Christmas Day

The Historic Succession of Messengers
Isaiah 52:7-10
John 1:1-14

How did you find your way to this place this morning? How did you know how to get here? How did you know the way to the manger?

The magi had the star to lead them. It stopped right over the manger. The angels joyfully told the shepherds where to go to find the manger where their savior was born. How did you find your way to the manger?

Somebody told you. Somebody told you the Christmas story. Somebody told you the Christmas story in a way that you just couldn’t resist wanting to see it and be a part of it yourself.

As you may know Episcopalians cherish the apostolic succession by which we really mean the historic episcopate. It’s the theory that there is a direct ordination succession going back to Peter. Bishops have laid on hands on bishops at their ordination in an unbroken line that goes back from the present day all the way to Peter. And we perceive some sort of power or meaning in that connection.

But today it seems much more important to me to think about what we might call the historic succession of messengers. The reading from Isaiah has that wonderful description of the messenger who brings glad tidings. How beautiful are the feet of those who share the story. I like to think of the historic succession of messengers who have shared the story. Stretching from today all the way back to the manger.

So all of this now comes entirely out of my imagination. Who might some of those first messengers have been? I imagine that some of those shepherds who were there went back home and with wonder and awe told their wives what they had experienced. And the wives shared the story when they came together to draw water or for other community events. And the wonder spread from messenger to messenger.

Or maybe there was a stable boy there. He would have only been a few years older than Jesus. And he couldn’t forget something of what he had seen in that baby in the manger. So he kept track of Jesus as Jesus grew older. And he told his best friend.

Or the magi, who went home by another road so they would not have to tell the story to Herod. Maybe one of the magi was telling of the holy king he had seen and his gardener overheard him. And the gardener’s lord told the story with such simple but powerful conviction that the gardener sold what little he had and traveled to Judea and became a disciple…

Or maybe there was a neighboring magus who had been invited on the original journey but hadn’t gone… he just had too much on his plate at the time. But when he heard about what they had found he regretted missing out and he traveled to Bethlehem to see for himself and then brought the story back to his own people and his own land.

Somebody who was there told the story that found its way to you. The story of the manger. In your imagination, who was the first messenger who started the historic succession of story telling that ended up with you?

And then someone told the story to you. Maybe your mother told you, or someone else in your family. Or a friend. About Jesus born in a manger in Bethlehem and about how this Jesus brings God to life in our lives. About how this baby is the Light of the world. A light that no darkness can overcome.

Today is a day to give thanks for all of those messengers over the centuries who shared the story so that we could find our way to the manger.

And, of course, we are part of that line of messengers. To whom will you or have you told the story of the manger?

Christmas Eve

The True Spirit of Christmas

In addition to the bombardment of advertising that comes at us this time of year, different media outlets also present stories that might all be grouped under the headline “The True Spirit of Christmas.” Pretty much anything that contrasts with the commercialism of Christmas seems to come under this heading.

I welcome these stories. They are filled with hope and often illustrate the best of human nature. It is good at Christmas time to be reminded of the goodness of people.

But it’s also good, especially for those of us who gather for worship on Christmas, to be reminded that Christmas isn’t about us, even at our very best. If we define the “True Meaning or Spirit of Christmas” as anything and everything that’s just slightly better than commercialism, we’re still missing out on the deep wonder and true miracle of Christmas. The true meaning of Christmas is all about God. God who came among us.

I think God is in these human stories that we tell to illustrate the “true spirit of Christmas.” And yet, even those of us who are Christians often forget to name him.

As examples of the true spirit of Christmas we often hear stories of heroic generosity. The parent who goes hungry to buy a child a simple gift. Individuals and families who give and give and give so that other families with limited resources can have a Christmas feast or so that military personnel can experience some piece of home at Christmas time. Stories of human generosity.

But the story to tell tonight is of God’s generous giving of himself to us without reservation. And of the literally limitless abundance of God’s blessings for us. God’s generosity is the source of ours. God’s generosity is the true meaning of Christmas.

Christmas time also generates stories of reconciliation. Stories about family members long estranged who humble themselves to come together at Christmas time. To forgive one another and renew relationships. Dicken’s A Christmas Carol is one of these stories. Scrooge, who finally puts aside all of his attitude, and humbly reconciles with Fred, the son of his beloved sister.

The true story of Christmas, though, is that God humbled himself to be born in human likeness so that we might be reconciled with him. Divine love is born in the world tonight. A love that is more powerful than any human division.

To illustrate the meaning of Christmas we often tell stories of individuals who shine forth with hope and wonder in the midst of darkness. It seems there are many dark places in the world today. We cherish stories about individuals or communities who nonetheless, persevere in hope.

Hope itself was born in a poor manger. Beauty beyond human description came into being in the dinginess of a barn. Holiness took on human being. That incredible hope is God’s Christmas gift.

Peace. Peace is also celebrated as a manifestation of the real meaning of Christmas. Many of you will have seen renewed interest this year in the Christmas truce of 1914. It has been 100 years. It really happened in the early days of WW 1, that informal truces arose across the trenches of France. Armies paused in their killing of each other to exchange gifts and greetings.

I read a commentary on the truce which included this observation: “Crucially, there was no truce in 1915…. The most important legacy of the Christmas Truce, which has been memorialized in movies and remembered as evidence of mutual respect and humanity amidst the horrors of war, is that there was only one of them” (Read the piece here... not that I necessarily support or can really evaluate the overall thesis). The most important legacy of the Christmas Truce of 1914 is that there was only one of them.

When the “Spirit of Christmas” is only about human nature, even human nature at its most noble, its most generous, its most hopeful… when the “Spirit of Christmas” is only about human nature, it is fleeting. Only God offers the peace which passes human understanding. To know the little baby born this night is to know that peace.

When we hang onto the gifts that God gives this night, then the Christmas spirit becomes more than fleeting acts of holiday goodwill. The true spirit of Christmas becomes a way of life. The true spirit of Christmas is the Christian life. Year round. Life shared with God. Christmas spirit is the Christian life.

It is a life full of abundance generously shared, and full of wonder. A life filled with the reconciling power of God’s own love, with unquenchable hope and the peace which surpasses human understanding.

May you know that life throughout the year.

The Fourth Sunday of Advent - December 21

Santa Claus Blessings and Gabriel Blessings
Magnificat (Canticle 15)
Luke 1:26-38

Today, of course, is the Fourth Sunday, the last Sunday of the Advent season… this time of preparation and anticipation for the celebration of our Lord’s birth. The two primary figures of Advent are John the Baptist and Mary. Both, obviously, play roles in preparing for Jesus’ birth. For the last two Sundays, the focus of our readings has been on John. Today is Mary’s day.

The Gospel story we hear today is usually called the Annunciation. Gabriel’s announcement to Mary of her special calling and Mary’s acceptance of that vocation.

Considering this story of Gabriel coming to the young woman Mary led me to think about what I’ll call two different paths to blessing. Two different roads that lead to blessing.

As a sort of shorthand, I’ll call them the Santa Claus path to blessing and the Gabriel path.

Why do we call Mary blessed? Mary, in particular? Why is she always referred to as the Blessed Virgin Mary? I think most of us would respond that it’s because of her special role… because she bore Jesus. That’s why she is blessed… because of what she did.

This perspective is the Santa Claus path to blessing. She wasn’t naughty; she was nice. She earned blessing. I may be calling this the Santa Claus path to receiving blessing, but this perspective is in Scripture, too. We didn’t hear it this morning, but a little later in Luke’s Gospel when the pregnant Mary visits her relative Elizabeth, Elizabeth says: “Blessed art thou among women.” You are special, set apart, particularly blessed because: “Blessed is the fruit of thy womb.” And even Mary herself in her great hymn of praise says: From this time forth all generations will call me blessed… From this time. Now that I have taken on this special calling, I will be called blessed.

The Santa Claus path to blessing. Blessing comes as a result of particular faithful or righteous acts.

And it works, sort of, especially if you want to make sure your cousin or history call you blessed.

And in the midst of my sounding critical of this approach, it’s hard to argue with anything that might motivate us to do things that are pleasing to God. So if seeking blessing motivates you to faithfulness, go for it.

But, especially in this Advent season, I want to highlight the Gabriel path to blessing.

Gabriel comes to Mary, as far as we know, totally unexpected and says to her: Greetings, Favored one. The Lord is with you. The Lord is with you. You are blessed. That’s what blessing is. To be blessed is to be touched by God. The Lord is with you, Gabriel says. You are favored and noticed by God. You are blessed.

This is before Gabriel says anything else about her special calling and certainly before she accepts the Lord’s will for her. Greetings. The Lord is with you.

Her story really takes off when she comes to see that she is blessed, when the door of awareness opens for her that the Lord is already with her. The Gabriel path to blessing isn’t really a path so much as a coming to awareness, a recognition that God’s blessing has already been given.

David Lose, whom I often quote says: “And this, I think, leads us to a central dynamic not only in the Gospel but also the Christian life itself: the first, and in some ways the most important, thing we are called to believe is that God similarly notices, favors, and blesses us. And once we believe that, we can do incredible things.” The first, and most important, thing we are called to believe is that God notices, favors and blesses us… just as he did Mary.

The first thing Gabriel announces to Mary is that she is blessed. Period. Before she says "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Before she does anything that might suggest she earned her blessed status by her actions.

The Gabriel path to blessing: Believing that God notices, favors, blesses us. Period.

Lose continues: “We live in a world that seems geared toward rewards and punishments. Whether at work or school or even home, we have been conditioned to expect people to give us only what we deserve. But blessing operates on a different logic. Blessing is never deserved, but always a gift….unmerited and undeserved regard and favor.”

So the work of Advent is not to add one more task, to work at somehow earning God’s blessing. The word of advent is to work at believing that we are already blessed. Noticed. Favored by God. To hear Gabriel say to each of us: The Lord is with you.

Listen for Gabriel. In the midst of whatever is overwhelming you, whatever is going on. Find a place, a space, to listen for Gabriel. Announcing blessing. Greetings. The Lord is with you. Period. You are blessed. Can you hear Gabriel speaking to you? The Lord is with you.

The Third Sunday of Advent - December 14

Come; And I Will Go
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
John 1:6-8, 19-28

This year we began the Advent season, as we always do, with the iconic hymn of Advent: O Come, O Come, Immanuel. You probably heard reference to it today, too, in the organ prelude. It expresses the essence of Advent. Come.

Come. The Advent season is about anticipating the coming of Jesus. Immanuel. Which in Hebrew means literally:  God with us. Come.  Come, God, be with us. Enter our hearts, our homes.

Come. To us. Come. Be with us.

But I want to add another refrain to Advent this year.

At the same time we say and sing: Come, God with us, let us pray: Go. Go there, Jesus. Go. Go be with him, or her, or them. You are needed there, Jesus. Go. Be God with them.

Where would you send Jesus to be born this year?

There seems to be so much trouble in the world, it’s easy to sigh in exasperation and say… He’s needed everywhere! And, of course, Jesus is needed everywhere. But the task I’ve set myself this Advent, and encourage you to pursue is to be specific. Go, Jesus. To him who needs you, whom I name by name. Go to her, my neighbor three houses down. Go to that street corner I know (I can give you the GPS coordinates) where poverty fuels violence. Go to that community which struggles to establish justice. Go. To them.

The passage we heard this morning from Isaiah tells us what Jesus brings when he comes. And remember, this is the passage that Jesus himself quotes later in his ministry.

He comes to “bring good news to the oppressed.” Jesus comes to “bind up the brokenhearted” and to “proclaim liberty to the captives.” He will “comfort all who mourn” and “repair the ruined cities.” The Lord loves justice and righteousness and will cause what is sown in the garden to spring up.

To bind up the broken hearted, to provide for those who mourn. Later in this service we will pray for four, known to this parish, among the faithful departed. Go, Jesus, to those who mourn. Or think of others known to you who are brokenhearted. Go, Jesus, be with them.

Go, Jesus, proclaim liberty to the captives; and release to the prisoners of our world. Poverty imprisons many around us. Other things enslave. Who do you know who is enslaved? What face do you picture? Wealth, ambition, anxiety can be captivity, too. And there are places in our world where human beings are still, literally, enslaved. Who do you care about who is enslaved? Go, Jesus, Go to them. Be born there.

Where do you see injustice? We are all challenged now to face the deep ongoing reality of racial division and injustice in our society. Where does that intersect your life? Go, Jesus. Go, God be with them who work for justice.

Isaiah also talks about restoration and growth. Restoration, rebuilding of whatever is broken or destroyed. Who do you know who is broken? What in your world is destroyed? Go. Jesus. There. Restore and rebuild. And for that which is young or dormant, give life, Jesus. Bring life there.

Go. Jesus. Go there. What is the point of this prayer? God doesn’t need our directions, of course, to find the people and the places that are in need of him.. But it is a prayer worth praying. Go. Jesus. Go; be born there.

I’m reminded of words about prayer attributed to Mother Theresa: I used to think the purpose of prayer was to change God; now I know it is to change me.

So as we pray this Advent for Jesus to GO THERE, it is not mostly about telling God something God already knows, it is about transforming our hearts and wills. It is about changing us from people who pray that God will “Go there,” to people who say, “I will go there.” I will go.

In the Gospel reading for today, John calls Jesus the light.

Whenever a Christian is baptized these words are either said or implied, as the baptismal candle is given to the newly baptized: “Receive the light of Christ as a sign that you have passed from darkness into light. Shine as his light in the world to the glory of God the Father.”

For all of us who are baptized, we bear the light of Christ. It is our call to shine as that light in the world.

So, for all of those faces... all of those individuals whom you have named in need of Christ. All of those street corners or communities where you seek for Jesus to be born... you are the bearer of the light of Christ.

So this Advent, as I pray for Jesus to come, I also say… I will go. Come, Immanuel, to me, and I will go to others.

To those who grieve and are brokenhearted, I will offer the oil of gladness.

To those who are broken and destroyed, I will go and help rebuild and restore.

And where there is injustice, I will go and work for justice and righteousness.

O come, O come, Immanuel, and I will go.

The Second Sunday of Advent - December 7

He Is Coming
Isaiah 40:1-11
Mark 1:1-8

‘Tis the season for Handel’s Messiah—both in the concert hall and in the Sunday Scripture Readings. For those of us who know Messiah, this morning’s reading from Isaiah is very familiar. “Comfort ye. Comfort ye, my people” are the opening words of Messiah. Make straight in the dessert a highway. Every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill laid low. And this passage from Isaiah also serves as the template for the Gospel reading from Mark.

I know both of these passages well, but as I reflected on them and read about them this week I was given a new perspective.

This is the Second Sunday of Advent. And Advent is a season of preparation. I’ve always seen preparation as the task required of us during Advent. “Let every heart prepare him room” is Advent’s command. Preparation for Christmas is necessary. And Advent is when we do it.

But there are two interesting things that emerge in these readings. (1) It’s not the people to whom God is coming who have the responsibility of preparation. It’s not real clear in Isaiah who does, but it’s not God’s people. The heavenly voice is speaking to someone other than God’s people when it says: “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem… and prepare the way of the Lord.” Others (an angelic host?) are being commissioned to speak to God’s people and to prepare in the desert a highway for God. And in Mark it’s John the Baptist’s job to prepare the way. Our collect, too, identifies the prophets as the ones who have the responsibility to prepare the way for our salvation. It’s not the people to whom God is coming who have the responsibility of preparation.

And (2) He’s coming. Regardless. He’s coming. In neither Isaiah nor Mark does God say, “If you’re ready, I’ll come.” Or when you’re prepared, I’ll come. He’s coming. As one commentator put it, it’s as though God says, “Ready or not, here I come” (Mark Allan Powell). 

But we are given this time. This time in Advent. Time for preparation. But it’s a gift, not an obligation. This time to prepare is a gift, not a requirement.

Think about a child coming home for the holiday after being away at school. He is coming home, for sure. You’re very excited that he’s coming. But isn’t it nice to have a little bit of time to clear out all the stuff you’ve stored in his room since he went away? So he will feel welcome when he arrives.

Or a child or spouse returning from a military deployment. She’s coming. Thank God, she’s coming. But isn’t it a gift to have a little time to do the shopping and prepare her favorite meal for the day she returns?

John the Baptist reminds us that repentance is one way to prepare for Jesus’ coming. A way to clear out the stuff that has accumulated in our hearts and souls. To make Jesus welcome. It’s a gift. Advent time to prepare.

But he’s coming. The Lord is coming to God’s people.

He is coming to the frenzied whose lives are filled to the bursting point, and he’s coming to the lonely, whose lives are empty of relationships and activities. He’s coming to the angry and to the arrogant. He is coming to the oppressed and the oppressors. He is coming to people who are struggling, poor in stuff, and to those rich in stuff who are often poor in spirit. He is coming to the forgotten and the famous. He is coming to the faithful and the negligent. He is coming to individuals, families and societies who bask in peace and to individuals, families and societies who have only known conflict. He is coming to people who are prepared and to people who are not.

He is coming.

First Sunday of Advent - November 30

Are We There Yet?
Mark 13:24-37

Advent. Today is the first Sunday of Advent, the beginning of a new church year. The wonderful season of hopeful expectation. The liturgical color is blue, for Mary and for dawn. The first candle on the Advent wreath is lit.

Among the many images for Advent, I’d like to offer you one more. It’s the very familiar scene of a family heading out on a trip in the car. Maybe to the mountains or the beach or to grandmother’s house. And the kids in the back seat of the car asking… Are We There Yet? Huh? Are we? Are we there yet?

Two parts to that illustration. First, the answer, of course, is “no.” No, we are not there yet. But the other part is the kids excited questions. Their excitement and ours comes because we know where we are headed. We know the destination, and we’re eager to get there. It’s an exciting destination. We are not there yet, but we can’t wait to get there. That’s Advent.

The church reminds us during Advent that we are actually on two journeys. We hear it in the Advent Collect and in the readings. Two journeys: the journey towards Jesus’ first coming and the journey towards Jesus’ second coming. The journey towards Christmas and the journey towards the ultimate fulfillment of God’s kingdom.

Both are journeys to exciting destinations. The birth at Christmas of a child, Emmanuel, God with us. And the second journey leads us towards the fulfillment of God’s ultimate desire for us and the coming of the kingdom. Mark is talking about the coming of the kingdom at the end of time. His description is stark, maybe not sounding like something to look forward to. But the journey towards the kingdom is an exciting one. It is a destination to be yearned for. And we know this because of Christmas. Because Jesus came the first time and lived among us, we know what the kingdom is like. We know what we are looking forward to on our journey towards Jesus second coming and the fulfillment of the kingdom.

• The kingdom is like a poor child for whom the angels sing. 
• The kingdom is like a world where a lion lies down with a lamb. Where predator and prey are reconciled. 
• It is a place where all sins and hurts are healed. All. 
• In the kingdom the marginalized are seated at the head of the banquet table. 
• The kingdom is a place where arrogance and hatred and injustice are wiped away. Where all the barriers that divide us are gone. 
• In the kingdom peace soothes all fear and anxiety. 
• It is a place where love conquers even death. 

We are not there yet. Look around you. As individuals, as a society, as a world, we are not there yet. But we are on the way and we know where we are headed. I’ve often said that the seasons of the church year are cumulative. In one sense, we live them all all of the time. And the part of Advent that stays with us year round (after the journey towards Christmas has passed) offers us the reminder that we are on the road towards the kingdom, the promise of the destination that lies ahead. But Advent also reminds us that we are not there yet. It jolts us out of any sort of complacency that we “have arrived” already, that we have already become all that God hopes for us to be.

We are on the way, but unlike kids in the back seat, we are not just passengers. Stay awake, Mark says. And be attentive to the tasks the masker has given you. Be alert. Stay awake. Mark can’t seem to decide if Jesus’ second coming will be in the lifetime of the current generation or some time in the future that no one knows. It’s possible that Mark is conflating two different traditions. When do you think Jesus’ second coming will come? When will we arrive at that journey’s end? If it were tomorrow I expect we’d just throw up our hands and pray for the best. Or often, I think we imagine it so distant and indefinite that we ignore it altogether. But what if it is, say, a year from now. How would that affect the way you live? That’s enough time to really cast away some works of darkness, as the collect says. Let us cast away the works of darkness. Let us work on building the kingdom, such as we can, here. That’s the job the master has given us.

So this Advent maybe we can each look or one bit of kingdom building to do. One place where we can create health or reconciliation or be agents of peace or hope. One specific, tangible thing in our lives that will bring the kingdom closer.

We are not there yet. But we are on the way. That’s Advent. We are not there yet, but we are kingdom bound.

And there’s one very, very important postscript. Because we area also on a journey towards Christmas, towards celebrating anew the birth of God with us…. Because of that, we know that Jesus is with us as we journey towards the kingdom. With us to guide, comfort and strengthen.

Are we there yet? No. But we are on the way.

Thanksgiving Day

An Attitude of Dependence

Thanksgiving is a feel-good holiday. For most people, at least, it is about good times, family, and good food.

A clergy mentor of mine once told me that on holidays like this the only roll of the homily is to evoke that good mood. To evoke feelings of warmth, gratitude and the aroma of roasting turkey. Actually, at the time he was mostly talking about Christmas and Easter. And I generally agree with him. However tempting or important it may seem to a preacher, Christmas and Easter are not the times to rage against secular culture or to launch into a complex theological treatise on the nature of the incarnation or the resurrection.

But I just can’t do it on Thanksgiving. I just can’t preach a sermon that is evocative of a warm feast and nothing more. Any of you who come regularly to these services know that I really struggle with preaching Thanksgiving. The traditions of Thanksgiving are wonderful, but when we try to bring the holiday into the church, it gets very complicated. Fraught with all sorts of theological pitfalls.

One is a sort of spiritual smugness. A well-intentioned effort to be grateful that ends up focusing on the special gifts that have been given just to us. Spiritual smugness. Please be careful. It is one thing not to take for granted the gifts we have been given, however they have come to us. It is a good thing not to take for granted the special gifts we have been given. It is a very different thing to thank God for privilege and plenty that other people have been denied. Please think twice about thanking God for privilege and plenty that other people have been denied.

As I was stewing over this yet again this year, I remembered one of my favorite prayers in the Prayer Book. It wasn’t in the 1928 book; it’s one of the great additions to the current book. In seminary we called it the Charlie Price General Thanksgiving. Charlie Price had input in quite a bit of the current book. He wrote this prayer; it’s in the back with the extra thanksgivings. He was on the faculty at Virginia Seminary when I was there. (I’m thankful for having known and learned from Charlie).

The thanksgiving includes this line: "We thank you also for those disappointments and failures that lead us to acknowledge our dependence upon you alone."

Every part of that sentence is important. We thank you. We give thanks. Not just for stuff we have, but for disappointments and failures. We give thanks for disappointments and failures. But not just because they are good for us. And not for all disappointments and failures. We give thanks for those particular disappointments and failures that lead us to acknowledge, to recognize, what is already true. That we are dependent upon God. God alone.

Disappointment and failure are not the only way to come to an acknowledgment of our dependence on God, but they do seem to be particularly effective.

So for Thanksgiving this year, to modify a popular cliché, I’m trying to cultivate, not an attitude of gratitude, but an attitude of dependence. An attitude of dependence upon God. To be mindful, aware of my dependence upon God for all that really matters.

And it’s a wonderful place to be. To be aware of dependence on God is a wonderful place to be. Not because it’s “character building” to be put in my place. Not because it’s some sort of spiritual “consolation prize” in times of personal failure. To rest and trust in God to provide what I truly need, maybe not everything I want, but to depend upon God to provide what I truly need is a wonderful attitude to live with.

I am reminded, too, of a line from one of my favorite hymns: “I came to Jesus as I was, so weary worn and sad; I found in him a resting place and he has made me glad.” He has made me glad. Even if you’re not weary worn and sad, resting in Jesus is a place of comfort, of gladness.

Dependence upon God means acknowledging that my happiness or success or fulfillment is not dependent upon the things or even the people of this world, but upon the love and presence of God with me. It is to find a place of surpassing comfort, peace and gladness. To acknowledge dependence on God alone eliminates the fear of loss. It eliminates anxiety about failure in the endeavors of the world. It is a place to rest in joy and hope.

This Thanksgiving, join with me in trying to cultivate an attitude of dependence. Dependence upon God alone.

The Last Sunday after Pentecost - November 23

The End of the Story
Ephesians 1:15-23
Matthew 25:31-46

For the last couple of days St. John’s delegates, alternates and I have been at Diocesan Convention. We were there Friday afternoon and most of yesterday. For this annual gathering of the Diocese, this year the theme was “stories.” More specifically, the importance and power of telling stories. So in the keynote address, in the Bishop’s sermon, we heard a lot about stories.

Stories.

Now we as a parish are gathered here for worship on the Last Sunday after Pentecost. This day is also known informally as Christ the King Sunday. It is the end of the church year. Stories and the end of the year. Stories and a day that challenges us to think about the end.

This got me thinking about how stories end. There are different ends we could talk about. It is the end of the church year. There is the end of time to consider… But I want to talk about our end. How will your story end? How will the story of my life end? How will the stories of our individual lives end?

There is a theological distinction between the end we face at death and the end we may face at the end of time, but I don’t think most people worry much about that distinction, and today I’m not going to either. Whenever, however, each of us encounters the end just beyond the time of our knowing in this life, how will that end be written?

Sara Miles was the keynote speaker at Convention. She is an adult convert to Christianity and a writer. One of the things I heard her say is that we like stories that end neatly. We prefer stories that end neatly. The underdog wins. Children find happiness. Bad guys are defeated. People fall in love with someone who returns their love…

But she also pointed out that most of our life stories really aren’t that neat. The stories of our lives are complicated and messy. Victories are fleeting. Bad guys are not completely bad, and good guys are not completely good. Human love is never pure.

But God is in those messy stories. God is part of the messy, complicated stories of our lives.

How would you write the story of God’s presence in your life? Not your life story. Not the story of your accomplishments, but the story of God’s presence in your life. (For me, that’s a more important question than how each of our stories ends… if today didn’t really push us to ponder the end.)

One image came to mind for me. An image, or a metaphor, that might illustrate how we would describe God’s presence in our lives. It’s a parent on the sidelines or in the stands at a child’s athletic event. (Or it could be a recital or play or whatever.) Not one of those obnoxious parents, that you sometimes find at Little League games, but a loving, supportive parent. In this image, God is the parent, of course, and we are the child. The parent cheers, offers encouragement… is waiting with a band aid if we get a scrape, but basically on the sidelines. Wanting the best for us, but mostly an observer. On call, if we encounter some trial or trauma in the midst of whatever the activity may be, but generally on the sidelines.

I have certainly seen God that way at times in my life and I wonder if many of us don’t have something like that as the primary image of God in the story of our lives. Cheering. Wishing us the best. But not directly involved.

Then when the game is over, the parent is waiting to give us a hug, maybe tousle our hair, praise us for more or less doing our best. Put an arm around our shoulder. When the end comes.

Christ the King Sunday challenges us to think about the God who will face us at the end of our story, not as a parent with a cheerful hug, but as a king with unimaginable power. Or as Ephesians says, power of immeasurable greatness. And this king is not on the sidelines, but is in our face. A king of unimaginable, immeasurable power.

I don’t know for sure how God will use that power at the end of my story.

Jesus himself talks about judgment, the power to judge. In today’s Gospel and in the parables of the last few weeks, Jesus has talked about judgment. In today’s Gospel, the King judges between those people who will gain eternal blessing versus those who face eternal condemnation. Depending upon whether or not they offered a sip of water to someone in need. The power of judgment.

But mercy and judgment are inseparable. The power to judge come with the power to offer mercy. They are the same power. Two sides of the same coin. The power of judgment always implies the power of mercy. And the power of mercy is of the same unimaginable, immeasurable greatness. God, the King, has the power to offer mercy and reconciliation that overcome sin and evil of such magnitude where we might see absolutely no possibility of hope. God has that power, too.

I don’t know for sure how God will use God’s power at the end of my story. And you don’t know for sure either. But I do think all of us should take God’s power more seriously. God’s power of immeasurable greatness.

And not just when we are pondering the end.

God is present in all of the complicated and messy stories of our lives. The stories of our lives as we are living them before the end. And God is not on the sidelines, but is actively involved. With unimaginable power. Power that can restore and transform the stories of our lives in unimaginable ways. Those are the stories we should be looking for in the world around us. Those are the stories we should be living. And the stories we should be telling. The end.

All Saints Sunday - November 2

God Trusts Us

We are celebrating All Saints Day today. All Saints Day is one of the seven principal feast days of the church… the most important celebrations we share in our worship life together. As many of you know, it actually fell on the calendar yesterday, November 1. All Saints Day is the only one of the seven principal feasts that we are allowed to transfer from its actual day to a Sunday so that we can celebrate our day, All Saints Day, together as the saints of the church.

All Saints is also one of the days on which we focus on baptism. For reasons that I hope are obvious, it’s a great day to be baptized, to be brought into the communion of saints. And today we will baptize Sarah and welcome her into the Body of Christ, the household of God, the communion of saints.

When we talk about baptism, we often talk about covenant—the baptismal covenant. We will all review and renew our baptismal covenant within the context of the baptism service. Covenant is one of those words we really only use in the church. Basically, it just means contract. A contract between two parties. In this case the two parties are God and each of us. The baptismal covenant is a contract between anyone who is baptized and God.

I was at a service yesterday at the local synagogue and one of the rabbis who spoke sort of indirectly helped illuminate for me one aspect of covenant. And that is trust. Our baptismal covenant with God is sealed and bound by trust. It is not enforced by the threat of penalties as most civil contracts are. Trust—only and profoundly—trust seals and sustains our covenant with God.

We are often called upon to put our trust in God. And in the baptismal covenant we do. We place our trust in God’s abiding love and care for us, as expressed by Jesus at the end of Matthew’s Gospel. “I will be with you always to the end of the ages.” We express our trust that God will keep God’s promise to us, the promise of eternal life with God. We trust God’s will for us, as best we are able to discern that will. Our trust in God binds us to God in covenant.

But have you ever thought about the other side of it? How wondrous and momentous it is that God trusts us?!

Our baptismal covenant is also sustained and sealed by God’s trust of us.

God trusts us. And God trusts us with a lot.

God trusts us to be faithful. God trusts that we will be faithful.

And, especially within the context of the baptismal covenant, being faithful means living as the Body of Christ. God trusts us to be the Body of Christ. How to do that is described in the words of the baptismal covenant. We are to gather together, as a body, for prayer, study and fellowship. We are to be the voice of the Body of Christ, proclaiming the Good News of God in Christ to the world. We are to be the hands and feet of the Body of Christ, working for justice and peace for all human beings. God trusts us with the work of the Body of Christ. God trusts us to be the Body of Christ.

Our covenant with God is bound and sustained, not only by our trust in God, but by God’s trust in us.

God trusts us to be saints!

Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost - October 26

You Shall Love the Lord Your God
Matthew 22:34-46

We know it as the “Summary of the Law.” Jesus’ Summary of the Law. We heard it in the Gospel appointed for today. “’You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets." There are slight variations in wording, but Jesus offers the Summary of the Law in all three synoptic Gospels: Matthew, Mark and Luke.

For folks who attend a Rite 1 service or grew up with the old Prayer Book, the Summary of the Law is very familiar. It is said every Sunday near the beginning of the service, right after the Collect for Purity. “Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith.” And, of course, he saith it in Elizabethan English. “Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind…”

Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith. But the people to whom Jesus spoke would have immediately recognized that the words Jesus said were not his own. Actually, Jesus quoteth the Hebrew Scriptures. He quotes two passages from what we call the Old Testament. Passages that would have been well-known to the religious leaders to whom he was speaking.

The first would have been extremely well-known. It is from Deuteronomy. And it is known as “The Shema.” To this day, this passage is very important within Judaism. It is one of two passages I can stumble through in Hebrew. Shema, Ysrael, Adonai eloheynu Adonai echad. Hear, Israel. The Lord our God, the Lord is One. Deuteronomy 6:4. Deuteronomy continues: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.

The Shema is both prayer and creed within Judaism. And it lies at the heart of Jews’ faith and their self-understanding as God’s people. The command is taken literally to “Keep these words that I am commanding you today in your heart. Recite them to your children and talk about them when you are at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you rise. Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates” (Deuteronomy 6:6-9).

I have read that it is the first prayer a Jewish child is taught. I wonder if it is not somewhat analogous to the Lord’s Prayer for us. If children are taught nothing else, they are taught the Lord’s Prayer so that it becomes almost second nature. We say it in virtually every corporate worship service. I think the same is true for the Shema. It has certainly had a central place in the handful of Shabbat services I have attended. We use the Lord’s Prayer in our private prayers. The Shema is used in the private daily prayers of a Jew. If I start the Lord’s prayer, all of you will reflexively join in. I suspect the same would happen among Jews when hearing the opening of the Shema.

That is the tradition that Jesus draws upon when he answers the question about the greatest commandment. Hear Israel. The Lord our God, the Lord is One. You shall love the Lord with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your strength.

The second part of Jesus’ Summary of the Law about loving your neighbor as yourself comes from Leviticus. It is not as significant as the Shemah from Deuteronomy, but it also would also have been familiar to his listeners.

I like it that Jesus’ summary of the law connects us to this important and expansive tradition. When Jesus chooses those words to summarize the law he connects us to words and creed that have been recited from centuries before Jesus’ birth up to the present day.

In the past, I think my personal and preaching focus with the summary of the law has usually been on the second part about loving your neighbor as yourself. So simple and yet so difficult. Simple to understand but difficult to do.

But today I want to explore the bit about loving God a little bit more. What does it really mean to love God? It certainly sounds like something we should do. But how? You shall love the Lord your God with all you heart and soul and mind and strength. Depending upon the Gospel and the translation we get some collection of those four things. Love God with all your heart and all your soul and all your mind and all your strength.

Those four things—heart, soul, mind, strength—are meant to describe the totality of human existence. No part of us is exempt from loving God. We are called to love God with all that we are. And yet the command is also directed at each of us as a unique individual. Jesus (and Deuteronomy) don’t give a specific set of instructions for loving God that everyone has to follow. One size does not fit all. Each of brings our unique personality and individual gifts and passions to the love of God.

We are to love God with the totality and the uniqueness of each of us.

As elsewhere in much of Scripture the love that is meant here is not a feeling. It is a way of acting, an expression through deeds. Do the things we do express our ultimately loyalty to God? Loyalty isn’t the only possible word to use, but I think it’s a good one. Do our deeds express our loyalty, our dedication to God?

Do the actions of our heart, the actions of our soul, the actions of our mind, the actions of our strength or bodies… Do these express our ultimately loyalty to God?

The actions of our hearts. What things do you care about? What people do you care for? Do you care about the earth? About a special place? Some particular activity? Does the way you act with respect to the people and things you care about express an ultimate loyalty to God?

The actions of our souls. One way I think about this is to consider the places where we find meaning or the things we ascribe meaning to. The things we worship. Do our prayers and worship express our ultimately loyalty to God? Or do we worship other idols?

The actions of our minds. The things we pursue intellectually. I read a sermon on this passage this week by a man who was raised in a very conservative evangelical setting. He was literally taught not to question or think about God or Scripture. Later in life he discovered what a spiritually enriching process it can be to bring your mind and intellect to the study of God and God’s Word. And how it can be a profound act of loyalty, not disloyalty. Do we dedicate any of the actions of our minds to the study of God? And in our intellectual exploration of other ideas, do those endeavors express a loyalty to God?

And the actions of our strength or might. To me, this means all of our physical bodies. The places our feet take us. The things we touch. The words we say. All of them. Your feet brought you here this morning. That’s good. But what about everything else that your body will do today? Will those actions express your ultimate loyalty to God?

Love the Lord your God with the totality and the uniqueness of who you are. Let the actions of your heart and soul and mind and body express your ultimate love and loyalty to God.

The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost - October 19

We Are God's Currency
Matthew 22:15-22


Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s. The traditional translation of the phrase from today’s Gospel: Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's. This is surely one of Jesus’ all time best-known sayings. It is often brought into discussions on stewardship or the separation of church and state. But these take it out of context.

There is a lot going on in the encounter that is described in today’s Gospel reading. We’ve been reading our way through Matthew all summer and now into the fall. We are actually getting towards the end of the Gospel. The parables we’ve heard the last few Sunday’s and the event of today’s reading take place in Matthew’s Gospel after Palm Sunday, after the triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Jesus is in the temple teaching. His audience is primarily the religious leaders of the time.

As today’s event begins disciples of the Pharisees and Herodians approach Jesus in a deliberate attempt to trap him. The only thing the Pharisees and Herodains hated more than each other was Jesus. Hatred creates strange bedfellows. Remember, that at this time Israel was occupied by Rome, the Jews were oppressed by the Roman Empire. The Pharisees were religious leaders in the Jewish community. Herodians were Jewish sympathizers with the Roman authorities. Both saw their power threatened by Jesus. So they set out to trap and shame him publicly.

It’s also worth noting that at this time Jews paid multiple taxes… The temple tax (21%), land taxes, customs taxes. The tax in question in this encounter was the imperial tax, a tax imposed by Rome on the Jews to support the Roman occupation and oppression of the Jews! If Jesus spoke in favor of that tax, the people would be angry with his apparent support of the occupying powers. If he spoke against it, he would be in trouble with those very powers.

All of this is the context for Jesus’ words. This is not just a preachy phrase about stewardship. The entire situation was highly fraught and tense. And Jesus’ response had implications for how the people would live the whole of their lives.

Into this fraught, tense, significant situation, Jesus places the focus on the idea of image. The image on the coin. In today’s translation Jesus asks, “whose head is on the coin.” The Greek word translated head is actually eikon, much better translated image. And it means even more than that. An ikon conveys the actual reality of what it represents. The coin with the image of the emperor bears the actual reality of empire.

In speaking about image Jesus almost certainly meant for his hearers then and now to make the connection with the creation story in Genesis. Where the story says that we all are created in the image of God; we all bear the image of God.

As I was thinking about how that coin with the emperor’s image on it bore the presence of the empire, I got to thinking about the power of money, what money actually does.

Money is the currency of many of the transactions in our lives. Do you think of your life as full of transactions? Do you consider transactions at all except when you’re struggling with the bank? Actually, our lives are full of all sorts of transactions. Transactions, by their very nature, always involve two parties. Two people or two parties, and some direct interaction or exchange. In a transaction, something changes hands from one person to another. And usually, the transaction produces some sort of result. There are always two parties or two people and something changes hands. Whatever it is that changes hands is the currency of that transaction.

Take a minute and think about the transactions have you participated in, say, the last 48 hours.

 There are all sorts of transactions. Not just financial. I spent Thursday and Friday of last week downtown at retreat for those of serving as regional Deans in the Diocese of Chicago. One of the things we talked a lot about was relationships. Relationships are built through a series of transactions. The currency of those transactions is usually not money, at least not for the relationships we cherish. I recently came across a great quote: The shortest distance between two people is a story. Stories are part of the currency that changes hands as a relationship is built. There are other currencies, also, in the transactions of relationship-building. Physical touch. Words and acts of caring.

In the last 48 hours you undoubtedly did participate in transactions where money was the currency. Lots of them. Think about who those transactions were with and what they meant.

And consider that in just a few minutes you will participate in a transaction right here at this altar. The language may sound strange, but the sacraments are transactions. The currency is God’s grace, changing hands from God to us. The effect of that transaction depends upon who we are and how we accept it. But it is a transaction between two parties. And the currency of any of the sacramental transactions is God’s grace.

So. Circling back to Jesus’ words in this morning’s Gospel.

That coin, which bears the image of the emperor, is the currency of the transactions of empire.

We, who bear the image of God, are the currency of God’s transactions!

That’s what I hope you will remember from this Gospel. We are God’s currency. What we say, what we do, what we spend, what we give… In all of these actions and transactions of our daily lives we have the potential to be God’s currency, the means by which God’s transactions in the world take place.

We are God’s money, printed with the image of God. We are the currency through which God buys things for God’s kingdom in the world. We are the currency for God to build things, including relationships. We are how God does things. We are God’s money.

Printed with the image of God, we are the currency of God’s transactions in the world. What an amazing gift and profound responsibility.

The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost - October 5

Be Praise!
Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20
Psalm 19

Did you notice? In this morning’s reading from Exodus, the Israelites are not complaining! At least not for the moment. They are fully aware of God’s presence with them and are in fearful awe. And they are not blaming Moses for their problems. In fact, they are grateful for Moses’ intercession with God.

And Moses has come full circle. He is back at Mount Sinai where this portion of his life journey began when the voice of Yahweh spoke to him from the burning bush. That bush was at the base of Mount Sinai. And now God speaks to him again. With the giving of the law. The renewal of the Abrahamic Covenant, God’s commitment to God’s people. God’s commitment is given structure and substance in the Ten Commandments.

Commandments or laws given, of course, for the peoples’ good. It’s often noted that some of the commandments govern the peoples’ relationship with God and others govern their relationships with each other. Their relationships with each other! God’s people are fundamentally a community. There is no possibility of individuality in the Ten Commandments. To be God’s people is to interact with one another.

The Ten Commandments not only govern behavior; they are also about defining and shaping identity. Who are we? We are the people saved by God. But even more than that: We are people whose identity and character mirror the character and identity of God. Callie Plunket-Brewton: the purpose of these laws is “shaping the people’s identity and character so that they correspond with the identity and character of God.”

For example, Even the keeping of the Sabbath reflects the peoples’ calling to mirror the character and actions of God. They do not just keep the Sabbath because God told them to. They do not just keep the Sabbath because that’s what the people of God do. They keep the Sabbath because God keeps the Sabbath. In Exodus 20 the observance of the Sabbath was to keep holy the day that God had consecrated as holy at creation. (Verse 11 is omitted from our lectionary reading, but it basically says, you shall not do any work on the Sabbath because God did not do any work on the Sabbath). Their actions were to correspond to God’s actions. Their character was to reflect God’s character. They were to re-present God in the world.

Thinking about this this weekend I saw a connection between the Exodus reading and St. Francis.

Yesterday was St. Francis’ Day. An internet meme was doing the rounds. It showed a bird saying: Happy St. Francis Day. Be praised, my Lord, through all your creatures.

The quotation is actually from a piece attributed to St. Francis, The Canticle of the Sun. But if you think about it, really, how does a bird, or a dog, the sun or the stars praise God? We may see God’s touch in these creatures or in nature’s beauty. They may be the motivation for us to offer praise. But can they actually praise God? It may seem like a trivial difference, but it’s important to my point today. Can a bird, in and of itself, praise God?

St. Francis uses that sort of language a lot. Here’s a longer excerpt from the Canticle of the Sun. Note that it says, Be praised through all your creatures. (Not as it is sometimes translated, We praise you because of your creatures.) Be praised.

Be praised, my Lord, through all Your creatures,
especially through my lord Brother Sun,
who brings the day; and You give light through him.
And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor!
Of You, Most High, he bears the likeness.
Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars;
in the heavens You have made them bright, precious and beautiful.
Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air,
and clouds and storms, and all the weather, 

Be praised by sun and moon, by wind and air, by all your creatures.

We hear the same sort of language in today’s psalm. The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows his handiwork…. Although they have no words or language, and their voices are not heard, Their sound has gone out into all lands, and their message to the ends of the world. How do these things without will or voice praise God?

We use the word “praise” to mean “commend” or to express approval. We praise a child for doing well. We praise an employee for a job well done. In this same sense when we speak praise for God we are acknowledging our awareness of the good God does. It is definitely good to be mindful and appreciative of God’s good works. Although that sort of praise can come off as a bit distant and patronizing… Keep up the good work, God! We like what you’re doing here!

I think there’s another way to praise. In addition to speaking words of commendation or appreciation. Because, after all, the sun or a bird cannot speak words of commendation or appreciation.

At its most fundamental level, to praise God is to re-present God.

And the sun, the stars, and animals do that. Just by being. Just by being.

So what does that mean for us? Can we praise God “not only with our lips,” as the Prayer Book says, “but in our lives?”

Yes. First, remember the Israelites: “Their actions were to correspond to God’s actions. Their character was to reflect God’s character”. That’s praising God. That’s re-presenting God in the world. And we do that when we choose to serve God and to keep God’s commandments. The actions of our lives praise God when we intentionally work to align our actions with God’s actions, our character with God’s character. Today’s Exodus reading is an important reminder of our call to re-present God through what we do.

But I’m still thinking of St. Francis. The sun and the birds and the pets whom we will bless later today don’t really “serve” God or intentionally conform their actions to corresponds to God’s actions. They don’t have the will to do that.

But they praise God. They praise God boldly. By being. Just by being as God made them. They are praise. As re-presentations of God’s creative goodness. They are praise. And so are we. And that is a really, really wonderful thing to remember. Each of us is a creature of God, created by God, in God’s image. And just by being that creature of God we are praise. It doesn’t matter if you have a beautiful voice to sing God’s praise, or eloquent words to speak praise of God. It doesn’t matter if your physical appearance is majestic or elegant. It doesn’t even matter if your actions are pious of faithful. All that matters is that each of us is a child, a creature of God. Each of us re-presents God with praise.

There’s a line from Psalm 139: "I will praise you because I am marvelously made." I’d like to turn that around a little bit. Because God made me marvelously, I am a thing of praise. Because I am God’s I am praise. I am a re-presentation of God just by being. Like the cardinal or the great Orion or the majestic lion or fall leaves on a maple tree. They praise God just by being. Just by being how God made them they are praise. And so am I.

Unlike other creatures we have the opportunity to choose to act and live in ways that re-present God. And we should, like the early Israelites, do our best to do that. But, especially on St. Francis’ Day, hang on to the wonder and joy that comes from simply BEING praise. Each of us, as a wonderful creature of God’s, is praise!

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 28

Don't Be a Spiritual Hypochondriac!
Exodus 17:1-7

Guess what. The Israelites are complaining. Again.

They are thirsty. Again.

In today’s Exodus reading, the Israelites are still whining and complaining. As incessant as their complaining is, I wonder if we can’t identify with them just a bit. They are struggling in the wilderness… They find themselves in a place they hoped would be fabulous, but it has some significant drawbacks. They got what they wished for in life—freedom. So why don’t their lives feel perfect?

In today’s story they rail against Moses. Again.

But they also ask: "Is the Lord among us or not?" They question and doubt the presence of God with them.

Evidently, the Archbishop of Canterbury is not the first person to experience doubt about the presence of God with him!

The Archbishop has been in the news the last few weeks. At an event at Bristol Cathedral he said that there were times in his prayers when he wondered if God was really present. The story hasn’t made the evening news around here. But in some places there have been ripples. Ripples and reaction.

This week there was an op-ed piece in the New York Times by Australian journalist Julia Baird.

I haven’t read any of the reaction to the Archbishop’s comments first hand, so I’ll share Baird’s summary:

When the Most Rev. Justin Welby, the archbishop of Canterbury, said recently that at times he questioned if God was really there, much of the reaction was predictably juvenile: Even God’s earthly emissary isn’t sure if the whole thing is made up!

The International Business Times called it “the doubt of the century.” Archbishop Welby’s admission had not just “raised a few eyebrows,” it declared, but “sparked concerns if the leader of the Church of England would one day renounce Christianity or spirituality as a whole.” Another journalist wrote excitedly, “Atheism is on the rise and it appears as though even those at the top of the church are beginning to have doubts.”

The London-based Muslim scholar Mufti Abdur-Rahman went straight to Twitter: “I cannot believe this.” The Australian atheist columnist Peter FitzSimons tweeted, “VICTORY!” 

It’s too bad that Archbishop Welby’s comments have become ammunition in perceived—or created—battles between atheists and people of faith. It’s too bad that his words are being used as ammunition in perceived or created battles within the faith community between the pro-doubt people and the anti-doubt pro-certainty people.

His words are worth more thoughtful reflection. For me, they are a very helpful reminder that doubt is common. Within the individual, even a faithful individual, doubt is common. Often, as the Archbishop suggests, doubt arises when God isn’t fixing what we think God should fix. When God isn’t living up to our expectations. Doubt is common. And it’s not the end of the world… It’s not the end of the world. It’s not the end of Christendom. It’s not even anywhere near the end of an individual’s life of faith.

The Holy Scriptures are full of stories of people who doubted. There are, of course, God’s chosen people, the Israelites. Not only in the passage we heard today, but virtually every time things were difficult. Is the Lord among us, or not?

Archbishop Welby cites the psalmist’s words in Psalm 88: “Why, Lord, do you reject me and hide your face from me?” Not an uncommon sentiment in the psalms. Maybe that’s one reason they are so popular.

Then there’s Psalm 22: Which Jesus quotes from the cross. Jesus’ own words… “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?”

There are others in Scripture. Thomas, of course. Doubting Thomas. The man who, standing right before Jesus, cried out: O Lord, I believe. Help thou my unbelief. And Jesus’ own disciples. Sometimes it’s hard to know if they were doubting or just dimwitted, but it comes to the same thing. They shared their lives with him, but did not know who he was.

Beyond Scripture others who are known as absolute pillars of faith have expressed their doubts: John Calvin, C. S. Lewis, Flannery O’Connor, Paul Tillich, Mother Theresa. Yes, Mother Theresa. Remember when her diaries were made public? The Archbishop is in some pretty good company.

In the context of this discussion several people have noted that doubt can actually be very helpful to faith. Doubt is not the enemy of faith. The questions that doubt asks can deepen our faith, lead us to understand God in new ways. Doubt’s yearning can urge us to look for God in new places beyond where we expect God to be or have found God in the past. Doubt encourages humility before God’s transcendence. I do not know all there is to know about God. I cannot fully understand God’s ways. Yearning, a deepening of faith, humility… are all fruits of doubt.

Ultimately, there are two things I want to say about doubt.

1) It’s common! Don’t worry too much about your doubts. If and when you have doubts about God’s existence or presence with you, don’t worry about it. You’re not the first to doubt! And God is a whole lot bigger than your personal doubts! Lots of faithful people have doubts. Some doubts are big, some small, some are fleeting, some never go away. Lots of faithful people have doubts. So don’t be a spiritual hypochondriac. Don’t be a hypochondriac about your faith! Don’t make more of your doubts than they are worth. Don’t imagine that your doubt disproves the existence of God! And, more importantly, and this is my second point, do not let your doubts keep you from the life of faith.

2) Persist in the life of faith.

Julia Baird shares words and ideas that others have also articulated. Faith is not only about belief. That’s where we get muddled. Faith is not maybe even primarily about belief. Faith is a commitment, a practice, an act of will to live a certain way. Faith is the decision to make these practices a part of your life: Personal prayer and corporate worship, Christian fellowship and outreach to those in need. These are the practices of faith.

Expanding upon what Baird writes: Just as courage is not the absence of fear, but persisting in the face of fear, so faith is not the absence of doubt but persisting in the presence of doubt.

But why bother persisting in the practices of a faithful life in times of doubt? I can think of three reasons.

1. It’s a pretty good ethical structure for living. I suppose this is the least compelling reason for me, but it’s still a good one. Whether or not you believe in Jesus’ authority as God’s Son, the instruction to love your neighbor as yourself, and all of the guidance of our baptismal covenant, are pretty much the best ethical construct for living out there. 
2. It just might all be true. It just might all be true. Even in times of uncertainty and doubt, there is the possibility, the plausibility, that it just might all be true. The peace which passes all human understanding, the wonder and holiness beyond human creating that fills the world of God’s creation, the fullness of life that spills over even beyond the grave. It just might all be true. And the practices of the faithful life are the road to that truth. 
3. The journey itself is transforming. If we live faithfully, God transforms us in spite of ourselves. In spite of our doubts. That is my experience. And it is the experience of faithful people from the early Israelites to the current Archbishop of Canterbury. 

In spite of ourselves. In spite of our doubts and uncertainties if we commit ourselves to the practices of faith, God will transform us. Prayer and participation in corporate worship. Christian fellowship. Compassion and outreach for those in need. The journey, these actions of faithful living, are transformative. Whether we are doubting or not. God works in us in spite of ourselves.

Like the early Israelites, we may find ourselves in the wilderness. Facing challenges, especially to our faith. But God was with them. Looking back, they knew that without a doubt. Even in the midst of their complaining, their challenging, their doubt, God was with them and working in them. Their faithful journey in the wilderness transformed them into the People of God and led them to the Promised Land.

The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 21

Bring Your Complaints to God
Exodus 16:2-15
Matthew 20:1-16

In the Exodus reading for today, the Israelites are complaining. Again. Complaining and whining. Our feet hurt. We’re hungry. Why did we leave Egypt? We’d rather be dead. Back in Egypt we got to sit around the fleshpots. We had an all-you-can-eat nonstop buffet of meat and bread.

Really!!?? They never got to sit and rest. They were slaves, treated very harshly. They definitely did not have an abundance of meat or bread. But in their whining, they proclaim that anything would be better than the current state they find themselves in. Their complaining and whining sounds childish. Somebody needs to shake them by the shoulders and tell them to grow up! They have been saved from slavery, for heaven’s sake!

Despite the childishness of their whining, this passage, and others in Exodus, highlight the importance of complaint in the story of the people of Israel. This incident is the third of its kind in Exodus.

All of these complaints follow the same pattern (Callie Plunket Brewton HERE): (1) the people encounter a potentially devastating threat to their well-being -- the pursuit of the pharaoh and his chariots, deadly dehydration, starvation; (2) they complain (literally “murmur”) against their leadership; (3) their human leaders bring the complaint before God; and (4) God saves them by various means -- the miraculous crossing of the sea, providing drinkable water, and, in this narrative, providing bread from heaven.

They encounter a real threat or hardship; they complain to Moses and Aaron; Moses and Aaron bring the complaints to God; and God responds.

As a personal aside I do like the third stage of the pattern. I like Moses’ model of leadership. When the people complain to Moses, Moses takes it to God. So every time someone complains about something in the church… their feet hurt; their knees hurt; it’s too hot or too cold, or things were so much better back whenever… Like Moses, I promise I’ll faithfully pass those complaints along to God and let God respond..

And the thing is… God does respond. As childish and annoying as the peoples’ complaining may be, God seems to see this as an opportunity for relationship. For God, it is an opportunity to be present in the peoples’ lives. God responds to their complaints.

He does not give them exactly what they say they want, but God responds. They want comfort. They want abundance. They want to go back, not forward. They get food and water and a revelation of the glory of God with them.

The Gospel reading for today, too, is about complaining. It’s about the laborers who complain because other people who worked less than they did got the same pay. They worked all day and others just a few hours and they all got the same pay. It’s easy to sympathize with that complaint. They want life to be fair! They want people to get what they deserve, what they have fairly earned. God is active in that story, too. The complainers don’t get what they want. But they get their daily wage, the sustenance they need for the day. And a place in the Kingdom of God.

I think I have quoted the august theological Mick Jagger before: You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometime you just might find you get what you need.

If you try. If you bring yourself and your complaints before God, at least in this story you will get: A visible manifestation of the presence of God. In case you had forgotten. God tells Moses to tell the people. You will know that I am the Lord your God. Second, the people are given their daily bread. The sustenance that they need. And finally they are given a structure of activity that helps form them as God’s people. Every morning and every evening—in the midst of all of the trials and anxieties and uncertainties of the wilderness—they go out to gather what God has given them. And in that structure they are reminded and reassured of God’s care and presence. They are given the Daily Office! A daily routine that brings comfort and stability in the midst of uncertainty and connects them over and over again to God’s goodness. Another part of that structure is Sabbath rest.

Hang on to those gifts. They are given to us, too. Especially hang on to that idea of structure in the face of life’s challenges and times of complaint. Daily prayer, weekly Eucharist ground us in God and connect us to God’s goodness.

But go ahead and complain. I think this is an important implication of these readings. Go ahead and complain to God. Don’t feel like your words to God always have to be “only be pious and grateful.” Don’t feel like you need to censor your words and prayers to God. Don’t feel like you have to only say what you think God wants to hear. Don’t censor your words and feelings with God.

I’m reminded of a couple in my first parish who were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary. Part of the celebration was a church service with renewal of vows. The wife wanted to write a prayer for the occasion. I don’t remember the content of the prayer, just that she struggled to write it in Elizabethan English. The Rite 1, King James English, is majestic and glorious, but she didn’t know how to conjugate verbs in Elizabethan English. But she felt that was the only appropriate language in which to address God. A light example of how we censor what we say to God. Don’t.

Complain. Whine. God’s people always have. It’s an ancient and longstanding relationship builder with God. And God listens and responds. Complaint provides a place to see God’s work in our lives.

The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 14

The Parable of the How-in-the-world-could-he-have-forgotten-what-it-meant-to-be-forgiven Servant
Matthew 18:21-35

People talk about this morning’s Gospel reading as a difficult parable. Difficult to digest, maybe; it is not difficult to understand. But it seems difficult because people fall into the trap of making the parable an allegory. In an allegory everything is a direct stand in or representation for something else. One for one. When we treat parables as allegories, we inevitably treat all father or king figures as stand ins for God.

It’s very hard figure out the king in this parable. And definitely difficult to digest some of what he does if you are imagining the king represents God. But parables are not allegories, they are worlds that we enter into. Once in the world of the parable, Jesus means to challenge or to reorient perceptions. In the world of this parable, the king is part of the scenery. He is someone who stimulates the real action of this parable which revolves around the slave. For whatever reason, maybe just because he was human, the slave was indebted 10 thousand talents to his master.

Evidently one talent was about 130 lbs. of silver and was the equivalent to about fifteen years of a laborer’s wages. Which means that the servant owed his master about 150,000 years of labor. In other words, he owed a debt that he would never be able to pay back… in his lifetime, in his children’s lifetime, in his children’s children’s lifetimes.

That’s what he was forgiven! That is the debt that was wiped away.

How could he forget what that meant to him? How could be forget what that felt like? To be freed of such a monumental debt?

I think that’s what this parable is about. It’s about knowing and remembering that we have been forgiven. It is a jarring reminder of the immeasurable magnitude of what we have been forgiven. And a reminder to remember. To not forget what we have been forgiven.

As the parable continues, a fellow slave owed the first slave 100 denarii. A denarius, by comparison to a talent, was worth about one day’s wage, which meant that the second servant owed the forgiven one about a hundred days of labor – not a trivial debt, but a totally different world from the first.

This parable is often called the parable of the unforgiving servant. Remember, Jesus did not name his parables. I’d rather call it the parable of the ungrateful servant. Or the parable of the how-in-the-world-could-he-have-forgotten-what-it-meant-to-be-forgiven servant? How could he have forgotten what it meant to have his own debt relieved?

Jesus tells this parable in response to Peter’s question. Peter asks Jesus: How often should we forgive? Probably trying to please Jesus, Peter suggests what probably seems to him an extravagant amount. Seven times? Should we forgive one another seven times? Aren’t I a good disciple, Jesus? But Jesus responds to Peter: You’re looking at it all wrong. Not seven times, but seventy times. Or some translations say seven times seventy times.

Jesus seems to be implying to Peter and to us that we’re keeping the wrong ledger. Peter, and the first slave (and often us) are focused on the ledger of who is indebted to us. Who has wronged us. Who has sinned against us. Those are the accounts we keep. And in the parable first slave was so intent on that ledger he found himself living a life of eternal torture. Self-inflicted torture. Because his focus was only what he was owed.

I expect Jesus would like us to throw away the ledger book all together. God has. But if we can’t quite do that, can we try to keep it differently? Can we keep track of how many times God has forgiven us? How many times and how much we have been forgiven? Remember that. Be mindful of that.

How often should we forgive one another? As often as God has forgiven us…

We are often encouraged to count our blessings. That’s a good thing to do, but what about also counting our forgivenesses?

I know I’ve said this before, and I’m preaching to myself as well… But I wonder if we’d do better at remembering and being mindful of being forgiven if we were more intentional about asking for forgiveness from God. Rather than bringing that vague, but easily summoned, feeling of general unworthiness to God… over and over again in our own prayers or at the time of the general confession… Try to keep track of specific sins, negligences and offenses. And confess to God our specific sins that need forgiving. Not to make ourselves feel miserable, but to increase our awareness of the immense magnitude of God’s forgiveness.

In the Lord’s Prayer we pray: Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Or, in the contemporary form: Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. It’s good that the prayer links the two—our seeking forgiveness and offering forgiveness.

But the Lord’s Prayer almost makes it sound like God forgiving us is conditional upon us forgiving others. As we have forgiven others, God will you please forgive us. But this parable reminds us that it is clearly the other way around! We have been forgiven immeasurable amounts of sin and debt.

God has already forgiven us immeasurable offenses. Remembering that, starting from there, can we not graciously forgive the lesser hurts against us?

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost - August 31

Holy Ground
Exodus 3:1-15

Do you know what holy ground feels like? What it really feels like to the touch? Between your toes? Do you know what holy ground feels like?

To find out, you have to take your shoes off.

The Old Testament reading for today is the familiar story of Moses and the burning bush. Moses is tending sheep near Mount Sinai when he hears the voice of his God speak to him. Moses turns aside and says, “Here I am.” As he draws close to the presence of God he removes his sandals because he is standing on holy ground.

Moses’ act of removing his sandals is often described as an act of reverence. It can also be interpreted as an act of receptivity or openness before God. Moses removes even just the barrier of his soles between himself and God’s holiness. Reverence or receptivity? That seems to be sort of a chicken and egg question. Both are reactions to the near presence of God. I want to focus on the idea of reception… of being open to God.

One commentator (Anathea Portier-Young) has written: "When Moses removes his sandals he will find himself at journey’s end, at the true goal of every journey. He will find his true ground and he will know where he stands."

He will know where he stands. In the presence of God. As he removes his sandals he knows he is in the presence of God.

It’s the knowing that’s really important. Moses KNOWS himself in the presence of God. Right there in that particular place. At that specific bush near the base of Mount Sinai.

Last week I talked about was to describe what it really means that Jesus is the Son of God. What does it mean that the man Jesus was and is the Son of the Living God. This poem is one answer to that question. It’s a Christmas poem. For that time of year when we think about God incarnate.

I shall seek no longer for the burning bush,
All bushes are ablaze
And I will not hasten to depart
From daily grief and gladness
To climb a holy mountain;
Every mountain now is sacred,
Each marketplace, and every home,
All, all are blessed
Since God has pitched a tent among us.

Now on our earth are to be found
The footprints of the Word made flesh
Who walked with us in wind and rain
And under sun and stars,
In joy and sorrow,
Born of Mary, watched over by Joseph,
Eating and drinking, living and loving.

Dying yet living, the Word is made flesh
And all the earth,
And each of us,
Is holy ground
Where we must slip our sandals off
And walk softly, filled with wonder.
(Veronica Koperski) 

All bushes burn now. That’s what Jesus means. All mountains are sacred. All ground is holy. God is with us everywhere now.

So what gets in the way of our KNOWING that God is with us? What blocks our knowledge of God’s presence? How do we increase our openness or receptivity to God’s presence?

Over the centuries many people have found that adopting a spiritual practice helps open them to an awareness of God’s presence. All sorts of things can be spiritual practices. In last year’s adult education class, we used a curriculum called “Confirm, not Conform.” It encouraged us all to take on a spiritual practice. They said that a personal, spiritual practice should be realistic, but also a stretch. It has to be physically doable for you and realistic within the parameters of your life. But it should also be a stretch. Not something you’re already doing. Not something that “comes naturally,” but something that stretches you a bit. I would add one more component. It needs to be regular. Daily, or at least frequently. On a regular or recurring basis.

I’ve been rereading Barbara Brown Taylor’s book, “An Altar in the World.” I quoted a portion in this week’s e-vangelist. Here’s another excerpt from the same chapter.

While I am sure someone else has already thought of it, I would like to introduce the spiritual practice of going barefoot. This practice requires no props. You do not even have to be religious to do it, but if you are, then here is the scriptural warrant for it: “Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” That is what the Almighty said to Moses after Moses turned aside from tending sheep to investigate a blazing bush that was not burned up. 

If you have visited Saint Catherine’s monastery in the Sinai, then you have likely paid a visit to the legendary descendant of that bush. When I went, I was asked to remove my sandals before I entered the Chapel of the Burning Bush…. 

But you do not need to go to the Sinai desert to engage the practice of going barefoot. Just choose a place outdoors that you are willing encounter in the flesh without your customary cushion and protection—a mossy knoll, if you are a beginner, or a rocky streambed, if you are not. Take off your shoes and feel the earth under your feet, as if the ground on which you are standing really is holy ground. Let it please you. Let it hurt you a little. Feel how the world really feels when you do not strap little tanks on your feet to shield you from the way things really are. 

[She is speaking metaphorically, of course, but also very literally. She really is suggesting going barefoot as a spiritual practice.]

It will help if you do not expect God to speak to you. Just give your full attention to where you are, for once. Walk as if your life depended on it, placing your heel before your toes and getting a sense of just how much pressure you put on the grass, the clover—watch out for the honeybee!—the slick rive stones, the silted streambed, the red clay, the pine bark on the woodland path, the black earth of the vegetable garden. As you press down on these things, can you feel them pressing back? They have been around so much longer than you have, most of them. You are the new kid on the block…. 

You may have to handle your anxiety about being seen walking… with no shoes on, but even that can be revelatory. Why are you so afraid of what people may think about you? Since when did looking good become your god? If you like, you may take your mind off this by giving a thought to people who go barefoot because they have no shoes….

Done property, the spiritual practice of going barefoot can take you halfway around the world and wake you up to your own place in the world all at the same time. It can lead you to love God with your whole self, and your neighbor as yourself, without leaving your backyard. Jut do it, and the doing will teach you what you need to live. 

If you were in the adult class last year you may remember that one of my spiritual practices is to buy one extra item every time I go to the grocery store. At least one thing that is not on my list to contribute to the food pantry. And as I focus on that simple practice of compassion, God is with me. The Jewell becomes holy ground where I am aware that I am in the presence of God.

If you are a walker, walking itself can be a practice of prayer or mindfulness. But here’s another suggestion. Pray for the people in each house you walk past. Pray for the people who cannot afford a new roof. Pray for the people in the house where you often hear voices raised. Pray for the people in the house that looks absolutely perfect on the outside, but seems so lifeless. As you pray, the sidewalks of your neighborhood will become holy ground, where God walks beside you.

The curriculum suggested a possible practice. Give up one premium coffee a week. Or one single-malt scotch a week. And give the money you save to some charity. I’d suggest a variation. Whether or not you decide to give anything up, figure out how much you spend throughout the week on Starbucks or scotch and give an equivalent amount away. Match the luxury you give yourself with money you give to others. For a while I wrote a check to various charities each month equivalent to the amount of my cable bill. That bill irks me every month, yet I can’t quite seem to give it up. I got on too many mailing lists doing that, so I’ve changed my approach, but I think the idea is a good one.

Barbara Brown Taylor talks about other spiritual practices. She has a chapter called, “The Practice of Saying No.” It’s about keeping Sabbath. Another one is called “The Practice of Pronouncing Blessing.” Church folks tend to think that only the paid professionals are qualified to pronounce blessings. But that is not the Biblical tradition. Try pronouncing blessings, maybe just one a day for starters. Actually pronouncing a blessing. And see if the ground on which you stand doesn’t feel holy.

All times and place are holy, full of the presence of God. We just need to practice being open and receptive. So that we will know the ground on which we walk is holy ground.

The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost - August 24

Who is Jesus, Really?
Matthew 16:13-20
Proper 16

The Gospel for this morning almost sounds like it could be the setting for a game show. “Who do YOU say that I am?!” Contestants from all over Galilee competing for the grand prize. Who do you say that I am??

Quite a few get it wrong… John the Baptist? Elijah? One of the prophets? Then the disciples get the question, but who do YOU say I am?? And Peter gets it right! One of the few stories in Scripture where Peter does not mess up. He gets the right answer. And he wins the grand prize. You shall be the rock, Jesus says, upon which the church is built. You shall be given the keys to the kingdom of heaven and the power to bind and loose.

The church calls this passage the Confession of Peter. “Confession” in the sense of proclamation, witness. Peter proclaims that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God.

But what if Jesus had asked us: Who do you say that I am? Our first reaction would probably be: Oh, that’s easy. We know the right answer. The one Peter gave. You are the Messiah. The Son of the loving God. Or if a more complete answer is needed, we have the words of the Creeds… You are, “the only Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father.”

But what if Jesus said: But who did you say I was yesterday? The words you spoke yesterday… The things you did yesterday… Who did they say that I am?

Many preachers and commentators have pointed out that the challenge of this passage for us today is to ask ourselves: What does the way we live our lives say about who Jesus is? The words we say outside of these church walls say something about who we think Jesus is. Our checkbooks say something about what he means in our lives. The choices we make, the things we do, speak to who we think Jesus is in our worlds. And probably all of these things indicate that Jesus means something to us, that he is worth some measure of attention or study in our lives. But do we confess him as Messiah? Son of the living God?

The Lutheran Pastor and preacher David Lose (who often has a very helpful perspective) points out (HERE) that as we follow this train of thought there is a step beyond feeling guilty. There is a way beyond the general feeling of guilt that we are not doing all we should be doing to proclaim Jesus. It’s probably pretty easy for all of us to get to that guilty place, knowing we are not confessing Jesus as boldly as we should.

But Lose suggests a next step. First start with going beyond the titles we have for Jesus. We have lots. The ones we use in church. Messiah, Lord, Savior, Son of God. And, as Christians, we use those titles a lot, especially here in church. But do we stop to think about what we really mean by those titles? We can’t live what we confess if we don’t rally know what we mean when we confess it. What does it really mean to you or me or to our world when we say that Jesus is the Son of the living God? And we needn’t feel to bad. As we’ll hear next week, Peter didn’t really get it, either.

If you were talking to a child or someone who had absolutely no introduction to Christianity, what words would you use to describe what it really means to you that Jesus is the Son of the living God. This goes a bit beyond describing your personal relationship with Jesus, although that’s a great exercise, too. What does it mean to you and to the world you live in that Jesus is the Son of the living God?

One of the good things about this exercise is that there is not just one right answer. It’s not a game show where only the right answer wins the prize

Here’s part of David Lose’s answer: “I think Jesus is God’s way of showing us how much God loves us and all people. God is so big that I think we have a hard time connecting with God. And so God came to be like one of us, to live like one of us, in order to reveal just how God feels about us. In this sense, Jesus revealed God’s heart”

Here’s my first effort: Jesus shows us that life matters. Our lives matter. The things we do, the choices we make matter. Our lives matter so much that God, in all of God’s power and wonder and divinity, participated and shared our human lives. God lived a human life. That’s how much human lives matter. It’s the total opposite of society’s response to every situation with, “Oh, whatever.” Jesus made God’s presence and purpose real in human life. We matter that much.

So here’s your assignment. Think about how you would describe what it means that Jesus is the Son of the living God. Just a couple of sentences. Using your own words. Try to avoid the stock titles and phrases we use in church.

And I agree with Lose. If we have a better understanding of what it is we’re confessing when we say Jesus is the Son of the living God, I think we’ll do a better job of living that confession throughout out lives. For example, when I think about Jesus as the proof that our lives and choices matter, it helps me take seriously many of the choices I make each day. It helps me remember, too, that every human being I encounter matters.

Don’t worry: if you’ve spent anytime in church your description will be theologically OK. You’ve been shaped by the words and prayers you’ve heard here, but do try to find your own words. Your description won’t be complete. It won’t speak to everything that Jesus is or does. It can’t. Keep it short and focused. It’s OK if it’s not complete.

In the epistle for today, St. Paul talks about how it is the combined gifts of the people in the Body of Christ that make us the Body of Christ

If we combine all of our own confessions of what it means that Jesus is the Son of the living God. And if we combine all of our efforts to live into what we confess, we’ll be doing OK as the Body of Christ.