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.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Sermon: Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost
The Very Rev. William Thomas Deneke, rectorHave 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.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
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.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Sermon: Twelvth Sunday after Pentecost
The Rev. Allan Sandlin, associate rector> click here for the Scripture for the day
Where did the summer go? Wasn’t it just yesterday we were celebrating the Feast of Pentecost, wearing our best red ties and red dresses, listening to the cacophony of languages in the reading from Acts? Wasn’t it just yesterday our children were coming home from the last day of school, anticipating summer vacation and wasn’t it just yesterday we were still hopeful that the Braves might win the division?
This summer did seem to go by quickly, though if you’ve been coming to church lately and paying attention to our readings from the gospel of John, it might seem things have really slowed down. Back on the last Sunday of July, we listened to the first of five readings from the 6th chapter of John’s gospel. And if you’ve stayed the course over the past few Sundays, you’ve perhaps gotten your fill of stories about Jesus and bread. Jesus has had lots of words to say about bread, hasn’t he?
You’ll remember that all this started with John’s version of the feeding of the 5,000—a story so important to the church that it’s included six times in four gospels. It’s the story of Jesus taking a few loaves of bread belonging to a young lad, blessing that bread, breaking it into pieces and putting it into the hands of hungry people. And out of that story, Jesus has been talking about bread, the bread of life, the bread of heaven. Bread that reminds us of the manna God gave our ancestors in the wilderness, but bread that contains deeper meanings and a life-giving promise. Jesus promises us that he is that bread and that if we eat that bread he will abide in us and we in him.
And you’ll recall that earlier in the story, this kind of talk caused some rumblings among the crowds. At the end of last week’s reading and repeated again this morning, we listen to Jesus say "Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them." And today it’s the very people following Jesus, his disciples, who are mumbling and complaining. One or two of them are overheard to say "This teaching is difficult, who can accept it?"
Even with the benefit of 2,000 years of Eucharistic theology behind us, we still struggle with the question. "What does it mean, Jesus? How are we supposed to understand this talk about flesh and bread, wine and blood?"
I talked with a friend of mine in Louisiana the other day. She’s a Presbyterian pastor and I knew she’d be preaching on this text today. I was also curious what a Presbyterian would have to say about John’s Eucharistic theology—in a congregation where they normally have Communion once a month. I was surprised to hear Patti say that during the month of August, they were celebrating the Eucharist every Sunday, alongside listening to the readings from John about the bread of heaven. We laughed together because I’ve been telling her for years that she really is an Anglican at heart and this proved my point. In her preaching and in their worship together, I take it that they’ve been exploring the mystery of the Word made flesh, dwelling for a little while in the mystery of bread and wine becoming the very presence of Jesus in the Holy Eucharist. Now, that’s where we live as Episcopalians, but for these Presbyterians who are so very saturated by the spoken word on most Sundays, it represented a new opportunity. And then I came back to today’s lesson and found myself drawn to this verse:
It is the spirit that gives life;
the flesh is useless.
The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life.
Yes, the words Jesus speaks today may unsettle us, may cause us to wonder what he’s talking about. But you sense the truth in these words. Jesus’ words give us spirit and life. They have the capacity to empower us, to compel us, to change us. The words Jesus speaks abide with us, as Jesus who is the Word incarnate abides with us.
Anything is possible when the Spirit has invaded our hearts and inspired and enlivened us. Anything.
But the opposite of that is true as well. When we try to limit the meaning of scripture, to coral it and say things like “It means this and only this” we end up killing the possibility.
Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Who can understand this?
Jesus gives us ideas, Jesus gives us words that suggest, not define. Our friend, author and priest, Barbara Crafton, who led Holy Trinity’s Lenten Quiet Day last March writes
The words of scripture are never just one thing. They aren’t true in the two-dimensional way a newspaper story might be true: “Yesterday, so-and-so did such-and-such at such-and-such a time in such-and-such a place.” The truth of them plumbs truth to its very bottom, and searches it out to its widest expanse. It is as much the truth of possibility as it is the truth of history. By its very nature, it is bigger than we are. We must never cut it off at the knees by insisting that we know exactly what the words say. We do not know. We will never know, not here. We struggle to understand them, but we cannot know, because we can’t see what comes next. We can only read them, discuss them, pray them and then trust them to reveal their mystery to us…
Let me tell you about one such moment of mystery, a moment of spirit and life, from the summer of 2006 and the last time the Episcopal Church gathered for our General Convention. It happened on a Sunday morning, in Columbus, Ohio. Several thousand of us or so were gathered in a huge convention center for the Eucharist that morning. After worship, the bishops, all 300 or so of them, departed in a solemn procession and were transported by bus to Trinity Church a few blocks away. There they were sequestered to vote for the next Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church. The candidates before them were all fine bishops of their own dioceses. They were mostly white and they were, of course, mostly male. With one exception.
Conventional wisdom held that one of the 4 or 5 male bishops would be elected. This was the first time a woman had even been nominated and no one, I mean, no one, thought she had a chance. We heard things like There is too much controversy in the church already, there is no way the bishops will elect a woman this time and even if she is the best candidate, it’s not the right time.
And then the moment came when the chairperson of the Nominating Committee came to the microphone, looked out at the 800 of us in the House of Deputies and another thousand or so observers awaiting the results and announced:
“On the 5th ballot, the Right Reverend…Katharine”…and there were gasps of surprise and scattered applause…”Jefferts Schori was elected.”
Later in the afternoon, after the allowed time for debate had ended and the House of Deputies had voted to confirm her election, Bishop Katharine was escorted into the hall. She was greeted with a prolonged standing ovation and loud, enthusiastic cheers. It was an unforgettable moment. It was a risky thing those bishops did, it offended a few people, it thrilled many others and it was clearly the work of the Holy Spirit.
So what does this have to do with the Gospel today? Just this. If we, as a Church, were bound to a literal reading of scripture that claims women cannot speak in church, that women must submit all their spiritual questions to their husbands, Bishop Katharine would never have been made a priest, much less a bishop. For beloved St. Paul says exactly that in his first letter to the church in Corinth. Robyn and Deborah (and my predecessors, Anne, Melissa, Alicia and Susan) would never have been able to serve at this altar, you’d have never heard them preach, or benefited from their teaching. But the words of scripture are never just one thing. The truth of scripture takes us places that surprise us, that startle us and disturb us because it is the “truth of possibility every bit as much as it is the truth of history.”
None of us, not me, not you, not any bishop or your Sunday School teacher or college religion professor or the Archbishop of Canterbury, has a corner on scripture. This side of heaven, the complete, full meaning of Holy Scripture will remain hidden from us. I believe each generation will continue to find new meaning, new depths of understanding in the timeless words of life.
Every now and then, we will get glimpses of truth, glimpses that show us the way home. They will come to us in bits and pieces, something like the bits and pieces of bread that fall into our hands, as we come to the feast of abundant life prepared for us today. Amen.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Sermon: Eleventh Sunday After Pentecost
Joe Pearson, Deacon
Invocation of God’s Spirit
God of all ages past, our present today, and for years to come, be with us as we seek your presence in our lives and anticipate what you have to teach us today. Amen.
The Introduction
Last week, Bishop Alexander had us hanging on a pendulum arc that swung from our baptism and our history on one end and our individual and collective future on the other. He talked about our tendency to look back and to work hard to hold on to what was. He encouraged us to stand in the present, respecting and honoring our traditions, and to embrace the unknown tomorrow with anticipation. With reference to the “transfiguration,” he recalled how the disciples wanted to build dwellings to “house” the spirits of Elijah, Moses and Jesus. Instead “a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘this is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’" Without diminishing what was, God wanted them to focus on the present—what is and what is to come.
So here we are again, one week later, sitting smack in the present. As we sit, each of us brings our own unique remembered past. Everything and everyone who has brought us here is also here—along with Elijah, Moses and Jesus. But none of us knows what will transpire in the next second or minute. Will someone faint? Will someone be struck by God’s grace? Will others be struck with boredom--thinking perhaps of golf dates, or lunch plans, or work challenges…?
The pendulum of life swings and we are caught here and now at the center of that which was and is and will be. We are part of the long arc of history and active participants in the shorter arc of our lives in this day and time.
Just a little over ten years ago, I was caught in one of those moments “between the no longer and the not yet” and wanted, like Solomon, some direction, some discernment about my future:
• Should I retire now or work a few more years—maybe make it to 70
• When I retired what did I want to do
• Where did I want to live
• Did I want to seek ordination
Bottom line: I was at one of those milestone crossroads……and the temptation was to “stand pat,” to hold on to what was and slide quietly into the future. But something was nudging me to move forward, to move beyond the present into uncharted waters.
My spiritual director at the time, John Westerhoff, encouraged me to engage in a specific period of discernment. With his support, I decided to go on a spiritual retreat. I spent eight days in solitude and silence at a Jesuit retreat center in Colorado. For this retreat, each attendee was assigned a spiritual director. We spent the entire time in silence—except for one hour each day when we met with our director. On the first day, I shared my list of concerns and said that I was hoping for some discernment.
At the end of my time there, I came to a strong realization. You could say, and I do, that I experienced a major breakthrough—something like a conversion.
Exegesis and Mid-Rash
With this memory in mind (I want to hold for now sharing details about my breakthrough experience) I find our texts for today extremely interesting and quite frankly, somewhat confusing.
For the past several Sundays, the gospel texts (with the exception of last Sunday when the Transfiguration text from Luke took precedence), have come from the 6th Chapter of John.
The long arc of this chapter begins with loaves and fishes and the feeding of an estimated 5,000 (including rumblings from the flock present of a Kingship for Jesus) and ends with grumblings, defection of some followers and Jesus’ forecast of betrayal. Consider the following:
• Feeding thousands with real food from undisclosed sources
• The food sated crowd (now convinced that Jesus is their Messiah, their once and future King) seek him out
• Jesus, not wanting to be so confronted, departs and crosses the Sea of Galilee. En route he takes a walk on the water. At first this seems out of context. Why would John inserts this here—almost as an afterthought? I suggest, for extra reading, that you check this out at home and see what you think. But I digress….
• The people, not finding Jesus, go looking for him. It seems they want to make him their long ago promised candidate for King, and along the way to provide more food, to perform more miracles. For them, it seems that Jesus validity depends on his being willing to perform signs and wonders.
• When they find him they ask—and I greatly paraphrase: What must we do to keep these miracles coming? What signs will you give us? Moses provided manna. You provided loaves and fishes.
• Jesus counters and my vivid imagination suggests he counters with a flash of anger: It was not Moses who provided manna. It was God, my Father, and your God. Don’t you get it? It is not about the food; it is about me. I am the bread of life.
• The disciples, the crowd, (whoever was still around) are astonished. How can that be? We know you. Are you not the son of Joseph the carpenter? What are you talking about?
• Again and again, it seems, Jesus responds: I am the bread of life. Moses gave you, by the grace of God, physical food. Yesterday I provided loaves and fishes for you to eat. But this is not what I am about. I am the bread of life. This bread brings eternal life.
And this is where our gospel text for today enters the narrative. Jesus says, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”
• But again, the people cry out in disbelief: How can this man give us his flesh to eat?
The gospel reading for next Sunday concludes this narrative arc. In this reading the disciples say: “This teaching is too difficult. Who can accept it? Chapter six ends with some followers leaving and the commentary from John that Jesus knew from the first who would betray him—and even identifies Judas as the betrayer.
From Miracle to Betrayal. John has provided us with a lot to ponder.
What in the world is going on? It is obvious that Jesus and his disciples are not on the same page. The disciples are caught up in 1) tradition and their expectations based on it, 2) the practical world of survival where food is scarce, 3) the thrilling rush of adrenalin as they hear Jesus preach, experience miraculous events, and bask in his charismatic presence. Imagine how they must feel as their excitement mounts that this man, this carpenter’s son from Nazareth, may well be the long expected Messiah.
From this hoped for King, they want food (read miraculous signs and wonders), substance, mission, political leadership. What they get is mystery-- ambiguity. They are asked to replace their desire for things with Jesus desire for people to come directly to God through him.
It seems, though, that at every turn they misunderstand what he means, what he teaches, what he desires for them. He has been sent to show them the deep love that God has for them. He has been sent to alter their focus on things, and principalities and powers and to refocus on one thing only—the mystery and power and glory of the living God.
Jesus affirms: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate….”
Implications for Us.
It is no wonder that they were confused. Those disciples wanted substance. What they got was metaphor.
Are we, two thousand plus years later, still somewhat confused ourselves?
Don’t we want, downright expect, answers?
Don’t we demand substance?
Don’t we seek guidance and direction?
Don’t we allow our expectations, our desires, our needs to frame what we want—even expect—from God?
Instead of just giving us what we want and say we need …
Jesus offers Jesus.
Jesus offers God.
For Jesus, that should be enough!
It is clear that Jesus is not talking about disciples actually eating his literal flesh. He is speaking symbolically. Keep in mind that in the gospel narratives Eucharist has not yet been instituted. That comes later. These disciples did not have centuries of theological dialogue and struggle about whether wafers and wine were the real presence of Jesus or just some mystical symbol. In fact, there is no institution of the Eucharist in the gospel of John. The symbolic activity that takes place at John’s last supper is the washing of feet. I have often wondered why John did not include this Eucharistic and symbolic feast in his gospel.
It now occurs to me that in Chapter 6 John is essentially presenting a Eucharistic metaphor. It is symbolic and deeply incarnational. God is in Jesus, and when we take in Jesus we literally take God within us. This is, first and foremost, about human life—your life and mine—with God. The word Immanuel—used quite often to refer to Jesus--simply means, “God is with us.”
To accept this, to believe this, to respond to this is an act of faith. It requires a bold leap from the realities of human expectation to the promises of divine blessing.
This in no way implies that guidance, or mission, or purpose, or answers will not come through a life of Faith—a life of God’s incarnation with us. It is nothing more or less than getting our priorities straight and putting first things first.
I believe that God created the universe, is omnipresent, is always with us, always seeking us, always wanting to be in relationship with us. As I read the Bible—the story of God’s attempts to relate to and lead a people—it is clear to me that most of the time the people just didn’t get it.
And while I am speaking of “not getting it,” this brings me back around to the time mentioned earlier when I went on a silent retreat—seeking answers to what I thought then were important life issues. I thought, as I entered into the time of silence, that answers would come. Like Solomon, I wanted God to provide a concrete plan of action—or at least a hint of direction.
I got my answer, and it was a complete shock. I realized that all of my life I had been an active participant in the life of the church, had accepted leadership positions, taught classes, preached sermons, went on mission trips, prayed, fasted, visited the sick…. I was very active in the business of the church.
I discovered at that retreat, that I was missing something primary—a deep and abiding relationship with God. Jesus was a hero, a servant, a role model. God was the architect of the universe. I believed in God and Jesus, I gave thanks and praise and worship, but in the final analysis I was not in a specific and personal relationship with them.
The answer that I got, important as those life decisions were, was this: until I accepted the living presence of God in me, understood God’s desire, through Jesus, to be in relationship with me, and began to develop that, then NOTHING ELSE MATTERED.
That is what most of the disciples did not get. That is why Jesus consistently, and insistently, implores the disciples to come directly to God through him.
T. S. Eliot, in his Four Quartets poem, talks about leaving home, going on life’s long journey of learning and experience only to come back home and experience it again for the first time.
John’s gospel today brings me back home—seeming yet again for the first time—and brings me back out of my head and my searching and reminds me of something fundamental, yet easily overlooked through the struggles of life.
This is why I can say, one more time, what I said as I child, and you, surely, must have said or sung it as well.
“Jesus loves me;
This I know;
For the Bible tells me so.”
Amen!
Invocation of God’s Spirit
God of all ages past, our present today, and for years to come, be with us as we seek your presence in our lives and anticipate what you have to teach us today. Amen.
The Introduction
Last week, Bishop Alexander had us hanging on a pendulum arc that swung from our baptism and our history on one end and our individual and collective future on the other. He talked about our tendency to look back and to work hard to hold on to what was. He encouraged us to stand in the present, respecting and honoring our traditions, and to embrace the unknown tomorrow with anticipation. With reference to the “transfiguration,” he recalled how the disciples wanted to build dwellings to “house” the spirits of Elijah, Moses and Jesus. Instead “a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, ‘this is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!’" Without diminishing what was, God wanted them to focus on the present—what is and what is to come.
So here we are again, one week later, sitting smack in the present. As we sit, each of us brings our own unique remembered past. Everything and everyone who has brought us here is also here—along with Elijah, Moses and Jesus. But none of us knows what will transpire in the next second or minute. Will someone faint? Will someone be struck by God’s grace? Will others be struck with boredom--thinking perhaps of golf dates, or lunch plans, or work challenges…?
The pendulum of life swings and we are caught here and now at the center of that which was and is and will be. We are part of the long arc of history and active participants in the shorter arc of our lives in this day and time.
Just a little over ten years ago, I was caught in one of those moments “between the no longer and the not yet” and wanted, like Solomon, some direction, some discernment about my future:
• Should I retire now or work a few more years—maybe make it to 70
• When I retired what did I want to do
• Where did I want to live
• Did I want to seek ordination
Bottom line: I was at one of those milestone crossroads……and the temptation was to “stand pat,” to hold on to what was and slide quietly into the future. But something was nudging me to move forward, to move beyond the present into uncharted waters.
My spiritual director at the time, John Westerhoff, encouraged me to engage in a specific period of discernment. With his support, I decided to go on a spiritual retreat. I spent eight days in solitude and silence at a Jesuit retreat center in Colorado. For this retreat, each attendee was assigned a spiritual director. We spent the entire time in silence—except for one hour each day when we met with our director. On the first day, I shared my list of concerns and said that I was hoping for some discernment.
At the end of my time there, I came to a strong realization. You could say, and I do, that I experienced a major breakthrough—something like a conversion.
Exegesis and Mid-Rash
With this memory in mind (I want to hold for now sharing details about my breakthrough experience) I find our texts for today extremely interesting and quite frankly, somewhat confusing.
For the past several Sundays, the gospel texts (with the exception of last Sunday when the Transfiguration text from Luke took precedence), have come from the 6th Chapter of John.
The long arc of this chapter begins with loaves and fishes and the feeding of an estimated 5,000 (including rumblings from the flock present of a Kingship for Jesus) and ends with grumblings, defection of some followers and Jesus’ forecast of betrayal. Consider the following:
• Feeding thousands with real food from undisclosed sources
• The food sated crowd (now convinced that Jesus is their Messiah, their once and future King) seek him out
• Jesus, not wanting to be so confronted, departs and crosses the Sea of Galilee. En route he takes a walk on the water. At first this seems out of context. Why would John inserts this here—almost as an afterthought? I suggest, for extra reading, that you check this out at home and see what you think. But I digress….
• The people, not finding Jesus, go looking for him. It seems they want to make him their long ago promised candidate for King, and along the way to provide more food, to perform more miracles. For them, it seems that Jesus validity depends on his being willing to perform signs and wonders.
• When they find him they ask—and I greatly paraphrase: What must we do to keep these miracles coming? What signs will you give us? Moses provided manna. You provided loaves and fishes.
• Jesus counters and my vivid imagination suggests he counters with a flash of anger: It was not Moses who provided manna. It was God, my Father, and your God. Don’t you get it? It is not about the food; it is about me. I am the bread of life.
• The disciples, the crowd, (whoever was still around) are astonished. How can that be? We know you. Are you not the son of Joseph the carpenter? What are you talking about?
• Again and again, it seems, Jesus responds: I am the bread of life. Moses gave you, by the grace of God, physical food. Yesterday I provided loaves and fishes for you to eat. But this is not what I am about. I am the bread of life. This bread brings eternal life.
And this is where our gospel text for today enters the narrative. Jesus says, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”
• But again, the people cry out in disbelief: How can this man give us his flesh to eat?
The gospel reading for next Sunday concludes this narrative arc. In this reading the disciples say: “This teaching is too difficult. Who can accept it? Chapter six ends with some followers leaving and the commentary from John that Jesus knew from the first who would betray him—and even identifies Judas as the betrayer.
From Miracle to Betrayal. John has provided us with a lot to ponder.
What in the world is going on? It is obvious that Jesus and his disciples are not on the same page. The disciples are caught up in 1) tradition and their expectations based on it, 2) the practical world of survival where food is scarce, 3) the thrilling rush of adrenalin as they hear Jesus preach, experience miraculous events, and bask in his charismatic presence. Imagine how they must feel as their excitement mounts that this man, this carpenter’s son from Nazareth, may well be the long expected Messiah.
From this hoped for King, they want food (read miraculous signs and wonders), substance, mission, political leadership. What they get is mystery-- ambiguity. They are asked to replace their desire for things with Jesus desire for people to come directly to God through him.
It seems, though, that at every turn they misunderstand what he means, what he teaches, what he desires for them. He has been sent to show them the deep love that God has for them. He has been sent to alter their focus on things, and principalities and powers and to refocus on one thing only—the mystery and power and glory of the living God.
Jesus affirms: “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate….”
Implications for Us.
It is no wonder that they were confused. Those disciples wanted substance. What they got was metaphor.
Are we, two thousand plus years later, still somewhat confused ourselves?
Don’t we want, downright expect, answers?
Don’t we demand substance?
Don’t we seek guidance and direction?
Don’t we allow our expectations, our desires, our needs to frame what we want—even expect—from God?
Instead of just giving us what we want and say we need …
Jesus offers Jesus.
Jesus offers God.
For Jesus, that should be enough!
It is clear that Jesus is not talking about disciples actually eating his literal flesh. He is speaking symbolically. Keep in mind that in the gospel narratives Eucharist has not yet been instituted. That comes later. These disciples did not have centuries of theological dialogue and struggle about whether wafers and wine were the real presence of Jesus or just some mystical symbol. In fact, there is no institution of the Eucharist in the gospel of John. The symbolic activity that takes place at John’s last supper is the washing of feet. I have often wondered why John did not include this Eucharistic and symbolic feast in his gospel.
It now occurs to me that in Chapter 6 John is essentially presenting a Eucharistic metaphor. It is symbolic and deeply incarnational. God is in Jesus, and when we take in Jesus we literally take God within us. This is, first and foremost, about human life—your life and mine—with God. The word Immanuel—used quite often to refer to Jesus--simply means, “God is with us.”
To accept this, to believe this, to respond to this is an act of faith. It requires a bold leap from the realities of human expectation to the promises of divine blessing.
This in no way implies that guidance, or mission, or purpose, or answers will not come through a life of Faith—a life of God’s incarnation with us. It is nothing more or less than getting our priorities straight and putting first things first.
I believe that God created the universe, is omnipresent, is always with us, always seeking us, always wanting to be in relationship with us. As I read the Bible—the story of God’s attempts to relate to and lead a people—it is clear to me that most of the time the people just didn’t get it.
And while I am speaking of “not getting it,” this brings me back around to the time mentioned earlier when I went on a silent retreat—seeking answers to what I thought then were important life issues. I thought, as I entered into the time of silence, that answers would come. Like Solomon, I wanted God to provide a concrete plan of action—or at least a hint of direction.
I got my answer, and it was a complete shock. I realized that all of my life I had been an active participant in the life of the church, had accepted leadership positions, taught classes, preached sermons, went on mission trips, prayed, fasted, visited the sick…. I was very active in the business of the church.
I discovered at that retreat, that I was missing something primary—a deep and abiding relationship with God. Jesus was a hero, a servant, a role model. God was the architect of the universe. I believed in God and Jesus, I gave thanks and praise and worship, but in the final analysis I was not in a specific and personal relationship with them.
The answer that I got, important as those life decisions were, was this: until I accepted the living presence of God in me, understood God’s desire, through Jesus, to be in relationship with me, and began to develop that, then NOTHING ELSE MATTERED.
That is what most of the disciples did not get. That is why Jesus consistently, and insistently, implores the disciples to come directly to God through him.
T. S. Eliot, in his Four Quartets poem, talks about leaving home, going on life’s long journey of learning and experience only to come back home and experience it again for the first time.
John’s gospel today brings me back home—seeming yet again for the first time—and brings me back out of my head and my searching and reminds me of something fundamental, yet easily overlooked through the struggles of life.
This is why I can say, one more time, what I said as I child, and you, surely, must have said or sung it as well.
“Jesus loves me;
This I know;
For the Bible tells me so.”
Amen!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Sermon: Ninth Sunday After Pentecost
The Very Rev. William Thomas Deneke, rectorI am the bread of life.
These words of Jesus are familiar. We read them, say them, and sing them. In the Eucharist we even say “the bread of heaven”. What is interesting about this bread of salvation is that it does not always come to us in planned or predictable ways. The bread and wine of the Eucharist feed our souls every Sunday. But sometimes food for the soul, and even communion, come to us like manna from heaven, unexpectedly, and as a pure, unearned gift of grace.
This morning I want to share with you a story about how I encountered the bread of heaven unexpectedly. Several years ago, I traveled to Russia for a month long summer sabbatical with a friend who was a Lutheran college professor. We went first to St. Petersburg where we engaged in study at the St. Petersburg Theological Seminary. From there we flew to Biysk, a city in Southern Siberia, to meet a family we had both befriended on a previous Russian trip.
During our stay in Siberia, our host family took us on an excursion to a village south of Biysk in an area near the Altai Mountains (not far from the Chinese and Mongolian border). We went there to visit the newly restored Church of the Icon of the Kazan Mother of God. While touring the inside of the church, we met two young Russian Orthodox priests serving the church, and a Russian woman named Antonina, who was an active lay leader.
The priests and Antonia told us that sometime after the Bolshevik Revolution, the holy icons had been ripped from the Iconostasis and used on the street in front of the church as paving. The building was then turned into a storage place for chemical fertilizers to be used by the local collective farms.
A few courageous villagers carried off some of icons, which had been thrown into the street and hid them in their homes. Though they were now in somewhat poor condition, five or six of these icons were back in the newly restored church.
During the conversation, Antonina also shared that she had the honor of baking the large, round loaves of communion bread used each Sunday during the Eucharist.
Since it was lunchtime, Antonina invited us, all four adults and two children, whom she had never met before, to come home with her for lunch.
To turn down such an invitation would have been considered quite rude in Russian culture, so we accepted her kind offer. We walked a quarter of a mile through the streets of the village and over the fields to her "izba" (log house). While we became acquainted with her husband and son, Antonina busied herself in her "summer kitchen" located across the garden from the house. In preparation for our meal, Antonina's husband took us outside to wash our hands at the family's cleverly constructed "sink". Next to the basin hung the family towel, which was offered, to each one of us to dry our hands. We later learned that this act of offering the family towel was considered an honor according to Russian custom.
In less than 20 minutes, Antonina set out a magnificent luncheon table for her guests. Lunch consisted of a first course of fresh, uncooked garden vegetables, followed by a "borsch" of vegetables into which she lobbed huge spoonfuls of fresh sour cream. This was topped off by some kind of ground beef served with huge slices of bread covered in fresh butter.
Antonina did not serve just any bread to her guests. She brought to the table the large round loaf of bread that she had baked for communion. As she proudly held up the bread for all to see, I could not help thinking about the Eucharistic act of consecrating the bread. As she broke and passed around the bread, accompanied by cups of tea, I sat there in amazement.
What struck me was the parabolic power of a simple act of hospitality transformed into an authentic form of communion. While orthodox women are permitted to bake the bread of communion, they are not permitted to serve it. Neither are "strangers" -- the non-orthodox -- permitted to receive the bread of communion. This dominant patriarchy of the Russian Orthodox Church had been turned upside down when Antonina welcomed strangers to table fellowship and served as the "celebrant" of this simple "communion".
In our tradition, bread broken at communion is offered to each communicant with the words, "the body of Christ, the bread of heaven". This bread lovingly baked, broken and served by Antonina was nothing less than manna, or bread of heaven. Such an act of hospitality surely gives us a glimpse of the One who is the Bread of Life.
This story suggests that we can encounter communion and food for the soul in unexpected forms, along unfamiliar paths and with people who differ from us in every way imaginable. Come to think of it, this seems to be the way of Jesus portrayed over and over again in the gospels.
By the simple act of breaking bread with those in whom he came in contact, Jesus demonstrated an all inclusive, non-hierarchical divine hospitality that crossed all barriers of nationality, class, gender, race and creed. Perhaps, this story of a Siberian family's hospitality can serve as a reminder of the love of Christ that knows no boundaries. Perhaps it can remind us that food for the soul can be discovered in the most unlikely places, offered by those who seem to have the least to give.
Let us pray: Gracious God, grant us the wisdom to recognize the need to nourish our souls as well as our bodies. Enable us to perceive food for the soul even in unexpected places and to have the grace to accept gifts from those who may seem to have the least to give. Lead us daily to embrace your hospitality and grow in neighborliness so that we may be nourished and transformed through the Bread of life. Amen.
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