Oct 23 2019 Matthew 10:16-22

[D]o not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you at that time; for it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.

If only I could remember this, every day, every minute, before I open my mouth. I’ve experienced this occasionally. And mostly when I’m very intentional about listening to God. Sometimes, when I pause before speaking, something comes out of my mouth that isn’t what I thought I was going to say. Sometimes I just come up with a witty response that is snappy, but not of God. But sometimes, something more loving and grace-filled leaves my mouth and I marvel every time.

I’ve experienced this also with writing. When working on a sermon, I work and stew, and nearly every time, there comes a point where ideas and words flow. I fine tune, but even with that, there comes a point where I know it’s right. It’s the right idea and right words. I’m not suggesting I hear a still small voice, or that Jesus gives me the ‘thumbs up’. But there is a peaceful sense of right-ness. In all honestly, there have been a few times I don’t get to that place with a sermon; it never quite feels right. But Sunday comes anyway. But those are very very infrequent.

I also experience this sense of the Holy Spirit offering the words when I write in the morning. I start simply with a phrase that strikes me, from the morning prayer readings. I put it at the top of the page, and start writing. I’ve no idea where it’s heading when I start typing, but words flow. It’s actually a joy to see what happens and where it turns out. More poignant for me is the acknowledgment that my witty, logical, introverted self does not have to 1) shy away from writing or speaking things that I don’t think I’m good at 2) be in charge 3) make sense of everything.

To be clear, I’m not suggesting that everything I say or write is divinely inspired; far from it. Nor do I think that every time I’m in a pickle, the Holy Spirit will always give me the right words. But I do believe that if I’m in a pickle, I’m always better off giving Her the space to make an appearance. 

This morning, I’m thinking about how grateful I am to have the opportunities to speak and write things when I don’t know what I’m doing, and how wonderful it is when the Holy Spirit does show up. For the next few very busy days, I want to remember that I don’t need to worry about what to say or write; I need to make space for the Holy Spirit to make Her appearance. Come, Holy Spirit, come.

Jul 31 2019 Acts 16:16-24

When they had brought them before the magistrates, they said, 'These men are disturbing our city; they are Jews and are advocating customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to adopt or observe.'


Paul and Silas have gotten in trouble with the authorities. There was a slave girl who had the gift of divination, apparently from a less-than-holy spirit. Townspeople were using her to make money – her and her less-than-holy spirit. She’d become a slave to the spirit in her, and the townspeople who used her. The spirit in her recognized that Paul and Silas were slaves of God, and she followed them around, proclaiming as much. Paul ordered that less-than-holy spirit out of her, and it obeyed, leaving the girl no longer a money making, fortune telling freak.


The townspeople were upset because Paul and Silas were Jews, following customs not normal or acceptable the Romans. Those in authority and the crowds governed by the authorities attacked Paul and Silas. They were flogged and jailed.

But really, the writer tells us, the people were mad that Paul and Silas had taken away their income stream from the fortune-telling slave girl. And for this, this selfish reason, the crowds and magistrates turned on Paul and Silas and beat them with rods.


This looks to me like the mob mentality we see in modern society. If one idiot gets an idea and can stir up the passions of others, even others who aren’t as idiotic, all of a sudden we have trouble. The trouble can take the form of physical riots, or a voting populace that’s been swept up by one idiot.

Calling one person an idiot is harsher than I intend, but isn’t that what we do? We look to the one who starts something, who’s the instigator? In fact, in this story, regardless of the motives of those who originally were upset with Paul and Silas, it’s the magistrates and more correctly, the stirred up masses who are culpable.

I see this with our society’s willingness to place blame, quickly and inaccurately. Yes, there are rabble-rousers. But left to their own devices, without the mob-mentality townspeople, or electorate, the lone voice idiots would not be much of a threat.

This also goes for the magistrates. In this story, they’re quick to be blamed, when in fact I suspect they were adjudicating the will of the townspeople. In modern days, there are people that we, the townspeople, have put in positions of authority and power. Elected leaders, enforcement officials. In a democratic society, these leaders are doing our will.

The police, for example, don’t enforce laws not enacted by leaders, elected by the townspeople. I recall numerous times when I worked for the police, where they’d be charged uncompassionate enforcement – clearing homeless camps, arresting the mentally ill, preventing people from sleeping in parks. But the police cannot enforce laws not enacted as a result of actions by the townspeople. The townspeople say they want clean parks. Through the open and democratic process, the magistrates write laws that prohibit overnight camping, allegedly to keep parks clean. But what the electorate, or townspeople really want is to remove the ugly and visible signs of poverty and illness from their pristine parks. But that goes unsaid.

The elected officials propose laws to keep parks clean, and police are stuck enforcing laws to overtly keep parks clean, but covertly to rid the townspeople of the ugly homeless. And the police get blamed.

In the story of Paul and Silas, it’s the townspeople who are to blame. Not the few opposed to their healing the girl. Not the magistrates. It’s the rabble, who’s roused. 

This morning, I’m thinking about when and how I become like the townspeople, and get swept along to believe or say or do things not of God. I want to see it, and I want to remember that it’s not the jailer or the enforcer, it’s not the magistrate or law-maker, or the rabble-rousers or instigators, it’s the crowd. It’s me, as long as I go along in the crowd, that’s ultimately responsible. And stop blaming everyone else.

Jan 24 2019 Mark 4:21-34

The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.

This reading goes on to talk about the mighty mustard seed, the one of the smallest seeds that grows into the greatest shrubs. And this morning, I’m more interested in this introduction, often glossed over for the more exciting bits.

When my son was taking a math test in high school, he was required to show his work as part of the successful answer was not just the answer itself, but the problem set up, and demonstration of the work. He’d always had a really good understanding of math, eventually getting a theoretical math degree from college. But showing his work? He wasn’t so sure about that. So on the answer sheet, he wrote out problem and wrote out the answer. In between he drew a dark shaded box, in which he wrote “Magic happens here”.

There’s wisdom in that phrase, “magic happens here”. Well, maybe not magic.

Making Mark’s story all about us, we scatter seed, leave it, it sprouts, and return and don’t know how. Lots to unpack there. First, we are required to scatter the seed. It doesn’t say that God scatters the seed, or someone else scatters the seed. We scatter the seed. Our active contribution is required in this kingdom of God.

We sleep and rise, night and day. We are not called to watch the seed night and day. We leave it. Oh, how I wish I were better at leaving the seeds I’ve sowed, and not watched or worried about them night and day!

The seed sprouts and grows. Amazing! Without our constant observation and worry, the seed sprouts. In fact, something happens out of our careful observation and worry. Magic happens here.

Finally, we return and don’t know how it sprouted. We are called to return to the fruits of what we’ve sown, acknowledging the mystery of what happened despite our absence.

What I hear from this is that there is we are instrumental in planting the seeds of the kingdom of God. We are not needed 100% of the time, nor are we called to fret and worry when we’ve done our part. But we are called to return, and reap the resulting harvest.

Sometimes the harvest isn’t what we’d planned, maybe smaller or weaker or less fruit-bearing. But in all cases we are called to leave it for God’s work, and return to join in our part of God’s kingdom making. And leave some of it in God’s capable hands.

Jan 22 2019 Ephesians 4: 17-32

Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear.

I’ve heard it said that it takes seven positive comments to offset the impact from one negative. From our kids’ behaviors, to our partner’s foibles, it’s far too easy to unleash negative comments, even if they’re slight.

And it’s interesting to me that Paul is basically saying that anything that isn’t useful to building up is considered evil talk. I’m not normally a mean speaker, but I can be sarcastic, snotty and condescending. None of these build up the kingdom, and it’s probably safe to say none give grace to those who hear. What a good reminder that words matter. That anything other than words that build up are not helpful at best, and evil at worst.

I like the idea that good, building up words actually give grace to those who hear. Words speak new truths into the world, either for good or ill. With the simple act of good words, I will aim to create good truths, and give grace.

Lent 5 C - March 17, 2013

In today’s Gospel, Jesus has come to the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus, his friend recently raised from the dead. Martha serves the meal. Mary uses expensive fragrance to anoint Jesus’ feet, and then wipes his feet with her hair.

Take a moment to visualize this scene, to be in this scene.  Martha and Lazarus, wondering and watching their sister Mary. 

Jesus, perhaps surprised as he watches as Mary comes towards him and sit at his feet.

Mary, who takes this valuable perfume and anoints Jesus’ feet, lavishly pouring the oil.  People are watching, amazed, incredulous as the fragrance fills them.  And with everyone already focused on them and their interaction, Mary dries Jesus’ feet with her hair. 

And then there’s Judas – incensed at the apparent waste.  Mary should have sold that precious oil, and given the money to the poor.

This is one of the stories about Mary and Martha, two women who have become the archetype of two different personalities or dispositions.  Martha makes the meal, Mary sits at Jesus’ feet.  In the Gospel of Luke, Martha goes so far as to complain to Jesus about all her work, and all Mary’s non-work. And although John omits this part of the interaction between Martha, Mary and Jesus, you can still get a sense of the dynamic between Mary and Martha.  

I must admit that I’ve always had a special place in my heart for Martha, the worker bee - who busies herself with action.  Maybe because I’ve always felt more like Martha than Mary.  Maybe because I never really understood Mary.  But I’m slowly working on my Mary-ness. And it all started in the basement of the Seattle Center, about 5 years ago.   

For the five years before we moved from Seattle, I served as the VP of United Way.  While there, I had the honor of overseeing a service event for people experiencing homelessness, similar to the “Project Homeless Connect” organized by United Way here.   It was a one-day event for people experiencing homelessness where they could get legal assistance, state id cards, voice mail boxes, shelter and other benefit information, as well as services like portrait photos and hair cuts.

Because United Way could find no other organization eager to do it, I volunteered to organize a foot washing, at their request. This was not the ceremonial washing we do at church, but probably more like the original – washing the dirt and tired off the feet of weary travelers.  I got the supplies, secured the volunteers and oversaw the day.  The event was in the basement of the Seattle Center exhibition hall.   I had 8 foot washing stations in a little alcove near the bathrooms, 16 folding chairs in pairs of two facing each other, with a soaking bin between them, loads of towels, and bags of donated new socks.  Eight parishioners agreed to work for 6 hours that day, washing the feet of Seattle’s homeless. None of us knew what we were getting ourselves into. I’d also extended an invitation to the Bishops, who’d planned on attending.

So there we were.  Tentatively setting up amongst the food and health care providers, with our pink hospital soaking bins and towels. The first people came in and took off their socks & shoes. Most of the socks we threw away.  The air was full of emotions - nervous, embarrassed, intimate.   There was bustle and all of our senses were piqued. 

To begin with, it was awkward and nervous.  But once the people put their tired, cold feet in the warm soapy water, the barriers melted and we shared stories. After the first awkward 3 minutes we were companions. The people we saw had first names, and stories and children. After their feet soaked for as long as they wanted, they’d put their feet on the toweled lap of the washer to be dried. Some even got a lotion, powder or a little foot rub.

Mid-day, I was out talking to the interested onlookers. A gentleman stood in the hallway, extremely nervous and shy, but clearly interested in what we were doing. Fernando was about 55 years old, from Mexico, and didn't speak much English. He was a handsome, proud looking man, who looked like he’d seen a lot of life. Reluctantly he sat down and started to take off his socks and shoes. About that time, Bp. Nedi Rivera flew in the room from another meeting, rolled up her sleeves and asked how she could help. I asked if she would sit opposite Fernando, since she was the only one in the bunch who had any Spanish speaking skills.

Fernando was now even more nervous, with this Spanish-speaking woman with a collar on, sitting opposite him.  But soon they were talking in hushed Spanish. In the midst of the bustle, they were having the most intimate exchange – at least from what we all saw. She talked with him like he was the most important thing in the world.  We all saw that, and their interaction became central, in the midst of all of that bustle.  Soon, she was on the floor at his feet, both of them weeping. She leaned up and dried his eyes.  By now there was a palpable presence in the alcove.  She sat with him for a long time. She dried his feet with her towel, and when she’d finished drying his feet, she bent over and kissed his feet. 

On that day, I saw the power and grace of Mary’s actions, or more appropriately, the companionship she was able to offer in the absence of actions.  

During the time Bp. Nedi really sat with Fernando, they were both blessed.  They shared a very intimate moment.  She was present – really present with him.  In that brief exchange, she shared his life, shared his burdens during those few moments of companionship.   She was Mary at his feet.  

She served as a powerful model of how to really be present, and the impact she had on Fernando and all of the volunteers was lasting.

The day was a success in part because of the industrious and efficient volunteers, the people with tired feet, and those who donated supplies. I was very efficient and kept things running very smoothly.  I was in a Martha moment.  And because I was so busy doing things, I didn’t experience any blessed shared moments, similar to the one shared by Bp. Nedi & Fernando.  Because of the story they truly shared they were both blessed.  She sat with him.  She blessed him with her intentional focus. She created space.    

Mary’s gift was more than the perfume.  It was her intentional attention on Jesus that created space – space that was filled with grace. 

After the Seattle event, the Seattle Times ran a story about the day, the people helped and the volunteers. They talked to many of the providers, including our group and the story was a great recap of wide array of events that took place and the people touched that day.  

The public responded with comments to the story.  While they didn’t use the term “denari”, as Judas did, many readers wrote in response to the article that the money and time we spent on foot washing should have been spent for things “the homeless” really needed – food, shelter, health care. They claimed what we did was wasteful and not helpful.  Having been there, I know this to be untrue.

As a result of Bp. Nedi’s actions, and the comments from the Seattle Times, I began to understand Mary, to understand Jesus’ comment, “You will not always have me”.  Mary was present with Jesus.  She shared an extremely intimate moment, without regard for the hustle and bustle.  Without regard for what the others would think.  She became a part of a shared narrative, a story that only she and Jesus shared, because she was present and attentive, and served as a companion to him.

Next week, we begin Holy Week. Between Palm Sunday and Easter, we have the opportunity to be a companion with Jesus and with each other.  By doing that, we become a part of the story, of creating the space for a grace-filled moment. We are blessed.

On Maundy Thursday, we will again commemorate Jesus’ servant ministry by washing each other’s feet.  I think we approach that foot washing something like Paul in today’s Epistle.  He’s going on about how great he was.  Member of the people of Israel, tribe of Benjamin, a Pharisee, persecutor of the church.  Blameless.  He was much bigger, better, and above all that church stuff.  Like Paul saw himself and the church, I think we see the foot washing as something that’s too awkward, too silly, too contrived, something we don’t need.  Something we’re above.  But Paul goes on to say that he counts all that pretense as a loss, because of Christ, because of knowing Christ.  I know it’s awkward.  I know it’s uncomfortable.  But I also know that Jesus did this for his disciples.  And when you share that intimate moment, either as the washer or the person washed, you are creating space for a grace filled moment.  

I encourage you to be a companion to someone, to be really present, and to someone’s Mary.  Practice with each other, serving each other and being served by others.  Join in, stand up and get your feet washed. 

You will share an unbelievable, wordless sacred moment.  And God’s grace will fill the space between you.