Sermon: First Sunday of Advent

November 29, 2009

The First Sunday of Advent

Luke 21:25-36

Holy Trinity Parish, Decatur, Georgia

The Very Reverend William T. Deneke, rector

Advent is upon us; we have only four weeks to prepare for Christmas. Four weeks of shopping, decorating and partying. But that is not the preparation called for in the Bible readings for Advent.

The Psalm for today sets a tone that causes us to pause. It is a lament, a plea for God to reveal the ways and paths of the Lord. No “city sidewalk, busy sidewalks dressed in holiday style”. But rather a plea, even a demand, to be taught.

The epistle provides a window into the struggle of the early church to grasp the wonderful and bewildering future inaugurated by the risen Christ. Paul responds to the embryonic faith of the Thessalonians by blessing the young church. He holds up for them the promise of their faith and reveals his love for the community. “And may the Lord make you increase and abound in love to one another and to all people, as we do to you.” This is heartwarming and encouraging.

Then Paul adds a prayer that the Thessalonians may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints.

Writer and teacher Reynolds Price developed a spinal tumor that was not only deadly but also incredibly painful. He tells us that he was not an especially religious person. But very early one morning he had a vision that transported him to the shore of the Sea of Galilee. He saw twelve persons that he knew were the disciples and a sleeping man that he knew was Jesus. Jesus then stood up and walked toward him. Taking his hand, he led into the water. He took handfuls of water and poured them on Price’s head and damaged back. Then Jesus said: “Your sins are forgiven.” Price asked, “Am I also cured?” And Jesus said, “That too.”

It is the grace and forgiveness of God that rends us blameless. Jesus comes to us on clouds of forgiveness. The great poet Tennyson wrote of his faith. “Not one life shall be destroyed or cast as rubbish to the void.”

Paul focuses on and draws out that seed of faith, that kernel of hope and projects it onto the large screen of promise revealed in Christ.

Both the psalm and epistle plea for a future shaped by God and both draw from this promise to embrace hope. They have as a backdrop the words we heard from the prophet Jeremiah. His vision of hope was also set against a background of destruction. As the first, lone candle of Advent burns, Jeremiah recalls his own city burning, yet speaks of God’s future of hope.

The hope revealed in these scriptures is not just holiday cheer. Nor is it a denial of suffering and death. The hope of which we hear this morning is so drawn from the love of God that we, too, can dare to proclaim, even at the grave, “Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia”.

And then comes the gospel for this First Sunday of Advent. And, on the surface, it seems to have no real connection with the lyrics “In the air there’s a feeling of Christmas.” But if we go beneath the surface of the holidays to the place where redemption is at work, there is, indeed, a feeling of new life in the air and in the heart and throughout the world.

Luke presents a vision of a redeemed future that embraces all reality. The coming of the long expected Jesus is not divorced from the turmoil and suffering of the world. Hang onto your hats, keep the faith, do good works, get ready to have your socks blown off. Jesus is coming and a new realm of truth and justice is emerging. We are being redeemed.

The Jewish Talmud proclaims, “Do not be daunted by the Enormity of the world’s grief.

Do justice now.

Love mercy now.

Walk humbly now.

You are not obligated to complete the work,

but neither are you free to abandon it”.

New Testament theologian Gail O’Day points out that the lessons for this Sunday may seem foreign or discomforting. Yet, she says, “Without this eschatological vision, our celebration of Christmas can become solely an occasion of nostalgia and sentimentality rather than a bold enactment of God’s hopes for the world.”

An issue for many of us is that nostalgia and sentimentality are pretty attractive. We may be looking and listening for silver bells. The sentimental side of Christmas is bigger than life and clearly gets our attention. That’s why O’Day’s words ring true. Is the real promise of Christmas more than can be found under a tree?

The scriptures maintain that Advent points not to what is under the tree but to who was killed upon the tree and rose again. And maybe we don’t want to be reminded of this in late November and December. Maybe we had rather focus only on the promise of new birth and joy and happiness.

But the scriptures know the whole story. And when they speak of the hope of the future, they bear witness to the great drama of redemption in which the love of God is transforming sorrow into joy and hurt into forgiveness.

The scriptures bid us to prepare for the fullness of God’s love, the fullness of redemption and forgiveness. Opening our hearts and minds and lives to this hope that embraces both love and suffering, prepares us to receive grace even now.

Lately, I’ve heard story after story of individuals being called into offices and told they are no longer employed. Often they are told to leave by another door and not return to their workplaces. Sometimes they are even escorted from the building by security guards. These are people who have been loyal employees. Many who have sacrificed for their companies.

Such practices dehumanize and try the souls of men and women. They are a reminder of cruelty and suffering and the need for redemption. And they lead us to the Advent cry, Come, Lord Jesus.

Jesus, who is redeeming humanity, is the Expected One known to scriptures. Not just a jolly, benevolent father figure, but a man who loved and suffered and died for others. A man who revealed the presence of God in forgiving and healing and sacrificing. A man who revealed God’s faith in the future despite the suffering of the present, and did so by entering fully into the joys and sorrows of humankind. A savior and lord who rose from the dead and will come again. It is this long expected savior for which this season invites us to prepare.

The Advent vision of hope is salvation for a troubled world. Writer Edward Hays has said that Advent is a winter training ground for those who desire peace. It is not afraid to look at the sins of the world and still dare to hope that the world is being redeemed.

It is a short season, only four weeks. But Advent has much to offer. The good news it conveys means that we can hope, despite all that is falling apart in our lives, our communities, and the world around us. Advent offers us expectation and hope for something new. “Stand up and raise your heads”, says the gospel, “because your redemption is drawing near.”

Sermon: Christ the King Sunday

November 22, 2009

Christ the King Sunday

John 18:33-38a

Holy Trinity Parish, Decatur, Georgia

The Reverend Allan Sandlin, associate rector

Late November has snuck up on us once again. The last leaves are falling from the trees in our back yard. Our suddenly very tall children are looking forward to one more family Thanksgiving before the oldest one heads off to college. (Tell me I’m not the only one thinking about that?) For Gretchen and me, our thoughts always turn to memories of our fathers, both of whom had late November birthdays. The fading memories of Thanksgivings past get added to the mix. And since we were both born in a certain decade, memories of an infamous November 22nd when our childhood innocence and the nation’s Camelot dreams were shattered.

That’s late November in our world. Late November in the church is all about endings and beginnings. T. S. Eliot poignantly reminds us that

What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

The end is where we start from.

And so on this last Sunday in the long season of Pentecost, the Church celebrates the Feast of Christ the King as an end where we start from. If you think about it, today’s sort of like New Year’s Eve in the Church, for next Sunday the church year begins again—the First Sunday of Advent is our New Year’s Day.

If you Googled images of Christ the King, you’d find pictures of Jesus with bright, shining crowns on his head, some of them pure gold, others crusted with jewels. And you’d see icons with muted colors, brilliant halo rays surrounding Jesus’ head. Sometimes he’s sitting on a throne, dressed in flowing red velvet robes. Royal Jesus, looking very much like an earthly king might look. Those images are very much in tune with this morning’s first three readings.

From the Hebrew Scriptures, the book of Daniel presents an apocalyptic vision of a throne engulfed in fiery flames, with an Ancient One seated on it and waited on by ten thousand times ten thousand servants. The king in Psalm 93 has put on his most splendid, beautiful clothes and is acclaimed as mightier than the sound of many waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea. And, of course, leave it to the book of Revelation, the last book in the Bible, the Omega of Holy Scripture to describe Jesus Christ, “the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead and the ruler of the kings on earth”, as the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end… It’s all so rich and wonderful, it’s almost too much to bear, isn’t it?

If we stopped right there, we could go on singing our triumphal hymns, crowning Jesus King of Kings and Lord of Lords, with all the glory and grandeur we can muster. It’s a fitting grand finale to the long season of Pentecost, the final hurrah before entering the quiet days of Advent. We’ve selected hymns this morning that sing of Christ’s reign and God’s glory and if we’d thought about it, we could have hired trumpet players for today. It’s entirely appropriate to celebrate the reign of Christ, the coming of God’s kingdom with pomp and circumstance.

But we can’t close our prayer books and go home just yet. We can’t leave without hearing this brief scene from Jesus’ trial as told in the gospel of John. Our glorious Christ the King stands in handcuffs before an earthly king named Pilate and we know where this will end. On this day of endings, the gospel lesson lands us right in the heart of the Passion of Christ. Standing in the courtroom of an earthly king, on trial for his refusal to play by the rules of an earthly kingdom. The end of our Lord’s life is just around the corner and the story doesn’t need to mention the cross for us to sense its shadow hanging over the scene. And it will be an ending that is also a beginning for if the crucifixion is coming soon, then resurrection is also near and once again, beginnings and endings are so close they almost touch each other…

In this scene, Pilate asks most of the questions, poking and prodding at Jesus. On the surface of things, Pilate’s the one in control. Jesus is in his courtroom, under guard of his soldiers and yet who do you think is the one in control?

Are you the King of the Jews?

Jesus answers Do you ask this on your own, or did someone put you up to it?

I am not a Jew, am I? Your own people handed you over to me. What have you done?

Jesus says My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my followers, my soldiers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to you. My kingdom is not from here.

So you are a king after all?

You say that.

And then Jesus gets to the heart of the matter: This is why I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.

In this very brief scene, two worlds, two kings, two kingdoms collide. Pilate’s questions make clear that this is not a religious conflict but a political one and he’s feeling the pressure of the mob just outside the palace doors, perhaps worried about losing his job if he makes the wrong choice.

When Pilate called Jesus king, according to John’s version of the story, it was as a term of derision. A few scenes further on in the story, Pilate will instruct his people to inscribe “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews” on a notice tacked to the cross in 3 languages.

Jesus, even with his hands tied behind his back, is calm and epitomizes what we today might call a “non-anxious presence”. His royalty permeates the air. My kingdom is not of this world he says. And with those words, Jesus separates himself from Pilate’s world of politics, military might and the banalities of life in the royal court. But Jesus is not taking himself or his followers out of this world. God’s kingdom is not some ethereal place up in the heavens, removed from contact with all the messiness, the pain, the corruption and disease and death of this world. The kingdom Jesus points toward is not on the other side of the cosmos. It is here and now.

John’s gospel from beginning to end, is all about the reality of the in-breaking Kingdom, it’s all about incarnation. And we hear it right away, in the first chapter of the book: And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.

The Word became flesh and lives among us still and we catch glimpses of it if we are paying attention. But how and where do we see it?

Those of you who are in DOCC this fall, the Disciples of Christ in Community course here at Holy Trinity, will recognize this poem by R.S. Thomas entitled “The Kingdom”. It’s a long way off but inside it here are quite different things going on: Festivals at which the poor man is king and the consumptive is healed; mirrors in which the blind look at themselves and love looks at them back; and industry is for mending the bent bones and the minds fractured by life.

It’s a long way off, but to get there takes no time and admission is free, if you will purge yourself of desire, and present yourself with your need only and the simple offering of your faith, green as a leaf.

Can you imagine a festival, a Mardi Gras perhaps, where the poor man is king and the sick are healed? Where blind people look at themselves in the mirror and love looks back at them? Can you imagine a time when our resources, our intelligence, our systems are focused not on war or making more money than we need but on mending bent bones and minds fractured by life? The kingdom of God is like that.

Author and theologian, Daniel Clendenin, sees another way of envisioning the Kingdom of God embodied by Jesus. Imagine what life would be like on earth, here and now if God were king and the rulers of this world were not. Imagine if God ruled the nations, and not Obama, Kim Jong-il, Mugabe, or Ahmadinejad. Every aspect of personal and communal life would experience a radical reversal. The political, economic, and social subversions would be almost endless—peacemaking instead of war mongering, liberation not exploitation, sacrifice rather than subjugation, mercy not vengeance, care for the vulnerable instead of privileges for the powerful, generosity instead of greed, humility rather than hubris, embrace rather than exclusion. (from an on-line essay at www.journeywithjesus.net)

You’ve heard the Hebrew word shalom. We usually think it means peace. But a better translation of shalom is human well-being. And the kingdom of God is like that.

I wonder this morning as we end another year in the church and slow down long enough to consider all our endings and beginnings, can we pay close enough attention to recognize encounters with God’s kingdom happening in our lives every day? There’s definitely some kingdom work happening at the Fair Trade Sale in Tisdale Hall today. If you think of this annual Holy Trinity event only as a great chance to do some early Christmas shopping, think again. More significant is the help we are able to give people all over the world. We are supporting artists and craftspeople whose faces we’ll never see, whose voices we’ll never hear. And they are not artists living and working in Buckhead or on the Upper West Side of New York. They are from Haiti and Bangladesh, from South Africa, Honduras, Vietnam and the Philippines …the dollars we spend go directly to help lift them a little ways out of the poverty engulfing them.

This year, we have some new friends with us, friends who live and work in Clarkston, Stone Mountain and Decatur. They are part of a community of refugees, Bhutanese people who fled their homeland because of ethnic cleansing. Many of them lived in a United Nations refugee camp in Nepal for 18 years before coming to the United States. Here in Georgia, they’ve been making stunning baskets, woven from kudzu and bamboo.

Yesterday at our Fair Trade Sale, they had the best day of sales they’ve ever had, selling over $1,300 worth of baskets. That will pay for 3 month’s rent.

Who would have imagined that our ubiquitous Southern vine could be turned into something so useful and so beautiful? Supporting these Bhutanese people, who left their homes in Asia, came to the United States and discovered a use for kudzu we’d never thought of, gives us the opportunity not only to glimpse the kingdom but perhaps to have a small part in opening up a new corner of that kingdom.

The Kingdom of God is like that.

In a few minutes, we’ll pray the prayer Jesus taught us how to pray, the Lord’s Prayer, the Our Father. It’s a prayer that I suspect we find comforting most days. But I wonder about one petition, in particular, that may be less comfortable for us to say. It might even be a little disturbing. When we look at the way the world really is, in light of what Jesus was saying and doing as he ushered in the Kingdom, do we mean it when we pray Thy kingdom come, thy will be done?

Sermon: Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost

November 8, 2009

The Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost

Mark 12:38-44

Holy Trinity Parish, Decatur, Georgia

The Very Reverend William Thomas Deneke, rector

In today’s gospel, a poor widow who contributed a couple of coins, which were all she had to live on, is said to have been a more faithful steward than those who gave large sums but with little sacrifice.

The faithfulness of the woman was not guaranteed by her status as a widow or by her poverty. Those attributes simply predisposed her to a hard life. She could have become bitter and cynical. But in her suffering, she had learned where to place her hope. She had discovered what was ultimately trustworthy. So, perhaps out of thanksgiving or love of God or a desire to share her faith, she gave all she had.

The poor widow’s stewardship response is contrasted with that of those who gave out of their wealth without any sacrifice. Although they gave more money, their giving was less faithful than was the poor widow’s.

It is important to remember that we may hear the story quite differently from Jesus’ original audience. We may wonder at the wisdom of the poor widow in giving away every cent she had. In this part of the story there is a sub plot.

According to Jewish law the widow should have been afforded some security. She should not have been in the position of having no more than a penny. In the account Jesus not only points out the hypocrisy of the religious hierarchy, but also indicts them for neglecting to care for widows. The story’s intent is not to say that every penny should be given to the church but to hold up the injustice of a corrupt system and show how such corruption was revealed in the very ones who should have known better. The poor widow, who was easily dismissed, modeled the devotion that should have been found in community leaders.

None of this is surprising to anyone who has heard the good news of Christ. The kingdom he proclaimed always turned things upside down. The reading reminds us that things are not always as they seem. Irony and paradox commonly frame truth.

This weekend, the Presiding Bishop of our Church addressed Diocesan Council and presided and preached at the Council Eucharist. Bishop Katherine said the call of the Church now is mission, mission, mission.

I was struck by her description of the Church as an organization that exists to serve others. The Church belongs to God, not us. It’s important to remember that. We are not so much drawn into this faith community to be served, but through the power of the Holy Spirit to learn how to share and serve in the name of Christ. That is the DNA of ministry. What we have at the heart of our community is mission. The mission given us in our baptismal covenant.

It is wondrous to see how God is leading the Episcopal Church into mission. The various testimonies at Council surely revealed this. Through the grace of God we are being enabled to share our gifts and open our hearts and grow in faith. God continues to raise up our church as a blessing to many, and to lead us into deeper faith and mission.

That was so evident at Diocesan Council as we heard, for example, of two new congregations. One is the parish of Christ the King in Lilburn, an international community representing nationalities from around the world. The other is the Church of the Common Ground, which serves the homeless in downtown Atlanta. There were stories and more stories that told of the difference Episcopalians are making around the world in our ministries of compassion.

At Holy Trinity we know of many of these ministries first hand as we seek to bring clean water to Haitians without it, home improvements and educational opportunities to poor Hondurans, home rebuilding to people in New Orleans and flood relief to people in our own area. We reach out in these ways and others, such as supporting one another in our Christian formation and being with one another in our joys and sorrows, because our DNA is ministry and we are a people in mission.

When we seriously seek to live into our baptism and mission, our stewardship is less likely to reflect that of the pious folks described in the gospel and more likely to resemble that of the poor widow. And we are more likely to place our hope in God rather than in things such as getting ahead or in having what we want or in just surviving. We come to know as we mature in Christ that church is about serving others and blessing God.

In the gospel today all this activity of the Spirit is witnessed in a poor widow who gave all she had to live on. She is a metaphor for faithful sharing. She is both an inspiration and a challenge.

The question the reading raises for us to ponder is how do we give out of the faith with which we are blessed? Or, in other words, how do we give faithfully rather than just offer what is left over?

Two quotes from two of the saints of our time speak to this: The first is from Mother Teresa of Calcutta, and the second is from the English author, C.S. Lewis.

Mother Teresa once said, “If you give what you do not need, it isn’t giving.”

And in a similar vein, C. S. Lewis wrote: “I do not believe one can settle how much we ought to give. I am afraid the only safe rule is to give more than we can spare.”

These two people of faith lived and served with openness to the Holy Spirit. They were not perfect; they struggled with their faith. But in Mother Teresa and C.S. Lewis, can be seen two people who through grace came to the place of the poor widow.

We can go there, too. And we do so whenever we open ourselves to be transformed by the grace of God. Whenever we come to know the joy of serving God and our neighbor. And whenever we understand that life is about ministry and mission.

It is through this baptismal path that we come to place our hope in God. In this way we stand with the poor widow, knowing where our true salvation lies and that God’s grace is abundant enough to share. In fact, it is in sharing that we receive the best gifts. Another thing the kingdom of God turns upside down.

For many of us, living this way involves some struggle. We have to die to something. Maybe even to our desire to find an alternative to God. The baptismal life is about dying to just these sorts of things. Turning away from whatever draws us from the love of God.

But while entering the tomb with Jesus can be hard to undertake, the promise is that we will find new life. We will be transformed and made free to serve in the power of the Spirit. We will be free to love, to give from our faith and not from what is left over.

I doubt that we will see the poor widow on many billboards or in many commercials. But she points the way to abundant life, and she reminds us that within all of us there is a call to live more fully into Christ our Savior who said it is more blessed to give than to receive.

Sermon: Twenty-First Sunday after Pentecost

Justin Yawn, Seminarian

Holy Trinity Parish, Decatur, Georgia

Today we hear a story about the 12 disciples, specifically James and John, in our Gospel lesson. It is a story unique to the Synoptic Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke. In the story we first see James and John make a pretty demanding request of Jesus. Secondly, Jesus responds to their question with questions that are affirmed by James and John. Then, the other disciples are taught a lesson about discipleship. Is anyone having a hard time following the chain of events in the story today? Because I know I was the first time I read it. However, despite the chain of events I think something radical is at work in this text that has real meaning for us today. The main question that I wrestled with after reading this text is what does it mean to be a disciple today? In order to answer this question we are going to have to embark on a journey, a journey into the core of this passage, ending in Jesus’ words to his disciples.

James and John are not just any two disciples. Earlier in the Gospel story we find out that Jesus calls them straight out of a fishing boat and tells them that now they are going to be fishers of men. They are considered the most zealous of all the disciples earning them the name “Sons of thunder”. These were not just any two of the twelve and later in the Gospel story we know that they will be with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. So, these two disciples ask Jesus what seems to be a bold question. “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you?” I can only imagine, although it is not in the text, that Jesus had to have raised an eyebrow to that question, after all he is the one who called these guys in the first place and he is their teacher, but he responds by saying “what can I do for you?” And they quickly ask…. (Read verse 37 here). Wow, is the first word that came to mind when I read that question. What gives these two the right to make such a demanding request? If we follow Mark’s portrayal of the disciples as dense and clueless, then we are presented with one way of understanding their question. In their denseness they have missed the point of Jesus’ passion prediction which just preceded this question. However, that is only one interpretation and I am not sure if that really justifies such a bold question. Another way to look at this problematic question is through the lens of uncertainty. I think that James and John are expressing uncertainty about the future which is probably a product of what Jesus has predicted three times. They believe that Jesus is going to Jerusalem to establish his Kingdom and they want to be certain that they have a place in it. They are not as focused on the present ministry that lies ahead.

This question is probably not too far from our minds this morning, especially in a world that is filled with anxiety about the future and a number of issues, the least of which is the economy. I am sure many of us sitting here this morning would like to change the question slightly and ask Jesus, “Can you make sure that I don’t get laid off this week?” Or “Can you make sure that my small business stays open through this economic decline?” or “Can you make sure that my family can keep their house?” Or even outside the walls of our little church home people around the world might be asking “Can you make sure I have something to eat tomorrow?” or “Can you make sure my children our safe walking to school?” Or “Can you make sure that my family has clean water tomorrow?” Not one of these questions is greater than another because they all are products of our anxiety and very real concerns for us. Just like James and John, we are seeking to bring some certainty to our future.

Jesus provides an interesting answer that does not deal directly with the future anxiety. He says that they will drink the cup that he will drink, that they will be baptized in the same way he is, but it is out his authority to grant them their request to sit at his right hand and left hand because it is for those whom it has been prepared for. What a radical response!! Probably not what James and John were hoping to hear. I am sure they were hoping that Jesus would say, sure James and John!! Which one of you wants to sit on my right and which one on my left? However, this is not the case. Instead Jesus gives an answer that is assures them that they have a place with him in the future, but the right and left hands are not just reserved for two people but for many. It is a unique answer. Not to mention Jesus does not come across as angry or agitated by their question, but the other disciples are angry. Possibly the other ten felt like they had been “one upped” by James and John, or that James and John were trying to take advantage of their beloved teacher. Whatever the case Jesus is quick to turn the situation into a lesson and this is, I believe, is the radical message in the Gospel today.

Jesus tells them that “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” What a radical new way to view discipleship. Jesus has shifted the whole role of a disciple into that of a servant. Not just one who proclaims the good news but one that is to live out the message they are spreading. Now I think it is important to make the connection between James and John’s original question and Jesus’ response. Essentially, Jesus has told James, John, and the disciples that in Christ we are reborn and called into the fold at baptism, have access to salvation through the cup/ death and resurrection of Christ, and because of this we should follow Christ’s example and be servants in the world. Jesus, in one way, addresses the future aspect of their question but decides to pull their attention back to the present task. The action that the disciples are to undertake then and there as well as the action we should take now in our lives. My brothers and Sisters through James and John’s question we are brought on a journey that unfolds the true meaning of Christian charity enacted in discipleship. Our love of God and recognition of Christ’s action in our lives leads us not to worry about the future glory that exists for us, but to focus on the present as disciples spreading this message of hope and love in the world not only by word but through action.

Jesus has transformed the way the 12 should think of their ministry and how we should think of our ministry as disciples today. Jesus came to save us and give his life a ransom for many: for us here today and for all of humanity. So, as Disciples of Christ, how are we going to be servants today and spread the love Christ has shown us? What does it mean to live into this life of servant hood or as faithful stewards of ourselves and resources? Yes, stewardship has a prominent place in this language of servant hood. It is not something to be frightened of. Discipleship calls us to be good stewards of what we have and through servant ministry we are able to share what God has blessed us with to those around us.

A modern day example of this stewardship and servant hood is found in the life and teachings of Mother Teresa. She believed that she was called to be a servant to the poorest of the poor, but that did not always mean the destitute. She believed that we should just simply share a smile to those around us because that is an example of the love of God residing in us. She challenges us to view the world in a new way focusing on those who have not been shown the love of Christ. She and her Sisters of Charity were truly servants.

Let’s just think back to my earlier questions I proposed and see how our parish family has responded. We as a community of servants have filled the need of clean water for many people living in Haiti. We have provided food through the Heifer Project to villages in Africa. Through our good stewardship we continue to provide food and other resources to those living in our own community through the ministry of DEAM. But, what about those other questions perhaps the more pressing questions for us here today?

Unfortunately, I am not able to stand before you with all the answers to those other questions. What I can stand before you and say is that we as disciples and servants are called to look around and find those in need just as Mother Teresa did. Think how we can transform the world we live in if we just stop and ask those in need around us “How can I help you today?” What if we find our neighbor who was just laid off and ask “How can I help you today? What if we ask that person on the side of the street in need of food, clothing and shelter “How can I help you today?” All of a sudden, through servant hood, charity and love, we begin to address the anxiety surrounding those questions. It is a radical message: Jesus is calling the disciples to act in faith and not just proclaim their faith.

This radical call to discipleship has to begin inside each one of us. The first step of this is, as our mission statement proudly proclaims, “Open our hearts to God”. This is something we have to decide to do on our own. It is the one part of discipleship, servant hood, and stewardship that cannot be done for us. It is an individual commitment to begin to live our life aligned with Christ and in accord with Christ recognizing that Christ is with us, provided us with our blessings, and calls us to a life of servant hood. Christ was the ultimate example of this radical servant hood when he gave his life on the cross as a ransom for us. As disciples, servants and stewards in God’s kingdom think how we can transform the world we live in if we just stop look around and tend, in whatever way we can, to those in need around us. Just think what you have accomplished in this community by being faithful servants and good stewards of your resources. My brothers and sisters what a wonderful world it would be if we all lived a life of charity and love of neighbor!! Amen.

Sermon: Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

The Very Rev. William Thomas Deneke, rector

Today we are presented with one of the difficult sayings of Jesus. Difficult, that is, if we are rich, and by world standards, we are. So it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for us to enter the kingdom of God.

That may put us in the position of comedian W.C. Fields. In failing health and near the end of his notoriously irreverent and indulgent life, Fields was found by his doctor propped up in his sick bed, reading the Bible. His doctor said, "W.C., what are you doing with a Bible?" Fields replied with his wit, "Well, my boy, I'm lookin' for loopholes."

We may be tempted to look for loopholes around being faithful stewards. Loopholes, though, are like mirages: they promise more than they give. That's because shortcuts in matters of faith and commitment lead us away from the kingdom of God.

But the gospel isn't just warning us about loopholes. It is describing what our evangelical friends might call the struggle between control and surrender.

As long as we have the resources to shape our destinies, we are going to be tempted to avoid surrendering our lives to God. That's because we tell ourselves that we don't really, really need God. We can take care of ourselves and taking care of ourselves is the most important thing we can do.

Most of us have been brought up to believe that. If our parents didn't teach us that, then our culture did. And it seems to work, so in return for our self-dependency, we may be charitable and sometimes even generous with our resources.

So Jesus could not possibly be talking to us.

As a child growing up in the 50's, I remember going with my mother to eat at Luby's Cafeteria in San Antonio. Cafeterias were sort of big things in the 50's. You would go through the line and choose what you wanted. There were lots of choices. As a kid I was always drawn toward fish and tartar sauce.

The cafeteria was quite different from a boarding house where I sometimes ate when I was in college. There you ate what was put on the table and you had to serve yourself quickly before it was gone. The choice was more eating or not eating than what to eat.

The cafeteria model was probably what the rich man in the gospel was used to. Maybe not so much in his eating habits, but in his decision-making. His resources allowed him to live with choices. And Jesus knew that the same resources that gave him choices could get him into trouble with his soul and his neighbor. Paradoxically, the choices that promised freedom and favor, could bind him to their domain.

Here's the good news: Our money will not save us. Money can do a lot for us and for others but it will never open the gates to the kingdom of God. Those gates are opened by grace, mercy and compassion. And we do well to use our money to facilitate our being open to those gifts of God. That's why Jesus told the rich man to give his money to the poor. In so doing the man might have discovered the true source of wealth.

It is unlikely that banks are going to print on our statements, Money is for glorifying God and not for salvation. But if we want to share in the kingdom of God, we might want to think about it.

The kingdom proclaimed by and revealed in Jesus was a way of living that turned ordinary values upside down. It could not be bought; there were no privileged memberships. It was a realm defined by the Beatitudes, a kingdom where the last was first and the first last.

And that's hard for us to contend with. But at the end of the day our place in the kingdom will be secured not so much by what we believe but by God's mercy. Through the love of God, we can make changes in our lives that seem as unlikely as a camel passing through the eye of a needle.

This afternoon we will honor St. Francis of Assisi by blessing animals on the parish lawn. Francis is a good example of how God transformed a person of wealth into a servant of grace. In him we are presented with a vision of God's realm and a story of a rich, young man who did not turn away from Jesus' invitation.

What kind of invitation is Jesus offering us? And how do we respond? In the gospel story the rich man went away grieving. But at least he got it. He experienced the invitation, took it seriously and responded intentionally. He could have blown it off.

I think that is the greater danger we face. Becoming so defended by our resources or status or beliefs or even debt that we are no longer vulnerable enough to really hear Jesus' invitation.

But life conspires against our defenses. And there are many invitations from God. Invitations to put our trust in mercy and compassion. Invitations to be a blessing to God and a neighbor to others. Invitations to be a faithful steward, trusting the abundance of grace that is redeeming us even now.

As God's stewards, all of us are invited to see money through the eyes of God's kingdom. As with the rich man in the gospel, that may sometimes challenge us. But how much richer we are when our eyes and hearts are opened by the One who loves us more than we can even imagine. The One whose love is such that it enables even a camel to go through the eye of a needle.

Sermon: Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost

“Stewardship Sunday”

Holy Trinity Episcopal Church, Decatur, GA

The Rev. Pamela Cooper-White, Ph.D.

Texts adapted for Stewardship Sunday from Proper 20C and Proper 22B: Gen. 1:26-31, Ps. 104: 24-30, Heb. 1:1-4, 2:5-8, and Luke 16:1-13

Today’s Gospel is about something more private than our love lives, our deepest regrets, or how we brush our teeth. It is even more private than our prayer life. Today’s Gospel touches on what may be, in our North American culture, the most private and carefully guarded dimension of our lives: money.

Nearly everyone in our culture is extremely private about at least some aspects of our finances. Nothing breaks up an office friendship faster than finding out about an inequity in pay. Being laid off from a job is tantamount to being de-valued as a person, even if the reasons have nothing to do with performance and everything to do with budgetary constraints. There are those of us who are afraid that if anybody, including close friends and relatives, knew what we earn, they would look down on us—it wouldn’t be prestigious enough. Or, on the other hand, there are those of us who are afraid that if anybody knew what we earned, they would try to take advantage of us because we had more money than they. When we think about the emotions that are tied to money, particularly our own money (or the lack of it), we tap into envy, fear, guilt, and even shame—that haunting, pervasive feeling that we are somehow bad or insufficient people. We can feel shame if we enjoy our money, and we can feel shame if we don’t have enough to enjoy.

Practicing Christians may be even more funny about money than the general population. We tend to think of money as “filthy lucre” (from the King James translation of I Timothy). “Money is the root of all evil,” we repeat to ourselves, usually guiltily. “Money isn’t spiritual.” So we get ourselves into a terrible double bind: We feel miserable when we have enough money, or more than enough just to live simply and well, because that doesn’t feel “spiritual” enough; and yet we also know that we feel miserable when we truly don’t have enough. We either experience lack ourselves, or we witness directly every day the misery of the poor who never chose to be poor, both in this city and around the world. We know that there is nothing intrinsically spiritual about being cold, sick, hungry, sleep-deprived because there is no safe place to sleep, and dirty because there is simply no place to get washed up. No one financial condition, then, rich or poor or in between, guarantees a greater sense of spiritual well-being, and our souls’ longing for God and for the deeper meanings of life continue to go unmet regardless of our economic situation.

But there is no evidence that Jesus himself felt that money itself was evil, or dirty, or even un-spiritual!

Now you will surely protest that right in today’s Gospel Jesus says “You cannot serve (both) God and wealth,” and didn’t Jesus also say that money is the root of all evil?” (Actually, no, that quote is from I Timothy, and the exact quote is that the love of money is the root of all evil.)

I read these statements of Jesus in Luke today not as diatribes against money per se. Rather, I see them as statements against idolatry. Whom, or what, do you worship? Whom do you serve? Literally, in the words of the gospel, even, to whom or to what are you enslaved (as the text literally translates)? Where is your preoccupation, your time, your energy really invested? Jesus did say, “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” (Matt. 6:21). If money becomes our preoccupation, it may very well become our god. And Jesus was always very concerned with the false values of those who, like the Pharisees, seemed to worship their own wealth, or status, or power, or even their rules, rather than simply worshipping God—which would have been evidenced not by acts of ritual purity, but by acts of kindness, mercy, and justice.

As Christians, then, we tend to fall into a trap: the trap of spiritualization. Spiritualization means splitting off earth from heaven, body from mind, the visible from the invisible, and the material from the ethereal. We have inherited from Greek philosophy a system of thought called the “mind-body split,” in which the matters of mind and spirit are held to be separate from, and higher, better than, the matters of the body and the heart. We have been taught to prefer rationality over emotionality, logic over intuition, and an image of a Sky God “up there” somewhere, as opposed to an Earthy God, immediate, immanent, “down here,” close at hand. But we can’t spiritualize everything. For example, our bodies are earthy, fleshy things. We can’t become vapors just wafting around, no matter how ascetic our spiritual practices. Food and money and material things are all down-here kinds of things, down to earth.

What happens when we subscribe to a mind-body split way of thinking—and feeling—about the world, is that we end up having to devalue and belittle anything that belongs down here. So our bodies, our feelings, our material possessions, and yes, our money, all start feeling less-than, even dirty or shameful. Even evil. “Filthy lucre.”

Carry these ideas around inside long enough, and it’s easy to begin adopting a stance of scarcity about our material possessions. We learn from an early age that it is better to be skinny, to be stoic about our feelings and not show them, to hide away earthy functions—for example, to give birth and to die in sterile, impersonal hospital rooms rather than in warm, homey rooms surrounded by loved ones—and to be secretive about money because if there isn’t enough to go around, then we’d better hoard what we need. We are ashamed of the things that are not the “things of above,” and we impose on ourselves a spirituality of scarcity and guilt.

Jesus, on the other hand, taught a spirituality of abundance: “I came that they might have life, and have it more abundantly.” (John 10:10) So while Jesus never meant for us to worship money and material things, neither did he urge us to view the material as evil or dirty. When Mary of Bethany poured an extremely expensive perfumed ointment on his feet, the disciples asked him to rebuke her. In fact, according to John’s gospel, it was Judas himself who said, “Why was this perfume not sold for 300 denarii and the money given to the poor?”) (In a spoof called the “Politically Correct Bible,” Jesus replies, “Of course, what was I thinking? Here, maybe we can still scoop some of it up!”) But no, Jesus knew that money, and costly things, have many purposes, and at that moment, Mary’s purpose of the heart—and in all but Luke’s Gospel, her prophecy of his death—were more deeply right than any other purpose.

How could Jesus believe that? Because Jesus didn’t believe in a spirituality of scarcity. Jesus didn’t apparently believe that that was the only wealth that would ever be available, or the only opportunity to serve the poor, or even that the cost of the perfume was all that important in that moment. Jesus believed, it seems, that there was abundance enough for all holy purposes to be served.

Today is Stewardship Sunday here at Holy Trinity. Fall is the harvest time—an appropriate time for us to reflect on this abundant life, and how we give thanks for our time, talents, and treasures, and offer them to the church and the world.

Douglas John Hall, in a little book called The Steward: A Biblical Symbol Come of Age, also urges us to do away with this mind-body split in our thinking—both about talents and treasures. He writes:

The life of the world is where the theology of stewardship must seek its real foundation, and if this foundation is missing then no amount of beating the drum for God and money will make the least difference. If this world is not indeed the first object of Christian concern…then stewardship of this world is…just an addendum.

But if this world matters, and if the secret of its mattering is felt in the very depths and center of the gospel, then Christian stewardship of this beloved world is of the essence of our belief, and every attempt to shove it off to the side is a form of apostasy and blasphemy.

And so, back to that confusing, rather strange parable in today’s Gospel. Jesus almost seems to be commending the unjust steward or “manager” for his cleverness and his shrewdness, which may have a negative, crafty connotation. But let’s look at the word that gets translated as “shrewdness.” In the original Greek text, the word is phronimos – which simply means using practical wisdom, or even, based on related words in the New Testament, using care. Nothing pejorative about it. Isn’t it possible that when we read this text we identify too much, as Christians, as the [quote] “children of light,” spiritualized beings who can’t allow ourselves to think in savvy and bold ways about money or material things of this world, because we don’t allow ourselves to think about money at all? Yet Jesus is quoted as saying “Make friends for yourselves by means of this Mammon of unrighteousness—so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.” A confusing passage, to be sure, but I think what Jesus is really being quoted as saying here is, “Use money, don’t shrink from it, go ahead and use it to befriend holy purposes.”

In closing, I want to share a little oddity I came across in my readings on today’s texts. Do you know where the English word “stewardship” comes from? It’s related to the word for “sty,” or “pigsty.” The steward was the “sty-ward,” the warden--the guardian, or caretaker of the sty! Far from being some lofty, pious manager of resources who keeps money and the material world separate from the supposedly “spiritual” things that really matter, the steward is somebody who gets right down there in the mud and mucks around with the rest of the piggies! There couldn’t be a more earthy message than that! Maybe we need to supplement the beloved metaphorical command of Jesus to “tend my sheep,” which conjures up images of fluffy, clean, heavenly little postcard lambs with a different command, which conjures up a very different picture: “Tend my pigs!” And of course, we are all pigs in it together.

So get out your rake and your knee-high boots, and revel in the work that is to be done as stewards in God’s muddy, wallowy, oozy dark earth.

God is as much in the muddy earth as in the sky; in the body and the heart as in the mind; and God is just as much in how we use our material possessions, and yes, even our money, as God is in our meditation practices and our prayerbook and our hymnal.

And so I would exhort those of you who are on the Stewardship Commitee : Get down there, roll up your sleeves, get out your pitchfork if you need it, and practice boldly saying, “We need your heart, and your hands, and your time, and your talent—and we very much need your money. How much can we count on from you?” Get in front of the mirror if you need to, and say the word until it loses its charge of shame and fear: “MONEY. MONEY. MONEY!”

And to those of you who will receive these visitors:

Enjoy your money! Revel in a theology of abundance, not scarcity! Whether you have a lot or a little, you don’t need to live in fear, or shame, or envy, or embarrassment. Give freely of your time and talent—and give freely of what money you have. When we truly believe that we don’t need to fear, that there will be enough, and that loving God will lead us to the abundant life, then we will also give freely, and that abundance will overflow into justice and dignity for everyone—including ourselves—not just in the next world, but right here on God’s glorious, muddy earth!

Amen.

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.