Sermon: Eighth Sunday After Pentecost

The Rev. Allan Sandlin, associate rector
> click here for the Scripture for the day

2 Kings 4:42-44
John 6:1-21

So, here's the thing. I'd already written a decent introduction to this sermon. It was all about pot-luck dinners. I had in mind all the great church suppers I've experienced in my life and I'd come up with mouth-watering descriptions of some of them, just to get you thinking about food. Because one theme running through this morning's lessons is an abundance of food.

I was all set to talk about how the disciples couldn't figure out how they were going to feed all those people. They were worried and anxious, they just knew that five loaves of bread and two fish wouldn't last long no matter how frugally they divided the portions.

But Jesus confounded their timid expectations and provided an extravagant, abundant feast. Everyone went home with full bellies: no one went hungry.

But two things kept interrupting my thinking about that sermon. As much as I love this story, and I do love the story of the feeding of the 5,000, I couldn't let go of the fact that it's not the only story in this morning's gospel. Every time I just about settled down with the feeding of the 5,000, the image of Jesus walking on the water kept coming back into my head.

That's one thing. The other reason I gave up on the pot-luck supper sermon is that I kept thinking about you. Not that we haven't enjoyed some delicious meals together here at Holy Trinity. But I was thinking about the adult forum last Sunday morning out in the narthex and the concern in your voices over the sudden and tragic deaths of two parishioners.

And I was remembering those who are facing surgery and the one who just finished another round of chemotherapy. I was conscious of those of you who've lost a parent or a brother or a spouse in the past few months. I was thinking about my friend who just lost his job and others who are worried about their jobs.

And then I went back to the gospel. And I thought about those disciples. Those disciples who were, after all, not so very different from us. They were worried about running out of resources, they were scared of what they might lose, and even with Jesus standing right in front of them, they could not see the hope, the vision of how he was making all things new.

It's right there in the text, how they responded when Jesus tested them. Knowing full well what he had in mind to do, Jesus asked Philip, "Where on earth are we going to get enough bread to feed all these people?" Well, Jesus knew where that bread would come from. He knew because he was going to provide the bread, he was going to bless that bread and, at least in John's version of the story, he was the one who would take each morsel of bread and put it into the outstretched hands of those hungry, fearful people.

Of course, in John's gospel, Jesus himself is the bread. But you'll have to come back next Sunday for that.

And it wasn't just the disciples who were running scared. Take a look at the reaction of the crowd who showed up for the picnic. After they'd eaten their fill and after the 12 baskets of leftovers had been gathered up (because Jesus, being the captain of the Green Team, didn't believe in letting anything go to waste), they were stunned. They were impressed. One of them said to his friends, hey, he looks a lot like that old prophet Elisha did when he provided food for our great-grandparents. Maybe they'd been reading from the same Hebrew Scripture we read this morning.

At any rate, they were all set to make Jesus king because they thought that he could take care of their needs. But they jumped to the wrong conclusion. We know it was the wrong conclusion because of Jesus' reaction. He wanted no part of it. So he just slipped away while they were setting up the throne and polishing the crown.

The people thought they'd found a king who was so mighty, so powerful that he would deliver them from all their troubles, he would take away their loneliness and their heartbreak and cure their illnesses. Everything would be glorious and bright and shining and most of all, they'd all be happy. That's the kind of king they thought they needed. That's who they wanted Jesus to be for them. They were terrified of the reality of life, of the messiness and unanswerable questions and the senselessness that they kept bumping up against. I think that's why they wanted to make Jesus king. And who can blame them?

My friend Bob was born with hemophilia. As he was growing up, every single day, his parents feared for his life. Every time he fell, or got a small scrape or cut, they knew it could cause him to bleed badly. From his early childhood forward, he needed transfusions regularly and he wore braces on his legs. He spent weeks and months in and out of the hospital. His parents loved and cared for him and I don't doubt that they prayed to God for a cure, for answers to their questions about the unfairness of this disease.

In the late 70s, back before the nation's blood supply was more carefully screened, Bob contracted HIV through one of those transfusions. Miraculously, for reasons that I think are still uncertain, he never developed AIDS. Later on, he came down with Hepatitis C. And it was the hepatitis that began to destroy his liver.

Bob and his wife Anne live and work in Boston. Seven years ago his doctors in Boston placed him on the waiting list to receive a new liver. Ten times during those years, they were called to the hospital when it seemed possible a liver would become available. Ten times they went home with Bob still sick.

Then came a phone call from a doctor at Emory University Hospital saying that if Bob was willing to be part of a highly unusual procedure for transplantation, they could offer him some help. Bob said yes.

About a month ago now, the doctor called and told Bob and Anne to keep their bags packed and 3 weeks ago, the doctor called again and said come. A new liver could become available any time now, he said.

On Wednesday night of the week they arrived in Atlanta, they came over to dinner at our house. They were full of questions for us about the time in 2002 when I received my own new liver. Gretchen and I shared stories with them about those last months leading up to the transplant. They listened to us talk about how sick I became while waiting. And they heard Gretchen offer hope through her descriptions of our life together post-transplant.

It was a wonderful, luminous evening. On the way out the door, Anne said "Wouldn't it be something if the phone call came tonight?" And it did.

And now a little over two weeks later, Bob has his new liver. His body is learning how to live with this new organ and he's doing very well. He's out of the hospital and beginning to move out into the world-having dinner with friends, talking to his children on the phone, anticipating visits from his parents, enjoying some very hearty meals.

Here's the most amazing thing: his new liver gives him the same hope I now enjoy for a longer life. But having a new liver also means he no longer has hemophilia. For the first time in his life, he doesn't have to anticipate the next transfusion or worry quite so much about nicks on his chin when he shaves.

Every time I see their faces now and hear their voices, I sense their overwhelming gratitude for the gift God has given them. And it's all about extravagance and abundance, overflowing joy...

Here's another story of God's abundant grace. You may have heard that the General Convention of the Episcopal Church took place in Anaheim, California last week. Lots of us thought it would be another messy, contentious meeting, with angry voices and loud protests, with strong differences of opinion on the matter of human sexuality. Instead, the stories we heard were mostly about people pulling together, respectful of their differences and eager to get on with the work of the gospel.

For instance, before Convention began, the bishops and deputies were handed the proposed three-year budget for the Church that included cutting out all funds for the Millennium Development Goals. But they responded by not only restoring the 0.7% to the MDGs but they added another 0.7% to help fight domestic poverty. Funds may be scarce in the coming triennial, but our Church has said this is something God calls us to do, to risk, to spend our money on.

The Convention also passed two resolutions that bear witness to where we are as a Church with respect to the ministry of gay and lesbian people. While clearly reaffirming our commitment to the Anglican Communion, these resolutions also affirm the presence, the ministry and the witness of gay people in our midst.

The Episcopal Church has been here before. Just as God broke down the walls
that kept black people and white people in the 1950s and 60s from worshiping together... just as, in the 1970s and 80s, God broke down the walls that kept women from serving on the vestry or as chalice bearers or as preachers and priests, I believe God is breaking down these walls. And that is good news.

This good news points toward God's unexpected, generous grace in over-flowing baskets, reversing our expectations of scarcity. Dispelling our suspicion that there just isn't enough love and trust and respect to go around, to help us make it through the night...

Back in the 6th chapter of John's gospel it was sometime after sunset, the crowds had all gone home and the disciples had gotten tired of waiting around for Jesus. They were eager to get back to Capernaum and so they got into a boat and started rowing across the lake. You had to know things were not going to go smoothly, out of the Sea of Galilee in the middle of the night, without Jesus.

Sure enough, the waves start splashing in over the sides of the boat, the wind is howling. Maybe it was Philip who held his lantern up high over his head to help them see better. They couldn't believe their eyes. There came Jesus, walking on the water. And then, the scripture tells us, then they were terrified.

I wonder. What is it that terrifies you this morning? What worries you and keeps you awake at night?

You know, Jesus isn't the kind of king who'll be coming to the rescue. However, he will do with us what he did with the disciples. If we're paying attention, we'll recognize he's already in the boat with us and he'll see us all the way home.

And he's bringing along some bread for the journey. He's still feeding people with that life-giving, deeply satisfying bread. There's more than enough to go around and it's the only bread that we really need. It's food that sustains, food that nourishes and it's right here, right now, free for the taking.

Sermon: Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

The Very Rev. William Thomas Deneke, rector

The psalmist and the gospel writer team up today with sheep and shepherd metaphors.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want,” says the psalmist.

“As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he
had compassion on them, because they were like
sheep without a shepherd,” says the gospel writer.

We probably don’t like to think of ourselves as sheep. Others may fall into this category but we are too enlightened, too independent. Yet there are times when all of us feel more like sheep than shepherds.

One day last week, as I was leaving the church, a young man named Brandon showed up. He was obviously in considerable pain. He said that he had an abscessed tooth. In fact, he and his parents were driving from South Carolina to Alabama when the pain became so bad that they left the interstate and found their way to the emergency room at Dekalb Medical Center. Brandon had been given a couple of prescriptions but had no money to have them filled. He was truly living in pain and chaos. In a strange town, deeply in pain and needing help. There he stood in the church plaza, a sheep without a shepherd.

We went to the drug store. As we waited for his prescriptions to be filled, Brandon began to tell me of his situation. He was a plumber’s helper and he traveled from one construction site to another. Both he and his father did this sort of itinerate work and his mother went with them. There had been a mix-up in South Carolina: the master plumber was not to be on the site for another week and the helpers had been sent home.

To say the least, his was a hard life. Brandon was not complaining but he was wondering how much longer his family could continue in this line of work as his mother’s health was worsening.

Brandon is an example of someone living on the edge of chaos. It would not take much to go wrong and he would find himself in utter darkness. While his circumstances may be different than ours, the truth is we are like Brandon in many ways. Life is ever challenging any notion we may harbor that we, alone, are masters of our fate.

I think it raises our anxieties when life crashes in for those around us. Sometimes our tendency is to blame. We think life is not meant to be chaotic and if it is, it must be someone’s fault. But sometimes the best plans and the most sincere prayers seem to crumble before us, and there is no one to blame. We may find ourselves stuck somewhere between wanting to be the shepherd of our lives and feeling like sheep without a shepherd.

The other day I had a conversation with someone who had been laid-off. The place where this person worked was closed down. She was offered a job out west at another plant, but that was too far removed from her family and her roots, from where she belonged. Like most of us, this person took pride in being self-sufficient financially (although no one really ever is) and was now living on unemployment benefits, which would soon run out. Like others we know and like some of you, everyday she was seeking employment.

Here was a shepherd beginning to feel like a lost sheep. Still she was hopeful. Her faith was strong.

I hear these stories and I think how Jesus had compassion on the crowd because they were like sheep without a shepherd. He did not blame; he had compassion.

Compassion is a gift from God. Compassion opens doors to resources.

Jesus did not just feel sorry for the crowd. In his compassion he began to act. He taught and he healed.

I have seen what compassion has fostered at Holy Trinity. The support this parish has for outreach opportunities is a gift of compassion. The mission to Honduras we hope to accomplish in the coming days is empowered by compassion. Within our parish, compassion is evident in our pastoral and formation ministries. And in the way we hold one another in prayer.

Psalm 23 reveals the source of compassion: The Good Shepherd. Trust in the Good Shepherd leads us to say with the Psalmist, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me: thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”

And when we can say that, compassion is at home in us.

Thank God for the times we can say these words. And when we cannot, we can take comfort that someone is saying them for us, for our prayers are also for those who cannot pray.

Our true hope is in the compassion of the Good Shepherd. In the compassion of the One who leads us beside still waters, who draws us to paths of righteousness, who comforts us, anoints our head and fills our cup. And who promises that we will dwell with the God of Compassion forever. The Lord, indeed, is our shepherd. Amen.

Sermon: Sixth Sunday After Pentecost

Angela Shelley Wiggins

Long ago, in a far away place, there lived a powerful king with a vast and wealthy kingdom. Well, actually, he wasn’t quite a king, he was more of a puppet for the real rulers, but he liked to think of himself as king. So we’ll play along, we’ll call him king.

To celebrate his birthday, the king held a great feast--the kind of party only a king would throw. He invited his most loyal supporters and advisers. People came from the far reaches of the kingdom to join in the festivities. The guests wore their finest clothes, bright colors, fine linen and silk.

The best meats and cheeses were prepared; the finest wines were poured. Everything was extravagant and the guests feasted. It was a night they would long remember.

There were speeches and toasts, congratulations, and well wishes. The king brought in entertainers – singers, musicians, jugglers, dancers, magicians, and acrobats. There was something for everyone.

Even the king’s sons joined in wishing their father joy and prosperity. One of his daughters danced; a beautiful and exotic dance. The king was so pleased with her, so pleased to have won her admiration.

He said to his daughter, “I will give you anything you wish for, anything up to half of my kingdom.” The guests heard this vow, heard the king declare to his daughter that she could have anything she wished for.

The king was pleased when she replied that she would ask her mother for advice. So wise, he thought, to ask advice of her elders. Most people, he thought, would reply hastily, and waste their wish on something small and trivial. But not this girl, she would choose wisely, carefully; she would choose something she would not forget. But remember, at this party, things aren’t always what they seem.

The girl ran to her mother and told her that the king had vowed to give her anything she asked for, up to half his kingdom. What should she ask for, she asked her mother. Another horse or a castle of her own? Jewels, silks, gold? What would befit such a vow? What should she ask for so she would never forget this night? She asked her mother, “what about you, Mother? What do you want most in all the world?”

It was an easy question for her mother to answer. She wanted revenge more than anything else, revenge on the man who had shamed her. Her husband, the king, wouldn’t grant it to her; he had locked her enemy in protective custody. But now she saw her chance. She knew the king wouldn’t go back on a vow made before his courtiers. All she had to do was to put her request in the mouth of her daughter, and it would be granted. She would have revenge.

Quickly she told her daughter to ask for the head of her enemy to be brought to her. With a reckless vow, the king had promised to grant anything the girl asked for. This is not what he had in mind, but he could not refuse her. He would not go back on a vow made so publicly and so boastfully.

When the girl approached the king, he looked down at her, eager to hear her fondest desire. He wondered what she would ask for. He asked for silence so that everyone could hear the girl’s request. The guests leaned forward to hear her. She made her request: she asked for the head of her mother’s enemy on a platter. There was silence, then a gasp from the guests.

The king knew he could not deny his daughter’s wish. He had promised her anything, and this is what she had asked for. He asked the musicians and dancers to begin again, and sent his soldiers to the jail to fulfill the girl’s wish.

In less than an hour the soldiers were back at the feast. As they carried in a platter with the severed head on it, the crowd cheered.

At this party, things are not always what they seem. What should have been a joyous celebration, a life-giving event, becomes a death watch.

We’re startled by how the story ends. It has a gruesome, grotesque ending, the kind of ending that lingers in our minds and dances around in our imaginations.

At first the story sounds like generous hospitality, but it quickly becomes a story of excess and recklessness. The whole story is a story of distortions, of things out of proportion and out of balance. We see the ugly side of almost everything.

It’s also a story of reversals, starting with Herod’s fear that the man he executed is now alive. Herod put John the Baptist in protective custody, but protective custody becomes death row; and a birthday becomes a day for killing.

The king plays at being powerful, but his wife and daughter subvert his power, and lure him into murder. The dance of delight becomes the dance of death, pleasure turns to grief.

The one sent to prepare the way of the Lord is dead. The one chosen by God to announce good news is chosen for execution. John the Baptist came to proclaim good news, and he was killed for that proclamation, killed because of the power of his words.

Everything that seemed good, seems to have gone bad. It’s a night they’ll never forget, but for all the wrong reasons. But remember, at this party everything is not what it seems. There’s more here than the story of a martyr’s death.

Mark the evangelist consistently positions the life and mission of the John the Baptist along side the life of Jesus. In life John the Baptist points to Jesus, and his death continues to point to Jesus Christ. In the introduction to this story, Mark has the people question whether Jesus is actually John raised from the dead. When we see John the Baptist, Mark wants us to think of Jesus Christ. He tells the Jesus story with John as a parallel. When he tells of the death of John, we know he’s looking ahead to the death of Jesus. Mark ends his story with the resurrection of Jesus, and that’s the beginning of our story.

And that’s where our hope lies, in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, in the new life we have in Christ. The Epistle lesson for today celebrates the giver of that new life, the life in which we are adopted as God’s own children. Unlike the king, the wicked stepfather, who promises half his kingdom, God has promised to us God’s whole kingdom, “every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places” (Eph 1:3). God has “lavished on us” the “riches of God’s grace.”

We don’t have to dance our way into God’s favor or trick God into doing what we want. Instead, God has “freely bestowed” grace on us, and has chosen us “to be holy and blameless before God in love.” Ephesians says we have “obtained an inheritance,” an “inheritance toward redemption as God’s own people” (v. 14).

Our story is a story of reversal, a story of adoption, a story in which we are forgiven, a story of life springing from death.

As the children of God, we are “marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit” (v. 13). We are Christ’s own forever. That’s something worth celebrating, that’s a reason to throw a feast.

And so we do. Today and every Sunday, not just any feast, but a heavenly feast. We have a feast around this table, and we celebrate mysteries we don’t comprehend. As the children of God, we remember our redemption, our adoption, and we join in the heavenly feast.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Sermon: Fifth Sunday After Pentecost

The Very Rev. William Thomas Deneke, rector

On a weekend when we celebrate independence and freedom, we find that neither is absolute and both are exceedingly complex.

In 1776 independence was primarily defined as independence from the rule of Great Britain. But even then there were all sorts of corollaries. Many colonists had come to America primarily for religious freedom, although as the Church of England was a state Church, the boundaries between civil and religious authority were fuzzy. For a good number of colonists, the aim was freedom from the throne and Parliament but not entirely from British culture. The Boston Tea Party was a case in point. Only later would a separate American identity be formed.

Now 233 years after the original Fourth of July we look back and marvel at the revolutionary movement revealed in the Declaration of Independence. A movement of democracy still developing today.

The Declaration has always been in process. Early on voting rights were available only to free white males who owned property. Liberty for all has a broader meaning today than in the 18th Century.

And there is another big change. We live in an increasingly interdependent world. We are seeing that in the global economic crisis of our time. National boundaries for the most part are only partially conveyers of independence.

And it is worth asking: Is absolute independence a desirable goal? From a Christian perspective freedom is never defined by independence. The full maturity of people and nations is shaped by relationships defined in the Great Commandment: "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. And you shall love your neighbor as yourself."

This is paradoxical understanding of freedom. It shifts the perspective from simply freedom from to include freedom to. As we are freed from being consumed with ourselves we are freed to reach out to others. Being freed from fear and scarcity, we are freed to hope and embrace God's abundance. And being freed from self-loathing and guilt, we are freed to love our neighbor as ourselves, freed to love God and our neighbor who in an interdependent world is not only the person next door but also someone in Haiti, Honduras, New Orleans, and Belgrade, Serbia.

We sing hymns to celebrate this. Hymns such as "In Christ there is no East or West" and even "Joy to the World."

Moreover, this paradoxical understanding of freedom is underscored by the prayers of our church and especially the Collect for Peace in Morning Prayer. "O God, who art the author of peace and lover of concord, in knowledge of whom standeth our eternal life, whose service is perfect freedom..."

"Whose service is perfect freedom..." For those of us bound and freed by the vows of our baptism, any celebration of independence and freedom must come to grips with this prayer.

It is true that likely most Christian nations in conflict have maintained that God is on their side. This may appear at times little more than a self-serving political ploy. Still this cannot dissuade us from the call of our faith to pursue freedom foremost in service to the One who said to love God and our neighbor above all else. From a Christian perspective true patriotism is the willingness to pursue this truth and to pray fervently for the council of the Holy Spirit in all matters of the state.

This weekend we celebrate all that is good about our country, and we do well to repent of all that is sinful. We continue to learn what freedom means and does not mean. We are amazed and thankful that from the early days of people landing on these shores a nation of immense achievement, generosity, and diversity has come forth and continued to develop.

And above all, we give thanks that we are blessed with abundant resources and opportunities to glorify God, whose service, indeed, is perfect freedom.

Prayer for the nation: BCP p. 820

Almighty God who hast given us this good land for our heritage; We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of thy favor and glad to do thy will. Bless our land with honorable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in they Name we entrust with the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to thy law, we may show forth thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail; all which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.