The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

Our Grace Field
Collect of the Day (proper 23)

The “Propers” are that portion of our Sunday service that is specific to this particular Sunday on the church calendar. As you might imagine, this includes the Scripture readings appointed for this day. The propers also include the collect of the day. And the collect appointed for this day is one that strikes me every year when it comes around.

“Lord, we pray that your grace may always precede and follow us.” This prayer is found in a manuscript of liturgical prayers known as the Gregorian sacramentary, which dates from the late 8th century. So Christians have been praying this collect for a very long time.

“Lord, we pray that your grace may always precede and follow us.” It always conjures up for me visual images of God’s grace. One image is of the Peanuts character Pigpen. Remember him? Everywhere he went (everywhere!) he was preceded and followed by a great cloud of dust. Or sometimes, with my interest in science fiction, I see a Star Trek image of a personal force field, surrounding an individual. But it’s not a force field, it’s a grace field.

We are surrounded by a field of grace.

What does this grace field do for us? This may sound really obvious, but it’s important. It enables us to be grace-full.

It enables us to be graceful. Full of grace. Many of you are familiar with the prayer known as the Hail Mary. “Hail, Mary, full of grace…” Ave Maria, gratia plena… Part of what this collect says is that “full of grace” isn’t just for Mary anymore. It is for all of us.

God’s grace makes us grace-full. Not, unfortunately in the physical sense. God’s grace won’t get us a place on dancing with the stars. It makes us spiritually grace-full.

As Anglicans, we affirm that the sacraments are a “sure and certain” way through which God bestows grace upon us. But they are not the only way. God pours out his grace with abundance. I like this image of being surrounded by grace throughout our daily lives. We are not just filled with grace; we are surrounded by grace. God’s grace is always near at hand. Similarly Paul, writing from prison, reassures the Philippians: “The Lord is near.”

For theologians, grace is the lynchpin of Christian theology. It is how God shares God’s self with us. Grace is where our lives and God’s lives intersect.

Theologians have written many, many words describing how that intersection takes place. And those descriptions don’t all agree, but all do agree that grace comes to us as an unearned and unmerited gift. Unearned and unmerited.

One way I understand the effect of God’s grace is that it enables us to be better than our best. With God’s grace we, literally, are inspired to be better than the absolute best we could possibly be on our own. An old ad campaign used to claim that in the Army you could be all that you can be. God’s grace enables us to be more than we can be.

God’s grace offers us a share in God’s own life and God’s own power.

I like the image of a grace-field. Although God’s grace does not act like an impenetrable force field. It does not protect us from all physical harm. But I like the idea of God’s grace being outside of us, around us in the space in which we act. God’s grace does not only fill our hearts and affect our feelings. God’s grace empowers our actions. And I like to think that when we act grace-fully that grace-field stretches out to encompass and surround those whom we touch and help.

This grace field enables us to be better than our best. It gives us compassion and the courage and will to act upon that compassion. It inspires us to good works, all good works, as the collect says. Good works even beyond the best of our human nature. God’s grace enables us to forgive the unforgivable.
It is a resource beyond ourselves offering comfort, courage and hope in times of trial. More than we could muster ourselves. God’s grace gives us the gift of wonder… a particularly divine gift… the awe and joy to wonder at the majesty and mystery of God’s creation. And, as St. Paul says in today’s epistle, God’s grace pours peace into hearts… peace beyond all human understanding to guard our hearts and souls.

In the collect we pray that God’s grace field will precede and follow us. Why do we pray that it may follow us? Why do we need God’s grace behind us?

For one thing, to pick up after us. To clean up the messes and hurts we leave behind in our lives. Like a long-suffering parent picking up the trail of a child’s life, God’s grace picks up after us. Grace is the substance of forgiveness and reconciliation. It is grace that makes forgiveness and reconciliation possible. We pray that God’s grace will follow behind us to bring forgiveness and reconciliation to the messes and hurts we leave behind in life.

I have one other thought on the value of God’s grace following behind us. Psalm 139 is probably familiar to many of you. Listen to these verses as the psalmist cries out to God:

Where can I flee from your presence? If I climb up to heaven, you are there; if I make the grave my bed, you are there also. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea (as far away as humanly possible), even there your hand will lead me and your right hand hold me fast. If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will cover me, and the light around me turn to night,’ Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day; darkness and light to you are both alike (Psalm 139:6b-11).

Even if we turn away and try to flee from God, God’s grace will still be there behind us. Even in those times when we turn our back on God, God’s grace is still with us. It’s like trying to outrun your shadow. You can’t.

Roman Catholic theologians have written a lot about grace. They talk about actual grace, cooperating grace, efficacious grace, irresistible grace, prevenient grace, sanctifying grace (which is the same as habitual grace), and sufficient grace.

I’m talking about inescapable grace. God’s inescapable field of grace which fills and surrounds us all, enabling us to be better than our best. Lord, we pray that your grace may always precede and follow us.

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

The Ten Words
Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20

This morning’s reading from the Hebrew Scriptures includes what we often call the Ten Commandments. The only time they are mentioned by title within the Scriptures themselves, they are called the Ten Words. Not the Ten Commandments, but the ten words. And when we refer to them as the Decalogue, as we do in the Prayer Book, we are using a Greek word that means “ten words.” Decalogue. The ten words.

I like calling them the ten words. Words communicate. Commandments control. The last few days I’ve been wandering around a relatively random sample of references on the Ten Commandments. One point that many commentators make is that these words are much more about identity than regulation. They are words, God’s words, meant to communicate a peoples’ identity, not a set of commandments meant to regulate a society’s behavior. To say they are words about identity does not diminish their significance. I think it makes them even more important, even more foundational.

I want to share a few general observations about the ten words, and then focus on what we usually call the Third Commandment. In today’s reading it was translated: “You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God.” The Book of Common Prayer presents it in two translations. One is probably the most familiar: “Thou shalt not take the Name of the Lord thy God in vain.” Within the context of the Rite 2 service, the Prayer Book translates it: “You shall not invoke with malice the Name of the Lord your God.” The third commandment.

First a few general observations.

You all know, of course, as important as we consider the Ten Commandments to be, that they appear twice in the Hebrew Scriptures. The content in the two places is very similar. The first list, which we heard this morning, does not mention any stone tablets. That’s in a later version of the story, told by the Deuteronomist.

Several commentators point out that there are only ten. Only ten words. With lots of room in between for freedom and grace to intersect.

It occurs to me that if we insist upon casting these words in stone, and we have been doing that for millennia, since the time of the Deuteronomic editor… if we are going to cast these words in stone, it should be a very large stone. A stone of the expanse of a human life, or perhaps even stretching as large as all human culture. A stone that large with just ten words written upon it and lots of space in between. Space where freedom and grace can intersect. But we don’t usually present the ten words that way. Usually we leave no room in between.

Also, if we are going to cast these words in stone, we should bear in mind that there has long been a difference of opinion on how to exactly delineate the ten words.

The Jews count what we would call the introduction as the first word.

Lutherans and Roman Catholics (and that’s a lot of Christians) combine what we would call one and two into one single commandment and then split the tenth. There are always ten. One for each finger, a helpful mnemonic. But the numbering of the ten varies.

So, if you do feel inclined to cast them unchangeably in stone… you need to get your denominational affiliation straight first. Maybe we aren’t meant to cast them in stone. But cherish them in our hearts and lives.

These words are a gift. A gift to be cherished indeed, given from God directly to the people. That’s rare in the Hebrew Scriptures! God speaks directly to the people. With the gift of these words.

God’s first words are: I am the Lord your God. That’s the starting point. We are God’s people. That’s established at the beginning. God does not say: Here is a list of regulations for your behavior. If you manage to follow these regulations, then you can be my people. God starts out. I am the Lord your God. I give you these words as a gift to help you build your identity as my own people, my beloved.

As I browsed the literature on the Ten Commandments, I found a lot of articles on the one about keeping the Sabbath holy. It’s interesting that this one has attracted so much attention, when it is probably the most widely ignored these days. But all those articles reveal something else. This commandment really requires interpretation. It can’t be taken just at face value. But remember it is a description of identity, rather than a regulation of behavior. It identifies us as a people who value the holiness of the Sabbath. But we must interpret what that means for us in our time. Every faith community has had to interpret this “commandment” within the context of their own place and time.

These ten words are an incredibly important foundation upon which we can build our own identity as God’s people, God’s beloved. God’s words are just the starting point. We must do the work of interpreting and building.

The commandment about the Sabbath is one that clearly requires interpretation. But that is really true of all of them. What we call the third commandment also requires interpretation.

Thou shalt not take the Name of the Lord thy God in vain.

At some point American civil religion took this word of God’s and turned it into a general prohibition against swearing. This interpretation is really both too limited and too sweeping. Too limited in that being people who revere God’s Name is about a lot more than swearing. And too sweeping in that it has come to be implied—in American civil religion—that the Ten Commandments prohibit all swearing, even the earthier forms of oaths that do not mention God. I’m not advocating vulgar language, but I don’t see how it has anything to do with the Third Commandment.

So how do we interpret this third word in our time, in our lives?

For one thing, remember that names are important. Our own names are important. We value our names. We want people to spell them correctly, to pronounce them correctly. To know someone’s name is to have some level of intimacy or power over them. The telephone caller who knows your name has more power over you than the one who doesn’t. For those of us in relationship with God, God’s Name is important. Don’t use it casually.

Personally, I am much less concerned by the occasional, emotional oath which may name God, than I am by the pervasive casual use in our culture of OMG. OMG. It’s become an acronym, thrown away in casual speech like used tissues. In our day and time using God’s name blasphemously is much less significant than using God’s name indifferently. Do not use God’s Name casually.

Do not take the Lord’s Name in vain. “In vain” in contemporary English usage means futile. Without success. He tried in vain to achieve a world’s record. His efforts were in vain. Without success. Our purposes fail when they are not God’s purposes. One interpretation of using the Lord’s Name in vain would be to seek personal success by using God’s Name. “Branding” our efforts with God’s Name. Do not take your vanity and name it as God’s will. Do not take projects or goals that are your own and call them God’s.

This is tricky, because, of course we do seek to do God’s will, and it’s not always easy to discern what is God’s will and what is ours. We are called to be people whose efforts are offered in God’s name. Which is why it is so important to differentiate our own goals from God’s. Difficult, but important. This commandment requires us to take that task of discernment very seriously.

I gather that the Hebrew word translated “in vain” has to do with something that lacks reality or truth. So in the lives of the early Hebrew people, this third word was interpreted to prohibit perjury. Do not speak words with no truth. And also to prohibit magic. Do not do things that are not real.
One commentator, writing in a dusty version of the Interpreter’s Bible that I have from the 50’s talks about magic and the Third Commandment. The fifties were quite a while ago now, but his words are worth pondering.

"We still are subject to [this] temptation, to belief in the [magical] power of sacred names…. Every minister is tempted to cater to the primitive urge on the part of some in the congregation to hear over and over again certain magic formulas which seem to them to guarantee soundness of faith and comfortable doctrine. Whether the phrase is “the blood of Jesus” or “the brotherhood of man,” it is merely magical when it is used as a spell. Religion for many people consists in the good feeling aroused by the repetition of certain beloved formulas. This type of piety can be recognized by its extreme harshness in the denunciation of those who do not use them. (Or, I might add, in vehement resistance to any change in the formulas.) Its sin is disobedience to the Third Commandment, which forbids the cheap and easy use of the divine name to cover up poverty of real thought and feeling.” (J. Coert Rylaarsdam, Exegesis of Exodus, The Interpreter's Bible, 1952).

Do not use the Lord’s name as a magic talisman to conjure up religious feeling. Do not use the Lord’s Names as a placebo in place of a true relationship with God.

Another writer, an ethicist, writing on this third word: This commandment is “particularly designed to prevent the misuse of the power of religion, the numinous power of the holy, to further one’s own ends at the expense of the life or welfare of others. Like the commandment against idolatry, it provides a check against authoritarian priestcraft, and especially against the use of fear to compel allegiance to religious demands.” (Walter Harrelson, "Decalogue," The Westminster Dictionary of Christian Ethics).

He’s not speaking exclusively of ordained priests. Priestcraft connotes a position of power over others. So this prohibits the use of the Lord’s name as an implement of power, to compel others to your purposes. Do not use the Lord’s name as a weapon.

So, a few ways we might interpret the third word of the Decalogue in our own time.

Do not use the Lord’s name casually.
Do not take your own purpose, your will, and slap God’s name on it.
Do not use the Lord’s name as a magical talisman, as a placebo in place of true religion.
Do not use the Lord’s name (including the Decalogue) as a weapon to compel anyone to do anything.

We cling to the Decalogue because it seems so clear, so easy. It is a wonderful gift, but it is just the beginning. It is the foundation upon which we can build an identity as God’s own, God’s beloved. But we must do the work to build a faithful life upon the foundation God has given us.

But as we do that work, remember the first words God said to his people: I am the Lord, your God. I am the Lord, your God.

The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Let the Same Mind Be in You
Philippians 2:1-13

A little history lesson on Paul to provide background. In the year 50 or 51 Paul, along with Silas and Timothy, traveled by sea from Asia Minor (present day Turkey) to Europe, landing on the northern coast of the Aegean Sea in what is now north-eastern Greece. They landed at an access point to one of the great Roman roads—not the Appian Way (that’s in Italy)—but the Via Egnatia. The city of Philippi was ten miles inland along the Via Egnatia.

Philippi was a major Roman city then. It was there (in 42 BC, about 100 years before Paul arrived) that Marc Antony and Octavian defeated Brutus and Cassias, the assassins of Julian Caesar, and established control of the Roman Empire. The veterans of the victorious armies were settled in Philippi, making up a sizeable population. Paul came to Philippi on what is called his second missionary journey. Paul proclaimed the Gospel and established his first Christian community in Europe.

Paul’s letter to the Philippians was written some years later from prison. Paul was imprisoned several times for preaching the Gospel. Scholars debate which imprisonment was the one from which this letter was written. Paul appears to have maintained a close and cordial relationship with the community in Philippi.

New Testament scholar Raymond Brown writes about the letter to the Philippians: “In some ways this is the most attractive Pauline letter, reflecting more patently than any other the warm affection of the apostle for his brothers and sisters in Christ. Indeed, Philippians has been classified as an example of the rhetoric of friendship. It contains one of the best-known and loved New Testament descriptions of the graciousness of Christ: one who emptied himself and took on the form of a servant, even unto death on a cross” (An Introduction to the New Testament).

That beloved description of the graciousness of Christ is part of the reading appointed for this day.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus…

who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form, he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.

Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord
to the glory of God the Father.
(Philippians 2:5-11)

This portion of Philippians is thought to be an early Christian hymn, a very early Christian hymn. In the original Greek, its structure and style are distinct from the rest of the letter. Among scholars there is lack of clarity about the hymn’s specific origin and how involved Paul may or may not have been in writing it. But it is clearly something that Paul knew, and it is possible that he taught it to the Philippians on his initial visit.

Hymns are powerful tools for evangelism and for community building.

The hymn is introduced with a line that could also be its refrain: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”

To help understand what the mind of Jesus was, as so graciously described in this hymn, I want to look at two words. One word clearly describes what Christ did not do; what was not in the mind of Christ. The other word highlights what Jesus did do.

Jesus did not “exploit;” he did “empty himself.”

He did not “exploit.” The Greek word (harpagmos) is used only here in the New Testament. In the Greek of the time it appears to have meant “to utilize something for gain.” Different translators, bringing somewhat different theological presuppositions to the act of translation, have translated the Greek word differently. But all of the English translations I looked at conveyed a certain level of violence.

“Exploit,” as we heard this morning.

The King James Version translates this verse: “[Jesus], being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God.”

The New English Bible says: “For the divine nature was his from the first; yet he did not think to snatch at equality with God.”

The New Jerusalem: “[Jesus] did not count equality with God something to be grasped.”

The New Revised Standard Version, which we use in worship: “[Jesus] did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited.”

Jesus did not rob, snatch, grasp or exploit.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

And Jesus could have snatched or exploited. This is very important. As the hymn says, and as we know… Jesus was in the form of God. Equality with God was who he was. He had every right to claim his divinity. He was entitled to every aspect of God’s being. Jesus shared God’s being. He was entitled to every bit of power over human kind that God possesses. He deserved an exalted status. He had a right to stand in full glory remote from human kind.

But he didn’t. What he did do was empty himself. The Greek verb (keno’o) is rare in the New Testament. It has both active and passive meanings. The passive meaning is to “be desolate.” The active use occurs only here. It means “to make empty.” To actively empty. Jesus emptied himself.
To find fulfill his purpose he emptied himself. His life’s meaning and purpose came through serving others.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

How often in our daily lives do we say things like…

I have a right to…
I earned it…
I deserve it….

And we say this about things that we do have a right to, that we have earned or are entitled to.  Or we say...

This is important to me, to who I am as a person…
I can’t live without….

From the trivial to the not at all trivial trivial, we grasp, snatch, exploit… time, status, stuff, the earth’s bounty… we grasp, snatch, exploit for our own gain. Thumbing our noses at Jesus rather than bending our knees in humility at the sound of his name.

Jesus did not exploit, even that which was rightfully his. He did empty himself in service to others.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

Paul was fond of the Philippians. And, lest we despair, we should remember what Paul reminds them of: God is at work in you. By God’s grace, with God’s help…

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

Who did not grasp or cling or rob or exploit—even the things and position and power to which he was fully entitled. Rather he humbly poured himself out in service of others.

The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Active Worship

It is easy for us adults to become passive about worship, to think of worship as something we just attend… something that is offered to us or done for us. But worship is a verb, an active verb. And you, in the pews, are the ones whose activity creates worship. Without your active participation, there is no worship.

This sermon is prompted by a change taking place in our worship practice here at St. John’s. For some of you just those words elicit anxiety. For those of you who are feeling anxious now, I wonder if you could articulate what specific change in worship it is that you dread, or does any mention of any change at all in worship fill you with apprehension.

In general, not just in worship, change is often good. Remember: One of our foundational affirmations as Christians is that in death, life is changed, not ended. Not all change is good, but the complete absence of change is death.

The specific worship change here at St. John’s will primarily impact the 10:00 service. This fall, children’s chapel will no longer be offered. Many parishes offer some sort of children’s chapel as an alternative worship experience for children. When Donica was hired as our Christian Education director, I asked her to develop a children’s chapel program here. It was offered at the same time as the first half of the 10:00 service and designed to be an age-appropriate liturgy of the word. And Donica did a great job of creating an experience that was engaging for the kids.

Despite the fact that children’s chapel here began at my initiative, I’ve always had mixed feelings about it. I admit that the elimination of children’s chapel at this particular time is prompted in part by the fact that we have not been able to fill the Christian Ed position, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have always had real reservations about anything that segregates the worshiping community.

Children’s chapel certainly has some potential benefits for children, but I believe we are impoverished as a community when we are segregated during worship. To have two separate worship experiences going on at 10:00 diminishes us all. Worship should unite us as a parish family.

To have really common worship as a full community may be more work, especially for us adults, but I think God is calling us to that work. To create worship together that is engaging for all ages is work, but I know that we will be spiritually enriched by doing that work. For one thing, having the children with us as part of the worshiping community throughout the 10:00 service challenges us to a healthy reexamination of the activity of worship. Worship as activity.

On the one hand you might say that Episcopalians are pretty active in worship. As a child, I was taught the sit/stand/kneel drill. Sit for instruction, stand for praise, kneel for prayer. More recently some people have quipped that one of the advantages of being an Episcopalian is that you get worship and aerobics all at the same time. And then there are all those books and leaflets to juggle.

But I want to offer a particular definition of worship, at least for the purposes of this sermon. Worship is not just any physical activity that happens to take place in this place. Worship is activity directed specifically to God. Worship is active, created by activity… activity aimed directly at God. Which is to say, it is possible to be within this space for a whole hour and never actually worship.

What are the activities of worship? Prayer is one, of course. At least when those prayers are our own, active prayers. Being a people of “common prayer” has both strengths and weaknesses. It is our common prayer that unites us, draws us into communion with one another. In these common prayers we support one another and share times of trial and joy. The Book of Common Prayer provides a depth of reverence and majesty of language that most of us could not muster on our own. But it also enables us to coast. To just sit back and passively coast through the prayers without making them our own, without ever personally, actively engaging God with our own prayers. Pray actively. To God.

Another activity of worship is praise. Episcopalians talk about praise; we are not so good at it as an activity, as something we do towards God. Every Sunday as we begin Communion, I say, “Lift up your hearts.” For the early Christians that was a literal command to stand up. Stand up in praise. Throw your heart open to God. Offer your whole body to God in praise. Be actively praise-full. Other denominations clap and shout and dance in praise. That’s not the only way to be actively praise-full. I think our children can probably help us find ways to be better at the worship activity of praise.

Offering is another activity of worship. That portion of our Sunday liturgy that serves as a prelude to Holy Communion is called the offertory. It is a time specifically dedicated to the activity of offering. How do you participate in the offertory? The ushers are busy collecting money. I am busy setting the table. In the midst of that busy-ness it’s hard to think of directing those activities to God, but I, at least, am going to work on it. The choir is offering their voices and talent to God.

What about you? Theoretically, placing an envelope in a plate could be an activity of worship, could be a focused activity directed towards God. But is it? Does it feel that way? Or is placing an envelope in a plate a brief distraction from whatever thoughts or conversations or non-worship activities you happen to be involved in at the time?

Starting next Sunday there will be an opportunity for children to participate actively in the offertory. To offer something themselves to God. To bring an offering to God’s altar. That’s what the red basket is for in front of the altar. Each week it will be placed there at the offertory time, and children are encouraged to walk up and place their personal offering in the basket. Whatever they want to offer of themselves for God’s use.

A few possible suggestions might include things for the food pantry. A can of soup or a box of cereal. Offered out of their abundance in compassion for God’s children who are hungry.

Or something for God’s non-human creatures in need. The needs of lost and abandoned pets have been dear to the hearts of the children here at St. John’s for a long time. A child may want to offer a blanket or some dog food to God as an act of sharing in God’s care for all creatures. We’ll make sure it gets to the Humane Society.

Or money. Families handle money differently. Have that conversation in your family if it is appropriate. We have special offering envelopes available in the back of the church for kids to use. They go in the red basket, too. An offering to God, for the church’s use in doing God’s work.

We’re going to make one change, too, in how the “adult” financial offering is handled. After it’s collected, we’re going to place it on the altar and leave it there throughout Communion. That’s better liturgical practice anyway. Money isn’t something we collect and then stash in the corner; it is part of each of our self-offering to God. So it should be brought to God’s altar.

Any given Sunday during the time you are here, ask yourself: When am I actually doing something active, directed towards God? Not just sitting here thankful that God has dropped by to share this time with me, but actively praying, praising, offering myself directly to God?

It seems like those things that we get most actively involved in are not worship, not God-directed activities. Even during worship time that can be true. The challenge for all of us of all ages is to dedicate ourselves to worship, to seek out and focus ourselves on activities that engage us with God. For those of us who are adults it is also our responsibility to try to make this particular Sunday morning time a time when children’s God-directed activity engages them and enriches our common worship.

Some people say that children are too active to be in worship. I would suggest that most adults are not nearly active enough to be in worship.

A little child will lead us, Isaiah said. And Jesus seemed to agree, when he said in Matthew’s Gospel, speaking to his grown-up disciples, “unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

The Twelth Sunday after Pentecost

Remembering September 10th, September 2001

Today, of course, is September 11th. It is the tenth September 11th since the one in 2001. Anniversaries with zeros on the end tend to get special attention—whether they are anniversaries of joy, like a birth or a marriage, or if they are anniversaries of grief or tragedy.

So this anniversary has received a lot of attention in the media and the public sphere. Everyone is remembering… in public. It almost seems like businesses, organizations, public figures… all are engaged in competitive remembering. Or, if not competitive remembering, compulsive remembering. Major League Baseball remembers, America Remembers, ABC remembers, the Stars of Lyric opera concert at Millennium Park last night remember. The front page of today’s Tribune—after you peel of the post-it note advertisement—proclaims in the largest possible font: We Remember.

As though any American who was alive then could forget. As though any of us who were alive then could forget the loss, the fear, the heroism, the compassion, the shock.

This is an important anniversary, but I’m a bit tired of all the public reflecting and remembering. I feel a bit guilty admitting it, but I’m definitely suffering from 9/11 news overload now.
 
Nevertheless… Considering much of what has been said in the last week or so, change seems to be the most prominent topic. How 9/11 caused change.

The Christian Science Monitor writes, “The terrorist attacks have become this generation’s Pearl Harbor—an epic event that has changed young peoples’ view of the world and America’s place in it.”

One news anchor said, “It changed everything.” Everything.

In an interview with National Geographic, President Bush noted how the events of that day dramatically changed his presidency. Probably no one would argue with that.

BBC North America editor, Mark Mardell, wrote, “When I first started asking Americans about how 9/11 had changed their country, I was surprised. I had been expecting something about the wars, or other philosophical reflections. Instead they talked about queues at airports.” The responses may seem a bit superficial, but the focus is still on change, the expectation that the way to reflect on 9/11 is to analyze the changes that it produced.

A subheading on the front page of today’s Tribune says, “The day that changed a decade.”

Change. 9/11 is to be interpreted and understood in terms of the changes that were set in motion by the events of that day.

Despite my news fatigue, remembering is not a bad thing to do today, on this tenth anniversary of September 11th, 2001. I was not here then, of course. When I preached to the people of St. Patrick’s, in Brewer, Maine, on the Sunday after September 11th, I did urge them to remember. I want to say to you some of what I said to them ten years ago. Remember. Remember September 10th, 2001. Ten years ago September 11th was a Tuesday. I urge you to remember Monday. Remember Monday, September 10th, 2001.

On Monday, September 10th, countless Christians around the world woke up and began the day with prayer. As they have for thousands and thousands of years, people of faith offered their private and corporate prayers and praises to God. They found joy, courage, hope and strength in the unshakable presence of God in their daily lives. Many in this country, Episcopalians in particular, may have begun their day on September 10th with the pamphlet of prayer and meditation knows as Forward Day by Day. On that Monday, it referred to Paul’s letter to the Philippians and spoke of “sharing in the gospel.” “Did you ever see a child,” the meditation said, “open a wonderful present and not share it with anyone? Good news is to be shared. ‘I pray’ says Paul, ‘that your love may overflow.’ Love is never static; it grows or diminishes. And in growth, our capacity to love breaks through, overflows, and takes root in another and another and another. Love is always shared, and always more than enough.” A Christian meditation from September 10th, 2001. Love is always shared, and always more than enough.
 
On Monday, September 10th, countless other Christians began their day with Daily Morning Prayer. As they do every single day, they presented themselves to God. Possibly, as they read through the service of Daily Morning Prayer, they may have confessed their sins, large and small, so that they could begin that ordinary Monday with newness of heart. They read a lesson from the First Book of Kings, chapter 13, verses 1-10. The day before they had read the end of chapter 12. The next day they would continue on in First Kings… Because, as Christians have, for thousands of years, they found insight and guidance in the regular, daily reading of God’s word. In Morning Prayer, they said the Lord’s Prayer… “give us this day our daily bread… thy kingdom come, thy will be done.”

On that Monday, September 10th, ten years ago, I imagine that some Christian woman somewhere, widowed perhaps, deeply connected to the life and worship of the church, went out to work in her garden early in the morning and began humming to herself, “Oh God, our help in ages past. Our hope for years to come. Our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home.” Maybe she was lonely or anxious on that particular Monday. Or maybe it was just one of her absolute favorite hymns of the church. That day in her garden, she felt the resonance of the hymn and its powerful words grow and grow with the strength of the millions upon millions of voices of faith who have sung that hymn over the centuries.

On Monday, September 10th, 2001, the day before September 11th, Christians around the world buried their dead. On Monday. Proclaiming in the midst of their grief and loss, as Christians always have, the sure and certain hope that in death life is changed, not ended. And that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

On Monday, September 10th, Christians around the world reached out with compassion to the sick and suffering. Every day for almost 2000 years Christian have heeded Jesus’ words: “If you do this for the least of these, you do it for me.”

On Monday, September 10th, 2001, September 10th being a Monday that year, some Christians might have paused for just a moment to remember the day before—a Sunday, the Lord’s Day. It would have been the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost. Maybe on that Sunday a parent watched his child reach out to receive communion for the first time and then, in the moment when he, too, received, the father knew, with a startling certainty, the absolutely insurmountable strength of the bond shared by those who share the Body and Blood of Christ. Those who are united in Christ cannot be separated.

That September Sunday would have been Rally Day, Jubilation Sunday, for many parishes. Christians would have done what Christian in parish communities do: they would have signed up for Sunday School, joined in fellowship and conversation with one another, perhaps shared in a common meal. They would have participated in the everyday activities of Christian community because it is within Christian community… it is in the relationships that bind a parish together into the Body of Christ… It is those relationships that manifest God’s power of unity to overcome estrangement, the power of forgiveness to heal guilt, and of joy to conquer despair. It happens whenever two or three are gathered together in Jesus’ name.

Perhaps that Monday, September 10th, a goodly number of Christian clergy read the Scripture readings appointed for the coming Sunday. (I would not have been among them looking ahead.) Not having any idea what the week ahead would bring, they read the Scripture passages so that God’s Word might color and inform their lives during the week, and so that the meshing of the Scriptures with their experiences during the coming week might inspire their preaching on the following Sunday. Those clergy would have gone to bed Monday night with these words rolling around in their minds (we were in a different lectionary year that year): “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.”

On Monday, September 10th, Christians gave thanks. Thanks for the food on their tables. Thanks for the blessing of families. Thanks for minds to think and hearts to love, and hands to touch and serve. Thanks for health and leisure. Thanks for those who are brave and courageous and patient. Thanks for the opportunity, as creatures in God’s creation, to seek and explore and build and imagine.

And on Monday, September 10th, 2001, a Christian particularly prone to spiritual reflection might have reflected back upon the worst day that the world has ever seen. A day when human kind crucified the Son of God. When we left the God of love hanging to die upon a cross on Calvary. No day can ever be worse than that one. Nothing can be darker, more hopeless, more evil than that day. And yet God entered into that day of human evil and suffering and brought us out of it. Brought us out of it. Out of that very worst day God brought unimaginable hew hope and new life.

On Monday, September 10th, 2001, Christians found strength and guidance in prayer; celebrated the blessing of God’s presence; shared God’s love in worship; supported one another with compassion; and proclaimed God’s victory over evil and death.

Many people are saying that on Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, everything changed.

I hope not.

Given what everyday Christian were doing on September 10th, I hope that everything did not change.

I know that our baptismal covenant did not change. The baptismal covenant, which begins with the ancient affirmation of faith from the Apostles’ Creed and continues with our prayer, that by God’s help, we may live into our Christian vocations… The baptismal covenant did not change.

Many people were profoundly affected by the events of September 11th, 2001. Please don’t imagine for a second that I am discounting the impact of the events of that day ten years ago upon individuals and upon our nation.

But for those of us who are Christian, what did not change that day is more important than what did. The baptismal covenant did not change. Our affirmation of Christ’s love and mercy. The glorious hope to which we are called as beloved children of God. The measure of the Christian vocation to which, with God’s help, we may aspire. These have not changed. And these are bigger, more important, even, than 9/11.

Well more than ten years ago, St. Paul wrote to the Christians in Rome, encouraging them to persevere in the Christian faith and life. A few weeks ago, we heard St. Paul’s list of characteristics of the Christian life. He concluded by reminding the Christians in Rome that Christians are called to be people who “overcome evil with good.”

Christians are people who overcome evil with good. That is something that 9/11 has not changed.

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Just Do Your Best

Matthew 18:15-20

In the portion from Romans that we heard last week Paul offered what sounded to me like a checklist. He provided the Christians in Rome a checklist on the different aspects of Christian living. If you want to live as a Christian, these are the things you should be doing. How many can you check in your own life?

Let love be genuine.
Hate what is evil.
Hold fast to what is good.
Love one another with mutual affection.
Do not lag in zeal.
Be ardent in spirit.
Serve the Lord.
Rejoice in hope.
Be patient in suffering.
Persevere in prayer.
Contribute to the needs of the saints.
Extend hospitality to strangers.
Bless those who persecute you.
Rejoice with those who rejoice.
Weep with those who weep.
Live in harmony with one another.
Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly.
Do not claim to be wiser than you are.
Live peaceably with all.
Never avenge yourselves.
Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.
(Romans 12:9-21)

That was last week; he gets a bit of a second wind in this week’s passage and there’s more. So how do you do? How many can you check of as “yeses” in your daily life?

I expect most of us would agree that all of the things on Paul’s list are aspects of good Christian living. But the list seems pretty overwhelming. If that list were a parents’ advice to a child for the first day of school, the kids’ eyes would have glazed over after item three.

Thinking of advice that we give to children and young people, how often do we say to them, “Just do your best.” Just do your best. Before a big test. Before the first day of kindergarten. Before the first day of college. Before the big game. Before the first game of T-ball season. Before their first job.
Just do your best.

Don’t worry about remembering a checklist.
Don’t measure yourself against others.
Don’t measure yourself by some perceived outside standard.
Don’t measure yourself by the final score on the scoreboard.
Just do your best.

I hear Jesus saying that to us in this morning’s Gospel. Just do your best.

What he actually says in Matthew’s Gospel is: “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, I am there among them.” These words are particularly familiar to many Episcopalians from the prayer of St Chrysostom which is in our Prayer Book. “O Lord, you have promised through your well-beloved Son that when two or three are gathered together in his Name, you will be in the midst of them.” I still remember an occasion when I was in high school, and the little church we attended in Edwardsville was between priests. One Sunday the lay reader and I (the acolyte) were the only ones who showed up. He reminded me of this prayer. He reminded me that we two were gathered together in Jesus’ Name and Jesus was with us. We know and cherish Jesus’ promise.

You may or may not know the particulars of the context for Jesus’ words. Jewish public worship then and now requires a minyan. A minyan is a quorum of ten. It is required for most public worship. There has been considerable debate over the years exactly who constitutes a legitimate participant (age, gender, standing in the community), but the quorum, the number is absolute. Ten participants. The peoples’ prayers, public worship cannot begin without ten.

But Jesus says, if two or three is the best you can do today, I will be in the midst of you. If two or three is the best you can do, that’s OK. I… whom Peter has just named Son of the living God… I will be with you.

So Jesus says to us today: Do not measure the quality of your worship against the numbers of the megachurch down the street. Do not fret about some perceived ideal or standard without which worship is not authentic. Don’t worry about whether or not everything is “just right.”

Just do your best. And I will be among you. Whenever two or three gather in my name—you have my promise—I will be among you.

The editorial in the most recent issue of the Christian Century talks about the nature of the church—what makes a group of people a church? One thing a church is is a group of people skilled in everyday practices of faith. People who “display some measure of forgiveness, compassion, hospitality, care for the Earth, solidarity with those who suffer and perseverance in distress.”

It’s a shorter summary of Paul. Maybe it seems more manageable than his long checklist. Or maybe you still say to yourself… I can’t meet that standard. Maybe if I were stronger, or more spiritual. Maybe if we were bigger church. If, if, if… if only, then maybe.

Jesus says to us, whenever two or three are gathered in my name, in worship or in service… Whenever two or three work side by side, in my name, doing their best to live faithfully, I will be with you.
This is a very comforting assurance. Jesus says, don’t measure yourself by somebody else’s standard. Just do you best. Don’t give up. Just gather one or two others with you and do your best. And I, Jesus, will be with you.

Hear Jesus’ words of comfort. Hang on to Jesus’ words of comfort.

But also hear these words as challenge.

As adults, often when we say the words “It was the best I could do,” we say them as throw-away words. We actually mean, “This nowhere near the best I could do.” The words mean: I didn’t take the time to do better; I didn’t care enough to do better… given the very low priority of this project in the midst of everything else going on my life, this was all I really felt like doing… It was the best I could do.

We say those words, with that meaning, a lot to Jesus.

In next week’s Gospel, Peter asks Jesus, “Lord, if another member of the community sins against me, how often should I forgive?” Then, imagining an extravagant number as a sign of his holiness, he says, “As many as seven times?” Should we, your followers forgive as many as seven times?

Jesus says to Peter, “Just do your best.” Do your best to forgive. Not seven times, but maybe seventy-seven times. Jesus concludes this passage by saying, it isn’t really about numbers. Forgive from your heart. Offer the best of yourself in forgiveness. Do your best to forgive.

How often do we save our best for other things and other times and other activities, and withhold our best from God?

Just do your best, Jesus says.

Of course, Jesus doesn’t actually say those words anywhere in Matthew’s Gospel. But it’s what I hear Jesus saying to me, to us, today. In these passages from Matthew that are all about being a community in Christ.

Just do your best.

They are words both of profound comfort and significant challenge. We need to remember them as both, as comfort and as challenge. Your best is enough, but offer your best. Comfort and challenge. “Just do your best.”

The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

I Want to Be Like Mike Moses
Exodus 3:1-15
Matthew 16:21-28

Part of our focus as we gather as a parish community today is the beginning of a new school year. At the 10:00 service we are blessing backpacks and the students who carry them and praying for everyone who is involved in the process of education.

At first glance I thought today’s Gospel reading might be relevant to the beginning of a new school year—especially from the students’ perspective. Jesus talks about how he is going to undergo “great suffering” and he mentions carrying your own cross. But that really isn’t an appropriate use of Jesus’ words.

As we do focus on the commencing of another new school year it is a time to think about aspirations, dreams. It is a time to look forward to the person God is calling each of us to become. Education is a process of formation that shapes and grows us into who we are called to be. For children, of course, one part of who they are called to be is functional and productive members of society. And part of the role of education is to help them grow into their vocation as citizens. It also helps them grow towards their own individual vocational dreams and aspirations. Helps them become who they want to be when they grow up.

Who do you want to become? No matter what your age; no matter whether you think you are already “grown up” or not… As you look forward, who do you want to become. The question for the moment is not so much “What do you want to do?” As it is “Who do you want to be?”

If part of your answer is Christian, then I remind you, no matter what your age, that Christian Formation is absolutely necessary. That’s how you become a Christian. That’s how you grow into your identity and vocation as a Christian. Life-long Christian Formation.

Thinking about dreams and aspirations reminded me of an iconic TV commercial. I was a bit shocked to discover that it aired 20 years ago (!) but many of you will remember it. It had a very catchy song… “I Want to be like Mike.” I want to be like Mike. Even if you are too young or don’t remember the commercial itself, you know who Mike is. Especially here in Chicago, you know who Mike is. Michael Jordan.

I want to be like Mike. The commercial did not so much play upon the affluence and fame that come along with being Michael Jordan, although it obviously would not have been effective without that context. But it was mostly about his wondrous grace and skill. His ability to make seemingly miraculous dunk shots. And the sense of joy with which he played the game. Not bad aspirations for anyone: to be grace-full and skill-full and to find joy in your vocation. Sadly, of course, very, very few people can realistically aspire to be like Mike. Even with Gatorade.

But I’m wondering… What if the same advertising genius that created that commercial were to focus on Moses?

I want to be like Moses may not have quite the same ring, but it is a very good aspiration for kids and for all of us. I want to be like Moses. I want to become like Moses. And Moses, if you think about it, does some pretty cool things. Things I would like to do. It is unlikely that he was skilled at dunking a basketball, but he saw a burning bush and talked with God as flames sparkled and danced in the bush, but did not consume it. Moses parted the Red Sea. That’s a neat trick. He was a mountain climber. He helped free God’s people. He helped others escape slavery.

I want to be like Moses. He had a close, spirit-filled, enthusiastic relationship with God. He did a lot for God’s people. I want to be like Moses.

At first glance that may seem about as likely as me being like Mike. For any of us to aspire to be like Moses may seem about as unreasonable as aspiring to be like Michael Jordan.

It’s easy to think of Moses as having special qualities, of being remarkable, exceptional, different from most of us. More spiritually gifted than we are.

But think about what we really know about Moses. He was abandoned by his mother at birth. We know why, but did he? As a child? There were no safe haven laws back then. She put him adrift in a river! He was brought up in foster care. In his case, it turned out to be pretty cushy foster care, but still he was away from his family, his culture, his people. Maybe not so unlike people today who deal with complicated parenting and family situations.

Later on, in today’s vernacular, he made a bad life decision. He killed a man. True, the man he killed was an Egyptian slave master, but that doesn’t change the fact that, in uncontrolled anger, Moses took another human life.

He fled that situation and now he’s doing an entry-level job working for his father-in-law.

When he talks with God in the burning bush, Moses is not eager to serve. He is reluctant. He is adamant that he does not have “the right stuff” for the job. He has no special skills or personal qualities that equip him for God’s service.

Finally, he does grudgingly say OK. OK, God. This is your show, but I will be a part of it. This is your team, and I guess I want to be on it.

Moses, unlike Michael Jordan, does not have any special talent. He is not extraordinarily religious or remarkably equipped to serve God. There is nothing about Moses that is any different or better than any one of us. So if we want to be like Moses, we can be.

If we want to be like Moses, we can be. Nothing stands in the way of that aspiration.

We can have the same enthusiastic, intimate relationship with God that Moses had. We can do wondrous things to free and help the people that God loves. We can be like Moses.

All we have to do is stop for just a minute when God speaks to us. Just for a minute. Stop to listen when God speaks your name. In the middle of whatever you’re doing, stop just for a minute. And then trust God just enough to say, OK, this is your show, God. You don’t have to trust God infinitely or extravagantly… Trust God just a bit, just enough, to grudgingly say, “OK, God. I’ll try, with your help. I’d like to be a part of your show. Fill me with your spirit. Use me as you will. And always to your glory.” I want to be like Moses. Amen.