God – Page 2 – Word In Process

The work God has given you to do

Ninth Sunday after Pentecost – August 11, 2019 – Isaiah 1:1,10-20 – Trinity, Winchester

As Christians, we say that the Bible is the inspired word of God, but it’s not always clear exactly what that means.

There are many answers. For instance, scripture is a record of God’s interaction with God’s people over time. Through scripture we come to know God and who we are in relationship with God. Not only do we believe that its human authors were inspired by God to write what they wrote when they wrote it, we also believe that God inspires our hearing of it today.

One of the specific reasons that I’m convinced scripture is inspired is because of its lasting relevance. Across time and culture, God’s word continues to inform our life together. For example, hear God’s words to us this morning from the mouth of the prophet Isaiah. (And, yes, I’m paraphrasing here…)

“I’m tired of your sacrifices. I have had enough of your burnt offerings. I do not delight in the blood of your bulls. Your incense is an abomination. Your solemn assemblies make me sick.

“I find your festivals burdensome. From now on when you pray I’m not even going to listen. Your hands are full of blood! Wash yourselves! Start doing some good for a change.”

In other words, God says, “I’ve had it *up to here!* Get yourselves under control!”

These words are hard to hear. For that reason we might be tempted to write them off as water under the bridge, a travelogue of an ancient people dealing with ancient problems.

However, Isaiah’s prophecy is as relevant today as it ever was. Our hands are still full of blood. Not the blood of bulls but the blood of school children and innocent bystanders.

We’ve tried to wash them, but rather than searching for the cleansing rivers of God’s grace, we opted for the tears of blameless immigrant children.

Much like the ancient Israelites, our nation is at a breaking point. The question is, what are we as Christians going to do about it? As Isaiah says, the answer is much more than simply, “Go to Church.” We must also speak out—and act—in the name of God.

Mainline Protestants and Catholics in America often shy away from claiming the authority of God. We are nervous about the prophetic role of our faith. Our reticence to don a prophet’s mantel is not without reason.

Some people who call themselves Christians spend so much time damning people to hell that the rest of us have become conditioned to think that claiming God’s authority is a bad thing. In an attempt to seem relevant, the Church has forfeited its prophetic witness to fear-mongers and imposters.

Perhaps the reason that many contemporary Christians are uneasy about claiming God’s authority is because they perceive themselves to be inadequate. They don’t want to presume to know the mind of God, only to find out they’ve confused their own desires with God’s will.

This instinct is admirable—no one should mistake themself for God! However, you must remember that God created you, God called you good, and God entrusted you as a steward of his creation and his word.

So, while you don’t have to call yourself a prophet, you at least ought to act like you’ve read them, and you must share their message with the world.

Today that message is this: God is fed up with our sacrifices, our empty thoughts and prayers, our vapid rituals and festivals. Before you go preaching and teaching this message, understand that God does not criticize liturgical practices because they are bad in and of themselves. God criticizes them when they are unaccompanied by acts of justice and mercy.

Valuing liturgics is fine, but valuing liturgics over people is not.

Praying is a wonderful tactic for change, as long as you understand that true prayer is a way of life, one that informs the way you act in the world.

By all means, please, come back next week to participate in the prayer book rites that so richly inform our faith, but remember: while keeping the liturgical calendar is important, it is not more important than how we treat the least of God’s people. Our participation in these liturgies rings hollow unless we also “rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, and plead for the widow.”

Today is not about bad-mouthing liturgy. It’s about realizing that, no matter how we worship, when we ignore the urgent needs of those around us, we sin, plain and simple. The good news is that God offers us forgiveness anyway. Although our sins are like scarlet now, they will become like snow.

“If you are willing and obedient,” God says, “you shall eat the good of the land; but if you refuse and rebel, you shall be devoured by the sword.”

We are tempted to hear this as though our own actions will determine whether or not we are forgiven by God. Such is not the case. We can never do anything to earn or to forfeit the marvelous grace of God.

In these words God is not giving us an ultimatum, i.e. “Do this or else be damned for all time.” Rather, in these words God is assuring us that with a little help from the almighty, we do indeed have the power to make things better.

Through Isaiah, God offers us a clear, honest, warning. If you do what I recommend, then your communities will flourish. Everyone will have the food, water, shelter, and love that they deserve as children of God.

If you do not live like I recommend, then your dire situation will persist. You will continue to live with the evil of inequality, fear, and guilt.

Today, and everyday, God invites you to repent and to commit ourself to what is good and just and merciful. You have the power to do what is right, not on your own accord, but because God works in and through you.

I know that you already know this. You know it because you know Jesus. In Jesus, God showed us that our humanity matters. God makes divine use of even our frail flesh. What a blessed thing.

I’m not exactly sure what I can urge you to do without risking tax-exempt status, so for now let’s just make it simple. What I’m saying is this: hear what God’s prophets are saying to God’s people, take advantage of God’s grace, and for God’s sake, do the work God has given you to do.

Sermons

Faithful response to God

Wednesday in Proper 6C – June 19, 2019 – Matthew 6:1-6,16-18 – St. Mary’s Convent, Sewanee

It’s been almost a week since I last saw you, and we’re still hearing from the “Sermon on the Mount.” Today Jesus instructs us not to practice our piety before others. He gives us three examples of what not to do, and three tips that can lead to healthier and more reverent practices.

“Whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you . . . But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.”

“Whenever you pray, do not . . . stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that [you] may be seen by others . . . But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door.”

“Whenever you fast, do not look dismal . . . But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face.”

It never fails. Every time I hear this passage I think about stewardship and evangelism. In my own naïveté, I tend to hear Jesus’ teaching as counter to everything I have learned about sharing my faith with others and tithing 10% of my income to the church.

Jesus’ instructions about almsgiving tell us that discretion is best. He tells us not to let people see us give money. But don’t we want people to be a part of a culture of giving? If people see others give, won’t that encourage them to give, too?

Jesus also warns us against praying in public places were we will make ourselves a spectacle. But, what about not hiding our light under a bushel basket and all that? Aren’t we supposed to make our faith known?

Jesus urges us to keep our fast in a way that does not draw too much attention. But what about Ash Wednesday? Does that mean no more ashes on my forehead? Do I need to go straight home and wash them off?

No, none of that is quite right. Jesus isn’t telling us never to give, or pray, or fast in public. He’s using public examples to tell us not to do these things for the wrong reasons.

Jesus is specifically taking to task those who lord their piety over others. To hear, “Don’t do these things in public . . .” is to miss half the message. It’s more like, “Don’t do these things in public . . . for the sake of impressing other people.”

We give, pray, and fast because these things are part of a genuine, faithful response to God’s presence in our lives. Attending church only because it’s good for business is very disingenuous.

However, setting an example of responsible tithing for friends and neighbors who don’t quite understand it yet can be a very responsible Christian witness. Likewise, thanking God for your food, even in a restaurant or school cafeteria, can be a very sincere way to recognize God’s abundant grace. And fasting, no matter what the appearance of your face, can be a very meaningful and appropriate way to respond to a merciful God.

Sometimes important things need to be explained clearly. Thank God for a sermon! The Sermon on that Mount, that is, in which Jesus teaches us not to give, and pray, and fast in order to impress others, but in grateful response to God’s presence in our lives.

But wait, doing such things in response to God’s presence in our lives requires us to be aware of God’s presence in our lives in the first place. Well then, perhaps that’s where we’ll end today, at the beginning of this whole process—step one: Look for God’s activity in the world, and when you see it, name it.

Then you can be grateful and respond.

Sermons

Trinity Sunday

Trinity Sunday – June 16, 2019 – Trinity, Winchester

Today is Trinity Sunday, a principal feast of the church and the titular feast of Trinity Episcopal Church in Winchester. It is a deep joy to be a part of a congregation so steadfast in faithful witness to God’s work in the world.

I’m not sure that a sermon is the best place to expound upon complicated doctrinal teaching, even on Trinity Sunday. In-depth exploration of the doctrine of the Trinity is probably best suited for adult formation, Bible study, and late-night conversations with nerdy friends.

We can’t even begin to scratch the surface of the Trinity in next 10 minutes. The Trinity was yesterday, is today, and will remain tomorrow a great mystery.

Even scholars who devote their lives to studying Christian theology will never quite grasp it. This is not to say that we shouldn’t ask questions about it, study it, or discuss it. In fact, we should!

Labeling this core component of our faith a “mystery” should not be an excuse not to think about it, wrestle with it, or intelligently argue about it. Quite the contrary, our beliefs are strongest when they are joined with knowledge. Learning and holiness must be linked. Prayer and study. Faith and reason.

But look who I’m telling… You know what it means to critically engage your faith. During the program year we meet weekly for both Sunday School and Bible study. A couple of weeks ago, when Amy and I suggested taking a summer hiatus, you told us you didn’t want to.

You said you wanted to keep meeting each Tuesday afternoon to talk about God and explore your faith. What’s more, you chose to forgo our typical lectionary-based Bible study in favor of a more challenging course that involved reading a scholarly book about biblical narrative.

Trinity Sunday may be the only day on the liturgical calendar that focuses on a complex theological doctrine, but at Trinity Church in Winchester we have challenging, mind-bending, faith-fueled conversations all year long.

When you think about it, it’s fitting that we are called “Trinity.” To be named for this inexplicable doctrinal mystery says something about us. It says that we are ready and willing to have challenging conversations.

This is not new to Trinity. Some of you remember that more than a decade ago you had one of the hardest conversations of all. When some members of the parish walked away to start a new venture outside of the Episcopal Church you made sure that Trinity parish remained steadfast in faithful witness. You remained committed to one another and committed to exploring your faith.

Today is about more than making sense of a complicated theological doctrine. Today is about remembering who we are together and why you—as members of Trinity Episcopal Church— are in relationship with one another.

The Trinity—one God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—is in itself a divine model for relationship. God is three, constantly relating to each other, in one. We are constantly reminded of this divine relationship in our liturgy, from “Blessed be God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit” all the way to “The blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

The Trinity reminds us that Christianity, before it is anything else, is a relationship. Before it is faith, or belief, or creed, or doctrine, or catechism, or morality, it is first and foremost a relationship with God who knew us and loved us before time and who knows and loves us still.

Christianity is a relationship with God who came as the Son in flesh to sanctify our human nature and who lives among us still. Christianity is a relationship with God who as the Spirit fell in tongues of fire on the disciples and who sustains the church still.

Christianity is a relationship with God who teaches us what it’s like to be in a relationship with each other, and the rest of creation. Without God we couldn’t live this life together. We couldn’t tolerate each other’s quirks or deal with each others’ personalities.

Without God we couldn’t have kept this little ship afloat. Without God we wouldn’t be greeting new faces at the door or welcoming back old friends. Without God we wouldn’t be able to gather in the Parish Hall for heady conversations and faith exploration.

No, without God we would not have this wonderful parish.

And without God we would not be equipped for the ministry of the future. We would not be equipped for our growing food pantry, or our renewed commitment to evangelism, or our close relationships with our fellow STEM congregations.

Without God we would scarcely have the courage to walk into each new day, calling this community’s attention to the signs of God all around.

I guess it’s a good thing we have God, then—Father, Son and Holy Spirit—because I, for one, would hate to miss this.

Sermons

Knowing God

Fifth Sunday of Easter – May 19, 2019 – Acts 11:1-18 – Trinity, Winchester

Today’s collect has a great first line. “Almighty God, whom truly to know is everlasting life.” That phrase has stuck with me since we first read it together at Bible study on Tuesday.

To know God is everlasting life. That packs a punch.

It suggests that our relationship with God is not casual. God is not a mere acquaintance or a distant relative. True knowledge of God is not futile or easily acquired. Rather, true knowledge of God is the result of a life spent experiencing God, listening to God, and responding to God.

Faithful Christians have been doing just that for centuries. In today’s lesson from Acts, the Apostle Peter recounts a vision by which he comes to deeper knowledge of God.

Peter sees God’s great picnic blanket lowered to the earth carrying animals considered to be unclean. Nevertheless, the voice of God commands Peter to kill and eat. Peter politely refuses, but three times God assures him, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”

After the vision, the Spirit leads Peter to the home of a prominent Gentile where he begins to preach. The Holy Spirit falls on all who are gathered there, just as it had on the disciples on the day of Pentecost.

Through this vision and the subsequent events God reveals that his kingdom is available even for those outside of Judaism.

It seems simple enough to us. Jesus came for everyone. Gentile, Jew, slave, free, black, white, gay, straight, woman, man, non-binary. (The list goes on.) But imagine a Jewish believer in Jesus’ time. It would have sounded preposterous that a Gentile could receive the word of God.

Jewish followers of Jesus were uniquely suited to receive the Good News of the Messiah. They were children of Israel, decedents of Abraham. Christ was the fulfillment of what had been foretold by their prophets in their Bible.

Since the Jews were God’s chosen people, the idea that Gentiles could be included in a salvation they had not-so-long-expected didn’t make much sense.

Gentiles did not live by the law. Their men were uncircumcised, they consumed forbidden food, and they didn’t perform ritual acts of washing before table fellowship. How could they all-of-the-sudden be a part of the in-group?

At this point, it’s tempting to draw an unflattering analogy between these early Jewish followers of Jesus and Christians today who refuse to acknowledge that the love of God is for anyone but them.

It’s been done before.

“The Jews were too legalistic! They were so focused on their law that they couldn’t see that God was trying to do something bigger and better! Don’t be like them!”

Let’s not fall into that trap. It would be hypocritical. By criticizing Peter for eating with Gentiles, Jewish followers of Jesus were not saying anything different than what we might say today.

“How can Baptists be Christians? They only do communion twice a year, and when they do do it they use grape juice! It’s unconscionable! It’s not biblical! It’s simply not done!”

Have you ever noticed that no matter what denomination they belong to, Christians tend to find Jesus firmly aligned with their beliefs, as if they have the market cornered on Christianity.

Christians get stuck in an either/or mentality. They see things as mutually exclusive. If you don’t have Eucharist every Sunday, then you’re doing it wrong. If you don’t only offer baptisms on major feasts, then you’re doing it wrong. If you don’t perform “last rites” immediately before death, then you’re doing it wrong.

When we engage in that kind of exclusivity we miss the point. Just because we have chosen to follow Jesus in a particular way, doesn’t mean that all the other ways that people follow Jesus are wrong.

There are, of course, some ways of following Jesus that are wrong. If your idea of following Jesus involves speaking hate, or excluding people who are different from you, or taking it upon yourself to damn others to hell, then you are absolutely wrong. But just because some ways are wrong, doesn’t mean that every way but ours is wrong.

God did not send Peter a vision to tell him that Jewish food laws were irrelevant or that the old covenant was thereby invalid. God is simply telling Peter that knowledge of God is not limited to people who observe the food laws or practice circumcision.

In the Episcopal Church we do certain things in certain ways for certain reasons. God is not calling us to abandon our rituals of common prayer. God is calling us to understand that God is not exclusively limited to them.

That’s right, Gentiles can also experience God. And for that matter, Baptists can, too! God is bigger than the Church. One set of rules or guidelines simply cannot capture all knowledge of the divine.

That’s okay, dear ones, because God continues to reveal himself to us, and each time he does he invites us into a deeper knowledge of him.

It might be in the form of the Holy Spirit guiding the General Convention to affirm the ordination of women or the sacredness of same-sex relationships.

It might be in the still, small voice that encourages our bishops to stand up against senseless gun violence and the laws that perpetuate it.

It might be in any number of things. Maybe even in something that happens to you this week.

Some say this is sacrilege. They say that everything we need to know was given to us in the Bible. The Bible may contain “all things necessary to salvation,” but that does not change the fact that God continues to help us interpret it.

I think some folks are scared that if we say that God still speaks to us that it will negate the things that God has already revealed. That’s simply not the case.

The fact that God continually guides us into deeper knowledge of our sacred texts does not mean that the texts have reached their expiration date. It means that God’s help is required in order for us to continuing mining their depths.

Deeper knowledge of God comes as a result of our participation in the life of God. Sure, there will be times along the way when we realize that we don’t know God completely. That’s a good thing.

It keeps this faith thing interesting.

It reminds us that God is God and we are not.

It keeps us coming back again and again to meet God in prayer, scripture, liturgy, and sacrament.

In other words, it keeps us in eternal life. That sounds like a pretty good deal to me!

Sermons

Resurrection

Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany – February 17, 2019 – 1 Corinthians 15:12-20 – Trinity, Winchester

Listen to this sermon here.

Passages like the one we heard this morning from St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians get right to the heart of the Christian faith: resurrection.

Paul assures us in the words of our triumphant Easter anthem: “Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep.”

Paul reminds us that Easter is the cornerstone of the Christian faith, the feast of feasts. The day of resurrection defines who we are as a community of believers. “Easter people, raise your voices!”

Each and every Sunday is the day of resurrection. Each and every time we gather, we gather in light of the resurrection. Whenever we celebrate the Eucharist as a community of the faithful we proclaim Christ’s death and resurrection.

Paul’s words may get right to the joyous heart of our faith, but they can also cause us to doubt. If there was no resurrection, then what are we doing here? It’s a scary question.

If Christ was not raised from the dead, then our faith is in vain. If Christ does not live, then we remain controlled by sin with no chance of escape. If there was no resurrection, then all those who thought they died in the hope of the resurrection actually had no hope at all. They simply perished.

How can we be sure that Christ was raised from the dead?

We live in a world that demands proof. We are a people greatly influenced by enlightenment principles, humanistic values, and scientific advancement. We like certainty.

We have proof that vaccines immunize us against disease, so we inoculate our children. We have experienced how caffeine increases stamina and alertness, so we drink coffee to wake up in the morning. We trust that gravity will keep us anchored to the earth, so we go about our lives free from the worry that we’ll suddenly float off into space.

It doesn’t quite work that way with resurrection though. Resurrection is hard to believe. We haven’t seen it. Of course there are stories of people technically dying on the operating table and coming back to life thanks to modern medical technology. But being executed, buried for three days, and then coming back to life? That’s preposterous. That is simply not plausible!

However, I’m not entirely sure it needs to be. At least, not in any historically or scientifically conceivable way. Our Christian belief in the resurrection does not depend on physical proof of Jesus walking out of a tomb on Easter morning. We’ll never have proof like that.

I don’t know that Christ was raised because I saw live footage last night at 11:00. I don’t know that Christ was raised because I saw a photo in the Tennessean. I don’t know that Christ was raised because I heard a first-hand account from one of the women who didn’t find the body.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m willing to believe it. In fact, I do. It’s just that we can’t prove that Christ was raised by studying a history book or scientific journal. Our proof is not provided by the kinds of sources that you might cite in a term paper.

Our proof is the Risen Christ himself who dwells among us. I know that Christ was raised because Christ is risen. Here. Now. And I know Christ is risen because I have seen resurrection all my life. I bet you have, too.

I’m not talking about tulips springing from amidst the dead leaves. I’m not talking about the return of the robin. I’m not talking about the first spring dew on the kitchen windowsill or a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

As lovely as those images are, they pale in comparison to the woman who approaches you on the street. She takes a chance and asks, “Are you a Christian? I thought you might be. I work at the diner around corner and when I saw you I thought maybe we could talk. I’m really depressed, and I’m having suicidal thoughts. I’ve already broken two appointments with my therapist. I wonder if you would you pray with me. It’s all I can think of to do.”

You know resurrection exists because at the funeral of a loved one Jesus walks up beside you and puts his arm around you as you sing, “I know that my Redeemer lives.” In the space of a few moments you are reminded that life is changed, not ended.

You know resurrection exists because you love a man who struggled for years with addiction. Who lost a marriage, a child, a house, a job. Who went from six-figures a year to hanging out late at the soup kitchen hoping they might be able to spare some leftovers. One day after attending a church service he decided to stay for the 12-step meeting. Now he’s a counselor who devotes his life to helping people find successful paths to recovery just like he did.

You know resurrection exists because everywhere you look there are signs of resurrection, glimpses of the fact that the Risen One just passed by.

I remember that several weeks ago in this very space a woman arrived about 15 minutes into the service. She walked halfway down the aisle and found a seat on the west side. She wasn’t here long, maybe about five minutes. Before she left she looked up and smiled the warm and comfortable smile of someone who knows the love of God, as if she wandered in just to make sure it was still here.

That’s how you know. There are signs of it all around. Signs of the risen Christ.

In today’s passage Paul tells us that if Christ is not risen, then our faith is in vain. But we know Christ is risen. So, what if we flipped Paul’s argument around? In other words, since you know Christ is risen, then why do you lack faith? Every day that we walk around in the world we seem to forget that Christ walks among us.

We treat other people as a means to an end. We value money above relationships. We let a person’s political views determine whether or not we love them. We make little to no effort to care for the earth or sustain its resources. Any joy we have we keep bottled up inside instead of sharing it with the world.

You see, I think what’s truly preposterous is not that we believe in resurrection. I think what’s truly preposterous is that we believe in resurrection, yet we go on living like the risen Christ doesn’t exist.

Our job is to proclaim that he does. In thought and word and deed. Our job is to be living, breathing agents of the the good news. I assure you, it can be done.

You’re not responsible for resurrection. That’s God’s job. Rest assured, God does it over and over and over again. Your job is to look for it and when you see it to be grateful and let that gratitude spill out of you.

If you do that, someone just might notice.

Sermons

People like you

Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany – February 10, 2019 – Luke 5:1-11 – Trinity, Winchester

You can listen to this sermon by clicking here.

When Peter sees the true power of Jesus, he pushes him away. “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”

The crowd also pushes Jesus away, though somewhat unconsciously. They are so eager to hear the Word of God that they keep getting closer and closer, forcing Jesus into a boat and out onto the lake.

We push Jesus away, too. Have you ever needed some distance from God? Maybe a Sunday morning to yourself? Have you ever stopped praying during a particularly traumatic time in your life because God seemed far away?

People have a tendency to think that they’re not worthy. Being from Kansas, I used to think it was just a Midwestern humility thing. Now I realize that humans all over the world have a tendency to question their self worth.

Sometimes this tendency manifests itself in fairly mundane circumstances. Our ordinary lives bear witness.

“Would you like some wine?” “Yes, but just whatever comes out of the box. Don’t waste the good stuff on me.”

“How about a piece of cake?” “Oh, just a sliver. I don’t want to take it away from you.”

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, I know you’re busy, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I really need to talk.”

Human notions of unworthiness also show up in extraordinary circumstances.

Consider Simon Peter’s realization today. After he sees the wonders that Jesus can work, he cries out for distance. “Go away from me!”

In today’s Old Testament lesson Isaiah does it, too. Upon seeing the Lord Isaiah exclaims, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” I am a sinner, he seems to say, unworthy of a glimpse of the almighty.

I have often heard folks describe their personal conversion stories in similar ways. After he first experienced the immense power and awesomeness of God, a friend of mine described his response as a sudden realization of his own unholiness, dependance, and insignificance.

It was likely these same feelings of personal inadequacy that prompted John Newton to pen those famous lyrics, “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”

I think what is so hard for us to understand, what baffles us most, what is so amazing to us, is that our sin does not disqualify us from knowing God. That doesn’t make much sense. There is something about the way we are wired that makes us wonder how we can be acceptable to God, or anyone else, in our sad, lowly, sinful state.

We live in a world where fair is fair. You have to give to get. We live in a world where our human potential matters above all. We live in a world where our skills and abilities determine whether or not we will succeed—and our success determines our worth. If we want to be valued, we have to do good works and produce good results.

However, God doesn’t see it that way. At least, not according to Luke. A quick look through the first few chapters of Luke’s Gospel account tells us that our relationship with God has little to do with what we are capable of and everything to do with what God can do through us.

Elizabeth was barren. Not much she could do about it. When an angel reported news of her impending pregnancy, Elizabeth’s husband said, “How can this be? I’m an old man, and my wife’s not exactly young.” The angel replied, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God.” In other words, “Believe me. It’s gonna to happen.” And so it did. Nothing is impossible with God.

Mary was young. Though she was engaged, she had never known a man. When the angel Gabriel came to tell her that she would bear God’s son, she asked, “How? I’m a virgin!” Gabriel had the pleasure of telling her that God would take care of the rest. “Let it be with me according to your word.”

Simon Peter was tired. He had been working for hours on end with no success. When Jesus told him to throw his nets back into the deep, Peter said, “Wait a minute, we’ve been working all night and haven’t had any luck.” At Jesus’ command he tried again, and the boats were filled with fish.

God tells us over and over again that even those who deem themselves unworthy can catch a glimpse of God. Not by their own merit, but by God’s.

You can try to push God away, but it’s not going to work. You can try to prove your worthlessness, but God knows better. You can protest, but God will ignore it. You can argue, but God’s not going to take the bait.

God chose you, and there’s not a thing you can do about it. Trust me.

Better yet, trust God. Trust God who shows his people over and over again that they are worthy. And not only worthy, but essential to his plan.

He chose Isaiah to prophesy. He chose John to prepare his way. He chose Mary to bring his son into the world. He chose Peter to fish for people.

Even people like you.

Sermons

Fulfilled in your hearing

Third Sunday after the Epiphany – January 27, 2019 – Luke 4:14-21 – Epiphany, Sherwood

Today we encounter Luke’s description of the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry. After he is born, baptized, and tempted in the desert, Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, travels through Galilee.

Reports of his presence begin to spread throughout the region, and while he is in his hometown of Nazareth on the sabbath day, he goes to the synagogue.

There he participates in the days “lectionary” reading, taking up the scroll of Isaiah and reading the appointed lesson. This happens to be a very important lesson. I know you just heard it, but I don’t think we can ever get too much of the Bible, so I’m going to read it once more.

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

The phrase “the year of the Lord’s favor” refers to the Year of Jubilee, an Ancient Israelite practice occurring every fifty years. According to the book of Leviticus, every fiftieth year all debts would be forgiven and financial slates wiped clean. Property would revert to its original owner and slaves would regain their liberty.

Leviticus 25 says, “You shall hallow the fiftieth year and you shall proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you: you shall return, every one of you, to your property and every one of you to your family.”

In addition to financial freedom, the Jubilee Year was observed as a “sabbatical” year. There was to be no working of the land. Instead, the Israelites were to live off of the overabundance of crops that God provided during the previous year.

“You shall not sow, or reap the aftergrowth, or harvest the unpruned vines. For it is a jubilee; it shall be holy to you: you shall eat only what the field itself produces.”

The Jubilee Year was a year of rest, both for the people and for the land. It was a time for the Israelites to give thanks to God. It was a time to remember that they were first and foremost members of God’s kingdom and brothers and sisters to one another.

It sounds like an admirable tradition, but it also sounds like an impractical tradition. You might be wondering, “Did they really do that?” If you are, you’re not alone.

God’s law might have laid out a plan for Jubilee, but as we well know, the Israelites were not always the best at following God’s instructions. They did, from time to time, turn away from him, cast idols, and fight amongst themselves.

Why should we expect the Jubilee Year to be any different? Could they really have forgiven all the money owed them or ceded their property to its heredity owner? Well, perhaps not, but that’s really not the point.

How successful the Israelites were in their efforts to keep the Jubilee Year is immaterial. What’s more important is that God’s plan for the year of jubilee existed in the first place. God’s vision of Jubilee illustrates his desire for his people to live virtuous lives, regardless of how successful they were at following through.

The same is true today. God desires healthy, productive, sinless lives for each of us, but that doesn’t mean that we are always going to meet the mark. God’s puts forth the goal, but we fall short. That’s a given. We fail. That’s the way life goes. Even so, God loves us, and God forgives us.

God does not bestow his grace on you based on how well you follow the rules. God’s gives grace freely. I promise, there’s not a thing you can do about it! The fact that God gives his chosen people instructions for holy living proves that God’s grace is abundant. God has always been on our side, and God will aways be on our side.

Proof of God’s support for us lies in the final sentences of today’s Gospel, “And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, ‘Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.’”

Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing. That day, though most in attendance would not believe it, the scripture was fulfilled in Jesus Christ.

Jesus, God incarnate, is the physical manifestation of God’s plan for all people. God came in the person of Jesus to give us the knowledge and love of God in a more intimate way that we had ever experienced it before. Jesus came to tell us that God is on our side and that God will always be on our side, so much so that he took on our frail human nature.

Jesus still comes to call us back into community with one anther and to proclaim the “year of the Lord’s favor.” We are divided by love of money, power, and status, but Jesus tells us that what unites us is stronger than what divides us. We are children of God. Our bond in Jesus Christ is worth more than what the materials of the present age could ever offer us.

Our duty is to live into our identity as children of God, following Jesus’ example. Our duty is to share God’s love with one another and to live like the siblings in Christ that we are. Our duty is to live peaceably with one another, even when we disagree. Our duty is to forgive one another. Our duty is to respect one another because each of us is made in God’s image.

God wants all good things for you. He’s here today to offer them to you in the breaking of the bread and the proclamation of his Word. A Word that, even as we speak, is fulfilled in your hearing.

Sermons

Trust and see

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.

Sermons

Our partiality problem

16th Sunday after Pentecost – September 9, 2018 – Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23; James 2:1-17; Mark 7:24-37 – Trinity Episcopal Church, Winchester, TN

Today the lectionary provides us with an embarrassment of riches. Today’s lessons at first feel and seem quite different from one another but upon closer examination, they work together to offer us a very important lesson about distinctions (or lack thereof) between God’s people.

From James we hear, “If a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, “Have a seat here, please,” while to the one who is poor you say, “Stand there,” or, “Sit at my feet,” have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts?

Proverbs is, perhaps blessedly, more brief. “The rich and the poor have this in common: the Lord is the maker of them all.”

These two passages reveal a truth that we often forget. The distinctions that we make between people who are rich and people who are poor are our distinctions, not God’s. God created all of us. In America we sometimes hear it as, “All [men] are created equal.”

Today we also have the Gospel according to Mark, from which we hear two healing stories—two miracles.

One is about a Syrophoenician woman who goes to Jesus to ask for help for her sick daughter. This woman is a Gentile. In Jesus’ world, a world of Jews, she does not belong. She takes the chance because she is desperate. He heals her daughter.

In the next scene some folks bring Jesus a deaf man with a speech impediment. Because this takes place in the Decapolis, it’s likely that he is also a Gentile. They beg Jesus to lay hands on him. Jesus takes the man aside, puts his fingers into his ears, spits, and touches his tongue. “Ephphatha,” he says, and the man is healed.

Jesus performs these saving acts on two people who do not belong to his community, two people who should never have belonged to his community.

Knowledge of this, combined with what we have already heard from Proverbs and James reinforces what we are told again and again: God shows no partiality. God made both rich and poor. God loves all people equally, no matter what side of the tracks they’re from, no matter what community they belong to.

You can’t believe in Jesus and give special treatment to the rich, or privilege members your own community. The Bible tells us and shows us that Jesus shows mercy to people who are *supposed* to be excluded.

Jesus goes out of his way to help people that the religious leaders of his day are not to keen on. Even when he is tired, or wants to be alone, he makes time for people that the world has forgotten.

Imagine that. It really was radical. And, unfortunately, it still is. I’ve heard people tell themselves, “Oh, I don’t see color” or “I don’t judge,” but there truth is, they do.

And worse than the stigmas, stereotypes, and snap judgments that we make, is pretending that we don’t make them at all. Instead of facing up to the realities of our participation in systematic oppression we find it easier to ignore any sense of guilt.

The truth is, we still exclude— not just women, gays, and racial minorities. We exclude all kinds of people who are different than us. I know a student who is on the autism spectrum. He is not able to communicate clearly and confidently with others. He cannot interact socially to the same degree that his peers can. His peers struggle to relate to him precisely because he struggles to relate to them.

It’s easier to give up or crack a joke to with your friends when he takes the whole class off on a tangent than it is to try to be supportive.

The same is true when people get sick. Congregations often jump into overdrive When a member is diagnosed with a serious illness. Members bring mounds and mounds of cut up fruit, vegetables, lasagna, and cookies.

But would you believe that sometimes after a person receives a bad diagnoses, that some people say nothing at all? Some people are afraid they will make a mistake or will not be able to relate. Some people fear that they won’t say the right thing, so they choose to say nothing at all.

Typical. We all do it.

Those are the rules of this world, but as Christinas we are called to be different. We know that God’s kingdom is not a kingdom of this world. We are called to live by the rules of God’s reign. No matter who wears what, or says what, or does what, we remember that God is the father and mother of us all.

That’s hard work. It’s hard because we haven’t all been women, or queer, or a minorities. It’s hard because we don’t always understand difference—of any kind.

We haven’t all had direct experience with autism. We haven’t all been diagnosed with Leukemia or Parkinsons. When faced with differences fear gets ahold of us. Even around people we know and love, we don’t know what might help and what might make things worse.

We just refuse to treat people differently because we don’t want to give those who are different from us “special privileges.” In this country we think that if some people get special privileges then we might lose some of ours. We assume that there has to be inequality. But Jesus showed us that’s not the case when he died for us all.

God shows no partiality. God’s saving acts are for everyone. Salvation is God’s work among all people. Jesus shows us that it belongs not only to Jews but to Gentiles, too. Even a Syrophoenician. Even a deaf man. Even poor people. Even rich people.

We don’t obtain our salvation by ourselves. It comes from the one who loved us so much that he gave himself for us. The very same one who stands alongside those who are different from us and shows us that when we love them we love him. That’s salvation.

James says, “Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him?” Yes, and the autistic, and the sick, and the queer, and the women, and the men, and the blacks, and the whites, and the Mexicans, and the Muslims.

God created us all, and he loves us more than we could ever ask or imagine.

Sermons

God had heard me, too

Friday after Proper 29 – December 1, 2017 – Psalm 142

Listen to me preach the sermon here.

I don’t need to tell you all that God can handle your anger. If you’re mad, tell God about it. You want to keep the lines of communication open.

The psalmist gets it—

I cry to the Lord with my voice; to the Lord I make loud my supplication. I pour out my complaint before him and tell him all my trouble.

Sometimes we also get a sense of it—without even thinking about it.

On Tuesday morning I hustled to Becky Wright’s office after Morning Prayer, I did that thing where I kind of presumptively open the door as I knock on it and stopped dead in front of her chair. She looked up at me from her laptop and, in that way she does, which I’m sure I don’t need to explain, she said, “Hello.”

And I said, “I’m frustrated, and I need to tell someone. I woke up this morning and read the news. Now I’ve got all these horrible things whirling around in my head, and I’m fed up with this country and with the people in it and with the stuff they say. I guess I just need a safe space to say that.”

She immediately nodded in solidarity, and when I got a little more specific in my complaints, she identified with me. Then, she assured me that I wasn’t alone.

When I was through I exhaled, and the mood of the conversation lightened. As I stared down at the pile grievances I had just dumped at her feet, a few of the great blessings of my life flashed before my eyes, and I began to relax.

As I left she said, “Come back anytime.”

And as I walked down the hall I felt that wonderful sense of relief that comes from being freed from the isolation of your distress.

That’s called grace.

Suddenly in dawned on me. I thought I was just talking to Becky, but God had heard me, too.