Last Sunday after Pentecost – November 25, 2018 – Trinity Church, Winchester
No text today. You can listen to this sermon by clicking here. And for those of you keeping track at home, the story of Zacchaeus is found in Luke 19, not Luke 10. Oops! That’s what happens when you go off the manuscript, but it’s worth it.
Saturday after Proper 27B – November 17, 2018 – Luke 18:1-8 – St. Mary’s Convent
I didn’t get to preach this *exact* sermon on Saturday because I kinda sorta…forgot it in the car, but we press on… Nevertheless, this is the version I prepared.
If you pester God long enough, keep going to him with your problems, tell him just how deep you are in it, then he’ll finally help you. That was my first reaction after reading today’s gospel, but it doesn’t preach so well. It does tell us about the value of persistence, and that’s worth something, but it seems a word of grace should be built on a little more than annoying God.
You see, it’s not persistence in pestering God that we’re after, it’s persistence in prayer. It is necessary to prayer constantly. Never give up on prayer. I’m speaking to an audience who gets it. You’ve turned over your lives to prayer. Why? Because it’s fun? I bet not! How often, when you’re in this chapel praying the daily office, do you look around and think, “Gosh, isn’t this a blast??!”
Maybe you do. If you do, you’re different than me. I don’t always think prayer is fun, but it is always necessary. If it feels like work, well, that’s because it is.
In Luke 17, the chapter just before today’s Gospel, Jesus tells his disciples that the coming kingdom of God is not exactly what they expect. “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’…”
Instead, he tells his disciples, “The days are coming when you will long to see one of the days of the Son of Man, and you will not see it…” In other words, there will be a time in which what you long for, you will not have. During that time, you’re going to have to pray.
Enter the widow in chapter 18. Nothing is going right. She can’t even get justice from the courts because the judge has no regard for people or for God. Jesus is telling is disciples that there will be a time like this for them. And when it comes, they’ll have to pray. They’ll have to pray because they have no other choice.
This parable teaches us not just that prayer is a good thing, but why prayer is a good thing. The widow has no choice but to keep bothering the judge. As people of relative privilege in comparison to the rest of the world, we often have many options at our disposal for changing our situations. But some people, like this widow, are desperate. They only have one option. Lucky for them, that option is God. They still have God. So they pray.
When we have no other option, we still have God. So we pray. We pray, not because of our piety, not because it’s fun, not to show off for others. No, we don’t pray to demonstrate our relationship with God. We don’t even pray because we have a relationship to God. We pray because prayer is our relationship with God.
Prayer is faith in action. Unless we cry out day and night then what do we have? Certainly not faith. Certainly not hope. Certainly not a relationship with God.
You all get it. That’s why you’re here. And I need not say much more about it. In fact, I think you might have a few things to teach me about prayer. So, let’s get back to it, shall we?
25th Sunday after Pentecost – November 11, 2018 – Mark 12:38-44 – Trinity Church, Winchester, TN
“Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”
These are hard words to hear, if you ask me. I for one, happen like special treatment. Don’t you?
Is there a place where people tend to roll out the red carpet for you? Or a special time? Maybe at a birthday party? Or a retirement party? For me growing up, it was the Toyota dealership. Whenever I went in to get my vehicle serviced, I was treated really well because people there knew that my dad worked for the corporate office.
Whenever I get special treatment, whether it’s in a car dealership, or at a restaurant, or at my favorite aunt’s house, I really can’t help but reflect on this passage. And I feel bad.
I should not want special treatment. After all, I’m a servant of God. We’re all servants of God. There is no greater joy than that, right? So why do I need special treatment? I confess this to you, not because I think I really am something special, but because I bet you’re the same.
Doesn’t it feel good, at least sometimes, to get special treatment? Have you ever been to the spa for a pedicure? Or won an award and got to sit at the place of honor at the banquet? Doesn’t it feel, at least a little, good?
Maybe we’re just not humble enough, those of us who like to be indulged from time to time. I know people who can’t stand to be the center of attention. They do exist, those types of people, who when you clap for them, their face turns red.
There are some people who really do seem to shun he spotlight. There was a Sunday School teacher at my home church who was like that. Each year we had what we called “Promotion Sunday” when all the kids in Sunday School would move up to the next grade. They would always recognize all the teachers, too, and each year Mrs. Hayes would be recognized because she had taught the longest—30 years, 35 years, 40 years—the same grade. “Yes, OK, whatever,” she seemed to say, waving off the applause as she walked back to her seat, “It’s not a big deal.”
Yes, there are people who shun the spotlight. And I don’t know about you, but it’s those people I worry about judging me when I embrace it.
In those people, I see Jesus. Those people, I tend to think, have chosen the better part. It’s those people who volunteer to teach Sunday School, make Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless, mow the church lawn, and yes, even serve in the military, and never seem to need to be validated.
And here I am just happy to be recognized when I go in to get my oil changed!
There are people who do good deeds of wonderful generosity every day. We don’t know about it. They don’t even need—or want—to be known.
When I was in college I remember they were redoing the science hall. Didn’t much matter to me, but they insisted. I remember the day they announced a $3.5 million anonymous gift for that building. Who in the world wouldn’t want credit for that?
I’m telling you, it’s those people I worry about. It’s those people I just don’t understand. It’s those people who make me crazy.
And I think I know why. I’m jealous. I’m jealous… because they get it. They’ve heard the message. They know that they have already received their reward just by being able to give it in the first place.
They’ve learned those things. You know those things that they’ve been trying to teach us since Kindergarten? “It’s better to give than to receive.” “It’s not about what other people think.” “You matter.” They get it.
Think about what faith they must have, those people who don’t need applause. They’ve already learned this valuable lesson: that they are enough. What trust they have: that God will do what God needs to do through them. With the work of their hands they glorify God no matter if they are recognized for it or not.
I think that’s a lesson worth learning. Those of us who like the special treatment, we’re not bad people. I promise. It just doesn’t come as naturally to us, this notion that we are enough. Sometimes we just want more out of this life. Sometimes we just want a little bit of reassurance that we matter. It’s only natural. There’s lot in this world that tells that we’re not enough. Politics tells us we’re not enough. Television commercials tell us we’re not enough. Sometimes we tell ourselves we’re not enough.
But God, not so much. God’s job is to tell us that we are enough, and he’s really good at it. Take a look at the Gospel.
Your couple copper pennies are enough. Your one vote this week: enough. Whether it went the way you wanted it to or not: what you did was enough. The one prayer you offered at the bedside of a dying friend: it was enough. Even that one little good deed you did the other day—or will do tomorrow day—is enough.
You are enough. You don’t need other people to recognize you to know that, even if it does feel good sometimes.
Now, I’m not saying it’s not necessary to recognize our unsung heroes from time to time. It is! In a few moments we’ll do just that when during the prayers of the people our parish bell will toll in remembrance of those died in Wold War I and all veterans. Many of these people have been forgotten. Their portraits today are unrecognizable. But they are still enough.
The truth is, even when you think your work goes unnoticed, it doesn’t, because God is there. Anything you do, any gift you give is filled with the power God and it has infinite power to change the world. Trust that, dear friends, and give all you have to give. It is, miraculously, enough.
Sunday after All Saints’ Day – November 4, 2018 – Song of Solomon 3:1-9; Revelation 21:1-6a – Trinity Church, Winchester, TN
“Give us grace so to follow your blessed saints in all virtuous and godly living, that we may come to those ineffable joys that you have prepared for those who truly love you.” So says today’s collect.
At Tuesday’s Bible study Geraldine asked, “Don’t you just love the word “ineffable?’”
Ineffable. Too great to be expressed in human words. More than magnificent. Surpassing sublime. Ineffable.
That’s what the kingdom of heaven is. Ineffable.
This portion of the collect is the petition and the reason–what we ask for and why we ask for it. It’s the meat of the thing: give us grace to follow the example of your saints already in glory, so that we may come to know that glory, too. That ineffable glory. That glory beyond description. That glory which we know not now, but which we hope for with with every fiber of our being.
The feast of All Saints’ reminds us that this time of year is not about hiding from the reality of death, it is about embracing the hope of enteral life and the ineffable joy that awaits us all.
Today we remember those whom the Church has set apart as particularly shining examples of life in Christ–our Saints. Apostles: Peter, James, John, and Bartholomew. Martyrs: Stephen, Paul, and Cyprian. Evangelists: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Even modern-day prophets like Martin Luther King, Jr. They offered their lives as a sacrifice to show us what Godly living looks like, some even unto the point of death. As we sang, “These, like priests, have watched and waited, offering up to Christ their will, soul and body consecrated, day and night they serve him still.”
All Souls’ Day, November 2nd, is traditionally the day set aside to remember all of the faithful departed: each and every Christian who has gone to glory. Often, we conflate the two days. We tend to remember everyone who has gone before us, our mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, on All Saints’. Although that’s not technically the traditional intention, it’s not all bad. I’m certainly not trying to put parameters on who you remember today. After all, there is no hierarchy in heaven.
The enteral life we celebrate on November 1st is the same eternal life we celebrate on November 2nd. Today, the Sunday after both of these important days, we gather to rejoice in the life of ineffable joy for which we all hope.
At least, I hope we hope for it.
Sometimes, though, I think we are embarrassed of our Christian hope. Sometimes we make up excuses and invent distractions so that we can avoid hoping. This time of year, when we are reminded of death and dying, we tend play dress up instead of actually dealing with those hard realities.
Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s fine to inject good humor into our lives–to pass out candy, put on a costume, or wear a mask. But we must be careful that whatever mask we wear–whether it’s Frankenstein or Richard Nixon–is not an attempt to disguise our mortality.
Our hope is often fragile, and never concrete, so sometimes we have to use our imagination to describe what it is we hope for. The authors of today’s scripture lessons are prime examples of this.
The Song of Solomon says, “The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God.” “…Their departure was thought to be disaster, and their going from us to be their destruction; but they are at peace.”
The prophet Isaiah, in the Old Testament option we did not read today, imagines this peace. He writes that on his mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all people a feast of rich food and well-aged wines.
I’ve heard people say that their number one vision of heaven is a banquet table. That makes sense, especially for Episcopalians who constantly gather at the table of the Lord, consuming bread and (not-so-well-aged) wine.
Some of our best memories occur around the dinner table. Sunday afternoon with the whole family, or another weeknight, just you and a your spouse. Your guard is down, your mouth full of flavor, and your heart warm within you. That’s heaven alright.
The author of the book of Revelation has a different vision for ineffable joy. “I saw a new heaven and a new earth . . . I saw the holy city, a new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God . . . and I heard a loud voice . . . saying . . . See, I am making all things new.”
We know from history that the author of this book was living under Roman persecution. Perhaps his imagination was the only hope he had left. He knew there was a better life coming, so he tried to imagine what that would be like. This city will pass away, but the city of the Lord with come like a bride adorned for her husband. That’s heaven.
These are attempts to imagine ineffable joy.
Our tradition is filled with such imaginings, as well. In our sequence hymn today the saints in light are compared to stars who stand before God’s throne wearing crowns of gold. Is that what heaven will be like? Will we wear robes of purest whiteness, as the poet says? Or will heaven brighten like a golden evening where Saints like warriors finally find peace and rest?
Well, we don’t know exactly, do we? It is beyond description. So, we use our imaginations. We imagine that which we cannot adequately describe but nonetheless know by promise.
This promise is perhaps best known to us through the covenant of our baptism. In just a few minutes we will renew our baptismal vows. This is an opportunity to recommit ourselves to doing Christ’s work in the world.
Our baptism is our initiation into a life of Christ, a life in which we are buried with Christ in his death, so that we can rise with him in eternal life. That eternal life is not conditional friends. Our baptism tells us that we have already entered into it. Eternal life begins at the font, not the grave. Even though we are not at rest, we are already participants in the life of Christ. So, let’s take a cue from our saints and act like it.
What if people in our society used as much imagination envisioning the kingdom of God as they do planning their halloween costumes?
And what if instead of denying death, we imagined eternal life?
And what if our hope stretched beyond mortality?
What if we imagined the glorious company prophets, apostles, and martyrs that awaits us?
What if our dreams were of saints and souls dwelling in “mystic sweet communion?”
What if what we know to be certain in this life, didn’t constrain our expectations of what is possible with God?
What if our lives were infused with that kind of hope?
What if we consider ineffable joy, an inevitable reality.
What if? What if we did all those thing?
Well, then, I guess they’d call us Christians. Yes, they’d call us Christians.
23rd Sunday after Pentecost – October 28, 2018 – Psalm 34:8 – Trinity Church, Winchester, TN
Psalm 34 verse eight says, “Taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are they who trust in him.”
These are comforting words, but they are also hard words to hear after recent events. After yesterday’s shooting at a synagogue in Pittsburg, PA the only thing I can taste is our country’s steady diet of hate speech and blood.
The King James Version puts it like this, “O taste and see how gracious the Lord is: blest is the man that trusteth in him.” Ralph Vaughn Williams wrote a choral anthem using this version. It’s often sung at churches during communion.
I’ve had that anthem stuck in my head all week. That’s the good thing about preparing sermons, sometimes the good stuff gets stuck in your head, and you can’t let it go. I’m not talking about an errant Billy Joel tune or a Cranberries single from 1993; I mean the really good stuff, the stuff that makes you ask, “Where is God in all of this?” The stuff like, “O taste and see…”
It makes me wonder: how do we taste God’s goodness? What does grace taste like?
The eucharist is the one part of our common life when tasting seems the most relevant metaphor for our relationship with God. We put the bread and the wine in our mouths, literally tasting the body and blood of our Lord. But can you really taste God’s grace via wafer and port wine? And can you taste the grace even better if instead of a wafer you use homemade communion bread, the kind with honey mixed in the batter?
For that matter, is God’s graciousness found in bread alone? Or is it also in grandma’s homemade cookies? The ones we look forward to when we spend the weekend with her, the ones many of us will never taste again? Maybe.
Or perhaps divine goodness is the taste of street tacos made by a Mexican vender who you’re not quite sure is in this country illegally, but he has that look. Nonetheless he sells you food because he needs to feed his family. I do wonder.
Maybe God’s goodness is like eating an orange. When you peel it, it releases that fresh scent that lingers under your fingernails for hours, even days, reminding you that God is always near. It could be.
The second half of this verse gives us a clue about what it means to taste God’s goodness. It says, “happy are they that trust in him.” “Taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are they that trust in him.”
This verse implies that you really have to trust in something before you taste it. That’s true, isn’t it? Taste and trust are certainly related. You do have to trust something in order to taste it, even if it’s implicit trust.
When I was growing up and one of my older sisters took a bite of something that didn’t taste so good, often she would recoil in disgust and then look at me, smile, and say, “Hey Warren, try this.” Heck no! I wasn’t going to try something she thought was disgusting. I wasn’t going to taste it because I no longer trusted that it would be good. If you don’t trust that something is going to taste good, you don’t eat it.
When you buy a bag of salad at the grocery store you blindly trust that it doesn’t contain dangerous bacteria like E. coli. Maybe trusting God is like the trust you place in a bag of lettuce. You don’t see the faceless company that packed it; you don’t know exactly where it came from, but you take it home and eat it anyway. You assume that it’s purpose it to provide nourishment for your body. You don’t often consider what might be wrong with it. You just trust it, so you taste it.
There is beauty in that trust. There is beauty in the trust that allows you to taste the lettuce, the trust that allows you to nourish your body, the trust that keeps you from becoming a paranoid mess. That trust is beautiful, and it’s not unlike the trust that allows us to taste God’s goodness.
Sometimes we go around worrying so much about the possibility of the bad, that we never experience the good. If you live in fear, you’ll never be able to recognize all the ways that God’s grace is already working in your life and in the world around you. When you live in fear–and not trust–everything tastes bitter.
I’m afraid. I’m afraid for the welfare of our nation. As the military marches to meet thousands of peaceful immigrants, I’m afraid of what will happen.
I’m afraid when terrorists send pipe bombs through the mail to kill the people they disagree with. I’m afraid of what that will lead to.
I’m afraid in an era when politicians say they would rather put their opponents in jail than have reasonable debates with them.
Yes, I’m am filled with fear, and the only taste that fear leaves in my mouth is bitterness.
Over lunch on Friday a friend (who is much older than me) said, “This is the worst I’ve ever seen this country. I thought all that Nixon stuff was bad. It was nothing like this.” That left a sour taste in my mouth, so I took another bite of my food, but it was bland and unsatisfying. Nothing could get the bitter taste of fear out of my mouth.
When I get a bad taste in my mouth I want to rinse it out immediately. When I swallowed cough syrup as a kid I always wanted to chase it with Sprite or fruit juice to overpower that gross cherry flavor, but I find it hard these days to get the disgusting taste out of my mouth. Day after day I look for something to eliminate the bitterness, but I don’t succeed. There are of course cheeseburgers and large pizzas, but those only help temporarily. They only quell the taste of fear for a few hours. I need sometime more permanent than that.
When news comes that eleven Jewish worshipers were gunned down in their temple, all I can taste is fear, and I need something really strong to wash that taste away.
I need that beautiful trust that allows me to experience God, and I think that late yesterday afternoon, I just may have found it. I was listening to Bishop Gene Robinson’s sermon at the internment of Matthew Shepard’s physical remains in the Washington National Cathedral. Bishop Robinson gave me a powerful reminder. He gave us all a powerful reminder: we are not alone. And Matt, said Bishop Robinson, was never alone. Even on the night he lay dying, tied to a fence post, his God was with him. It’s too easy to forget in days like these that God is with us.
Bishop Robinson told the story of the first police officer to arrive at the scene of Matt’s death. The police offer reports that as she approached Matt’s body she didn’t notice it at first, but there was a deer laying beside him, and it looked as though the deer had been there all night long. When the deer noticed her, it looked her straight in eyes before running away. Recounting the event the officer said, “That was the good Lord, no doubt in my mind.”
Matt was never alone. Even amidst the horrible tragedy of his own death, God was with him. God is with us always. That’s something we can trust. We can trust that even on a freezing-cold Wyoming prairie, tied to a fence post, God was there. Even on the floor of a synagogue, amidst blood and dead bodies, God was there.
Nothing can separate us from the love of God. God will always be right beside you, even if it’s to welcome you home. You can trust that.
If you live like you believe that God is always with you, and if you let yourself trust God, then you will get a taste of God’s goodness; you will experience God’s grace. And that grace will wash the taste of fear right out of your mouth.
Really. You’ll see.
Saturday after Proper 23 – October 20, 2018 – Mark 12:8-12 – St. Mary’s Convent, Sewanee
When I first read the final lines of this passage I was relieved. “Do not worry about how you are to defend yourselves or what you are to say; for the Holy Spirit will teach you at that very hour what you ought to say.”
I guess I don’t have to prepare a sermon, I thought, the Holy Spirit will take care of it when the time comes. Alas, that’s not quite what Jesus is saying. Jesus is actually talking about coming times of persecution. The full quote goes like this: “When they bring you before the synagogues, the rulers, and the authorities, do not worry about how you are to defend yourselves or what you are to say; for the Holy Spirit will teach you at that very hour what you ought to say.”
He’s telling them that God will be with them, even when the evil days come. The Holy Spirit will aid them even when they think they have no hope. That’s precisely why blaspheming against the Holy Spirit is such a grave sin.
The Holy Spirit, Jesus tells his disciples, is what will give them the power to stay faithful. These words are just as applicable to us as they were to Jesus’ disciples. In fact, they may be even more applicable on this side of the resurrection.
The Holy Spirit gives the Church the guidance to say what it needs to say and the power to say it. This is especially important to us during personal or corporate times of trial. If we denounce the Holy Spirit, or blaspheme against it, then we curse the source of the Church’s lifeblood. If we run around profaning the Spirit, then that will be fatal for the Body of Christ.
The Holy Spirit is our hope, and hope is not to be mocked. If you give in to blaspheming the very life-giving Spirit of the Church then what other life will there be? What other hope will you have?
This Holy Spirit stuff is serious business. It’s not just this thing that grabs ahold of the preacher when he preaches. It’s not just this thing that swoops down on the priest when she is ordained.
It is God, the holy and life-giving one, who sustains the Church on earth. His disciples didn’t know it that day, but we know it today; we know how the story ends. There will be persecution. But there will also be victory. There will be death, but there will also be glorious resurrection.
I have a friend who wears a t-shirt that says, “Prisoner of Hope.” Prisoner of Hope. That pretty much says it all. It tell us that he knows the whole story. You may be held hostage by the things of this world, but not me. The only thing that controls me is hope. That’s profound and hard.
If you really know your bible, then you might recognize that phrase from the ninth chapter of Zechariah. “Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope; today I declare that I will restore to you double.” It speaks of God’s people who await a king who will speak peace to the nations.
What if you heard that same word from God today? Could you claim that moniker for yourself? Are you a prisoner of hope?
Might as well be. What better option do you have?
21st Sunday after Pentecost – October 14, 2018 – Mark 10:17-31 – Christ Church, Alto, TN
We often hear today’s gospel passage cited as “the rich young ruler,” but that portrayal is the result of a mash up of all three different gospel accounts of this story. Matthew’s version calls the man both rich and young. Luke’s account calls him rich and identifies him as a ruler. Mark’s account, which we read today, really does neither. It does say he has a lot of possessions, and Jesus goes on to discuss wealth, so we take the point, but technically speaking, we make a lot out of this passage that is not actually there.
Reading the passage as Mark has laid it out for us, I find nothing inherently entitled or snobby about the man who approaches Jesus. Some people identify him as pretentious; they think he’s trying to prove something. Those are largely editorial comments which we lay over the text instead of letting it speak to us as it is.
Let’s review what we get from today’s text. Jesus is about to leave town and a man runs up and kneels before him. The man asks, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”
“You know the commandments,” says Jesus, “Don’t murder, commit adultery, steal, lie, or defraud. Honor your father and mother.” “I have kept all of these,” says the man.
Jesus looks at him lovingly and says, “You still lack one thing: sell everything you own, give the money to the poor, and then come follow me.”
The man goes away grieving because he has many possessions. Well, wouldn’t you? If after trying to live the best life you could someone told you that you still needed to get rid of all your material goods, wouldn’t that make you a little sad?
It’s a lot to ask of someone, even if you’re not wealthy. Perhaps especially if they’re not wealthy. Material goods aren’t all frivolous; they provide us comfort and make living life possible (at least the way we are accustomed to living it). There’s nothing wrong with grieving the loss of the material things in your life. Right now there are thousands of people in the Florida panhandle doing just that in the wake of Hurricane Michael.
My spouse constantly urges me to go through my closet. “You have too many clothes,” he says, “You don’t even wear them all.” He’s right. So a few weeks ago I went through them and donated a huge trash sack full. It did, I hate to admit, involve some grief. All change does, even if it’s just donating old clothes.
What if we don’t think of the man in our story as a spoiled rich kid? Instead, what if we think of him as a man who comes to Jesus to ask a legitimate question? “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” In response, Jesus is honest with him.
I think that’s a question we all struggle with. I do, even as a priest of the Church. What must I do? What must we do? (As if it’s in our control.)
When the man asks this question Jesus says, “You know the commandments.” “Yes, and I keep them all,” the man replies.
We all know the Ten Commandments. Even if we can’t name them in order, we can probably get somewhere close. We learned as kids that these are rules to follow in order to follow God. We do our best to keep them.
But there’s more, Jesus tells us. The commandments are only a part of the deal. You still lack one thing: “Sell what you own, give the money to the poor, and then come follow me.”
If you ask me, that sounds like three things. Sell, give, follow. But I think Jesus is really getting at the “follow me” part. It’s just that those first two things—selling your possessions and giving the money to the poor—are prerequisites to doing the third thing well.
In order to follow Jesus we have to give up the things that tie us to this earthly realm. We have to get rid of the things that distract us from the capital-T Truth. It’s ironic. The one thing we lack is getting rid of all the things we have. What we lack is what we have.
People have been following this teaching for centuries. St. Francis, whose feast day we celebrated with a blessing of the animals last Sunday, is well known for casting aside his great wealth in order to follow Jesus. He famously removed all his clothes upon his conversion as a way of renouncing his reliance on material goods. To this day monks and nuns take vows of poverty in order to focus more singularly on a vocation of service to Christ. By unshackling themselves from the goods that bind them to realities of this world, they find a freedom to follow their God with everything that are, by giving up everything that they have.
Their example is one for all of us. In order to follow Jesus we have to completely reorient our lives. If you really want to inherit eternal life, then go free yourself of all of the stuff that weighs you down—whatever it is—and then come back and follow Him.
We’ve seen this before in the Gospel. Remember when Jesus called his disciples? He said, “Leave your boats, leave your nets, leave your parents, and come follow me.”
Your material possessions are just things, but Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. What you lack is what you’re hanging on to.
Peter heard it, Andrew heard it, James and John heard it. Maybe we would know this man’s name if he had done the same. Maybe he’s the would-be thirteenth apostle who couldn’t quite comes to terms with the real cost of following Jesus.
What keeps you from realizing your freedom to follow Jesus? Is it something that you cling to? Is it something that you need to take out and put on the curb?
I imagine there is something, but I don’t say that to judge you. I think it’s true of everyone. It’s our nature. We cling to things instead of God. Those things can get in the way of our relationship with God.
It may be money. Or it might be something else. For some people in this great nation of ours it’s their approval rating. For other people it’s always being right. Being able to prove that you are right and know more than everyone else, that’s the problem. Putting too much stock in your own opinion of your knowledge of the facts will get in the way of God.
For some it’s fear, a palpable sense of dread that they face waking up every morning. Some can’t stand facing a world that they are convinced is utterly hopeless.
Is it any of those things, or is it something different? I’m not telling you literally to sell everything you own. I don’t think that would be in our best interest, but I do urge you to think about what separates you from God. What do you lack? Go to a quite place this week, and search for the answer. When you find it, take it to the curb, tie it down, or burn it with a pile of autumn leaves, and be free.
20th Sunday after Pentecost – October 7, 2018 – Mark 10:2-16 – Trinity Episcopal Church, Winchester, TN
Mark’s account of Jesus’ teaching on divorce may make us a bit uncomfortable. Divorce is a hard topic even without the lectionary rubbing our noses in Jesus’ thoughts about it.
In public Jesus answers the Pharisees, “From the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”
You may recognize that last part from the Prayer Book. (We got it from the Bible, not the other way around.)
What are we Episcopalians to make of this? We allow people to get divorced. Have we completely forgotten what Jesus told us? A marriage should last forever!
If I were a pessimist, I’d say we got this one wrong. But lucky for me, I’m not. Rest assured, we still belong to a faithful church. Christians have never exactly been clear on divorce, even dating back to Paul and the first gospel accounts.
In 1 Corinthians 7 Paul gives some conflicting advice about marriage between believers and nonbelievers and who is allowed to divorce whom. Matthew’s account of the same story we read today includes an exception for adultery to Jesus’ no divorce rule.
Our understanding of divorce still varies widely today. In some traditions divorce is forbidden. In others annulment is required before remarriage is permitted. It’s important to understand what Jesus is telling us when he condemns divorce so that we know what to make of it. In order to figure it out, how about some context?
In Old Testament times marriages were all about money. Marriages were largely arranged between the groom-to-be and the father of the bride. They were business transactions, and women had no say in the whole thing because they were treated as property. Divorce happened when a man wanted it.
When Jesus quoted Genesis to the Pharisees I bet he surprised them. Jesus is doing what he always does, he’s turning expectations upside down. The Pharisees ask him if he agrees with the law of Moses, and he quotes back a different part of the scripture to prove a different point.
When a couple is joined together they become one flesh, says Jesus. This is not about money or property, this is about relationship. Marriages are about two becoming one flesh; marriages last for a lifetime, not just until the husband decides write a certificate of divorce. Marriage is about mutuality and respect, not obedience and inheritance.
Sometimes when I read this passage and hear Jesus say, “No divorce allowed!” I hear him being unfair and close-minded. I hear Jesus prohibiting something that is occasionally necessary for healthy people in unhealthy relationships. I immediately think of the woman abused by her husband or the child that can’t escape the rage of an unfit or dangerous parent. Wouldn’t divorce be acceptable then?
In my haste to prove how progressive I am, I list all the reasons why divorce is, at least sometimes, OK. Well, it may be. After all, Jesus is sensitive to those with irregular or damaging relationships. For proof of this we need look no further that his conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well.
This much is clear: Jesus cares about our relationships and our unique circumstances as much as we do. He is not prohibiting divorce in order to force someone to stay in an abusive relationship. That’s a whole different situation and one that has its own tragic struggles a hard choices. Jesus doesn’t make these comments to prohibit people from getting out of bad relationships. Jesus makes these comments to redefine what marriage should be in the first place. It’s kind of ironic: through his comments on divorce, Jesus redefines marriage.
Sure, the ancient Israelites had laws about marriage and divorce, just like we do. But Jesus says that those laws stem from hardness of heart, not desire for healthy relationships.
Laws that formally govern legal relationships are necessary. We don’t want people entering and leaving marriages or business partnerships willy-nilly. Relationships are important to society, and we need to protect them for the very sake of the relationship itself, not for the sake of the selfish and the greedy who are only interested in an escape clause.
You can’t get divorced just because you find someone more appealing. You can’t abandon a commitment, just because you’re “over it.” The unity and mutuality that are the cornerstones of marriage mirror God’s relationship with humanity. You just can’t give up on that for any old reason.
Sometimes, even given the laws that exist, human relationships fail, and that’s OK. God’s grace can handle that, but that grace should not obscure our knowledge of God’s desire for our relationships in the first place.
How do you handle your relationships? That’s the question Jesus is asking us. How do we deal with honoring them, with nurturing them, with blessing them. How do we deal with them when they are broken? Do you just give up, or do you do the hard work of trying to fix them?
You’ve been part of a broken relationship, no doubt? It doesn’t’ have to be a marriage. We all get cross with people. Rumors spread, promises are broken. “I’m never talking to him again!” God asks for more from us. God asks us to view everyone as sacred. God asks us to recognize that people are not disposable. God asks us to act like relationships are two-way streets, because they are.
I have a confession to make, on Friday night I backed my truck into Walker’s car right in our driveway. I still feel bad. When I walked back in the house the first thing he said to me was, “I love you.” He wasn’t happy about it, but that’s what he said.
Can you imagine? I’m telling you this, not to put my own relationship up on a pedestal, but to illustrate a little piece of the kingdom of God, a piece that I didn’t necessarily deserve, but that Walker freely offered out of his commitment to me and to our relationship.
That’s what the kingdom of God is like. That’s what Jesus is asking of us.
Now, don’t get confused. Walker is not God—far from it! Neither am I, and neither are you. But when it comes to our relationships, we can all act like we know Jesus, because we do.
Commemoration of William Tyndale and Miles Coverdale – October 6, 2018 – St. Mary’s Convent
Today we celebrate William Tyndale and Miles Coverdale, two Holy Men of God known for their efforts in translating the Bible into English. This is not one of our most popular feast days, but it is one that ought to remember.
If it weren’t for the work of these two, our Bibles would look—and sound—quite different. We often take for granted our translations of the Bible. We forget that it all started out in Hebrew and Greek.
Ever since the scriptures were first translated it has become and ever-evolving project. There are now thousands of translations that seek to share, with diverse audiences, the Good News of Jesus Christ.
In fact, there’s even a version of the Bible called “Good News.” And then there is The Message. Now that’s relevant sounding! The NRSV is what we read from today. Our church used to use the RSV. And before that the KJV. Then of course there’s the NIV, which is popular in some protestant circles.
If you ask a Roman Catholic they are likely to tell you that they use the New American or New Jerusalem Bible. And don’t forget about the CEV, which sounds a lot like the newer CEB, but is actually quite different.
It’s amazing, all these versions that we’ve come up with. I suppose somewhere amidst this alphabet soup exists the truth that we all long for. Today we thank God for the scholars who made it possible for all of us to read it. They changed our lives before we even lived them.
Remember, all translation is interpretation. Each time someone translates a word from one language into another language they have to make choices. It is not as if each word in Greek or each word in Hebrew has one exact counterpart in English. The opposite is true.
For example, what’s the difference between a thief, a bandit, a robber, and a burglar?And which Spanish equivalent best describes each? That’s not an easy question to answer. I know because I had to try on an exam once.
You think that’s a lot of pressure? What about being responsible for generations of people understanding the word of God? Yikes!
This is to say, the work of Tyndale and Coverdale, like all human work is probably imperfect. But that’s OK. The goal of our lives together is not about getting every word of the translation perfect, it’s about developing a relationship with the Word, Jesus Christ.
The work of Tyndale and Coverdale has allowed us not just to read the word with trusted accuracy but to communicate the capital-W Word of God. They made the Bible assessable to us, and now we get to make it accessible to others, not by looking up words in dictionaries or drilling verb forms, but by living like we know Jesus.
And we do know him, not only because of Tyndale and Coverdale, but because he is among us now, just as he was with his first disciples, in the breaking of the bread and the prayers.
18th Sunday after Pentecost – September 23, 2018 – Mark 9:30-37 – Trinity Episcopal Church, Winchester, TN
After hearing today’s Gospel passage we may be tempted to dwell on the image of the child. Young, sweet, innocent. Imagine the little ringlets of hair, the brilliant blue eyes, and the curious little fingers. The image of the child sticks with us for good reason. There is a lot to admire about childhood. It’s largely carefree.
In one of my favorite TV shows, 30 Rock, Pete says to his cranky coworker Liz Lemon, “I hope you’re happy!” “Not since I was a child,” she replies.
Adults often long for the simplicity of childhood. No bills to pay. No working day. No headaches or office cubes under buzzing florescent lights.
Bring a child into the hustle and bustle of everyday life and everything gets better, even if just for a moment. A mother brings her newborn the the office to visit her daddy and it provides a nice break for everyone. “Oh my gosh she is so cute.”
Take a baby into a nursing home, stand back and soak in the smiles and the memories cast on the faces of the elderly residents.
Whenever we see a child we get that beautiful feeling. Their energy is rejuvenating. Something in their rosy cheeks offers us a an escape.
We’ve all seen the woman in the grocery store pushing her cart down the aisle. When she see a young father pushing his baby she stops to smile and wave, lost in infant’s gaze.
Maybe this is why so many stained-glass windows depict Jesus with children. They add freshness to our mundane lives. (At least as long as we’re not with the all the time.)
I really do think we idealize childhood. But—make no mistake about it—Jesus does not. Don’t let yourself get caught up in childhood sentiments. Pay attention to the rest of the story. Jesus is lifting up the virtues of childhood for a very different reason than sentimentality.
His disciples argue about who is the greatest, and he gives them a reality check. The greatest is not the biggest or the strongest or the smartest. The greatest is the one who welcomes a child such as this. Jesus does not show off the kid because the kid is adorable. Jesus redefines the cultural hierarchy of his day by dramatically elevating the status of the child.
“If you welcome a child you welcome me.” These words turn the value system of the day upside down. In ancient Palestine children didn’t have rights. A father could sell or trade his own child with no repercussion.
This is not to say that parents didn’t love their children. I’m sure the opposite was true, but there were different economic realities. People didn’t have kids simply for procreation, they also needed people to work on the family farm or in the family trade. Jesus turns this child, much more than a helping hand, into someone who is honored and revered.
Today we may be more sentimental when it comes to kids, but if we’re honest with ourselves, we still have a tendency to devalue childhood. As far as our culture is concerned children exists to grow up. They are simply biding their time until they can function as productive members of society. They are in training for the “real world.”
When someone fails to mature fast enough we criticize them. “Oh grow up!” “Get your head out of the clouds!” “I’m not always going to be here to clean up your mess!” “If you can’t even put your name on your paper how are you going to get a job?”
However, Jesus helps us reimagine the value of childhood.He doesn’t do it by highlighting their adorable characteristics or exploiting our emotions. Instead, Jesus illuminates the virtues of childhood. Jesus shows us that children are the receivers in life. They receive their life from others. Literally.
They exist because others make it possible for them to exist. I new mom once who told me, “All I remember about the ride home from the hospital is how nervous I was.” The child completely depends on them. Sure, the parents create the child together but they also continue to give it life after it is born: fresh milk, clean diapers, loving touch.
Adults are the givers life. They are the ones in control. They change the diapers and warm the milk. Adults earn the money, keep the lights on, make the beds, and drive the carpool. Parents offer punishment: Time out. No dessert. “Go to your room.” The grown ups are in control. But the children do what they are told. They can’t even walk for almost a year.
Jesus reminds us in the presence of a child what it truly means to be child-like. It’s not about being cute and naive; it’s about facing the reality of our dependence. To be child-like is to depend on others.
We all depend on others. The farmers that grow our food, the teachers who teach us how to think, the friends who support us when we are alone. Even the water treatment plant workers, the electrical linemen, and most of all, God.
If you want to be at the top the hierarchy, if you want to rank first in the kingdom of God, then you have to remember that you depend on others.
My mother has had the rare experience of her own mother becoming like her child. My grandmother has Alzheimer’s and can’t care for herself like she used to. My mom to prepare her meals, dresses her, and combs her hair.
Do you remember what it was like to depend on others? To really rely on others and be completely at their mercy? It may be a time when you were extremely sick or broke your leg and you couldn’t do anything for yourself.
Jesus is urging us to remember what it was like to receive help from others so that we will will in turn be quick to serve others in return.
Jesus says, “If you want to be greatest, don’t focus on yourself, focus on those in need. You need to recognize the holiness of the people on the bottom rung of society. If you want to be the best, you’ve got to serve others because people depend on you.”
A really good way to remember that is to remind yourself that you depend on others. “If you really want to welcome me, you’ve got to welcome this child. Not because the child is innocent, not because he child is cute or sweet, but because the child depends on you.”
A child of God is anyone who depends on others for survival. When you serve those who depend on you, you serve God. Serve all of God’s children in need. Anyone who is hungry, or thirsty, or naked. Serve anyone on the receiving end of life. Serve all who are controlled by others. Serve the powerless and manipulated. Serve the slaves. The widows. The orphans. The oppressed. The poor. The outcast. The refugee. The criminal. It is in the prison cell, the refugee camp, and the Social Security line that you will meet the God who himself ended up completely at the mercy of others.
So make haste! We don’t have much time. Even now we are passing away. We are people of a servant Lord who stooped to wash the feet of his disciples and in so doing taught us that whenever we wash someone’s clothes or buy someone’s lunch or help someone change a flat tire that we are serving Him who first served us. The One who taught us that by feeding our 88-year-old mother we might glimpse the One who gave himself to be food for others.
This is our loving God: the one we meet these beautiful moments of self-sacrifice. The very God that they disciples could not yet recognize, but that we have known all our lives. The very One who gives us greater joy than even the cutest little baby.
Word In Process 