Sunday, February 5, 2023

The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

February 5, 2023

Isaiah 58:1-12; Psalm 112; 1 Corinthians 2: 1-13; Matthew 5:13-20

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”   That’s a verse from the Bible, not an original statement coined by me.  It comes out of the book of Proverbs in the Hebrew Bible, chapter 9, verse 10.  We have a stained glass window in the Chapel of the Good Shepherd which the design is based upon this very book from Proverbs.  The window is, fittingly titled “Wisdom” and in it wisdom is personified, as a woman.  Is there any question that women are smarter than men.  We all know that. 

There’s a Grateful Dead song entitled “Man Smart Woman Smarter”  - there’s a great line “women today, smarter than the men in every way.”  Anyway – I digress.  As you leave church today, stop by the chapel, and look at the window.  It’s beautiful.   “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”  What does that mean?  What do you think it means?

The Hebrew word translated as “fear” in Proverbs is yirah.  In this particular verse, the word yirah doesn’t mean “to be afraid of or scared” – that’s what I think of when I hear the word fear.  Rather, yirah means something very different.  It means reverence.  Perhaps another way to read Proverbs 9:10 is this: “The reverence of the Lord is the beginning of all wisdom.”

Why am I talking about Proverbs this morning, when none of our readings are from this book?  That’s a great question.  I mention Proverbs this morning, for two reasons.  First, I know I need to be reminded that reverence of the Lord is the beginning of all wisdom, it is the beginning of everything.  I need to be reminded of that – daily, sometimes hourly – sometimes every minute.  Because I forget. And when I forget I casually make the mistake in thinking that I, not God am the beginning of wisdom.  People have a term for that kind of self-centered thinking – insanity is what they would say to describe that.

Secondly, I mention Proverbs 9:10, as a way to introduce us to one of the readings that we did hear today, a part of the letter written by the Apostle Paul to a Christian community in the city of Corinth.  Although Paul doesn’t mention Proverbs 9:10 in his letter, I get the sense that this understanding of reverence before God permeates word.

Preaching on the epistles is not easy, by the way.  Reading them isn’t that easy, either.  Whenever I read the epistles in the New Testament, it’s like I’m reading someone else’s mail, which we kind of are.  Paul’s letter to Corinth was intended to be instructional and also to remind the people worshipping in this community of something integral which they seem to have forgotten: reverence.  Yirah.

It seems that the community at Corinth thought pretty highly of themselves.  Paul sees their arrogance from a mile away, and quickly calls them on it.  Elsewhere in the letter Paul scolds them for thinking they are so smart, and reminds them, in part of the letter we will hear next week that as smart as they think they might be, spiritually they are mere infants.

Paul understands the wisdom of God.  He speaks to them not from a place of self-satisfied professionalism, but rather from a place of deep reverence and trust in the Holy Spirit.  He does this not to impress, but rather, as he says, so that the people in this church in Corinth would learn not to rest on their strength, but upon the strength of God. 

It’s a powerful message, and probably was not very popular.  Who, after all, enjoys being criticized?  If Paul wrote a letter to St, Andrew’s and I knew it was full of criticism, I’d probably let it sit unopened at the bottom of my mail stack, or ask Clint to respond to it. 

And yet – what Paul is saying in this part of the letter is relevant to all of us.  I believe he writes to encourage, and remind, all of us to seek God’s wisdom which is greater than any wisdom you or I might have.  Paul says this wisdom is secret and hidden, but is available to us through the Holy Spirit.

How do we get it?  We receive God’s wisdom when we learn reverence and humility.  !  Lessons in humility are rarely pleasant, but they are necessary.  Where is reverence lacking in your life?  Where are you currently feeling entitled?  That’s as good a place as any to begin digging out your own wisdom, and replacing it with God’s.  AMEN.  

Sunday, January 8, 2023

The First Sunday after the Epiphany: The Baptism of our Lord (Year A)

Isaiah 42:1-9; Psalm 29; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:13-17

The Rev. Clint Brown

In preparing for today’s sermon, I was intrigued to learn that for most of our history – that is, the prayer book tradition in English – these were not the readings you would have heard today on the First Sunday after the Epiphany. Instead of the baptism of Jesus, for over 400 years people heard the charming story from Luke about the boy Jesus in the Temple, when his parents left him behind and then found him, three days later, among the experts of the Law astonishing them with his precociousness. The Collect of the Day, too, was different.

Lord we beseech thee mercifully to receive the prayers of thy people which call upon thee; and grant that they may both perceive and know what things they ought to do, and also have grace and power faithfully to fulfill the same.[1]

Here again, a conspicuous lack of any reference to baptism. Instead, what we do have is the word “prayer,” vota, as in “votive offerings” or “gifts” – “receive the vota of thy people” – and this is what makes the link to the Wise Men and the season of Epiphany. Like the Wise Men, the emphasis on this day was on “gift,” specifically, the making of spiritual sacrifices to God (Romans 12:1) as an expression of gratitude and devotion. That sounded really nice to me. Why did we give it up? What, I wondered, is the connection between Epiphany and Baptism that caused this shift in our focus from gift-giving to baptism?

The word “epiphany” means “manifestation” or “appearance.” We use it these days mainly in the sense of “realization,” as in “I just had an epiphany.” A hidden meaning or unseen connection suddenly becomes apparent to you. Our image is that of a light bulb for it seems to us that a light has gone off dispelling the darkness and making everything all at once clear. The truth is, of course, that although you feel as if you have discovered something really fresh and original, what is actually the case is that it was there all along. And this is the great epiphany of the Epiphany. The visit of the magi signifies the “appearance” of Jesus, that is, the extension of his ministry, to those beyond the Jewish fold which, according to Genesis 12, had been God’s intention all along (Genesis 12:1-3). Epiphany, both the feast and the season, proclaims that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the whole world and that what had been promised to Israel could now be claimed by all people everywhere and for all time.

So what does that have to do with baptism? The answer is that baptism is how all this is accomplished. Through the centuries, the Church has discerned an abundance of theological understandings for its meaning and significance: dying and rising with Christ; cleansing from sin; initiation into the church; and rebirth, to name a few. But, for our purposes today, it is primarily about enrollment as a subject of a new Kingdom, claiming the invitation extended by the manifestation of the Christ. It was not a sudden wild hair on the part of the framers of our prayer book to throw off 400 years of tradition, but actually a recovery of this ancient insight of the church. God’s manifestation of Godself in Jesus Christ is the call and baptism is the response.

We have, all of us, in our baptism made the choice to choose the way of love and side with God in the great cosmic struggle against evil. Those who present Adelaide today will make it on her behalf and we who bear witness will reaffirm it. As Christians we vow to deny ourselves, to take up our cross, and follow Jesus. And so, as it turns it, alongside those of the Wise Men, we do have a gift to bring today after all. The gift that we bring this day and every day is the gift of ourselves.

[1] The Collect has not been altogether lost to us. It is today Proper 10, the Sunday closest to July 13.

Sunday, January 1, 2023

Holy Name

Numbers 6: 22-27; Psalm 8; Galatians 4:4-7; Luke 2:15-21

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

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

In addition to today being New Year’s Day – January 1 – the church also celebrates today as the Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus.  Holy Name is a day celebrated eight days after the birth of Jesus (which we celebrated December 25).  Eight days after December 25 is January 1 – today.

In the Gospel of Luke this morning we hear in the last verse of the passage that eight days after his birth, Jesus was circumcised, a ritual which marked his acceptance into the community, and which has ties to the very first book of the bible, Genesis.  In Genesis 17:12, God instructed Abraham, the patriarch of Judaism, Islam, and Christianity with these words: “every male among you shall be circumcised when he is eight days old.”  In honoring this tradition, Mary and Joseph followed the expectations and obligations of their community.

Also important on the eighth day after the birth of the child was the conferring of a name.  Joseph already was told by the angel Gabriel to name this child Jesus, and the name Yeshus/Jesus/Joshua was conferred on this day.  Yeshua (meaning “salvation”) indicates that Jesus will become the Savior for all people, as he does.

Names convey great power – when we choose to name something we are exercising power an authority over it.  We define our reality by the names we choose to give to it.  For example, when my oldest son chose to name our current dog “Parish,” that meant that would become the name the dog now responds to. 

For parents, the naming of a child can be a sacred task, as conferring a name onto the child constructs a certain identity around him or her.  My oldest child is named after me, and I am named after my grandfather.  My middle son is named after my wife’s maternal grandfather, and by the time of our third child we had run out of people to name kids so we chose the name “Henry” because we liked it.

The veneration of the Holy Name of Jesus, the Nomina Sacra, goes back to early Christianity.  We see evidence of this in our reading from Philippians today, which itself is likely the text of an ancient hymn venerating the name of Jesus, as it says in verse 10, “at the name of Jesus, every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

The Holy Name of Jesus is sometimes displayed with three letters called a “trigram.”  The letters are IHS, and they are the first three letters from the Greek spelling of the name Jesus.  If you were to step behind the altar today, and I encourage you to do so after the service, you will see this trigram, IHS – the name of Jesus put upon the original altar of this church.  The Jesuits have made this IHS trigram the emblem of their society, boldly stating that they follow the one whose name is holy – Jesus – not their founder, Ignatius of Loyola. 

And by dedicating this Sunday to the name of the one whom we follow, we do the same – honoring the Holy Name Jesus – the most true name in the entire universe.  AMEN.  

Saturday, December 24, 2022

Christmas Eve

Isaiah 9: 2-7; Psalm 96; Titus 2: 11-14; Luke 2: 1-14

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

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

“For all the boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire. For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

These words, written by the prophet Isaiah centuries before the birth of Christ, were written to celebrate the arrival of a new king over ancient Israel.  This new king, this Wonderful Counselor, would correct the harm done by his predecessor, a notoriously evil king named Ahaz. 

Isaiah’s words express hope, the same kind of hope expressed by Republicans or Democrats whenever one from their respective party is elected president.  The new king (or president) will turn things around, make changes, correct the wrongs of his (or her predecessor).  Things will be right, finally.  Are things ever right?   Does the new king or president ever fully deliver on their promises?  Does the hope ever match reality?

In the city of Bethlehem, a king was born to a young Jewish woman and her husband.  A king born in the city of David – Bethlehem, a Hebrew word which translates as “house (beth) of bread (lehem).  In Texas the Hebrew “beth-lehem” is translated as “Shipley’s Donuts” (House of Bread).    

Several weeks ago, I visited modern Bethlehem which today is part of the West Bank in the country of Israel.  In Bethlehem, our group visited the Church of the Nativity, which contains within it the traditional place of Christ’s birth in an ancient cave (or grotto) underneath the church’s altar.

The Church of the Nativity was constructed in the mid third century, and is the oldest site continually used for Christian worship in the world.  I had a brief moment to walk into the grotto, to kneel before the fourteen-pointed silver star in the ground which marks the place of Christ’s birth, and say a prayer. 

I don’t remember what exactly I prayed, but it was something to the effect of the words of Isaiah – I acknowledged that in this place (or at least close to it) the only true king the world has ever known, was born, changing the world. 

Later that day we walked through Bethlehem, and we found ourselves walking by a section of a tall concrete wall which separates the West Bank from Israel.  Upon this wall, there is abundant graffiti, some of it tied the story of Christmas.  For example, a reference to the physical limitations walls such as this create, even upon the holy family – this phrase spraypainted onto the wall: “#Marycan’tmove”

I was caught between the sublime beauty of a quiet cave in one of the oldest churches in the Holy Land, and the modern-day controversy that is the situation of Palestinians living in the West Bank.  Mary can’t move.  I wondered – what impact on this real world Palestinian city did the birth of the messiah have?  Was there any hope left?

In fact there was.  I found it, in a store on a Bethlehem street corner.  There on a shelf, I found a small concrete model of the separation wall, and painted on it is a young woman holding a hammer and with the hammer in her hand, and her perseverance, she slowly hammers away at the wall, carving out a hole through it.  But she is not satisfied with it just being a hole, and so she keeps chipping away at the hole creating a heart.

The only way through the walls we build to separate ourselves from others is love.  As long as there is love, there is hope.  Tonight we remember long ago to a starry night, when hope was born in Bethlehem, and how that hope has spread around the world, breaking down walls of hate and separation, and reminding us once more that “A child has been born for us, a son given to us.”  Merry Christmas.  AMEN.

Sunday, December 11, 2022

Advent 3

Isaiah 35:1-10; Canticle 15 The Song of Mary; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11

The Rev. Clint Brown

“When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’”

If you are wondering why John the Baptist is asking this question, you are wondering the same thing I was when I first read through the lessons for today. It is surprising that John, of all people, should see the need to clarify who Jesus is. This is, after all, the same John who baptized Jesus; who witnessed the sky torn open and the Spirit like a dove descending upon him; who heard the voice from heaven say, with unmistakable directness, “‘This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased’” (3:16-17)? And don’t forget that, according to Luke, these men were cousins and we can reasonably infer that they had grown up together. John had had a front row seat to Jesus’ messiahship, so why does the one who would seem to be in the best position to judge who and what Jesus is now doubt?

At this moment, John is sitting in the dungeon of the fortress at Machaerus as the prisoner of Herod Antipas, ruler of Galilee. He is there for condemning Herod’s brazen contempt of the Jewish Law (Lev. 18:16; 20:21) by marrying his brother’s wife (14:3-4), as well as for being, in general, just a real pain in the neck. So one may wonder, along with other interpreters if, perhaps, John’s question merely reflects his situation? Perhaps John’s crisis of faith is a moment of weakness, of questioning everything he believes in in the way that anyone in a similar situation might do. This is one possibility. Or perhaps, more generously, John is just playing dumb and could not really mistake Jesus or express a doubt, so he must be pretending for some other purpose. John, ever the teacher, is sending his disciples to Jesus with the question because he knows his time is short and, while he knows the truth, they still needed convincing and this ploy is designed to take away their apprehensions and redirect their allegiance. As John says in another place, “He must increase, and I must decrease” (John 3:30).

But the most likely explanation is that John’s question is sincere and that he is genuinely confused. After all, recall the striking personality we encountered at the beginning of the gospel. Like a prophet of old, his program was for judgment, to clear the air of false religion and purify the land. Any tree not bearing good fruit, he said, deserved to have an axe put to its root and be thrown into the fire (3:10). It was this apocalyptic vision for a cosmic reordering that he presumed for Jesus when Jesus came to him for baptism and it is for this vision that he now finds himself in chains. So we can appreciate his disappointment as he began to receive reports of what the Christ was actually doing (11:2). There had been no purge of the priesthood; no purification of the people; no judgment on the earth’s tyrants and oppressors; no final victory over the enemies of Israel. Instead, there had been a lot of walking around and talking, but very little judgment. Where, John wonders, is the passion and the fire in the belly? Why this under-whelming performance from the one of promise whose way he had given up everything to prepare?

That the Messiah might come in love rather than violent conflict was a thing that no one had prepared for. In asking his question John is not speaking just for himself but for the whole of Israel, and especially for those Jewish Christians who were the first readers of this gospel: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (11:3). Jesus understood their confusion, and as proof of his alternative vision he does not acknowledge the title about which there were so many preconceived notions, but, instead, describes what he is doing. He is a restorer of what is broken in human nature, physically, mentally, and spiritually. The Messiah does not come to conquer armies but to conquer hearts.

Whether it be worldly success, material gain, or satisfying our own needs no matter the cost to others, we, too, are guilty of looking for the wrong thing. We, too, need to have our hearts conquered. If John and his contemporaries were guilty of over-emphasizing Messiah as Judge, our problem in contemporary America is the exact opposite. We who live in relative ease and comfort, we who have grown accustomed to recruiting Jesus to be on our side in the great debates of society, forget that his proper place is to be sitting over us judging our values and assumptions. We are not very good at making the right choices. We are all too easily beguiled by what is transient and inessential. Which is what the season of Advent is all about.

In Advent we are presented with fresh eyes to see Jesus as we approach Christmas rather than all that gets in his way. Advent directs us to scale back and simplify and put into practice a way of moving through the weeks leading up to Christmas in a way that is at odds with the predominant culture. And, as I said, we are reminded that Christ is our once and future judge, calling all our certainties and assumptions into question. Which brings us to Mary and her magnificent song. “He has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.” There’s just no way that makes sense in the world you and I know. But, then again, neither does a King born in a barn. Just one more example of how we are always looking for the wrong thing.

Sunday, November 27, 2022

The First Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 2: 1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13: 11-14; Matthew 24: 36-44

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

“What you do Jimmy, is you fill out the online Social Security Application, attach the additional all the supporting documents, and click ‘Submit.’  And then you print out everything, and send all of it to the Social Security office certified return receipt.  And then you wait…you wait for a really long time.” 

That was part of how my friend, Michelle, who is the mother of a nineteen-year old son with special needs explained how she applied for government benefits for him.  Lots of paperwork, lots of applications, and then you send it all into the government, and it’s like it goes into a black hole of wait – you wait until you get a response from social security, which is not known to be the fastest of our governmental entities.

Waiting may or may not be a challenge for you – it can be for me.  I can be impulsive, and want the quick easy fast solution – anything that will keep me from…waiting.  We are now in Advent, a four week-long season in the church that has as its central theme – waiting and expectation. 

What are we waiting for in Advent?  Two things.  We are waiting for the birth of the Messiah, and we also are waiting for the Messiah’s return.  In today’s reading from the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus is with the disciples on the Mount of Olives, that hillside which overlooked the temple in Jerusalem.  He is there trying to explain to them that they will have to wait for his return, which he likens to, of all things, a thief breaking into a house at night.  Not a very comforting image, is it? 

I remember when I was about eight years old, our family returned home from a vacation, and we came to the front door of our house to discover that it had been broken into – the front door was ajar had been kicked in.  The police came and discovered overturned furniture and other items, and declared no one was still in the house.  I think I slept with one eye open the entire night!

Alarming though the image Jesus provides for his return, we need not fear.  “Do not be afraid” is the most common message in the Bible.  Some say it is stated three hundred sixty -five times in scripture – once for each day of the year.  Do not be afraid.  And yet, Christians I find that many Christians are some of the most fear-based people.  Afraid God doesn’t love them, afraid of going to hell, afraid of other races, afraid of other religions, afraid of other genders.

 Of all people, Christians should have the best case for not being afraid: the Savior will restore the world. . . nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”  We hear this and yet we are bombarded with stories of violence occurring on college campuses, nightclubs, and in retail stores in our own country, and between countries outside our nation.  Still, do not be afraid.

Wars will cease, and justice will reign, in God’s time.  For now, we wait.  We wait for the birth of the Messiah, and we wait for the same Messiah’s return.  It will happen.  It always does.  We have heard the story, we have done our work, and now we wait. AMEN.

Sunday, November 13, 2022

Pentecost 23, Proper 28 (Year C)

Isaiah 65:17-25; Canticle 9; 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13; Luke 21:5-19

The Rev. Clint Brown

Last Tuesday when I voted, I felt especially proud to be an American. Perhaps it’s because I spent most of the summer studying the founding documents and the records of the Constitutional Convention; or because, in the eight months since he arrived, there has been a lot to explain to Cavan about our country which has reminded me how special it is; or perhaps I was just having a really good day; but, whatever it was, when I went to cast my ballot, I had one of those blazing moments of consciousness in which I felt the extraordinary privilege of being a citizen of the United States and immense gratitude. It is, after all, the sacred duty of citizens to vote and participate in government of the people, by the people, and for the people.

We also marked this Friday, Veterans Day, whose proximity to Election Day every couple of years helpfully reminds us that freedom isn’t free and that we owe an incalculable debt to the men and women in uniform, past and present, who secure our liberties, including the right to suffrage. If citizens have the right to vote, surely we owe it to those who have fought for it that we exercise it.

Five years ago, when my parents and I decided we would make a family road trip out of my move to seminary in Alexandria, Virginia, we knew a visit to Arlington National Cemetery was going to be a highlight of the trip. I had been fortunate enough to visit there once before on a school trip in junior high, but neither of them had ever been. And you know, if you’ve been there, that one of the things you most want to show a first-time visitor is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and to see the changing of the guard. It is not an experience from which you walk away unaffected. The story goes that

In March 1926, soldiers from nearby Fort Myer were first assigned to guard the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The guards, present only during daylight hours, discouraged visitors from climbing or stepping on the Tomb. In 1937, the guards became a 24/7 presence, standing watch over the Unknown Soldier at all times.

The 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment, known as “The Old Guard,” was designated as the Army’s official ceremonial unit on April 6, 1948. At that time, The Old Guard began guarding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier….

Soldiers who volunteer to become Tomb Guards must undergo a strict selection process and intensive training. Each element of the Tomb Guard’s routine has meaning. The Guard marches 21 steps down the black mat behind the Tomb, turns and faces east for 21 seconds, turns and faces north for 21 seconds, and then takes 21 steps down the mat. Next, the Guard executes a sharp "shoulder-arms" movement to place his/her weapon on the shoulder closest to the visitors, signifying that he or she stands between the Tomb and any possible threat. The number 21 symbolizes the highest symbolic military honor that can be bestowed: the 21-gun salute.[1]

As I said, no one who witnesses this precisely executed round, observes the impeccable care that has gone into maintaining uniforms, kit, and decorum, knowing that in rain or snow, day or night, whether a visitor or official is there to observe it or not, a watch is always kept, can fail to be moved. Standing there that morning I began to cry thinking that this is but a glimpse of the care and belovedness with which the Heavenly Father dutifully looks towards us and all creation.

Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd, discharges his duty towards us with constancy and affection, and, so, since we are speaking of duty, let us ask then, what is our duty toward him? Well, for an old-fashioned word like “duty” I went to an old-fashioned source, the 1928 Prayer Book. In the Catechism the question is posed, “What is thy duty towards God?” And the answer is: “My duty towards God is to believe in him, to fear him, and to love him with all my heart, with all my mind, with all my soul, and with all my strength: To worship him, to give him thanks: To put my whole trust in him, to call upon him: To honour his holy Name and his Word: And to serve him truly all the days of my life.” And then, “What is thy duty towards thy Neighbour?” “My duty towards my Neighbour is to love him as myself, and to do to all men as I would they should do unto me: To love, honour, and succour my father and mother: To honour and obey the civil authority: To submit myself to all my governors, teachers, spiritual pastors and masters: To order myself lowly and reverently to all my betters: To hurt nobody by word or deed: To be true and just in all my dealings: To bear no malice nor hatred in my heart: To keep my hands from picking and stealing, and my tongue from evil speaking, lying, and slandering: To keep my body in temperance, soberness, and chastity: Not to covet nor desire other men’s goods; But to learn and labour truly to get mine own living, And to do my duty in that state of life unto which it shall please God to call me.”

Not only is this remarkable for its remarkable clarity, but I will only add that knowing our duty is just another way of saying that we understand where we fit in a greater order. Our place is neither God’s place, for which reason we owe God certain obligations, such as our worship, nor is it to think of ourselves too lowly, as if we were mere slaves and beggars. We do have a choice. We have both agency and choice and that is to be responsible for ourselves and one another. Ours is the freedom to take responsibility – to vote, to learn, to appreciate, and to fulfill our obligations to God and one another.

The Bridge Builder by Will Allen Dromgoole[2]

An old man, going a lone highway,

Came, at the evening, cold and gray,

To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,

Through which was flowing a sullen tide.

The old man crossed the twilight dim;

The sullen stream had no fears for him;

But he turned, when safe on the other side,

And built a bridge to span the tide.

“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim, near,

“You are wasting strength with building here;

Your journey will end with the ending day;

You never again must pass this way;

You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide –

Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”

The builder lifted his old gray head:

“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,

“There followeth after me today

A youth, whose feet must pass this way.

This chasm, that has been naught to me,

To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.

He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;

Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”

[1] From https://www.arlingtoncemetery.mil/Explore/Tomb-of-the-Unknown-Soldier, accessed November 12, 2022.

[2] William J. Bennett, The Book of Virtues: A Treasury of Great Moral Stories (New York: Touchstone, 1993), 223.

Sunday, November 6, 2022

Proper 27

Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18; Psalm 149; Ephesians 1:11-23; Luke 6:20-31

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of the God of the Living.  Amen.

 In the year 1864, the Cheyenne chief named Black Kettle, recalled the promise given to his people by the United States Army, which was that if they raised an American flag and a white surrender flag above their encampment, they would not come under attack by the United States.  In that same year, Black Kettle and his tribe camped beside a bend in the Sand Creek River, which is in the Colorado plains. 

 The appearance of the United States flag and the white flag beneath it above the Sand Creek encampment was visible to John Chivington.  Chivington was a Colonel in the United States Volunteers, a group that assisted the United States Army during wartime.  He was also a Methodist preacher.  On November 29, 1864, Colonel Chivington marched toward the Sand Creek encampment with 250 men of the 1st Colorado Cavalry.  Ignoring both the American and white flags raised above the encampment, Chivington gave orders to attack.

Witnesses and historians now estimate that about 130 – 150 peaceful Cheyenne and Arapaho were killed in the attack, nearly all of them women, the elderly, and children.  Later called the Sand Creek Massacre, this attack is among the most heinous in American Military History.  Chivington was a murderer.

As a result of the westward movement of European American settlers, already established Native American societies experienced horrible convulsions of change, violence, deportation, disease, and desperation.  Circumstances like these gave rise to an Indian spiritualism consisting of visions, prophecies, and rituals that allowed Native people to survive and flourish even under the grim circumstances they were facing. 

Native American theologian Vine Deloria, of the Standing Rock Sioux, writes “[w]e might therefore expect American Indians to discern out of the chaos of their shattered lives the same kind of message and mission that inspired the Hebrew prophets.”  In many cases these native visions imagined an intervention of supernatural forces that would drive away European settlers and restore their old tribal ways of life.  Manifest Destiny had a different agenda.

Today we hear from one of the great Hebrew prophets, Daniel, like the great First Nation leaders who would follow him centuries later, Daniel also had powerful visions.  During the time of Daniel, the prophet, visions were a powerful form of communication for broken, subordinated people, like the Hebrew people.  Daniel’s vision was of four great beasts coming out of the sea, and he is told by an angel that the beasts in his vision represent four kings or worldly powers coming out of the earth.  The angel also informs Daniel that the four kingdoms, or beasts, will be conquered by God, and God’s kingdom will be everlasting. 

This is the promise of All Saints’ Day.  Today we proclaim, boldly, that God has already overcome the world and its brokenness and restored the dead to life.  That is the grand vision of Daniel – that all kingdoms and governments fall, save one, the only one that matters: God’s kingdom – where justice, truth, and redemption are all possible, through God’s mercy.  The power of All Saints, which we honor today, is that those who deserve heaven, and those who deserve hell, are somehow joined together through God’s mercy and grace.  In a mystery understood only to God, not to us, all people become saints, and in God’s kingdom, Black Kettle and Colonel James Chivington are reconciled.  AMEN.  

Sunday, October 30, 2022

Pentecost 21, Proper 26 (Year C)

Habakkuk 1:1-4; 2:1-4; Psalm 119:137-144; 2 Thessalonians 1:1-4, 11-12; Luke 19:1-10

The Rev. Clint Brown

It is always a delight to come around to this story of the wee little man Zacchaeus every three years of the lectionary. Amid all the ideas of huge, eternal consequence with which Scripture is concerned, there are scattered these surprising intrusions of a “lived in” world to which we can relate. This is one of them. And the delight comes not only because the story is amusing but also because, even here, the message is profound, for this story has much more to teach us than that we should merely be intrepid enough to climb trees to see Jesus.

Since we left Jesus last week he hasn’t been just sitting still. He has been on the move, making his way steadily toward Jericho. He has been approached by a rich young ruler wanting to know the way to eternal life, and Jesus tells him to perform the commandments and also to sell all he owns – this not as well received (Luke 18:18-25). A little further along a blind beggar, on hearing that Jesus is about to pass by, makes a complete nuisance of himself to attract his attention, and Jesus, who doesn’t take it to be a nuisance at all, stops and grants his request to have his sight restored. And now Jesus has arrived at the gates of the ancient city, but only to pass through it. It is not his intention to linger here because, as we know, his heart is set on going to Jerusalem (Luke 9:51). Indeed, for ten chapters now Jesus has been trying to get there, and now he is within a day’s journey and eager to finally arrive. But Jesus is going to be delayed one more time – not because of an accident, not by the sudden appearance of a royal procession to block his way – but by the coming across his path of a tree climber named Zacchaeus.

The branches of a sycamore tree spread low to the ground and so Zacchaeus, curious about Jesus, and short of stature, has decided to climb one to get a good look. There is no explanation given for how Jesus knows Zacchaeus’ name, but it doesn’t depend on anything supernatural. Perhaps, as some have suggested,[1] Jesus saw Zacchaeus scramble into the tree and was curious to know about someone who would do such a thing and put it to his disciples to find out; or, perhaps, he was well-known, notorious, and one of those surrounding Jesus may have pointed him out. “Rabbi, see that guy. Remember when I told you the story of the worst tax collector I knew – you know, the one I jokingly said would make your camel feel that it could get through the eye of a needle way before him? Well, that’s him. Zacchaeus. Nothing but a leech sucking the blood of his people.” However it happened, the remarkable thing is that Jesus did stop and call him out, and, in that way, changed his life forever.

This is the profound lesson of the story. Zacchaeus is transformed by Jesus’ acceptance of him.[2] The crowd had blocked him and shooed him away; the disciples had been repulsed by him and eager to avoid him; but Jesus had seen him and given him the time of day. And in so doing Zacchaeus was made to believe that he could be a different sort of person because Jesus believed in him. Now what I find most revealing in the story is that Zacchaeus seems to be trying on his newfound religion like a new set of clothes. I imagine him stumbling a bit and being quite unsure of what to say and how to act in the presence of his august guest. Perhaps the last time he had darkened the door of the local synagogue was for his aunt’s funeral a few months ago, but as much as he might have felt like a fish out of water, he knows enough of custom and etiquette to extend hospitality (19:6). He couldn’t tell you where to find the Great Commandment in the Bible if his life depended on it, but he knows the Law and that what it requires when you defraud anyone is to pay them back four times as much (19:8; cf. Leviticus 6:5; Exodus 22:1, 4; 2 Samuel 12:6). He is beginning to realize how inappropriate the dirty joke was he cracked when they were walking to his house and that he shouldn’t have dropped the f-bomb when the servant dropped the serving dish a while ago, but he’s new at this and nervous and he’s doing his best. He knows that he is a bad man and he wants to be a good man and for that he knows he has the perfect role model. His response to Jesus, you see, is to try to imitate him. However imperfectly, he is trying on the habits and qualities of a righteous man, perhaps for the first time in his life.

Writing about habit formation, the author James Clear notes that,

As a general rule, the closer we are to someone, the more likely we are to imitate some of their habits….One of the most effective things you can do to build better habits is to join a culture where your desired behavior is the normal behavior. New habits seem achievable when you see others doing them every day. If you are surrounded by fit people, you're more likely to consider working out to be a common habit. If you're surrounded by jazz lovers, you're more likely to believe it's reasonable to play jazz every day. Your culture sets your expectation for what is ‘normal.’ Surround yourself with people who have the habits you want to have yourself. You'll rise together.[3]

There is a story, coming down to us from medieval times, about a young man – not a nice young man – a rogue, in fact – who fell in love with a beautiful but saintly and pious young woman. Knowing that he hasn’t a chance in the world of getting close to her, he cleverly disguises himself as a saint by stealing one of the masks used at the annual festival by the town’s theater troupe. As best he can the young man desperately tries to act like a saint, to say and do what he thinks a saint would say and do, and so begins to woo her. Sure enough, over time, the girl does begin to fall in love with him; but as they see his success, the young man’s scoundrel friends become incensed. Jealous of his success and out of spite, one day they challenge him to reveal himself in the middle of the town square, in the presence of his beloved, to remove the mask and show himself for who he really is. Trembling with fear, utterly dejected, and knowing that all is lost, he slowly removes the mask, only to reveal that his face has become the face of the saint.

If we would but clothe ourselves with Christ, we just might find ourselves becoming him.

[1] Raymond Bailey, “Luke 19:1-10” from The Lectionary Commentary: Theological Exegesis for Sunday’s Texts, v. 3 The Gospels (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001), 437.

[2] Ibid., 438.

[3] James Clear, Atomic Habits: An Easy & Proven Way to Build Good Habits & Break Bad Ones (New York: Avery, 2018), 116-17.

Sunday, October 23, 2022

Proper 25

Luke 18:9-14 

The Rev. Francene Young

In a commentary by the Rev. Dr. David Lose, he states that

Paul Tillich, who commented on the Apostle Paul’s assertion that the gospel is a stumbling block, once said that the danger is stumbling over the wrong thing.

STUMBLING OVER THE WRONG THING. What is the wrong thing?

Lose goes on to say that …

There is something similar occurring in today’s reading, so we should take care in our interpretation.

 It’s difficult to avoid interpreting this parable in straightforward, simplistic terms, mostly because the outcome of this parable is so predictable even to those with only limited knowledge of the story of Jesus’ life.

 Knowing that Pharisees are regularly cast in the gospels in opposition to Jesus, we all too easily judge the Pharisee to be a self-righteous hypocrite and assume that the moral of this story is to be humble.

Based on such a quick interpretation is that I might as well  preach that, “Lord, we thank you that we are not like other people: hypocrites, overly pious, self-righteous, or even like that Pharisee.”

 We come to church each week, listen attentively to Scripture, and we have learned that we should always be humble.”  With this parable, we risk falling into the trap of condemning the Pharisee by saying or thinking… “Thank God I am not like the Pharisee,” therefore placing ourselves above him which the parable itself seems to condemn.

Lose reminds us that everything the Pharisee says is true. He has set himself apart from others by his faithful adherence to the laws of is time.

So, before we judge him too quickly, we might reframe his prayer slightly and wonder if we have said similar things ourselves.

 Maybe we haven’t said, “Lord, I thank you that I am not like other people…”, but what about, “There but for the grace of God go I”?  I know I have said it and said it out loud with a tone of Thanksgiving and not empathy.

 It isn’t that the Pharisee is speaking falsely, but rather that the Pharisee misses the true nature of his blessing. As Luke states in his introductory sentence, he has trusted in himself. His prayer of gratitude may be spoken to the Lord, but it is really about himself. He credits his righteousness entirely in his own actions and being.

The tax collector, on the other hand, knows that he possesses no means by which to claim righteousness. He has done nothing of merit; indeed, he has done a lot to offend the law of Israel. For this reason, he stands back, hardly daring to approach the Temple, and throws himself on the mercy of the Lord.

 Here is the main contrast between the two: One makes a claim to righteousness based on his own accomplishments, while the other relies entirely upon the Lord’s mercy.  

 Rather than be grateful for his blessings, the Pharisee appears smug to the point of despising others. In his mind there are two kinds of people: the righteous and the immoral, and he is grateful that he has placed himself among the righteous.

The tax collector, on the other hand, stakes his hopes and claims not on anything he has done or deserved but entirely on the mercy of God. This is what makes this parable so hard to preach.

It is what makes this parable a potential trap. For as soon as we fall prey to the temptation to divide humanity into any kind of groups, we have aligned ourselves squarely with the Pharisee. Whether our division is between righteous and sinners,

as with the Pharisee, or even between the self-righteous and the humble, as with Luke, we are doomed.

 Anytime we draw a line between who’s “in” and who’s “out,” “who’s right ad who’s wrong” we are likely to find God on the other side of our argument.

After reading Lose’s commentary, I want to offer another interpretation…that this parable is not solely about self-righteousness and humility or about a pious Pharisee and desperate tax collector. Rather, this parable is about God: God who alone judges. God who determines to justify the ones who we have deemed ungodly.

I am sure we have all done it and I am confessing mine.

I am sure you have heard the news story of the missing two year old girl, Nadia Lee.  I met Nadia. Nadia was with a foster parent for a year.  I met Nadia’s foster mom who is white.  She is a Pilates trainer at the facility where I work out.  On September 3rd, at the invitation of her foster mom, I visited Nadia and her foster mom to give advice on how to care for Nadia’s hair. Nadia is black. 

When I arrived, Nadia was running around the apartment not talking but pointing to her toys and bringing me her stuffed animals to hold.  Nadia finally settled a bit so I could comb her hair…And now she is missing.  Her father who had not seen her in a year returned to the foster placement facility requesting his daughter, the foster mom had to give her back.  Now she is missing and “foul” play is expected. 

Lower than a tax collector for me is a person who would harm a child.  Then I read this parable.  Believe me, it is hard not to judge!

But I am reminded that this parable is about God: God who alone can judge; God who determines to justify the who we have deemed ungodly. 

Eventually, this father, who killed his common law wife, may be judged in our secular court of law, but it is God who makes the final judgement. 

To not sit in the judgement seat and condemn him and thank God I am not like this father, it a very tall order.  But I have to keep telling myself that God is the judge.  God justifies and makes righteous; not me; not you.

As I wrote this, I was reminded of a verse in Paul’s letter to the Romans that is also part of our church’s Liturgy for the dead, which reads:

“Romans 8:38-39 For I am certain that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  and I add not our wealth, or our sins will be able to separate us from the Love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

At the end of today’s parable, the Pharisee will leave the Temple and return to his home righteous. This hasn’t changed; he was righteous when he came up and righteous as he goes back down.

The tax collector, however, will leave the Temple and go back down to his home justified, that is, accounted righteous by the Holy One of Israel. How has this happened? Recall, the tax collector makes neither confesses his sins or not does he promise not to sin again, so on what basis, then, is he named as righteous? He is called “justified” based solely on God’s divine mercy and forgiveness that is offered to all of us.  I believe the mercy and forgiveness will be offered to Nadia’s father despite my human desire to feel righteous over him.   AMEN

Sunday, October 16, 2022

Proper 24 C                                                        

2 Tim 3:14-4:5; Luke 18:1-8

The Rev. Cn. Joann Saylors

It is said about Episcopalians, and I have found this to be true, that we do something once, and we hate it.

Do it twice, and we don’t mind it. Do it three times, and it’s a cherished tradition, especially if we know its story. Persistence matters.

This is what Paul seems to be reminding Timothy of in our Epistle reading today. Paul says, “Continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it.” Tradition is much more meaningful if we know where it comes from, because it shows how we fit into a much larger world than just the one we see around us.

Our rituals in church can seem arbitrary if we don't take the time to learn their history. But when we do, they come alive in new and exciting ways. We can find deep joy in doing things that are connected to what those who have gone before us did in the years, decades, even centuries that came before.

We hear it over and over. We are living in the midst of turbulent times in the church. The world is changing at a faster pace than any other time in human history, and we often struggle to make sense of it. We know that the Church catholic, the Episcopal Church, and individual congregations have to adapt to survive, and we struggle to figure out how. People put forth suggestions that the church needs something radical to shake it up – we love that word “radical.” So people strive to create new, groundbreaking liturgies or some radical new thinking. People argue on Twitter about this all the time. You may have heard the term “radical hospitality,” or a “radical departure” from what we’ve done before.

But what does “radical” really mean? We think of it in the sense of “thoroughgoing,” or “extreme,” in the sense of radical change. But that's actually the second definition. The first can be quite different, because it means “getting back to our roots.” So a radical departure, is, in a weird way, a paradox. If change is to be “radical,” it’s not a departure from; it’s a return to what was before.

What is it that Paul, if he were writing to us, instead of Timothy, might be saying that we need to return to?

Old knowledge, new context. Paul was on it. So he would likely reiterate what he said to Timothy, that “all scripture is inspired by God.” And then he might add, “but notice that I said ‘inspired by God’ and not ‘the literal word of God,’ so don’t forget to make use of the intelligence and powers of reason that God gave you to apply the essence of the gospel to today’s situation. Like me.” Paul loves the way we Episcopalians think.

Second, he would reinforce what he said to Timothy: “For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine, but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own desires.” “Watch out for the church in our consumer culture. People church shop so they can find something that feels good instead of making a commitment and sticking to it.”

Faced with the question of how to be relevant in the twenty-first century world, it is tempting for us in the church to market our services and programs as if they were consumer products or self-help accessories to complement our busy lifestyle choices. It is tempting for us not to demand too much of people, tempting for us to make church as convenient as possible, tempting for us to simply go along with a culture that runs like a puppy from one thrilling toy to another, and tempting for us to give in to the myth of instant gratification.

But we shouldn’t be so focused on trying to create something brand new. Church – the body of Christ, the communion of saints – is about being grafted on to what has come before.  It's about persistent faithfulness to what we have been given, even while we add to it and re-present it to a new context.

Persistence and continuity matter. Let's talk about our Gospel reading.

 I’ll start with a question. If I were to say, “God is <blank>,” how would you answer? God is ________________. Love. Ok, let’s put that over here for now. On to the scripture.

Today’s text, the story of the persistent widow and the pestered judge, is, at first read, confusing, and on second read, frustrating, at least for me. It seems as if Jesus is saying that the unjust judge is like God. We're invited to do that, after all, when we hear a parable, to figure out where God shows up. Which character in the story stands in for God?

And when we think about our relationship to God, it seems obvious where we start. God is all-powerful, the source of life and being, and we go to God with what little we have, pleading for justice. God is the judge and we are the hapless widow. Eventually the widow wears the judge down and he grants her the justice she seeks. Not because of anything noble like faith or respect for people or the laws of society, but because he's sick to death of her.

So, therefore, the moral of the story is that persistence pays off. Just like I said to the kids. Because children’s sermon’s need to be short and clear. And I don’t disagree with that, really.

But I can’t leave it there. How on earth can the jerk of a judge in the story stand in for God if his primary motivation is only to be left alone? We'd be back to paradox again, because the God I know from scripture is operating from the desire to be with us, not away from us. So, lesson of persistence notwithstanding, having the judge stand in for God can't be right.

One answer is that God is in this story only in comparison or even opposition to the judge. If someone like that will eventually grant justice, how much more so will a good God do the same? That's a traditional explanation of the parable, but I have to confess, I'm not in love with that interpretation. Because somehow the moral still seems to come out that God's granting justice falls on us and our works. We've got to do all the work to get justice from God. Our persistence still matters, just like in the story, but maybe it just won't take as long with God as it would with some unjust human.

So why don't we take a moment to hold what has come before and add a new interpretation to it? Present another layer of meaning? What if the unjust judge isn't God at all, but instead the widow stands in for God? What might that teach us about God instead? How about the fact that God is not only interested but takes the initiative in relationship with us? That God won't give up on relationship with us, but will continue to persist in trying to reach us? That God's passion for justice is unrelenting? That sometimes it takes our being worn down and vulnerable for God to reach us, but that when it happens, we are changed and transformed? Maybe it’s not “God is love” at all, but “God is faithful.”

Barbara Brown Taylor once said that prayer is how you bother God and how God bothers you back. Persistence both ways. Seems to fit with this story.

Persistence in prayer matters. So does persistence in faith. That is not a new lesson. But maybe we need to hear it with fresh ears in the context of today's church. The world is changing around us. Our lives are in constant flux. The wider church is changing around us as it sees the changes in the world. St. Andrew’s is growing and changing. The vision for the future continues to change. Maybe how you understand yourselves as a community is changing. We used to think about church happening inside the building; how exciting – and how intimidating – to think about church being us, outside the walls.

Maybe we need to be reminded that God is persistent, and THEN think about what our faithful persistence really looks like.

Persistence in connecting to the world around, persistence in exploring how to be the church, matters. We live in confusing times. “Continue in what you have learned and firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it.” And yet, add to the tradition and keep making the tradition fresh for a new context. A paradox, possibly, and the kind of paradox that only persistent prayer can solve. Ultimately what I think Paul would say is that we should take risks, try the unfamiliar and reach out to the unknown, while still remaining faithful to the tradition and the values that we share, trusting God is always there. Because when we remember that, our tradition and values keep us together even while we grow and change.

As we head into stewardship season, it’s worth thinking about this relationship between where we’ve been and what new places we are called to go. About our connection to the past and our promises to the future. Stewardship is about so much more than money and budgets; it’s about recognizing that all we have is God’s and discerning how best to tend it in a way that brings Good News to the world. And what we find is that we are called both to the paths worn from where the church has trod for millennia, and we are called to create new paths in a world overgrown by the weeds of noise and conflict.

The good news is that wherever this new way of being leads us, whatever the future has in store for us, capital-C Church and St. Andrew’s church, we never go alone. We go together into this neighborhood and this world. We go with those who have gone before, ordinary saints who have taken their own risks in carrying the Christian tradition into new contexts. And of course we go with that persistent God, who walks with us anywhere and everywhere, because, after all, God is _____________. AMEN.

Sunday, October 9, 2022

Proper 23

Jeremiah 29: 1, 4-7; Psalm 66: 1-11; 2 Timothy 2: 8-15; Luke 17: 11-19

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

2 Timothy is one of those short little letters that you find towards the end of the New Testament.  The letter is only four chapters long, and the section we hear today comes from about the middle of it.  If you were to read all four chapters of this New Testament letter, you would discover that it is a letter written by the Apostle Paul near the end of his life and it is addressed to a younger apostle named Timothy.

This is the second letter from Paul to Timothy, hence the rationale for calling this entire letter “Second Timothy.”  The purpose of the letter, it seems, is encouragement.  Paul is inspiring Timothy to persevere in the rigorous work of leading a Christian community in which there appear to be division and factions.  Can you believe that in a church?  People arguing?

It appears that Paul is writing from prison, and there is evidence of this in verse 8 where Paul describes “being chained like a criminal” and enduring “everything” for God.  As Paul endures his imprisonment, so Paul encourages Timothy to endure and persevere in proclaiming a message of love to God’s people who seem to be doing little more than arguing and “wrangling over words.” 

It would be nice if all this explanation I just offered were true – but unfortunately it very likely is not.  Credible biblical scholars strongly doubt that 2 Timothy was even written by Paul, even though it says it is.  These same scholars also cast doubt that this letter was addressed to a younger apostle named Timothy.  It is believed that “Timothy” is instead a placeholder – a name used to represent a larger Christian community in Ephesus.  The letter then, was not addressed to one person (Timothy) but likely to a community (Ephesian Christians).  Such is the confusion of New Testament epistles: 2 Timothy was likely written for Ephesians, not Timothy, and the book of “Ephesians” also in the New Testament, was like not addressed to Ephesian Christians, but to a Christian community elsewhere.  Confusing, right

So why preach on a letter to Timothy (but not really addressed to him) written by Paul (again, not really) and addressed to an Ephesian community (which was not who the New Testament letter “Ephesians” was really addressed to)?  Such is the quandary of choosing to preach on the Epistles.  I mean, I am maybe seven minutes into this sermon is almost over, and I haven’t really said much of anything. 

How is 2 Timothy relevant to us today?  I offer two responses.  Number 1 – this letter is purposeful because of its inclusion in the Bible, even though most people don’t believe it was written by Paul.  It has value, purpose, and substance, that is not dependent upon the name of whomever wrote it. 

Second – it is a reminder to us that scripture need to be rational to be purposeful and enlightening.  If it is rationality you are looking for, don’t pick up the Bible.  Don’t even pick up a newspaper, for rationality is in short supply.  The Bible should not be approached rationally. Think about it - if the Bible were rational, the reading today would be called “A letter to the Ephesians” not 2 Timothy.  Many are afraid of accepting the irrational in the Bible, as if doing so robs the Bible of its power or authority.  I really don’t believe it does. 

Accepting the Bible’s irregularity and loving it for its humanness takes something special.  It takes faith.  AMEN.  

Sunday, September 25, 2022

Proper 21

Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15; Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16; 1 Timothy 6:6-19; Luke 16:19-31

The Rev. Clint Brown

The prophet Jeremiah, in prison, secures the purchase of some land during a siege. Straightforward, uncomplicated, and…confusing. What possible difference could this make to us? Why does the Bible distract from the urgent business of telling us the meaning of life, the universe, and everything to record something so pedestrian, so trivial, as the management of a prophet’s assets? And during a time of war, no less? So to a fair question let us begin by first establishing some context.

Now as prophets go, about Jeremiah we know quite a lot, enough to paint a reasonably clear picture, and that’s because Jeremiah is at the front and center of the book that bears his name. There is a great deal of autobiography in the book, about his circumstances and personal reaction to events, a great deal more than we usually get, which has led students of the Bible to feel that we know the man and his quirks on a more personal level than most other Old Testament figures. Our story today is a case in point. He was a native of the southern Kingdom of Judah during its waning days. His father was a priest and Jeremiah seems to have become intoxicated with religion as a boy, answering a personal call of God to serve in the capacity of a prophet. What is a prophet? Not so much a predictor of the future as a proclaimer of the mind of God to God’s people, a preacher of consequences. Which is how our scene opens. We find Jeremiah in prison for having antagonized the king one too many times, in the way that prophets do, by telling him what he didn’t want to hear: the kingdom was lost; Jerusalem would fall; and Zedekiah was destined to soon be paraded through the monumental Ishtar Gate of Babylon as just another trophy of war, and a blinded one at that. Indeed, in a siege of attrition that would ultimately stretch for eighteen months,[1] it did not take any special clairvoyance, divine or otherwise, to see that the writing was on the wall.

So what is so important about Jeremiah, languishing in prison with the whole world falling apart around him, purchasing his uncle’s land over in Anathoth? There are two reasons, one practical and one symbolic. The practical reason was to keep the land in the family. At this time when someone found themselves in a compromised position financially, they had recourse to only one of two options: they could either sell their land to their creditor or sell themselves into slavery. Now, truth be told, the choice was usually made for them and, again, truth be told, either one pretty much guaranteed the other. So to prevent this, the Levitical law provided for the redemption of the land by a family member, a “right of redemption” (v. 7), and, so, to save his family from a terrible fate, in this case, that fell to Jeremiah. But more than a heart-warming story of filial responsibility, what really makes this story special is its symbolism. This was a symbolic act more than anything else because to purchase property at this time was to express faith in a future restoration. To make provision for the future at such a time, despite every sign to the contrary, was to express the belief that the people of God even had one. This is the dramatic gesture, the prophetic sign, the hidden message of this passage. “Put [everything] in an earthenware jar,” says Jeremiah in his detailed instructions, “in order that they may last for a long time” (emphasis added). However long restoration was to take, even if he and all the parties should die, all the necessary documents would be preserved and ready to produce when the time came. “For thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land” (vv. 14-15). That was God’s promise, and Jeremiah believed it.

Just this week we find the stock market sinking to historic lows as the Fed doubles down on its inflation-fighting measures. It’s yet another crisis to add to all the others, but for all the crises in our lives – times of inflation and market volatility and pandemic and whatever is particular about your circumstances and situation – Jeremiah’s faith in the future is a lesson. Like Jeremiah, I find myself needing to project myself into the future, and the way I am doing that is by having my future self ask my current self, “Will you be able to look back at yourself and be proud of the way you handled it?” And when I think about it like that, I know I don’t want to look back and see a complainer, a whiner, an embittered curmudgeon for whom the poor man at my doorstep has become invisible. I am no economist. I cannot tell you whether the same minds who so woefully underestimated the present levels of inflation can now be trusted with getting us out expeditiously, but I’ve decided that, for my part, I can do some good. In my house we are going to be tightening our belts, raising the thermostat, making do with less, and putting off some big purchases. Perhaps you can do that, too?

Nothing lasts forever. Not this inflation. Not a pandemic. Not even the next crisis that will come. But what does last is having to wake up the next morning and live with how we responded. I believe we will be alright. I believe this is yet another caution and warning light telling us that the trajectory we’ve been on is unsustainable and we can only continue to ignore them to our peril. I have heard it said that the primary danger of wealth is that it causes blindness.[2] Pray to God that that is not us. Pray to God that we can look back and be proud of ourselves.

[1] Jerusalem came under siege in January 587 BCE and fell in August of 586 BCE. For further details see Mordechai Cogan, “Into Exile: From the Assyrian Conquest of Israel to the Fall of Babylon,” in Michael Coogan, ed., The Oxford History of the Biblical World (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 266.

[2] John Donahue, The Gospel in Parable: Metaphor, Narrative, and Theology in the Synoptic Gospels (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988), 171.

Sunday, September 18, 2022

Proper 20

Jeremiah 8: 18-9:1; Psalm 79:1-9; 1 Timothy 2: 1-7; Luke 16: 1-13

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

Imagine for a moment that you are the president of a large company.  You have an employee who works for you whom you have just learned has been embezzling your company’s money in secret.  You fire the employee immediately, but without you knowing it, the employee goes through the company ledger and finds all the people who owe you – the president – money.  And then this now former employee of yours goes to all these other people and tells them that they only need to pay half of what is owed to you. 

Turns out, this is great news for everyone who owes your company money.  And because of your ex-employee’s actions, people start to have a very favorable opinion of you – you come out looking great, because you have forgiven 50% of debt owed to your business.  It’s great PR.  So what do you now do as president?  Do you try to get back all the money owed to you, or are you content with receiving half?  What, if anything, do you say to your former employee?

In the confusing parable Jesus tells this morning, the owner commends the employee for how shrewd or astute, or to use a word I can understand – “smart” this former employee was.  This is a parable about an employee who was quick to react because they were wise.  To elaborate in the parable, we are to the employee, not the president.  We are the ones who are given talent, time, and financial resources.  How clever are we in our use of them?

One of the central themes of this parable is money – a topic that we will by diving into more fully next month as we begin our annual stewardship campaign on Sunday, October 16th.  I have been criticized in the past for talking too much about money from the pulpit, but I would say it would be a dereliction of duty not to discuss money today, seeing that it is central to the parable, and to Luke’s Gospel. 

In the Gospel of Luke, one out of every seven verses specifically addresses money, more so than any other topic.  But money alone is not at the heart of the parable.  Ultimately this is a parable whose purpose is to instruct us to be clever and wise with what we both have and don’t have. 

Years ago, I read a story about a woman who left her brand new bicycle unattended at a store while she went shopping.  She forgot she left her bicycle until the next day, and rushed back to the store certain her bike was gone.  Someone for sure had taken it.  To her relief, the bicycle was exactly where she had left it the day before.  No one had touched it.  Overwhelmed with great joy, she pedaled her bicycle to a nearby church to give thanks to God for keeping her bicycle safe and sound.  Upon leaving the church she discovered someone had stolen her bicycle. 

As the familiar saying goes: “Trust God, but tie up your camel.”  When I arrived at my first church out of seminary, the Rector of the parish said “you’d be a fool to trust me.”  And I thought – well that’s a welcome to the church I had not yet heard.  He was kidding, but what I believe he sought to teach me was to keep my eyes and ears open – to be wise, astute, aware.  To make sure I neve left my camel untied to the post, which has turned to be good advice for church work.  Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and God – closest of all.  AMEN.  

Sunday, September 4, 2022

Proper 18

Jeremiah 18:1-11; Psalm 139:1-5,12-17; Philemon 1-21; Luke 14:25-33

The Rev. Clint Brown

Theme: Learning to doubt ourselves

After more than three months of debate and compromise, the moment had finally arrived to sign the piece of parchment. After all their labors, it was the delegates’ fervent hope that they had arrived at a system that would establish a “more perfect union” than that of the Articles of Confederation. On the morning of Monday, September 17, 1787, the last day of the Constitutional Convention, the engrossed Constitution having been read aloud one last time, Benjamin Franklin rose with a speech in his hand that he had worked on all weekend. In it he hoped to distill the work of the whole proceedings and to bring it over the finish line. Addressing first the chair and being recognized by General Washington, the President of the Convention, he handed his speech to his fellow Pennsylvanian James Wilson to read on his behalf. “Mr. President,” it begins:

I confess that there are several parts of this constitution which I do not at present approve, but I am not sure I shall never approve them: For having lived long, I have experienced many instances of being obliged by better information or fuller consideration, to change opinions even on important subjects, which I once thought right, but found to be otherwise. It is therefore that the older I grow, the more apt I am to doubt my own judgment, and to pay more respect to the judgment of others. Most men indeed as well as most sects in Religion, think themselves in possession of all truth, and that whereever others differ from them it is so far error. Steele, a Protestant in a Dedication tells the Pope, that the only difference between our Churches in their opinions of the certainty of their doctrines is, the Church of Rome is infallible and the Church of England is never in the wrong. But though many private persons think almost as highly of their own infallibility as of that of their sect, few express it so naturally as a certain french lady, who in a dispute with her sister, said "I don't know how it happens, Sister, but I meet with no body but myself, that's always in the right" -- Il n'y a que moi qui a toujours raison.

In these sentiments, Sir, I agree to this Constitution with all its faults, if they are such; because I think a general Government necessary for us… [and] I doubt too whether any other Convention we can obtain may be able to make a better Constitution. For when you assemble a number of men to have the advantage of their joint wisdom, you inevitably assemble with those men, all their prejudices, their passions, their errors of opinion, their local interests, and their selfish views. From such an Assembly can a perfect production be expected? It therefore astonishes me, Sir, to find this system approaching so near to perfection as it does; and I think it will astonish our enemies, who are waiting with confidence to hear that our councils are confounded like those of the Builders of Babel; and that our States are on the point of separation, only to meet hereafter for the purpose of cutting one another's throats. Thus I consent, Sir, to this Constitution because I expect no better, and because I am not sure, that it is not the best. The opinions I have had of its errors, I sacrifice to the public good…

On the whole, Sir, I cannot help expressing a wish that every member of the Convention who may still have objections to it, would with me, on this occasion doubt a little of his own infallibility-- and to make manifest our unanimity, put his name to this instrument."[1]

As we continue to navigate a time of deep division in our nation, I find myself thinking more and more of these words of Dr. Franklin. To me they speak with a force equal to Scripture of the two essential qualities of a free people: honesty and humility. In a system such as ours, which sees value in the coming together of many passions and views, we can and must “doubt a little of [our] own infallibility” if we are to reap any of its advantages. Intractability, local interests,  mistrust – these have always been the easier options, but the promise of the moment, the promise of America, thought Franklin, was the realization of that ideal that had thus far eluded humanity and that now stood its best chance of success: that the strongest and most enduring community is the one forged more from difference than from sameness. And the ongoing reinvention necessary of such a people is well-captured in today’s image from the prophet Jeremiah. We are all like clay in God’s hands, clay which has the potential to be reworked a thousand times. Jeremiah’s mission was all towards convincing the people that whatever judgement might be hanging over them, it was not inevitable. They could reform. Crisis could be averted. Always open to us is the possibility of being remade. But if we are too sure of ourselves, if we grow too inflexible and hardened in our opinions, if we choose, instead, hearts of stone, we will be broken, shattering into a thousand pieces. Christ tells us to prefer nothing to God, to renounce whatever might take first place to God and, to my mind, that means chiefly ourselves. Our salvation consists only in throwing ourselves constantly back into the hands of the potter, allowing ourselves to be remade, forever learning to doubt ourselves.

[1] Max Farrand, ed., The Records of the Federal Convention of 1787, vol. 2 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1911), 641-43.

Sunday, August 28, 2022

Proper 17

Jeremiah 2: 4-13; Psalm 81:1, 10-16, Hebrews 13: 1-8, 15-16; Luke 14: 1, 7-14

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

Years ago, a woman made an appointment with me for confession.  She and I came into church and it was here that she disclosed to me the grief that was upon their heart – a heavy burden she had carried through a marriage of many years which pertained to her infidelity, an affair (at the time of our meeting) she had yet to disclose to her husband. 

Infidelity is of course nothing new, and if we are going to be honest with ourselves, we must admit that all of us bear the same guilt in regard to our important relationship, which is our relationship with God. 

Infidelity is the theme of the reading today from the prophet Jeremiah.  In the verses which were read shortly ago from chapter 2, God addresses the infidelity of the people of Israel in verse 5, which reads: “Thus says the Lord, What wrong did your ancestors find in me that they went far from me, and went after worthless things, and became worthless themselves? 

It is here that we see the story of Israel from God’s perspective.  In God’s perspective, the story of Israel is not a story of successful kings and rulers, or of prosperity and growth.  That might be how Israel wants to look at themselves.  But from God’s perspective the story of Israel is a long story of Israel forsaking God’s perfect love again and again and again.  God is righteous, and Israel is accused of infidelity to the truth. 

Jeremiah says that those who go after worthless things become worthless themselves.  How many of us are drawn away from our true love by worthless things?  I have pursued worthless things before, and have felt worthless because of my pursuit.

Infidelity makes us worthless not simply because it is wrong or evil, but because infidelity is like amnesia – we forget who we are when we choose to love the wrong things, we forget that we have value and dignity because we are made in God’s image, and so we become worthless.

Israel forgot who they were and sought to become like other people living around them.  The person who confessed infidelity to me I would say forgot she was were, and was subsequently drawn to another person pursuing the mirage that such a relationship could fill human emptiness.  We forget ourselves, every day.  You are precious in God’s eyes.  We have all been unfaithful, but God does not condemn us for our infidelity. 

A consequence of our infidelity is that we hurt people we may not even know.  I had a conversation with a person just yesterday, whom I don’t know well, and she (not knowing what I do for a job) said organized religion is one of the greatest hoaxes of all time.  Now I cannot be sure, but I imagine that if this person would not feel this way if their experience of religion was of faithful, accountable, and humble people.  If her experience of religion led to an encounter with judgmental, hypocritical people who follow worthless things, then yes, I agree – the religion is a hoax. 

There are two ways to solve infidelity: First is God’s way, and the second, is God’s way.  Both ways draw us to look inward and take inventory of our heart.  It is in our heart, where God reveals to us our true and faithful purpose.    AMEN. 

Sunday, August 14, 2022

Proper 15

Isaiah 5: 1-7; Psalm 80: 1-2, 8-18; Hebrews 11: 29 – 12:2; Luke 12: 49-56

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

The reading I wish to reflect on for a few moments is today’s Psalm – Psalm 80.  In the psalm the author writes about the people of Israel, and describes them, at least in verse 8 of the psalm, as a “vine” which the Lord has brought out of Egypt, and planted it in the Promised Land.  The author of the psalm says that the Lord “prepared the ground for it,” and the vine did what vines typically do – grow, and it filled the land.  This is author of the Psalm’s way of saying that the people of Israel were brought out of slavery in Egypt, by God, and led into Israel.

I would like to identify two problems with this story.  The first problem with God’s chosen people settling into Israel was that in doing so, the Hebrews murdered and displaced numerous people who were living in Israel before they arrived.  It is suggested by some that the Hebrews manner of treating the indigenous people of Canaan established a justification, and example, for how the United States government and settlers in America displaced indigenous native peoples who lived here before Europeans arrived.  A second problem with this story is God’s apparent support of this murder and displacement on behalf of Israelite settlers.  Violence always begets violence.  This is true today, and it was true during Israel’s conquest of Canaan.

Once Israel settled into Canaan, problems occurred, and many of which were Israel’s own making.  The violence they exhibited in the settling of Israel was returned upon them. The author of Psalm 80, says of the vine God has planted: “the wild boar of the forest has ravaged it, the beasts of the field have grazed upon it…they burn it with fire like rubbish.”  The murder and displacement which Israel caused to the people whom they forced out of Canaan, is now revisited upon them, and they cry out to God for an answer: “Restore us, O Lord God of hosts, stir up your strength to come and help us,” the author proclaims. 

Israel finds itself amidst great calamity.  Things have fallen apart.  Cynicism and despair are rampant.  And yet – they dare.  They dare, as evidenced by this psalm, that amidst calamitous circumstances, they dare to proclaim that God is sovereign.   

The other day, I heard a woman from California share that she was in Houston because her son had – tragically – taken his own life.   As she shared this, my heart broke open for her, and I couldn’t imagine the pain she felt.  But then she did something remarkable.  She said, in so many words, that she would be okay, that she had faith that God was fully with her through this, and she expressed profound gratitude for the many people who care and love her.  Her vine – her son – was ravaged by the wild boar of the forest – taken from her too soon.  But like the author of this psalm has written in verse 17, she will never turn away from God.  Not even after this. 

Our human task is to meet calamity with serenity, and to trust God when the wild boars ravage our vines, and to say to God even when our vines are permitted to burn: “Restore us O Lord God of hosts, show the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.”  AMEN.

Sunday, July 24, 2022

Proper 7

Hosea 1:2-10; Psalm 85; Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19); Luke 11:1-13

The Rev. Clint Brown

Imagine that it is the year 3022, exactly one thousand years into the future, and archaeologists are excavating the site of the ancient city of Houston. In the course of their excavations, they discover the remains of a public swimming pool. Now the purpose of the large, concrete hole in the ground might not be altogether clear to them, but they would know two things about it based on the list of rules displayed on a nearby wall. It was not a place intended for running or diving. And they would learn that people both ran and dove, hence the need for rules against these actions.[1] This is how rules work. To see a list of prohibitions is to discover the kinds of problematic things that people have done. In my teaching, I have long used this illustration to introduce the purpose of the Creeds. “Creeds speak especially to those matters that were controversial at the time the Creeds were written,” the problems that needed solving, the heresies then current that had the potential to divide and wreck the Christian proclamation, and since most of the controversies were related to belief in the Holy Trinity, our Creeds are heavily Trinitarian and careful to speak with clarity and precision about this all-important, distinctly Christian doctrine.[2]

As I reflected on the Lord’s Prayer this week, I realized that this same logic might apply. In giving us a model for prayer, in telling us the things for which we should pray, the prayer is, ultimately, telling us what we lack. It seems a simple outline for how to do a task, but it is also a theological anthropology. It is an answer to the question: who are we?

We are, says the prayer, first of all, dependent: “Give us each day our daily bread” (v. 3). We have need of provision that comes from outside us and for which we are obliged to ask because it is beyond our control. The laws of nature operate, most of the time, beneath our awareness, in ways we do not fully comprehend, but reliably and to our benefit and for that we should be thankful. Somehow the plants grow due to a magical chemical and electrical phenomenon called photosynthesis providing, in their turn, fodder for animals, and then many hands – mostly invisible and unknown to us – link together to bring that food from farm and ranch to market through impressive supply chains that crisscross continents and oceans and time zones and international borders to arrive, eventually, on store shelves and in restaurant larders, and then, through either our own skill or that of others, it is cooked and prepared and dished out ready to enjoy onto our plates to fuel the incredible electro-chemical engine that is us – the human organism that Carl Sagan once observed is stardust having attained the capacity to contemplate itself. In the face of all this staggering providence, that should strike us as nothing short of miraculous, we are right to be moved to gratitude, a sense of something given. “Thank God for that,” we often say, before we realize what we’ve said, as we reach instinctively for someone to thank.[3] But occasionally what stops us short is not our gratitude but our finitude. We plunge ahead confident in our self-sufficiency and mastery until, inevitably, we are confronted with how little control we have. Perhaps it is a diagnosis, or a financial set back, or a death, or an addiction spiraling out of control – eventually something shakes us to our foundation, and we know that we can’t pull ourselves out of this one alone. “Many a bargain is struck in the recesses of the heart when things look black, only to be discarded with embarrassment when the good times return. But it may still be a reminder that none of us is self-sufficient; we all face situations when we know we could do with someone big on our side…[and] reaching out beyond ourselves is the first move of prayer.”[4] We are, first of all, dependent.

Second of all, the prayer says we are guilty: “forgive us our sins” (v.4). Not only are we in need of daily provision, we are also in need of daily forgiveness, because, as any of us can testify, in the scales of cosmic justice we are always tending toward the wrong. It is in our nature to be always choosing the worse over the better part, to be falling short, and so, each day, we are instructed to confess our failings, both in the things done and those left undone. And why this is is not just to secure an extra week of grace for ourselves so that when we rise from our knees we have a clean slate with which to make room for another week of sinning. We are to become instruments of reconciliation ourselves. “Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors” (Matthew 6:12). “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Here in slightly different wording is the crucial insight that we can’t recognize forgiveness unless we are living that way in relation to others.[5] It’s nothing new. Long ago, God commanded our ancestors, “You shall not oppress an alien since you know the alien’s soul, because you were aliens in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 23:9).[6] Jesus made the same point when he stared at the crowd and said, “He that is without sin…let him first cast a stone” (John 8:7, KJV). We are all in this together, sinning and being sinned against. None of us is guiltless, which is why we must pray, daily, “Forgive us our sins.”

And, finally, the prayer has us calling out to God, “Lead us” and “Deliver us” (v.4b, in its traditional rendering), because we cannot make our own way in this world in any satisfactory sense without divine guidance. We are lost and vulnerable beings who, left to our own devices, will only make misery for ourselves. We cannot be our own source. We cannot be our own salvation. Our impulses lead us only as far as self-interest can take us, to a hollow existence of petty greed, power lust, violence. So into the breach comes a Savior, Christ, to show us a better way and to save us from ourselves. Ever our model, we see him in the garden, in prayer, submitting himself to the perfect will of the Father. We think that we are our highest good, but not so proclaims the Cross – only death brings life. In the great debate about whether prayer changes God or changes us, I don’t think there can be any real doubt. Prayer changes us. “God is perfect love and perfect wisdom,” wrote William Temple. “We do not pray in order to change His Will, but to bring our wills into harmony with His.”[7] “Deliver us,” we pray, from all that would try to tempt us away from the arms of perfect love.

In this brief survey of the Lord’s Prayer, we have discovered ourselves a frail creature: dependent and guilty and vulnerable. This is not the way we like to think of ourselves. We do not like to think of ourselves as either deficient or weak or out of control, and yet this is the reality of who we are. The story is told that Karl Marx’s daughter once told a friend that she hadn’t been brought up with any religion and therefore wasn’t religious. “But,” she confessed, “the other day I came across a beautiful little prayer which I very much wish could be true.” And when asked about it, she began repeating slowly, “Our Father, who art in heaven…”[8] Well, it is true. It tells us exactly who we are.

[1] Scott Gunn and Melody Wilson Schobe, Walk in Love: Episcopal Beliefs and Practices (Cincinnati: Forward Movement, 2018), 171.

[2] Ibid., 172.

[3] John Pritchard, How to Pray: A Practical Handbook (London: SPCK, 2011), 3.

[4] Pritchard, How to Pray, 4.

[5] Ibid., 18.

[6] Richard Elliott Friedman, The Exodus (New York: HarperCollins, 2018), 201.

[7] Quoted in Bruce Barton, Dave Veerman, and Linda Taylor, Luke, Life Application Bible Commentary (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House, 1997), 291.

[8] Quoted in Pritchard, How to Pray, 19.

Sunday, July 17, 2022

Proper 11

Amos 8:1-12; Colossians 1:25-28; Luke 38-42

The Rev. Jeff Bohanski

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

Martha, Martha, Martha.  Poor worried Martha.  I feel sorry for her.  I can relate to her.  I am grateful for her.  In today’s Gospel Mary is the good one who Jesus praises.  Mary is the one who biblical scholars give credit to as the one Jesus uses to upend conventional thinking about roles of men and women in society.  Rules he wants changed in the new kingdom he is ushering in.  Good for Mary!  Amen!  

But this morning I want to ponder Martha.  A few weeks ago, we heard Jesus tell the ones he sent out to eat what was set before them when they entered a town that welcomed them.  It seems to me Martha, was doing just that. Martha was lovingly welcoming Jesus by her diligently preparing food and working hard so it would be set out beautifully.  I like to think Martha may have known some of these foods were Jesus’ favorites.  But poor worried Martha got so caught up with doing things right that she forgot why she was doing what she was doing even though Jesus was there!  I’m sure she never expected to hear Jesus say what he said when she appealed to him for help. “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

In June, I was fortunate enough to travel to Alaska and spend a few days with my niece who had just finished her first year of teaching in the Anchorage School District.

During my time there we booked a helicopter excursion to the top of a glacier.  The pilot was a friend of a friend of my niece’s, so we had personal connection with him.  On our flight up to the top of glacier I asked him about what he has noticed about the people he takes on these flights.  I found his answer quite interesting.  He said he found lots of people come up here and take lots of pictures.  He went on to say that picture taking is good, for he too was an amateur photographer, but it seemed to him that people get so caught up in taking their pictures of these phenomenal views, that they forget to take the time to feel the experience of standing on a 200-foot-thick glacier in June with a cold wind blowing over the ice.  As we landed, I promised myself I would, indeed take time to feel the experience of being on this glacier in June.  I promised myself I would be fully present.  I would see and feel God in God’s creation.

After putting on gear and listening to a quick orientation about how to walk on a glacier, I began taking pictures.  I took pictures of my niece scampering on the ice, the helicopter, a gorgeous pool of crystal-clear water, the actual ice of the glacier, the mountains on both sides of the glacier, and views up and down the glacier.  I was so very happy and proud of my amazing pictures.  I remember thinking how great it was that I had this opportunity to take these pictures that I would have forever.

That’s when it occurred to me, I was doing the same thing as all the other passengers the pilot had talked about.  I wasn’t taking time to take in what was before me.  I wasn’t experiencing God’s magnificent creation.  So, I stopped taking pictures.  I put my phone in my pocket and I looked around, and I listened, I breathed in the fresh cold June air atop that glacier and experienced that environment.  It was Amazing!

As I turned to take in another view, I saw my beautiful niece crouch down and collect two bottles of glacier water from the pool of melted ice.  I noticed as she stood up, she had the most astounding joyous smile I had ever seen.  Now, I have felt joy before, but after seeing my niece in that moment, I now know what joy looks like.  I will forever be grateful for the chance I had to witness my beautiful, brilliant, and brave niece, who at one time I held as a baby, being filled with joy.  I know if I had not stopped my busy picture taking, I would have missed the joy that was right in front of me, the joy in my niece’s face.

People of Saint Andrews, I fully believe Martha was preparing food for Jesus out of love.  Unfortunately, in her need for wanting to do things right she forgot and almost missed the joy that was right before her, Jesus, Emanuel.  I’ve often wondered how Martha could have done this, but after my experience on that glacier I now understand.

In a few minutes we will recite the Nicene Creed.  We will say together the words, “We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, the maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen.” I invite you this week to learn from Martha and me. Look for God.  Look for God in all God’s creation.  I invite you to stop for a moment in the good busy things you are doing and be present to God.  Feel God’s presence in what you are doing.  Look for God in the person who is near you. Pray for that person.  Look for God in yourself, because like both Martha and Mary, Jesus wants to come and dwell with you where you are today.  Say yes to God’s love as you are in that moment.  I invite you to look at the world around you.  Ask yourself where you see God.  Give thanks for that.

Perhaps you are in a time of life where you don’t especially feel God’s love.  I ask you to trust me.  God loves you for who you are today.  Invite God into what you are feeling.

Finally, I am grateful for Martha.  I have come to believe that credit should go to Martha because Jesus uses Martha to show us how to love God.  Martha reminds us to ask the question, where is God in this moment?  Be mindful, feel God’s presence.   Amen.

Sunday, July 10, 2022

Proper 10

Amos 7:7-17; Psalm 82; Colossians 1:1-14; Luke 10:25-37

The Rev. Clint Brown

Love – the content and the aim of the Gospel. The content because love is that which has been revealed by God’s actions in our behalf; the aim because Christ has mandated that we love one another as he has loved us (John 14:34-35). The first is supremely demonstrated by Christ’s death on the cross, and the second by one of his most famous parables, the parable of the Good Samaritan.

In those early days of Christianity, when Peter and Paul and the rest of the Apostles were spreading out and taking the Gospel to all parts of the Roman world, there was no more defining characteristic of this upstart sect than the radical boundary crossing exemplified by the story of the Good Samaritan. Slaves, foreigners, any and all of society’s cast offs and riff raff, these were the ones that embraced the new religion and were populating the early Christian communities. It seemed that there was no societal norm this upstart religion wasn’t willing to break, no “undesirable” it was unwilling to “cross the road” for, so to speak, in the name of love. As the foundational and organizing principle of our identity – so radical, so expansive – as I say, both the content and aim of the Gospel, let us examine it.

There are, in Greek, four words for love. There is, first of all, ἔρως (erōs), the love of passion and passionate feeling, usually synonymous with physical intimacy but not necessarily to be understood as only that. Erōs is characterized by its intensity, how it abandons ordinary constraints and will not answer to reason. It is the love we mean when we say we’re “in love.” And if it sounds a little dangerous, that’s because it is! But it is important to emphasize that we cannot live as humans without such deep emotions, by being touched by things that give us intense feelings of joy and pleasure that do not answer to any reason other than that we like them.

And second, there is στοργή, storgē, the word for family love, the love that defines the relationship of parent and child. You have only to think of the first moment you held your newborn to know what this love is. The bond created by the blood relationship is powerful and written into our DNA, a sign to us of love that is of a deep and instinctual kind. We are made to be in families and to know the kind of love that families know, love that is unbreakable, unshakeable, and absolute, a “given” that we can always rely upon in a world of expediency, of fairweather friends, fragile alliances, and shifting loyalties.

The third word for love is φιλία (philia), which is the warm and affectionate love such as friends feel toward one another. Philadelphia, both a city of ancient Asia Minor and modern Pennsylvania, translates as the city of brotherly love. Philia encompasses both spiritual and physical closeness and the trust and confidence we can have in our friends can equal, and often does exceed, that which we have in our families. Many ancient writers noted the irony, as did the Apostle Paul and the early Christian communities, that we can and do often find our most permanent place of belonging, our greatest sense of home, outside our families with those of like mind who accept us by choice and not obligation.

And, finally, there is ἀγάπη (agapē), and this is Christian love. It is love that gives and does not expect a return. It is sacrificial – it will have nothing to do with conditions or transactions – and it, more than any other, is the kind of love that we learn in Scripture most characterizes God. Jesus reveals its essential flavor when says that no one has greater love than to lay down their life for their friends (John 15:13); or, in Matthew 5, when he bids Christians to love even their enemies; or, as mentioned, in the image of the Good Samaritan. Why are we to love even our enemies? Why are we to extend ourselves even for complete strangers? Because that’s what God does. God makes his sun to rise on both the evil and the good, sending rain on both the just and the unjust (Matthew 5:45). Which is to say that there is in God an “unconquerable benevolence”[1] to all God’s creatures, irrespective of their class or character. In theology this goes by the word grace.

Now to us all this makes no sense at all. Plutarch, a contemporary of the writing of the New Testament, might well be speaking for us today when he defined a real man as one who was useful to his friends and dangerous to his enemies, but observe just how far agapē love forces us beyond this – beyond our human nature, our self-interestedness, our too-small conception of love as just one more “transactional commodity.” It should come then as no surprise to learn that the word agapē is hardly a word at all in the ancient world. In its rare appearance in classical Greek it is noteworthy only for how hard it is to define.[2] It is a word out of focus because unconditional love as an idea was out of focus. Agapē only comes into its own in the Christian era. As one biblical scholar puts it, it is a word “born within the bosom of revealed religion,”[3] a word that only God could define.

Like the love of God extended toward us, agapē love demands of every Christian a universal and unconquerable benevolence to all people, no matter their attitude toward us, their treatment of us, whether they look or think like us, or whether we judge them worthy of it or deserving. We love first and ask questions later. We are leaven that, through just a small amount, can affect the whole batch; we are salt that, though tiny, can make the whole dish savory; we are light that, even though a single candle, still has the power to penetrate the darkness of an entire room. Two thousand years has not changed how surprising, how revolutionary, how world-changing this kind of love is, so let us show we are Christians by our love.

[1] William Barclay, Great Themes of the New Testament (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 4.

[2] Kittel, Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Vol. 1 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964), 36-37.

[3] Barclay, Great Themes, 4.