The Twelth Sunday after Pentecost

Remembering September 10th, September 2001

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

Just Do Your Best

Matthew 18:15-20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But also hear these words as challenge.

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

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

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

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

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

Just do your best, Jesus says.

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

Just do your best.

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

The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Blessing of the Backpacks

A litany of thanksgiving as a new school year begins.

For our minds and the ability to think and reason;
We thank you, Lord.

For the passion and dedication of all who teach;
We thank you, Lord.

For the gifts of wonder and creativity and the vision to see you, Lord, in things that are new;
We thank you, Lord.

For schools and the opportunity learn;
We thank you, Lord.

For our friends at school, who share the good times and the hard times with us;
We thank you, Lord.

For our families, for their love and support;
We thank you, Lord.

For computers and calculators and all the other tools that help us learn and explore;
We thank you, Lord.

For words and stories and ideas and the chance to share them with others;
We thank you, Lord.

For music and art and drama and joy;
We thank you, Lord.

For games and times of recreation and renewal;
We thank you, Lord.

For all those people who help us learn and all those whom we are able to help;
We thank you, Lord.

For our own unique gifts and talents and the opportunity use them in your service;
We thank you, Lord.

God of power and hope, we pray your blessing upon these backpacks, on the students who carry them and on all students and teachers everywhere. Bless us all in our vocation as learners, in Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost

A Peculiar Church
Matthew 16:13-20

The passage we heard as this morning’s Gospel is usually referred to as the “Confession of Peter.” Peter witnesses, proclaims, “confesses,” that Jesus is the Son of God. Similar passages appear in Mark and Luke’s Gospels. God reveals to Peter the wonder of Jesus’ identity. It’s a powerful and important passage and remains a strong witness to us today of who Jesus is.

As powerful and important as Peter’s words are as witness and revelation, interpreting Jesus’ words is a bit more problematic. As I work to interpret Jesus’ words I’ve drawn heavily on a commentary on Matthew’s Gospel by Eduard Schweizer that we used in seminary. My focus in particular is on the phrase spoken by Jesus: “You are Peter and on this rock I will build my church.”

What was Jesus’ vision for the future for his followers? What did Jesus hope to build?

When Jesus says, “on this rock I will build my church,” the Greek word that is translated “church” is ecclesia. It is the root of our contemporary churchy words like ecclesiastical. But there are two very important things to know about that word ecclesia as it is used in the Bible.

One. Although it has now come to be a part of words meaning church, it was not a religious word in Jesus’ day. It was a general, entirely secular word meaning simply “gathering” or “assembly.” It did not mean “church.” Schweizer translates it “community.” It just meant any community of people who were gathered or assembled.

Two. The word is virtually absent from all four Gospels. It appears here and in one other place in Matthew and that’s it. It appears a lot in Paul and the post-Easter letters, but it is not a part of the Gospels. The words and activities of Jesus' life and ministry do not include the word “church.”

Jesus’ proclamation to Peter about being the rock upon which Jesus will build his church does not appear at all in Mark or Luke’s telling of the Confession of Peter. (The Confession itself is not recounted at all in John.) Writing about this particular phrase, Schweizer states: “the saying about the community [or church] is a post-Easter addition, possibly Matthew’s own. In all four Gospels the word “community” appears only here and in 18:17. In the post-Easter epistles and in Acts it appears frequently, but always in the phrase “community of God,” which translates the Old Testament expression “levy of God,” meaning Israel. The New Testament is aware throughout that Jesus, unlike the Qumran community or the Pharisees, does not seek to establish a special community but to call the whole people of God back to their Lord.”

Whether or not Jesus actually said the words proclaiming Peter as the rock upon which the church would be built is a matter of scholarly debate. Schweizer thinks that Jesus did not say these words; that the words were added by a later author. So what can we say about Jesus’ vision?

I think we can say that Jesus had absolutely no idea whatsoever of anything that we might call “church.” Nothing that we might call church was a part of Jesus’ vision… Church as an institution with any sort of organizational and leadership structure, whether that leadership be papal, episcopal or congregational… Church as something with defined membership guidelines… Even church as a group of people ascribing to a particular creed or confession… None of these was a part of Jesus’ vision.

The word “peculiar” shows up in some of our hymns and Rite 1 collects in its archaic sense of “special.” We sang one last week, which is probably why it’s in my head: “Let every creature rise and bring peculiar honors to our King.” “Peculiar” always means particular. It used to mean particularly special, uniquely wonderful. Only in the 17th century did it come to mean particularly odd, uniquely strange.

I’m not sure how far to push this idea, but maybe it’s helpful to think of everything we call church as peculiar. In both senses of the word. Our own special, uniquely wonderful way of knowing and sharing and praising God. But totally strange, odd, unknown to Jesus. Our current churches would be peculiar indeed to Jesus’ vision.

Jesus does not talk about ecclesia or church. The words Jesus uses are words like people and kingdom. Jesus talks about all of God’s people. All of God’s people. And about bringing them to God’s kingdom and bringing God’s kingdom to them. Jesus’ ministry is about making God’s kingdom real for all of God’s people.

To say that Jesus’ did not talk about ecclesia, whether you translate it church or community, is not a license for us to abandon our particular faith communities. That, I think, would be equally incomprehensible to Jesus. There is only the “people” of God; not "a person" of God. There is no singular.

God only knows if there are any limits on how broad the expanse of God’s people is. Only God knows.
But the people of God are a people bound together by God. Bound. United. Held together by God. Not by human choice, but by God. The people of God are not just individuals, each cared for by God; they are a people… a people bound to one another by God. Not by our choice, but by God's power.

The absolutely greatest differentiation we might imagine amongst us is trivial compared to what binds us one to another. The link is forged by God’s desire and by God’s power. It is literally infinitely stronger than anything on earth.

I am bound to people of God whom I do not know by the power of God.  People I do not know, do not understand, maybe don’t even like… the bond uniting us is full of God’s power.

That turns the world upside down.

Whether the words in Matthew’s Gospel about Peter and the church are Jesus’ own or a post-Easter addition is an issue debated among scholars. The collect appointed for this day is definitely post-Easter, appearing first in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer. “Grant, O merciful God, that your Church, being gathered together in unity by your Holy Spirit, may show forth your power among all peoples, to the glory of your Name.” It is the Holy Spirit’s presence and power that gathers, unites the people of God. It is God’s spirit, love and power that gathers us into unity. Not us. The Holy Spirit. That gathers the people of God into unity. And then we pray that we may, by how we live and serve as God’s people, show forth God’s power to the world. That we, by our words and actions, may proclaim God’s power to gather and unite. That’s the particular power this collect is talking about—God’s power to gather and unite. We pray that even this peculiar church may be a witness to the world of God’s power to gather and unify.

The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

What if God Doesn't Like Me? 

Matthew 15:10-28

The story we just heard in the second part of today’s appointed Gospel reading is a challenging one. Jesus and the Canaanite woman. What could God be saying to us today in the words of this story? How are we to interpret this passage?

To begin, we should remember that in Jesus’ day, the Hebrew people knew the Canaanites as foreigners and pagans. They were foreigners and they did not worship the one, true God. In the perception of the Jews, the Canaanites were the very people whom God had displaced when God brought the Jews into the promised land.

In addition to being a foreigner and a pagan, she was a woman. She didn’t count. No census of the day would have counted her  among the living. In this story she doesn’t even have a name. No identity worth noticing.

When she comes before Jesus with her intercession, Jesus first ignores her completely. Then Jesus more or less says, “I did not come for such as you.” Then Jesus says, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” You are no more than an animal to me. Jesus says.

One tempting way to try to interpret this story is to focus in on just single facets of the story. There is the woman’s persistence and courage. That persistence and courage ultimately pay off. That’s a good message and one that Jesus himself makes elsewhere. Persist in prayer; persist in intercession. The woman’s persistence can be an encouraging model to us.

If we look at the passage as a whole, however, we cannot avoid Jesus’ words. Jesus’ hurtful, hateful words. Jesus’ name-calling that defines this woman as literally subhuman.

I suppose these words of Jesus could be used by some people as justification for their own desire to label some other people as subhuman. After all, if Jesus calls pagans dogs, if Jesus calls women dogs, if Jesus calls foreigners dogs…. Well then I ought to be able to call people whatever I want to. Some people might use Jesus’ words to justify their frustration with the demand to use “politically correct” language. Or even worse, some people might use Jesus’ words to justify their hatred of others who differ from them. If anyone is even remotely tempted by this argument, bear in mind that Jesus does not ultimately destroy the Canaanite woman, or cast her away or even “correct” her perceived shortcomings—he helps her.

Other people (and I would put myself in this category) might be tempted to just chuck out this whole particular passage from Matthew’s Gospel. This passage can’t be as important as the other ones that I like better.

In past years (and this Gospel comes around every three years) one of the sermons I’ve preached focuses on the human Jesus. Maybe the human Jesus, conditioned by his own human experience and the social setting of his day, could have spoken those words, but thank God the divine Jesus won out in the end! That’s a spin on the passage that can teach us something, but it’s really pretty bad theology. The two natures of Jesus—human and divine—are not that separate. The human and divine Jesus don’t settle issues by debate or arm wrestling. There is one Jesus. The divine Jesus spoke these difficult words as fully as the human Jesus did.

One on-line sermon I found skirted the issue very creatively, focusing on the disciples' impatience with the woman’s shouting on behalf of her daughter. Jesus’ message, then, in helping the woman, is to affirm that it is OK to get overly emotional where your children are involved.

I’ve said all this up to this point to point out—again!—the complexity of Biblical interpretation, if we take it seriously. If we take Biblical interpretation seriously it is complicated and difficult work.

Here’s how this passage speaks to me this year.

The context is real. We can’t narrow our focus so much that we lose the context of Jews and Canaanites… the “us” versus “them” animosity between Canaanites and Jews. I don’t know if Jesus actually said the words calling this woman a “dog.” It’s hard for me to imagine that he did, but I can’t know for sure. I can’t know for sure. It is ironic, though, to say the least, that just a few lines earlier in this Gospel passage, Jesus himself says that “what comes out of the mouth defiles…” The words that come out of a human mouth defile the speaker when those words express “evil intentions or slander.” Jesus’ words about the Canaanite woman seem slanderous. So either he didn’t say both parts of this passage, or he proclaims himself defiled…

We cannot be absolutely certain what specific words he said. But I think we can be pretty confident that most of the Jews of Jesus’ day would have seen the Canaanite woman as no more than an animal. They would have dismissed her out of hand. Jesus’ disciples would have seen her that way… the writer of Matthew would have seen her that way… and she, herself, would have seen herself that way. That’s what grabs my attention. She would have seen herself as contemptible, of no account, in the eyes of Jesus. Just because of who she was. As a Canaanite woman, she had every expectation that Jesus would dismiss her, dislike her.

Do you think Jesus likes you? We always make these sweeping statements about God’s limitless love, but do you think that Jesus likes...  you? Would like to spend time with you, on a human level? Likes you for who you are?

You’ve been taught, I hope, that God loves you unconditionally (and therefore will forgive you when you sin). But, beyond this theological affirmation, do you feel like Jesus likes you? Do you think Jesus has any reason to care for you in particular? Most of us want to feel liked. It’s distressing to feel disliked. We work to be liked. Do you think Jesus likes who you are?

God acts with healing and hope regardless. Regardless of what you think God thinks of you, God acts with healing and hope in your life.

These are two things we know from this story: The Canaanite woman saw herself as contemptible in Jesus' eyes. Jesus healed her daughter.

It isn’t about what we think God thinks of us. Even if and when you think of yourself as unlikeable in God’s eyes, God will act with hope and healing in your life. Even when you see yourself as beneath God’s notice, God acts with hope and healing. Even if you feel contemptible before God, God acts with hope and healing.

One final word… It’s also important to remember that those "other" people whom you think that God couldn’t possibly like, for whatever reason… God acts with hope and healing in their lives, too.

The Second Sunday in Lent

John 3:16
John 3:1-17

The Episcopal Café is an online resource offered by the Episcopal Diocese of Washington containing all sorts of information and reflections pertaining to the Episcopal Church. An interesting post appeared there this week. It was entitled, “Is Japan asking for your financial assistance?” Is Japan asking for your financial assistance?

The post began:

We see the images from Japan of the three-fold catastrophe and wonder how we can help. The Japanese government has not called for foreign relief aid except in specific cases. Japan is a wealthy country and largely able to respond to natural disasters itself….

The whole issue of “asking” for assistance in times of disaster isn’t one I had thought about before. America, too, is a “wealthy country.” I didn’t have time to really research our own nation’s practice. The fact that I don’t know if we have ever asked for outside assistance suggests that, if we have, we certainly haven’t made a fuss about it. I did discover that the U.S. evidently quietly asked the European Union for some very specific sorts of aid at the time of Katrina. I imagine that, like Japan, we are not in the general habit of publicizing a need or desire for foreign aid.

I have tried to think of reasons why an individual or a country would not ask for aid in times of need. I can’t think of any good reason. There’s pride. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone else’s help.” Then there’s what, for lack of a better term, I’ll call bigotry. “I’d rather die than accept help from the likes of you.”

I also saw a headline sometime this week. The gist of it was… “Reasons why the nation of Japan will recover.” And, of course, the nation will recover. Thousands upon thousands of individuals will not.
The bottom line for us as Christians is simple. Whenever we are aware of a need, we must help. It is the mandate of our baptismal covenant. It is about who we are. Whether we are asked or not is irrelevant. We must offer what help we can.

The post at Episcopal Café continued:

Beyond [these considerations of whether the government has asked], there we are in the position of having ties within Japan. Through the Anglican Communion and companion dioceses relationships, there are bonds between the Episcopal Church and Anglican Episcopal Church in Japan. The church in Japan has asked for help. We asked Brian Sellers-Petersen of Episcopal Relief and Development for background on how giving to ER-D will make a difference in Japan.

"As you know, our primary partner in a disaster of this kind is always the local church, and here we are working in solidarity with the Anglican Episcopal Church in Japan - the Nippon Sei Ko Kai (NSKK). While they are still in the throes of reviewing how clergy and congregations are impacted by the disaster, and struggling with communications in the coastal areas closest to the quake and tsunami, they have indicated they are conducting needs assessments involving survivors in communities that surround their churches.

Our program team is in contact with NSKK. We know that survivors will turn to the Church for both short-term and long-term assistance (particularly in the coming days and weeks as resources are exhausted through other avenues).

As representatives of sister churches, we work in a different manner than [many other charitable organizations]. Just as we were grateful during Hurricane Katrina, when the NSKK supported recovery efforts in the impacted dioceses of the Gulf Coast, through Episcopal Relief & Development, we know that they are deeply grateful for all of our help during this time. The resources of the Japanese people are extensive, but still the people to people contacts that we embody will help the local Anglican Church as it reaches out to the vulnerable in its communities."

ER-D is one way to help. It is not the only way. But we must help.

This morning’s Gospel is relevant. As I was reading the Gospel I thought at I might see fireworks set off, or bright lights begin to flash or spirited “Amen’s” arise from the congregation… when I got to John 3:16. But, no.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”
 
We see John 3:16 held up on placards at football games and other public events. I suppose it is meant to be a form of evangelism, although I don’t really see how a citation of chapter and verse on a poster held up by a stranger would bring someone who is unchurched and unfamiliar with the Bible any closer to Jesus.

Considering the importance this verse has for many people I looked it up in Raymond Brown’s two volume commentary on the Gospel of John. Again, I was a little disappointed not to find any particularly enthusiastic emphasis placed on this one verse. In fact, there seems to be some discussion among Biblical scholars whether or not Jesus even said these words or whether they are part of a homily by the Evangelist (our St. John) placed on the lips of Jesus.

In his commentary, Brown focuses on one word, “loved.” “God so loved the world…” Brown writes: “The aorist implies a supreme act of love…” The aorist is a verb tense we don’t have in English. It is a past tense always implying an event or action, something that happened. God’s love wasn’t a feeling, it was an action. Brown continues, “The verb here is agapan; and if Spicq is right, we have a perfect example of agapan expressing itself in action. Agapan. We know the word “agape.” God’s love, expressed in action. God so loved the world that he gave his only Son.”

God didn’t wait to be asked. God saw the need throughout the world that all human kind had for God to share, redeem and restore our human nature. So God sent his Son. God responded to our need. No one in Jesus’ day was asking for a Savior. The Jews anticipated the coming of the Messiah, but they were not asking for what they got in Jesus. As for the pagan Gentiles of the day, if anyone had asked them if they needed the Hebrew God to send Immanuel to them, they would have said, “Good God, NO! We certainly don’t need anything from that God.”

But God saw the world’s need, our need, and loved Jesus into the world.

It seems to me the best way to live into the spirit of John 3:16 is not so much to hold up placards in public places. We should act in ways that meet the needs of others. We should bring God’s agape into the world by our actions.

As Christians only two things are important. Need and agape. Need is around us. We can supply agape.

The questions that should persistently be on the lips of all Christians is “How can I help?” How can I help? Not, can I afford the time or resources to help. Not, have they asked for my help or do they want my help. Just simply, how can I help. How can I meet another’s need? How can I make God’s love real in the lives of others?

We should ask ourselves this question not just with respect to Japan, although the need there is profound right now. Wherever there are human beings, there is need: spiritual need, physical need, emotional need. Harkening back to John 3:16, there may be people in our lives who do not know the love of Christ, whose lives are desperate and faithless. We must act in response to that need with evangelism, by somehow sharing the Good News.

There is need within the parish. Think about your immediate neighborhood or local community. Even within our mighty, self-sufficient nation, there is need. And, sadly, Japan is not the only area world-wide where human beings are in grave physical need. We must act. As Christians, we must act, as best we are able, to help. No individual, of course, can meet the needs of the world. And for some of the need that surrounds us, it is not always clear how best to help. Prayer is always an appropriate response. And when we, in worship, pray for the needs and concerns of the world, we are acting to help. But we must always remember that indifference or inaction are never options for Christians. No matter what the need, indifference or inaction are never options. Whether or not we have been asked to help. Whether or not we know those in need or have any kind of ties with them. Whether or not our help is even welcome. Indifference or inaction are never options.

Wherever there are human beings there is always need. And, to God’s glory, there is always agape. And it is always our job to put agape into action.