Bearing Fruit. (Easter 5B)

Good morning. I’m Carter Hawley, archdeacon for the Diocese of Oregon. As archdeacon, I support the rest of the deacons in the Diocese, including Deacon Stephen. And by way of a quick explanation of what a deacon is or does, I’ll share a quote that started me down the path of being chased by God, as a deacon. It was actually originally said about the journalism trade, but it is fitting for a deacon – My priest said that if deacons had a tagline or a motto, it would be this: Deacons comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. 

Said another way, deacons bring the church out into the world for service and love to our brothers and sisters in need – comfort the afflicted. And we bring the needs of the people and the world into the church, assuring that the church knows of the needs, concerns and hopes of the world – afflicting the comfortable. Now, to be clear we are all called to comfort and serve others in our baptismal covenant – seek and serve Christ in all people. Deacons are called to support and lead the church in that service, to mobilize and motivate others in that service, or in Greek –  in that diakonia. This is the source of the term deacon. Get it?

This is who I am to my core, both the comforting, and the afflicting, motivating and mobilizing. And add to this my paying job history as an administrator and manager, and voila, I’m both well trained and passionately committed comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable, and with helping other deacons do that too. 

Today’s readings are all spectacular. And while I know I’m biased, I think they all exemplify and highlight the ministry of a deacon.

Our first reading comes from Acts, stories of the earliest church. We hear about Philip sharing the Word with the Ethiopian eunuch. We aren’t told a lot about the Ethiopian, but we can infer some things from his description. First, we know he was from Ethiopia. He was of a different ethnic and racial background than the people of Israel. This made him an outsider. The eunuch was likely wealthy, wealthy enough to be in a chariot. Finally, he was a eunuch, a castrated male. According to purity law, this made him unclean. He was an outsider, both because of the religious laws, and because of the differences in his sexual identity as a eunuch. Finally, this wealthy outsider was also humble. He’s reading from the prophet Isaiah, and acknowledges to Phillip that he does not understand what he’s reading and could use some help. Unlike the Ethiopian eunuch, Phillip was not likely wealthy. Far from it. So this wealthy outsider asks for help from Phillip, the scruffy religious zealot.

This reading is often pointed to as an example of inclusive sharing. On Phillip’s part, race, ethnicity, sexual norms, - none of that mattered. At the spirit’s prompting, he chased after this person, who so perfectly was an “outsider” to engage in hard conversations. Can. You imagine talking to someone in your world about scripture, let alone someone so very different? 

Phillip was not alone as an example of inclusive boundary busting. On the part of the eunuch, wealth and status, that did not matter. Despite the differences, race, ethnicity, sexual norms, wealth, status, insider, outsider – these two engaged in a deep and meaningful conversation about scripture. 

And ironically, it’s this outsider who is the first to hear the Gospel of Jesus Christ and understand that if it’s true at all, it must be true for him. What’s to stop you from baptizing me, he asked. Sometimes this passage is referred to as the conversion of the Ethiopian eunuch. It may have very well been an even greater conversion for Phillip, who at the prompting of the spirit, encountered the ultimate outsider, and this outsider knew that if this good news was true, it was good news for him. They both afflicted each other’s comfort levels, with what was normal and expected. The Good News transcends all of that status quo. No one is excluded. 

Moving on to the Epistle from the First Letter of John. The community which received this letter had grown complacent in their care for the other. It was a community under attack, so they had grown  pretty insular, and kept to themselves. They were hunkered down in a mode of self-preservation. But this letter from John dispels the idea that you could love within your community or love God, but disregard others. “Those who say ‘I love God’ and hate their brothers or sisters are liars”. And “Those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also”. To be clear, this is not a relative, or conditional commandment. Love is love is love. Love of all. We love, because God loves us. That was certainly uncomfortable to hear then. It is a little uncomfortable to hear now. Afflict the comfortable. But when we get it right? When we are able to love all?  That’s some fine comforting, there.

So that takes us to Jesus’ story about the vine-grower. To put this in context, he’s sharing this after the events we celebrate on Maundy Thursday – the last supper, the foot washing. This is an intimate farewell to his followers, and Jesus is trying to explain to the disciples who he is, and who they are to each other. He explains that he is the vine, and God is the vine-grower. And the disciples – we – are the branches. I think this is both an individual you, and a collective you - you personally, and you the church. His example offers several distinctions of different kinds of branches, each of which deserves a little closer look. 

There are the branches that are not connected to the vine. A branch that is not connected to the vine withers. This reminds me of forcing flowers in the spring. You can cut budded stalks of flowering trees, put them in water and they will blossom. And eventually, they will wither and need to be thrown away, cut off from their life source. But they will bloom. 

Then there are the branches that are connected to the vine but do not bear fruit. These branches are cut off by the vine keeper. 

And finally, there are the branches that are connected and bear good fruit. These branches are pruned so they produce more. 

To be clear, I do not think this is fundamentally a story about judgment and being thrown into the fire if we aren’t doing enough, or if we haven’t professed Jesus Christ as our personal Lord and Savior. In some Christian circles, this passage is used to support a hellfire and damnation God. That is not what I think Jesus is talking about. It’s so inconsistent with his other loving teachings. Rather, I think this is a story about God’s unending and irrational loving care of us, and what happens to us, based on our choices about connectedness and bearing fruit, individually and collectively. 

As a church, as a gathered people of God, I believe there are groups that have gotten away from Jesus Christ’s redemptive love and grace, from loving God and your neighbor. These are the branches that are cut off from the vine. They focus on judgment and hate. Or maybe they’re just apathetic or blind to the needs of the world. They can do some good things – like the forced spring branches. But without being connected to the vine, without being nourished and restored by Jesus Christ, they will wither. 

There are Christian communities that are connected to the vine, to Jesus, but don’t produce fruit. I imagine this as a group that focuses solely on themselves, with no ministry beyond the walls. All worship, no love beyond here and now. Deeply faithful groups that fail to love and serve their neighbors can be connected to the vine, to Jesus Christ, but back to the Epistle, “Those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also”. 

That leaves us with the final kind of branch, and this is sometimes the hardest to hear and understand - the branches that are connected and do bear fruit. In the story, those branches are pruned by God, the vine keeper. What??  Pruned for good efforts, for producing fruit?  Some hear this as punitive, or not-good-enough. But that’s not at all what pruning is about. Anyone who’s ever had a garden knows that pruning is critical, getting rid of some of the great blooms or fruit, to encourage more, bigger, better. You don’t prune punitively. It’s never done with the intent to harm or punish. Quite the contrary. It’s intended to help the plant do what it’s supposed to do – flower, fruit, thrive. 

We as church communities must always be willing to look at what we are doing and who we’ve become and be willing to lovingly, and with great concern for what’s ultimately best for the whole vine, prune those things that have grown old and no longer work, or those branches that are holding back our future potential. This isn’t easy, but like pruning, when it’s done with loving care, it is beneficial and reaps much. 

In my home parish in the Seattle area, we owned a building in a neighboring downtown city that was used as a thrift store, and the proceeds were used for small grants to neighbors in need. This ministry was started when there were a lot of stay-at-home moms, and not so many large thrift stores. By the time I was a young mom, the ministry was struggling to get donations, shoppers, and volunteers to sort the stuff and staff the store. After much prayer, the building was sold. Sure, everyone grieved the end of that wonderful ministry. But the proceeds of the sale were used to reincarnate a new outreach ministry that better met the needs of now. Pruning. 

In this story, the various parts are called out. God’s the vine keeper. Jesus, the vine. We’re branches. So what exactly is the fruit that we’re supposed to be producing, connected to Jesus and pruned by God? Maybe there isn’t just one answer, but if there were just one, I think the Epistle reading spells it out – Love. We are commanded to love God and love our neighbor. To be clear, this is not a sentimental feeling. This is a hard thing to do, it’s an active verb. To love is to feel with, to care for, to support, to work on behalf of. As it relates to our neighbors, it is diakonia.

So if the fruit is love, what does this Gospel say to us individually? What does connected, not connected, and bearing fruit look like for you and me?  

The branches that are not connected? They can flower, but eventually wither. I think this is like well-intentioned social service providers. They can produce fruit. They can love and serve their neighbor. But eventually they get burned out without being connected to the life-giving vine.

Branches that are connected but not producing and are cut off?  Regardless of our connection to Jesus Christ, are we loving our God, and loving our neighbor? Not just concerned for, but actually doing something? Are we seeking and serving Christ in all people?  This is one way deacons are called to serve in the church. We help people who are already connected to the vine bear that fruit of diakonia.

Finally, branches that are producing and pruned? This is where we each need to take an honest inventory of our fruits, of our efforts, and prayerfully, lovingly, allow God to pick up God’s pruning shears. God prunes things out of our lives that we may really, really want and like. But if that’s the case, God’s pruning to get us to thrive, blossom, fruit. What is the fruit I’m producing?  After prayer, and reflection, what needs to be lovingly pruned so I thrive in Christ. 

All of us are called and commanded in our baptism, in the covenant we make with God and to each other, to seek and serve Christ in others. As a deacon, I fundamentally believe this is one of the greatest fruits we can bear. If you want to know more about deacons or how you can bear more fruit in the loving service of others, feel free to contact Dcn. Stephen or me. And in the meantime, now is the time for us to reaffirm our strong connectedness with the vine, with Jesus Christ, through the Eucharist. So let’s go get connected, and then head out and bear fruit!

Amen.

What a year that was. What a year this will be.

Wow. What a year I’ve had. 

Yesterday, in a moment of peace, my husband said we’d had a year that could make it into a Christmas letter. A very full Christmas letter. The problem is, the stuff that’s happened, you’d never ever see in a Christmas letter. 

My daughter was in a car accident where she totaled our car, lost her license, and had significant cost and challenges to get out of that hole. No one was hurt. 

I acquired a permanent stalking order against my perennial stalker after months of court dates and it taking way too much of my attention.

The health of my in-laws deteriorated so they needed to move into assisted living. This was after we’d moved them out from Iowa from assisted living, so they could be together, and with us. 

I welcomed my in-laws back for one stay at home, where my father-in-law took advantage of Oregon’s Death with Dignity law, truncating his suffering, and allowing for a more orderly, loving transition for his wife with dementia, surrounded by family. 

My day job continued to be a challenge, with retirements, resignations, and reassignments that further destabilized my already tenuous and vague job. 

Throughout all of this, there were still many many things that brought deep joy, including a loving husband of 27 years, with whom I felt I could weather anything; a deepening faith that through this, God was clearly present; a wonderful church community to work and occasionally worship; and good colleagues and friends. 

I embarked on a daily gratitude campaign, snapping shots of simple things that brought me joy every day. Not because life was without drama. Not because I wanted people to think everything was all roses. But because despite the storm, there’s beauty, and plenty of places to experience gratitude. We just need to stop and see it. 

Today, mid-April, I feel like I’m through one challenge, and staring down another. This time, I’m inviting the storm, and it’s full of promise and excitement.

It all began when I felt the urge to do something different with my paying job. I began to apply for jobs all over the Northwest. Unfortunately, my days as assistant city manager or associate vice president were getting farther away in the rearview mirror, and although I knew I could do the jobs, nothing panned out. Repeatedly, I’d get an interview, only to receive the “Thanks-you’re-the-next-runner-up” letter. Nobody likes me. Everybody hates me. Guess I’ll go eat worms.  I was the one and only guest at the greatest pity party I’d ever hosted. 

John was a few years away from being fully vested in the Oregon Public Employees Pension, so we were trying to make a go of sticking around. We’d decided to change up our life in Eugene, sell the house and move into a downtown apartment. We found one we really liked and put a deposit down on it. 

Right about that time, I’d pouted to a colleague in Portland, who said he’d hire me, but I was in Eugene, not Portland. Hmm. . It’s an organization I care deeply about, and people I respect and would like to work with. Hmm. .  

John and I had already gotten our heads into the space of selling our house and moving into an apartment. Why did it matter where the apartment was?  

Um. If you’re serious about hiring me, let’s talk. I’m serious.  So we began conversations about the possible job. As we were exploring options, he said, “If it is of God, it will work out”. With that, I was all in. 

John and I started in earnest to find an area in Portland to move and got our house on the market. 

With our house officially on the market 5 days, we’ve had three offers. The first was over the asking price and came in 2 days. Alas, the buyers walked away. The second offer came one day later and was a full cash offer. Alas, those buyers walked away too. The third offer came another day later. We’re in negotiations for that offer. I have cautious optimism that this will go through, but then again, I did for the previous two offers as well. I cannot approach it any other way. 

The challenge with our home is that it’s a quirky mix of expense and expanse, with constraint and repairs. It would not be considered a starter home because of the price. It’s on 2 acres, with 2 creeks and a pond and a spectacular garden. We’ve invested a lot in the inside and outside of the house and cottage and built a spectacular garden. We salvaged and brought back to life a beautiful northwest mid-century modern home. But it still has 20+ foggy windows, needs some stucco work, and the greatest constraint is that the main house has only one bedroom. I suspect buyers in this hot market are quick to make an offer on the house they imagine, and then slowly realize what it would take to achieve that vision. 

We’ll know within a week or so if this offer will stick. If not, the house will go back on the market. 

Meanwhile, we’ve secured a great apartment in downtown Portland, between Portland State and the Willamette River. It’s a one-bedroom unit on the 21st floor, with a west-facing balcony. The location is perfect, with easy access downtown, a quick walk to the grocery store, bike access everywhere and when needed, transit routes right outside the front door. 

We are actually moving to Portland this week, into our new, small apartment, and I couldn’t be more excited. 

Yesterday was my first day without a full-time job to go to in decades. My new job will not begin until July, which will allow me to get settled and established in a new city and new world. We’re still working out job details, so I don’t have much else to say about the job, but it will be absolutely spectacular, because I am certain it is of God. 

This week we’re getting a little reflective about our time in Eugene, going through all of the Remember When… conversations. And the I love . . . conversations. There’s no remorse. And it’s not sentimental nostalgia. But we are trying to acknowledge that a lot happened to us and our family during our time in Eugene. We’re trying to memorialize the places that trigger those memories, so we can take them with us. 

Rest assured. I’m still grateful. Daily.  When we’re settled in our new world, I’ll be back to sharing those moments of gratitude. And sharing how this new world unfolds. 

Love. Maundy Thursday 2018

Maundy Thursday 2018

Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.  Tonight I want to focus on the all encompassing, over the top love of Jesus. Undeserved, extravagant, unconditional and unending love of Christ. 

And this love? It wasn’t the sentimental emotion we experience in early relationships, not romantic love, burning hot and fast. It’s more like a willingness to act, to serve or help the other. And with tonight’s reading, Jesus tells the disciples what they’re expected to do in loving service, shows them what they’re to do, and gives them the new commandment that undergirds his entire ministry.  

He loves them to the end. He loved them fully, perfectly.  He knows what’s going to happen, and how before too long, he’ll be denied, betrayed and abandoned – by his friends. And yet in the face of this, he loved them to the end.  

Jesus has been healing and preaching and teaching, and his disciples have followed. But tonight, Jesus once again tries to teach, this time by showing the disciples what he’s been talking about. During the meal, he tied a towel around himself and began to wash the disciples’ feet. 

Not only was this action of Jesus a visible in-person example of what the action of love looks like, it required immense humility. In Luke’s Gospel, during this last supper, the disciples are still arguing about who’s the greatest, who gets the best seat, who’s most special.  All along, Jesus has been telling them that the first will be last, that service and love of the other are important. And yet, on this night, they’re still quibbling.  None of the disciples would have dared stooped to perform this task, reserved for the lowest of lowly servants. That would have risked their perceived importance. Instead, Jesus their lord and teacher washed their feet, because still the disciples didn’t understand.  

To truly love and serve the other requires humility.  Not humility as in feeling embarrassed, but as not having any ego or agendas in the game. Jesus knew he had nothing to prove, and nothing to lose. And when it came to loving and serving others, that is what we wanted the disciples to know. They had nothing to prove, and nothing to lose.  If I your lord and teacher wash your feet, so you should wash each others. He told them, and he showed them.  Serve and love each other.  

And remember that this washing happened during the meal.  He washed all the disciples’ feet. Including all of those who abandoned him. Peter who denied him.  Judas who betrayed him.  He loved them until the end.  He loved Judas to the end. 

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

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

After loving them - and in great humility - serving them, he concluded with crystal clear direction.  I give you a new commandment. That you love one another, as I have loved you.

It’s hard for us to do – loving others with that kind of intimacy and humility. It’s much easier for us to distance ourselves from others, or to decide some don’t deserve our love, our service.  The addicted or undocumented. The prisoner or the mentally ill. The democrats, the republicans. We are so quick to excuse our inaction and our lack of love and concern, because of what we perceive as the actions or intentions of others.  As if their presence – their being – is somehow not worthy of our love and respect because of their life circumstances or choices.

But Jesus loved them all, including Judas and Peter, until the end.  He commanded them to love each other. No conditions. No exceptions. No limitations. No pride.  No judgment.   

Just as I have washed your feet, so you should wash each other’s feet.  

We are commanded to love each other. And it is hard.  Often it’s harder than fighting, or being proud, or ignoring.  

20th Century Priest & Theologian John McKenzie wrote:

Not by annihilating the wicked, not by forcibly eliminating evil from among humankind is righteousness to be realized;

the Lord wills to rehabilitate the world by turning sinners from evil ways that they may live.

And we must admit that this is more difficult than the use of force.

Jesus Christ, on the night he was handed over, commanded us to love.  The beauty of this night, and this weekend, is that we are invited to spend time in deep prayer with the God who loves us that much and who will strengthen us to love like that. And we are invited to get close to Christ who showed us how.  

How to share and show that Undeserved, extravagant, unconditional and unending love. The perfect love of Christ. 

Amen.