November 8, 2020

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Proper 27

Amos 5:18-24 | Wisdom 6:17-20 | Matthew 25:1-13

The Rev. Bradley Varnell

Dr. Susan Hylen, from Emory University, makes the point that the in the parable of the ten bridesmaids all ten start out in expectation and all ten remain expectant through the night. The problem in our parable arises because some do not plan for the possible delay of the groom. Their waiting is in vain because they don’t consider that they really don’t know when the groom will come. The message of the parable, then, is about preparing our selves for a long wait. It’s about bringing enough oil that whenever the groom finally appears we can meet him with lamps burning bright. Be prepared might be a good summary of the parable.

Yet, Dr. Hylen makes the point, a point I want to follow, that for many of us modern Christians we’re not the wise bridesmaids, nor are we even the foolish bridesmaids. We aren’t even in the bridal party. See, somewhere along the way modern Christians gave up living lives in which the expectation of Jesus’ return was central to our faith. Yet it is precisely this promise that has sustained Christians for centuries. Indeed, it is this promise that is the very reason for the existence of the church in the first place! We are not an organization of spiritual seekers, a club to debate grand questions, or a collection of do-gooders. We are, before all else, people who wait and watch in expectation.

As a nation, we have spent quite a few days waiting the results of the most recent election, and we will continue to wait as recounts take place. But friends, we who follow Christ must remember that before we are Americans, we are Christians, and our waiting does not end with certified votes or an inauguration. Our waiting only ends when Christ the bridegroom comes in glory to judge the nations, to put death to death, to free us from the sin which mars our goodness.

Ten bridesmaids, so excited for the coming of the bridegroom that they run out to wait for his arrival. Ten bridesmaids, so excited that some forget to bring extra oil! We are invited to share this excitement, to cultivate in ourselves a joyful expectation of Jesus. As I said, expectation is the very reason we exist as a church. We gather week after week, in pandemics and persecutions and triumphs and tragedies to hope together in the promise that Jesus Christ – who came and died and rose again – will come again. We gather together to remind each other and remind the world through our worship that Jesus, even now, is on his way, to cast the forces of darkness that persist in our world into the pit once and for all, transforming us and our world into the very dwelling place of God.

This future hope calls us to lives of anticipation and preparation, lives that are pregnant with the expectation that God’s kingdom is pressing closer and closer into the world.  Friends, we are invited to go out and await the coming of Jesus, to take our lamps and our oil, and prepare to meet the groom who is coming for a party! Our first lesson shows us that the day of the Lord, the coming of Jesus will not be a happy day for those caught off guard. When we are unprepared the surprise of the groom is like the surprise of finding a snake in your home. Shocking, disconcerting, panic inducing. But for those who are expecting Jesus, his coming is the beginning of a party that will not end. A party filled with abundance, with food and drinks, singing and dancing, with the joy of good friends and much laughter. Friends, our faith is not backwards looking. It looks confidently, hopefully, excitedly towards the future. I want to end with a verse from hymn 68, which John pointed me to, and which is inspired, in part, by our Gospel today. Verse 2 says:

See that your lamps are burning, replenish them with oil
          look now for your salvation, the end of sin and toil.
          The marriage feast is waiting, the gates wide open stand;
          rise up, ye heirs of glory, the Bridegroom is at hand.

 

Amen.

November 1, 2020

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All Saint’s Day

Revelation 7:9-19; Psalm 34: 1-10, 22; 1 John 3: 1-3; Matthew 5: 1-12

The Rev. JAMES M.L. Grace

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

   Blessed are those who have died in the Lord, whose names may one day be lost on earth, but known forever in heaven.   Blessed are those who have died during 2020, whether because of a virus, a hurricane, or because of social unrest in our cities.  Blessed are those who have died this year protecting us: nurses, doctors, and researchers who have courageously cared for those infected with COVID-19, women and men in our police and fire departments who have confronted unimaginable situations and horrors, giving their lives to an ultimate good of protecting our society.

            The deceased police officer, nurse, and family whose livelihoods were prematurely lost will never be forgotten.  They will never be forgotten because they are now Saints.  They are now in God’s presence in a way that none of us on this side of eternity can fully understand.  But that does not matter.  Our job, as the living, is not to understand.  Our job is simply to trust that the God who created us out of nothing, will claim us as a beloved saint the moment our heart has its last beat.  That is what Christians courageously proclaim on All Saint’s Day. 

            “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are” the apostle John writes to us today.  He continues: “what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is.”

            What I believe the apostle is saying to us is simple – none of us knows what the future holds.  We do not know when a vaccine for a virus will be available.  We do not know who our next president will be.  We do not how many days remain for each of us to live.  These are matters that only God knows.  However, the apostle John reminds us this morning something upon which all of us easily, and frequently, overlook, and it is this: we are all God’s children now. 

            At this moment – we are all God’s child.  That means that God has already claimed us as God’s own.  We belong to God, and we already belonged before we were born, and we will continue to belong even after we die.  This is why we baptize on All Saints day, and we are doing two today. 

            Along the exterior fence of this church is an art installation entitled “Faces of the Other” by photographer Joe Aker.  One of the photos is of a priest named Martha Frances.  I have known Rev. Frances for fifteen years.  She died last year, however her photo’s placement upon Yale Street is a tangible reminder for to me that, even in death, there will always be a place for her.  She belongs among Saints – just like all of us.  We all belong.  We are all saints.  AMEN.

October 25, 2020

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Proper 25

Leviticus 19:1-2, 15-18 | Psalm 1 | 1 Thessalonians 2:1-8 | Matthew 22:34-46

The Rev. Bradley Varnell

To understand God’s command to the people of Israel to be holy requires we first understand what God’s holiness means. Now, generally, I think, we tend to assume that being ‘holy’ means being morally good. So, we imagine that God’s holiness means that God is morally good, morally the best. And that’s part of it, certainly. But God’s holiness in Scripture has a more encompassing meaning. God’s holiness lies in the fact that God is all-good, all-powerful, and utterly, completely, different from creation. Holiness, in Scripture, means to be set apart, and it derives from the set-apart-ness of God. God is set apart from God’s creation because God is divine, and creation is not.

So, God is Holy because God is different, God is other, and God calls Israel to be holy as he is holy. God calls Israel to be set apart for a few reasons. First, Israel is to be set apart in order to bear witness to the surrounding, gentile nations which worship other gods. Israel is called to be holy, to be different, in order to call attention to the God who rescued Israel from Egypt. Its unique way of life tells of the uniqueness of God: a God above gods who rescued his people from bondage.

Second, Israel is set apart in order that God might dwell with Israel. God’s holiness can’t simply co-exist with unholiness. God’s holiness calls forth holiness, so if God is to dwell among Israel, to literally live with the people, in the land, in the temple, then the Israelites must live holy lives. Israel – its people and places – are to be made fit for the presence and power of God to dwell among them.

Third, Israel is set apart to be holy so that God, through Israel, might bless the world. The story of Scripture is a story of rescue. We were created for relationship with God, yet humanity sinned and pulled creation from God into death and decay. So, God initiates a rescue operation to bring us back to life. From God’s chosen people, the blessings of God flow out, like a life-giving river.

So, holiness isn’t about just following the rules, though to be holy there are some rules to follow, rather it’s about living life in such a way that God is reflected in our actions as individuals and as a community. Holiness is about creating space in which God can dwell with us, in order to bless others through us. Our reading today shows us how important our relationship with others is in making us a holy people. Holiness isn’t just about offering your sacrifices or going to temple, it’s about being just in your judgements. It’s about speaking truthfully of others. It’s about living peaceably among your neighbors. The holiness of God to be reflected in Israel’s life is a holiness that is social.

Though Christians are not bound to Leviticus’ laws and rules in the way ancient Israelites were and many contemporary Jewish folks are, we are still called to be a holy people, a people set apart. This set-apart-ness requires we conform our lives to the model of Jesus Christ. The doctrine of the Incarnation – God becoming human in Jesus – means that when we look at Christ, we see what it means to live a human life that is totally and completely holy. Jesus Christ shows us what it means to be a holy person, and if we are follow Jesus, we must learn from him what it means to be holy, we must learn to be different just as Jesus is different.

Y’all have heard of WWJD? There’s a lot of wisdom in that little question. Holiness is about reflecting God, reflecting Jesus in every moment and every aspect of our life. So it’s a good start to ask What would Jesus do? What would Jesus do…in line at the grocery store, in traffic, in a fight with kids or a spouse? Beyond that though, we might simply ask Jesus directly what he would do. Jesus is our companion, always with us. Through the Holy Spirit given to us in our baptism, Jesus is always beside us, closer to us that we are to our own breath. Throughout our days we can call on Jesus and ask for his guidance in learning to live as a holy people. Now, this learning is not a becoming, this learning is about living into reality. I don’t learn what it means to be holy in order to become holy. I’ve become holy by virtue of being made a part of the body of Christ, I’ve become holy by being given the Holy Spirit. What I’m learning, what we have to learn, is how to do I live a life that reflects the reality that I am holy. It’s like marriage. A newlywed couple has to learn what it means to be married, but not in order to become married. They are learning how to live into a new reality.

Holiness is one of those things that the church in the west doesn’t talk a whole lot about, at least the Episcopal Church. But holiness is key if we want to understand love and justice – the other two great characteristics of God – rightly. Holiness is where we have to start. God is different. And God’s ways are different. And if we want to love with a Christian love, and pursue justice that is God’s justice, we first have to be a people who are holy just as God is holy. We have to be different in the way that God is different, and we have to have the courage to love differently and to seek justice differently, to live different lives than many of those around us. Sometimes, the differences might be slight, sometimes the differences will be great. We can’t know in advance how different the holiness of God will call us to be. But we cannot stop asking ourselves, how can I reflect the holiness of God in this word, in this action, in this relationship? How can I reflect the difference God makes in my life? The difference God makes in the life of the world? Holiness isn’t about being better than someone else, it’s about being more like God, like the God who is revealed in Jesus Christ. Holiness is about pointing to the God who creates and sustains our world, and who made us to be holy, just as he is holy. Amen.

October 11, 2020

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Proper 23

Isaiah 25:1-9, Psalm 23, Philippians 4:1-9, Matthew 22:1-14

The Rev. Bradley Varnell

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Paul’s letter to the Philippians is different than his other letters because he’s not really addressing a problem or conflict among the Philippians. The general tone of his letter is one of encouragement, support, and joy. This is remarkable considering that Paul penned this letter while he himself was locked away in a dark, damp Roman prison. Hardly the kind of place that produces joy. And yet the entire letter is teeming with a wonderful joyfulness on Paul’s part. A joy not derived from any earthly source, but from Jesus Christ.

Though chains can keep Paul from loved ones, from freedom, from good food and fresh air, chains cannot keep him from Jesus Christ.  Now, by this I – and Paul – don’t mean Jesus as some solution to a religious problem, but Jesus as a living and active agent in the world. Paul, even in prison, knows Jesus Christ personally, intimately. Paul, we might well say, is friends with the Lord. And this friendship, like all good friendships, produces joy.  As we come to the close of this letter, Paul encourages his friends in Philippi to claim this joy for themselves: rejoice in the Lord always; - he writes - again I will say, Rejoice. To rejoice in the Lord is to find our joy in the person of Jesus, not as a model of the religious life or a good example to follow, but as a friend. To rejoice in the Lord is to receive the joy that comes from knowing Jesus.

Of course, as Paul’s life attests, to know the joy of Christ is not to escape the sufferings of this life. It is not an easy pass out of hardship and disappointment. But the joy of Christ, the invitation to rejoice always in the risen Lord, is a joy that can ground us, moor us, and uphold us even when the disappointments of this life threaten to wash us away. The great theologian Karl Barth has said that the joy of the Christian is a “defiant ‘nevertheless’” in the face of bitterness. The joy that comes from knowing Christ allows us to face prison and peril knowing that “nevertheless,” Christ has conquered.

All of us are working to discover joy in our life. You can boil down a lot of what we do as humans to a quest for joy: we work, we marry, we sacrifice, we have kids, we make friends, we move, we study, we stretch ourselves in the hope that these things – directly or indirectly – will help us experience joy in some way. We imagine that more money, or more sex, or more recognition, more something will bring us deeper joy. And these things do often bring us joy – but after a while the sources of our rejoicing disappoint or turn sour or simply don’t work – so the search for joy continues.

The audacious claim Paul makes – in his letter and his life –is that Jesus Christ in the ultimate source of joy. That in Jesus Christ our striving after joy can come to an end. We are invited to “rejoice in the Lord always” because the joy that comes from knowing Jesus Christ never runs out. Now, it’s not that other joys go away when we meet Jesus, it is simply that they are relativized, they are put in their proper place. See, Jesus is the ultimate source of joy, Jesus is the one who fulfils our deepest desire for joy in a way that cannot be exhausted. This frees everything else in our world – relationships, food, work, beauty – to be a source of joy, but not the source of joy. The pressure is off your spouse or your kids or the bottle to provide you with boundless joy, because that has been found in Jesus.

So, rejoice in the Lord always! But how? How do we rejoice in the Lord? We can only rejoice in the Lord by coming to know him personally. And we come to know Jesus by speaking to him in prayer, hearing from him in Scripture, and encountering him in the Eucharist. The knowledge we seek isn’t like the knowledge we find in a textbook, it’s the knowledge we discover as friendships deepen and relationships mature. It’s the intimate, personal knowledge that only comes through time spent with a person. The joy of knowing Christ is ours to claim and ours to share. So many of the joys which our world promises do not fulfill. But the joy of Jesus Christ is sure and trustworthy.

Friends, I think Christianity has little to offer other than Jesus Christ. As Christians, we don’t have much to share other than Jesus Christ, and the joy which comes from knowing him. Sadly, I think we have often gotten so lost in our rites and rituals, in the business and work of being a church, that we have forgotten that all of this exists in order to help us come to know Jesus more deeply, so that we might come to know his joy more fully.  

So, friends – let’s us rejoice in the lord. As we begin gathering back together in person, as we continue navigating a pandemic, as we live with the stress of an upcoming election, as we wonder when life will return to normal again, let us rejoice in the Lord. Amen.

October 4, 2020

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Proper 22

Isaiah 5:1-7; Psalm 80: 7-14; Philippians 3: 4b-14; Matthew 21: 33 - 46

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.

               Over a decade ago, I attended a week-long vocational retreat called CREDO with about thirty other Episcopal clergy form around the country.  We were tasked with creating a plan in which we anticipated our future careers in the church.  It took some time to do this, and once completed, we shared them with each other.  I still have that plan from years ago, and the reason I still hold onto it has nothing to do with its quality. 

          I hold onto my CREDO plan from all those years ago because of how laughable and ridiculous what I wrote down is.  My plan charted an ambitious ascent to bigger and bigger churches, culminating in a future election at which point I would become a bishop.  So yes – ridiculous, embarrassing, and cringe-worthy, are all appropriate adjectives to describe that plan.  I view that plan now not as something to aspire to, but something to avoid. 

       I avoid that plan because it is all about chasing and romanticizing external things.  That plan I wrote out was all about climbing not a corporate ladder, but an ecclesial one – to try and grab the golden crown at the top.  I keep the plan today for two reasons: (1) it always generates a good laugh, and (2) as an important reminder about the things that are not important.

        The apostle Paul, writing in the letter to the Philippians, arrives at the same point when he lists in today’s reading all that he has accomplished in his life, his pedigree.  He was born into the best tribe, baptized on the right day, blameless before the law.  If Paul went to that same retreat, that might be what his plan would look like.  Upward mobility, accomplishment, power.

But Paul has wisdom and courage to say, “I regard all of it as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.”  In other words, Paul says of all his accomplishments, all the power, the respect he has received – he calls it “loss” or more accurately translated – he calls it garbage, trash.  Meaning – none of it matters. 

          What wisdom there is here for all of us.  The humility Paul demonstrates in labeling as garbage the things he once held so dear is so freeing for all of us.  That CREDO plan I wrote out?  It would go great as birdcage liner.  What that plan represented to me was once very dear and important to me.  It no longer is, because – because of God.  I thought I needed that plan, I thought I needed accomplishment to earn God’s love.  Turns out – we do not.  God loves each of us no matter what is written on our plan.

          Thank God for open eyes.  Thank God for eyes to see how much of what we hold so dear is really garbage, because those things hinder our relationship with God.  Take out the garbage.  Get rid of what you hold so dear – make room instead for God.  AMEN.   

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.