Max and Mary's wedding sermon

Uwala-Mary and Max – Thank you for inviting us all to share with today with you. It is a deep honor to be here with you.

Presiding Bishop Michael Curry has been known to say that if what you’re doing, if what you’re saying, if what you’re believing isn’t about Love, it isn’t about God. Looking at the two of you, today is absolutely about God, because it is unquestionably about Love. 

The readings too are all about love. From Genesis, we hear that man leaves his mother and father and embraces his wife and becomes one. That is love In Ephesians, the prayer is that you, being rooted in love may have the power to know how deep and wide and long and high Christ’s love is. Max read that man has committed that he is taking the woman out of honest integrity, or in other translations, sincere love.

Uwala-Mary reminded us all that if we don’t have love, we don’t have anything. We can be generous, kind, prophetic, and even have faith to move mountains, but without love, it is nothing. Love.

The Gospel reading is packed full of love language. God loves Christ, Christ loves us, and we are commanded to love each other.

And the miracle of your marriage? It is a way we can all see what that illogical love looks like. Your marriage is a visible sign to everyone of God’s love in this world, so on behalf of everyone who is bolstered by your love, thank you.

You two are choosing to make a life-time commitment to each other, to create a new family – the Uwala-Mary and Max family. You’re busy, independent rational people, and getting married is a sign of a love that defies all of that. And yet here we are. We are here because you two are so rooted in and flooded by God’s love, that it’s spilling over. First to each other, and there’s so much, it’s filling us all too.

God’s love is unwarranted, unearned, illogical, unending. God is so big and incomprehensible it’s hard to understand God’s love. So God became human in Jesus, and through Jesus, we got a foretaste of what God’s love actually looks like. Jesus loved everyone, despite language and nation, despite religion or tradition. He was hospitable to strangers and “sinners”. Through Jesus, we were able to see what love looks like, to see what God looks like.

So what makes a good marriage? I’ll give you a hint. It’s the word of the day. Love. Uwala-Mary told us about some of the key attributes of love. I think they’re primarily describing God’s love, or since God is love, they are describing God. But if you model your relationship after that, you’re solid.

Love is patient, love is kind. God will wait for us as long as it takes to learn whatever it is we’re supposed to. God will not seek revenge. God will wait for us to return for the tenth or 100th time to God’s love. In your relationship, be patient and kind, like God’s love. Wait for the other one who’s late. Don’t assume bad intentions. Do the kind, surprising thing. Hold hands. Laugh often.

Love does not envy, does not boast, is not proud. Love is not self seeking, easily angered, and it does not keep score of who’s wrong. God is not jealous of how we spend our time, even when we spend it away from God. Do not be envious of each other, of each other’s skills or strengths, or friends. Be honest, and don’t get angry.

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always perseveres. How awesome is it that we have a god who is all of that. And how awesome that love, your love, is that. Try never to go to bed angry. Always say I love you at least once a day, and assume the best of each other. Always. If you aim to do these things, to be these things, your relationship – rooted in God’s love, will be spectacular.

I can’t think of a better way to conclude than to repeat the lyrics of the first song from today. The Lord bless you and keep you. May God’s favor be upon you, and your family and your children and their children and their children.

Amen

[Mary's mother, from Sierra Leone calls Mary by her birth name, Uwala, hence the hyphenated first name]

Advent 2C 2018

Advent 2C 2018

St. Matthew’s Eugene

First, I want to thank Patti for inviting me back. And thanks to you all, for the warm welcome. For those who are new, hello! I’m Carter Hawley. I currently work for Bishop Michael as canon for administration and archdeacon, and previously served here as deacon. It is indeed good to see you. And second, thanks for inviting me to preach during Advent. Forget rain drops on roses and snowflakes and kittens.  Advent contains most of my favorite things.  Prophets.  Hymns I love, and the word “harbinger”.

First you’ve got the general themes of advent. Preparing, waiting, watching. And while I’m good at preparing, waiting isn’t one of my strengths. But looking around in our culture, I’d suggest few of us are good at it anymore. Waiting is something that’s not only devalued in our society, it’s almost a sign of weakness. We’re living in times of immediate gratification, one-click ordering and one day shipping. To wait for something means you are wasting your time and don’t have sufficient resources to speed everything up around you. I love Amazon delivery. One click, and a bag of dog food is delivered to my downtown apartment. Easier than schlepping it on a bike!

And to be clear, waiting isn’t necessarily fun; it always indicates that someone else is in control of something important to you. Your order, your doctor’s appearance, the water to boil, traffic to let up.  We don’t like wasting our time,  and we don’t like being dependent upon someone else’s timeline and priorities.  It indicates that we are in fact, not in control. But instead of being frustrated, maybe we can look at it as a pause – albeit of someone else’s choosing. But when you’re waiting, you aren’t doing, running, or solving anything. Times of waiting can provide needed space, time to hear yourself think. 

Today we hear all about John the Baptist. Not only is the Gospel focused on John, but in the place of a regular Psalm, we hear another passage from Luke, known as the song of Zechariah. Zechariah was the father of John the Baptist, and this canticle, or song is all about John the Baptist. An angel came to Zechariah, explaining that his old barren wife Elizabeth would bear a son and they should name the child John. When he questioned the likelihood of this unbelievable birth, he was rendered unable to speak until the child was born and named.  When his son was born, he wrote a note that the child’s name would be John, and he could again speak. What he spoke was this song, the Song of Zechariah.  “You my child will be called the prophet of the most high” Tender words from an old unexpected father. 

So back to the Gospel. It begins with the lengthy run down of places and rulers and on first blush, seems not relevant. “In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius. . . “  etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  Why do we care who was in charge? There are a couple of reasons to care. The first is that this is how stories were told, to put the story in context of time (the 15^th year) and space (governor of Judea).  They didn’t have clocks and calendars like we know them, so this was a way to mark a moment.

But there’s another interesting thing this section does. It gives us a very clear and early picture of what Jesus cares about, where he goes, and who he serves.  We’re at a time where the Roman empire has brutally conquered this region of the world. They were not known to be benevolent or kind in any manner. The people were oppressed and tired. They’re waiting for their savior to ride in on a white horse and kick those Romans to the curb.  The seat of power of the Roman empire is, in fact, Rome. So if there’s going to be a change in this world, it’s going to take place in Rome, right?  And that’s how this place setting phrase begins. In the 15^th year of the rule of Emperor Tiberius – Rome. But then it continues. In Judea – but at least it’s a Roman in Judea.  But wait.  While all of these names are institutions of power, they’re getting further and further away from Rome and the Romans. By the end, we’re not even on the map. We’re in the wilderness, coming to a nobody. And this is who’s going to prepare the way? To usher in a new world?   Yes! Precisely.  And the same happens when Jesus arrives, in the backwater village of Bethlehem.  And it continues through Jesus’ ministry.  He loves all.  He dines with tax collectors and sinners. He heals the unclean. He seeks and serves the lost, the least and the last.  And he asks us to, too.  And John is sent to usher in this new world.

So what are to make of John the Baptist, with his animal skin clothes, insect diet, and wild hair?  What does it mean to be a prophet after all?  Culturally, there are two things I think of when I hear prophet, both of which are not entirely accurate, or at least don’t do John the Baptist justice. The first notion is that a prophet can see in the future. Truth be told, they cannot.  But what a prophet does do is to envision a world in the future that’s right and true. Using language from Presiding Bishop Michael Curry, prophets hold out for us God’s dream. That can be inspiring and promising, and comforting.  There is another way. 

The challenge with prophets is while some inspire and make real this vision of the future, other prophets are called to identify and name where we are now. Again, using Bishop Curry’s language, our human nightmare. Here’s where we are (hand down low), and here’s where we can be. 

That’s where the second image problem comes for prophets.  Once a prophet has identified God’s dream, and our human nightmare, a prophet identifies the breach – the gap between where we are, and where we might be. This is where we get the image of the bible-waving street corner prophet. You’re all doomed. Repent.  This kind of prophet, the John the Baptist kind of prophet makes us really uncomfortable. First, maybe their vision of the future is not my vision. And second, who do they think they are telling me I’m doomed?

To be clear, we need all kinds of prophets. Outlining the vision of where things can be, of God’s dream is critical and it gives hope.  And calling out the bad is also important, especially when society grows complacent. Someone needs to call out the wrong. The farther we are from God’s dream, the more we need the truth-telling prophets. It’s uncomfortable. John’s uncomfortable. And it’s necessary. 

John the prophet knows what this new world is to be like. He sees God’s dream for us.  And John also sees the human nightmare that people were living in, a nightmare of their own making. He called the out to turn away from those ways, and head towards the dream. 

We are all called to be prophets.  Not the scary condemning or freaky fortune teller kinds. I would challenge you this next year to give some thought to where you are called to be a prophet. Where do you see a human nightmare? Or of all of the nightmares you see, where are you most drawn?

And once you land on your nightmare, how are you called to be a prophet? To be the dream-maker, inspiring people to see and live into God’s dream for them? To provide hope and vision? Or are you called, like John, to be a truth-teller, to call out this human nightmare we are causing. Again, both are needed.  And because of that, maybe we need to find someone who’s the other kind of prophet, to go out in pairs.  To hold out God’s dream, and to call out the human nightmare. 

Whichever way you do it, be a prophet. As Zachariah tells you, “You, my child, shall be called a prophet of the most high”. 

Amen.  

                                 

Who told you?? Proper 5B

Proper 5B
June 10, 2018

Today, we hear of the first interchange between humanity and God. After creating humanity, God’s first comment is, “Where are you?”  God was looking for Adam and Eve. And although God had created humanity and all of creation, God was not in Adam and Eve. God didn’t know where Adam & Eve were.  To me this says that God was separate from Adam and Eve, during that encounter with the serpent and the tree.  But after they hid, God pursued.  

God’s second statement was, “Who told you that you were naked?”  For God to be asking, suggests that it was not God.  God had created these beings – created them naked.  But something separate from God, separate from humanity influenced them at that precise moment.  There was an influence other than God that drove them to disobey. 

And to be clear, it wasn’t just Eve that had a problem. She is not the sole cause of the fall.  Yes, she ate of the tree. But Adam did too, and he blamed Eve. I’m not sure where or why Eve took so much of the heat for this exchange, but it is not grounded in the passage we read. 

So from these first two utterings between God & the created world, we learn that God was either temporarily distracted when A&E encountered the serpent, or present and silent as they ate of that fruit. Second, we learn that there is another voice or influence in their world. These two put together cause all sorts of trouble for people of faith. Yes, Adam and Eve were disobedient to God. And the big problem with that is that they – we – operate with very limited knowledge, and forces other than God.  Their first assessment after getting this knowledge? They hid from God, ashamed and naked.  But had they not been created by God, beautiful, complete, and naked?  

I’m not suggesting that ignorance is bliss. But I do think that when we gain knowledge, we jump to thinking we can accurately assess everything, especially with the other voices and forces in the world, with our modern-day serpents.  We make judgements and decisions that are not helpful. Like Adam and Eve, our acquisition of “knowledge” is wholly useless if we aren’t discerning God’s will at every step, every decision. 

It is only grounded in God and bolstered against the other voices that we are able to rightly discern.  The collect says that it is God that gives us the inspiration to think those things that are right, and to act on them.  

I think this is part of what is happening in the Gospel story. Jesus’ family comes out to see him, but instead of following, loving, supporting, they try to restrain him, because people were saying that Jesus had gone out of his mind. The scribes went on to say he had a demon.  So both his biological family and the scribes had knowledge and based on what they “knew”,  judged him to be wrong, out of his mind or possessed by a demon. They had “knowledge” and again, got it wrong.  Putting this back in Eden, I can imagine the exchange going some thing like this. God says, “don’t listen to the mob, don’t get hung up on the religious law”, and then humanity acts, based on the other forces and God says,  “Who told you he was out of his head” or “Who told you he was possessed by a demon”?

From the beginning, humanity has substituted knowledge for faith. God said, trust me, and don’t eat from that tree. Adam and Eve learned that the tree enlighten them between good & evil.  Jesus’ family tried to restrain him, because they’d heard he was out of his mind.  Up until the end of his ministry on Earth, Jesus was battling with what we’d done with the knowledge we’d gained.  From the cross, Jesus exclaimed, “Forgive them Father. They know not what they do.”  

Knowledge. It’s a dangerous thing.  It is one of the seven deadly social sins, published by Ghandi back in 1925. Knowledge without character.  

I don’t think today’s Gospel from Mark is as much a condemnation of family, as much as it’s a conviction of how knowledge is only part of the story. With our knowledge of anything, we jump to action, conclusions and judgement.  God doesn’t ask us to know. God asks us to trust and love. 

How do we get it wrong so frequently? I think it’s because of all of the modern day serpents whispering in our ear. Power. Prestige. Money. Fame.   These things entice us away from God’s will, and we don’t even see it happening.  

To be clear, it isn’t easy. It wasn’t easy for the religious leaders of Jesus’ time, or for his family, or for Adam and Eve. Sometimes it’s downright hard to tell the difference between a choice that brings us closer to God, or one that moves us further away. There are social issues tearing up our nation, with well-intentioned Christians on all sides arguing they’re standing on God’s side. Immigration. Gun rights. Police brutality. Race relations. Hunger. In my previous job, I worked for the Eugene Police Chief. Most of the politically charged issues the police get wrapped up in are not nearly as one-sided as either side would have you believe. 

But Presiding Bishop Michael Curry has tried to simplify it a bit.  He has said, if it isn’t about love, it isn’t about God.  

To be clear, I have strong opinions about many of those social issues, of political leaders, of institutions and oppression.  But at the end of the day, my certitude is sometimes based on knowledge, and knowledge cannot get me to God’s heart.  I can’t possibly have all of the knowledge to make a right judgement, particularly when it comes to people. Yes, all of humanity will be judged – by God. Yes, there may be people and positions that are patently “wrong”.  But we can’t possibly have sufficient “knowledge” to know.  That judgement is God’s, not ours. 

At the end of the day, I think it’s all about love, about loving all of God’s people. Love for the immigrant. Love for the homeless. Love for the police officer. Love for the president, and the cake baker.  

So in these politically and socially challenging times, one of our greatest challenges is to refrain from judgment, because we can’t possibly know enough to get it right. Instead our job is to follow the will of God. And love. Everyone.  

Amen. 

Good Friday April 14, 2017

Good Friday

April 14, 2017 - Good Friday

Today, more than any other day in our church year, we understand the cross.  Today, more than any other, we are steeped in the horrors of the cross. We are taken through all of the perspectives from all of the people involved. All of these people, all of the things they do and say and see – they’re not foreign. All of these, we’ve done. We’ve said.  We’ve seen.  That’s part of what makes today so incredibly hard. It hits so close to home.  We really can walk through this passion reading in any of the parts.

All of humanity – all of our ugly, sad, fearful, bullying, and cruel humanity is wrapped up in this scene.  We watch this scene unfold, and we’ve seen these responses in our own lives.  We’ve experienced them.  We’ve done them.

I want this story to end differently.  I want today’s reading to end in rainbow and sunshine. I want humanity to respond differently. But we don’t. 

We watch as Judas betrays him, bringing a detachment of soldiers to the peaceful garden Jesus frequently went to pray. We’ve known betrayal.  We’ve felt the sting of betrayal.  And even knowing that, we’ve betrayed.

We see Peter in anger and frustration lash out with his sword at one of the guards, as if that would help. We’ve seen that, done that.

We see Pilate fearful one moment, and boldly, perhaps too boldly, exerting his power over Jesus. How many times have we lashed out, when we’re secretly afraid.

Jesus is led away to face his trial, and we watch as Peter slips out, distancing himself from Jesus.  Was he afraid for Jesus?  Afraid for himself? Was it too painful?

We see the guards beat and mock Jesus.  We’ve seen bullying. We’ve been bullied.  We’ve watched as others are bullied. 

We watch with the women in horror as Jesus is crucified on the cross, lifted high as a warning to other insurrectionists, their son, friend, leader. 

After all of this cruel treatment, Jesus claims “it is finished” and dies. What’s finished?  It doesn’t feel finished.  It feels very unfinished. There’s no resolution. No light.  Our liturgy tonight mirrors that. We start in silence, without a proper beginning, and we’ll slip out in silence and darkness to hide our faces.  Quite like Peter, slipping out, to deny the night’s terror.  

Ant yet, in the midst of this ugly sin, evil and death, there are signs that this really isn’t the end. That sin evil and death will not win or have the last word. They’re small signs, but they’re there. 

The first is Jesus’ indomitable command of love.  As Jesus is dying on the cross, he continues his ministry of love, service and community.  Man, this is your mother, and this is your son. He’s commanding his disciples to continue in love and community even as he dies. How easy it would have been for him to become bitter, cruel or self-absorbed.

But his imminent death and the evil he’s seen and experienced do not move him from building a community of faith, hope and love.

Even at our worst, even in the midst of the most dreadful fear and pain, we are called in to community. Into love.  Into service.  Sometimes, it is precisely this call to service and to community where we can find the strength to get through the difficult times.

And at the moment Jesus gives up his spirit, he says “It is finished”. He’s not talking about his earthly life, his mortal breath. He didn’t say, “I am finished”.  No, he’s talking about his part in making redemption real in our lives. That with  his death, our freedom was purchased for ever.

God incarnate knew that with Jesus’ death and with the rest of the story that unfolds over the next few days, God would show us that God would do anything – anything for us.  God would allow us to be cruel, bullying, fearful, deserting, murderous – all of that. And God would still love. With Jesus’ death, there is no further testing that we humans could conceive or carry out. Our time of testing God, of pushing the outer limits of God’s love, was finished.  With Jesus’ death at our hands, God’s love wins above all.  All of our sin, evil and finally death.

Today is a dark day. We see what humanity can do, what we can do to each other. Today is a day to sit with that ugly reality. This darkness is horrible.  How much easier and less disruptive to skip today and jump right to Easter Sunday.  But it’s from that ugly cross where we see God’s ultimate sacrifice and unceasing love. It’s from this very dark place where the small glimmer of light is brightest. Jesus’ command to love and his promise that “it is finished” are those glimmers.

And because we go through those dark places ourselves, we need to recognize those glimmers in tonight’s reading, so we see them in our lives.  So when all the lights go out and we’re plunged into darkness, we can see the glimmers of God’s love. 

The rest of the story will unfold this weekend. But tonight, sit with Good Friday.  Tonight we are reminded that we’re not alone in experiencing suffering, in seeing suffering, in causing suffering. 

And despite that, precisely at those darkest moments, God loves, and calls us to love. That is good news.

Amen.

Yes, Lord. I believe. Lent 5A

April 2, 2017

The first time I recall thinking about death, about real death, about my death, I was in high school. There was a Chicago news anchor, Fahey Flynn who’d been a news anchor for 30 years – my entire life. When I was in high school, he died. I remember going to bed that night thinking about Fahey Flynn, and wondering what had happened to him. I knew he was dead, but what happened to him? To his soul? To his spirit?  Was he just gone?  

I don’t regularly think about death. We started Lent on Ash Wednesday, with the words, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”, as ashes are imposed on our foreheads in the sign of the cross. While I am intrigued by the liturgy, somehow I don’t think about death. I escape that. I don’t think about mortality in general, or my mortality in particular. About being dead and buried. But if there was any chance that I’d get through Lent without spending some time thinking about death, this morning’s readings ended that. Today we get a series of readings that help assure we see the death part of the miracle we profess weekly, of Jesus’ death, resurrection and ascension.

Today also serves as a preview of Holy Week and Easter, with a series of dramatic and memorable readings. In the Old Testament, we hear about the dry bones coming alive. This is one of the more vivid readings with details that almost place you there. You can hear the rattling of the dry, dead bones, as they are re-formed into the “vast multitude”. In the Gospel reading from John, we hear of Jesus’ friend Lazarus who has died. He’s dead in the tomb. After some interactions with his sisters, Jesus  brings Lazarus back to life.

We hear about these readings as a primer for the whirlwind walk of life, death, and resurrection we’ll start next Sunday as Holy Week begins. With its numerous services, emotions, actions, dramatic readings and late nights, Holy Week can become a blur. Today, we get a preview without quite as much going on. If we pay attention and think about today’s lessons, we can start our Holy Week journey much better equipped.

We hear that Jesus has been told that his dear friend, the friend whom he loved, Lazarus, has taken ill. He cryptically announces that the illness doesn’t lead to death, but rather it is for God’s glory. So, taking his time Jesus heads towards Judea to the home of Lazarus, and his sisters Martha and Mary. He continues that Lazarus hasn’t died, he has simply fallen asleep. He will be all right, Jesus assures. The disciples are confused at his choice of words along with his seemingly illogical choice to return to Judea. They remind him that Judea is a dangerous place for Jesus, that the Jewish leaders were most recently trying to stone him. If, as Jesus says, Lazarus is just sleeping, he’ll be fine. Don’t go there. But Jesus clarifies. Yes, Lazarus is dead.

Upon arriving, Mary and Martha run out to meet him, and blame him, stating that if he had only come quicker, their brother wouldn’t have died. This time, Jesus says that Lazarus will rise again. Believing in resurrection life, they agree that yes, he will rise on the last day. But Jesus dispels the notion of a resurrection be reserved for the last day. Jesus explains that he, Jesus is the resurrection life. “Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.”  I can only imagine the perplexed look on the faces of the disciples, and of Mary and Martha. Jesus asks if Martha believes him.

Echoing the words of the formerly blind man in last week’s lesson, Martha asserts simply, and profoundly, “Yes Lord. I believe”. This sounds like such an easy response. But is it?  Martha has seen no proof yet. And yet, by his word alone, she believes him. No bartering, or requests for signs, or demonstrable proof. Her response is powerful. Definitive. And frequently, out of reach for me. I hope to someday have the faith to simply and profoundly respond when tested, “Yes Lord, I believe.” 

Of course, Jesus does raise Lazarus, and Lazarus comes out of the tomb still bound in his burial cloth. But not until after he’d died. Dead and buried. We see some of Jesus’ humanity in this story, because after seeing the sadness of the sisters and their friends, Jesus cries. Even Jesus, who knows how this story was going to come out, cried. Death and the grief it causes those left on this earth is sad.

So why did Jesus need to go through this?  Why didn’t he, as Mary and Martha suggest, come earlier so Lazarus didn’t have to die?  Was it simply for the “wow” factor?  Unlikely, as Jesus wasn’t much into showmanship – ever 

Rather, Jesus’ delay in attending to his friends illustrated the glory of the son of God. Ok, but what does that mean?  What this display shows me is that with God, there are no limits. – no outer reaches beyond which God’s glory cannot reach. Not sin. And from today, not death.

In our world view and in our understanding, death feels like a pretty bright line. You’re alive and here. Or you’re dead and not. But not in God’s kingdom. And not with the grace and love Jesus shows. Death is not the end. In God’s kingdom, death is not a dividing line. As a matter of fact, it’s a pretty arbitrary line in the sand. In the lesson, Jesus interchanges the words death and sleeping, awake and alive. Of course death matters. And of course it’s sad. Jesus himself cried at Lazarus’ death. But in the Kingdom of God, death is not the end. God’s love and grace reach all. Death does not have the last word. We see that with Lazarus, and we see that in Jesus’ resurrection.

Do not misunderstand. I’m not suggesting that death is good, or easy, or painless. We all know differently. But it is not the end. God’s power transcends death. And here’s some really good news. I’m not just talking about the end of our mortal life, when our hearts stop beating and as we say on Ash Wednesday, “to dust we shall return.”  Being dead and buried certainly applies to the end of our mortal life, when our hearts stop beating. But it means so much more too.

The first reading today is that dramatic reading of the dry bones. God breathes life into the vast array of dry, dead bones. God raises the bones to new life. This sounds simply like another resurrection dead-and-now-not-dead story. But I think it’s much more.

A quick survey of how we use the words bury and dead give us insight into all of the ways to drop into this story. We can be buried in work. Buried in debt. We can bury our feelings. We can be deadened to pain, to suffering. A fire or a relationship can be dead.

So what if the dead and buried that’s described today in Ezekiel or John goes beyond the grave?  Imagine for a minute that it’s referring to our true selves. Who God designed us to be. How many of us have ever felt like our true genuine self has been buried by debt, by doubt and fear? I can get myself worked into a real snit, resulting in a me I don’t recognize. The real me is buried in worry. When who we are supposed to be gets buried by our actions or thoughts, God raises that to new life. God can raise me up to who I am supposed to be. God can resurrect our lives and souls, by breathing life into us.

And what if the dead and buried that’s described today is talking about our hearts, our relationships, our fire?  What if our love of others has grown cold? What if we’ve grown disinterested in their pain and suffering?  What if we’re apathetic to the needs of others?  With a simple word or breath, God can enliven our hearts which have grown cold and dead.

All of this talk about dead and buried is certainly addressing the end of our mortal life. And it’s also about our selves, our souls, our bodies. God can resurrect it all and bring us to new life.

One last note about this resurrection and redemption work of God. In the Ezekiel story, it is God who breathes life into the dry bones. But it is God working through Ezekiel. “Ezekiel, say to these dry bones…”   To me, that changes a lot in these lessons. God uses Ezekiel to resurrect the dead dry bones. What if we are Ezekiel?  What if we are the ones that God is working through to breathe life into the lives and hearts of others around us?  

Have you ever felt you were called to help, to love, to give?  It’s not unreasonable to assume that God is working through you, as God works through Ezekiel. Maybe  you didn’t hear “Mortal, prophesy to these bones”. Maybe you didn’t hear anything at all. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t God calling you.

As we finish our Lenten Journey and head into Holy Week, think about death. About being buried. About new life. About resurrection. And if you doubt whether God’s power can do these things in your life, think of Martha. Aim for Martha’s profound and simple response:  “Yes, Lord. I believe.”

Amen

Transfiguration - February 26, 2017

Last Epiphany 2017 - February 26, 2017

Feast of the Transfiguration

Today is the last day of the season of Epiphany.  It seems so long ago that we celebrated the coming of the wise men, and Jesus’ baptism. Actually, we celebrated Jesus baptism in a nearly empty church on a very very snowy and icy day in early January.  So here we sit, nearly 50 days later, still celebrating Epiphany, or Epiphanies. Because it was so long ago, here’s a brief reminder of what and why we celebrate Epiphany for so very long. 

Epiphany is this time after the nativity, where the wise people who put together the church calendar pack in a lot of readings designed to reveal something to us about Jesus.  Every year the readings change, repeating every three years, and this year, we spent much of Epiphany focusing on what the Gospel of Matthew reveals to us about Jesus. We started Epiphany hearing about Jesus’ baptism, where God descends of Jesus like a dove, and says this is my son, my beloved.  Through this lesson, we learn who Jesus is by his family relations, by who is Father is, and the claim God makes about Jesus.   

Then we spend much Epiphany reading through the Sermon on the Mount, kicking it off with the Beatitudes.  Blessed are the poor, the peacemakers, the hungry, the persecuted.  With this, we begin to see what Jesus, God’s son, values. We learn who Jesus is based on what he values.

Those values were as startling and counter-cultural back in his time as they are today. People have always wanted power and prestige and wealth. Jesus was telling the people that no, that’s not what makes you blessed. He goes further to clarify that this isn’t against the law of the time, but rather an extension of or clarification of the law. He needed to say this, because he was a good Jew talking to good Jews. He wasn’t trying to dismantle those teachings, but rather clarify.  For example, don’t just promise to abstain from murder; most of us can do that. No, abstain from the hate in your heart that leads to murder.  We learn who Jesus is based on how he understands the laws and expectations of the time.

We heard that not only are we to love our neighbors, we are to pray for those who persecute you.  Turn the other cheek. Give them your coat. For God, he continued, causes the sun to rise on the righteous and unrighteous.  This is really tough stuff. Now Jesus is taking on not only the culture, its norms, literalism, but also the dark parts of my heart. Where I want to hold a grudge. Where I feel I’m allowed to hold a grudge. Righteous indignation.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen plenty of that behavior in the past three months. We learn who Jesus is based on his stark calling-out of our deepest, darkest tightly-held convictions of superiority and righteousness.

Digressing a little bit, I want to share what happened and what was said at a memorial service I attended a few weeks ago. The memorial was for Carrie Miller, a well known member of the Eugene community, although I suspect few here knew here. Raised in Oklahoma, she had a difficult childhood and a dysfunctional family.  She was in the Navy reserves, and moved to Eugene 20 years ago. She was an advocate for people less fortunate, cooking meals for the homeless.  She served as a mother-figure to many of the younger homeless people on the streets. She was 58 when she died, and she died alone outside, on the steps of the local drug and alcohol treatment center on January 10. Carrie was a chronic alcoholic, and had been homeless for the 20 years she lived in Eugene. 

At her memorial, one of the local pastors Dan Bryant, shared that in our community, we see people with big hearts, helping people, serving food, providing shelter. The problem, he continued, is that we also attach a sense of justified worthiness. We help children in need because they deserve it. They’re innocent. On the other hand, the same good-hearted helpers don’t help people on the streets because we’ve decided they aren’t worthy. We decide because of some action, illness, behavior or appearance we are justified in not being compassionate. Not helping.

Worthiness, however, is not ours to determine.  It’s God’s, and God’s alone.   Whether it’s judging the homeless on the street, or those who voted differently than you did in the last election, I’ll finish this digression with a quote from Samuel Johnson.  “God does not propose to judge a man until his life is over. Why should you and I?”

So through Epiphany, we’ve learned about Jesus through his familial relations, his values, has understanding of the law, and his conviction of our deep-seated self-righteousness and judgement of others.

During this season Epiphany we’ve also seen how others respond to him and how they understand Jesus. The Pharisees and Seduces wanted proof. I’ve been there.  I want some demonstrable proof, some indication that my faith and belief isn’t wasted on fantasy. We’ve seen the disciples hem and haw, not knowing how to respond when Jesus asked, “Who do people say I am,”.  Um, some say Elijah.  Um.  I’ve been there too.  Unsure and unable to respond intelligibly.  We’ve seen Peter respond clearly and definitively respond that Jesus was the Messiah, only to deny knowing him and deserting him as he was dying.  I’ve done that too. Responded blindly, emphatically, and then been unable to hold on to that when the going got tough.  Through the responses Jesus gets from others, we see reflected how we respond.

So today, we conclude Epiphany with the transfiguration, where Jesus is illumined before Peter, James and John.  

What does this Transfiguration tell us about Jesus, and what does the response of others tell us about ourselves?  Jesus takes a small group up a mountain and is lit up. Again, a voice says, “this is my Son, my beloved, listen to him”, similar to the account of Jesus’ baptism that started our Epiphany. So again we are reminded of Jesus’ divinity.

This is an example of “theophany”, or an experience of God with the senses we have – sight and sound.  If any of you have ever had an experience that you can’t explain, that seemed like God, it might have been.  I have had one and only one such experience.  After coming home and telling my husband, he said that if he didn’t know me, he’d think I was crazy.  My priest at the time explained that it was an experience between God and me, invisible and unknowable to anyone else. I had two choices in response.  I could put it on the shelf as a really neat woo-woo experience.  Or, I could try to figure out why then, why there, why that.  What was God trying to tell me at that moment.  Eventually, my searching led me to pursue being an ordained deacon.  If you ever have a theophany, you aren’t crazy, despite what your husband might say, and please don’t lock it away as a neat experience. But I digress. 

After the disciples’ experience this, they fall to their knees in fear.  To this, Jesus responds with the most common words of Jesus, “do not be afraid”.  Matthew also tells us that Jesus touches them.  What an intimate, compassionate response, from Jesus – fully divine and fully human. Jesus tells them to not be afraid, and then physically consoles them with touch. 

When they experience this illumined Jesus in the presence of Elijah and Moses, the disciples respond a pretty mundane and almost absurd response.  It is good you are here. We will build three houses.  I’m pretty sure that if two long-dead people appeared to me, along with someone lit up like the sun, they probably don’t really need dwellings. And yet what was happening was so far out of the realm of anything they’d experienced, they tried to make sense of it with what they knew, human dwellings. 

This is a familiar trait – trying to make sense of the unimaginable.  About 10 years ago, I was awoken from a sound sleep to crackling sound outside.  I pulled back the curtains, and the yard was blazing bright with fire.  I thought what any reasonable person would think, having been awoken.  Clearly, a meteor had fallen in to my back yard.  Amazing, huh?  But when I got outside, it wasn’t a meteor after all. It was my chicken coop which was totally engulfed in flames.  The disciples see the prophets, and Jesus illumined, and respond with what they know… Um, we’ll build you three houses.  But perhaps, silence would have been a better response, because in the face of the incomprehensible, our little brains try to fit things in to our experiences. 

So what do we learn from this last of the Epiphany readings?  From his illumination and from the voice from the clouds, we see Jesus’ divinity – how much Jesus was not the same as you and me.  From his words and actions, we see his humanity – how much Jesus was just like you and me.  And from the reaction of the disciples, we see how hard it is to encounter Jesus and God without reducing the encounter to something we can understand or explain away.  To try to build a dwelling when our response should be so much more.

As we head in to Lent, I think this Transfiguration story can help us.  Lent is a time when we are to think about who Jesus is and what he means to us. From Epiphany, we get a picture of who Scripture says Jesus is, who is family is, what he values, how he understands the law.  Think on that as we enter the dry period of Lent.  As Jesus asked, “Who do you say I am?”

Throughout Epiphany, we’ve learned about Jesus’ humanity, his love and response to the disciples. Through Lent, think about what it means that God came to Earth, fully human.  Fully able to understand our ups and downs, because Jesus experienced the best and worst humanity has to offer. 

And finally, we learned through Epiphany of our reaction to God incarnate through the reaction of people in Scripture to Jesus.  Through our simple lives and experiences, we could make the error of trying to seek proof, get legalistic, be overly simplistic, or fearful to God’s presence in our lives.  As the collect succinctly states, “Grant to us that we, beholding by faith the light of his countenance, may be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory.”  By faith.  Strengthened by the light.  To bear our cross.  Changed into his likeness.  Armed with this, we head into Lent. 

Amen. 

In the Beginning - Christmas 3A

Christmas 3A

Pillars of Creation - Hubble Telescope

December 25, 2016

In the beginning was the word.   We’ve heard these words before, at least the first three.  In the beginning.  It’s the same phrase that kicks off the poetic start of the whole Bible story, of our whole narrative.

In the beginning, God created heavens and the earth.  Light and dark.  Sky and sea. Sun and moon.  Plants and animals,. And finally, God created man and woman.  Let’s take a moment and think about this.

Have you ever seen pictures from the Hubble telescope, that amazing tool that helps scientists actually see galaxies, stars and planets, or that vast expanse of interstellar space, as we sometimes pray in our Eucharistic Prayer?  I would encourage you to look it up sometime.  The photos are unbelievable, with shapes and stars in beautiful colors, with galaxies forming.  It’s mind boggling how vast that expanse is, and God creates that.

If you’ve ever been in a natural disaster, earthquake, flood, tornado or ice storm, you know first-hand the incredible power in our earth.  If you have not, I get that same sense when watching storm waves.  Incredible power.  God creates that.

Mountains, and seas, and sunsets, and valleys. Our earth is beautiful and bucolic.  God creates that. 

Majestic trees, birds that fly through the air, a miraculous feat. So we don’t think this creation is too vast or beyond our scale, snails have mathematically perfect spiraled shells.  If you stop and think about the plants and animals around us, if you stop to really see them, it’s a beautiful marvel.  And God created that too.

Finally, humans. From the magic of a newborn’s fingers and toes, to the strife we cause each other, to the beautiful and frightening things that our minds are capable of. We humans are conflicted, complicated and creative.  And God created us too.

So back to Genesis. In the beginning, God created all that is and all that will be.  The expansive universe, powerful natural forces, beauty, majestic and marvelous plants and animals, complicated and creative humans.  In the beginning, God created all of that.  And as the writer of Genesis says, it was all very good. 

For the history of humanity, God was present with the people in the powerful, marvelous, complicated world God created.  God was with Adam, Eve, Cain and Abel, God saw the oppression of Israel by the Egyptians.  As things happened on earth, God repeatedly intervened through God’s people in history. Through Moses and the law. With the prophets who spoke out against power, greed and oppression.  With King David. Through prophets, and kings, and shepherds and soldiers.   God  dropped in to this world in ways that we could comprehend, or at least acknowledge. 

And yet, we kept messing things up. God was too far away to feel God’s presence.  We ignored the law, and we ignored God’s simple requests to us to love God and to love our neighbor, despite God’s continued presence and promise to be with us forever.  And so, in the ultimate act of assistance, God sent us God’s self in the form of Jesus Christ, which we celebrate today. 

Jesus Christ was born, not in majesty or power, but to immigrants. Immigrants in a strange land who were strangers, treated like strangers, and had were given no where to sleep, despite Mary’s delivery.  They were, effectively, homeless whom society had dismissed. An ironic place for the king of kings to be enter our life, wouldn’t you say?

Why would God send God-self to earth to be born as a man, from a homeless immigrant woman?  A person, fully human who lives and grieves and eventually dies?  I have a priest friend from Seattle shared a story he’d heard to explain why. Imagine you’re out on a walk, walking slow, admiring God’s creation.  An ant crosses your path, carrying or trying to carry a big load. The ant struggles and drops, tries again.  But it’s just too big. About that time, along comes another ant, who easily takes some of the load, and the happy ants go on their way.  But what if you’d tried to help?  Could you have taken a part of the ant’s load?  Not likely, without doing damage to the load or the ant.  In this inglorious but relatable analogy, we are the ants.  God cannot reach down and take our load directly.  God is too big, too immense, too powerful, too much not an ant.  So, God sends an ant to help.  Jesus. 

Through his life, Jesus experienced normal human events. He got separated from his parents, and subsequently scolded. His mother asked him to perform a miracle at the wedding in Cana, much to his chagrin.  Who hasn’t been prompted to do something or perform on command when you didn’t want to? He experienced the same human emotions we do.  He felt joy, contentment, frustration, anger, betrayal.  Jesus was fully human.  Jesus, this baby whose birth we celebrate today. 

Jesus was fully human.  He was born, and as we know, he dies a humiliating, cruel death.    

And while he had ten fingers and ten toes, Jesus was also fully divine.  As the Epistle reading says, Jesus is “a reflection of God’s Glory, and the exact imprint of God’s very being”.  So the created is the creator. An exact imprint of God’s very being.  That’s hard to imagine, that this little baby was fully divine. Think back to the things we see and know about God from his created world.  God is as vast as the galaxies God creates.  As powerful as seas and storms and winds. As beautiful and majestic as mountains. As creative and complicated as humanity.  All of that. God created all of that, and it was very Good.  And today, we celebrate all of that – wrapped up in swaddling cloth, born to a homeless immigrant. 

And through God’s experience in our world through Jesus Christ, God experienced all humanity had to offer, the good and the bad.  This is part of what we celebrate today. God knows first-hand of our lives, our joys, our struggles. 

But here’s the other thing.  Through Jesus Christ, an imprint of God’s own self, we experience the love and grace and forgiveness that’s only possible with God.  With Jesus the man, fully divine, we see love and tenderness of Jesus freeing the man from demons, healing the blind and sick, eating with sinners, loving the prostitute.  We see God’s grace in action on earth. 

God sent Jesus Christ to be light in the world.  And the darkness cannot overcome the light.  We have seen it in action.  We’ve felt it, God’s grace and forgiveness through the kindness of friends or strangers, and through the Holy Spirit, we have it. From Jesus’ divine nature ,we have all of that power, and majesty, beauty and creative in us.   

So today and throughout the Christmas season, we celebrate the birth of this human God child. We celebrate that God knows first hand through Jesus of our toils and tribulations, of our emotions, of our failings. And God loves us incomprehensively and indefensibly.  Through this human God child, a little piece of our human experience was lived by God, shared by God, transformed by God, and made new by God.

Finally, through the birth of this child, an exact imprint of God, learn of love, kindness, forgiveness, compassion, and grace.  We have all of that light in us and with Jesus we have seen how to use that light. Some believe we live in very dark times.  I would suggest that since the beginning of human history, humans have lived in dark times, and some probably believed their times were the darkest. But the darkness cannot overshadow the light.  Let me repeat that.  The darkness cannot overshadow the light. Your job, our job is to be that light, bringing God’s grace to every interaction, every person we meet.

Through this Christ child and now through you, the light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot overcome it. 

Amen.