.  Homelessness, hunger, pain.  Have we hit the place where the unstoppable force hits the immovable object? Not yet.

Now the readings introduce another complicating factor.  Us.

We hear that  God will lift up a prophet from the people, creating someone with some authority from the community.  That person will receive the word of God, and will speak to the people everything God has commanded.   God says that the people should heed the prophet, and that the prophet should speak only God’s words and lead people rightly.  (pause) God also provides for a contingency plan.  If the people don’t heed the prophet, God will hold them accountable.  Likewise, if the prophet speaks falsely, or leads people anywhere other than towards God, God will hold the prophet accountable, with more serious consequences.

God, who is all powerful, provides prophets who will speak the word of God.  And God provides consequences should we humans not follow through with everything as planned.  All powerful, yes. All controlling?  Not always. 

We hear from Paul, who is writing to the people of Corinth.  The people are fearful that the meat they eat is defiled, because it may have been offered to false gods.  Paul’s message is that what you eat or don’t eat isn’t what makes you defiled.  And besides, there are no other gods, so it’s not really defiled anyway.  So go ahead and eat it.  You have the authority to eat it, because there’s nothing wrong with it. 

But after making that argument, Paul seemingly does an about face, and pronounces that if eating the meat makes one person stumble, Paul will never eat meat.  He advises, “take care that this liberty of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak”.  Just because you can eat the meat, doesn’t mean you should.  If exercising your authority or your freedom causes another to stumble, don’t.   

Authority needs to be tempered by its impact on others. 

Authority isn’t all controlling.

The question of Christ’s authority is black & white.  Christ has authority.  The grey area occurs when we humans are involved. 

God has authority.  But God also gave us authority.    We are free to choose to act rightly or wrongly.  God’s ok with that choice, because God offers consequences for our choices.  Follow the prophet or deal with God. 

And when we exercise our authority, sometimes we need to hold back, because sometimes it would cause another person in our community to falter, like the meat eaters in Corinth.

Like the people in the Old Testament story, sometimes we’re in a position of following.  We’re the people who’ve been sent a prophet.   We have the freedom to choose to follow those who lead us to God, or to walk away.  Sometimes it’s hard to be a good follower, even if you know you’re being led rightly.   Sometimes, I don’t like following.  I don’t like doing what I’m told.  I don’t like the advice, even if I  know it’s right.  At that moment, as a follower, I have the authority to do right, or not.  When we as followers exercise our authority to do right, all is good.  When we choose another path, we contribute to the troubles.

Like the prophet in the same story, sometimes we’re in a position of leadership.   We can be that leader at work settings, church settings, and at home.  Someone is watching, following, and emulating our behavior.  When we are in a position to lead, like the prophet, we need to exercise our authority to lead with integrity, and lead people towards God.  To do anything else we are part of the trouble.   Following Christ’s teaching, we need to lead people towards love, towards light, towards God. 

And always, like the people of Corinth, we are in community.  We need to be aware that our authority, our choices have impacts on others.  Regardless of whether they’re our friends, co-workers or strangers, as Paul says, “exercise no liberty that will cause the stumbling of the weak.  Independent of any position of authority we might hold in that community, we should act in ways that help build up the weak.

While this may sound like it’s all on us, we’ve got a built in advantage.   And as people of the cross, we believe that God has already conquered sin, evil and death with Christ’s death, resurrection and ascension.  The battle isn’t waging now. There’s no chance that sin, evil and death will win.  God has already won.  We just need to exercise our authority in a way that lets that victory be apparent to everyone.   To see that victory in our every day, we need to follow well, lead even better, and always look out for our neighbor.