The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost - October 19

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost - October 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 28

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

Guess what. The Israelites are complaining. Again.

They are thirsty. Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2) Persist in the life of faith.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 21

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost - September 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost - August 31

Holy Ground
Exodus 3:1-15

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost - August 24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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