October 18, 2020

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Proper 24

Isaiah 45: 1-7; Psalm 96: 1-13; 1 Thessalonians 1: 1-10; Matthew 22: 15 - 22

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

Let nothing disturb you

Let nothing upset you

Everything changes

God alone is unchanging

With patience all things are possible

Whoever has God lacks nothing

God alone is enough.  

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

            Between a rock and a hard place is where Jesus finds himself this morning.  Confronted by the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Herodians, three groups pining for Jesus’ attention, coming to him with a question with seemingly no right answer: “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not?” 

            If Jesus were to answer you should not pay taxes to the emperor, he would be arrested by the Roman authorities for sedition.  If he were to answer that you should pay taxes, he would lose all credibility since Roman tax dollars went to the construction of pagan temples and support of the Roman military.  There is no right answer for this question.  It is a no-win scenario for him. 

            That is until Jesus answers the question, replying “give to the emperor what belongs to the emperor, and give to God what belongs to God.”  It is a simple answer, and it is the right answer.  The people heard the answer, and they were amazed.  As they should have been.

            Jesus navigates what could have been a very difficult situation with ease and grace.  He is not concerned about what anyone - not the Pharisees, the Sadducees, or the Herodians – think of him.  Jesus knows that the Emperor does not have any real authority, he is a “straw man”, a symbol.  Jesus knows that the only one with any authority is God, period. 

            Because Jesus knows this, he is free to answer truthfully, declining the invitation to an argument.  And in doing so, everyone was amazed.  I imagine at that moment it must have been so obvious to everyone present that it was Jesus, not the Emperor, not anyone else, who truly spoke with authority.

            You know it must be stewardship season when readings like this reading from Matthew appear.  It is certainly not coincidental.  By now stewardship materials have likely arrived in your mailbox at home.  I hope you take time to carefully read through them.  A lot of work went into creating this year’s stewardship campaign.  I have one simple stewardship message, and it is this: every pledge to St. Andrew’s matters.  The amount you choose to pledge – that is between you and God.  Every pledge matters.  The truth of stewardship is very simple: if you want to keep what you have, you must be willing to give it away.  Give to God what belongs to God.  AMEN.

September 20, 2020

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Proper 20

Jonah 3:10 – 4:11; Psalm 145: 1-8; Matthew 20: 1 - 16

The Rev. James M. L. Grace


Let nothing disturb you

Let nothing upset you

Everything changes

God alone is unchanging

With patience all things are possible

Whoever has God lacks nothing

God alone is enough.  

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

            To Jonah’s great disappointment and frustration, God forgives and shows mercy toward the people of Nineveh.   Nineveh (modern day Mosul, Iraq) was a city where very few, if any, Jewish or Hebrew people lived.  The source of Jonah’s frustration comes from God showing mercy to gentiles (non-Jews) living in Nineveh.  This was very problematic for Jonah because God did not demonstrate that same kind of mercy to the Jewish people in Israel, whose cities were attacked by people from the region of Nineveh.  God did not intervene.  God did not show up.  Jonah is angry.  God responded to Jonah’s anger not with appeasement, or pandering, but with a question.  God asked, “Should I not be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from their left?

            In other words, God told Jonah “Who are you to judge who is right or wrong?  Who are you to judge who should receive mercy and who should not?”  It was, and still is, a provocative question, a question not intended only for Jonah, but also for us.  Today, in a climate fueled by political divisiveness, many of us feel righteous in our condemnation of those whose political opinions are contrary to our own.  Whatever our political affiliation may be, all of us are guilty of pointing the finger and judging a person supporting the opposing party.  The problem with that is two-fold: (1) that person whom we are pointing the finger at is a child of God, loved by God as much as God loves you.  (2) When you point a finger in judgment toward another, there are three fingers pointing back at you. 

            I keep a sign taped onto my bathroom mirror that which says: “You are looking at the problem.”  The problem is not the other person’s political views which are different than my own.  The problem is my delusion in thinking that I am right.  One of the best things you can say in an argument with a person with whom you disagree are these words: “maybe you are right.” 

            God challenged Jonah to see things in a different way – to see how maybe the people of Nineveh were not so bad, maybe they did deserve mercy, and maybe Israel did not.  None of this was easy for Jonah, and none of it is easy for us either.  It is easier for us to live our lives thinking we are right, thinking that our views are the correct ones, thinking that we know our right hand from our left.  Many choose to live their lives this way, tragically. 

            As we draw nearer to a presidential election, maybe all of us could use the weeks ahead to show mercy the other side, and to not judge.  Maybe we could use this time to be producers of harmony, rather than of confusion.  To realize maybe we are not right, and that is okay.  That is a hard lesson to learn.  It is hard because to say we do not know or to admit we are wrong because it means our egos must get small.  And that can be hard for many of us.

            The truth is, however, the smaller our egos get, the more connected to God we become.    We do not know what happened to Jonah.  We are not sure how the story ends.  Maybe Jonah lived out the rest of his life mad at a God who would show mercy to his enemy while punishing his own people.  Or maybe Jonah learned to see a wider perspective - because he learned how much he did not know.  AMEN.

September 13, 2020

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Proper 19

Genesis 50: 15-21; Psalm 103; Matthew 18: 21- 35

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

            Forgiveness.  That is what all our readings have in common today.  Forgiveness.  Specifically, the forgiveness of God. 

            In the reading from Genesis this morning, we hear part of what might be a familiar story to you about one of the great patriarchs of the Jewish faith, a man named Joseph, who was beaten by his jealous brothers and pushed into the bottom of a well by them.  Fast forward a few years, and those same brothers, who did Joseph such harm, now find themselves in the awkward position of petitioning Joseph, whom they do not recognize, for assistance.  Once Joseph reveals his identity to his brothers, they rightfully are afraid of retribution, punishment, or that Joseph will justifiably open up a can of you-know-what on them.  He does not. 

            Instead he says them: “Do not be afraid!  Am I in the place of God?  Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good . . . so have no fear, I myself will provide for you and your little ones.”   Joseph forgives his brothers who treated him so unfairly.  We should go and do likewise.  End of sermon.  Not really. 

            Joseph is a model of forgiveness, sure, but how many of us, when we are wronged, find it so easy to forgive?  That is the problem, isn’t it?  Most of us are not like Joseph.  Most of us do not forgive so easily.  Why?

            There are of course many reasons, but most of them boil down to this: we hold onto our resentments of others because of how they unfairly treated us.  Why do we this to ourselves?  Why do we hold onto our resentments toward others?  I might be able to offer two answers – the first is that maybe the reason we do so is because then we can use our resentments to justify whatever emotions we are feeling: jealousy, anger, envy.  If you hold onto the resentment, if you refuse to forgive, then you can engage all those emotions as you want.  You can be as angry, jealous, self-righteous, or envious as you want to be.

            Perhaps another reason why we hold onto our resentments of others and delay forgiveness is because we find ourselves attracted to the role of being a victim.  “Poor mistreated me; I don’t get any respect.  No one appreciates everything I do.”  I know some people who are really good victims.  They seem to relish it.  The only problem is, no one relishes being around them, including me. 

            The model Joseph sets before us – forgiving at all costs – is nearly perfect, but not quite.  There is one thing missing, and it is the necessary foundation of all forgiveness.  God.  Often, we choose not to forgive because we just do not have the power to.  The injury was too much, the offense too great, the pain too hurtful.  We cannot forgive.  If that describes you, then yes you might not be able to forgive.  But God can.  God can forgive what you are unable to if you allow it.  God will not force the forgiveness.  You must allow God to let happen.  Do so through prayer.

            Forgiveness is the key that unlocks the prison cell many of us find ourselves wasting away in.  Right now, there is someone in your life you need to forgive.  And you probably will not, until the pain of the resentment you have against that person is so heavy your soul can bear it no more.  Ask God to partner with you.  Invite God in, let God forgive what you cannot.  Your life will never be the same.  AMEN.

August 30, 2020

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Proper 17

Jeremiah 15:15-21; Psalm 26:1-8; Matthew 16:21-28

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

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God, please help us to set aside everything we think we know about ourselves, our challenges, our faith, and especially You; so we would have an open mind and a new experience of all these things.  Please let us see your truth.  AMEN.  

            Years ago, when I was in seminary I worked as a chaplain at Johns Hopkins hospital in Baltimore, Maryland.  I was part of a group of other seminary students from across the country who gathered there to learn about ministry in a clinical setting.  Each student was assigned a different part of the hospital to work in – one of my assignments was the level one trauma emergency room.  As a hospital located centrally in urban Baltimore, I saw a lot of activity in the ER at Johns Hopkins.  Gunshot wounds, knife stabbings, traumatic amputations, heroin overdoses.  As a chaplain, my role was to enter these crisis situations and attempt to provide some amount of pastoral comfort, some assurance of God’s presence during chaos. 

            There was nothing I read in seminary that prepared me for this.  There was no class that outlined for me how I was to minister to people in trauma.  But I did it, anyway.  Not perfectly, but as best as I could.  The was the point of the chaplain residency – to learn to minister on your feet – to throw you into the deep end to see if you could swim.  It was hard.  Day after day of trauma, death, pain, suffering, took its toll on me.  For the first time, as a hospital chaplain, I began to understand the gravity of my future vocation.

            Two thousand years ago somewhere in the desert outside Caesarea Philippi, another group of people found themselves in a similar predicament.  They were the disciples, that inside group of Jesus’ followers who knew him well and saw him do extraordinary things.  But like me in the hospital, the disciples did not recognize the weight of their calling until Jesus shares with them what it means.  Jesus says to them that his fate would lead him to Jerusalem where he suffers before the political and religious authorities before facing execution.

            Let us just say that the disciples were not excited to hear this news.  One of them, Peter, found this news very disappointing.  He was expecting Jesus to be person who would lead Israel to rise against the Roman Empire, who claimed Israel at the time.  Israel wanted independence, freedom from Rome, and Peter thought Jesus was the person who would lead Israel down this path.  Imagine Peter’s disappointment when he hears Jesus say that he is to undergo great suffering and to be executed.  Peter speaks out saying “God forbid this, Lord!  This must never happen to you!” 

            Peter spoke out as he did because he probably loved Jesus and did not want something terrible to happen to him.  But Jesus condemns Peter’s words, saying “Get behind me Satan, you are a stumbling block to me for you are setting your mind not on divine things, but on human things.”  These words are Jesus’ way of saying to the disciples that if they are serious about following him – if they are ready to grow up – then they need to understand three things: they must deny themselves, they must take up their cross, and they must follow.  It is at this moment, I believe, when Peter and the disciples start to feel the weight of their calling.   Before this moment, they were still in the classroom, now things get real.  The stakes are high.  And those three things: deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow are instructions for us today.

            But what did Jesus mean when he said that we are to deny ourselves?  What was he talking about?  What are we supposed to deny ourselves of – things? Possessions?  Just giving up things will not make us Christian; it just means that we have fewer things.  To deny yourself, I believe, means that we quiet ourselves, quiet our ego, quiet the part of our mind that is saying “More this! More that! Better job!  A more attractive spouse!  A faster car!  A bigger house!” To deny ourselves means we turn the volume down on that voice so that we can hear God’s voice, the true voice. 

            When Jesus says that we are to take up our cross, I believe he means that the spiritual life involves work.  It is not easy or comfortable.  But spiritual wakefulness does not come from doing things that are easy or comfortable.  Spiritual wakefulness comes from pushing ourselves.  Think about when you must have physical therapy after a surgery or injury.  You are not going to get better unless you push yourself in a way that often hurts.  The pain you endure in physical therapy is the price you pay for healing.

            The same is true with our spiritual lives.  The spiritual life involves sacrifice, but not sacrifice as we might think – like giving something up.  The word sacrifice literally means “to make something sacred.”  So, when we take up our cross, we are taking up a new kind of life, a life that is sacred.  Seen this way, “our cross to bear,” whatever it may be, is no longer burdensome, our cross to bear is a gift, a holy gift. 

            When Jesus told his disciples to follow him, he wanted them to understand that following him would have a cost.  And the cost was not one that could be explained in advance.  The only way to understand the cost of discipleship was for the disciples to follow Jesus unto the end.  It is just as true for us.  Deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow.  A journey of a lifetime begins with one step.  Take yours today.  AMEN.    

August 16, 2020

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Proper 15

Isaiah 56: 1-8; Psalm 67; Matthew 15: 10-28

The Rev. James M. L. Grace


God, please help us to set aside everything we think we know about ourselves, our challenges, our faith, and especially You; so we would have an open mind and a new experience of all these things.  Please let us see your truth.  AMEN.  In the Name of God, AMEN.

            Good morning St. Andrew’s.  It is great to be back with you, after time away on vacation.  I have had a lot of conversations with many of you this last week and one of the things that struck me from a recent conversation I had with a parishioner who said something to the effect of “as the weeks pass by, and we are not at church, the more disconnected I feel.” 

            I was so glad this person shared that with me.  Because it is true.  As the weeks go by (and we are now on week 22 of doing services this way) it is easy to feel disconnected from this place.  I think many of us feel it.  I feel it.  It is also true that even though we are doing services online, they do not necessarily feel real to me, and maybe to you.  None of you all are physically here.  The church is the people, and when people cannot gather, it does not quite feel like church to me.  I do not get to physically see you all.  You all do not get to physically see each other.  And that is hard because it is important to be seen, to be acknowledged, to know that you belong.    

            And so it is confusing when we do not or cannot see our church family in person.  But the spiritual journey is not about certainty of sight.  The spiritual journey is not about reliance on physical vision.  The person who trusts in God with their heart and mind no longer relies on eyesight, because they have found a more powerful way to see –through the eyes of faith.   And so, this morning I wish to speak, briefly, on something none of us see. 

There is a word this morning, from one of our readings, that none of us see, because it is not printed in today’s bulletin.  The word is from today’s psalm, and if you were to look at Psalm 67 the Bible – you would find this word, which follows after the first and fourth verses.  It is a Hebrew word, and the word is selah (see’-la).  The word selah occurs seventy-four times in the bible, mostly at the end of verses in the psalms.

            The difficulty with the word selah is that we are not sure what it means.  There are a lot of ideas.  Selah could be derived from another Hebrew word “salal” which means “lift up,” in which case it could be an instruction to lift up the voice or to play an instrument louder at this point in the psalm.  Selah could also mean “pause” akin to a rest in musical notation.  Or the word selah might mark an affirmation of something said or sung – much like when we say the word “amen” at the end of a prayer, which means “may it be so.”   

            Why spend all this time speculating about a word not even printed in our bulletin?  What a waste of time right?  You’re thinking, “why did I log on to my computer to hear this?  He should be preaching about more important things like the pandemic, the upcoming election, the stress, and pain all of us are feeling right now, the loneliness, the isolation, the irritation.  What is the use in talking about a word no one sees, no one understands, and few, if any care about?”

            This mirrors exactly a frequent conversation I have with God.  I come to God with my agenda, my problems, and my timetable for how I want God to fix everything my way.  And I even help God out, telling God the steps to take and when top take them in order that things can go my way.  And God listens, patiently, and says “well that’s interesting, Jimmy.  Have you seen this little word, selah?”  And I say back to God, a bit annoyed “what are talking about?  Are you asleep or even paying attention?  Can’t you see everything that is wrong with the world, how much pain there is?”  And as if not hearing anything that I have just said, God replies “what do you think selah means?”  And I stare, dumbfounded, unable to continue speaking, silenced by a power greater than me and my agenda. 

            And then I finally see.  Selah means pause.  Wait.  Rest.  Have patience, trust God.  When we stop – when we rest – when we wait upon the Lord, we see how tiny our role is in all this.  When we stop, when we wait, we remember that our true place is to trust God amid the chaos we find ourselves in.  Selah.  Wait.  More will be revealed if we learn to see in a new way.  AMEN.

July 19, 2020

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Proper 11

Romans 8:12-25, Matthew 13:24-30,36-43

The Rev. Bradley Varnell

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Paul reminds us, in Romans 8, that we are “Children of God,” we are people who have received a “spirit of adoption,” becoming “heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ.”  Where before we lived in sin and rebellion against God, as “enemies” in Paul’s words, turned away from God, and towards our own selfish ends both as individuals and a species, because of Jesus Christ we are invited into a new relationship.

The Spirit of God, given to us by Jesus, brings us into Jesus’ own relationship with God. You and I stand, as it were, in the same space as Jesus. We are part of the Body of Christ, this is more than just a nice church metaphor, it’s the truth that you and I are part of Jesus Christ and if we are part of Jesus Christ, we share in Jesus’ very life, a life of sonship before the father. Because we stand in the same place as Jesus, we are invited to know God as Jesus knows God. Jesus knows God not as some distant deity, not as the solution to a problem, or some “First Principle” or “First Cause,” but as his Father.

 “Father” language has been rightly critiqued over the last few decades, with many pointing out how an over-reliance on masculine images for God can give the impression that men are somehow closer to God than women, it risks elevating men to the level of Godhood. Yet, those critiques notwithstanding, in Scripture, including our text today, to call God “Father,” is to use the language of Jesus’ own relationship with God, language that he shared with us. When Jesus teaches his disciples to pray, he tells them to pray to “Our Father in heaven,” because Jesus is inviting his disciples – including us today – to know God as Jesus knows God. Now, for some of us Father language may be hard, that’s ok – Mother is as biblical and appropriate a word to use for God as Father. What matters is less the name, and more the reality, the relationship we’re naming. We have been adopted by God. God is no longer some unknowable mystery, some cosmic other lurking out there, God is, instead, a parent. A parent who loves us, who desires us, who wants to know us, who has chosen us and wishes to give us every good thing God possibly can.

Paul says we are “join heirs with Christ,” what Christ has been given is ours as well. We look at the story of Christ and what we find is a man who was filled to overflowing with the love of God. A man who healed and taught, who cast out demons and gathered friends around him. A man who comforted the excluded and challenged the comfortable. A man who went to the greatest depths imaginable to show to others that God’s love has no limit, that the power of sin and death are no match for the love that moves the stars and planets. What we see is a man whose life was lived in God and through whom God brought his reign to bear on earth. That is our inheritance. That is the great gift we have been given: to know we are loved by God and to share that love with others in the most ordinary and extraordinary ways.

But we cannot act like Jesus, we cannot live like Jesus, we cannot be transformed into the image of Christ, if we don’t first learn to live as children of God, to accept God’s love for us, to know it in our depths, to let it sink into our bones. Too much harm happens when people want to be Jesus but don’t first have the transforming experience of knowing that they are loved like Jesus is loved. The Father loves the Son, and because of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, we are made a part of that love.

Too often though, I think we ignore this gift. We have this amazing inheritance before us, this promise, and we act like lottery winners who take the winning ticket and bury it in the backyard. We don’t allow the gift, the surprise, to transform us. We leave the inheritance that is ours as children of God untouched, unclaimed.

Paul, in his letter to the church at Corinth wrote: If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Y’all this whole Christian thing we’re doing, is about love. Not mushy, sentimental love. But the kind of love that we see in Jesus Christ: love that doesn’t quit, that doesn’t run out. It’s the love that made stars and galaxies, ladybugs and butterflies, you and me. Being a Christian isn’t about memorizing the Bible backwards and forwards, it’s not about having impeccable theology, it’s not even about being a “good” person. Being a Christian is about knowing that we are children of God, loved more than we could ever know, and letting that knowledge transform us and transform the world.

Friends, we have been blessed with a spirit of adoption. We are children of God! Let’s claim the blessing, let’s open the gift. We have nothing to lose, but everything to gain. Amen.

July 12, 2020

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Proper 10

Isaiah 55: 10-13; Psalm 65: 1-14; Matthew 13: 1-9, 18-23

The Rev. James M. L. Grace


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

We reap what you sow. If we are to learn anything through a pandemic-drenched summer, it might be that we are reaping what we have sown.  What have we sown for these last four months?  As a society I believe, we have sown or scattered an over-abundance of fear, self-doubt, anxiety, judgment, frustration, and anger into the ground.  And if we get on social media and try to convince others who have views that conflict with ours, our self-righteousness becomes kind of becomes like Miracle Grow (you know the chemical that some people spray on their yards to make their grass grow) and we spray our judgment all over the fear, self-doubt, anxiety, and all that other garbage we have sown. 

And then we act surprised about how ugly everything seems to be, as we are blinded to our complicity in creating it.  We reap what we sow.  As we draw closer to a presidential election it seems we grow more polarized with each passing day.  We are ever quick to judge, justify, rationalize, and defend our behavior because we feel we are in the right.  Take this mask, for example.  This mask has now become politicized. It joins a lot of other items that have been coopted to prove a political point including, guns, the Bible, cars, baseball, donkeys, elephants, and yes, even toilet paper. 

What must we have sown across our country to be reaping a harvest of divisiveness and intolerance?  There is no easy answer to that question – it is irresponsible to place blame on a single person, political party, or religious denomination.  As much as we prefer to deny it, the blame lies at our own feet.  The hard work has really just begun for each of us to look inwardly and examine ourselves to see how in our actions and our behavior we have cavalierly sown fear, doubt, despair, or anger.  I have.    

So, think about what you are sowing.  Are you scattering seeds of sorrow, or hope?  Are you planting trees of resentment or peace?   In the Gospel today we hear the story of a person who sows a lot of seed that lands in a lot of different areas.  Some of the seed falls on good land, some falls on rocky soil, some if it is trampled underfoot, and some of it eaten by the birds.  What are we to learn from this story?  One thing we learn is to not be like that person and throw our stuff everywhere.  That is wasteful and reckless.  It is bad enough if it is good things you are throwing around with reckless abandon, it is far worse if your anger and fear becomes like a firehose that you recklessly spray everywhere. 

What God has given you is precious.  Share it.  But share it wisely.  Sow it out into the world responsibly.  May trees of joy and courage sprout out of the soft earth, because you planted them in the right place. May you reap a harvest of joy, hope, and patience – a bountiful harvest, well-deserved, because of your careful planting.  AMEN.

July 5, 2020

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Proper 9

Zechariah 9:9-12; Psalm 145: 8-15; Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11: 16-19, 25-30

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

 

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

I had a conversation last week with a parishioner and we were talking about this challenging time we all find ourselves in.  This person revealed to me a sense of fatigue they were feeling.  And the fatigue this person felt came not from an abundance of physical exertion, but it was more a heavy fatigue of uncertainty.  Of not knowing when it will all end, and what “going back to normal” will look like, if it ever comes.  I empathize with this psychological fatigue, and this heaviness. 

A clergy colleague and friend who lives and works in Nebraska confessed this same weighty fatigue to me in a conversation last week.  I feel it myself.  There are days where I feel so tired, and all I have done all day is sit at a computer.  Then there other days where I have been active, and feel like because I exerted myself, I should be tired and fatigued, but I am not.  I am energized. 

How is that possible, one day I am exhausted from seemingly doing nothing, and another day I feel rested when I should be exhausted?  These are trying times, for all of us.  During difficult times, such as these, I need comfort.  I know I will not find the comfort I am searching for in a 24-hour news cycle.  I will not find this comfort in COVID-19 related news, and certainly I will not find this comfort on social media. 

Where will I find rest, where will I find comfort?  I find it in God alone.  And today that means I find comfort in paradox, because that is how God often seems to relate to us.  A paradox is a seemingly absurd or self-contradictory statement that when investigated or explained may prove to be well founded or true.  We have an example of it this morning, where Jesus says, “take my yoke upon you . . . for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  A yoke is a heavy wooden instrument used to bind two oxen together to pull a cart.  The wooden yoke would be placed upon the back of the neck of two animals, there was nothing “light” about it.

In the Hebrew scriptures, the image of a yoke was used to describe how Israel had been yoked to outside foreign nations.  The image of a yoke in scripture was not favorable, or even desirable.  Yet Jesus says his burden, his yoke, is not heavy.  It is light.  That is paradox. 

In these days where we find ourselves with so much outside of our control, we might feel like one of those oxen pulling a cart.  The back of our necks are sore, we are tired, there is a heaviness to life right now that does not seem fair, there is no comfort for the yoke is too heavy.   Here we encounter paradox, which is that for us to feel light again – for us to feel refreshed when we are exhausted, we must take on more. 

That does not seem to make sense, does it?  Who wants to do more work?  Who wants to take on more responsibility right now?  Who wants to take on more burden?  “My yoke is easy, and my burden is light,” says the Lord.  That is a heaviness I can carry.  And when I take on that weight, when that yoke is placed on the back of my neck, I do not feel fatigued.  I do not feel cynical, or nihilistic.  I feel light. 

If everything seems heavy to you right now, if you are carrying burdens which are crippling you – consider taking one more – the weight of glory – the weight of the cross – the weight of Christ’s yoke, which when placed upon the back of your neck will not press your face into the ground, but will lift you up.  AMEN.

May 31, 2020

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Pentecost  

Acts 2: 1-21; Psalm 104: 25-35,37; 1 Corinthians 12: 3b-13; John 7:37-39

The Rev. Jimmy Grace 

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

               I grew up in a house that was full of love, and care, and I was provided for.  But our family was not very good about church attendance.  I think I’ve shared that with you before – which is that for the first twelve or so years of my life I could probably count one Easter and one Christmas Eve service that we attended as a family.  Likewise, you probably can guess that there was not much in the way of conversation about the Holy Spirit around our house.

            So, for most of my life the Holy Spirit has been a vague, misty, thing that I did not understand.  Even after attending church for many years later in my life, I still did not hear much about the Holy Spirit.  Whenever people would talk about the Holy Spirit, I found myself uncomfortable around them.  My discomfort was not for any good reason, it’s just that I began to associate any kind of talk about the Holy Spirit with a kind of Christianity that seemed judgmental, intolerant, racist, and bigoted.  This is an unfair assumption, I know.  It is just that the kind of people I most recall talking about the Holy Spirit often appeared that way to me.

            So, for many years I avoided the Holy Spirit, I kept it at a distance, because I didn’t know what to do with it, and I didn’t trust people who claimed to be full of it because those people often seemed to act in very condescending ways to others.  This belief entered with me into seminary, where I successfully spent three years keeping the Holy Spirit away.  Not only was I able to distance myself Holy Spirit filled peers who gladly would have told me everything I was doing wrong and how my faith was not strong enough, but I also kept the Holy Spirit away who by pouring myself into academics: theology, eschatology, ethics and on and on.  I pursued academics because I thought intellectual knowledge of God would maybe make the Holy Spirit clearer to me.  Maybe I was missing something.  As you probably would expect, book knowledge did not fill the hole inside me that I that I did not know at the time could only be filled by the Holy Spirit. 

            After a time in seminary I realized my pursuit of God through books and academics was kind of interesting, but I did not like where it took me.  It took me to a place of passive, unknowing, dull, complacent spirituality.  Eventually I got fed up with all the academics. I was tired of theory - I wanted proof.  I wanted to know that there was something good out there I could trust but no amount of reading Karl Barth, Schleiermacher, Rowan Williams, or any other big-time author could convince me. 

Since I could not find proof of God in books or classes – I began to look for proof of the Spirit elsewhere, and eventually I found it.  I found proof – not that academic proof, something better, something that made me feel better.  I found proof in a glass bottle.  100 proof, to be more specific.  I feel in love with alcohol.  What a wonderful Spirit it was!  I could touch it, I could taste it, it made life fun, and for a moment while caught up in it, I would forget the emptiness inside me.

            I pursued this Spirit with great enthusiasm for quite a while.  But then a problem began to emerge, and it was this.  This Spirit of drink I had fallen in love with was powerful, in fact more powerful than I, and inevitably I began to lose control of it.  I wanted more.  This desire for more grew steadily in me until I became entranced by this Spirit, bewildered by this Spirit, and finally the enslaved to it.  Gradually I realized like with my studies in seminary, no amount of this Spirit would fill the emptiness inside. I was seeing a therapist at the time to help me make sense of my condition.  After listening to me go on about this inability of mine to control my desire for this Spirit, she asked a rather peculiar question.  She said “Jimmy, did it ever occur to you that you might be an alcoholic?” 

            Well, I did not like hearing that question very much.  Alcoholism is a problem other people had – not me, I mean was a priest, and had a master’s degree.  She stopped me.  And asked the question again.  “Jimmy, do you think you might be an alcoholic?”  I could not answer then, but I knew inside me the answer, yes, I am.  And so, I stopped, and found a community of people like me, who share this.  They are like family to me. Here is the miracle I discovered:  our most desperate moments are necessary for authentic spiritual growth.  In this community of people in recovery from addiction I finally, finally have found the Holy Spirit.  I looked for it in a book, and it wasn’t there, so I turned to a bottle, it wasn’t their either – instead I found it in people who share their burdens with one another and who love one another. 

After a lifetime, I think I finally have learned what the Holy Spirit is, at least for me, and it is God’s ability to do for us what we are incapable of doing for ourselves.  It is one of the most powerful things I have ever experienced.  I want to briefly share a quote from author and priest Henri Nouwen who describes the Holy Spirit in this way.  He says:

The Holy Spirit, whom Jesus promised to his followers, is the great gift of God. Without the Spirit of Jesus we can do nothing, but in and through his Spirit we can live free, joyful, and courageous lives. . . We cannot create peace and joy, but the Spirit of Christ can fill us with a peace and joy that is not of this world.

I want to close this morning with a few words about the events which have occurred in Minneapolis, and are happening across our country and in the city of Houston.  With the death of George Floyd, we are once again confronted with another African American man being killed by law enforcement.  We are confronted again, with another life cut short, another grieving family, another grieving community, another place for all of us to lament and confess.  We are once again appalled, and we cry out, forty years after the civil rights movement in this country “How can this be?”  We grieve.  It is an act of faith to grieve.  But our grief is not enough.  Faith without works is dead.  There is action and there is more action. 

The events of this week are a stark reminder, that we cannot overcome racism on our own.  Civil Rights laws and ordinances move us in the right direction, but there are not enough.  I believe we are powerless to overcome our racism, and so we must turn it over to God.  We must allow the Holy Spirit to change our hearts, to teach us a new way.  Ask yourself: when you see a person of another color, do you see them through the lens of your prejudice?  What would it look like if you saw them through God’s eyes, as God’s child? 

I have an African American friend, and in talking this week, he called me brother, and I could not be more grateful, because neither he nor I would let the actions of others affect our relationship with each other.  I believe that is the work of the Holy Spirit, because I know I could not do it alone.  AMEN.

May 21, 2020

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Ascension Day

Acts 1:1-11; Psalm 47; Ephesians 1:15-23; Luke 24:44-53

The Rev. Jimmy Grace

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

Over twenty years ago, I visited the city of Jerusalem.  And in the part of the city called the Mount of Olives where the Garden of Gethsemane is, there is a small chapel.  It is called the chapel of the Ascension.  Like most of the city, the chapel itself is very old, it was built in the twelfth century, so it is more than 800 years old.  It was built upon the foundation of an even older church that dates from the fourth century.  The church over the centuries has served as a place of Christian worship, it has also served as a monastery, and also a mosque.

For hundreds of years this spot upon the Mt of Olives has been visited by millions of people who want to see with their own eyes the spot upon which many people believe marks the place where Jesus ascended into heaven. When I visited the chapel of the Ascension, I noticed that there was a stone slab on the floor.  Upon this slab, if you looked carefully, you might see what appears to be a footprint.  For many people, the stone literally bears the footprint of Christ, perhaps marking the very last spot Jesus placed his foot before ascending into heaven.

In our Bible studies earlier this week, we spent a lot of time talking about this reading, and people confessed their struggles with this story of Christ ascending, particularly with the admonition offered by the two angels who inform the disciples that Jesus will return one day in the same way that he has ascended.  For some in our studies, they regretted their upbringing in churches that wielded this teaching of Christ’s return with dread and foreboding. 

Having been raised in the Episcopal Church myself, I can say that I have never felt that way about this story – nor do I feel anxious about Christ’s return.   I appreciate the Ascension because it reminds me that as Jesus ascends to a higher plane so to shall we.  That is our calling – to ascend like Jesus to move to a higher place. 

At our vestry meeting this week, several of our Vestry members shared with me their impressions of last Sunday’s town hall meeting in which I described what regathering for in person worship will probably look like, and what we will need to do to get ready for it.  The most common phrase I heard to describe that town hall meeting was this: “it was depressing.”  That’s honest.  And I so appreciate the honesty.  It made me think of some words St. Augustine said many years ago – Augustine was the bishop of Hippo in northern Africa in the 4th century.  Augustine said this: “Do you wish to rise? Begin by descending. You plan a tower that will pierce the clouds? Lay first the foundation of humility.”

We will never ascend to a higher place, we will never grow closer to God – unless we get on our knees, and lower ourselves to the ground – depress ourselves – and be humble.  That’s where ascension happens.  That’s why Jesus was so good at it and could ascend effortlessly – because he didn’t need it.  His humility made him light, so he could float.

Perhaps the stone upon which Christ last placed his foot, met the foot of God, and kissed it before it disappeared into a higher place.  The stone released the foot and bore the weight of God joyfully capturing Christ’s essence before his foot left it.  Or maybe the rock formation upon the stone is natural indentation someone long ago thought looked like a foot.  Does it matter?  

May 3, 2020

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4 Easter

Acts 2:42-47; Psalm 23; 1 Peter 2: 19-25; John 10: 1-10

The Rev. Jimmy Grace

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

 

            Good morning, everyone.  It is really good to be here with you all – virtually, from a distance, I know.  But it is still good to be here with you.  I want to begin this morning to simply address a question many of you all probably have which is when are we going to resume in person worship.  I have two answers to that question – the short and the longer answer.  Short answer: I’m not sure.  Here’s the longer answer:  The Bishop and his staff are listening to medical experts and heading their advice and I have convened several members of the Vestry along with our staff here at St. Andrew’s to form a “Regathering Task Force” that will work with me to insure that when our doors do open, we are ready.  So we are working on a plan in consultation with the Diocese and other Episcopal churches. 

            I am grateful today that we can worship together through this live stream, but I am also aware that it is not the same as being together.  A priest and good friend of mine told me recently that one his parishioners told him that watching their service online was about as interesting as watching golf.  I think watching worship online is more like watching CPSAN – where you watch people sit and talk or read, or stand and talk and read.  It’s not riveting stuff (my apologies to any CSPAN fans out there).  Even if we were to dress this up – have different camera angles, fancy lighting, words on the screen, etc.  That’s all still window dressing in my opinion, and it doesn’t take away from the reality that this church on a Sunday morning only has 8 people physically in it. 

After doing services this way for the last seven weeks I can tell you that I am grieving not seeing you.  That might sound glib or cliché, but it’s the truth.  I care for you ,and so when I look out this morning and see pews where you all typically are, and see them empty, week after week, is depressing to me.  It just is.  I feel that grief.  What are you grieving now during this time?  That’s not a rhetorical question.  I actually want you to think about this strange moment all of us are in, and for many of us feel grief about a part of it.  Where are you seeing that grief right now?  Answer the question – write your answer on the live stream comments -  be as long winded or brief as you want to be, but be honest. 

            I am sure you all are grieving all kinds of things right now.  Let this be a moment to be honest about that.   

            Two weeks ago I received a phone call from a parishioner, Gary Moseley, who told me that his mother, at 96 years of age, was nearing her final moments.  I went to visit her in an assisted living home, and after filling out a questionnaire and having my temperature taken, I was permitted to visit her.  When I entered the room, I saw something beautiful.  I saw a frail elderly woman of advanced age, resting quietly and peacefully in her bed, and nestled between her head and the crook of her left arm, was a baby doll. 

            That doll, had brought her comfort during this last chapter of her life, and when I saw this 96 year-old woman holding that doll in bed, it was like watching the full circle of life – a woman so old was herself becoming a little girl again.  I knelt beside her bed, and began to recite the 23rd psalm – the psalm that was sung so beautifully by members of our choir moments ago.  I said prayers, and then anointed her with oil, and then quietly left.  Mrs. Moseley went to be with God later that evening.  As soon as we are permitted to worship in person together again, we will have a memorial service here to honor her life. 

            I have found the 23rd psalm to be one of the greatest and most powerful responses to human grief.  I have said it in multiple hospital rooms, funerals, homes, the list goes on and on.  The psalm reminds us that even though we are walking through the valley of the shadow of death we shall fear no evil.  This is a psalm that is large enough to bear our grief.   

            I heard the other day the former boxer Mike Tyson say something that struck me as profound as I think about grief this morning.  He said, “I used to think life was about getting everything, but now I realize that life is about losing everything.”  That’s really what life is – life is a process of losing things – losing friendships, losing parents, and in the end, losing our very bodies.  That’s not a very popular message – but it’s the truth.  In the stark reality of loss and grief, the 23rd psalm meets us and says – “yes, it is true, you really will lose everything, even your life but remember though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death you will fear no evil.   

            So I want to pivot away from grief now, recognizing its importance as an emotional response to the reality of loss every single one of us deals with.  Because while the 23rd psalm is powerful during times of grief, it is equally so during times of thanksgiving and joy.  As the author of the psalm writes “surely your goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”  This psalm is large enough to contain our grief as well as our joy.  So that’s where I want to go right now – I want to ask you another question, and I want you to write out your answers on the comments.  This is the question – where have you found joy in the last seven weeks?  It could be anything.  Here is my answer.  It was seeing John Ibanez last week in the men’s bible study.   Although he was in the hospital for a medical procedure, John was able to be with our group in his hospital bed on Zoom at 6 in the morning.  It was singing songs with Paul Hardwick and Ed Amash atop Harold’s restaurant last Tuesday evening. 

            I want to close with an invitation.  I want to invite you to read the 23rd psalm daily, for one week, starting today.  And I want to invite you to listen as you read it and pray it for how God speaks to you through it.  And finally, I invite you this week to look into your grief, and consider how God is present int the things you have lost or are losing just as God is also present in the things that bring you joy right now.  AMEN.

April 26, 2020

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Easter 3 Morning Prayer

Jeff Bohanski, Priest Intern

Luke 24: 13-25

Open the eyes of our faith to you walking with us, Oh Lord.

N. T. Wright, in his commentary entitled Luke for Everyone says,“If the story of the prodigal son has a claim to be the finest story Jesus ever told, the tale of the two on the road to Emmaus must have an equal claim to be the finest scene Luke ever sketched.

The scene Luke presents us today is so easy to picture.  When the story begins we hear of two disciples were walking in fear, confusion, bewilderment and uncertainty.  Jesus came near and went with them.  But the two did not recognize him.  Perhaps because they are afraid of what happened three days ago.  Perhaps they are confused and bewildered because they had hoped Jesus would free them from Rome as he freed people from illness, demons. Now Jesus himself is dead.  Or is he?  They tell Jesus that earlier in the day they heard reports of Jesus being alive.  Alive, could it be?

I believe it is important to note in this story Jesus walked with the two on their journey as if they were the only two on the planet. The disciples’ fear and bewilderment did not keep Jesus away.  He walked with them, stayed with them, he did not abandon them to their fear.  He explained scripture to them and broke bread with them.  Jesus sought them out.

I find great courage when I read this story.  What I learn from this story is that Jesus seeks me out.  He is with me when I am afraid like he was with the two. He tells me as he told the two that he can be found in the scriptures.  He is seen when we break bread together, when we serve one another. 

What a scary time we find ourselves in.  It’s not an easy time.  An extrovert like me has a difficult time with social distancing.  Today marks the first time I have been to the church since this whole social distancing began.

The week before everything was shut down I notified Jimmy that I would not be coming to church because I had picked up a bug going around school.  I felt no one needed a person with a cold at the altar with the threat of the Corona Virus in the news.  It ended up that a few days later the Rodeo was shutdown, HISD and all the surrounding schools were closed until April.  Suddenly we are on the last Sunday of April and we are still in quarantine.  Now we know school won’t be open for the rest of the year. 

Where is Jesus in all of this?  Like with the two, he is walking with us, he is in scripture he is in the midst of our community.

This morning we are live on Facebook, yesterday my niece had a Zoom birthday party for my kindergarten nephew. I’m holding five first-grade classes daily on Microsoft Teams.  People are holding online coffee hours.

Where is Jesus in all of this?  Like with the two, he is walking with us, he is in scripture he is in the midst of our community.

Like the two on the road to Emmaus I may not always recognize him because of my fears, my confusion, my bewilderment and my uncertainty, but I guarantee you he is with me because he loves me.  I guarantee you he is with you as well because he loves you.  God has always been with us.  You can find him in the scriptures.  Even when people were at their very worst and felt most abandoned.  God was with them.  God is with us.

Last weekend was my monthly Iona School of Ministry weekend.  As the weekend started we all wondered how Jesus would be felt in our community via a Zoom.  At our Sunday Service we heard the story of how locked doors could not separate Jesus from his disciples.  As it turned out Jesus not only can’t he be stopped by locked doors, but he can’t be stopped by computer screens as well. Our whole Iona school community felt Jesus presence in our community even though we were spread throughout the Diocese of Texas and beyond.

Where is Jesus in all of this?  Like with the two, he is walking with us, he is in scripture he is in the midst of our community.

One evening early in the pandemic social distancing I made the mistake of watching the news before I went to bed.  I found myself tossing and turning and unable to go to sleep.  When I find myself in a fearful or uncertain time I pray my prayer rope.  I use two mantras.  The first is “Be still and know I am God.” The other is “In you, oh God, I put my trust.”  As I finished these prayers that night I felt as if I was falling asleep in the arms of Jesus. 

Where is Jesus in all of this?  Like the two, he was with me, he is in scripture he is in the midst of our community.

I invite you this week after you finish your prayers, after you finish reading scripture to call someone, call two people.  Call them to say hello, let them know you are calling for no other reason than to check in with them.  Listen to them.  Tell your story.  You will find where Jesus is.  Like the two, he is with you, he is in scripture and he is in the midst of our community.

Amen.