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.

The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost - August 17

Transformed? by Grace
Proper 15
Matthew 15:21-28

In the collect appointed for today, one of prayers is that Jesus may be for us an example of godly life. And then, in an odd twist of timing, we have the Gospel reading appointed for this morning. Not only do Jesus’ words to the Canaanite woman seem ungodly, they are downright ugly. Essentially, Jesus says to her: “I did not come for such as you… you, who are less-than-human.”

Pretty much every commentary I looked at this week said we have two choices in interpreting Jesus’ words in this incident. In the first choice, it is a test. Jesus is testing the Canaanite woman. One writer called this the Jesus as drill sergeant scenario. Jesus breaks her down in order to build her up. If this is a test, ultimately she passes. And in this interpretation she serves as an example to us of persistence in faith. But it seems so unlike Jesus to cause so much hurt before he bestows a blessing.

In the second interpretation of Jesus’ words, we are seeing a glimpse of the human Jesus still growing in his understanding of his purpose and ministry and as a human being unavoidably shaped by the conditions and social prejudices of his day. In this interpretation, the Canaanite woman teaches Jesus something. She teaches him that even people perceived as less than human can have remarkable faith. Surely that is a good lesson for anyone to learn, but do we really think of Jesus as someone who needed to be taught that?

Personally, I have a preference for interpretation number 2, but there are significant problems with both. Which one of these interpretations you favor probably depends upon the pre-existing Christology you bring to your interpretation. And, whether or not you know it, you do have a preexisting Christology. You either think of Jesus as primarily divine and perfect who sees every situation with total omniscience and acts accordingly… testing the Canaanite woman for her own good. Or you see Jesus as primarily a wholly holy human being, who under God’s guidance grows into his understanding and power of who he is and what he is called to do. Orthodox theology, of course, says Jesus is both, but that’s hard to wrap your head around and most of us lean one way or the other. As I said, I lean towards the holy human Jesus. But, in the end, I don’t think there’s any way we can know for sure what was in Jesus’ mind or what his motives were when he spoke to the Canaanite woman.

One of the pieces I read offered to me, at least, another way to enter into this story. Another way to explore what this piece of sacred Scripture might be saying to us. Just put the whole issue of Jesus’ intent aside, and ask instead: What was it like for the disciples? What did the disciples experience in this event?

For quite a while before this they’ve been in the region of Galilee, “where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.” That allusion either clicks with you or it doesn’t, but what it’s meant to illustrate is that Galilee is their hometown. For the disciples in Galilee, everything is familiar. They know who lives on every corner; they are related to someone in every town. It’s familiar territory among their own people. And they’ve watched and participated as Jesus has done wonderful things in Galilee, healing and feeding their neighbors, preaching the kingdom to the people of Israel.

So the disciples must have been puzzled at best when Jesus chose to travel some 30 miles as the crow flies (many more as the sandal trudges) to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Tyre and Sidon lie along the Mediterranean coast in present day Lebanon. In Jesus’ day the people there were foreigners, Gentiles.

One commentator writes: "The story is set in a geographical area where good Jewish people would not usually go. The Pharisees avoided the area, because they worried that just being there would make them unclean. The disciples must have been uncomfortable about being there, and sure enough, in this troubling place, trouble found them. A Canaanite person, a woman, no less, who should have known that women don’t go up and talk to strange Jewish men, came running to them, shouting at the top of her voice" (Dawn M. Mayes; http://www.goodpreacher.com/shareit/readreviews.php?cat=50; retrieved 8/16/14).

It seems the disciples must have felt uncomfortable, possibly threatened and frightened. Almost certainly saying to themselves… why on earth are we here, wasting time among these dogs, these useless people? And then Jesus says out loud what they had been thinking.

The same writer suggests the disciples would have been shamed and shocked to hear their prejudice given voice by another, especially Jesus. But I think that’s a modern response and that’s why this story troubles us so deeply. We hear our prejudices being given voice by another, by Jesus! And Jesus’ words hold a mirror up to our faces reminding us of how we still see others who are different as subhuman, worth only being dismissed or cast aside. We are forced to face the contemporary reality of our society and our human nature that is easier for a good person to shoot another person, when that other person is different. It is easi-er for a good person to shoot another person when that other person is different. Whether it is in the Middle East or Missouri.

Going back to the Gospel story, at least in my imagination, the disciples’ more likely response to Jesus words would have been relief and maybe a sense of self-affirmation. As though they were getting their bearings or feeling a bit more secure in the midst of the uncertainty and discomfort they were feeling. Jesus feels the same way I do! Whew! So now let’s move on…

But Jesus doesn’t move on. He stops…

Jesus stops and continues his engagement with the Canaanite woman.

And then…. And then God’s grace breaks the whole world open. God’s grace flows from the woman to Jesus. God’s grace flows from Jesus to the woman. It enfolds and overcomes the disciples. God’s grace floods the hearts and minds of everyone there. I think for a moment God’s grace, God’s love and purpose, was visible and tangible to the disciples without any doubt. The disciples experienced God’s love and purpose in the healing of the Canaanite woman’s daughter.

They were in a land where they felt very out of place. With a person whom they dismissed as subhuman. Together representing two vastly different peoples and perspectives. And all were filled with and radiating God’s grace.

Then that moment passed. That world changing, potentially life-changing, moment was over. And we are left to wonder, to speculate, whether the disciples’ lives were changed by their experience. Matthew’s focus is not on the disciples. He moves on to another event in Jesus’ ministry. Were the disciples transformed by what they experienced?

Did the experience fade in their memories? Especially as they returned with Jesus returned to the familiar territory of Galilee?

Did a few of them perhaps remember and privately nurture that brief moment when Jesus appeared to affirm their prejudice? Clinging to and replaying just that sound bite over and over again?

Or were they transformed? Did they grow in their understanding of God and God’s purpose and of their role in God’s mission? Were they transformed by their experience of God’s grace?

The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost - August 10

Trying to Be With Jesus
Matthew 14:22-33

The stories we are hearing these last few weeks in the Gospel readings come from the heart of Jesus’ ministry in Galilee. Last week we heard how Jesus fed a multitude along the shores of the Sea of Galilee.

This week’s reading follows immediately after. Jesus has dismissed the crowds. He then instructs his disciples to get into the boat and proceed across the lake while he goes up on the mountain alone to pray. As night falls a strong storm arises and wind and waves batter the boat. In the early hours of the morning as the storm rages, Jesus comes towards the disciples in the boat, walking across the stormy sea. The disciples are initially terrified, not knowing who he is. But he says, “It is I.” In the Greek, he actually just says “I am” using the same phrase that God used to identify himself to Moses when he spoke from the burning bush. Peter eagerly jumps up and says, “If it is you, Lord, command me to come to you.” Jesus says “come.” Peter steps out of the boat and initially walks across the stormy waves. But he becomes frightened by the storm. His faith and his focus waver and he begins to sink. Jesus immediately reaches out and saves him and brings him safely back into the boat. In awe the disciples worship Jesus as God’s Son.

I find Peter to be an endearing character throughout the stories we have about him in Scripture. He is so eager and well intentioned, but so often misguided. And here we have another “Peter messes up” story. It seems like most of the Peter stories are “Peter messes up” stories. He’s like that favorite adolescent nephew—a really good kid, but somehow just can't stay out of trouble.

I found myself wondering, at least in my imagination, how this story might have ended differently. What other trajectories might the plot have followed?

The story itself seems to invite us to consider the possibility that Peter might have made it all the way to Jesus. If he hadn’t become frightened; if his faith hadn’t faltered; he could have successfully walked across the waves to Jesus. But, in Peter’s life, that’s an impossible ending. It couldn’t have ended that way because Peter is never without fear or doubt or uncertainty. Peter’s faith is never perfect. It’s fruitless to imagine that it might have been. Peter’s faith is never perfectly clear and secure, unassaulted by doubt or fear.

As Matthew tells the story it seems like Peter initiates this event to test Jesus’ power and identity. “If you are who you say you are, Jesus, work your miracle in me, too.” But the “facts” of the story say that it is Peter’s faith that determines whether he makes it or not. Jesus’ power and identity are manifest in other ways. Jesus has just fed 5000 people with mere morsels of food. Jesus has come walking across the stormy water to the disciples. Jesus saves Peter from drowning. Jesus’ power and identity have been revealed. So if Peter had made it, it would not really have told us anything new about Jesus. It would have told us something we know to be pretty highly unlikely—that Peter had somehow acquired a full and perfect faith.

Another way the story might have played out: What if Peter stayed in the boat with the other disciples. Then, with them, he would have seen a very impressive miracle. He would have observed Jesus walking on water, once again seen a revelation of Jesus’ divinity and power. But he would have been just an observer, learning nothing new about himself or his personal relationship with Jesus.

One other possible scenario for this story: Peter might have missed the boat. Literally. That sounds like something that could happen to the Peter we know. Maybe he got sidetracked trying to figure out exactly how Jesus had fed five thousand with five loaves and two fish. Maybe he was helping clean up. Maybe it had just been a very busy day and he had one more thing to do before he got back to Jesus. So he missed Jesus’ instruction to get in the boat. He missed witnessing the miracle. He missed a personal interaction with Jesus in his life. Because he was busy or distracted, he could have missed the boat.

But the story didn’t go any of those ways. Peter was in the boat and when he saw Jesus, he jumped out into the waves. Because Peter was always trying to be with Jesus! Always, Peter was eagerly trying to be with Jesus, as close to his Lord as possible. Have you thought about that? Even the events we call Peter’s denial—the stage is set for that because Peter just couldn’t stay away. Yes, still assaulted by fear and doubt, but he was there, following as close as possible, trying to be near Jesus.

Then there’s the wonderful post-resurrection story that John tells in his Gospel. After Jesus crucifixion and resurrection some of the disciples, including Peter, are fishing in a boat on the Sea of Galilee. They have caught nothing until a figure on the shore tells them to cast their nets on the other side and they haul in a full catch. When Peter realizes it is Jesus, he jumps overboard to try to get to Jesus as quickly as possible. The boat isn’t fast enough. Peter urgently, eagerly, wants to be with Jesus.

And in this morning’s story, Peter is trying to get to Jesus. So I think the message of this story is: if you’re trying to get to Jesus, Jesus will save you. No matter what dangers threaten you, no matter how secure or not your faith is… if you are trying to get to Jesus, Jesus will save you. If you are working at coming to Jesus, Jesus will save you.

So the point of the story is not if Peter had just had more faith or a more perfect faith, things would have been better. Peter’s faith will never be perfect But he’s eagerly trying to get to Jesus and Jesus saves him.

It’s always better to try to get to Jesus. Even if it involves considerable risk. Peter jumped out of a boat into a stormy sea and was held, caught, and saved by Jesus. Our faith, like Peter’s, will never be perfect. But even in the midst of whatever fear or doubt or uncertainty threatens us, if we are trying to get to Jesus, Jesus will save us. Jesus will take hold of us and hold us close in his arms.

The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost - July 6

Learn From Me
Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

In this season of liturgical green, we continue to make our way through the middle portion of Matthew’s Gospel. This is Matthew’s year in our Eucharistic lectionary. For the last two weeks, we’ve been in the tenth chapter of Matthew, as Jesus spoke with his disciples about discipleship. Today we’ve moved in to Matthew 11. Today’s reading began at verse 16. But here’s how Matthew 11 begins: “Now when Jesus had finished instructing his twelve disciples, he went on from there to teach and proclaim his message in their cities.” He went on to teach and share his message in the nearby cities.

Today’s Gospel passage is problematic for scholars. It appears to be patched together from several sources and there is uncertainty about how much Jesus’ words may have been modified by the early community before they were recorded in Matthew.

But I came across an interesting take on the first part of today’s reading. It was a commentary written by a preacher. He hears frustration, maybe anger, in Jesus’ words and he sympathizes with Jesus’ feelings of frustration (http://thelisteninghermit.com/2011/06/28/troubled-change-to-yoke-light-ordinary-14a/; viewed July 5, 2014).

Jesus says: How do I get through to you people!!?? I tried offering you joy and you wouldn’t dance. So I tried joining you in grief, and you weren’t interested in that either. You just sit there.

Then Jesus articulates what could be God’s frustration: I sent John the Baptist, who was ascetic, abstaining from eating and drinking, and you criticized him as being possessed. So I sent the Son of Man who sat down with you, shared meals with the least of you, and you really laid into him, condemning him as a glutton and a drunkard.

There’s no pleasing you! There’s no getting through to you! I’ve tried everything and nothing seems to make any difference to you.

And then there are the deleted verses in this morning’s Gospel, the ones we skipped. Jesus’ anger really comes through there. He calls down woe upon those cities he has visited where he has done deeds of power, but they haven’t responded in any way. They’ve shown no repentance. Woe to you, Jesus says. It will be better for Sodom on the day of judgment than for you.

Then ultimately, seemingly calmed, Jesus pleads: Come to me. Learn from me. Learn. From. Me. That’s his plea, Jesus’ plea to the people to whom he speaks. Learn from me. Remember? He went out into the cities to teach. Learn from me.

Jesus’ plea compels us to ask ourselves, do we want to learn from Jesus.

Do you want to learn from Jesus? Really? It’s one thing to think of Jesus as a teacher. It’s one thing to have a passing interest in learning about Jesus. It’s another thing to learn from Jesus himself, to be an active and motivated learner at the feet of Jesus.

There are lots of people out there in the world and undoubtedly several folks here in the parish who know a lot more about education theory than I do. But it’s my sense, based on what I do know, that education theory used to be all about teaching… and various teaching methods. But now it’s about teaching AND learning. Teaching methods and learning styles. There’s a lot more emphasis now on active learning as part of the education process. Students are not just the recipients of teaching; they are learners.

Evidently, there is even a concept called “active learning.” This is from a University of Minnesota Center for Teaching and Learning website (http://www1.umn.edu/ohr/teachlearn/tutorials/active/what/, viewed July 5, 2014):

Defining ‘active learning’ is a bit problematic. The term means different thing to different people, while for some the very concept is redundant since it is impossible to learn anything passively.

It is impossible to learn anything passively.

It is impossible to learn anything passively. But that’s exactly how most of us approach learning from Jesus. That was exactly the source of Jesus’ apparent frustration in the beginning of today’s reading. And it is still the case. We’d like to learn, maybe, as long as it doesn’t cost us any effort.

I can’t help but note with some irony that the sermon, as a teaching tool, comes out of the old model of a teacher lecturing to a passive group of people. And historically, the church has encouraged a certain passivity among parishioners. All the congregation was asked to do was congregate. Surely, Jesus would be sad and frustrated.

I do wonder, how would you react if I asked you to be actively engaged, to participate, in this sermon learning opportunity?

In this morning’s passage, Jesus did encounter some folks who were a bit more active, but they were active only by deflecting any possibility of learning by criticizing the teachers. I can’t learn from John, he’s crazy; I can’t learn from Jesus, he’s a drunkard. One commentator I came across pointed out this tendency is often seen in the church… People criticize as a means to avoid or deflect participation.

But aside from that church dynamic, we do it with God, too. We say, it’s not my fault I can’t learn, it’s God’s fault. The fault is in God’s teaching method. God isn’t meeting me where I am. God isn’t speaking “my” language. God isn’t engaging me. Jesus’ pleads with us. Learn from me.

So do you really want to learn from Jesus?

It means bringing openness to our encounters with Jesus. Openness to new things. Maybe that’s why Jesus praises infants in this passage. Infants are eager and open to learn. To learn new things. To learn new ways to communicate, new ways to perambulate, new ways to relate.

Are you? Eager and open to learn from Jesus? Think about how you learn best. Different people do learn in different ways. How do you learn best? And how can you actively bring that learning activity to your encounters with Jesus? How can you really learn from Jesus' word as it is given to us in Scripture? From the living Christ as you encounter him in prayer? From Christ’s actions as you witness them in others?

How can you really learn from Jesus’ words as we find them on these Scripture inserts? How can these words be more than just words your eyes skim over or that go in one ear and out the other? Do you need to underline as you listen? Take them home and read them out loud yourself? Summarize them in your own words? Grab a friend and turn them into a drama? How can you find their meaning for your own life? Find those places where they are relevant to your personal concerns? How can you actively listen to these words so that they come alive in your life?

Or when you encounter Jesus’ in prayer. How can you move beyond rote repetition of familiar words? Prayer is a conversation. Sometimes an argument. Demand a response from God. Don’t back down until you get it. If writing helps you, write out your own prayers. Knit your prayers if that works for you.

How do you process observations so that they become learnings? How do you reflect on God’s presence and activity in your life so that you grow in your awareness and understanding? Maybe you need a soul friend or a spiritual director who will help you reflect. Maybe journaling works for you. Maybe meditation. But do something to reflect upon and process Jesus’ presence in your life.

There are risks to learning new things, of course. For one thing knowledge brings responsibility. Responsibility to act upon what we have learned. And learning always brings change.

To face those risks would seem to require motivation. What is the motivation to learn from Jesus? What might motivate us to bring ourselves as active learners in our encounters with Jesus? For one thing, learning from Jesus is really the only way to know God. You can probably pick up a little information about God by passive osmosis. But to know God, to have a relationship with God… that can only be learned from Jesus. And second, Jesus tells us we will find rest for our souls. That’s the reward for us. That’s Jesus’ promise. If we do the work of learning from Jesus, we will find rest for our souls.