Sunday, March 23, 2025

The Third Sunday of Lent

Exodus 3:1-15 Psalm 63: 1-8; 1 Corinthians 10: 1-13; Luke 13: 1-9

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

It was holy ground; a deeply spiritual place, a thin place where heaven and earth seemed to intersect.  It was in the Sinai desert, a place Moses ended up after fleeing Egypt.  He fled Egypt because he was a felon, a murderer, having recently killed an Egyptian official.  It is on this holy ground where we meet Moses today, at the base of a bush which seems to burn without consuming itself, and from which God speaks.

Moses is told to remove his shoes, because he is standing on holy ground.  The ground is holy because it is a place of theophany – a place where Moses meets God.  Moses is having the quintessential “burning bush” moment – a moment where his life will forever change.   I often hear from people how they wish God would speak to them in such obvious ways.  I believe God does, and have experienced it myself.

Twenty-seven years ago I had an experience I still don’t understand, and cannot adequately explain.  I was working in downtown Houston, having recently graduated from college.  One afternoon, I was walking through the tunnel system which connects all the office buildings together, and all of a sudden I was overcome with an overwhelming feeling that the job where I was working was not where I was supposed to be.  A wave of emotion spilled over me, and I believe I heard God’s voice – somehow – redirecting me from work downtown to vocation as a priest.  It still doesn’t make sense to me today, but it was an obvious spiritual experience – one that I heeded, and here I am today as a result.

But that’s not the only one – there have been so many others.  The point is that we are spiritual beings having a human experience.  We are hardwired for the spiritual experience.  Sadly, and with a bit of irony, churches can be the last place where anybody has a spiritual experience.  For every conversation I have had with a person who says “I had an amazing spiritual experience at church and feel drawn closer to God”  I have at least twenty conversations with people who tell me they have no interest in returning to church because they found churches to be places of hypocrisy, condescension, arrogance, and intimidation.  What’s spiritual about any of that?

This is not a sermon about how or why churches can be bereft of the spiritual experience.    It is rather, a sermon, to remind us that we cannot expect a weekly recitation of a Sunday liturgy to rocket us into the next spiritual dimension.  It’s simply not enough.  Being here  today – is not enough. 

While many of us know that, how many of us actually believe it?   And look, I’m the pot calling the kettle black here.  I’ve been a priest for almost twenty years and I still have days when I am working next door at St. Andrew’s House, and the thought still comes to my mind, “Jimmy you’ve got too much to do – a sermon to write, a class to prepare, meetings with parishioners and staff, hospital visits – you don’t have time to pray, read scripture, or meditate.”  Do you know how easy it is for me to believe the garbage in my own head?   Sometimes the space between my ears can be a dangerous place to be. 

That’s why I love today’s collect: “God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves.  Keep us outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul.”   We can’t create a spiritual experience for ourselves.  We are powerless to do that.  But if we humble ourselves, humble ourselves to the point of becoming really uncomfortable, we will discover there are spiritual experiences all around us.  AMEN.

Wednesday, March 5, 2025

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2: 1-2, 12-17; Psalm 103; 2 Corinthians 5:20b- 6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. AMEN.

John Kennedy Toole was drafted into the United States Army in 1961 at the age of 23.  While serving in the army he advanced in rank, while simultaneously working on a novel.  In 1963, Toole received a hardship discharge as his parents were struggling financially.  He returned home, and continued working on his novel entitled A Confederacy of Dunces.  Once complete, Toole sought out a publisher for his novel, and was turned down again and again.   No company was interested in publishing John Kennedy Toole’s book. 

Devasted and heart-broken with this sad news, John Kennedy Toole parked his car outside Biloxi, Mississippi.  He ran a garden hose from the exhaust pipe through the window of his car, and he died on March 26, 1969.  He was 31. 

After Toole’s death, his mother discovered A Confederacy of Dunces, and she advocated for the book tirelessly until it was finally published eleven years later in 1980.  A Confederacy of Dunces, once published, achieved significant success, selling upwards of 1.5 million copies.

Toole’s novel went on to win the Pulitzer Prize in 1981, cementing A Confederacy of Dunces as a literary classic.  Think about that.  What changed between 1969 and 1980?  Nothing.  The book was the same in 1969 as it was in 1980.  From this tragic example we can see how arbitrary breaks are in life.  A Confederacy of Dunces is a classic, but the timing of its recognition is tragic. 

Here we are on Ash Wednesday, a time where the arbitrariness of human existence is seemingly so obvious to us.  Here we are today acknowledging our mortality, the fleeting passage of time, and the reality that nothing is permanent. 

At St. Andrew’s we are in a time of great transition.  We have staff members who are leaving, we have new staff members joining us, we are going to begin our construction in just a few short weeks.  So much is changing here.  As it should.  As it needs to.

I have spoken with parishioners who are a bit rattled and unsettled from the email I sent out yesterday, who lament that all this change is going on.  And I understand that.  I do not like change that much, either. 

But I have all faith that God is fully present in it.  One of my favorite acronyms for the word “God” is this: Grow (G) Or (O) Die (D).  G.O.D.   Grow Or Die.  Those are our options.  I choose to grow, because that is where God is.

The Apostle Paul writes in our reading from 2 Corinthians today “now is the acceptable time, now is the day of salvation!”  Meaning that today is a great day to do great things.  Today is a great day to grow, to let ourselves be uncomfortable, perplexed, and to trust God with our anxiety and our fear because those are the markers (perplexed, anxious, afraid) that we are in fact growing, and not calcifying. 

Now is the acceptable time.  John Kennedy Toole’s story did not end in Biloxi, Mississippi on March 26, 1969.  It did not end that day because his mother did not recoil in grief, anger, and resentment.  Instead she chose growth by advocating for her son’ work.  That was the acceptable time.   That was the day of salvation. 

With all the chaos and distraction in the world – what will you choose – stagnation or change.  God is in change – always.  AMEN.

Sunday, February 9, 2025

Epiphany 5 (Year C) – 8:30 am only

Isaiah 6:1-8, [9-13]; Psalm 138; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

The Rev. Clint Brown

We can all name events in our lives that, when we look back at them, had a significance far beyond what we could have imagined at the time. Perhaps it was meeting your spouse at the party you had only planned to pop into for a few minutes; or you were standing around and a friend of a friend off-handedly mentioned an opening at their company to which you applied; or you were unexpectedly tapped to take the lead on something that was way outside your comfort zone; or perhaps the most important event in your life was a non-event, the opportunity that didn’t materialize for one reason or another and that, looking back, you realize would have been all wrong for you. What all these brushings up with destiny share is that they were not the product of any well-thought-out plan on your part; instead, they just kind of happened to you. And yet, despite that, they had the effect of changing the whole course of your life. For me it was the second day of 6th grade. On that day I was sitting in orchestra class, feeling very awkward and shy (as one does on the second day of sixth grade), and that was the day we were to pick what instrument we wanted to play. I had signed up for orchestra not because I had any special connection or affinity for classical music – certainly, no one was listening to classical music in my house – but because I had this vague notion of wanting to be cultivated and refined and because Sherlock Holmes played the violin and he was the smartest guy I knew. So when it came time to say what I wanted to play, I said I wanted to play violin. The problem was that, physically, I wasn’t all that suited to play the violin. My arms were a little too long and my hands were a little too big, and so the teacher asked if I wouldn’t consider playing the viola instead. Of course, I said okay, despite the fact that I had only just heard of the instrument for the first time that day. But that one decision has made all the difference. That is how I came to play viola and get a full scholarship and enjoy a career as a freelance musician and school teacher and eventually become music director at an Episcopal church, which all led to me becoming a priest – all because I said yes to playing viola. That decision turned out to be one of those moments I was speaking of, a turning point in my life, a crossroads moment that changed everything that came after it.

Which is precisely the same situation that Simon Peter, James, and John find themselves in today. They are old acquaintances, probably buddies since childhood, who have turned their friendship into a commercial partnership. On this particular day they are minding their own business, doing their best to make ends meet, when they have a fateful encounter with Jesus. Jesus has come to town as something of a local celebrity and has drawn a huge crowd of curiosity seekers and admirers. Jesus is pressed for space so he opts to stand in a boat where all can see and hear him, and of all the boats that Jesus could have gotten into that day to address the crowds, it so happened that the nearest one belonged to Simon. Jesus asks Simon if he wouldn’t mind letting him use his boat for a while and the rest is history. A chance encounter has turned into a life transforming event. Nothing will ever be the same. We can call this “life interrupted.”

Actually, life interrupted is a common theme in the Bible. The great figures of the Bible are all called while in the middle of the ordinary business of life: Moses and David while tending sheep (Exodus 3; 1 Samuel 16), Gideon while beating wheat (Judges 6), Elisha while plowing a field (1 Kings 19). Isaiah has his spectacular vision of God while taking his regular turn of service in the temple (Isaiah 6) and the Apostle Paul literally has the sense knocked into him when he is thrown from his horse while on the road to Damascus (Acts 9). God showed up while each of them were doing their own thing, not expecting anything unusual to happen.

It turns out that life interrupted is the essence of the Gospel. After all, the very life of this world has been interrupted by the incarnation of Jesus Christ. The implications of this event are so profound and its demand to be recognized by us so great that we have a special word for it – we call it an “epiphany.” And we even name a whole season for it. What makes it all so incredible is the fact that the birth of Jesus was actually a minor event in the broad scheme of things, hardly attracting any attention at all when it happened, and yet this life and death played out in a remote corner of the Roman Empire far from the corridors of power, relative to all the others that have ever happened, is the crossroads event of history. After this, nothing would ever be the same. And now, God wants to break in and interrupt your life, to claim his rightful place as your Lord. Here you are minding your own business – mending your nets, stowing your tackle, looking forward to getting out of your boots and getting a hot meal in you – and Jesus comes along and asks to use your boat. That’s how it’s always been. Jesus comes along interrupting and disrupting your whole life, and now nothing will ever be the same.

Sunday, February 2, 2025

The Presentation of Our Lord

Malachi 3: 1-4; Psalm 84; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2: 22-40

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

                What an abundance of riches we have in today’s readings!  We have all the heavy hitters today – it is like today is the AFC/NFC championship games of the Bible.  It’s huge!  Who’s gonna win the epic matchup between Malachi and today’s Psalm?   What is the  over/under on today’s matchup between Hebrews and the Gospel of Luke?  Who will get the Gatorade bath today?  Will it be Clint, Jeff, or John?  Who knows.  Anything can happen on any given Sunday, right?

                Regrettably, even with such an impressive spread of amazing scripture from which to choose, I am not going to talk about any of it.  “Oh he’s going to be talking politics, I knew it” Anybody thinking that?   We are going someplace completely different today – to the book of Exodus– the second book of the Bible. Exodus tells the story  of what?  Moses leading his people out of slavery in Egypt and forging a new identity and relationship with God out in the desert at the base of Mt. Sinai.

                Why Exodus, why now?  Here is the reason.  In Exodus, chapter 13, we meet the Hebrew people after the dramatic parting of the red sea and their freedom from bondage.  The Hebrews are nomadic at this time, and they have journeyed east out of Egypt toward Canaan.  On their journey they stop and camp at a place called Succoth, near the Sinai peninsula. 

                At Succoth, God speaks to Moses.  And this is what God says – you can read it in Exodus chapter 13 verses 1 and 2 of your Bible.  God says “Consecrate to me all the firstborn; whatever is the first to open the womb among the Israelites, of human and animals, is mine.”  Why is God saying this, and what does it mean?  After liberating the Hebrews, God is instructing them about sacrifice.  The Hebrews in the desert are going to grow into God’s people now that they are free.  And this is the really, really crucial point: the Hebrews were liberated from bondage – why?   Because slavery is wrong?  Ok, that is true, but that’s not why God liberated the Hebrews.  Exodus is noticeably clear that the Hebrews were liberated not just so that they could be free – they were liberated so that they could worship God freely.  Exodus is so focused on worship of God that the whole second half of the book (about 20 chapters) is focused on how the Hebrews are to worship God.   We learn in Exodus that central to the worship of God is sacrifice.

                And for good reason.  None of us grow at all unless we are willing to sacrifice something. Sacrifice is central to our worship with the Eucharist.  When we pass a collection plate, that is a time of purposeful sacrifice.

In Exodus 13,  God commands the Hebrews to consecrate not the third or fourth child, but the first child – the child who is in line to receive the greatest inheritance from their parents.  The first child is to be consecrated for perpetual service of God

                Mary and Joseph are following that exact commandment from Exodus 13:1-2, when they bring their firstborn son, Jesus, to the temple to be presented.  From the very beginning of his life, Jesus is consecrated – set apart for service to  God.  What Mary and Joseph did was observe the Torah, and consecrate their firstborn son, Jesus.    

                Did you all know that we are to do the same?  We like Mary, Joseph, and Moses, are all called to sacrifice.  Life has no meaning without it.  The sacrifice God asks from us is our firstborn.  Not meaning firstborn children, but God wants absolute priority in our life.  How do we offer God the best, the first of what we have, rather than just offering our leftovers to God?

                Here is how I do it - here is how I make sacrifice to God on a daily basis.   Each morning, I get on my knees and I say this prayer “God, I offer myself to you, to build and do with me as you will.  Relieve me of the bondage of self that I may better do your will.  Take away my difficulties that my victory over them may bear witness to those I would show of your power, your love and your way of life.  May I do your will always. AMEN.”  Saying that prayer helps me to consecrate my day – to make a sacrifice first thing in the morning – so that I can offer my next 24 hours to the service of God.

                Whatever happens in the day to follow, I attribute to the will of God.  So here is the question for all of us, me included.  Have we set apart this day, have we invited God to consecrate it, have we asked that God’s will be done in all that we do?   Have we given this day to God?  If you have not, it is never too late to start.  You can do so at this very moment.  AMEN.

Sunday, January 26, 2025

Epiphany 3 (Year C)

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10; Psalm 19; 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a; Luke 4:14-21

The Rev. Clint Brown

Theme: The kind of world we want to live in

It’s been 55 years since the extraordinary achievement that was the first moon landing. On July 20, 1969, astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, two lonely representatives of the planet earth, separated from the rest of us by 239,000 miles, set foot on our nearest celestial companion. Some of you will be able to recall where you were and what you were doing when it happened, but all of us can appreciate how symbolic it was. We humans had willed ourselves out and away from our home planet, venturing into the hostile and forbidding environment of space, and we had succeeded, and we had done so because countless individuals and an indomitable spirit had chosen to do so. The lesson is that there is nothing superhuman required if we want to accomplish great things, it’s just a matter of having uncommon proportions of what is common to all of us: determination, resilience, adaptability, courage, teamwork, problem solving, imagination, and a good bit of daring. And then focus. A goal towards which to direct all that energy and talent. And for manned space flight, that came in the form of an extraordinary challenge laid down by President John F. Kennedy on May 25, 1961, in front of a joint session of Congress: to land a man on the moon and bring him safely back to earth…before the end of the decade.

Over the next several years, through the Mercury and Gemini flights, the various systems, techniques, hardware, and software were tested, refined, checked and double-checked. The astronauts and flight controllers were put through their paces. Setbacks became lessons learned. There was a goal to reach, and we had to reach it. It was a matter of national prestige; it held the promise of new knowledge and understanding; it became a matter of honoring an assassinated President; and it was, above all, a way to prove what we were capable of as a species. “If we can put a man on the moon,” it is often said, “why can’t we do x, y, or z?” There is both optimism and pessimism in the question. On the one hand, look at what we can achieve when we have a mind to – even when it seems improbable. On the other hand, it begs the question, why do our more down-to-earth problems, those that are, literally, right here on earth, continue to frustrate and elude us?

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me.” In this short passage, Jesus identifies himself as the long-anticipated Messiah. He makes himself very clear and explicit. He is Israel’s king. He is the anointed one of God spoken of by the prophets. But for his first hearers, the real issue would become what he was not: not a military commander, not a nationalistic crusader, not a restorer of Israel’s national pride. He was not what they were looking for. He made his entire focus the poor, the captive, the blind, the oppressed during that brief span of 30-35 years he had to walk the earth. The revolution that sets the world free, says Jesus, is the one that happens within us, that restores to us and to everyone around us our God-given dignity; otherwise, we may find the world changing plenty around us and yet not really changing at all because we have brought our same old selves along with it. How have we, the followers of Jesus, done on our watch? How have we done in comparison with him during the two thousand years we have had at our disposal and with ever-expanding resources of knowledge and reach? The obvious answer is not as great. While we may have made some progress in some areas and can count a lot of successes, we can still do much, much better. If we can put a man on the moon, why is it that we seem incapable of making this world more like the one Jesus had in mind? 

As I have pondered this question this week, I have kept coming round to what, I suppose, might be called the “real” question. It comes down to intentions. What is the kind of world we want to live in? Because if putting a man on the moon is our object lesson in what we can accomplish when we set ourselves a goal, then we have to ask ourselves, what, in this instance, do we have a mind to do, or, rather more devastatingly, what do we not have a mind to do? What is the kind of world we want to live in? And the answer that keeps coming back to me is that, almost as a rule, the world we want to live in and whatever it is we tend to strive for, God is almost invariably on the opposite side. We get it wrong because we have our objectives wrong.

Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you…for that is how their ancestors treated the prophets. But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets. (Luke 6:20-26)

Now you may be asking yourself, if Jesus is really being serious here, why is God so against success? Doesn’t God want us to be happy and prosperous? Isn’t that only fair and just? Why is God so hard on us for just doing our best and reaping the rewards that come of it. I hear what Jesus is saying – be nice, be generous, be humble, don’t be so concerned about yourself that you forget to see and help other people – but how can I be responsible for everybody? Doesn’t it all seem too idealistic? Well, all I can say to you is what I have been saying to myself all week: if this were the right way to think about it and if the way we typically do things was so great, why are we not living in a world much closer to God’s dream for it?  

Abraham Lincoln was once heard to say, “My concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God's side, for God is always right.” The reason that we can’t get things right is that we have forgotten about God. The proof? If we really loved God, we would be living in a far different world. And it would be a world completely opposite to ours. We would not be so overtaken with division and anger and greed and want and hopelessness because we would love each other too much to tolerate that anyone who was within our reach could be touched by anything except our understanding and compassion and our desire for only what was best for them. “God does not have to choose sides,” said someone commenting on Lincoln’s quote, “We do. The question is: Are we on God’s side? We are invited to come alongside God, not the other way around. It’s as simple and complicated as that.”

Sunday, January 19, 2025

2 Epiphany

Isaiah 62:1-5; Psalm 36:5-10; 1 Corinthians 12: 1-11; John 2:1-11

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

 It is rather ominous, that opening scene of James Cameron’s 1992 film Terminator 2: Judgement Day.  The introductory film credits roll as the city of Los Angeles burns in the background, the result of military artificial intelligence becoming sentient and destroying major cities in a nuclear holocaust.  In the opening scenes, we see everything burning – buildings, homes, playgrounds.  Over thirty years after the film’s release we again are seeing images of Los Angeles burning.  These images of Los Angeles (both from the film and in real life) are unsettling and frightening.  At the same time, there is nothing really new about them.

Scenes of fiery destruction and the resulting devastation have been the focus of stories, history, and art for millennia.  The Bible is riddled with such stories, beginning in the first book of the Bible, Genesis, where not one, but two cities (Sodom and Gomorrah) are incinerated.  Elsewhere in the Bible, in the book of 2 Kings, we learn of the prophet Elijah’s ability to call down fire from heaven to incinerate his enemies, something he does twice.  (you can read about that in 2 Kings 2). 

Today, we have another story of fiery destruction in today’s reading from Isaiah.  Isaiah is a long book in the Old Testament containing sixty-six chapters.  Today’s reading is toward the end of Isaiah (chapter 62) and it is important to understand some context about the book for two primary reasons.  The first is that Isaiah was not all written during the same time period.  The earliest parts of the book were written around 740 BCE and the latest parts around 520-525 BCE.  That means the book of Isaiah was written over a period of over two hundred years.  Which brings me to my second point regarding context – Isaiah was not written by one author (obviously) but by several.

Scholars today divide Isaiah into three sections: First Isaiah (written around 740 BCE – chapters 1-39), Second Isaiah (written between 597 – 539 BCE, chapters 40-55), and Third Isaiah (written around 520 BCE, chapters 56-66).  Our reading today comes from this third section of Isaiah and is addressed to a people who have lived through fire and devastation and must once again rebuild.  These are people who have resettled back into the land of Judah, an area which surrounds the great city of Jerusalem – or at least what remained of it.

About sixty years prior to their resettlement in Judah, the city of Jerusalem burned to the ground and was destroyed by the Babylonians under Nebuchadnezzar II.  King Nebuchadnezzar II burned Jerusalem to the ground and destroyed its temple because Judah’s king at the time, Zedekiah, sought out an alliance with Egypt rather than Babylon – a choice which brought disastrous consequences to Jerusalem.  (You can read more about this in 2 Kings 25).

After the city’s destruction, Jerusalem’s people were forced into exile in Babylon, where they remained for almost fifty years.  When Persia, under the rule of Cyrus the Great, conquered the Babylonians, he permitted the exiles from Jerusalem to return to their homeland.  And that is where we meet the people of Judah, now returned to their homeland, today in Isaiah.  When the people look around at what remained of Jerusalem and see only rubble and rock, the prophet Isaiah speaks the word of God to them, saying  “you shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord . . . you shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate.

In other words, when the people of God return to what seems a destroyed and forsaken land, Isaiah proclaims to them that the city of Jerusalem would be rebuilt and that it would be a place of refuge, a place where “people take refuge under the shadow of God’s wings” as the author of today’s psalm writes.

The point is this – out of devastation, God will always forge refuge and peace.  It is not always easy to see, nor does God do this work on our timeline.  That is Isaiah’s message for us today.   

Tomorrow is both Martin Luther King, Jr. Day as well as Inauguration Day.  As we recognize this nation’s most well-known civil rights leader and as a new presidential administration begins its term, we would do well to remind ourselves that whatever humans destroy or deconstruct – whether buildings, relationships, trust, or accountability – God can always reconstruct.  In God’s time, nothing ever breaks.  In God’s economy, destruction is merely an illusion – it is not even real.  What is most real to God is refuge.   AMEN.

Sunday, January 5, 2025

2 Christmas

Jeremiah 31: 7-14; Psalm 84; Ephesians 1: 3-6, 15-19a; Matthew 2: 1-12

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

This morning’s sermon is going to be focused on the epistle, which is our second reading.  This morning’s epistle is from Ephesians.  Epistle is simply a fancy Latin word for “letter,” and that is what we read earlier today – an excerpt from a letter to the Ephesians.  “Ephesians” is a reference to the ancient Roman city of Ephesus. 

Ephesus is located on the Western coast of Turkey, and if you were to visit it today, you would see an incredible archeological site consisting of ancient Roman roads, buildings, and an amphitheater carved into a hillside. It was at this amphitheater - which today you can visit -that a great riot took place against the ministry of the Apostle Paul.

Ephesus was the location of one of the seven great wonders of the ancient world: the temple of Artemis.  Artemis was a goddess of the hunt, and in Ephesus, silversmiths made their livelihood selling silver shrines of Artemis.  Paul’s ministry in Ephesus inhibited the silversmith’s profits from selling their silver shrines, because Paul had drawn away a considerable number of their customers because he said that gods made by human hands were not really gods after all.

The silversmiths rioted in the amphitheater at Ephesus, chanting “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!” against those ministering with the Apostle Paul.  You can read all about this encounter in your Bible in the book of Acts, chapter 19.

That is a little bit of history about the Apostle Paul and the ancient city of Ephesus, but I am afraid to say, however, that all of what I just said was rather…redundant.  It was redundant because the letter to the Ephesians is likely not a real letter, nor was it written by the Apostle Paul, and neither was it addressed to people in Ephesus.  Bummer, right?

Let me work backwards here:  I will start with who Ephesians was written to, then who its author perhaps was, and finally address what these words are saying to us today.   If Ephesians was not written to people living in Ephesus – Ephesians – who was it written to?  If you open your Bible and look at chapter 1, verse 1, of Ephesians, you will find these words: “Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, to the saints who are in Ephesus and faithful in Jesus Christ.”  It seems clear that Ephesians was both written by Paul and directed to the Ephesians.  Why am I arguing those two points?  For several reasons: 1) the earliest copies of “Ephesians” never mention Ephesians by name. Instead the, the earliest copies of Ephesians say “To the saints who are faithful in Christ Jesus.”  The title “to the Ephesians” was added sometime in the second century, while the earliest versions of the letter date from the first century. 

Who wrote it?  Again not Paul, most likely.  Why not?  Scholars who have studied the epistles of the New Testament recognize that Ephesians differs from other Paul’s other confirmed letters in form, style, and grammar.  In short we would say that the author of Ephesians is pseudonymous, which is a fancy way of saying “we have no idea.”

The verses we read today begin with an ancient Jewish prayer “Blessed be the God,” which identifies the author of the letter as well within the Jewish tradition.  That is important because of what we encounter in later verses today.  The verses in this letter introduce the theme of the whole letter, which is the place of the church in God’s plan.  This is important, historically, because it shows a realization amongst early church communities that they were no longer thinking of themselves as distinct congregations meeting in homes or gathering halls, but were now part of a common whole – the body of Christ, which we really see in chapters 2 and 4 of Ephesians. 

The author of Ephesians sees the church as a place of reunion and reconciliation between two groups of people: Jews and non-Jews (commonly called Gentiles).  We see this clearly in chapter 2, verse 14 of Ephesians, where the author writes, and I quote, “For [Jesus] is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us.”  In essence the author of Ephesians is saying that Christ’s physical body on the cross is the means of reconciliation between Gentiles and Jews and between both groups and God.

If the church is nothing else, it is, and must be, a place for union and reunification.  It is, and must be, the place where Democrats and Republicans, atheists and evangelicals, drunks and teetotalers, conservatives and liberals come together.  The church houses a congregation who are a group of people who under other circumstances would not likely gather together.  People who may disagree with one another, but who can nevertheless be unified through Christ to one another.  A church should be larger than anything which seeks to divide it. 

But it is not enough for us to play nice with each other in church – even if we disagree theologically or politically with one another.  Our work is to take the unity in Christ we experience in this place, and bring it into our homes and workplace.  Can you go home today and not yell at your spouse, your kids, or your dog?  Can you go to work tomorrow and be kind to the person who tests your patience the most?  That is the place to start practicing unity – showing up as the same person you are today – here in church – as you will show up tomorrow in your home and to your employer. 

Not much remains of the grand Temple of Artemis today – one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.  Just one column, artificially pieced together from broken column parts and placed to mark the temple’s former footprint.  It fell because of greed, because people wanted the treasures within it, and because people plundered its marble to fashion buildings of their own.  It fell because of disunity.  Nothing stands while disunity prevails.  AMEN. 

Sunday, December 22, 2024

4 Advent

Micah 5: 2-5a; Canticle 15; Hebrews 10: 5-10; Luke 1:39-1:45

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

If you were to open a Bible and read the beginning of 1 Samuel (quick question – how many of you all think 1 Samuel is in the New Testament?  How about the Old Testament?).  If you read the beginning of 1 Samuel which is in the (Old) Testament, you would find in chapters one and two of that book a story about a woman named Hannah.

Hannah’s story follows a common literary motif in Old Testament literature, which is the motif of a woman who is initially unable to conceive a child, but through prayer and surrender to God, becomes pregnant.  This same motif applies to the Biblical matriarchs like Sarah, Rebekah, and Rachel – all of whom you can read about in the book of (Genesis).   Didn’t any of you all go to Sunday School?   

Hannah was married to a man named Elkanah and the Lord had “closed her womb” as it is written in 1 Samuel 1:6.  After praying for a child, Hannah conceived, and gave birth to her son, Samuel.  After Samuel was weaned, Hannah brought him to the house of the Lord at Shiloh.  Shiloh was about twenty miles north-northeast of Jerusalem and was central to Israelite worship at the time. 

Hannah left Samuel in Shiloh in the Lord’s service.  This was not child abandonment, but rather Hannah’s faithful practice of dedicating her first born child to God’s service.  Samuel grew up there as a servant of the Lord, and became the last judge over Israel.  It was Samuel who anointed Saul as the first king over Israel.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

Hannah brought Samuel to Shiloh because she promised that if God permitted her to bear a child, she would dedicate him to God’s service.  And that is what happened.  When she brought Samuel to Shiloh, the Bible says she offered a song, which is recounted in 1 Samuel 2 – called the Song of Hannah. 

It is a song of thanksgiving for a divinely initiated change of fortune.  In this song, Hannah sings these words “The Lord makes poor and makes rich; he brings low, he also exalts.”  Those words may sound familiar, as they mirror another song we hear today, the song of Mary, or Magnificat, where Mary jubilantly decrees that the Lord has “brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.” 

If you were to read the song of Hannah along with today’s reading from the Gospel of Luke – the song of Mary, you would likely find that both songs hold much in common. I hope that it is interesting, or at least helpful to establish some context for all of us as we hear Mary’s song today.  Like all songs, Mary’s appears to draw inspiration from Hannah’s song, a song which predates Mary’s by some 600 – 900 years. 

I know you all are thinking two things right now: (1) what does all this have to do with the fourth Sunday of Advent, and (2) when is this sermon over?  The sermon will be over soon.  And Hannah has everything to do with Advent 4.  We are three days away from Christmas, the day in which we celebrate another rather unusual birth.  The point of Mary’s song is that the world will be fundamentally different as the result of the child to be born in Bethlehem. 

I know – your eyes might start to roll when you hear a priest say that (you may be thinking “that is what Jimmy says every year – Christmas means everything is different blah blah blah but the problem is that nothing is different.  Things are not different; they have just gotten worse.  By the way, what was it I forgot to pick up at the grocery store last night?”)  Okay, I will get out of your head now. 

Here is what I mean: Mary’s song points us toward the reality of Jesus’ birth as an act of God intruding into our world.  And when God intrudes into our world, everything changes.  But we are so good at building solid defenses against such acts by God.  We put up our spiritual, emotional, psychological barricades to prevent God from intruding into our lives because we do not want anything to change.  Even if we are miserable.  At least if we are miserable, the misery is familiar to us.  We would rather stew in our own self-manufactured misery than have to do something much harder – like change.

God intrudes into our world to change us, because we are unable to change ourselves.  That is what Mary’s (and Hannah’s) songs are about – the joy we fall into when we let God change us.  The joy we step into when we get smart enough to sit in the back seat and let God into the driver's seat.  The joy we feel when we let everything change.  AMEN.

Sunday, December 8, 2024

Advent 2 (Year C)

Baruch 5:1-9; Canticle 16 The Song of Zechariah; Philippians 1:3-11; Luke 3:1-6

The Rev. Clint Brown

[John the Baptist] was a good man and had exhorted the Jews to lead righteous lives, to practice justice toward their fellows and piety toward God, and so doing join in baptism.

 So says Josephus, the first century Jewish historian, who was a contemporary of Jesus, Paul, and the early Christian movement, and who often serves as an important nonbiblical witness to many of the things reported in the Gospels, including Jesus. But this terse sketch is misleading and doesn’t do justice at all to the outsized personality with which we have to deal today. Josephus may serve to corroborate the Biblical account, and we are glad of that, but what he leaves out, of course, are all the juicy interesting bits: the manner and circumstances of John’s birth and that he ate bugs and wore camel’s hair and that he was, to put it mildly, a pretty eccentric fellow. John the Baptist cuts a very strange figure, indeed, as he crosses the stage at this time of year, and we have need to reckon with this odd, unsettling companion to tidings of comfort and joy and cozy nativity scenes.

For all the reverence we pay him, we might start out by realizing that John the Baptist is not the type of person you would want to invite to your Christmas party. To begin with, he was an ascetic who imposed on himself a severe self-discipline, so you’d be hard-pressed to expect him to bring much (if anything) to your party. And whatever he did bring, you would probably not want to eat it. And he likely wouldn’t show up, anyway, because he clearly was not a fan of big urban areas and places with a lot of people, preferring to keep to the countryside and, particularly, the wild desert region around the Jordan. And, in terms of personality, it is fair to say that he was prickly and provocative. As a preacher, we know that he drew enormous crowds because of his unique brand of “fire and brimstone,” but whether that was because they agreed with his message or were just there for the show is an open question. (It’s likely to have been a mixture of both.) But one thing is for sure. John the Baptist was (and is) an interesting and irresistible character and there are important reasons for us to pay attention to him.

On the scant evidence available, scholars hypothesize that John was probably a priest, descended from a family of radicalized rural priests who had been pushed out of the power center at Jerusalem. As such, they were highly critical of the Jerusalem priesthood who, as far as they were concerned, were sell-outs and more preoccupied with the forms of ritual than its spirit. They would have nursed a grave concern to see Israel purified and returned to its roots. And as an outsider, reared by outsiders in this atmosphere of suspicion and grievance, it is natural for us to suppose that the young John would have grown into manhood with something of a chip on his shoulder, and this may account for his abrasiveness and zeal for reform. But be that as it may, what is most important for our story is that John is an outsider with an outsider’s way of looking at things. What his contemporaries were blind to, either because of their comfort or because of their distractedness, John was able to see clearly. And what John wanted most was to break through his contemporaries’ apathy and indifference with the shattering news that the God of Israel was not done working. The time of God’s visitation was at hand. And while everyone was busy looking one way, salvation was coming from the other, and John understood perfectly that his role was to point to that very special something that was just over the horizon.

Once we get past our initial shock about him, we can appreciate that John’s role is vital – no one else can do it – because he helps us to do two things at once: to look back and to look forward. Looking back, John reminds us, as he did his contemporaries, of the great prophetic heritage of Israel and that we, like them, are situated in the midst of a much larger story. The coming of the Christ is not a surprise, it is something announced and foretold. It is something expected and part of a grand plan. We are to recognize in the mighty acts that will soon unfold that God has a plan for history, indeed is the Lord of History, and, for those who are seeing in front of them something less than ideal – like the occupation of their homeland by Rome’s legions, say, or, for us, the continuing specter of injustice – this is an intervention worth celebrating.

And in terms of looking ahead, what John is saying is that the knowledge of God’s imminent intervention requires a response. How ought we to meet Christ as our king? And for this John gives us one word: “repent.” Admit that you are in need of rescue. Own the fact that you can’t save yourself. Give in and let go. The coming of Jesus should matter to you, and John wants to make sure you know why. I’m reminded of an observation made by C. S. Lewis. To achieve progress does not always mean moving forward. Sometimes, he said, what “progress” looks like is turning around once you’ve realized your mistake and backtracking to the crossroads where you made the wrong turn. Only then can you truly say you are moving in the right direction. That is where we are on the Second Sunday of Advent. We have a choice to make. Either we choose to barrel on as if there’s absolutely nothing happening that ought to concern us, or we stop and consider that what is coming into the world is going to change it and us forever and we have some serious preparation to do. Clearly to continue, obstinately, in the former way would amount to nothing less than pride and a kind of foolishness and, ultimately, insanity. So it turns out that the crazy guy wasn’t so crazy after all. Only a crazy person would knowingly continue walking on a road that they knew would lead them off a cliff, which means you’d be crazy not to listen to John the Baptist.

Sunday, December 1, 2024

1 Advent

Jeremiah 33: 14-16; Psalm 25: 1-9; 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13; Luke 21: 25-36

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN. 

            In my twenty years as a priest, I have preached many sermons, and I keep paper copies of most of them.  When I perused my file for the first Sunday in Advent to see what I preached on the last time we had these readings three years ago, my sermon on the first Sunday in Advent 2021 was on Psalm 25.  Since I know you all remember everything from that sermon three years ago, I did not want to be redundant and preach on the same reading this time.  So, instead, I want to talk about our reading from 1 Thessalonians. 

            First some history.  There was an ancient equivalent of I-10, the interstate freeway that runs east to west across the United States.  I-10’s ancient forerunner was called the Via Egnatia, named after the Macedonian proconsul Gnaeus Egnatius.  Like I-10, the Via Egnatia ran east west across the Balkan peninsula from Byzantium (modern day Constantinople in Turkey to the city of Apollonia on western coast of Greece on the Adriatic Sea.  Regrettably, there were no Buc-ees along the Via Egnatia, but it was an important highway that linked many cities and insured the commercial prosperity of the cities on its path, including the city of Thessalonica.  Thessalonica was the capital city of the Roman province of Macedonia, and was dedicated to following the Roman imperial cult, which was simply the practice of worshiping the Emperor as God.   The emperor at this time was a man named Claudius.

Paul arrived in Thessalonica following a bad experience in nearby Philippi (another city that is on the Via Egnatia).  Once in Thessalonica, he did what Paul does, which was to establish a church there.  Following the establishment of this church in which those attending proclaimed Jesus as Lord and God rather than the Emperor, uproar and civil discord broke out in Thessalonica.  You can read all about this in your Bibles in chapter 17 of the book of Acts. 

            Paul was forced to leave Thessalonica because of the controversy his church introduced there, which was simply elevating Christ over Claudius as the true Emperor and true king.  Paul went south to Athens, and after some time passed, he sent his co-worker Timothy back to Thessalonica to see how things were going with the church he established there.  While Timothy goes to Thessalonica, Paul goes to Corinth, and waits for Timothy there.  Timothy returns to Corinth with good news about the church in Thessalonica, but also reports that that people in that church are a bit anxious that Paul has not returned to visit them. 

            This is the context for Paul’s writing his letter to the church in Thessalonica – a letter which is called “1 Thessalonians” in your Bible.  We hear a small part of this letter today from its third chapter.  In these verses, Paul writes that he has heard Timothy’s encouraging report of the status of the church.  Our reading today is part of Paul’s response where he is writing to encourage this church as it professes love and worship of God in a city known for its loyalty to the imperial cult of emperor worship.

            Even in the beginning of church life, churches needed an encouraging word.  Not much has changed in two thousand years.  We still need to be encouraged.  I am reminded of words a Presbyterian minister and author, Frederick Buechner once said about preaching.  He said that a good sermon should comfort the afflicted.  But it should also afflict the comfortable.  We are beginning a new year of church today.  We are in Advent, which is a season that invites us into both comfort and affliction.  Marie Curie, the Nobel Laureate award winner in Physics and in Chemistry, once said, and I quote, “I was taught that the way of progress was neither swift nor easy.”  For anyone who has ever tried to lose weight, learn a new language or musical instrument, Curie’s words should resonate. 

            Progress for most of us is often slow.  So be encouraged this Advent.  Things did not move quickly during Paul’s lifetime, either.  We have so much to be grateful for, so much to be encouraged by, and so much to be patient for.  AMEN.  

Sunday, November 24, 2024

Feast of Saint Andrew the Apostle (transferred)

 Deuteronomy 30:11-14; Psalm 19:1-6; Romans 8b-18; Matthew 4:18-22

 The Rev. Clint Brown

In honor of St. Andrew, the first one called, I have decided to preach today on what I am calling the logic of mission, for, as Christians, I think we all know and understand that evangelism is an expected part of the job. It’s not enough that we care about our own ticket to heaven. Knowing what Christianity stands for, we want to be giving it away. So, this morning, let me take a few moments to demystify what is, let’s be honest, not an Episcopalian strong suit and talk a bit about mission. There is, as I see it, a rather simple logic to mission, of which there are four logical moves.

The first is to ask ourselves, in an honest way, “Do I truly believe this?” And, if the answer is yes, then it follows that some things about your life must change. If we’re sold on the gospel, if we believe that it matters, then we should act like it. We should talk different. We should move through the world different. We should think different. And our model in this is Jesus Christ. To the best of our ability, a Christian’s goal is simply to be trying to be more and more like Jesus. And the way all this ties back into mission is that to live this way intently and sincerely should – indeed, it cannot help but – be attractive to anyone sitting on the outside looking in. This, it seems to me, is the logic of mission: belief – belief that prompts change – a change that is modelled on Jesus Christ – and, finally, a change that is so recognizably Christ-like that it can’t help but be irresistible. In my view, any evangelistic effort or program or intention that does not come from a place of lived authenticity – that does not put the onus on us to live compelling and persuasive lives – slides all too easily into gimmickry and a corporate model approach to mission which I find repugnant to the spirit of the gospel.

So having made this sketch of the logic of mission, let’s take each of these moves now in turn and provide some detail. Going back to the first move, the first thing that we must settle is belief. Do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and, if so, what difference does that make? On any given Sunday, even as I look out at all of you today, I know there is a potentially vast range of postures and attitudes toward Jesus represented here: from the skeptical, guarded, and perhaps even hostile; to the middle-of-the-road, apathetic, mechanical, and perfunctory; to the fervent, expectant, and devoted. The fact is that when we open the doors of St. Andrew’s it is to all kinds of seekers and seeking. Our job is to facilitate an encounter, and our work here is meant to have relevance. It is supposed to change lives. And if the gospel is at all convincing, and I believe it is, then it will not let us go or leave us unchanged.

To be confronted with the reality of Jesus is, you see, meant to be calamitous. We are supposed to feel a bit like the ground has shifted from under our feet. We are meant to feel shaken, curious, unsettled, and convicted by the example of Jesus Christ, a life lived in such perfect and resolute obedience to God. And also moved by the entire recorded experience of God’s people handed down to us in the Bible. The message proclaimed from this pulpit and this altar every Sunday is all meant to point to one thing – the crucified and risen Son of God – and then to call us to follow, just like Andrew.

Jesus is especially to be found here – at church. The church is both a hospital and a school. It is the place to be healed and equipped. Here is where every hungry seeker is provided with food for the journey. And it matters a great deal to me, as I’m sure it does to you, that at St. Andrew’s no one is denied a seat at the table. But understand that whatever you do here is only completed by what you do out there. On the six other days of the week, do you make the Golden Rule your mantra? Do you make prayer and reading your Bible a habit? Do you seek out opportunities to give and to serve? Are you careful and honest in your self-examination and confession of sin? All of these are the marks of a mature Christian faith. All of these make your faith attractive to others.

I trust, by now, that you see my main point. When it comes to flagging attendance and a general disapproval of the church by the culture at large, we Christians need to accept more of the responsibility. The narrative is not just of a culture moving on in an increasingly secular direction and grown hostile to the gospel. It is also that we have failed to be convincing. As you have often heard me lament from this pulpit, the reason more people don’t want to come to church is that they have been disappointed by too many Christians. And so I say that there can be no effective witness for Jesus, in these difficult times, without Christians taking very seriously their responsibility to live radically altered lives following the example of Christ – deeply committed to love, deeply serious about service, deeply compassionate, deeply hopeful.

Whatever that looks like for you, I’m going to leave for you to answer for yourself, but I do challenge you to consider this: If you were hauled into court, and you were accused of being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you? The Hasidim tell the story of a disciple who said to his teacher, “Teacher, I have gone completely through the Torah. What must I do now?” And the teacher said, “Oh, my friend, the question is not, Have you gone through the Torah? The question is, Has the Torah gone through you?” I would like to think that I could plead guilty.

Sunday, November 17, 2024

Proper 28

The Rev. David Nelson

How do we put our trust in God? This is the question in today’s scripture, and this is question we continue to ask today.

Today’s gospel gives us a clue. There was an enormous complex in Jerusalem known as the Second Temple. It was an ancient marvel, perhaps somewhat like a person 2,000 years ago seeing NRG stadium. Many believed that the Temple was the dwelling place of God. The Temple symbolized God’s strength and protection. Psalm 18 declares, “The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; My God, my strength, in whom I will trust.” The disciples of Jesus are impressed with the Temple. But could they put their trust in this building?

Jesus was not impressed. This was surprising since Jesus was a devout Jew. This might be somewhat like an Episcopal Bishop today being unimpressed with the amazing National Cathedral. The suggestion that this grand Temple would become a pile of rubble must have been confusing.

Jesus was rarely impressed with the large displays of power. He preferred the little things: the mustard seed, the cup of water to the thirsty, or two small coins offered by a poor widow. The disciples were trusting in the power of the Temple, but Jesus knew better. He bluntly told them that it will be destroyed. This would indeed happen about 40 years later when the Romans crushed a Jewish revolt and destroyed the Temple. The destruction of the Temple put Judaism in a crisis. Where do we put our trust if the dwelling place of God was destroyed? Where is God our rock, when the rocks of the Temple have crumbled to the ground?

While there were many different responses in Judaism, I want to highlight two. First, the religious leaders known as the Pharisees, pointed toward to the Torah. The Torah contains the first five books of the Old Testament, and also refers to a way of life. It is important for Christians to understand that following Torah is about a relationship with God. The Pharisees trusted in the Torah, as did many others.

The followers of Jesus were Jewish. They followed the same Torah and trusted in God. This leads to a second path forward, captured in a famous passage from John’s gospel.

Here’s the context. The disciples of Jesus were afraid of going through hostile territory. Jesus assures them that they can trust him. He says in John 14:6, “I am the way, the truth, and the life, there is no other way to the Father except through me.” While many debates have ensued about religion based on these words, Jesus was not talking about religion at all. What 99% of people who quote this passage don’t realize is that Jesus is actually referencing Old Testament Scripture.

Let me explain. Jesus says, I am the way, the truth, and the life.

He didn’t just make up those three concepts. He was referencing the Scriptures, specifically the Psalms. The Psalms refer to God’s way frequently. Psalm 119 alone uses the word “way” 17 times. The Law or the Torah was called the Way. Jesus is telling these Jewish believers to follow his way, which like the Torah, is trustworthy.      

Next, Jesus said, “I am the truth...” Once again, Psalm 119 declares, “Your law is truth.” Again, the law or Torah is the way and the truth. The disciples knew they could trust Scripture. Now Jesus was saying that he is the living reality of truth.

Finally, “I am the life.” Once again, this has a scripture background. Psalm 119 includes this verse, “I hold my life in my hand continually, but I do not forget your law.” The psalms often poetically wax about how God’s law leading to life.

The psalms are clear. The Torah is the way, the truth, and the life. The disciples already believed these Psalms which proclaim the Torah as the way, the truth, and the life. Jesus wants more. Now they must put their trust into something greater—or more accurately—someone greater, Jesus. Jesus will guide them in the way, Jesus will give them the truth, and Jesus will show them life abundantly. They can trust in Jesus, and so can we.  

Where do we put our trust? We live in times where it’s hard to answer that question. Our modern world is confusing and difficult to navigate. Many can feel anxious and afraid of what will come next in our 24/7 news cycle where most of the news is bad news, while good news feels in short supply. I have never met a person who followed the news constantly and then concluded, “I trust it’s all going work out.” Jesus doesn’t promise the disciples that the world is safe. Jesus faced corrupt politicians in the Herod family and Pilate. He knew the Temple would be destroyed, and that he would pay the ultimate price for living as the way, the truth, and the life.

We will face struggles in every time and place. Jesus taught the disciples not to put their trust in temporary power, like Temples, or even earthly success. Let us put our trust into something deeper, more specifically someone deeper. Jesus brings us to the way, the truth, and the life. May we put our trust in Jesus, who can lead us in the right way, provide us with truth, and guide us more deeply into abundant life.  Amen.  

Sunday, November 10, 2024

Pentecost – Proper 27

1 Kings 17: 8-16; Psalm 146; Hebrews 9: 24-28; Mark 12: 38-44

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

So, I have bad news and I have good news.  Which do you want to hear first?  The bad news is that in this sermon I am going to talk about the election.  The good news is that I am also going to talk about stewardship!

Here is what I want to say about last week’s election, and I am going to be brief.  There are people in our congregation who are celebrating that Trump was elected president.  There are also people in our congregation who are really hurting because Trump was elected president.  And we are one community. 

And as one community, we care for each other, we love each other, we hold each other accountable, just as we hold our elected officials accountable.  In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul writes these words in chapter 12, verse 15: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another.” As I said in my article in last week’s email (which I know everyone here reads) compassion is the only way all of us move forward to a brighter future for ourselves and for our children, and we do that together.

Moving on from the election to everyone’s favorite topic – stewardship. Here again I will be brief.  Today we wrap up our six-week stewardship campaign through the act of blessing our pledges at the altar before the Eucharist.  As of this Friday, 108 pledges totaling $767,000 have been returned.  Nine of those pledges are from people who decreased their pledge from last year, twenty of those are pledges that remained the same as last year, nine of those are new pledges, and seventy are increased pledges.  Awesome!  We’re seventy-nine percent toward our pledge goal of $950,000.

If you haven’t yet returned your pledge to St. Andrew’s, you have a pledge card conveniently placed into your service order.  Fill that card out today, place it in the envelope, and drop it into the collection plate when it passes you by later on in the service.  Your pledge to St. Andrew’s is vital.  Every year our operating budget starts at zero, and it is only through the generosity of your pledge that our ministry here is possible.  St. Andrew’s is not subsidized by the Diocese of Texas.  We count on your pledge to sustain all the ministry of this parish.

Ok.  Now here is my sermon.  Today we have a reading from the Gospel of Mark in which we hear about the widow who gave two small copper coins and placed them into the charity box at the Temple.  An important, but sometimes overlooked, point of this story is that this woman was uniquely vulnerable as a widow.  In a heavily patriarchal society, to be a widow meant that you were essentially powerless. 

Jesus notices the widow and contrasts this poor, widowed, vulnerable woman with the scribes who walk around in long robes, (like I’m wearing), and who have the best seat in the temple, (like I do).  Jesus is very clear to put forward the widow as the example we all should follow, meaning that the path toward God is through vulnerability, sacrifice, and surrender – rather than self-aggrandizement. 

Here is my last point, and this is what I really hope you take away from this sermon.  Jesus identifies with the widow, not the scribes.  Why?  I think it is because the widow had something the scribes completely seemed to lack – faith.  Faith that even if she gave up two copper coins, God would provide for her, God would take care of her.  Think about that for a moment.

As God cared for the widow (I believe) so God will care for you.  But in order for God to care for you, it seems that you (and I) first need to have the hope, the faith, and the trust to allow God to do so.

With all the material possessions that you have, are you able to place your life into God’s hands the way a poor widow did two thousand years ago?   If not, then perhaps it’s time to remove your long robe, come down from your seat at the banquet, and learn – maybe for the first time – how trustworthy God is with your life.  AMEN.

Sunday, November 3, 2024

All Saints (Year B)

Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9; Psalm 24; Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44

The Rev. Clint Brown

My family was a camping family and, in a way, camping trips always look the same. Whether you’re sitting around the campfire chatting long after dark, biking or canoeing, fishing or swimming, playing badminton or horseshoes with the cousins, making s’mores, going for a hike, or just listening to the wind blow through the trees, the idea is to be out among nature with all its healthful benefits and enjoy a simpler time with people you care about. But I have to say, it was always the chance for independence afforded by this setting – the chance to go off by myself alone to walk and explore – that I most cherished.

And so it was for one of my rambles that I was first handed a compass and taught how to use it. The needle, I was told, always points north. Set a course in any direction and hold the needle fixed and you will find your way. Well, this was like offering Christopher Columbus three ships to sail the Atlantic or your teenager the keys to your car on a Friday night. A whole host of possibilities opened before me, not least of which the prospect of no longer having to stay on the trail. Excitedly and eager to try for myself this newfound power, I went off a little bolder than before. At an attractive place that looked suitable for exploration, I intrepidly turned off the road and left it behind…and it was exhilarating. But I must have gone a lot farther than I thought because, when I turned around to retrace my steps, I didn’t find the road where I expected it, and, for the first time in my life, I knew what lostness felt like. A terrible feeling crept into my stomach, and I broke into a sweat. I took out the compass. Now came the test. I had headed more or less due east, so the road must surely be somewhere up ahead if I kept going west. So I pressed on. Was I right? Did I really know where I was? Did I really know what I was doing? Was I ever going to find the road? Well, to my very great relief, I did find the road eventually and turned toward camp. And, to be honest, this was the most important part of the whole experience, because it was my time to reflect on what had happened. I had to admit that I had been really scared and not at all sure of myself…and yet the compass had worked. It did always point north. Everything that I had been told about it was true, and it had proven to be completely trustworthy. It didn’t matter one bit how worked up I had gotten, sticking to the course had guided me straight and true. And that, my friends, is the moral of this story. My little misadventure is a lot like life for a follower of Jesus. We do not lack moments when we are doubtful and unsure, even sick to our stomach for worry or lack of certainty, but, for us, the needle always points to one thing. Jesus? Yes. But, more to the point, resurrection. It is the truth that resurrection lies beyond our every misstep and ill judgement and every injustice visited upon us, that is the greater truth.

There is, in our lectionary readings for All Saints today, the unmistakable emphasis on resurrection. It’s as if to say, If we’re going to stick with Jesus, what can we expect? And the Bible is clear. Our destiny is resurrection. You’ve heard of “peace of mind”? Well, the Christian possesses the ultimate peace of mind. Jesus has conquered death. The powers of hell have been vanquished. All that is ugly and unjust and wrong in this present age has been defeated – a fait accompli. The reckoning may not come today, it may not come tomorrow, but we know the score in the end. This world will be judged, and that is a good thing because it will be judged righteously by the only one worthy to judge.

The final question of the Catechism reads: “What, then, is our assurance as Christians? Answer: Our assurance as Christians is that nothing, not even death, shall separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Whatever your current darkness may be – whatever wood you find yourself lost in – there is a compass I’d like to give you. Its needle is always pointing one way – to resurrection. And to see the possibility of resurrection in everything is what it means to live the life of a saint. Amen.

Sunday, Ocotber 6, 2024

Proper 22

Genesis 2: 18-24; Psalm 8; Hebrews 1: 1-4, 2: 5-12; Mark 10: 2 - 16

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

In the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

            There are going to be two parts to this sermon today.  The first part is on stewardship, and the second will be a brief comment on the Gospel.  So, stewardship.  Every fall, for a six-week period, St. Andrew’s raises funds for next year’s operating budget.  At our Vestry meeting last month, the Vestry heard from the treasurer and Finance Chair that this year’s fundraising goal is $950,000.  That is a seventeen percent increase over last year’s goal, which was $815,000.  Because of your generosity last year, we surpassed that goal.  I believe we will surpass our goal again this year.

            The stewardship materials which I know you all are excited to pick up today in the Oak Table Room explain, in detail, why our ask this year marks a substantial increase from last year.  And I am going to share those reasons with you, so that you also hear it directly from me.  First, two points.  1) In light of war in Israel and Ukraine, and hurricane damage on our eastern coast, asking for your financial support may appear, well tone deaf.  One hundred percent of today’s loose plate collection will go to Episcopal Relief & Development for hurricane relief.  2) Our family has already submitted our pledge, and we increased it seventeen percent.  Some of you all will be able to do the same, some less, some more.  The point is – I am not asking you all to do something I have not already done myself.  Here are the three main reasons for the increase: 

1)      Over a year and a half ago, a car on 19th street accidentally jumped the curb and drove through the wrought iron fence which surrounds a playground used by church and school children.  While school children were on the playground when the car broke through the fence,  no one was injured.  The damaged section of fence was rebuilt.  However, another car could just as easily go through it again.  That is why we have that orange water wall barrier around the fence currently, but that was never intended to be a permanent solution.  We have a design for a vehicle resistant protective fence barrier that will go around the playground on 19th street.  The church and the school will split the cost for it, and our treasurer and Finance Chair determined that the church should fund our portion of the new fence out of our operating budget this year, rather than include the expense with the other capital campaign work.  Doing so frees up dollars for other capital improvements on our property.

            2)  In 2023, we embarked upon a strategic planning process which called for innovative programs and ministries.  Last year was too early to budget for them, but as we move into 2025, we are attaching tangible costs to items this plan calls for, such as our already established Saturday Night service, Movie on the Lawn, the Celtic Festival, etc. 

            3) – We need to protect the investments we are making at St. Andrews funded by the Capital Campaign.  This includes higher insurance premiums to cover items such as our new organ.  We have maintenance plans on our new HVAC units which will extend the life of these assets, but that maintenance has a cost associated with it.  We are expecting to see increases in utility costs and insurance premiums next year.  Our Diocesan assessment – that is the money this parish pays the Diocese of Texas every year to support Diocesan ministry will increase ten percent next year to almost $57,000.   To state what is already obvious, nothing is getting cheaper.    

            That is all I want to say about stewardship, for now.  I recognize that most of what I said offered little in spiritual value, and likely came across as boring to many.  The difficult place of a Rector in a parish is that they must operate in two mindsets, simultaneously.  One of those mindsets is that the church is a business.  The other mindset, paradoxically, is that the church is not a business.  And both are true. 

            A paradox, which I define as simply two statements that seemingly contradict each other and are yet both true, really defines the life Jesus lived.  He was a provincial outsider, and was respected and despised by religious leaders at the same time.  It never seemed to bother him.  In the Gospel today, Jesus pulled outsiders around him – this time – children, and said that to be part of God’s creation, we have to set aside our analytical minds, our rational selves, and receive it with a beginner’s mind, a child’s mind.

            Last week I was on a retreat with other Episcopal clergy, and we canoed and portaged a fifty-mile loop of lakes and trails in Southern Canada.  We had ample time to converse about our parishes, our work, and the Bible.  At some point we were discussing the story of the Exodus, in which the Bible says Moses famously parted the Red Sea, enabling the Hebrews to safely pass through.  My clergy friends shared their interpretations on the story, and used science and archaeology to explain the Exodus event.  Then they asked me what I believed about it.  I told them that I believed Moses parted the Red Sea.  “Oh come on Jimmy, you don’t really believe that do you?”  “Yeah, I do.”  I have spent so many years not believing it, because I was basically trained not to believe it in seminary, but through reading the Bible again and again, I believe God set aside my need for certainty or logical explanation.  It does not matter to me if Moses really parted the Red Sea or not, because I know it is true, whether or not it actually happened. 

            We are stepping out in faith, with a really high, ambitious fundraising goal.   For many of you all, the sticker shock of a $950,000 pledge campaign seems a lot like an impassible sea we have no way of getting around.  Friends, we are not raising this money.  God is.  God is doing all of it, and I can say with great certainty, this stewardship campaign is going to go either of two ways: it is either going to go God’s way, or it is going to go God’s way.  Either way, we win. What may seem impossible or insurmountable

 to us today, looks quite different from God’s perspective.  God finds a way through, every time.  AMEN.  

Sunday, September 29, 2024

Proper 21 (Year B)

Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29; Psalm 19:7-14; James 5:13-20; Mark 9:38-50

The Rev. Clint Brown

In 2003, the author Mark Kurlansky published a book called Salt: A World History.[1] Although I have yet to read it (in fact, it’s been sitting in my Amazon cart for quite a long time), for obvious reasons it came to mind as I was preparing for today’s sermon. Its publisher’s blurb describes its subject like this:

The only rock we eat, salt has shaped civilization from the very beginning, and its story is a glittering, often surprising part of the history of humankind. A substance so valuable it served as currency, salt has influenced the establishment of trade routes and cities, provoked and financed wars, secured empires, and inspired revolutions.

Salt features, too, in numerous phrases in English which you’ll no doubt recognize.

·         “Salt of the earth” we know well, as it originates from Christ himself. These days it is understood to describe someone who is very honest, kind-hearted, and reliable. It is the very preciousness of these qualities that suggests the link to salt as an ancient commodity.

·         “To rub salt into a wound” means to make a person suffer more from something that is already bothering them. Its origin is ancient Rome, when it was thought a good practice to open any wounds on the body and clean them with salt. You can imagine how that felt!

·         To be “worth one’s salt” is to deserve your job, position, or financial income. This is because you work hard at it and are good at it on your own merits rather than owing it to relationships or special treatment. This expression again points to Rome. “Sal” in Latin means “salt,” and “salarium,” meaning “salt money,” is where our word “salary” comes from. Roman soldiers were paid a “salary,” you see, a sum of salt money, so that they could buy this precious mineral and stay physically healthy on their long treks across the empire. At times, they were even paid directly in salt. So a soldier not worth his salt was one who, literally, had his salary reduced.

·         To take something “with a grain of salt” we say when we know not to take it seriously or believe it completely, perhaps because we know (or can sense) that it may not be trustworthy or accurate or adequately reasoned.

·         An “old salt” is an aging, experienced sailor who, from his leathery skin, squinty eyes, deeply etched face, and no-nonsense handling of a boat, you know just from looking that he needs no instructions and commands your full confidence.

·         To say that someone is “salty” is to describe their anger or annoyance about something, e.g., “The clerk was very salty about me paying with a check instead of cash.” I had a friend in seminary who would advertise his saltiness on a daily basis by posting images on his door. They covered a range of saltiness from congenial, salt-free tap water to reduced sodium soy sauce to regular soy sauce to, at the very top of the scale, a picture of the Dead Sea. It was his way of saying, If any living thing dares to swim in these waters, it will surely die!

·         A “covenant of salt” you’ve perhaps never heard of before. This is an agreement or arrangement that lasts a long time. Its basis is the use of salt as a preservative. “There is a covenant of salt between the two companies that they will not compete with each other in some markets.”

·         Finally, to say that you are being sent “back to the salt mines” means that you are returning to work and that you are not too happy about it. In ancient times, the salt mines were places of dangerous, often deadly hard labor and so this work was reserved for those of the lowest ranks, such as convicts, slaves, and prisoners. The salt mines were not where you wanted to be.

These are but a sampling[2] of some of the unique ways in which salt has impressed itself into our culture, even into our language. What salt lends as an image are the key ideas of valuableness, the quality of being a preservative, and the notion of pungency, or the fact that salt, once added to a dish, gives itself unmistakably away.

If I were to take all these ideas and try to find an application for us, I think that what Jesus is getting at when he talks about salt is that the Christian life is meant to be good for something, not good for nothing. Salt must have an effect whenever it is used. That is its nature. In the same way that salt seasons a dish so that it is qualitatively different, we are to make an impact on our environment. If salt preserves, we ought to promote justice and peace. If salt is precious, so are the Christian virtues. In short, I think that God’s vision for our lives is that we be part of the solution, not the problem. We are meant to be out in the world as a force for good, flavoring it with our good works, improving it with our industry and our virtue, preserving it with our peace. “Would that all the LORD’s people were prophets!” (Numbers 11:29), cried the prophet Moses. That charge is upon each of us.

Think of the many contexts in which you move – your family, your work, your school, your clubs and organizations (your church!), your gym, your friend groups, your walking through the grocery store, your driving down the street. How can you season any or all of these contexts and make them better than you found them? Your enemy, you will find, is not your belief that this is a worthy pursuit, but your forgetfulness, your apathy. It will be to move through the world as we are so prone to do absorbed in yourself and miss the opportunities all around you to be the salt of the earth.

You ask how important this is? Well, Jesus suggested that it would be better to cut off a part of your body rather than see it cause someone to stumble. You are responsible for both your action and your inaction. So let’s be salty! Not the annoyed and always put out kind of salty, but the pleasant and helpful kind. Remember, we are meant to be part of the solution, not the problem. There are things that we can do. We are meant to flavor the dish. So go be salty.

[1] Mark Kurlansky, Salt: A World History (Penguin: New York, 2003).

[2] For more about the ones I’ve mentioned and to read about others, see the website https://eslvault.com/salt-idioms/.

Sunday, September 15, 2024

Proper 19  

Isaiah 50:4-9a, 22-28; Psalm 116: 1-8; James 3:1-12; Mark 8: 27-38

The Rev. James M.L. Grace 

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN

            If you all glanced at the Weekly Voice, which is St. Andrew’s weekly email full of parish news that comes out each Wednesday (shameless plug – you can sign up to receive it by scanning the QR code on the announcement page) you may have seen my article.  In that article I described an experience I had in seminary attending an interfaith service at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., on September 11, 2002.  If you have ever been to the National Cathedral, you know it is a large structure, and on the day of that service, there was no empty seat. It was standing room only. 

            From my seat, I watched the procession of dignitaries and clergy from all a variety of faith traditions including Buddhist, Hindu, Christian, Muslim, Jewish, etc.  These interfaith leaders all took their places near the altar within the National Cathedral.  The preacher for the service that day was The Most Reverend Desmond Tutu, who was the former Anglican Archbishop of Cape Town in South Africa.

            His sermon was, as you might imagine, perfect, impassioned, righteous. Bishop Tutu spoke of the prophet Isaiah, who wrote that one day, Yahweh, the God of Israel, would end all human conflict.  Writing in verse 4 of chapter 2 in Isaiah, the prophet says that Yahweh, the God of Israel will beat swords into plowshares, and spears into pruning hooks, and that nation shall no lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.”   It was a powerful, beautiful sermon preached by a man who had lived through conflict, who had confronted apartheid.  I do not know how else to describe his sermon but say his words had weight. 

            I left the service at the National Cathedral profoundly changed.  I had hope.  As you might expect this “pink cloud” or “honeymoon” experience of unity and optimism about peaceful existence amongst people of all nationalities and faith went away pretty quickly.  Back at my seminary, I heard classmates say awful things about the religion of Islam.  These were people studying to become priests, and when I heard what they said, I could not manage it. 

            One evening I went out to dinner, and went to use the restroom.  I passed by one of the stalls, and stopped immediately when I saw graffiti written above the toilet.  Written above the toilet was one word: “Muslims” with an arrow pointing toward the toilet bowl.  I have no idea who wrote that, but I wondered – was the guy who wrote this call himself Christian?   

            Today we hear from the author of the letter, James, who cautions us about the power our words have.  Venerable legend attributes authorship of this letter to James, the brother of Jesus.  In excerpt we have today, James writes that “the tongue is a fire, it stains the whole body, it sets on fire the cycle of nature, and is itself set on fire by hell.”  While he wrote these words over two thousand years ago, he might as well have been writing about the debate we had earlier this week between two candidates for the presidency of this country.

            It is easy to harbor prejudice against someone or a group of people – so long as we generalize – or even better – marginalize them.  Then we can really be certain of our prejudices.  All Muslims are violent terrorists.  All Christians are gun toting, pro-life advocates who support capital punishment.  All supporters of former President Trump are idiots.  Vice-President Harris is a Marxist. 

            All of these prejudices work – and thrive – as along as we never meet an educated and devout Muslim.  As long as we never encounter a Christian who is pro-choice, and marches against capital punishment and gun rights.  As long as we never encounter a Trump supporter who is well-read, kind, loving, and devoutly Episcopalian.  As long as we ignore claims from leadership within the communist party of America that finds nothing Marxist or Communist in Vice President Harris’ agenda.  Let me be clear: prejudice never survives experience.   

            Author Stephen Covey in his book The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People gives us a straightforward way to hedge against prejudice of all kinds and to harness our tongue.  He says – do not say anything about a person who is not in your presence that you would not feel comfortable saying directly to their face.  Let me say that one more time:  do not say anything about a person who is not in your presence that you would not feel comfortable saying directly to their face.    If we do that, our chances increase that we will speak with integrity and love, rather than judgment or hate.  We will beat the sword of gossip and lies into a plowshare of honesty and love.  We transform the spear of hate into a pruning hook of peace.  This, my friends, is how we change the world.  AMEN.  

Sunday, September 8, 2024

Proper 18

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

I am a nerd.  That is probably obvious to everyone here. One of the more recent nerdy-things I did was watch every Star Wars film, animated series, and live action series in chronological order.  According to the internet that constitutes roughly 160 hours of viewing time – about 6 and a half days.  Like I said, I am a nerd!

The entire Star Wars series ends (at least currently) with the film Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker.  This film begins, as most Star Wars films do, with the yellow text three paragraph prologue to the film, which crawls from the front of the screen and fades to the back.  The Rise of Skywalker’s prologue is rather odd as it begins with this line: “The dead speak!  The galaxy has heard a mysterious broadcast, a threat of revenge in the sinister voice of the late Emperor Palpatine.”  For nerdy Star Wars fans like me, this line was weird, since there was no mention of the Emperor or his potential return in the previous film, Episode VIII.  It seemed forced, rushed, and at best, a lazy narrative addition for a film series not sure which direction it was heading.  Disney executives received some rather harsh criticism over this abrupt change in plot for the film, and hurriedly threw together what was in their minds a logical explanation, which was this: if you played the open world shooter game Fortnite, at the end of one of the levels you would hear a message from the Emperor who basically said, “I’m back, baby!”  Logical, right?  Relying on a video game to reveal a major plot development point in a billion-dollar entertainment franchise. 

I am about to do kind of the same thing with this sermon.

This sermon actually begins with the article I wrote in last week’s Weekly Voice.  An honest show of hands – how many people did not read my article in last week’s Weekly Voice?   How many people have no idea what the Weekly Voice is?  So in that article, I wrote about the book of Ezekiel, which is a book in the Hebrew Bible in which the prophet has the unfortunate role of sharing some unbelievably shocking news, namely that destruction is heading towards Jerusalem and it is unavoidable. Not great news, right?  Ezekiel was right - destruction came under the name of Nebuchadnezzar, the king of Babylon, whose army destroyed Jerusalem and its holy temple in the year 587 BCE. 

The destruction of Jerusalem, by the way, is a major plot point of the Bible.  It is revisited time and time again in multiple books of history and in prophets.  It is not relegated to some cryptic message you get after winning a video game.  It is at the very heart of the Bible.  Areas surrounding Jerusalem celebrated the city’s destruction, because Jerusalem had become even more corrupt than its neighbors.  One of those neighbors was the city-state Tyre to the north, on the Mediterranean coast.  Tyre rejoiced and delighted in Jerusalem’s destruction, because inhabitants of Tyre viewed Jerusalem as a commercial competitor.   In their mind, Jerusalem’s destruction would only enrich Tyre and its surroundings. 

After laying waste to Jerusalem, Nebuchadnezzar moves his army north to – guess where – Tyre.  For the next thirteen years, Nebuchadnezzar’s army laid siege to Tyre.  Even after thirteen years, the Babylonians are unable to take it.  Tyre, unlike Jerusalem, was able to resist the instrument of God’s punishment – Nebuchadnezzar.  It is for this reason (and likely others) that places like Tyre were despised by Jewish people in Jerusalem – including, much later, Jesus. 

In the reading form Mark’s Gospel, Jesus visits this same city – Tyre – the city Nebuchadnezzar failed to capture.  And once in Tyre, Jesus is approached by a woman whose daughter is sick.  The Bible says her daughter had an unclean spirit within her.  In your sophisticated twenty-first mind, you might laugh, rebuff, or feel embarrassed by the mention of an unclean spirit.  If you are put off by the language, consider a substitute.  Instead of “unclean spirit” think depression, schizophrenia, obsessive-compulsive disorder, agoraphobia.  Whatever it was this woman’s daughter had, she was desperate to help her daughter. 

If you have ever lived through one of your children struggling, you understand this woman’s tenacity.  Jesus knows this woman is an outsider.  She is not Jewish.  She lives in the wrong place – Tyre.  He is not meant to help her, he believes.  And he says as much, telling her that he has come only to help people just like him – people who were Jewish, not backwoods gentiles like her.  In distressing form, Jesus calls the woman a dog.  And her response to him could not have been any more brilliant.  She says “yes, but even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”  If this was ever a “mic drop” moment in the Bible – this one qualifies. 

I believe that woman ministered to Jesus – she helped him wake up and discover that he was called to help all people – not just Jews like him, but even people from places like Tyre.  Tyre – that city the prophet Ezekiel dedicates not one, not two, but three full chapters to God’s pronouncement of judgment upon.  The city God seems to have written off, the city from which no good can possibly come, is the very place Jesus awakens to his full mission.  Like Jesus in Tyre, we all are not fully awake to reality around us.  The places in your life – like Tyre – where you least expect to find transcendence – are exactly where you need to be going.  AMEN.

Sunday, September 1, 2024

Proper 17 (Year B) - Baptisms

The Rev. Clint Brown

Early in the second century, the Roman governor of Bithynia, known to history as Pliny the Younger, wrote to the Emperor Trajan about some of his administrative problems. He had the usual troubles: workers’ strikes, scandals, disaffection, and the irritating and persistent specter of religious unrest. The temples, he reported, were becoming more and more deserted, many services had been discontinued, and the trade in the buying and selling of animals for sacrifice for the health and well-being of the emperor had dropped off. It was all the fault, he said, of some troublemakers his informants called Christians. They were secretive, which meant they were clearly up to no good, and which also meant they were almost certainly disloyal to the emperor. So Pliny had a number of these Christians rounded up and brought before him for examination. But, as it turned out, there was really very little evidence to pin on them for any criminal activities. They were zealots and cranks, perhaps, a bit obstinate and inflexible, but, on the whole, more of a nuisance than a threat.

During the course of his examination, Pliny found out something of the practices of these early Christians, what they did when they came together. They were accustomed, he learned, to meet on a fixed day of the week very early in the morning to sing hymns to Christ “as to a god,” and to bind themselves by a solemn oath, not to some nefarious crime or seditious subterfuge, but simply to keep the moral law. At the end of their gatherings, they partook of a common meal and then went home. Naturally, all this left the governor rather more confused than how he started, but, for us, we recognize something quite familiar, what appears to be a proto-version of what we now call a Communion service, and, as I speak, there are millions of Christians just like us engaged in just such a service right now. 1 And so it has been for centuries without fail – Sunday after Sunday, year after year – in catacombs and houses, great cathedrals and village churches, during war and peace, famine or abundance, persecution or comity; wherever two or three have been able to gather, we have never stopped coming together to remember.

“[Take] care and watch yourselves closely, so as neither to forget the things that your eyes have seen nor to let them slip from your mind all the days of your life; make them known to your children and your children’s children” (Deuteronomy 4:9). Thus says the prophet Moses. History is an important value in our tradition. Our faith does not rest on a set of principles like some other religions or secular institutions, but on a relationship – with a person – a person of historical fact – what he did, who he was, why it matters. Our job then is to continuously make present that past, continuously holding up before us the reality that God became flesh and dwelt among us, in time, as a part of history. That we insist on reading the Bible connects us to that past. That our bishops are ordained in the apostolic succession connects us to that past. Our recital of creeds and ancient songs connects us to that past. Indeed, the forms of the prayers and even some of the very words we speak today in this service are traceable to the very earliest documents that record such things. Yes, we Christians are very interested in remembering and maintaining continuity with our past, and so it is that, today, we carry forward that work by baptizing two new members into the Body of Christ.

1 All of the above is a paraphrase of C. H. Dodd, The Founder of Christianity (London: Collins, 1971), 3-4.

In a scene from the Gospel of John, we see, in a condensed way, how it has been for us from the very beginning.

…among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus (John 12:20-22).

Our story is the story of one person who tells another person who tells another. For every Christian there has been some Philip, some Andrew, who has made the introduction; someone who has stood as an intermediary between the claim that Christ has on our life, on every life, and our finally coming to see and know him as Lord for ourselves. For a lot of us that looked like today. Our parents were Christians who decided that the Christian way would be our way. For others of us we have taken a more circuitous path, coming to Christ on our own volition and deciding that this is what we want to be. But all of us have had our Philip or our Andrew, and all of us are a Philip or Andrew for someone else. People are watching. They are deciding whether to be a follower of Christ based on you. How would you rate yourself? Is it a little bit obvious that you are a Christian? A lot obvious? Or is this perhaps the first time you have evenconsidered the question?

So there are actually two things happening today. The first, of course, is that there are baptisms. We are making new Christians today. But the second is that we are being reminded that the purpose and promise of our baptisms is never done – never ended. We all have things to do. We are remembering. We are transmitting. We are looking back. We are moving ahead. The Church represents a continuity – and the Church goes on.

Sunday, August 25, 2024

Proper 16 Year B - Episcopal School Sunday

John 6:67-68

Jamie Martin-Currie, Head of School

Today’s Gospel got me thinking about how people make decisions. Various sources suggest that the average adult makes 30 thousand daily decisions, including what we will eat, what we will wear, what we will say, and how we’ll say it. Most of these happen automatically and simultaneously.

People go through various processes to make life decisions. Some people filter big decisions through their values. Some people make life decisions using processes influenced mainly by emotions, biases, reason, and memories. I appreciate the collaborative way Episcopal entities make decisions, even though consensus-seeking is almost always excruciatingly slow.

In John’s Gospel, when the people in the temple choose to turn away from Jesus after he tells them he is the bread of life, it doesn't seem they used any process or procedures. They did not gather any facts or think about the consequences but simply decided on the spur of the moment. Nope, I don't get that Bread of Life metaphor. I am out of here.

But, when the twelve disciples were asked if they would also leave Jesus, Peter said, “Who else would we follow? You have the words of eternal life. We believe and know that you are the Holy One of God." The disciples had answered the call to follow Jesus, and they were not about to turn back now. It seems they had actually considered the long-term outcome of that decision.

Every new school year, children and their parents face many decisions. Which after-school activities do we enroll our children in—piano, soccer, or ballet? Which softball league do we join? What if your children’s school friends play soccer on Sunday mornings, and they want to join them. 

The difficult decision in this scenario is weighing the benefits of church vs. sports. I wonder if parents systematically decide the outcome of these decisions or bother to filter them through their values.

Is it easy to bring your children to church on Sunday? No. Following God can be kind of difficult. Many people have already given up on it. Some parents will start with excellent intentions to stick with being a family who attends church on Sundays. Then, as the school year continues, they may fizzle out. A parent here recently told me their teenager was too busy for Sunday PM youth group. Are your teenagers choosing TikTok and YouTube over Youth Group? If so, how do you think they made that decision?

My parents chose golf over the church when we moved from Meyerland to Sugar Land, which naturally affected my adolescent choices and the friends I made at a new school. Only two other kids were in my confirmation class at the tiny Episcopal church near our new home. I missed our church's Sunday night youth group, but Mom and Dad were too tired after 18 holes of golf to drive me into town. I kept wondering about my St. Mark’s, Bellaire youth group friends. They were different from the new friends I made in Sugar Creek, but I didn’t know their phone numbers or how to contact them. Who would even take me to see them? And if anyone ever reached out from St. Mark’s, I would have never known.

My father’s dream was to live on the golf course, and I got that. But I didn't understand why Mom and I didn't go to church anymore. When I asked my mom, she answered, “Jamie, I’m really more spiritual than religious.” I  thought, seriously? Organized religion is in your DNA! Your parents were married at Christ Church Cathedral, the cross on top of Palmer is in honor of your father’s years on the vestry, you and dad eloped at St. Marks’, Bay City, and you were my Sunday School teacher growing up until we moved here. 

You can guess what happened next: I left the church. Until my late 20s, when I felt I was missing something, I finally wandered into a significant urban Episcopal Evensong service, opened the prayer book, smelled the brown-edged vintage pages, heard the choir sing, and wept.

Soon, I began working there. I have served the Episcopal denomination ever since. All of my BFFs work for the Episcopal Church, where I found my Christian friends.

Hopefully, you have found your Christian friends right here. These relationships can be like no other.

What I love about this parish is that it’s intimate enough that the children and youth have many spiritual aunts and uncles in these pews who know their names. My prayer is that you keep in touch with these young people as they venture out into the world so that they are never far from this Episcopal foundation St. Andrew’s staff has provided. Amen