Sermon: Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

The Rev. Allan Sandlin, associate rector

For several years, my wife, Gretchen, taught Sunday School to a group of children, mostly girls as I recall.

She didn’t have a curriculum to teach by, so together with her friend, Sue, she designed the classes and planned each lesson. Gretchen and Sue were less concerned with learning Bible verses by heart, though that’s a very good thing to do, and more interested in trying to open windows of possibility for the children, windows through which they could know something of God’s love.

One year, when the children were 8 or 9 years old, the two teachers set out to look for women in the Bible whose stories they might share with the class. They found Deborah and Mary Magdalene, Sarah and Rachel, Lydia and I hope they encountered the Syrophoenician woman, the one who helped Jesus change his mind in the gospel lesson a couple of weeks ago.

Of course, Ruth and Naomi were there—they spent several weeks on Ruth and Naomi.

And then there was Esther. One of two women in the Bible to have a book named after them. You’ll find the Book of Esther in the Old Testament, tucked in between Nehemiah and Job. The story of Esther is short enough that you could easily read it in one sitting, like a good Flannery O’Conner short story.

And it’s full of intrigue, fascinating characters capable of great evil and brave, bold action.

They took several Sunday mornings to tell Esther’s story.

On Esther’s final Sunday with them, the students had a great time dressing up in quasi- 5th century BCE Persian clothing, using lots of scarves.

They acted out the entire saga of Esther, who begins as an orphaned young girl, powerless; she’s a young girl and she’s also a Jew living in a Gentile world.
The children had listened in awe the previous weeks to the story of the wicked Haman and his plot to destroy all the Jewish people, simply because one Jew, Mordecai, refused to bow down to him.

They laughed at King Ahasureus and his antics in the court, his gullibility and how easily manipulated he was.

They nodded their heads with satisfaction when Mordecai told his cousin, Esther, of Haman’s plan. How Haman whispered half-truths about the Jews into the king’s ears (“they are not like us, they have strange religious practices that are foreign to us, they don’t keep the king’s laws”).

When Mordecai learned of the plan to “destroy, kill and annihilate all Jews”, he approached Esther with a plan of his own. Esther would go to her husband, the king, and plead for mercy for her people, the Jews.

Mordecai reminds Esther that she and he will not be safe from destruction simply because they reside in the king’s palace.

And then in chapter 4 of the book of Esther, he says these unforgettable words to her: “Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.”


Now, I wasn’t there but I’d guess the Sunday School teachers may opted not to tell their young students everything that biblical scholars have noticed about this story. For instance, there’s nothing overtly religious or theological in this book of the Bible, no mention of prayers or sacrifices.

And, while Esther and Mordecai are both Jews, there is nothing to indicate that either of them followed Jewish law. Esther is, of course, married to a Gentile king, and for all appearances, she is totally assimilated into his world. That’s all a bit surprising.

But most striking and strange is that in the book of Esther, God is not mentioned at all.

Yet, God’s providence, God’s concern for the Jewish people underlies the story. God remains off-stage in this story, unseen, but working through human beings to bring about the salvation of God’s people, the people of Israel.
And so when Mordecai suggests to Esther “Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this” he is challenging her to break the silence, to act boldly on behalf of her own people.

Esther listens to her cousin’s counsel, allows those words to sink in and after a few days of fasting, makes up her mind to act.

Now, she knows that there’s a law in the kingdom that forbids anyone to approach the king in his court without first being summoned.

And that even as the queen, to do so will put her life in jeopardy. And yet, she says “I will go to the king, though it is against the law; and if I perish, I perish.”

That sets the stage for the scene in today’s reading—the moment of truth when Esther invites King Ahasuerus and Haman to a banquet and once she has the king’s full attention, Esther exposes Haman’s treachery.

And by doing this, in a male-dominated, patriarchal society, Esther reverses all expectations and saves her people.

I’m glad those children met Esther, spent a few Sunday mornings listening to her story, thinking about how courageous she was. I hope that something of Esther has stayed with them, especially now that they are all teenagers.

I hope they remember something of Esther, who broke the silence of oppression and fear, and claimed her place as a brave, courageous, bold risk-taker and perhaps a God-bearer, a good news bearer.

Biblical scholar Sidnie White Crawford writes that it’s possible “Esther became queen just to fulfill God’s purpose, but humans cannot know that.”

I believe it’s risky at best and possibly dangerous for queens or presidents or clergy or Sunday School teachers to claim that they are acting on God’s behalf, directed by God.

All we can do is act, in the hope that our action corresponds to the plan and purpose of God.

So it doesn’t much bother me that God’s name isn’t mentioned in Esther’s story. I don’t need proof that she was acting according to God’s purpose because God’s fingerprints are over this story, all over Esther’s life.

Maybe you can close your eyes and call someone to mind who acted courageously, leaving behind traces of the divine, someone who has been a model of bravery and boldness for you. Who have been those models for you? When I think about people who, like Esther, have inspired me, who have encouraged me and given me hope… people through whom I have seen glimpses of God… this morning, four women here at Holy Trinity come to my mind. They are four women in the middle of their lives, all of them happen to be married with children.

And all of them have or have had breast cancer.

These four people are, in the first place, deeply connected with one another and have been offering support and encouragement to each other at the various points along the path. And I suspect there are other women here who are their companions.

But they are not afraid to talk about their experiences; they are finding their voices to share with the rest of us bits and pieces of their stories.

I hear in the voices of these women echoes of Esther, connected in a deep way with God’s dream for us all. Their story has to do specifically with cancer.

But I wonder how their courage, their willingness to be open and vulnerable, how might they inspire me and you? How is their model of courage inviting you to pay attention to the question “Where is God calling you to act boldly, to act courageously?”

Another way of saying that: maybe God is calling you to lead a life that has some salt in it.

Did you hear Jesus saying that to his disciples in the gospel lesson this morning? Don’t let all the flavor, all the zest seep out of your life!

I think Esther was a person with a considerable amount of salt. She didn’t follow the rules and in a time when women were viewed as property and could be dismissed easily, even put to death simply for showing up at the wrong time in the wrong place, she moved with grace and confidence to save her people.

Yesterday here at Holy Trinity we said goodbye to a woman who I think looked a lot like Esther.

Myree Wells Maas was salty and in her grandson’s homily at her funeral we were reminded of her inquisitive mind, her inquiring heart, her willingness to act in ways that women of her generation weren’t supposed to act.

She was, after all, a Southern lady from Decatur who grew up in the Baptist Church, but became weary of singing “Just as I am”. She went to college, worked as a purchaser for Davidson’s, made business trips to New York all by herself, met a Jewish man named Joe Maas who worked for her at Davidson’s, married him and then she became an Episcopalian.

She was a member of this parish for 50 years.

I have a hunch Myree would have held Esther in high esteem, though she might have questioned some of her tactics.

This morning we remember all of these women and we can be thankful for the seasoning they add to our lives of faith.

Whether you are our guest here this morning, or whether you’ve been coming to this parish for more than 50 years… there is work to be done.

We have stories to tell, songs to sing, and suffering, wounded souls to shelter.

Who knows?

Perhaps you have come to Holy Trinity for just such a time as this.

Sermon: Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost - Camp Mikell

Tommy Lowndes
Parish Family Weekend
Camp Mikell
09/27/09


Once again I am honored to be given the opportunity to be here with you, share in the worship and reflect with you on the good news and our place in the word.

Thanks to Father Deneke and to all of you for allowing me this chance over these 5 years or so.

I mentioned a couple of years ago that there are so many half composed sermons working in my mind. They're mostly general topics that could be used anytime that, oh say, the planned preacher for the day had minor car trouble or perhaps a minor cold. (Nothing bad of course, just a little tickle in the back of the throat.)

I have a good one working that will be named "The Gospel According to Go Dog, Go," but it is not ready. However, after reading today's Gospel selection in preparation for this morning, I realized that today would be a chance work in one of the partials. So as we consider the good news we heard this morning and I am going to sprinkle in parts of my sermon with the working title of "The Gospel According to the Y's." That's the letter Y. Yoda from Star Wars and Yogi Berra. Both are known for their sayings. One sayings of wisdom and the other for mixed up sayings.

It is good for us to come on these weekends. We get away from our everyday hum drum, our routines and I, even as a born worrier, even get away from my worries.

As normal human beings we need this sort of break. And the fact that we can share it as a family is only all the better. Let's explore for a moment how a weekend like this and going to church on Sunday relates to our calling from God to love and serve the world. Bryant wright, an Atlanta preacher that presents a daily inspirational thought each morning on the radio station that I listen to, recently brought up a Billy Graham quote that applies to our experience this weekend and what we heard today. Billy Graham said, "being in church no more makes you a Christian than being in a garage makes you a car."

It can be easy to fall into the mindset that if we go to church and do things at the church that we are living out our Christian calling. Throughout the Gospel, not just today, we are called over and over to be out in the world spreading the word. Further, over and over we are told that the best way to spread the word is through action.

You may have recognized the sequence hymn that we used today as the one that Father Sandlin introduced to the congregation on Rally Day. This is a call to action song through and through. But, the first stanza really got my attention that morning.

As a fire is meant for burning with a bright and warming flame
So the church is meant for mission Giving glory to God's name.

Not to preach our creeds or customs, but to build a bridge of care
We join hands across the nations, finding neighbors everywhere.

Can you hear the call to action? To imagine joining hands is a much more comforting image than an image of merely talking to, or worse, at one another.

It is important to come here, and to go to church. It is in our gathering together that we gain the strength to go into the world and do the work that Jesus is telling us in today's Gospel passage to go and do.

Up here we have been enjoying each other's company, we have laughed, played, joked and worshiped. In a few minutes we will celebrate the gift of the eucharist with each other. We will dine together one more time, and then,... we go home. I know that often when I leave Camp Mikell, I am almost always recharged in the spirit and ready to go back to the "real world" and try to do the work that I know we are commanded to do. Mainly to love the Lord God with all our hearts, all our souls and all our minds and also love our neighbors as ourselves.

Did you hear the word "try" in my words. The character Yoda from Star Wars has some guidance for us here. He says "do or do not. There is no try."

This morning Jesus didn't say try to proclaim and live in the power of his name. Quite the opposite, he is very graphic about what lengths one should go to in order to not interfere with his work in the world.

If you interfere, he says, "it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea.

I've been thinking a lot about a point that Father Deneke made in a sermon about 4 weeks or so ago. He reminded us that evil is not some thing or force that is out there somewhere looking for us. Evil comes from within us. And like Father Deneke, Yoda has a similar thought on the topic for us. "Anger, fear, aggression. The dark side are they. Once you start down the dark path forever it will dominate your destiny."

Yoda, and Father Deneke make good points that we must pay attention to. However, there is good news in the Gospel and from ("wait for it")... Yogi Berra. Jesus tells us today that "no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able to soon afterward speak evil of me." Yogi once said, "if you come to a fork in the road, take it."

As I ponder the Yogi quote, I realize that there really should be only one choice when presented with the opportunity to help others. Take it!

The recent floods in our neighborhood, like many other neighborhoods around town demonstrated to me the caring that people tend to have for one another. I experienced, and saw, at house after house, neighbors dropping their own clean up and recovery efforts to help those near them with greater need. I believe that this is the kind of personal charity that we should leave this place or any worship service charged up and seeking to give.

Through the gift of the Holy Spirit, given to us at baptism, the life of Christ is within us. Again, not some outside thing or force. Good is within us. But it takes effort on our part to bring good into the world. Come to church, fire up your spirit and then cary that spiritual fire inside out and light the world with your actions.

I'd like to close my thoughts with a look at the last verse of today's Gospel reading. (I have to admit that for just this moment I wish was preaching in a Baptist church. It would be so cool to ask everyone to join me in reading and hear all of the floppy bibles opening up out there.)

"For everyone will be salted with fire. Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another."

Salted with fire! I don't know why exactly but that phrase just gives me tingles. Not just salted, but salted with fire. So if salt is good, salted with fire must be better. But we are warned that the salt may loose its saltiness.

In reality, salt doesn't really ever loose its saltiness. What may look like salt to us may have become contaminated with sand or other minerals reducing the effect of the salt.

Like the contents of the salt shaker, our hearts are born in the spirit of pure salt at baptism. But also from within us the sands of fear, anger, hate, waste and the other forces of the dark side contaminate our salt and reduce our saltiness.

We have to put these contaminates behind us and seek to draw out of ourselves the pure salt.

We come together on weekends like this and then every Sunday to recharge. To give our salt a chance to be purified again. Consider the purification process. The Spirit talks to our heart through the Word. Our hearts are excited (I hope) through song. We receive absolution if we are willing to confess our sins. And then we truly make Jesus one with our bodies and souls. The purification of all of our salt is has been underway this whole weekend and I hope that you feel the crest of the wave of purification rising morning.

We will leave here.

But, as we do, it is my prayer that we will all be able to go back down the mountain and let our salt flavor the world.

Sermon: Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

The Very Rev. William Thomas Deneke, rector

Have you ever been in a long line of cars stalled on the highway when someone races by you driving on the shoulder of the road, and you want to shout, Get back in line and wait your turn? Or have you ever been in a line at a restaurant when someone slips in ahead of you? These are common examples of an attitude of privilege. An attitude that believes I should be able to get what I want, when I want it, and regardless of how it affects others. I am an exception to the rules.

We encounter this kind of narcissistic behavior frequently and sometimes in ourselves. It is no surprise then to hear that the disciples, the bedrock fellows of our faith, were arguing over who among them was the greatest.

There is something about us that wants to be special. Something that wants to hang onto privilege. While passing cars on the shoulder is dangerous, it is only a symptom of something that can get much uglier. Mark points to that in today’s gospel. He quotes Jesus’ saying, The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands and they will kill him.

How do we get from cutting in line at the grocery store to killing Jesus? There are some big steps in between but privilege is a common theme. The threat of losing one’s privilege can lead us to do whatever is necessary to protect our perceived loss of power.

If you watch much television or visit shopping malls, you quickly get the message that you are special and deserve to spend a lot of money on yourself. In fact the average American is exposed to over 5000 advertising expressions daily. Little wonder that we may think it’s all about me.

Now, we hear that even the disciples argued about who was the greatest. And the Roman officials along with some Jewish authorities in cahoots with them plotted to kill Jesus. Privilege, privilege, privilege. It’s all about me!

What was so threatening about Jesus? Listen to what he said: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Jesus was proclaiming a realm that turned upside down the privileged based political system of his time. And a realm that brings into question many of our own economic and social tendencies. In the kingdom of God, who deserves access to healthcare?

Once we are lured onto the path of privilege, our perspectives change. The wisdom readings we heard this morning as well as the gospel see this as dangerous. And that is because privilege can easily transform hope into fear. Privilege by definition separates us from others. Hope, as defined by the gospel, is empowering for many and not only a few. Some times we want to hold on to privilege and resist change even when it will serve the greater good. The Wisdom of Solomon named it and so must we in our own time. For this sort of cynicism and bitterness will destroy what is hopeful without batting an eye.

Hope is not centered on entitlement the way privilege is. Hope comes from faith and trust in God’s mercy and compassion. Hope empowers us to be servant ministers, to be free to serve God.

When Jesus took a little child in his arms and said, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me,” he was commiting a subversive act. Only the most privileged could represent God. Caesar, himself, was the definitive model of divinity. A child, with no privileges in the Roman world, could not possibly be equated with God. Jesus, in making such a reckless and ridiculous statement, was turning social values upside down.

When we are in a position of privilege, we are likely to find some resistance within ourselves to having social values turned upside down. But that is always what Jesus is doing. Always challenging us to see others and even ourselves through the lens of God’s Kingdom. As those baptized into the death and resurrection of Jesus, we are not free to be privileged. We are free to serve in the realm where whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.

That is more than challenging! Does it go against human nature? Only if we believe humanity is destined to be a servant of greed, narcissism, and privilege. The gospel proclaims a new humanity in Christ. And we are here today to affirm that God is transforming the world into the kingdom of grace.

I know many people here at Holy Trinity who are having their hearts changed by the power of the Spirit. People who are ceasing to think only of themselves and are identifying with the servant ministry of Jesus. People who are growing more and more compassionate and being freed of the blinders of privilege. People who are using their resources less for self-enhancement and more in service to the Kingdom of God.

The power of the Spirit presents us with another way of looking at power. What offers power in our culture is not necessarily what promises power in the gospel. Culture’s power of privilege is not the gospel’s power to serve. A big part of our life in Christ is learning the difference between the power of self-service and the power of serving others.

I hope households in our parish are discussing and praying about how to use the power of their resources for the Kingdom of God. I hope we are teaching our children about the joy of servant ministry. They will not learn this from the shopping channel, and we will never embrace servant ministry as long as we are set on protecting our perceived interests at the expense of others.

We have been empowered by the Holy Spirit to make a difference in the world. And that we can do by focusing not on ourselves but on the One who came so that all may have life and have it abundantly.

One more thing. I said earlier that there is something about us that wants to be special. Indeed, we are made special by the love of God. But that is a gift and not something we gain by privilege. Each and every one of us is special in God’s eyes, not because we’re rich or poor, black or white, Democrat or Republican, male or female, young or old, or have any particular sexual orientation. We are made special because God loves people. And that is something we can never afford to forget and never fail to teach our children.

Sermon: Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost

The Reverend Robin Neville

This is the time of year when, for many of us, our thoughts begin to turn towards school, towards that familiar rhythm of teaching and learning. Perhaps you’ve noticed the shiny new book bags and notebooks and pens and crayons, all lined up obediently on the store shelves, as they have been for weeks. Perhaps you’ve detected the cool and slightly metallic taste of Fall weather, encroaching on the lazy humidity of the afternoon. The fireflies have all gone wherever the fireflies go when the summer is over. The school buses now make their slow crawl, like heavy yellow caterpillars, through the neighborhood.

There is something about teaching and learning in our Bible readings today. Today’s readings speak of wisdom and foolishness. They speak of insight, on the one hand, of recognition and illumination – yet on the other hand, they speak of darkness, of misunderstanding and ignorance.

Just listen to our reading from the Hebrew Bible, from the book of Proverbs. God’s Widsom – in Hebrew, hokma – is personified as an intelligent woman, and she’s ticked off. Divine Wisdom is not happy. She’s running through the streets, calling the people out: “How long,” she cries, “How long will you hate knowledge? How long will you love being ‘simple’?” Here, when Wisdom says “simple,” she really means “foolish.” In fact, she names three types of foolish people: those who are simple or foolish, those who scoff or who are scornful, and those who are just kind of silly. The words in Hebrew are very telling of what, exactly, makes Wisdom so angry.

When Wisdom says, “How long will you love being simple,” she uses the Hebrew word, peth-ee, which comes from a root meaning, “to be deceived easily” or “to be easily won over.” So Wisdom is angry because her people are not thinking critically - - they are easily won over by simple and uncomplicated and emotional discourse.

When Wisdom says, “How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing,” she uses the Hebrew word, lootz, which comes from a root meaning, “to make faces at” or “to make fun of.” So Wisdom is angry because her people are dismissing her, they are making fun of Wisdom through their disdain of her.

When Wisdom says, “How long will fools hate knowledge,” she uses the Hebrew word, keh-seel, from a root meaning, “to be soft.” So Wisdom is angry because her people have gone soft – they’ve gotten lazy, they no longer think for themselves. They let someone else do the thinking for them.

Wisdom is angry because her people have put away active learning and discovery. The people no longer want to learn about God or discover new and wonderful ways to know God. Wisdom’s people have become dull and foolish and distracted. They are like students in a classroom who have let their minds wander, but here the situation is so much more dire than that, because here the people have let their minds wander away from God. Wisdom knows that if the mind of the people wanders away from God, then ruin will be their reward. Wisdom will abandon the people to their own self-made disasters. The people will be lost and confused. They will feel as though they do not know goodness, as though they have been abandoned. Wisdom reminds us all in this reading to be careful students of God’s ways, to be attentive listeners to God’s teachings.

In our reading from James, we also hear of teachers and students. This time, the message isn’t about the foolishness of the people, but of the responsibility of teachers. Teachers especially must be wise and disciplined in what they say, for “the tongue is a fire” that can either burn down the hearts of students, as a wildfire tears through young saplings, or it can gently enkindle hope and delight in the process of learning.

But James isn’t just speaking to professional teachers here, or to Sunday School teachers – rather, he’s speaking to all of us. Each one of us functions as a teacher to someone. Maybe you’re not even aware of it, but someone, at home or at work or at play, someone in your life is learning from you. Are we teaching wisdom, are we speaking with wisdom, or are we speaking with foolishness, and thus setting in motion great destructive fires in the lives of those around us – sometimes only with a single word?

In our Gospel reading from Mark, we see Jesus functioning as a teacher. He asks his students, his disciples, a question – “Who do people say that I am?” And the students obediently answer, “Well, some people say you’re a prophet, some people say you’re even one of our special prophets, come back to save us – Elijah, maybe.” Then Jesus the teacher says, “Okay, now who do you say that I am?” And then the star pupil, Peter, raises his hand and says, “You are the Messiah!”

It seems to me that Jesus the teacher and God’s Wisdom have a lot in common. Both Jesus and divine hokma from our first reading have the same goal. They both want to open the eyes and the hearts of God’s people to encounter the living presence of God. They want God’s people to be attentive students, filled with the delight and the excitement of learning about God and knowing God. Jesus teaches through his own example; he leads by example, even pointing to his own suffering as an example of how far he will go to get us back to God. Divine Wisdom teaches through words – she teaches by speaking words of life, and she is frustrated when the people do not listen.

That’s the catch, isn’t it? It’s fine to have these amazing teachers, but if we don’t listen – if we choose to be foolish or dull or distracted – then we lose out. Because, ultimately, it is our loss if we don’t hear the voice of Wisdom. It’s our loss if we can’t learn from the example of Jesus.

I want you to take a moment and imagine with me. Just sit back, put away any distractions, and use your imagination – an important tool in learning. Imagine a church where we talk about our faith, not only in emotional terms, but also in rational terms. Imagine if people wanted to come to church with us, not just because they were impressed with our emotional attachment to church, but also because we had a deep and living knowledge of what it means to know God and love God. Imagine if we were so attentive to the voice of God and so well-versed in holy Scripture that we could easily and knowledgably give an account of our faith and our common life. Can you picture a church where the people are all close companions of divine Wisdom? Can you picture a church where the people follow the teachings and the example of Jesus, not just on Sundays, but in every moment of their lives – so much so that their lives become like lessons in goodness and charity for the people around them?

What would that look like? Holy Trinity, I want to tell you, I see what you’re doing as a community and I’m impressed. I love that you’re following Christ by reaching out to the poor, as you are indeed doing. I love that you’re reaching out into your community by being a safe place for children and young people, as you are indeed doing. I love that you are leading your community, by creating a photovoltaic panel to generate your own green energy, as you are indeed doing.

And today, I want to challenge you just a little bit. I want to challenge you to rethink the ways in which you hear and respond to the voice of divine Wisdom. I want to challenge you to think about new and exciting ways that you are teaching and reaching out with Wisdom and care to the people around you. I’m not asking you to take on one more class, or one more project, because I know that you are already doing so much here already. Instead, I’m encouraging you to listen. Listen to the voice of God. Listen to God’s Wisdom. Be open, be willing, to be taught by God. Be willing to be an attentive student of God.

May God give us all the grace to put aside our own ignorance, and to take great delight in discovering and learning about the God who loves us, the God who teaches us through the Word and the Sacraments – the God who teaches us through Wisdom and example.

Amen.

Sermon: Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

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

Doral Randolph Sandlin, my father’s younger brother and the last of Ethel Eugenia Brown Sandlin’s seven children, died this past week. He’d already lived about 20 years longer than any of us expected him to live, but his death has been hard on our whole family.

Like his brothers and sisters, he grew up during the Great Depression, raised by a remarkable mother whose husband was killed in a train wreck in 1932, leaving her with little money and all those children to care for. After high school, my uncle received an appointment to the Naval Academy and played basketball there. He flew jets during the Vietnam War and then taught aeronautical engineering at Cal Poly for many years. He was the finest whistler I’ve ever heard in person and he loved the Los Angeles Dodgers.

Well, no one’s perfect.

He had lots of natural gifts and abilities but above all Uncle Doral was someone who loved having his mind challenged and I think from time to time he even took pleasure in having his mind changed. He’d sit down at the kitchen table with his older brother, my father, the Southern Baptist theologian and preacher and ask him a question he knew Dad couldn’t resist. “Do you believe in the virgin birth?” or “What do you think about women preachers?” Now, my father always considered himself to be biblically conservative and socially moderate, but compared to his brother, he was a flaming liberal.

Their conversations would start off pleasantly enough, but they usually wound up getting overheated. Dad would get increasingly frustrated that he couldn’t convince his brother of his misguided thinking. Uncle Doral stayed cool, happy just listening and talking though I suspect he kind of got a kick out of watching his big brother get excited. Dad rarely stayed cool enough to realize that once in awhile his brother did change his mind. Uncle Doral was very good about not letting his brother know that he’d won the argument.

I have a hunch that he would have liked today’s gospel story about Jesus and the Syrophoenician woman. He’d have found it very interesting and he’d have saved up lots of questions for Dad’s next visit so they could discuss it.

But I was wondering, when you heard it read just now, did it startle you at all or make you a little nervous, to imagine Jesus behaving like this? Were you hoping I’d have some logical explanation for it, something that says it didn’t really happen this way or that Jesus didn’t really compare this woman and her child to dogs hungrily waiting for scraps under the table?

If Jesus had his picture on Facebook, one that his disciples posted for all the world to see, don’t you suppose it would show us Mr. Nice Guy, Mr. Generosity, Mr. There’s-enough-here-for everybody-to-have-some-bread-and-we’ll-have-lots-left-over? But that’s not the Jesus we bump into today. Perhaps Jesus is tired and grumpy and needs a break after his non-stop teaching and healing and preaching among his own people in Galilee. So he crosses the boundary of his home territory and escapes for the weekend to Tyre, a place where Gentiles live, people he’s not accustomed to encountering at all.

A woman comes looking for Jesus. She’s a Gentile woman from Syrophoenicia and under normal circumstances, a Jewish man, a teacher of some renown like Jesus, wouldn’t have been caught dead in the same house with her. But she seeks him out, hoping against hope that he’ll be able to rid her precious daughter of the demon possessing her. We expect Jesus to respond to her with kindness and assurances that if she has enough faith, her daughter will be healed.

But did you hear what he said to her?

Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.

It’s shocking, isn’t it? Even if you’ve read and studied this passage a hundred times before, it still catches us off guard. Jesus is rude, even hostile and has clearly forgotten the “royal law” James holds up for us in the epistle reading. Remember, it’s the second part of the great commandment Jesus himself gave us: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” It seems he’s momentarily just forgotten that.

Some biblical scholars, though not many, say Jesus was in control the whole time, that he was just testing her. But I doubt it. I think he simply and quite humanly changed his mind. His understanding of his mission grew, perhaps he grew some himself.

The woman doesn’t behave like we’d expect her to either—she doesn’t shrink back and say “well, thanks anyway, I’ll guess I’ll have to look elsewhere.” No. She has something to teach Jesus when she says “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” She corrects Jesus and points him in the right direction.

So I was wondering…who is the Syrophoenician woman for us? Who makes us uneasy when they show up in church, asking questions, maybe even demanding to be heard? Who pushes the boundaries of our comfort level and makes us wish they’d find someplace else to call home?

“Let the children be fed first…”


“Here’s the problem with the Episcopal Church today.” Every head at the table turned to face our colleague, Norma, who has a track record for saying provocative things in our monthly Commission on Ministry meetings down at the Cathedral. She’s an African-American educator and when she speaks, we listen. We’d been talking about the decline in membership in the Episcopal Church and what the next generation of clergy leadership might look like—how they need to be both visionaries and good managers. As usual at our meetings, she’d been listening very attentively to the conversation, not saying much. And then she let us have it, right between the eyes:

“The problem with the Episcopal Church is that we don’t know how to sing ‘Just as I am.’” She elaborated. “We don’t know how to invite people to join us, to come and worship with us and work with us. At the church where I eventually became a member, I hung around coffee hour for months as a visitor, hoping someone would talk with me, someone would invite me to become a member, thinking that someone would have an idea how to do that.”

Norma wasn’t suggesting that we institute a Baptist-style altar call at the end of our services, softly humming “Just as I am” as the pastor stands at the front of the church urging people to come forward and make a profession of faith or join the church. She wasn’t asking for that. We already have an altar call in the Episcopal Church every Sunday morning when all are invited to receive Holy Communion.

But I think she’s right. We don’t know how to sing “Just as I am” in the Episcopal Church. We aren’t very good about the invitation piece of hospitality, asking people to come to church with us and then asking them to stay and become members. And the larger truth may be that we aren’t very good at sharing the good news of the gospel in the first place; we’re pretty lousy at telling the story of Jesus and even worse at telling our own stories.

And then we keep a fairly tight watch on the boundaries surrounding who we’ll welcome into our churches and we’re reluctant to invite people who aren’t, in fact, already members of the club.

Across the table, someone else asked the question “Are we proud of being an exclusive church?” I winced and so did everyone else as we nodded our heads in affirmation. We don’t really know how to sing “Just as I am”.

If Jesus changed his mind about the Syrophoenician woman, do you suppose we might change our minds? Or another way of asking that: Do you suppose we might radically change the way we think about hospitality? What would radical welcome look like at Holy Trinity?

For as long as I’ve been an Episcopalian, I remember seeing those signs by the side of the road that say “The Episcopal Church welcomes you.” I think we’ve got one right on the corner of Sycamore and Sycamore Place. I always smile when I pass one of those signs, taking a fair amount of pride in our anthem of being a welcoming church. But I wonder how seriously we take it? Do we really welcome everyone?

I’ve heard it said that evangelism in the Episcopal Church never gets off the ground because we think that everyone who wants to be an Episcopalian already is one. You know that there’s at least a kernel of truth in that.

So can we learn something new?

When Jesus met the Syrophoenician woman, his world-view told him that his mission was just to his own people, to people who spoke the same language, had the same ethnic origin as he did. Jesus started out that day with a narrow perspective, convinced that he was already reaching those who God wanted him to reach—his own Jewish people.

But this unexpected, surprising encounter with a woman turned out to offer Jesus the gift of a lifetime. She opened his eyes and his ears to the possibility that his audience was to include everyone and he changed his mind. Jesus discovered he had some new neighbors and from this moment on, his ministry, his work, his mission will include all of them.

And so, who are our neighbors?

Maybe they are people who will see the new solar array and be curious about a church that’d do something so green.

Maybe they are families struggling to make ends meet or families with children in the Holy Trinity Pre-School.

Maybe our neighbors are first-year students at Agnes Scott or maybe they wandered upstairs from DEAM, looking for help.

Maybe our neighbor is a woman who moved to Atlanta from New York to be near her grandchildren.

Maybe our neighbors are from the deaf community and have only just learned about our wonderful interpreters here at Holy Trinity.

Maybe our neighbors are that family who chooses to drive past four or five other Episcopal churches just to get here on Sunday mornings.

And of course, our neighbors also live in Honduras and Haiti, in the fire-ravaged hills of Southern California and the war fields of Afghanistan. As the opening line in the prayer for Labor Day puts it: Almighty God, you have so linked our lives one with another that all we do affects, for good or ill, all other lives…our neighbors are indeed nearby and far away.

In the second story in this morning’s gospel lesson, Jesus unstops the ears of a man who was hearing impaired. Having had his own ears opened by the unnamed Syrophoenician woman, Jesus now proceeds to do some ear-opening work himself.

And that work goes on. I wonder what Jesus is up to here at Holy Trinity?

Maybe, just maybe, he’s nudging us to do some neighbor-inviting and risk sharing our stories of God’s love. Maybe Jesus is inviting us to begin living into the inclusive, extravagant ways God is calling us to act, to become the body of Christ in the world.

I’ve not been able to stop humming “Just as I am” ever since Norma mentioned it the other day. So late yesterday afternoon when I thought I had the sermon all wrapped up, I sat down at the piano in our living room and played through this old Baptist hymn I learned so well as a child.

You probably know the first verse by heart. But if you kept singing, you’d discover in the following verses some decent theology, some words of encouragement, of invitation and challenge. Now, I suppose I could just stand up here and read those verses to you as a closing refrain to this sermon... but you know me better than that. And who knows? Maybe I was wrong about Episcopalians not knowing how to sing “Just as I am”. It’s on page 693 in your hymnal.

Just as I am, without one plea,
but that thy blood was shed for me,
and that thou bidd’st me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, though tossed about
with many a conflict, many a doubt;
fightings and fears within, without,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind;
sight, riches, healing of the mind,
yea, all I need, in thee to find,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, thou wilt receive:
wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve,
because thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, thy love unknown
has broken every barrier down;
now to be thine, yea, thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, of thy great love
the breadth, length, depth and height to prove,
here for a season, then above:
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.