Advent 4 B

In 2010, I worked at United Way in Seattle.  They had a great ad campaign that year, with each ad featuring two identical pictures, with two different captions. Below the pictures and captions was one tag line, “Choose the way”.  The implication was that you, the viewer and donor, could be the difference in the in someone’s story. You could be the difference between the narrative of Homeless or Housed.  Abused or Safe.  You choose the Way. The ads were on billboards and busses. They even make cameo appearances on the walls of the elevator scenes on Grey’s Anatomy, to give the show an authentic Seattle feel.  The ads were everywhere.

One was a particularly grey December day, my bus pulled up with another ad in the series on the side.
This was two identical pictures of a beautiful and simple young woman.  Beneath the pictures, the captions read, Hungry.  Filled.  This ad did not make me think of United Way. Because of the imagery and the choice of words and the time of year, it reminded me immediately of the song of Mary we read together earlier.  
He has filled the hungry with good things.
The song of Mary is a beloved and beautiful song that Mary delivers during a pretty exciting time in her life, which we hear about and celebrate today, the fourth Sunday of Advent.

In the Gospel reading, we hear the account of the angel Gabriel arriving and telling Mary that she will bear a son. Mary is a teen ager, unmarried and poor.  “But how will this be?” Mary asks.  Gabriel responds that the power of the most high will “overshadow” her. The whole episode sounds unnerving and risky.  To this kind of request, Mary could have responded with fear, or with sarcasm, or with anger.  She could have responded with all of those responses we know too well, that we offer when we are afraid, or scared, or feel at risk.  We respond that way when others scare us, and we respond that way when God asks us something hard.

Instead, Mary responds with the gracious and simple words, : “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."

Wow.  What a response.  Simple.  Mary willingly and obediently received God into her life, despite the risks and difficulties that it most certainly would bring to her, an unmarried, poor teen.

Obedience is not something we tend to value in this culture and at this time, but look at what obedience looks like in this story of Mary.  She is asked by God to do something hard, and something counter-cultural, and something risky.  And with unimaginable grace and trust in God, she says, I am a servant of the lord.  She basically is saying, yes, I’ll be obedient.  Not only obedient, but blank-check obedient.  Let it be with me according to your word.  In other words, whatever you say.

Maybe Mary’s obedient response comes from Gabriel’s simple opening line, Do not be afraid.  Or maybe it comes from a deep seated faith in God that preceded Gabriel’s visit.  Or perhaps it came from Mary’s willingness to accept God’s grace which includes the gift of faith. She said yes to God, in an unambiguous and obedient way.  And while obedience is counter-cultural, when it comes to God calling us, obedience is surprisingly easier than resistance.  Like Mary, obeying and affirming what God is calling us to do can be hard, and equally can be beautiful and freeing.

Mary’s response to Gabriel is simple and powerful.  I am a servant of the Lord.  Let it be with me, according to your word.  And we could do well if we could learn this kind of simple, unambiguous, obedient response to God.
   
After this surprising exchange, Gabriel tells Mary she is to go see her relative Elizabeth, by now an old woman, who also was to bear a son, John the Baptist. Mary heads off to see Elizabeth.  Given the distance of about 100 miles, the journey would have taken her about a week on foot.

While Mary’s thoughts on the journey are not recorded, she surely had some, and I imagine she played the recent events over and over in her mind.  Did God just send me an angel?  Say I’m going to have a child – and not Joseph’s child?  And did I just say yes? Did I say “let it be with me according to your word?”

When she sees Elizabeth, she has much more to say than her original response to Gabriel. To Elizabeth, she fills in details about her response to Gabriel. This is the Song of Mary, also known as the Magnificat that we read earlier in the service.

And where Mary’s response to Gabriel is powerful, simple and demonstrates obedience, what she says to Elizabeth is powerful, complex and demonstrates defiance.

She starts by providing insight into her initial and visceral response to God’s request.  She tells Elizabeth that her soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, and that her spirit rejoices in God. When God asks us to do something hard, something risky, what is our response? What does your soul do in God’s presence?  Does it rejoice and proclaim God’s greatness?

She then proclaims the great things that God will do to turn the world back right-side up. This is where her defiance and power are shown. She speaks about two traits that she, an unmarried poor teen girl, didn’t have. Two traits that had turned the world upside down, and separated people from God. And these two traits contribute to a third that is equally problematic, and Mary speaks to that too.  She names the ill, and what God will do.

She speaks to power.  God will cast down the mighty from their thrones.  

Power without compassion corrupts. It creates inequities and imbalances. Power without embodying God’s love of all, creates the lowly. When the powerful believe they are entitled or better than others, with that power, we intentionally or unintentionally create the powerless. Mary speaks to this imbalance created from unchecked power. God will lift up the lowly. Not because the lowly are better than the mighty, but because they are no worse. God’s love is equal, and if doesn’t look equal on this earth, Mary is proclaiming that God will fix what human power has broken.

She speaks to wealth.  God will send the rich away, empty.
Riches without compassion corrupts. Riches without embodying God’s love of all, creates the hungry.  When the rich believe they are entitled or better than others, with that wealth, we intentionally or unintentionally create the hungry. Mary speaks to that injustice created from uncompassionate wealth. God will fill the hungry with good things. Not because the hungry are better than the rich, but because they are no worse.  God’s love is equal, and if it doesn’t look equal on this earth, Mary is proclaiming that God will fix what human wealth has broken.

Finally, Mary speaks to pride.  Pride comes when we feel personally responsible for something good. For our advances, our accomplishments, our wealth, our power.  Pride has the risk of obscuring our reliance and understanding of God’s role in our life. After all, it is God’s grace and love that allow us to advance, accomplish, gain wealth and power.  Mary speaks to pride, and the distance it creates between us and God. God will scatter the proud in their conceit.  Mary is proclaiming that God will fix what human pride has broken.

In less than a week, we celebrate the arrival of the human God in our human lives.  Today, we are given some powerful examples of how to respond to that arrival, and I’d urge you to think about your response this week.

Are you more apt to have the strong simple response, like Mary’s response to Gabriel?  If so, what is your response?  Here I am. Enter here.  Re-read the Gospel reading today and think about how you would have responded.  How you would want to respond.  How you will respond to Christ’s arrival.

Are you a person of more words?  Is your response more like Mary’s song?  What would you say about how your soul responds in the presence of God?  Does your soul sing?  Is it quiet?  Is it on fire?

What injustices would you name, and what do you believe God will do about it?  Racial tensions.  War. Hunger.

We are in the same place as Mary was in the readings today. God is inviting us to make room, to invite God in our lives.  

In the next five days, think about how you would respond to God’s invitation to enter your life. I’d even encourage you to write your own canticle. The song of Shari.  Song of George.  Is it long or short?  It doesn’t matter what it looks like. It matters that you think about God’s arrival, and that you think enough about your response that you actually have one.  Because in less than a week, we are invited to let Christ enter our lives again.  Actually, in about 20 minutes, we are invited to let Christ enter our lives again in the Eucharist.   Every week we are invited to let God into our lives. Every week, we can practice our own song.

If you put some thought into your response, into your Magnificat, several things happen.  For starters, you have a response.  You are an active participant in the incarnation story.  The other thing that happens is what happened to me in Seattle. You begin to see God’s hand everywhere, even on billboards on the side of the bus. In songs, notes from friends. God’s hand is everywhere, even in the craziness and busyness of the Christmas season.

Today, let’s obediently, powerfully and defiantly follow Mary and prepare our own personal response to God’s invitation to enter our lives once again.

Amen.

Proper 19A - September 14, 2014

In last week’s Gospel, we heard about how to resolve things between two people. Start small and simple, escalating the number of parties and eventually bring it to the church. If even then you can’t work it out, start over. Forgive. Make up.

We pick up the story today, with Peter, bold impetuous Peter having the audacity to ask Jesus just exactly how many times is he supposed to make up, how many times is he’s supposed to forgive. We hear some of Jesus’ most audacious exaggerated examples.

My father was an engineer, and a wealth of interesting – and useless information. Early in my childhood, He taught me the definition of Googol. Googol was a number equal to 10 to the 100th power, or 10, with 99 more zeros. He said that it was a made up word, made up by a mathematician who wanted to name the biggest number imaginable. This word, this concept, was created to define the undefinable, the farthest reaches of big numbers. It is rarely used in calculations because it’s so big. So googol is a real number that represents the end reaches of an infinite number system. The actual number, 10 to the 100th power, is less important than the concept it represents. I mention all of this because there are examples in today’s Gospel that are equally symbolic of the end reaches of something, and they mean more than the numbers in the story.

Peter asks Jesus, How often should I forgive? Seven times right? Seven was a number that symbolized more than just the number between 6 and 8. Seven was a number that signified the completion or perfection of something. God made the world, and on the seventh day, it was perfectly completed and God rested. Peter was probably asking a question he thought he knew the answer to. I should forgive someone 7 times – until it’s complete. But Jesus answers in a way that is one of these exaggerated, iconic answers. You see, if seven represents completion, 77 represents the perfectly completed, and then some. 77 is a number that signifies more times than you can count, more times that you can imagine. Don’t bother even trying to count. Jesus is telling Peter that Peter should forgive more times than he could ever imagine, more than he could count so he shouldn’t even try. Forgive, endlessly. Forgive infinitely.

And in case that exaggerated point was not sufficient, Jesus adds a second.
Jesus tells the story of the 10,000 talents. A slave owes his master 10,000 talents. The master is ready to sell the slave to repay the debt, and the slave says, “Have patience with me, and I will repay you everything”. And the Master forgave the debt.

After this slave is forgiven his debt, he encounters a fellow slave who owes him 100 denarii, which is significantly less than 10,000 talents, and says to him, “pay what you owe”. Again we hear the plea, “Have patience with me and I will repay you everything”. But this time, the recently forgiven slave does not forgive the debt. When the master hears of this, he hands the first slave over to be tortured until his entire debt is repaid.

On the surface, we understand the idea that the first slave should have forgiven the debt, as he had been forgiven. And that’s without even understanding the second crazy exaggeration in this story. A talent was a weight measure for gold, equaling about 75 pounds of gold. In today’s worth, one talent would be somewhere in excess of $700,000 dollars. 10,000 talents would be a really really big number, somewhere around 160,000 years of wages - more money than a slave would ever be able to repay or even initially borrow. Like the number googol, the number isn’t really the point. It’s a really really big number that the slave owes. Bigger than the slave could imagine. What Jesus is saying is that the slave owed an impossibly large debt. Unimaginable. And the master forgave the debt.

After this forgiveness of the unimaginably large debt, the first slave runs into a second slave who owes him a sizable debt, but not unimaginable. But unlike the master’s forgiveness, he does not forgive the debt of the second slave.

And today we’ll use a big definition of debt, bigger than just a financial obligation. In various translations, the Lord’s prayer reads, “Forgive us our debts”, “Forgive us our trespasses”, or “Forgive us our sins”. While each of those words means something specific, and narrow, each is used in the Lord’s Prayer. The point is that we owe something, we regret something, or we’ve done something. That’s a debt. That’s what I'm talking about today.

In this story of exaggerations for the purpose of illustration, Christ is telling us two important things about debts.

First, God will forgive you your debts or trespasses. It doesn’t matter what you owe. You are forgiven. If you owe 10,000 talents, you are forgiven. Forgiven for trespasses bigger than you can handle. Bigger than you can imagine. Don’t bother counting it up. The number or the size or the gravity. You are forgiven. Period.

Second, you should forgive the debts, or trespasses of others. Period. Not seven times. Not a number you can count. More times than you can imagine. Period. And it doesn’t matter how big their debt. Forgive others for everything and anything. Period.

We get so caught up in the great sin ledger of ourselves and others, we lose sight of the immeasurable grace and forgiveness given freely. I’ve been horrible, and can’t be forgiven. I don’t deserve God’s love. God couldn’t possibly love me for what I’ve done, so I’ll hide it. But the problem with holding on to our own sin, with thinking we can’t be forgiven is as CS Lewis points out, “If God forgives us, we must forgive ourselves. Otherwise, it is almost like setting up ourselves as a higher tribunal than Him.”

And we carry that higher tribunal further, and decide that we get to determine who is to be forgiven, for what, and how often. I can’t forgive him for what he did. I can’t forgive her. Again.

We have been forgiven 100,000 talents worth of debt. Again and again. From this place of unbelievable, unimaginable grace and forgiveness, we are asked and expected to extend the same forgiveness, unbelievably and unimaginably. In exaggerated iconic ways. 77 times, forgive 10,000 talents.

Following Jesus’ lead, here are some exaggerated and yet very real modern day examples.

Unimaginable forgiveness looks like the peace vigils held by Sikhs in Eugene and throughout the nation after an mentally ill veteran entered a Sikh temple in Wisconsin and killed 7.

It looks like the grandfather of an Amish girl killed in Pennsylvania urging the nation to have compassion for the killer, and it looks like the Amish family that consoled the family of the killer.

It looks like the only surviving shooting victim in a post 9/11 hate crime fighting for the killer’s stay of execution and saying “His execution will not eradicate hate crimes in this world, and we will simply lose another human life”.

If such radical forgiveness is possible in these circumstances, it’s possible in my life. In my world, I can and must forgive myself for past wrongs. To do any different would be to set myself on a higher tribunal than God, who has already forgiven me more than I can ask or imagine.

In my world, I can and must forgive those close to me who’ve hurt me in little and big ways. That’s not to say I must forget, but forgive. Infinitely and unceasingly.

And for our society’s sake, we can and must forgive those segments of community that routinely do things that aggrieve us. People who behave in ways that genuinely seem evil or wrong. People with opinions too right, or too left. The panhandlers downtown, and the corporate businesses. City, state and federal elected officials, those responsible for 9/11.

Whoever you think you cannot forgive, they cannot possibly owe you more than you’ve already been forgiven. Because we are forgiven, we are asked to forgive. Immeasurably.

Not forgiving someone, by holding that little ember of anger or resentment or disappointment affects us today, and tomorrow. It affects us moving forward. And yet, what we stubbornly hold on to always focuses on something that happened in the past. We cannot change the past and it does no good to will it to be different. Forgiveness isn't forgetting the past but it's letting go of the idea that it should have been different, according to Lily Tomlin.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean we’ll immediately love the other person, nor even like them. But it is a release of the expectations we so stubbornly hold, expectations about a past we cannot change. And it is through God’s immeasurable and continual forgiveness and grace that we have a chance to forgive so impossibly.

Shortly, we’ll confess our sins against God and our neighbor. We’ll name our own 10,000 talents and ask the master to forgive them. Again. Then, we will pray that God will forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.
And because it's such a daunting task, we will have the opportunity to be fed with the spiritual food that gives us a glimmer of hope to actually carry that forgiveness forward. We do that week by week, because it’s central to our health and communion as the body of Christ.

Identify what needs forgiveness in your life, ask forgiveness and acknowledge you need to forgive others, and seek the grace through the Eucharist to actually do it. Week by week. 10,000 talents worth. A googol times.

Amen.

Proper 15 A - Speak from your heart August 17

The psalm today says, “How good when kindred live together in unity”. What a lovely concept. And what a difficult thing to actually do. Don’t get me wrong. I love my family, both the family that raised me, and the family I’m raising. And, they both make me crazy sometimes.

How good it is when kindred live together in unity. Yikes. This is one of those scriptural passages that actually makes me a little anxious. I know it’s true, and yet it’s so hard.

Your kindred know you well enough to really really know you, inside and out. They know what’s good, and they know all of your weaknesses. And when kindred don’t live together in unity, that incredible and intimate knowledge of each other opens us up to be very vulnerable. They know our weaknesses. And we know theirs.

Siblings betray one another. They lie to one another. Parents, no matter how much they love their children, do things to hurt or control them and each other, well beyond what good parenting would demand. And don’t get me started on the trouble children can cause. Unity is not an easy place to stay, within a family, with all the moving parts and emotions and vulnerabilities.

And yet, scripture points us to an ideal when kindred live together in unity. It feels like my understanding of how all families work puts the unity factor over here and the vision in scripture is over here.

How do we bridge that?

I know what doesn’t bridge that gap. We don’t live in unity, simply by a lack of trouble, by sweeping problems under the rug, or dreaming of the ideal family where there is no weeping or gnashing of teeth. Kindred living together in unity isn’t a place absent any pain or sorrow.

Just look at the continuing story of Joseph’s family we’ve heard throughout the summer. A quick recap of his poor life. He’s a braggart, and actually kind of obnoxious. His eleven brothers, plus his often overlooked sister Dinah, made famous by her starring role in the book, The Red Tent, were jealous of him, as he was his father’s favorite, despite being the brown-nosing, tattle telling son. His father gave him a multi-colored cloak, which sent the brothers on an envious rampage. They were originally going to kill him, but ended up selling him into slavery, and returning home to tell their father he had died. Joseph is now enslaved by Potipher, with no kindred around him, and his story takes some even more dramatic twists.

Joseph got crosswise with Potipher, due to unwelcome romantic advances from his Potipher’s wife, and her conniving lies she told Potipher to harm Joseph. He was put in jail. There he continued having fantastical dreams that had caused envy with his bothers, and interpreting his dreams and the dreams of others. About that time the Egyptian Pharaoh was being tormented by bad dreams, and Joseph was called upon to help, and interpreted Pharaoh’s dreams. Pharaoh trusted Joseph and his interpretations, and because of that, Egypt was saved through a 7 year famine, while most of the region suffered greatly.

The same drought was plaguing Israel, and Joseph’s brothers had heard that the Pharaoh had food when few did. They headed to Egypt to beg for food, not knowing that their brother Joseph was key to Egypt’s abundance. They appear before brother Joseph, and although they don’t recognize him, Joseph recognizes his brothers.

After some trickery from Joseph to see what the brothers’ intentions are, we come to today’s reading. Joseph finally reveals himself to them, and they are overcome with joy. The author says they cried on each other’s necks. I like that image, because I’ve done that, where you cry so freely that it runs down the neck of the one you’re embracing. Those are unfettered tears.

This, I would suggest, is the unity of kindred living together in the midst of trials, tribulations, deceit, murderous intent, jealousy, embarrassment, and rage. And yet, they experience a sweet reunion. It’s not the absence of trouble in families that make unity. Everyone, every family has trouble.

Joseph says something during this reunion that gives us some insight as to how to bridge that gap, how to live in unity despite trials. He basically says that the brothers are not to blame for all of his turmoil. Rather, God is to thank. Several times he says “God sent me”. God turned something horrible, into something good.

Joseph, despite the troubles seemingly caused by the brothers was able to use that moment to praise God, to thank God for the circumstances, and was able to see how God used it for good. I wonder whether during the days in the pit where his brothers left him, or the days in the prison, or the moments when he realized he had been betrayed and deceived, I wonder if he had doubts, or fear, or anger. And during dark times, he certainly couldn’t have known that all would work out for good. But eventually good time came for Joseph.

And then come Joseph’s brothers. No matter how good things had become, it’s hard to let bygones be bygones when they show up in your court asking for help. But Joseph utters not a single bitter angry blaming word. God sent me. It wasn’t you. With those simple words out of his mouth, he effectively takes the brothers out of the equation. You brothers are not to blame. God is to be thanked. Besides, we are together now. Let me cry on your neck.

At that moment, when he revealed himself to his brothers, he had a choice. He could have said something reflecting the anger and bitter that would have been perfectly justified. You did this to me. I’m not going to help you now. Instead, he offered consoling, loving, forgiving solace. “Do not be angry or distressed with yourselves.”

This is what I take from today’s Gospel. Joseph had a moment where he had a decision about how to express himself. A negative blaming response could have resulted in a very different ending to the story. Blame and anger would not have resulted in kindred living in unity with each other. Instead, he chose to say something affirming and loving, and unifying. Not because his life had been all sunshine and rainbows. But because at that moment, he chose unity and love over righteous indignation and hate. It’s not what happened to Joseph, what his brothers did to him, what Potipher’s wife did to him, that defined or defiled him. It is what came out of his heart and out of his mouth. It’s not what happens to us, or what we put in our mouth. It’s what we do and say that matters, despite any of that.

As Jesus tells the disciples, It’s not what goes into the body that defiles, Jesus says. I would offer that it’s also not what happens to the body that defiles. It’s what comes out of the mouth that defiles, because that comes straight from your heart. Out of the heart, Jesus continues, come evil intentions.

Joseph did not let what happened to him define or defile him. He did not let it turn into evil intentions and show itself as evil speech. Instead, he spoke love and forgiveness, despite what happened. And what he said to his brothers changed everything.

In Joseph’s story, despite the twists and turns, they end up crying on each other’s necks. It ends well. Interestingly, in situations where there is an oppressor and oppressed, or victim and victor, the person who’s in the position of power, the person who’s wronged someone else has little ability to make all right. The power rests with the victim, with the oppressed. Only they have the power to reconcile everything. The oppressor may seek reconciliation, but without the assent or consent of the victim, it can never happen.

Think of the Canaanite woman. In their time, she was the ultimate outsider. She’s approached Jesus for food. She acknowledges him as Lord, kneeling at his feet. Jesus originally shoes her away, because his mission is to work with the people Israel. He dismisses her, and she responds, in her kneeling, lowly position in another brilliant example of what comes from the heart. She says, yes lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table. In front of everyone, this kneeling, contrite outsider respectfully and persistently speaks a truth to Jesus that causes him to change his mind. She doesn’t run away. She doesn’t succumb. Even there, she acknowledges his position, and speaks a truth from her heart that she believes he’ll understand. She, from this position of weakness, changes everything by what comes out of her mouth – with respect, with challenges, and ultimately with success.

Today, Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori has asked for the entire Episcopal Church to pray for the people of Iraq and the middle-east, who are living in fear for their lives and livelihoods, in the face of fierce prosecution, the looting of churches, businesses and homes, and the displacement of thousands under threat of death.

As children of Abraham, we are all kindred – Muslim, Jew and Christian. What is happening by and to other children of God is atrocious, and yet it is so far away, and so hard to comprehend, it’s easy to be apathetic or to feel so removed that we feel irrelevant.

Closer to home, race tensions are mounting because of the tragic shooting of Michael Brown in Ferguson Missouri. During college, in the 1980’s I worked in the desegregation office of the St. Louis Public Schools, because they were under federal court order to desegregate, in the 1980’s. I know the tension that existed then. I can only imagine the tension that exists today. And it spills into our community. An ACLU meeting earlier this week in Eugene on racial profiling was very charged. What happens in Ferguson affects us. It should affect us. They are our kindred. The police in Ferguson. The African American community in Ferguson. The Iraqi children. The children crossing the border.

It is not what happens to us that defiles us. It is not what happens to our brothers and sisters around the country or around the world that defiles. It’s what comes out of our mouths. Or, what doesn’t.

Now is the time to speak up about what is happening, and what we wish would be happening instead. From your heart. Jefferts Schori asks that we “Pray that all God’s children might live in hope, of the world of peace for which we were created” Speak and pray for peace, from a place of love and respect. Like Joseph. Like the Canaanite woman. 

In a little while, we will pray for the church and the world. I will be praying for the grace to speak peace and light, to let good graceful intentions come out of my mouth, regardless of what happens. I will be praying for the children in the middle east, and for people who feel they are victimized by the police. Take a moment to think about what you will be pray for, either silently or aloud. Speak out. Create unity. Speak life from your heart.

As Psalm 19 says, “May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord”

Amen

Proper 9A - July 6, 2014

Proper 9A

July 6, 2014

I have a secret.  I don’t, as a general rule, truly appreciate Paul or his writings.  His language is sometimes hard to understand, his concepts challenging, and his sentences way too long. Ask any lay reader.  But today’s reading is one of the exceptions.  I really like this section of Romans.  

Paul is continuing his explanation of grace to a bunch of serious skeptics.  A few weeks ago, he had to explain that no, just because you are forgiven that doesn’t mean you can keep sinning and sin big.  Today, he’s explaining that sin is something that’s in us, that cloaks itself in goodness, and despite our best intentions, we do the wrong thing, time and time again.

Not only that, but Paul observes that “when I want to what is good, evil lies close at hand”.    This isn’t just a passive-ever resident sin, “I do what I don’t want to do”, but somehow, there’s something about Paul’s actions, his seemingly positive actions, where sin lurks.  When me does something he thinks is good and right, it turns out to be bad and wrong.   Sound familiar?

Just think about his actions before his conversion, when he was known as Saul.  Saul the good Pharisee was helping the faithful by participating in the persecution of the early Christians.  With full conviction and complete faith that he was doing what he was supposed to do, he held the coats of the people who stoned Stephen to death.  Stephen, the man attributed as the first Christian deacon. Stephen the first Christian Martyr.  

This wasn’t the instance where Saul meant to hurt anyone that day, but instead accidentally participated in a murder.  He was doing what he thought was right. He was a willing partner because he believed it was the right thing to do.  He was participating, in name of God.  And even there, evil lurked.

I like this reading, because I appreciate and recognize both kinds of sin.  One I’ll call accidental.  This is the kind of sin where we intend to act in one way, and we, for some reason, act in the exact opposite.  I mean to exercise.  I mean to eat well.  I mean to pray every morning.  And yet.  Despite my best intentions, I fail.  And while I’m lazing, eating, or whatever it is I’m doing other than what I intend to be doing, my head is excusing it.  This piece of chocolate won’t matter. Immediately after eating it, I know it was a bad call. It was a momentary lapse, almost like an accident.   Everyone who’s tried to diet knows this.  Why is it so hard?  And eating well, or not eating well, is just the tip of the iceberg.  Prayer. Kindness. Fidelity.  We fully intend to act one way, and then – don’t.

The other kind of evil is more insidious, and harder to acknowledge and see. I’ll call this cloaked. This is the kind that isn’t an accident.  We fully intend to take that action, because we fully believe we are justified and right.  Saul holding the coats to make it easier for the people stoning Stephen.  Me, saying that I can’t pray this morning because I’m going to ride my bike to work. This cloaked sin looks like the right thing to do. It feels like the right thing to do.  And that’s why it’s so dangerous.  Evil has a way of seeping into our brain and heart and make us think we’re doing something good.  Sure, riding my bike is good.  But prayer is great, and my soul needs it.  Some days definitely need it more than a bike ride.

Now, some may say this is just weakness or temptation. Or a lack of commitment.  I’m not sure that it matters what you call it.  I am sure that there are times it feels like my normally controlled logical will is not steering the ship.

How could a full day of good eating habits be torpedoed by the ill-reasoned logic that the beer and nachos won’t matter?   It feels like - momentarily at a minimum, I’m not the only one calling the shots, not the only one steering this ship.

I’m not suggesting that there’s a little horned devil on my shoulder.  But while I am pretty comfortable that God is involved in my decisions and actions, I’ve been reluctant to acknowledge that other force.  And I think Paul does a good job getting me to the place where I must.  Listening to the reading from Romans and Paul going on about doing what he doesn’t mean to do could sound like a crazy person.  But we’ve all been there.  He’s describing something we’ve all experienced.  And when you think about it the way Paul frames it, he helps us reach the conclusion that sin and evil are real, and are real close.

If that’s the case, if there are moments when I act in ways that seem externally influenced, or where my iron will is somehow compromised,  or where my fully committed actions end up being a big cover up for bad actions, I have to imagine that this is true for others.  If it’s true for me, it’s probably true for others I know and love. For my kids.  My husband.  My co-workers and friends.

And it stands to reason that if it’s true for the people I love, it’s probably true for those who I don’t.  For those I barely like. Imagine the worst of the worst.  The drug addicts. The abusers. Those people who act in ways you can’t understand, can’t excuse, and can’t love.  Just like me and my healthy eating, they too intend to act one way and then act another. Just the same.

It’s that same sin, that same insidious cloaked sin that causes me to ride my bike instead of sitting with God.  It’s the cloaked sin that makes the woman prostitute herself to make money to feed her children.  It’s the same accidental sin that make the business man have that drink when he knows better, or that person on the street have one more high.

And more insidious is the cloaked sin of pecking order.  On the streets or in prison, there is an absolute, inviolate pecking order.  The clients who help out with the breakfast are quick to point out the shortcomings of those still dealing drugs. They think, “I am better than those people, because my sin is less current, less horrible than theirs.” It’s the same cloaked sin that makes us pass the same judgment on them. I am better than those people, because my sin less current, less horrible than theirs.   True, the magnitude may differ, but the presence of sin and its effect on all of us is the same.

But there is some good news.

Paul finishes his explanation to the people of Rome with pretty simple ways to banish sin and evil.  It’s being connected to God through Christ that we can overcome the sin and evil. It’s like closet space.  Fill the closet space with something good, or it will be filled with something not good.  But it will be filled.

It’s not that God prevents evil from happening, or always keeps us from sinning, but I think sin and evil take up those spaces in our hearts and minds and souls that we can and should choose to fill up with God instead.

When that space, when our souls are filled with sin and evil, it’s tiring. We’re tired.  We’re tired of the hardness and the darkness. It’s from that place of cold and dark that Christ is most refreshing, and most peaceful.

This is what the Gospel is talking about.  Come, all who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  I need to find rest for my weary soul in God.  We all need to find rest.  Rest in God.

In Christ, we connect with God when we are weary. Through Christ, we see others in this world who are weary and need to connect with God.  Christ knows the world we live in.  Christ knows that we need God, and Christ provides a way for us to connect to God.  This connection doesn’t prevent the evil and sin.  Rather,  Christ knows this is what our world is like, and with Christ as a respite, we can continue through it.

Richard Rohr, a Catholic priest and author says this. "The most amazing fact about Jesus, unlike almost any other religious founder, is that he found God in disorder and imperfection—and told us that we must do the same or we would never be content on this earth. ”

This is why we are called to work with the broken, the hurt, the criminal.  These children of God need rest.  And while they may not find their way to a church building, to a Eucharistic table, we will leave this building and this table and find them.  On behalf of Christ, we will help share their burden.  The burden caused by that darkness and sin, the accidental and the cloaked.

We turn to Christ for our comfort, to give rest to the weary.  To fend off the darkness in our lives.  We need to be that light for others, to help them fend off the darkness in theirs.

Amen.

June 22, 2014

Proper 7A

You know C.S. Lewis, author of the Narnia books and lots of great books about Christianity.   He turned to Christianity as an adult, and when asked about it in an interview, he responded, “I didn’t go to religion to make me happy.  I always knew a bottle of Port would do that.  If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity!”

Today’s reading from Matthew is a longer version  of this quip.  In this reading, Jesus is talking to his disciples about what their discipleship will be like, what they’re likely to encounter.  I liken it to a football coach talking to his team at half time.  The coach has useful insight and perspectives that will help the players deal with what is heading their way in the second half of the game. Part realist, part pep talk.

That’s what Jesus is doing.  He’s telling the disciples what they’ll encounter.   He starts with a pretty simple statement, that I like to think of as expectation management  He’s telling them that the students don’t surpass  the teacher, slave doesn’t exceed the master.  You are where you are.  Be content with where you are.  

He moves on to give the disciples a run down of what the second half of the game will include.   And basically it will include things that Jesus has already experienced, so he knows first hand what it will be like.  To truly follow Jesus has several benchmarks that do not make life more comfortable, as CS Lewis mentions.  In this passage, Christ is telling the disciples that they will experience many of the things Christ has, if they truly follow Christ.

One of those pragmatic pieces of advice is that the disciples may be persecuted.   Not just that general bad things will happen, wrong place wrong time bad things. Precisely because of what discipleship asks, for those things you will be persecuted.  The reality is that martyrdom was a reality for the disciples, as it is in other places in the world today, just for being a Christian.  Our persecution is generally not that dramatic.  But we are made to feel the outcast for wearing a cross, or more importantly for holding a Christian attitude.

Disciples may be divided from their family and friends, and they may cause similar divisions in others.  Christ says, rather starkly, that he didn’t come to bring peace to the world, but rather to bring a sword and divide people.  To set a man against his father and a woman against her mother.  Wow. What’s that about, and why would we want to follow a Christ that’s going to do that, or ask us to do that?  Christ is not saying that we should take up our swords and fight.  Rather, he’s saying that if you stand firm in your Christ-centric life, sometimes that creates a rift between family members.  If the division is because some in the family are following Christ, not just wearing the jewelry, but to their core walking the way of Christ, divisions as a result of that, may happen.  

Christ tells them that disciples are known and loved.  God cares about every sparrow, every creature.  And the disciples are more valued by God than anything.  It would be one thing if that love and knowing was from a place of platitudes and ignorance.  But this isn’t a distant God who doesn’t know them. The disciples are fully known, down to every hair on their head.  Being known that well, warts and all, and still being unconditionally loved could be a challenge.
Disciples may be bullied or physically hurt.   Christ was physically hurt and ultimately killed.  

Disciples may be asked to endure horrible things.  Think about the term, take up your cross.  Christ was asked to carry his cross, the cross on which he died.  He tells the disciples that if they are not willing to take up their cross, they are not worthy of him.   And if they’re not fully Christ Centered, he won’t be fully behind them.  

And after this realistic pragmatic vision of what discipleship will be, I can imagine the locker room was quiet.  Disciples looking at each other wondering if they should even go out on the field.   Now comes the pep talk.  Christ finishes with the best bit of news.   Despite all of this, despite the persecution, bullying and separation, he tells them to not be afraid.  

It is actually what Christ tells the disciples more than anything else.  Do not be afraid.  And if he can tell them to not be afraid, what is he telling us?

I think he’s telling us that as disciples of Christ, we will be persecuted, we will be bullied, we may be separated or cause the separation from family, we are known and loved.  And we should not be afraid.

He offers some insights to the disciples as to why they should not fear that are also relevant to us today.

We should not fear being persecuted because the truth will come out in the end. What is wrong and done in darkness will be illumined and shown for what it is. What is right and forced in darkness will be illumined and shown for what it is. Do not be afraid.

We should not fear being bullied or even physically hurt, because while bullies may be able to hurt our outward physical body, they cannot hurt our soul.  They cannot destroy the indissoluble bond we have with God in baptism.  And martyrs throughout the years, ranging from King Louis the Ninth to Christian martyrs in China, have announced at the end of their lives, “you may kill my body, but you will never kill my soul”.  Luckily we are not facing martyrdom. But we do face inconveniences and discomfort that may affect our body.  It cannot affect our soul.  Do not be afraid.

For Christ’s sake, we may be separated from family.  If we are placing Christ at the center of our life, and others don’t understand, we have two choices.  Either we apologize or change our beliefs and actions, or we stand solid with Christ.   If we stand with Christ, Christ will stand with us.  I’m not suggesting that we ought to go pick fights with doubters or detractors.  Rather, we need to understand and believe to our core that we are first of all Christians, committed to a Christ-centric life. Do not be afraid.  

We are known.  Down to the hairs on our head, the bad habits, and the bad thoughts.  Despite that level of intimacy, we are unconditionally loved by God.  Do not be afraid.

Following Christ does not immunize us from trouble, or prevent us from getting into trouble, or give us a “get out of jail free” card when we get in trouble.  Quite the contrary.  Following Christ puts us right in trouble’s way.

As Christians, we are asked to stand up for the unloved and unlovable.  To defend the underdog.  Speak up against injustice and cruelty. To cease cruel language and jokes. These things we do, that Christ did to us and on our behalf can cause some discomfort.   It can cause us to be separated, to be persecuted, to be bullied or hurt.  And with God, we should not be afraid.

This concept of God assuring us that we should not be afraid wasn’t coined by Christ.  We heard the same words in the reading from Genesis, where we begin a summer-long traipse through the great stories of Old Testament, Torah or Holy Book of Islam.

Today, we join Abraham and Sarah who’ve been promised many offspring.  They were getting old, so they decided Abraham would have a child with Hagar, his female slave. Abraham and Hagar had a son, Ishmael.  Subsequently, Sarah and Abraham have a son, Isaac, and although Sarah was involved in the Hagar plot initially, she got cold feet and decided that Hagar and Ishmael should be turned out, potentially turned out to die.  And so Abraham turned out his son Ishmael and his mother Hagar.   But God interjects here, just as Christ does with the disciples in Matthew, telling Hagar, “do not be afraid”.

Not only that, but God tells Hagar that God will make a great nation of Ishmael, the son she had with Abraham.  And God did.  Ishmael is seen as the father of Islam, with his descendant Mohammed.   Hmm.  

As I said, we are beginning a long sequential reading of these fascinating stories from Genesis and Exodus.  Pay attention, and think about the whole story they tell. By the end of the summer you’ll have heard about some great stories that are the foundation of Islam, Judaism and Christianity.

We are people of God, children of Abraham.  And while we know our Christian story, there are so many other stories of God that we may not know. Stories of other children of Abraham.  But they are stories of God and God’s salvation.  And from Abraham, Hagar and Ishmael, Sarah and Isaac, to Christ’s disciples, to all of us children of God, we are not supposed to be afraid.  We are to put our trust in God. And God will deliver.

What is it that you fear?  Money troubles?  Doubting your faith? Trouble with kids?  Your health?  We follow a Christ who’s been through it all.  Seen it all.  Experienced it all.   He experienced all of that, and more.  He knows his disciples will experience all of that, and more.  And yet, his repeated counsel is - Do not be afraid.

I hate to ruin the ending of your story for you, but it’s going to be all right.  
 Amen

Easter 6A - May 25, 2014

Happy Easter!  I don’t know about you, but I like our Anglican Calendar, that celebrates not days but seasons.  For another few weeks, we continue to celebrate Christ’s resurrection.  I like that because sometimes it takes me more than a day to understand in my head or my heart what’s happening with our rich calendar.  It happens at Christmas  and Easter days, and I’m grateful that we have whole seasons to prepare for those days in Advent and Lent.

During these waning days of Easter, we pack in another great day to celebrate – Ascension.  Ascension is this Thursday, and the area Episcopal Churches are celebrating it together, as one body of Christ.  Ascension is an under-appreciated day, because it is through Christ’s ascension that our humanity is joined with God the Father.  On Ascension, we celebrate Christ’s departure of this world, and because he takes with him our toils and tribulations, joys and loves, his departure is a good thing.  It’s why we talk about Christ’s death, resurrection and ascension.

But Ascension has a little bit of a down side, at least on first blush.  When Christ ascends, he leaves this place, leaves us.  No one likes to be left behind.

What we need is some lingering God presence, after Christ’s Ascension.  And that’s exactly what Christ leaves as his parting gift.  Christ promises the that the disciples, then and now, will not be left alone.  We will not be abandoned or orphaned.

On June 8, we will celebrate Pentecost, the gift of the Holy Spirit.  THIS is the comforter about whom Christ speaks today.  We will not be left alone, because Christ will send another comforter to be with us always. God the Holy Spirit will dwell in us.  Today, Christ is setting up the story in the Gospel reading.

With God in us, with God who - through Christ  - knows all our human ups and downs, God knows us.  God is with us.  Always.  The results of that God spirit inside us are pretty great.   First of all, it’s hard to say God is somewhere else, God is foreign.  God isn’t up there.  God is with us.  Always.   It’s that in-dwelt Holy Spirit that leads Paul to say today to the people of Athens that we worship a known God, rather than an unknown God, foreign and distant.  God is known to us because of God the Holy Spirit is with us. Present and imminent.

Sometimes it’s hard to feel close to this omnipresent God, because we don’t really know what God the Spirit looks like.  Scripture doesn’t tell us much.  There are a few illustrations, like a dove, like flames, but that’s probably about as accurate as describing an indescribably beautiful sunset as pretty.  Not wrong, but woefully inadequate.  So what is God the Holy Spirit and how would we recognize it when we encounter it?

Craig Rennebohm, author of the book “Souls in the Hands of a Tender God" has a working theory that makes sense to me.  He is a pastor and chaplain to some of Seattle’s most vulnerable and mentally ill people living on the streets and he talks about the Holy Spirit in this way.  He says that we often think about the Holy Spirit in vertical terms, as if it is occupying the space between us and a God up there.  Instead, he says that the Holy Spirit is best described and seen in the space between people. It’s more of a horizontal plane, rather than a vertical plane.

I think the Holy Spirit is best seen between people.  But obviously not like flames or doves.  I think we can learn something about what the Holy Spirit looks like in action from the collect for today.

The collect asks God to “Pour into our hearts such love”.  Paired with the readings today, perhaps the love that is poured into us is the same as the Holy Spirit.  Or perhaps that love we experience and show to others IS HOW we experience the Holy Spirit.  Whether it is the spirit or the effects of the spirit, I think loving actions between us is our best glimpse of the Holy Spirit.

We’ve all experienced love from others.  We’ve all acted in loving ways to others –  big or small.  Maybe that is the Holy Spirit.

It’s the Holy Spirit in us that allows us, and sometimes propels us, to act in loving and self-giving ways when common sense would have us act in another way.  It’s the Holy Spirit that makes us give of our time, talent and treasure.  That love is poured into us.

Christ says he is leaving the gift of the Spirit for everyone.  In you.  In me.  In everyone we meet. One of the other great results of having an ever-present spirit of God is that it’s in us, and connects us.  One spirit.  One God.  Uniting all of us.  It’s when the Holy in me meets the Holy in you that I experience God.

This happens at every time when one person loves or cares for another.  At coffee hour when we watch out for and care for the younger members of the parish.  When you are moved to give money to help others.   When I share an unexplained unexpected tear with someone.

When Jeanette takes care of the young woman who was sold into prostitution by her dad.  When Bill brings breakfast to the paranoid schizophrenic who otherwise wouldn’t get a meal, or Shari and Karen make 600 cups of coffee.  When George returns to have coffee with some of the most broken, disturbed and disturbing people in this community.  When we help others, we are meeting their holy presence.  They are holy children of God, and the Spirit in us helps us see that.  Watching two people together engaged in any love or light is watching the Holy Spirit in action, in the space between the two of them.
Those are holy interactions, between holy people.  We are all holy, because we all have God the Holy Spirit living in us.   It’s the Holy Spirit in us that allows us to see Christ in others.

God the Holy Spirit is a great comforter.   And while sometimes that comfort comes from a peaceful internal sense of God.  More often for me, that comfort comes from others, from other holy people with God dwelling in them. It’s the love shared between people that comforts me.  People comforting people.  This is where we see God the Holy Spirit.

Christ was fully human.  He knows what it’s like to be abandoned, as he was abandoned at the Cross.  Today, he promises us that we will never ever be left alone.  That we have a present God.  And that Holy Spirit propels us to love others, is visible in our loving actions, and comforts us through the actions of others. It’s through the light and love between people that I believe we catch a glimpse of God, or of God’s kingdom come.

God, pour in us your love.  Send us another advocate to be with us forever.  Then, filled with that love, let seek and recognize the holy in each other.

Amen.

Good Friday April 18, 2014

Tonight, we continue the story of God in human form. To provide a little context, I’ll start part way through yesterday’s story.

Friends are sitting in a dimly lit room, settling in to share a meal.  It’s a small room, and the décor is simple.  It’s an intimate setting, with intimate friends.  The leader knows there will be an ultimate betrayal later.  He knows his time with his friends is limited, and that the circumstances will be hard.  Despite this, the leader of the group takes off his cloak and offers to wash the feet of his guests, of all of his guests, including the one he knows will betray him.   The feet were filthy, having done the job of carrying the sandaled friends through the dirty, dusty streets.  The job of washing the feet of guests was normally reserved for the lowest servant.  And here was the teacher washing and drying the feet of his friends.

The friends could not believe nor comprehend this action.   After it was all over, the teacher told them that they were to love each other and to serve each other, just in the unbelievable and incomprehensible way he just had.

The human love and concern shown and experienced by God-made-man up could make one weep.  It’s so intimate, personal, and loving.  This is what we heard and shared last night in the Gospel reading.

After the teacher washed their feet, the group in the small intimate setting continued with their evening, and the teacher shared bread and wine.  He tried to instill in them the importance of sharing this meal, that he teacher would be with them whenever they gather and share the meal.  The friends could not understand.   Through this point in this week’s story, God-made-man experienced beauty, intimacy, joy, love and empathy.  These are emotions we cherish, and being fully human in Jesus Christ, God could too.

After dinner, the teacher goes out to pray to be closer to God, the source of all life and love.  His close friends join him, and he asks them in his anguish to sit awake with him as he prays, to sit vigil with a friend in need.  His friends, with whom he’s just shared great intimacy in the meal and foot washing, cannot stay awake with him.  As a man facing horrors, he experiences the other emotions we humans share.  Loneliness, abandonment, disappointment.

One of the friends whose feet he’d just washed, had slipped away after the meal. He returns to the place where Jesus is praying with guards to arrest Jesus. Regardless of how much the teacher anticipated or knew what was going to happen, here, he experiences betrayal, and betrayal by a close friend.   Foreknowledge does cannot lessen the sting.

The religious leaders, his religion’s leaders – the leaders of the faith and a God he shares, are willing to tell the political leaders that they have no King but the political King, going against a basic tenant of their faith.   We have no king but Caesar.  They are willing to renounce their God.  Renounce God because this God-Made-Man is too disruptive to their human construct of religion. Hypocrisy.

Because of the betrayal of his friends and his faith leaders, he is taken to be tried.  The political leaders condemn him out of fear.  They fear what this man can do, who he is, and what that will do to their position, prestige and power.  The teacher sees fear, and resulting petty, punitive punishments.

He is beaten and mocked by guards.  Cruelty.  

His band of friends, with whom just the night before he shared the intimacy of the footwashing and meal, are nowhere to be found.  They have abandoned him.

One friend, one incredibly supportive friend even denies that he is a follower, denies that he is a friend of the man.   Denial.

He is nailed to a cross, a device designed to exact a tortured, public, humiliating death.  Pain. Humiliation.

As he is dying, he sees a few friends, and his mother.  He sees the sadness and despair in their eyes.

This God-made man, who showed immeasurable love and asked his friends to do the same, dies after seeing and experiencing the worst of humanity.

It is a horrible story, that year after year, we gather to hear.  We put ourselves through this emotional roller coaster of highs and lows, and it’s important that we do, and do it together.  Whatever emotion, happy or sad, betrayed or befriended, Jesus went through it all.  Through Christ, we have a God who understands.  

Through the beauty of this story, we are reminded that our God, through Christ loves and forgives everyone. Despite our best intentions, we all sin.  We all fail to love one another.  And as we will hear in the continuation of the story on Easter, God transforms that sin and evil into something renewed, restored and forgiven.

Through this hard part of the story, we hear the set up  that there is great transformation and forgiveness.  That we are transformed and forgiven.
So today, in the middle of this holy three day liturgy, we sit with the evil and the horror. With what it looks like and feels like when it happened to Christ.  When it happens to us.  When it happens by us.   And in the midst of it, we know    God is with us.

Amen.  

Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday

April 11, 2014

After that dramatic reading of a dramatic story, I've struggled with what I could possibly add.  I've settled for some context, warnings and invitations.

We started this morning with the palm processional.  Jesus is coming to Jerusalem, and the people are giddy with excitement, singing loud Hosannas and waving their palm fronds.  The town was packed because many people traveled to Jerusalem for Passover.  This was a parade with the people's Messiah riding into town, the man who was going to save them, the man who was going to end the Roman occupation and bring honor and peace back.  The town is a buzz with all of the people, the upcoming holiday, and their messiah.

Fast forward not that far, and things have changed very quickly. Within a week's time, Jesus is arrested, tried, tortured, and killed, as the crowds yell "crucify him". The air is heavy with disappointment, disbelief, shock and sadness, especially with the loud Hosannas still ringing.

How is it possible to have that drastic of a change of heart that quickly?

I think it has a lot to do with expectations.  You see the people had built Jesus up to be a knight in shining armor, who was going to kick the Roman occupying powers back to Rome.  The Jewish authorities initially built him up to be a traditional Jewish Rabbi who respected the teachings and temple institutions that had been established. By the time he comes to Jerusalem, the Jewish authorities had realized he was not who they'd expected him to be, and they'd turned on him.  And in the short time between his entrance in to Jerusalem, and his crucifixion, everyone else also had a sense of intense disappointment. Disappointment because Jesus was clearly not going to forcibly evict the Romans.  Jesus was not going to be the savior they'd built up in their heads.  If he couldn't be what they'd made him out to be, they dismissed him and turned their intense joy to frustration, and from there, quickly to anger.

We do this all the time. We build something up so differently from what it really is, and when it doesn't live up to our expectations, we dismiss it.   We do this with relationships. With people. With events.  Christmas can disappointing because it doesn’t resolve long-standing family conflict.  A marriage is strained because one partner doesn't live up to the unstated, unrealistic expectations of the other.  That sports star or political figure is now evil, because they couldn't live up to the image that they, the media or we created.     When our expectations are dashed, we are disappointed, and can get angry.  Even when our expectations were not remotely realistic.

Today is the first day of the most Holy Week of the Christian Year, ending with our Easter celebration.  I can tell you that I am looking forward to some Easter renewal.  I can also tell you that if I'm not careful, I'll pile so many expectations about the day and my God, that I too will be disappointed.  Easter doesn’t promise to solve all the problems you have.  Believing in and following Jesus won't protect you from pain and sorrow.   All you have to do is look at the events of this week to know that.   And if you go into the week expecting the wrong things, you may come out the other end disappointed and possibly disillusioned.

What can you expect during Holy Week and with Easter? You can expect to walk in community with God, fully human through a incredible week.  You will be able to watch God experience the worst humanity has to offer.  You'll share very intimate human experiences and imagine what that was like for God in Christ to experience those things – the last supper with friends, the foot washing.  You can expect God will be walking with us every step of the way.

And as we'll celebrate in the Eucharist shortly, you can expect that through Christ's resurrection, we will be renewed, restored and forgiven.  That is true.   Hold fast to what  resurrection really holds, and we won’t be disappointed.

The other caution I offer is that there is a lot that happens this week, and if you're not here, you'll miss it.  To go from Passion Sunday and jump to Easter Sunday leaves out all of context and emotion  and stories - the last supper, the foot washing, the crucifixion, the salvation stories told at the vigil.  Those stories and context are part of what makes Easter Sunday so wonderful.

So the invitation.   Take the Passion reading home.  Re-read it.  Think about what that must have been like for Jesus.  For his friends.  For the crowds.  And take the opportunity to join with this community as we walk, day by day to that glorious Easter morning.  Doing that, it will indeed be glorious and we will again be singing loud Hosannas.

The wind, Nicodemus and a snake on a stick - Lent 2A

Lent 2A - March 16, 2014

Today we hear about Nicodemus, wind, and a snake on a stick – a motley crew, and unlikely companions in one story.   They are somewhat tied together in my mind by one of those personality test characteristics that helps explain how people see, experience and understand the world around them.  It’s a continuum.  Some people understand the world around them best from what they see, hear, taste, touch – from what they sense.   At the other end, some people understand the world best from what they perceive or intuit, from their gut feeling.   One way isn’t better than the other, and people do tend to understand things more often one way or the other.

I best understand what I can see, touch and sense.   As such, I really understand Nicodemus, and think he does too, given today’s dialogue.   If I were in his shoes, I’d be saying the same thing.  

Nicodemus comes to Jesus at night. He acknowledges that Jesus is from God, because of the things Nicodemus can SEE of what Jesus does; those things must be from God.

Jesus answers in a cryptic way.  He says that no one can SEE the kingdom of God if they aren’t born from above.   The original word Jesus uses after the word born has two meanings, and had two meanings at the time he uttered the words.  The word he used could have meant “born again”, or it could mean “born from above”.  Nicodemus jumps to the tangible, sensing, seeing, touching meaning, and asks how it is possible to be born again.  Can someone really reenter the womb?   As someone who is thick when it comes to metaphors and poetry, I totally understand his question.   How is that possible?  But that’s not the meaning Jesus was going for.  He meant born from above or as he clarifies later, born of the spirit.

To try to explain, Jesus goes on to talk about the wind. He tells Nicodemus that you cannot see the wind, don’t know where it’s coming from, or where it’s going, but you can sense the impact -  you can hear the sound of it.

With this explanation, I can imagine Nicodemus understanding a little more, or at least understanding the wind analogy.   I needed that analogy, because I understand wind.   A few weeks ago, we had a wind storm. You could absolutely hear the wind through the trees, and after the storm blew over, you could see the fallen branches resulting from that invisible wind.  Talking about invisible wind, and the visible effects of the wind I can comprehend.

Like wind, the Holy Spirit is not visible. You can’t see where it’s coming from or where it’s going.  Being born from above, or being born of the spirit means that invisible unknowable force blows to their core.   You don’t know where it’s coming from, or where it’s going.  But with people born of the spirit, people who let that wind blow freely and respond willingly, you can hear the result of that force. You can see the wonderful impact of a life lived, guided by the spirit.   You can hear the leaves rustle like a gentle summer breeze, and you can see the impact that force has on their life and the lives of everyone around them.

If we let ourselves be blown, blown to the core, people can see that in us, can see its effect.  I think that’s what Jesus is trying to tell Nicodemus about what being born of the spirit looks like.

With the wind analogy, Christ is telling Nicodemus, and all of us, that there is more to the world than what we can see, and touch and taste and sense.  We have to acknowledge the unseeable, untouchable, unsensable presence in order to let it blow to our core.  If we acknowledge it, and let ourselves be guided by it, our resulting actions and love can be seen and sensed.  And we are born from above and can see the kingdom.

We get a little about the things we can see and the things we cannot in the psalm.  I lift my eyes to the hills, from where is my help to come.

Hills or mountains are one of those places where there is very little space between the visible concrete world, and the invisible spirit-filled world.  I look to the hills, and I see rock-solid granite.  Easy to sense and see.  But there’s something else present.  An immensity and grandness that is holy.  Even for the most solid of sensing types, there is something invisibly holy and present in the hills.  I look to the hills.  From where does my help come?

Back with Nicodemus, Jesus then continues with more stories about the seen and unseen.  He references Moses who lifted up the snake.

A little background is order.  Moses has led the people of Israel out into the wilderness, where they wander for 40 years.   They spend much of their time complaining about and to Moses. Why did you take us out, just to die in the wilderness?    But in this instance referenced today, the people of Israel complain about both Moses and God.  And for their complaints against God, God sends poisonous snakes, which bite and kill many of the Israelites.

Now the people run to Moses and repent, and want the snakes to go away.   Once again, Moses appeals to God on their behalf.  And God tells Moses to take a snake and put it up on a stick, and tell the people they need to look at the snake hoisted up on the stick.  Moses fashions one out of bronze and hoists it up.  When people are bitten, they look at the hoisted poisonous snake and are healed.

Why all the drama?  Why not just get rid of the snakes?  I think God is helping the people see and sense another unseeable force  - the forces of evil.   They couldn’t see evil.  They didn’t know where it was coming from or where it was going.  But they could see the impact of that force unleashed.   They were asked to look at the visible result of the invisible force that resulted in their blasphemous complaints against God.   Look at the visible result, the snake on a stick, of the invisible force, your doubt and mistrust in God.  Look and understand the impact.  And then be healed.

Jesus tells Nicodemus that just like Moses had to lift up the snake for people to see, the Son of Man must be lifted up.  

As for the Israelites, Evil is a force in our lives.  It separates us from God, and causes us to do things that are the opposite of love.   We cannot see evil.  We cannot see where it comes from or where it goes.  But we can see the result of its force unleashed.

On the cross.

Jesus was ridiculed, taunted, lied to and lied about, tortured and ultimately killed.  That is the visible result of evil.  And while you and I have not crucified anyone, we have ridiculed, taunted, lied.  We have acted in a way that separates us from God, and separates us from each other.  

And like the Israelites, we need to consider the visible effects of that invisible force.  To me, that’s what Lent is about.  Acknowledging the unseeable, and the path of destruction it leaves in our lives and those around us.  And seeing it.  Really seeing it.  Gazing on it.  Not because we are to wallow in our badness.  But because without seeing it, without acknowledging its impact on our lives, without gazing at Christ on the Cross, we cannot fully understand today’s Gospel reading, or Christ’s death, resurrection and ascension.

You see, despite the invisible force of evil, and the trail it leaves, our constant role in giving evil a home,  God so loved the world, that he gave his only son that we will not perish, that we might be saved.

Despite the evil that we do, that is done on our behalf, God gave his only son that we might be saved.


God knows that evil exists, that we behave in ways to separate us from God.  That evil results in lies, and corruption, and violence and oppression, and torture and death.  That evil results in the cross.


And yet, we use the cross, that sign of execution, as a sign of solidarity and hope and promise. Not wallowing in the badness.  But we know the rest of the story.  We know what happens after the crucifixion.  Yes, evil happens, but because God so loved the world, sin, evil and death are destroyed.  Not forever. But with God, we can be saved from all of that, time and time again.  Through Christ, we are transformed, renewed and forgiven.  The cross is a sign that those dark forces do not have the last word. God does.

Lent is a time for us to see the visible effect of sin and evil in our life and the lives of those around us. And to think about God sending us his son to save us from all of that.  The cross is the gruesome, glorious visible sign, like the rustling leaves, of the bad and good invisible forces that blow us.

As we will sing in a little while,

Lift high the cross, the love of Christ proclaim.
Till all the world adore his sacred name.

Amen.

The Game of Life? Epiphany 7 A

Very frequently, when we hear stories from the Jesus, he gets almost to the punch line or point of the story, but not quite.  He leaves us just short, forcing us to think harder, making us come to conclusions, wondering the whole time, whether we’ve landed in the right direction.  Just exactly what is Jesus asking of us with this saying or that story?  Today, there isn’t much room for individual interpretation, in either the Gospel or the Old Testament readings.   Today, we are provided the conclusion.   You would think that might make it easier.  The problem is that without all that time to ponder what it means or how it applies, to hear the set up of the story, the conclusion sounds abrupt and out of context at best, or senseless and irrelevant at worst.  
Here are a few examples.  
If you work hard and plant your field, don’t harvest the whole field.  Leave the edge of the field so the poor and alien can gather the fruits of your harvest.  

If someone does something wrong, or wrong to you, don’t take vengeance or bear a grudge.  

If someone sues you and takes your coat, give them your cloak as well.

While it’s unlikely any of us are field workers, or being sued for our coat, it’s not hard to translate each of these into something that’s far more relevant today.  And once we do that, these words seem to make even less sense.

If you’ve worked hard in business and made money, don’t take it all.  Leave some for those in poverty and undocumented workers, who are the aliens of today. 

If you are taken to court, either for your business or personal life, and you lose a contentious settlement and need to pay up, pay even more.  

If you or your home is robbed, don’t bear a grudge.  

If you see someone begging on the street in downtown, give to them. Always.  

The rules are clear.  But given our world, they make no sense.   We are in a time and place where giving to every beggar would be time consuming.  Where we work hard for the settlements and lawsuits in our favor, where we take issue with welfare and taxes continually taking our hard-earned money.  

There are a few things that we heard today that are more in line with the way we think, moreover, the way our culture seemingly promotes and expects us to behave.   An eye for an eye.  Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.   But unfortunately, these more familiar concepts are precisely what Christ is saying we should not do.  

Christ says that not only are we to love our neighbor, we’re also supposed to love our enemy.   And pray for those who persecute us. 

I’ve heard these words –  love your enemy and leave your field for the foreigner - and I know it to be the right thing to do, but it doesn’t make sense.  Why should I give up my hard earned money?  Why should I not reap what I sow?   Why should I give to beggars and pray for the people who really hurt me or those I love?   It doesn’t make sense in the world as I perceive and experience it.    

As I understand it, we live in a world at a time where we’re supposed to aim for more.  Make more.  Be more.  Spend more. More differentiates us from others. We compare ourselves to others and set our place in the social structure by those things we strive for more of – money, prestige, power.  That’s something we all do, throughout time and throughout the world. In America, we have the added layer of the American Dream, self made man, pull yourself up by your bootstraps.  All of this is counter to what we hear today.   

But how our culture lives is strikingly similar to the game of Life, that board game created by Milton Bradley in 1860.  The stated objective of the game of Life is to “have the highest dollar amount at the end of the game.”   Now, I know that Milton Bradley hasn’t really defined our lives, set the rules, or that we’re not really playing one giant parlor game.  I think no one here would believe that their life’s objective is to simply have the highest dollar amount at the end of your game.     

We know that we have to live this life, in order to enjoy what we make of it.  We get married.  We have children.  We spend money on trips and memories.  All of these things result in a net loss of the dollar amount we have at the end of our game.  We know life is more than just having the most.  

So I think we can all agree that we aren’t little pink and blue pegs in the game of Life.  We don’t move through the world simply by spinning the spinner and moving to the “go to college” square.  And we don’t win simply by having the most. 

And yet, it’s such a pervasive message in our world view that it’s the premise of our country’s first board game.   It may not be our goal in life, but it sometimes seems like it’s supposed to be.
   
So if that’s not the game we are playing, if that’s not the objective of the game, what is the end game a Christ-centered life, and how do we get there?  I think Christ is clear about the objective.   Love God and love each other.  But how do we get there? What are the rules?

What Christ is talking about is a fundamentally different game. We know the goal of this game is to love, but we forget, or we momentarily play to a different end.   And even if we could keep the objective always in mind, the rules for how to play are very foreign, and since cave man days, Christ’s ways are not the ways we are hard wired to respond, not only an approaching saber tooth tiger, or a schoolyard bully, but to all of the challenges life throws our way.  

We are hard wired for one of two responses.  Fight.    Or Flight. 
   
I think as rugged Americans we’re quick to pick fight, or said more politely, to rise to the challenge.   We know how to stand up for and get what we want.  If needed, we can back down or run away, but we see it as weakness.  In order to win at the perceived game we’re in, we are often in conflict, and we often chose to fight. 

I think that when we get confused about the objective of the game of a Christ centered life, to end the game with the most money, or power or prestige, we see life as conflict, weigh our options and chances of winning, and frequently pick fight.  

But if the objective of this game isn’t to win with the most,  but rather to love, could it be possible we’re using the wrong rules?  Maybe fight or flight is the wrong hard-wired choice. 

Because we forget what game we’re playing, the rules make no sense.   Conflict, evil and oppression arise because someone has lost sight of the vision of love.  When someone is working on that Milton Bradly objective, fight or flight makes much more sense.  I will get ahead, because I will tromp on you.  I am more powerful or will exert my control over you because I can. I think today’s readings give us a glimpse into a different set of rules for this game. 

Christ is trying to show us that we don’t need to pick fight or flight. Those are not the rules for his game, and although it may seem like those are the only options, he’s showing another way, a way of love, and of peaceful, yet persistent resistance.  And when we respond this other way, we totally change the nature of the game we’re playing, and begin to change the game around us as well.  

You see, when you encounter someone playing the game of Life with the worldly rules, change the game with a response that demonstrates you’re not playing that game.  At all.  That’s not your objective.  And those aren’t your rules.

What does this peaceful resistance look like?  This third way?  
One of the modern day practitioners of peaceful resistance was Gandhi.  In the movie classic Gandhi, there’s a scene where he’s walking down the street with an Anglican Priest.  A band of thugs approach them.   The Priest suggests they move to the other side of the street.  (This is the “flee” option. )  Gandhi refuses, quoting today’s Gospel reading, “Doesn’t the New Testament say that if someone strikes you on the cheek you offer them the other cheek?” 

The Priest tries to explain it away as a metaphor, but Gandhi disagrees.  He says that he thought Christ was calling for courage.  Courage to stand your ground and not flee.  Courage to take the blow.    Also show courage to not fight back.  He explains to the priest that if you don’t flee, and you don’t fight, it calls upon something in the other person.  It makes them realize, perhaps slowly, that you are not playing by the same rules or for the same end game, and something changes in them.   The hatred decreases, respect increases.  With that simple act of resistance, you have changed the game.  

Each one of the examples offered in the Gospel today is a powerful demonstration of courage.  If you respond in that third way, it’s also gives you control over the situation.  You are defining the objective of the game.  Love. Respond with a way that refuses to give in.  And refuses to fight.   And loves.  

If someone sues you, graciously give them more.  Show love. It’s disarming.   

The story about being asked to go one mile?  That was something soldiers did, as a demeaning request coming from their worldly power.  I’m a soldier, I can ask you to carry my stuff for one mile.  To fight would be to argue, and that wouldn’t go well.  To flee or concede would be to simply do as you’re told.  What Christ provides is a third option.  Go two miles.  I’ll carry your stuff, not because you have power over me, not because I’m powerless.  I’ll carry your stuff for two miles, because I love.  That response wholly disarms the soldier.  He din’t need you to carry his stuff.  He wanted you to play by his rules.  You instead change the game, carry it for two, and leave the soldier wondering what happened to the power-feeding interaction he set up.   It vaporized, with your simple response.  

In modern day, I have little power battles in my day job, with people wanting to exert power over me because they can, or at home with kids, because I can.  Sometimes, I argue or resist. And that rarely goes well.  Sometimes I just do as I’m told.  And that also doesn’t feel good, because it feels like I’m feeding a warped power appetite.  If however, I can take a minute, and refocus on Christ’s goal for me I can change the dynamic entirely.   I can respond in a way that truly helps the other person, helps them succeed.  What started as a snarky power-laden request from someone else, or from me,  ends with surprised, gracious and genuine appreciation.  And it changes the relationship a little for ever.  

We constantly get caught up in playing the other Game of Life.  And we forget what the purpose of our life really is.  We forget how to play.   So does everyone around us.  By modeling peaceful resistance, by refusing to fight violence with violence, or by refusing to succumb to worldly corrupt power, we live in a way that is Christ centered.  And for those people around us who don’t know the Good News of Christ’s rules and goals, our actions give them a glimpse of another, more loving way to be.

Amen.   

I will with God's Help

Baptism of Christ, Daniel Bonnell

Epiphany 1A 
January 12, 2014

In case you missed it, today our focus is on baptism.   It’s addressed throughout the readings, and we ourselves will renew our baptismal covenant shortly.   The Baptism of the Lord which we celebrate today is one of the three “epiphanies” or revealings we celebrate during the season of Epiphany.  Like the arrival of the Magi and Christ’s first public miracle at the wedding in Cana, the Baptism of our Lord reveals something to us about Christ, about our relationship with God, and our response to that relationship.

We should know that the story of the Baptism of the Lord is important.  It’s one of the few stories that is contained in all four Gospels, which few stories are.  When a story is repeated by each of the Gospel writers, they all concurred that it was important.  Their telling of the story may be different, but we should take note.

Today we hear Matthew’s account of Christ’s baptism.  In this brief reading, Matthew includes all three persons of the Trinity.  Jesus, God the son is coming up out of the water.  He sees God the Spirit descending.   And he hears a voice from heaven, God the Father, saying this is my Son, the beloved. Three different persons.  One God. All present at this baptism.  Not unlike ours. 

Later we’ll reaffirm our baptismal covenant, which has two parts.  In the first, we are asked some questions about what we believe.  Do you believe in God the Father?  Do you believe in Jesus Christ the Son of God?  Do you believe in God the Holy Spirit?    Three different persons.  One God.  All present at our baptism.  Not unlike Christ. 

Our responses to those questions of faith contain the words we repeat every week in the Creed.  

I believe in God the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth.

I believe in Jesus Christ his only son.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the communion of saints.

Because we say these words every week, it could seem like just a repackaging of our weekly liturgy.  Routine.  Something that causes us to glaze over and stop thinking about what we’re doing and saying, both every Sunday, and today when we reaffirm our baptismal covenant.

But what if we could think about it the other way around? Not about the routineness of saying the words every week making today’s reaffirmation routine, but rather the words today making every week special? Our baptismal covenant is really unique and special and weighty and important.  What we’re asked and how we respond are the foundation of our covenant with God.   Baptism is where a bond is created between us and God, a bond that is indissoluble. When you say the Creed every week, realize that those words repeat the responses which establish that covenant. 

When you say those words today and every time you reaffirm your vows, think about that indissoluble bond made with God at baptism. 

When you say those words next week and the week after in the Creed, think about that same indissoluble bond made with God at baptism. 

Matthew’s account of the Lord’s baptism includes a dialogue between Jesus and John.  Jesus comes to be baptized by John.  John protests, and Jesus responds that his baptism done in this way is necessary.  It’s necessary because it will fulfill all righteousness. Fulfilling all righteousness is an odd term, one we wouldn’t use in every day conversation.  Righteousness means more than just saying the right things or believing the right things.  Righteousness actually means acting in accord with divine law.  To fulfill all righteousness means to carry out acting in accord with law.   Carry out.  Acting in. The Baptism of our Lord is all about a response and action.   Just like ours.     

Our baptismal covenant goes beyond accepting a set of statements, or believing the right things, or even accepting Jesus Christ as our personal lord and savior.  Sure, that’s the foundation, but we don’t stop there. 

The part of our baptismal covenant which follows the creedal statements is nothing less than a full menu of ways we are each asked to act or respond.  To teach, be in fellowship, to break bread and to pray.  To repent. To tell the story.  To act and behave in a way that shows the Good News of Christ.  To seek and serve Christ in all people.  To work for justice and peace.  To respect the dignity of all human beings. 

Not only are you asked to commit what you believe, you are asked to act.  You are asked to act.  And you respond that, with God’s help, you will. 

At different times in our lives, God calls us in different ways, seeking  different responses.   At one time in life, teaching may be how you are called to respond.  You teach your own kids, you serve as a leader or trainer.  Maybe you’re called to serve Christ in the children in your life, with the sack lunches and skinned knees.  Starting with Baptism, God is always calling.  We are always asked to respond. 

We are not asked to do everything.  But we are all asked to do something. 

After the Lord’s baptism, you know what Jesus does?  The Spirit leads him out into the wilderness for 40 days.  Jesus, fully human, left his baptism to spend time trying to wrap his head around this relationship with God, what being marked as God’s own means, and how he was to respond. 

Maybe you can’t leave for 40 days to contemplate God’s call.  But at least pause when you respond, or go back and prayerfully consider this immense covenant and how God is calling you to respond in the coming week.  How is God calling you in your Baptism? 

I hear God calling me to respond to seek justice and serve Christ in all people. 

Fifty years ago this week, Lynden B. Johnson declared his war on poverty in his inauguration speech.  At that time, the poverty rate was 19% nationally.  And today, it’s 14% nationally.  While that’s improvement, it can hardly be considered winning the war on poverty.  Unfortunately, things are dire in our community.  In 1969, Lane County had a poverty rate of 11%, which translated to about 23,000 people living in poverty. 

In 2012 the number of people living in poverty has more than tripled, to 76,000, and our poverty rate has increased to 22%, well above the national rate 14%. 

And that poverty level?  The poverty level is about $24,000 per year. 

For a family of 4.

True, there are programs to help families in poverty.  The Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, or SNAP is a program that provides food, formerly known as food stamps.  A whopping 40% of people in Lane County are eligible for Food Stamps because of their low income. That would be good news, except what is offered as assistance is very low.  If you are eligible for SNAP, the per person weekly allotment for food is about $27.

It’s hard to even imagine how difficult that must be, to buy and prepare food a family would eat for $27 per person per week.  To help better internalize that, an interfaith group from around Eugene and Springfield are participating in something called the Food Stamp Challenge. 

Beginning today, anyone who wants to participate is invited to eat for the week on $27 per person.   For a family of four, you’d have a budget of $108. 

Even thinking about eating on a budget of $27 seems daunting.  Grocery shopping, preparing food that kids would eat, and eliminating the impulse food purchases that would blow that meager budget would be also a challenge.  Participating in something like this will provide me real experiences and emotions resulting from poverty, and influence many decisions for the week. It would affect how much time I take for food preparation, food choice, the ability to eat out socially with friends, compromises to buy cheaper processed food, and shop at cheaper less beautified stores.

 

I’m participating in the SNAP challenge because that is where God is calling me, and where I feel I need to respond.

As our Baptismal Covenant asks, “Will you seek and serve Christ in all people?”   My response?   I will, with God’s help.   

If, when you respond to this amazing indissoluble relationship, you feel called to respond in a similar way, join me.

If you are called in another way, maybe to proclaim the Gospel in word and action, respond in another way. 

If you don’t know how you are to respond, spend some time discerning how you are called to respond.   

As we renew the covenant we made with God, as we consider God’s indissoluble bond and our response, I pray we all hear God’s call and respond.  While I will not be able hear, understand or respond to God’s call on my own, as we will say shortly, I will, with God’s help.

Amen.