The Fourth Sunday of Advent - December 18

Joseph
Matthew 1:18-25

How different might our celebration of Christmas be if we only had Matthew’s account of Jesus birth?

We just head it as this morning’s Gospel.  Matthew starts with several paragraphs of a long genealogy.  “An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham.  Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, and Perez the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Aram…” and so on and on and on…

Then the brief passage we just heard about the birth of Jesus.  That’s it.  Matthew does mention the magi, but that’s later.

It’s not very Christmas-y.  Not even very Advent-y.  There is not a lot of hope or excitement.  If we had just Matthew, it seems like virtually all of our Christmas carols and Advent hymns would disappear.  The focus is almost entirely on Joseph.  Mary is passive, almost a shadow in the background.  I certainly can’t think of any Christmas carols about Joseph’s struggle with what to do when he finds out Mary is pregnant.

As I understand it, in Mary and Joseph’s day, betrothal was a binding, legal commitment, more significant than an “engagement” today.  Joseph presumably entered into that commitment anticipating a quiet, normal life in Nazareth, surrounded by his and Mary’s extended families.  Working as a carpenter within the community.  Participating in the routines of Jewish life and worship.

We don’t know how Joseph found out Mary was pregnant…  if she tried to tell him about the conversation with Gabriel.  You can imagine how that conversation might have gone!  Or if it became physically obvious that she was expecting.  Either way, when Joseph discovered Mary was pregnant, apparently he had two choices:  accuse her publicly and she would have been stoned for adultery.  Or quietly divorce her.  He chose the latter.

And then an angel came to Joseph and said:  No, you are not to follow either of the options that are religiously prescribed or socially accepted.  You are to marry her and raise this child.  Teach him how to tell the evil from the good.  Keep him safe.  Give him a home.  Later, another angel would come to Joseph and say:  to keep this child safe you need to pack up your wife and child and travel to Egypt and stay there for awhile.

This is what the coming of Emmanuel, God being born into Joseph’s life meant.

For most of us, Christmas is steeped in tradition.  Personal traditions, family traditions, social traditions.  Sometimes keeping up these traditions can feel overwhelming, but I think the predictability, the expectability, of the holiday is a big part of what we like about Christmas.  It is comforting, comfortable.

For Joseph, the first Christmas, the actual coming of Christ was anything but predictable or comfortable.  We look forward to Jesus joining us by our cozy fireplaces.  Joseph reminds us that the coming of Christ into our lives is about a total reorientation of our expectations, the launching of unimaginable change in our lives.

How did Joseph feel when this baby was actually born?  It’s impossible to know.  Did he feel blessed to cradle Immanuel in his arms?  Awed to be a part of God’s plan to come into the world?  I hope so, but…

If there were a Christmas song about Joseph, its refrain would be:  This is not what I signed on for!  This is not what I signed on for.  This is not the life I anticipated.  But I’ll do it.  I’ll raise this child, because God asks me to.  Because God promises he will save people from their sins.

Both Mary and Joseph had a choice.  God asked them if they would take on roles, tasks, that would enable God to fulfill God’s purpose of being born into the world.  Today, looking at Joseph, maybe we see some of the cost that came with accepting God’s purpose.  But both Mary and Joseph said yes.

For that today we may be profoundly grateful.  But Joseph also prods us to ask ourselves:  What task does God ask of us?  What change might be asked of us to fulfill our role in helping to bring the saving presence of Christ into the lives of others in our world today?

The Second Sunday of Advent - December 4

Repentance Begins with Hope

Matthew 3:1-12

John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea preaching repentance.  “Repent, for the Kingdom of God has come near.”

John (along with Mary) is one of the big figures of Advent.  Each, in their own way, points us, leads us through Advent towards Christ’s coming.

John announces that one greater than he is coming and he preaches repentance as a part of preparing for Christ’s coming.  Today’s collect also refers to the role of the prophets in preaching repentance as preparation.  So repentance is not an isolated, stand-alone thing.  It is part of a process of preparation.

I want to talk about repentance.  And maybe reorient the way we think about it. 

I think repentance is often seen as what you should do if you feel guilty.  Guilt is where repentance starts.  And I will say, it is easy as a preacher to make people feel guilty.  All of us are very aware of the things we’ve done wrong, the many ways we’ve fallen short of the life we know God calls us to live.  It’s easy for all of us to move quickly to that place of guilt. 

Or sometimes repentance is seen as a consequence of fear.  The prophets preach dire consequences for those who do not repent.  In today’s Gospel John the Baptist talks about how the chaff will be burned with unquenchable fire.  Repent or else.  Repentance motivated by fear.

But Advent (and the Advent readings, especially from Isaiah) gives us a new, much better perspective on repentance. 

In Advent, the seed, the source, the motivation for repentance is HOPE, not guilt or fear.  Because God gives us hope, a vision, a promise of something better, we repent.

It’s helpful to remember that, theologically speaking, repentance isn’t just about confession or saying your sorry.  Those are pieces of it, but more importantly , repentance means to reorient.  To reorient the perspective and the direction of your life.  To turn away from and to turn towards.

To turn away from our sins and all of what enslaves us in this world and to turn towards the kingdom of God.  Because God has given us hope that we may be citizens of the Kingdom of God, we repent.  We turn away from the sin of this world and towards the promise of the Kingdom of God.

One commentator (HERE) described the qualities of this world, this wilderness to which John came and in which we live, as characterized by:  idolatry, violence, injustice, exploitation, slavery, and scarcity.

On the other hand, the Kingdom of God is characterized by: love, peace, justice, dignity, freedom, and abundance.  Instead of idolatry, love; instead of violence, peace; instead of injustice, justice; instead of exploitation, dignity; instead of slavery, freedom; instead of scarcity, abundance.

If you are satisfied living wholly in this world, then you don’t have to listen to the rest of this sermon or worry about repentance.  If you have any bit of hope or yearning for that better world, then repentance is the way to get there.

Isaiah gives us a poetic vision of God’s dream for the world, a description of the nature of the Kingdom of God.  It is a place where the meek will know equity and righteousness will reign.  Where “the wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.”  This is the Kingdom of God that is promised.  It is offered to us fully at Christ’s second coming, but it is also made real in our lives, in part, by the birth of Christ among us.  It is the hope that we can live as citizens in that world that leads us to repentance, to turn away from our sins.  Repentance is the bridge, the gift, the way from here to there.

So, rather than starting with guilt or fear, start with hope.  Start with hope.  What do you yearn for in the kingdom of God?  What hope draws you towards the love, peace, justice, dignity, freedom, and abundance of the Kingdom of God.  And what holds you back?  What binds you to this world?  That is the place for repentance.

Many of us need to repent of idolatry, the many gods of this world we cling to for a false sense of security.  Or maybe if you long for the abundance of God’s kingdom, you need to turn away from squandering, wasting so much of what God has given you.

Advent repentance.  David Lose calls it a dream by which to set a course.  Or maybe not a dream because dreams are not true.  A promise, a hope to set the course of our lives by.  God has given us hope for the Kingdom of God and made that hope real in the incarnation of Jesus. 

If you hope for what God offers, if you want to experience the Kingdom of God, repentance is the way to get there.

The First Sunday of Advent - November 27, 2016

Christmas Always Comes

Today is the first Sunday of Advent.  The beginning of a new season in the church year.  The beginning of a new year.

Advent has been probably my favorite of all the seasons of the church year ever since I was young.  It brings with it a feeling of hopeful anticipation. 

Advent, of course, is defined as the season before Christmas.  It doesn’t really have any meaning on its own.  We wouldn’t have Advent without Christmas.  The whole point of Advent is that Christmas lies ahead. Today we light one candle on the Advent wreath.  We will light the second, then the third, then all four candles.  We are on a journey that leads to Christmas, the birth of Jesus.

Christmas will come.  At the end of EVERY Advent.  Certainly this Advent.  Christmas will come.

Christmas will come whether we are “in the spirit” for Christmas, or not.

Jesus will be born anew in our hearts and lives whether or not we are ready.  Spiritually or materially.

Emmanuel, God with us will come.  Whether we actually feel hopeful and expectant, or not.  Either way, he will come.  Christmas will come.

Christmas will come regardless of whether people say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays in the public sphere.  Christmas will come no matter how early the malls start playing Christmas carols.  Jesus does not need us to say the right words or do the right actions to summon him….  Or else he will not come.  No, Jesus will come.  Christmas will come.  It doesn’t depend upon us.

Christmas, Emmanuel, God with us, will even come if we have not “made him room”. The arrival of Christmas is not dependent upon our preparation.  (Although our own experience of Christmas is certainly richer if we’ve done some preparation, but that’s another sermon.)

Christmas WILL come.  At the end of every Advent.  The experience of Advent is the promise that Christmas will come.

As I’ve said before each season of the church year teaches us something about our lives as Christians that is timeless.  Although in worship, we experience the season one after another, each one shows us something that is always true.  Advent teaches us that Christmas will come…  God will come to dwell with us. 

Whenever we find ourselves in the dark, or lost, or confused, we may be confident that Jesus will come to us.  It is no accident that the season of Advent falls in the darkest time of the year.  But we can experience darkness at any time.  And Christmas always lies ahead.   Whenever we are seeking or yearning…  looking for meaning or direction...   whether it is this time of year or the height of summer…  the promise of Advent will guide us to Christmas, to Jesus.  Advent always leads to Christmas.

Advent is often described as a season of hope, and that was my childhood experience of it.  But we miss the point if we focus too much on our feelings.  Advent has not failed if we don’t feel hopeful.  It’s not about our feelings; it’s about God’s promise.  And maybe, it’s also about God’s hope.  Not our hope, but God’s hope.

Christmas will come, because God has hopes for us and for this world.  God will come to be among us because God has hopes for us.  God will come to bring holiness into our lives to literally show us God’s love and forgiveness that heal us and make us whole.  That is God’s hope for each of us.  And Christmas will come because God has hopes for the transformation of this world.  This world in which we live.  God has hopes for this world.

Thanksgiving - November 24, 2016

Saying Grace

I don’t know if anyone has ever done a study, but I imagine that a higher percentage of people and families say grace over their meal on Thanksgiving than on any other day.  In fact, I expect that quite a few people say grace only on Thanksgiving and not at any other time or occasion.

If you think about it, it’s actually kind of a funny phrase: to say grace.  If you asked a ten year old to say grace, wouldn’t the natural response be “grace?”  What the phrase means, of course, is to say “a” grace.  And a grace is a prayer.  A prayer of thanksgiving or praise.  A prayer invoking God’s blessing or grace.

Incidentally, the dictionary definition describes a grace as a short prayer, something to remember at the Thanksgiving table.

As I was browsing information on graces I came across one that said:  May God’s grace hover at our table this day.  Hover.  I like that tangible, visible image of God’s grace or blessing as something we can see.

Because, although we ask God to bless, to lend his grace, we don’t really need to summon or conjure God’s grace.  It is already with us.

What we are doing when we say grace is making ourselves aware, opening ourselves to the action of God’s grace, tuning our ears to hear and our eyes to see God’s blessing.  The action or change that we pray for is not in God, but in us.  We are not saying:  Hey, God, I know you weren’t going to come to our Thanksgiving dinner, but now since we’ve said grace, we know you’ll change your mind and show up.  Rather, we are saying:  Change us, transform our hearts to see your grace with us, that we may live more faithfully and more gratefully.

It’s too bad that we say grace so infrequently.  Think how gloriously we might be changed if we said grace at more meals, or even at other times in our lives.  If we could open ourselves to see God’s grace hovering over us, enfolding us, in other daily activities as well as eating.

I have a book that is an anthology of prayers (The Oxford Book of Prayer, ed. Appleton).  It contains a group of prayers written by Chinese Christian women and men.  I don’t know anything about the origin or history of the prayers.  But they are written to accompany the tasks of daily life.

A prayer, a grace when opening a door:

A pray thee, Lord to open the door of my heart to receive thee within my heart.

Help me to see your blessing and grace with me as I open a door.

On pruning a tree:

I pray thee, Lord, to purge me and take away my selfishness and sinful thoughts, that I may bring forth more fruits of the Spirit.

A grace while posting a letter:

I pray thee, Lord to add to me faith upon faith, that I may always have communication with thee.

When planting, or sowing seed:

I pray thee, Lord, to sow the good seed of virtue in my heart, letting it grow by day and night and bring forth a hundredfold.

When drawing water, or, as we would say, turning on the tap:

I pray thee, Lord, to give living water to quench my thirst, and wash away the stains from my heart.

A prayer when boiling water for tea:

I pray thee, Lord, to send down spiritual fire to burn away the coldness of my heart and that I may always be hot-hearted in serving thee.

Think about saying grace more often.  Praying for the awareness of God’s grace and blessing with us and giving thanks in all of the activities throughout our daily lives.

The Twenty-sixth Sunday after Pentecost - November 13

Christ Died for You

Proper 28

Today is the next to last Sunday in the church year.  We have Christ the King next Sunday, and then begin anew with Advent.  The next to last Sunday.  The church year is drawing to a close.

This is also the first Sunday after the national election.

The readings appointed for today, of course, come from the lectionary and relate to the church calendar.  We always have apocalyptic readings, speaking of the end times, at this time of year.  They are always difficult to preach on.

Yet probably not as difficult as preaching on the election.  Yet we must engage with it.  As tempting as it may be for many of us to disengage as much as possible, we are called to be the Body of Christ in this world at this time.  We must engage events as important as this one and reflect and respond as Christians.

The campaign and election have inescapably been a part of all of our lives for months upon months upon months now.  We have that experience in common.

Yet…  it seems it has also been an experience that we have NOT had in common.  Based on your own life experience, your general political preferences, and maybe most importantly, where you get your news…  amongst us here there are undoubtedly vastly different perceptions and feelings.

It is part of my vocation as pastor and preacher to offer words to you now.  Faithful words.  Faith-filled words.  The preacher’s tool is words.

And yet, as I’ve struggled to find words the last few days, what has just knocked me flat is:  Words aren’t being heard.

I have felt overcome by the futility of conversation.  The literal impossibility of communication with words.  Our entire country is engaged in an enraged cosmic shouting match.  I fear that any words I might offer would just become weapons or fodder or lost in the fray.  As I read and listen, I am overwhelmed with the hopelessness of words having meaning right now, at least any words directly related to the candidates or the election.

At last count bishops in 24 dioceses in the Episcopal Church have issued statements on the election.  Words from the church.  That’s about a quarter of the dioceses in the Episcopal Church, which is remarkable!  Undoubtedly, it would have been even more, except it is convention season in the Episcopal Church.  Many bishops are sharing their thoughts and processing the election within the context of their diocesan conventions, rather than in published statements.  

Most of these statements say much what I would say if I were going to speak directly to the election. I made handouts including a few of the bishops’ statements (You can read them all HERE.  I included Presiding Bishop Curry, our Bishop of Chicago Jeffrey Lee, and the Bishops of Newark, Washington, and Fond du Lac).  Take them home.  Read them carefully when you have time to hear the meaning of the words.  I am definitely available to have individual conversations with any of you for whom that would be helpful.

But today I want to offer some different words.  As I hear and read and see the depth of anger, hatred, disrespect, threats… that are being shouted, I finally found words that I can say into that space.

They come from Frederick Buechner.  I’ve quoted this before, I think from the pulpit, certainly in other settings.  Buechner is talking about the Lord’s Supper.  What we gather, come together, as Christians to do here on Sundays.

It is also called Holy Communion because when feeding at this implausible table, Christians believe that they are communing with the Holy One himself, his spirit enlivening their spirits, heating the blood and gladdening the heart just the way wine, as spirits, can.

They (we!) are also, of course, communing with each other.  To eat any meal together is to meet at the level of our most basic need.  It is hard to preserve your dignity with butter on your chin or to keep your distance when asking for the tomato ketchup.

To eat this particular meal together is to meet at this level of our most basic humanness, which involves our need not just for food but for each other.  I need you to help fill my emptiness just as you need me to help fill yours.  As the emptiness that’s still left over, well we’re in it together, or it is in us.  Maybe it’s most of what makes us human and makes us [sisters and] brothers.

He concludes with words from the service…

The next time you walk down the street, take a good look at every face you pass and in your mind say Christ died for thee.  That girl.  That slob.  That phony.  That crook.  That saint.  That damned fool.  Christ died for thee.  Take and eat this in remembrance that Christ died for thee  (Wishful Thinking, “Lord’s Supper”).

Christ died for you.  First, I say those words to you.  To each of you here today.  No matter whom you voted for, or if you didn’t vote.  Whether you are now feeling hopeful or very frightened.  Christ died for you.

Christ died for you.  He willingly gave up his life to free you from sin and death.  To set you free!  To open up a way for God’s incomprehensible peace and unquenchable life to fill you.  Christ died for you.  Remember that.

I have also found it helpful to take Buechner’s advice.  When I walk down the street or when I hear some rant on TV or read some comment on the internet, whether the kind or the crazy ones, the ones I support or the ones that deeply offend me, to mentally say to whoever is speaking, Christ died for you. 

I wish I had thought of this in time to do it as I voted…  to look at every name on the ballot, those I voted for and those I didn’t…  those at the top of the ballot and even all of those endless pages of judges…  to say to each of them, Christ died for thee.

I commend this practice to you.  Verbally.  Maybe some one, some person, needs to hear you say to them, Christ died for you.  Or maybe you need to say, or think, it as you go about your daily life and encounter others.

What individual people do with Christ’s gift is up to them, between them and their Lord.  But this practice…  this practice of saying the words:  Christ died for you, has helped to restore my own heart and soul.

This is just the beginning.  It is internal preparation for the external work that needs to be done.  God knows there is work to be done!  Justice work.  The bishops talk more about that.  And it lies ahead of us.

Like many people this week I’ve found myself humming Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.  And if I leave you with that earworm, that’s a good thing.  But the last few days I’ve also been humming another tune.  Today’s canticle.  The canticle we prayed in place of the psalm this morning.  The words are from Isaiah.  It’s one of the canticles for Morning Prayer.  When I was in seminary, we prayed Morning Prayer together as a community every day.  And we sang the canticles; they are meant to be sung.

I know this canticle to a gentle, hopeful melody (Hymn 679).

(Sung)  Surely it is God who saves me; trusting him I shall not fear.

Surely it is God who saves me; trusting him I shall not fear.

Amen.

All Saints' Sunday - November 6

Knit Together

Collect for All Saints' Day

November 1 of course is All Saints’ Day.  One of the great festive holy days in the church calendar.  We’re allowed to transfer it to the following Sunday, so we celebrating All Saints’ Day today in our worship together.

All Saints’ Day.  Have you ever thought about the fact that’s is not called “some” saints day?  It’s not Some Saints’ Day, it’s All Saints’ Day.  There is no division or separation or exclusion among the saints.

This is the way the word “saints” is used in the New Testament.  Writing at the beginning of the letter to the Ephesians, a few verses before this morning’ s reading Paul says:  Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, To the saints who are in Ephesus and are faithful in Christ Jesus…  all the saints…  Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.  The saints are all the people who seek to follow Christ.

The saints are not separated or differentiated:  by age, by relative sinfulness or holiness, by political persuasion, slave or free, male or female.  And, although Paul wouldn’t have been thinking of this as he wrote to the Ephesians, today we see there is no separation between saints living and dead.  It is All Saints’ Day.

And to be a saint, to be among the saints is to be knit together.  In one sense, there really isn’t such thing as a single saint.  Yes, an individual person is a saint, but never in isolation.  To be a saint is to be part of the communion of saints.  Remember the All Saints’ Day collect we just prayed: Almighty God, you have knit together your elect in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of your Son Christ our Lord.

Almighty God, knit together your elect in the mystical body of your son.  God’s elect, the saints, are knit together.  And it is the mystical body of Christ that knits, weaves, binds us together into one communion and fellowship.

As I think about it, there are several Implications of being knit together in Christ.

First, among the living saints, all of us who seek to follow Christ and still live this mortal life.  We are knit together into one communion.  Knit together by the body of Christ.

The world seems more belligerent, divided, and partisan now than it has every been, at least in recent times.  Or maybe it isn’t; maybe people are just acting on feelings that have always been there.  But actions can be controlled.  What if we worked at acting like we were bound together in Christ?  What if we all worked at acting like the body of Christ unites us and holds us together?

Second, the living and the dead are knit together, too, by the mystical body of Christ.  I think especially of the faithful departed saints whom we remembered on Wednesday at the All Souls’ Day service.  These are the saints we knew and loved in life who now live in the nearer presence of God.  These are people who, in life, were bound to us by bonds of love and friendship.  Those bonds are not broken by death.  We are still united, knit together by the body of Christ.

I’m reminded of a prayer I know I’ve mentioned before.  It’s not in the Prayer Book, but it is a part of our Anglican tradition and is often said at burials.

What you give, dear God, you do not take away…..  These people whom you gave to us, whom we have loved, you do not take away…..  For what is yours is ours always, if we are yours.  And life is eternal; and love is immortal; and death is only a horizon; and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.  Lift us up, O God, that we may see further; cleanse our eyes that we may see more clearly; draw us closer to yourself that we may know ourselves nearer to our beloved who are with you.

Finally, for all of the saints to be knit together in one communion, is to have a common purpose, a common hope.  It is to share the promise of fullness of life in Christ, to seek the ineffable joys mentioned in the collect, to hope for the riches of Jesus’ glorious inheritance among the saints described by Paul in Ephesians.

All the saints, living and dead, share this common promise and hope.  And for us, today, to be knit into this holy fellowship of saints is to be supported by them in our life in Christ.  We are knit together with all the saints, the famous ones in the windows, the dear ones we remembered on All Souls’ Day, the familiar ones sitting next to us in the pews.  A mighty cloud of witnesses, living and dead, sharing a common hope, offering their presence with us to teach, guide, support and encourage us as faithful followers of Christ.

We are knit into the communion of saints.  Thanks be to God.

The Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost - October 30

No One Helped Him See

Proper 26

Luke 19:1-10

Zacchaeus just wanted to see Jesus.  But, as the children’s song says, he couldn’t because he “was a wee little man.”  He just wanted to be able to see Jesus, but because he was “short in stature” he couldn’t see over the crowds.

This reminds me of a story from decades ago in my own life.  When I was in college I used to take the train into New York City to go to the opera.  The Metropolitan Opera in New York sells standing room tickets the day of the performance.  (The only way I could afford opera at the time!)  There are special places for standing room…  high rails/banisters with numbers on them.  So you get a specific spot at the rail, either in the back of the main floor or in the back of the upper upper upper balcony.

The opera was Donizetti’s Elixir of Love and Luciano Pavarotti was singing.  One of his signature roles.  I had a standing room ticket in the upper balcony, several miles from the stage. For some reason I had not brought my binoculars.  The tenor has a big showcase aria in that opera.   Earlier on, the lady standing next to me passed me her binoculars.  Unasked…  I had never seen or met her before…  As the big aria approached I offered them back to her, but she whispered, “No, you keep them so you can see Mr. Pavarotti.”  So I watched him for a little bit, and then returned her binoculars.  That was the only time I ever saw Pavarotti live.

She wanted me to see the great tenor.  She helped me see.

No one helped Zacchaeus see.  Nobody lifted Zacchaeus up so he could see, or got him a stool, or made way for him so he could move up front, or got him one of those contraptions that lets you see over walls or out of trenches or over crowds.   No one helped Zacchaeus see Jesus.

The crowd blocked his sight.  The crowd is a part of the story.  Later on they will be incensed when Jesus favors Zacchaeus.  At this point in the story, they block him from seeing Jesus.

As I think about placing myself in this story, I would have been in the crowd.  I would not have been in the close circle as a disciple of Jesus.  I’m not the impetuous sort who would have dropped everything to chase after an itinerant preacher.  Not until I knew more.  I certainly don’t think of myself as the tax collector Zacchaeus…

I would have been in the crowd.  Among those who went out to see Jesus when he came to town.  Curious, drawn by some internal urging.  Looking, yearning for something.  Eager to see this Jesus.

Zacchaeus was among that crowd eager to see Jesus.  But the people in the crowd didn’t care if he could see Jesus or not.  At best they didn’t care.  At worst they enjoyed blocking his sight.

Remember tax collectors were worse than scum in those days.  And Zacchaeus was a head tax collector.  As the story reminds us, tax collectors were Jews, children of Abraham.  But Jews who extorted money from their own people on behalf of the occupying Roman government.  They were both political traitors and vile sinners under Jewish law.  I can’t really think of a similar example today.

Imagining myself in this story I don’t know if I would have helped Zacchaeus see Jesus. 

Probably not. 

What about you?

At the very least the crowd was clueless to Zacchaeus’ needs.  They were certainly more interested and focused on their own self-centered desire to see Jesus.  At worst they willfully shunned him because he was despicable to them.

It’s easy for me to feel convicted by this passage.  It’s harder for me to understand specifically what it means for me, for us, today.  What more faithful stance is it calling us to?

The first question to ask is:  How do we block or impede other peoples’ desire to see Jesus?

Speaking as a life-long Episcopalian, for years the church marginalized children’s access and participation.  They were prohibited from receiving Jesus in Communion and often kept out of worship.  We’re better now, but still have a good ways to go.

Also, most Christian congregations today self-select membership in subtle, subconscious ways, discouraging people who are not “like us.”  “Like us” may be defined very differently in different congregations.  But congregations self-select membership keeping away people who don’t fit.

At the very least, this story is a challenge to be less self-centered in worship.  We joke, but seriously, it means offering (!) your pew to a visitor.  Offering.  Not just tolerating.  Offering, inviting, a newcomer to use your pew.  It means celebrating music that may not be your favorite, but that other people find inspiring.  It means welcoming all sorts of language in worship if other people find it prayerful.

More generally, it is a call throughout life to move from self-centeredness to generosity of spirit.  Generosity of spirit.  To show generosity of spirit, especially towards people who are different or even despicable.  Act with generosity of spirit.  Be a conduit for Jesus’ love and grace to flow to others, not a barrier.  Act with generosity of spirit.  That’s what people who really see and know Jesus do.

And, God knows, the world needs more generosity of spirit right now.  Show kindness and care towards people who are on “the other side” of whatever the battle of the moment happens to be.

Love your neighbor as yourself.  Even the ones you don’t like.  Help them see Jesus.