Sunday, December 10, 2023

Advent 2

Isaiah 40:1-11, Mark 1:1-8

The Rev. Cn. Joann Saylors

Some of you may have come across a headline on the internet this week: “Grinch terrorizes Texas schoolchildren with ‘Santa is fake’ sign.”[i] A self-described street preacher was accosted by parents of Sleepy Hollow Elementary in Amarillo after what he calls his “Grinch preach” during morning drop-off. He was dressed as the Grinch and holding a sign that said, “Santa is fake, Jesus is real.” He also had a camera with which he filmed the encounter and uploaded it to YouTube.

The parents, understandably, were frightened and annoyed, and yelled back and went for the camera. Although the police were called, no one was arrested. But the story seems to have gone viral.

I have many thoughts. First, let me address the sign. There is great irony in someone dressed as a fictional character deciding what is fake and what is real. There is a real St. Nicholas, whom we now know as Santa Claus. Although I am on board with the “Jesus is real” part. But it’s hard to imagine taking religious instruction from the Grinch.

Next, this is exactly the kind of action people fear when we talk about evangelism. Evangelism is based in ongoing relationship and begins with love. Shouting at people and scaring them has not been effective in forming new Jesus followers. Neither have the Grinch’s other strategies: 80 minute videos of one-man protests, creepily filming children waiting in line to see Santa, or Quran burnings. You might, however, see the hand of God if such a burning event is foiled by a shirtless skateboarder stealing the holy book at the last minute. It is easy to dismiss the man’s efforts or become cynical. Of course real Christians would never work like that jerk. And a former atheist who had an epiphany after watching the movie Signs, suddenly believing everything in his life had been foretold by God, as this man’s story goes? Well, that’s ridiculous. The writer of the article clearly thinks so, as it ends with “Whether he believes aliens are real or not remains to be seen.” In the author’s mind, both the possibility of an epiphany from God or the presence of sentient life beyond earth are beneath consideration. Click on to the next article.

If I haven’t made it clear, I vehemently disagree with this man’s theology, his prejudices, and his tactics for protesting and expressing his faith. Not ok. But I have been driven to think about him a little more.

Is there a possibility he had a vision from God? It’s certainly not without precedent. In the book of Numbers God says to Moses, Aaron, and Miriam, “Hear my words: When there are prophets among you, I the Lord make myself known to them in visions; I speak to them in dreams.”[ii] Abraham, Moses, Isaiah all had visions of God. Paul had a vision so strong it knocked him off his horse. St. Catherine of Siena experienced many ecstatic visions, including one of a “’mystical marriage’ to Christ, the wedding party including the Virgin Mary, St. John the Evangelist, St. Paul, St. Dominic, and King David, who played his harp. Christ presented her a ring that was invisible to others, but which she could see for the rest of her life.”[iii]   Julian of Norwich had deathbed visions of Jesus, after which she was restored to health. Her book Revelations of Divine Love, a classic, describes them. At age 13 St. Joan of Arc had a vision of St. Michael, surrounded by angels, after which she wept because she wanted to go with them. Teresa of Avila, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Augustine. Many have reported visions of Mary, and the Basilica of the Virgin of Guadalupe, built where Juan Diego and his uncle had one, is the third most-visited religious site in the world. So while I may not agree with what he’s done with it, I’m not willing to say the Grinch didn’t have an experience of God.

And a scary, oddly dressed person standing outside yelling at people in hopes they will change? Also not unique. John the Baptist’s camel-hair form of dress, one commenter notes, was “several centuries out of fashion, just the kind of clothing worn by the prophet Elijah.”[iv] And while in Matthew’s Gospel John enhances his sermons by calling religious leaders a “brood of vipers” and mentioning both wrath and fire as the outcome for those who are not “good fruit,”[v] his message in Mark is scary enough. The preparation for the coming of the Messiah, the promised one, involves repentance and confession. Hard words then and now, difficult to reconcile with the “good news” Mark promises. Because repentance and confession involve taking a serious look at ourselves and our actions. In the same way John is looking to the future while wearing clothing that points to the past, his message calls us to prepare for the One who is to come while interrogating our own pasts, personal and collective.

This is not something most of us are eager to do, is it? Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone. We all have things we regret saying or doing, or even thinking, but it’s so much easier to ignore that or rationalize it away. I confess to you – as I was reading the story of the “Grinch preach” the first time, I was cynical and dismissive. As I said, it’s easy. What caused me to think twice about my attitude was that last line, “Whether he believes aliens are real or not remains to be seen,” so close to using the word “epiphany.” I guess I’m formed to respond to churchy words like “epiphany” as a better person than I was being in the moment. But it gave me pause, and I reflected, and I was able to name my thoughts and feelings.

And the whole experience made me wonder. It bears repeating: I vehemently disagree with this man’s theology, his prejudices, and his tactics for protesting and expressing his faith. But I’m curious. How would we respond to John the Baptist? Would we use the excuse of his appearance and techniques to dismiss his message? Especially those of us who might be considered religious leaders? Or would we feel challenged to repent and confess? Would we do it?

What would it be like to feel like we were fully living into what God called us to do? Not in a way that excludes humility and reflection, but in a way that made us brave and confident. What would it take to be so driven to share good news Jesus, of hope and peace and joy? To tell our stories? To invite others in?

I know that I need to spend more time praying about this, and I want to push myself to be better at loving those I’d rather judge, or dismiss, or parody. I don’t know what else I might find when I look back, repent, and confess. Or what you might. But I hope that we will heed the call to prepare for the coming of the Promised One. And I hope we will share this journey together. AMEN.

[i] Brittanie Shey, “Grinch terrorizes Texas schoolchildren with ‘Santa is fake’ sign, https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/grinch-terrorizes-texas-schoolchildren-with-santa-is-fake-sign/ar-AA1l31A7, accessed December 6, 2023.

[ii] Num 12:6, NRSV.

[iii] https://catholicexchange.com/the-ecstatic-visions-of-st-catherine-of-siena/, accessed December 7, 2023.

[iv] Martin B. Copenhaver, “Second Sunday of Advent: Mark 1:8,” in Feasting on the Word Year B, Volume 1, ed. David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 47.

[v] Mat 3:7,10, NRSV.

Sunday, December 3, 2023

Advent 1

Isaiah 64:1-9; Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18; 1 Corinthians 1:3-9; Mark 13:24-37

The Rev. Clint Brown

One way we might think about Advent is to think of it as the start of a journey, and what that journey is is the telling of the whole Christian story once again. Its general outline is fairly well known. On our way there will be a miraculous birth and then a baptism that inaugurates a ministry, a temptation, a calling of a small band of disciples, a Sermon on the Mount, various confrontations and controversies with the religious and political authorities, a series of miracles and awesome displays of power but also tender moments of intimate connection where the broken, of every ilk and stripe, are made whole, a triumphal entry, a last supper, a clandestine arrest, a betrayal by a trusted friend, a rushed trial, Pilate will wash hands, a long, tortuous walk to a hill outside the city walls, and then a gruesome execution spelling the end to all that had been hoped for, all that had been promised…except that it wasn’t the end. Early in morning, on the first day of the week, the women will rush back from their visit to the tomb to exclaim to the bewildered disciples, “He is risen!” – and then the whole story changes. A tiny band of defeated and demoralized nobodies will burst forth from the Upper Room to change the world. Today the Church begins anew to tell that story: to hand down the precious deposit of faith that we have received, that we, in our turn, will hand on to others. So what is Advent? Advent is for beginning.

But like any journey we may contemplate, we must prepare. We must check our gear and go shopping for essentials and sit down to chart our route and take account of the weather forecast. That’s Advent, too. Advent is for checking in with ourselves to see where we are in our spiritual journey. A whole new church year stretches out before us promising both the expected and familiar but also the potential to be touched differently at different points along the way as we experience the familiar anew. We are both the same and different from the last time we passed this way, so before we take another turn through the Christian year, we need to establish our base line, the condition in which we find ourselves as we make the start. Advent is for preparation.

The words we associate with Advent help us get a sense for the kind of preparation we are meant to do. Words like anticipation, apocalypse, second coming, deliverance, eschaton, expectation, fulfillment, hope, judgment, light of the world, longing, redemption, Messiah, peace, preparation, promise, prophet, repentance, and waiting. The season gets its name from the Latin word for “coming” – adventus – and the church has long understood that there are, in fact, two “comings” to prepare for. One is the coming of the baby in the manger, to be sure, the highly anticipated arrival that already has the world in a frenzy of shopping and preparation. And as has been the case for centuries, the challenge for us is to see, through all that noise and bustle, the coming of a Savior. Because if we’re not careful, it is so easy to miss him and allow the meaning of this season to get crowded out by all the other things we are doing. But if it’s any consolation, this is nothing new to Jesus. He always seems to be having trouble getting recognized and noticed. He was overlooked and pushed aside from the very start when his parents were consigned to a cattle stall because there was no room for them in the inn. Jesus, unfortunately, is no stranger to being brushed off. What a way to welcome God into the world! So let us do better, shall we? Advent is for recognizing what’s really going on.

But just as important as Christ's first advent, and equally the focus of this season, the Church takes heed of his second advent, the Second Coming of Christ, when he returns as the mighty King in the fullness of his power and glory. At this second advent he will be without any of the limitations he took on before, and there will be no possibility of mistaking him or ignoring him because he will be riding the clouds as if on a chariot. Every eye shall turn to see him, even those that pierced him. He is coming again to rule and reign, rightfully, as Lord of all. He who is the hope of the nations. He who is the righteous judge. He who is the conquering lamb. His return spells doom for all the complacent, the distracted, and the unkind, and means that all that is upside down and wrong side out in this world will be put to rights. And so Advent is, especially, for giving our whole selves over to his penetrating gaze as our judge. In the midst of excess, we become repentant. In the midst of frenzy and disproportion, we aim to grow a little more quiet. We do this because we recognize that before he comes in a manger, before he comes in the clouds, Jesus Christ must come into our hearts. Advent is for turning our whole selves to Jesus to be both savior and judge. So I commend to you, in closing, those ancient words of the Church that express all our hope and longing in this and every season of Advent – Maranatha! Come Lord Jesus!

 Amen.

Sunday, November 19, 2023

Proper 28

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

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

So I am not Bob Merril.  Bob is not feeling well today, and so, I am here in his place.  He did send me his sermon he intended to preach today in case I wanted to preach, but I am not great at preaching my own sermons, let alone preaching someone else’s. So this morning, you all get this sermon I cooked up yesterday. 

Oddly enough, throughout my vocation as a priest, I’ve learned something.   It often appears that the less time I spend preparing sermons, the more people like them.  The more time I spend on a sermon, fretting over this and that, the more people say “meh that was okay.”  Regardless of how much time I spend preparing a sermon, I know that Don Chevalier always times them. 

Today’s sermon is on the reading from 1 Thessalonians today for two reasons, mainly.  First - this letter – 1 Thessalonians – is the oldest part of the entire New Testament.  It was written in the year 51 CE – approximately twenty years after the resurrection of Jesus.  The Apostle Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians is older than all four of the Gospels in the New Testament.  Secondly, the content of the Apostle Paul's letter is a master lesson in how to live, period. 

In the section from the letter today Paul writes about the coming "Day of the Lord" which is a term Paul throws around to describe the coming judgment of all nations.  He did not come up with this term himself, it appears multiple times throughout the Old Testament prophets in books like Daniel and Joel.  The Day of the Lord is about the end of human history when all must render an account of our lives before God.   

While the Day of the Lord is a moment in the future, it is also very much in the present.  Most people in this church today can think of a moment in their lives of bewilderment, terror, frustration, or despair.  Likely that moment in your life appeared, as Paul says, like a thief in the night.  

Things were going along fine, and then all of a sudden as with the labor pains that come upon a pregnant woman, the moment you were not prepared for arrived, and there it was.  The point Paul makes in Thessalonians is that given enough time, this moment will happen to every single one of us.  Therefore, Paul asserts, we are to be awake and to be sober, we are to put on the breastplate of faith and love, and for a helmet the hope of salvation.  I know of no better way to live than what Paul proclaims.

I recently watched the film "The Shack," a film I had avoided watching for a long time for no good reason.  I had a lot of contempt prior to investigation about it.  I thought it would be touchy feely like a Hallmark movie with forced, awkward sentimentality.  It did have some of that, but the movie taught me something.  It taught me, through a powerful scene, that we are not given the right to judge anything.  We don't have any authority when it comes to our lives to say something that happens to us is either good or bad.  We aren't the judge, though we often act as if we are.  Only God is the judge.  

And if God is our judge, then God will judge with mercy and justice.  The Day of the Lord, whether it is happening to you right now, or whether you experience it at the end of time, is something we neither get to choose or control – it belongs to God.  If you feel today that you are in a sweltering crucible of judgment – that life is unexplainably difficult, resist the temptation to judge the experience as bad.  On the other side of eternity, you might look back on this moment and see it as the greatest miracle you’ve ever encountered.    

Those people fortunate enough to find true spiritual maturity – and I’m not talking about people who just go to church on autopilot – I’m talking about people who hunger and thirst for the knowledge of God’s will and the power to carry that out.  Those are the fortunate among us –  no longer need fear God's judgment, or dread it.  They give thanks for it.  As do I.  AMEN.

Sunday, November 12, 2023

Proper 27

Joshua 24: 1-3a, 14-25; Psalm 78: 1-7; 1 Thessalonians 4: 13-18; Matthew 25: 1-13

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

During the time of Jesus, the customs surrounding marriage were different than they are today.  There were no wedding coordinators, no destination weddings, no getting married in Las Vegas – it was different back then.  One of the ways wedding customs of Israel were different involved the bride and the groom.  On the day of the actual wedding, the groom would go with a group of friends to the home of the bride – usually in the evening. 

Once at her parent’s home, the family of the bride would present her to the groom and the bride and groom would go to their new home, and once they arrived there, this would begin a wedding celebration that would last for several days – that’s a lot of wedding cake.

Young women from the groom’s family would wait in the house at night until the wedding party arrived.  No one knew when the bride and the groom would return to their new home, so their arrival was never predictable. 

In the story Jesus tells today, ten bridesmaids wait in the home for the groom.  It is evening, and each bridesmaid has an oil lamp which they keep lit because it is dark.  Five of the bridesmaids came prepared with extra oil for their lamps in case they needed it, while the other five bridesmaids did not bring extra oil. 

For the five who did not have extra oil for their lamps, when they ran out, they asked the other five who had extra oil if they could borrow some, but they did not have enough to share.  So the bridesmaids who had no oil left the house in search of more.  While they were gone, groom and bride arrived and the party started.  When the bridesmaids returned, they found themselves locked out of the party.  Because they left to look for more oil, they missed the couple’s return, they missed their big moment, because they were not prepared.

The message of the story is summed up in the two words of the Boy Scout motto: “Be Prepared.”   In the story, Jesus is the bridegroom, and we are the bridesmaids – waiting for them.  The question pointed to each of us is simple – do we have enough oil in our lamps?  Are we prepared?

Twenty-two years ago, St. Andrew’s Episcopal School opened its doors to students for the first time.  There was much careful planning that occurred prior to its opening – teachers were hired, rooms were outfitted for Montessori education.  Everything was ready, every preparation made, and the school celebrated its opening day…on September 10, 2001.  There are some things even the most careful preparation cannot account for. 

We are often unprepared for what comes next in our lives, despite our constant preoccupation with the future.  Sometimes a premature ending takes us by surprise.  On other occasions, we are unprepared for something to take longer than we had anticipated.  We find ourselves thinking we have all the time in the world to achieve an important goal, to discontinue a bad habit or begin a new one, to take care of ourselves, to develop a relationship with God, to read an important book.  But how much time do we really have? 

This past Sunday was Commitment Sunday at St. Andrew’s, meaning that we blessed all the pledges received for 2024 at the altar.  As of this morning, 119 pledges had already been returned totaling $778,000.  Our pledge goal is $815,000.  We are 95% there!  Eighty-four of those pledges were from families or individuals who increased their pledge since last year.   If you have already submitted your pledge card for 2024, thank you. If you haven’t, a pledge card is included in your service bulletin today.  Fill it out and place it in the collection plate.  We are so close to our goal. 

The dollar amount you write on your pledge card is truly the oil for our lamps at St. Andrew’s.  We are prepared to step out in faith, to do the work that God has called us to do.  St. Andrew’s is prepared because of each of you – because of your generosity, and your ministry.  So - until the bridegroom returns, be faithful and prepared.  AMEN.

Sunday, November 5, 2023

All Saints

Revelation 7:9-17; Psalm 34:1-10, 22; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12

The Rev. Clint Brown

There is a story of a young girl who would often accompany her father to his part time job. It was a rather unique job in that he was responsible for cleaning the cathedral in the city where they lived. While he worked, he would allow her to wander around on her own and explore what, to a small child, must have been a wonderland. You can imagine her delight as she discovered seemingly endless corridors and mysterious locked doors and wondered about all the unique objects stuffed into nooks and crannies. One day she found herself taking particular notice of the windows which to her looked just like pictures. She was transfixed by the way the evening light, streaming through the windows, would fall on her while she stood there, bathing her in the warm and varied hues of the stained glass. On the way home that night she asked her father about the people in the windows – “Who are they?” – and her father explained that some were angels; some were great characters or scenes from the Bible; some showed the life of Christ; and some were saints. “What’s a saint?” she asked. “Well, did you notice the light coming through the window? A saint is a person you only see when the light shines through.”

This has come to be for me the best definition of a saint I know of, a person you only see because the light of Christ shines through. There is no hint of self-importance in a saint, no interest in fame or power, or that we all see them. Rather, their desire is to be transparent to the work of Christ through them. We call a person a saint before they talk differently and act differently, in ways that suggest to us that when we see them, we are seeing a bit of what God must be like. A saint is a person made visible by the character of God. It is why on All Saints we hear the Beatitudes – “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” “Blessed are the meek.” “Blessed are the merciful.” “Blessed are the peacemakers.” There are not normal ways of behaving; these are, indeed, saintly ways of behaving. These are glimpses of what a saint is like, what God is like, and God is not through making saints. God means for you and me to be one, too. So let the light of Christ shine through you bright and clear and strong this day and every day. Go… be a saint.

Sunday, October 22, 2023

Proper 24

Exodus 33:12-23; Psalm 99; 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10; Matthew 22:15-22

The Rev. Clint Brown

If you were wondering what was actually inscribed on the coin they handed to Jesus, it was this: “Tiberius Caesar, Son of the Divine Augustus, Augustus.” The coin would not have been as perfectly machine tooled as a modern coin, but it would have borne a recognizable likeness of the emperor Tiberius and this inscription. By the time we arrive at this scene in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus has entered Jerusalem, cleared the Temple, and told several parables about how the religious leaders of his generation are misunderstanding God’s purposes. Matthew now shifts from the realm of abstraction into reality by stringing together several examples of how this is the case, beginning with this confrontation about taxation. Everything about the exchange here is loaded. To begin with, the Pharisees and the Herodians were not a natural coalition. On just about everything they were opposed. But in Jesus they found common cause because he was destabilizing to both their agendas. The coin they brought to Jesus was a trap to force Jesus to choose between Caesar or God, to make a statement that was either treasonous to Rome or offensive to the people. How will Jesus answer?

Taxation was a hot topic in Palestine. The Jews hated paying taxes not only because the money supported their oppressors and symbolized their subjection, but also because they were offended by how the ruling class lived off their suffering and how the state used tax money to subsidize heathen temples. The system itself was obnoxious. For a flat fee, tax collectors were contracted by Rome to manage a district. Collect the quota for that district and anything in excess of that was yours to pocket. It was a system tailor-made for corruption. It was also highly effective. By playing on the greed of the tax collectors, Rome ensured that it got its share, and it effectively erected a buffer between itself and the people. But if and when things did break down and the situation got too out of hand, the tax collector had the full weight and power of the imperial system at his back, with its soldiers and arms and its own cruel and inhuman means of extracting what it wanted. About such an oppressive system, the people were obviously very interested in hearing what Jesus had to say. If Jesus agreed that it was right to pay taxes to Caesar, the Pharisees would say that he was opposed to God, and the people would turn against him. If Jesus said the taxes should not be paid, the Herodians could hand him over to Herod on the charge of rebellion. It was one or the other.

But Jesus slips the trap brilliantly. He says that these positions are not mutually exclusive; a Christian can do both. In fact, this probably counts as some of the most practical advice Jesus ever gives us for living in the real world. Where the idealism of the Sermon on the Mount and so much of Jesus’s other teaching may have us always feeling like we are falling short, this is something we feel like we can do. We can accept the logic that we Christians are, in fact, dual citizens, both of a country and of Christ. What Jesus demonstrates here is that any incompatibility that seems to exist disappears when we realize that God is ultimately in control. Paying taxes did not have to indicate submission to the divinity claimed by the emperor. The words on the coins were incorrect. Caesar had the right to claim their tax money, but he had no claim on their souls. This is the crucial point to remember. When your commitment to God is clarified it will be seen that all other commitments are as well.

Experience has shown me that one can be a good Christian and live out the ideals of Christianity whether one inhabits the political left or the political right. For my part, I want to make it clear that I won’t today or ever make this pulpit political. I know that Jimmy feels the same. You will hear me preach about Christian obligations and these will have political ramifications like my message today, but you will never hear me endorse a candidate or a political party. This is not a cop out – I have my opinions – this is on principle. What we all need to hear, and especially in times of superheated partisan politics like today, is that our salvation does not lie in a political party; it lies with Christ. Jesus taught that Christians should render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s. He may not have elaborated on all the issues related to a Christian citizen’s responsibility to the state, but he did indicate a preference for compliance and civil stability.

So for a practical question I want to leave you with some practical advice that I once read that has helped me to think about my civic duty. First, choose your battles carefully. No state is perfect. If you refuse to live with moments of unfairness or bureaucratic hassle, you need to live by yourself on an island, and that, to me, seems hard to reconcile with Christ’s consistent preferencing of the community over the individual. Second, cooperate and support the state as far as faith will take you. Fortunately, in democratic countries (unlike Judea in Jesus’ time), we can work for peaceful change through peaceful means. There is no need to be a hermit or a rebel. Third, be wary of the radicalization of either side. Militia movements have appealed to worried Christians on the right and caused them to become more worried still. Leftist movements have attracted other Christians but consistently confused them by equating political change with spiritual growth.[1] Fourth and finally, I think we can do no better than leave the last word to Christ: “Give therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s” (22:21)…and, remember, it all belongs to God.

[1] This advice (with modifications) and a great many other insights for this sermon are drawn from Bruce Barton et al., Matthew, Life Application Bible Commentary, ed. Grant Osborne and Philip Comfort (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House, 1996), 432-36.

Sunday, Ocotber 15, 2023

Proper 23

Exodus 32:1-14; Psalm 106:1-6, 19-23; Philippians 4:1-9; Matthew 22:1-14

The Rev. Clint Brown

It struck me this week as I was reading the passage from Philippians, that these are Paul’s last words. We know that because this is Paul’s last letter, written while in prison in Rome, and we know that he won’t get out of Rome alive. He will not have a chance to write another letter, and so this is his valediction, the last things he has to say to us.

With that in mind and out of curiosity, I made this week a survey of other “famous last words” spoken through history. I found both the profound and the mundane and everything in between. Churchill, who is always quotable, is reported to have said, “I’m so bored with it all,” before slipping into a final coma. You’ll remember that Nathan Hale, the great patriot, before being hanged by the British for espionage, famously opined, “I regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.” In the Christian tradition, Macrina, the beautiful and brilliant sister of St. Gregory of Nyssa, modeled an equal courage. Dying of a wasting illness, she yet prayed in faith, testifying in her final words, “Thou, O Lord, hast freed us from the fear of death. Thou hast made the end of this life the beginning to us of true life.” The great Socrates has left us not one, but two “last words.” After being sentenced to death, he bid farewell to those who had condemned him by saying, “Now it is time that we were going, I to die and you to live, but which of us has the happier prospect is unknown to anyone but God.” And then, a month later, after calmly swallowing the fatal draught of hemlock, he showed his great humanity by recalling a last bit of unfinished business – “Crito, we ought to offer a rooster to Asclepius. See to it, and don’t forget” – then closing his eyes for the last time.

There are other telling examples. One can rise to the noble heights of a Lord Nelson – “Thank God I have done my duty” – or the good humor of Oscar Wilde – “My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has to go.” One’s last words can begin a mystery, as in “Why didn’t they ask Evans?” the dying words of a man on a beach that launches the Agatha Christie story of the same name. Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, the founding fathers who were sometime antagonists, but, finally, fast friends, have the eerie distinction of dying on the same day, on July 4th, no less, 50 years to the day after the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Jefferson, feeling the weight of history, came out of his troubled, feverish sleep briefly after midnight to ensure that he had made it to the anniversary. He weakly queried the attending doctor, “Is it the Fourth?” before laying back and expiring.

Returning to the history of Christianity, you may not have heard of a certain believing Roman noblewoman named Perpetua, but you should know about her last words, or rather her last act of faith. She and a group of companions met their martyr’s death in the year 203 CE, but, unfortunately, the soldier who struck Perpetua was inept and merely pierced her throat between the bones. She shrieked with pain, then, with remarkable composure, aided the man to guide the sword properly. The report of her death concludes, “Perhaps so great a woman, feared by the unclean spirit, could not have been killed unless she so willed it.” And, finally, to give a true master the last word in this litany of last words, there is the case of Groucho Marx, who, witty to the end quipped, “This is no way to live!”

What then do we find Paul saying to us when we turn to his last recorded words in Philippians? What does a man imprisoned, after years of beatings and slanders, after countless miles choking on the dust of Roman roads, following numerous bruising debates and personal betrayals, as well as a shipwreck or two along the way – all for the sake of Christ – what is the last thing such a man wants to say? Is he angry? Disappointed? Spiteful? Vengeful? Happy to finally tell off his enemies? No. He says: Stand firm. Show one another mutual support. Rejoice! Be gentle. Be non-anxious. Trust in prayer. Practice the virtues. Imitate him. The last words of Paul are a wish for us to do as he has done, to be like him, to choose the way of the cross and to do it with rejoicing.

I don’t know about you, but that sounds a lot easier said than done. Accepting life’s struggles with equanimity – taking the abuse of a harsh and resisting world and doing it with a smile on my face – these are not my ideas of fun; and yet, that is the ask. That is the road walked upon by our Lord who has preceded us. Apparently, despite all evidence to the contrary, God thinks we have what it takes to be saints, too, and that means the stakes for our life and our choices are infinitely greater than we are accustomed to imagine. We, too, have a legacy of faith to leave behind us, and so, the question becomes what, then, will be your legacy? What, then, will be your last word?

Sunday, October 1, 2023

Proper 21

Exodus 17: 1-7, Psalm 78: 1-4, 12-16; Philippians 2: 1-13; Matthew 21: 23-32

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

Worst sermon introduction ever – are you ready?  I have two sermons to give today.  Even worse, the first sermon is on stewardship!  Good news is that it is short.  Sermon #2 today will be on our reading from Philippians.

Sermon #1 – Stewardship (this sermon has four points): today is the kick-off of our six week stewardship campaign “Come Together.”  Jennifer Perry, this years stewardship chair, will have more to say about that in a few moments. 

1.      Our pledge goal this year is $815,000 – that’s a 5% increase over last year.  Why the increase?  As previous treasurer and Sr. Warden Greg Caudell often said, “nothing is getting cheaper.”  Here are two examples: 

• Our annual Diocesan assessment St. Andrew’s pays (that’s the money St. Andrew’s and all other parishes pay to keep the Diocese running) will be $51,550 – that is a 16% increase of 16% over what was paid last year by this parish.

• Our church property, casualty, and liability insurance premiums will increase 23% next year.  Nothing is getting cheaper!

2.      Here is the good news: As of this morning, we have received 15 pledges for next year already.  My family – we have made our pledge this year, and we have increased it by 5% for 2024

3.  I am asking each of you to prayerfully consider doing the same: increasing your pledge by 5% this year.  Some of you may be able to do more, perhaps some less.   

4.  Last year our pledge goal was $775,000.  We exceeded that goal last year, by the way, receiving $798,000 in pledges.  We know how to do hard things at St. Andrew’s.  We have demonstrated our strength and resilience year over year.  I believe we will demonstrate that yet again.   End of my stewardship sermon, now onto Philippians.

Today we hear part of a letter that the Apostle Paul wrote to a church he had founded in Phillipi, a rather small city of 10,000 people, about the size of Fort Stockton, Texas.  Paul established this church in Philippi around the year 50 CE, about twenty years after the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Paul likely wrote this letter to the Philippian church some five to ten years after its founding.  If you read the first chapter of this letter, it is obvious that Paul is writing from prison, he is in jail.  Scholars aren’t sure exactly which prison Paul was writing from - was it Harris County, LA County, Rome, Ephesus?  Sadly, the data from the ankle monitor Paul wore two thousand years is a little spotty.  Ephesus (in modern day Turkey) or (my belief) Rome are the most likely places where Paul might have written Philippians. 

Wherever Paul wrote this letter from, his language is strong, direct, provocative: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves.  Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.  Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”  It should not be lost on any of us, that Paul wrote those words within a prison cell.  If it were you or me in prison, would we have the spiritual depth to be able to write the same?

Within the reading from Philippians today  Paul inserts a hymn or poem of some sort (you can see this in the part of the reading that looks like a poem).  Whether this poem or hymn was authored by Paul or someone else is – again – open to debate, though Biblical scholars do agree that Paul is not quoting Taylor Swift here. 

The words of this poem or hymn are some of the most well known by Paul and they are arguably the most influential.  In sum, these verses paint the story of Christ’s voluntary humiliation, as he “emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness…he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.”  Powerful words here.  Jesus reveals himself through his gracious action – in his refusal to exploit his divine status and instead totally emptying himself in self-humiliation and obedience to the point of death. 

It is this willingness of Jesus, this emptying of himself on our behalf, that exalts him above every other name so that at his name, and his alone, every knee should bend.  How many of us, when we pray, bend our knees, kneeling on the ground?  I’m not talking about Sundays in church.  I am talking about every other day of the week.  How often do you get on your knees?   Kneeling when you pray is humbling, and if your knees are wobbly or older, it might hurt a little.  Not necessarily a bad thing – perhaps our prayers should hurt a little.  Because pain, humiliation, and obedience are some of the ingredients that not only made Jesus and Paul holy, they will make you holy, as well.  AMEN.  

Sunday, September 24, 2023

Proper 20

Jonah 3: 10 – 4:11, Psalm 145: 1 - 8; Philippians 1: 21-30; Matthew 20: 1-16

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

Years ago, I attended a conference for Episcopal Clergy called CREDO (Latin for “I believe”).  At the conference I suggested they start a conference for spouses of episcopal clergy and they could call it “SPEEDO” (Spouses of episcopal…)  Like you all they didn’t think it a good idea, either.  In one of our worship services during the conference, I recall listening to a sermon in which the preacher told all the clergy gathered these words: “the world does not owe you anything.”   While I believe those words are true, they’re not exactly uplifting, are they? 

In Matthew’s Gospel this morning, we encounter a parable about fairness and about grace.  In the parable, a vineyard owner goes to the marketplace to hire day laborers to work in it.  In exchange for their work, the laborers will each receive a “fair daily wage,” which probably equated to one Roman denarius - barely enough to feed ones family.   

The owner hires some workers in the morning to go out into the vineyard and pick grapes, tend the vines, and so forth.  About noon the owner decides to hire more people from the same marketplace, and they work in the vineyard for a few hours during the afternoon.  He does this a third time at three o’clock, and then finally one last time, he goes back into the marketplace at 5 o’clock, just when almost all the work is done for the day, and he hires a few more laborers to work.

At the end of the workday, the day laborers stand in line to receive their denarius, starting with those who were just hired at 5 o’clock.  “Wow!” they think, “we only worked thirty minutes and got paid a full day’s wage!  Not bad!”  The people who were hired at three PM are next in line thinking to themselves “well if the people who only worked thirty minutes got a full day’s wage, certainly we will get at least twice that amount.”  The landowner pays the three o’clock workers exactly what he paid those who started at five.  This goes on until the people at the very end of the line, the ones who started the earliest and who worked all day long under the hot sun, who gave up time with their families, receive their wage: one denarius.  “Really?  How is that fair?” they think.  The landowner says to them, “I haven’t been unfair.  We agreed on your wage, didn’t we?  So take it and go.  I decided to give to the one who was last the same as you.  Can’t I do what I want with my own money? Or are you going to get stingy because I am generous?”  Life isn’t fair.  Anthony Hopkins, the famous British actor, who is an alcoholic in recovery and been sober for decades once famously said “Life isn’t fair.  It it was fair, I would be in prison, rather than staring in films.” 

The parable is about more than fairness, however. The parable is also a story of God’s grace.  Understood this way, the landowner in the parable is God or Jesus, the day laborers are each of us, and the payment at the end of the day is God’s mercy.  The early morning laborers who work all day are those who have been faithful Christians their whole life, putting the needs of others above themselves, and the late afternoon workers are those of us who slide into their Christian faith at the very last minute.  It doesn’t matter when we accept Christ – early or late – we all receive the same grace and mercy from Jesus.  Grace is for people who need it – that’s every single one of us.  Because life is not fair, and never will be, and yes - the world owes us nothing.  All we have, everything we own, is only through God’s grace.  Thank God for that abundance.  AMEN. 

Sunday, September 17, 2023

Proper 19 (Year A)

Exodus 14:19-31; Psalm 114; Romans 14:1-12; Matthew 18:21-35

The Rev. Clint Brown

I am going to begin today by quoting Nietzsche. Now you might think it a bit of a stretch that Nietzsche could have anything useful to contribute to a Christian sermon – the philosopher who declared God “dead,” who dismissed Christianity as backward, even harmful, who was the darling of the Nazis – but the quote is helpful, and I hope to show why. In the early pages of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche writes, “One must be a sea to be able to receive a polluted stream without becoming unclean.”[1] I’ve often thought of this quote in my personal interactions. Now I don’t mean to suggest that I think people are pollution, although Nietzsche seemed to think so. Rather, I have found this quote helpful for keeping things in perspective. In a difficult moment or disagreement my thoughts will go something like this: that what is most important at this moment in this situation is not the satisfaction of telling this person off or having my way, but that, for this relationship to have a future, to have a tomorrow, I’m going to have to bite my tongue and not say something I’ll regret. One of us is going to have to be bigger and stand for something more than just having it our way. And I feel that this same spirit – this largeness of spirit – is at the heart of forgiveness, too, the subject we have to talk about today, for forgiveness can be extraordinarily difficult sometimes, requiring vast emotional and spiritual resources – a “sea” as Nietzsche says.

Just prior to our reading today, the disciples have come to Jesus asking, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” (Matt. 18:1). They want to know the pecking order and where they will rank. In their minds, it was now only a matter of time before Jesus was going to be through with being Mr. Nice Guy and declares his real self, the Messiah who will vanquish Israel’s foes. In a dramatic reveal, he was going to throw off his lowly, humble peasant’s cloak in exchange for a royal robe, like a fairy tale prince who hides his true identity until the very end. In the new political order, the disciples were going to finally be vindicated for choosing to place their bets on this man, unusual though his methods were, and they wanted to know what it had gotten them. But instead of looking ahead to victory and dispensing rewards to all his loyal lieutenants like another Alexander, Jesus turns the question around completely. Greatness is not measured by externals, he says. Greatness can only ever be a matter of character. To be a great person, it’s not about standing out from the crowd or having your way, it’s about contributing to the greater good, often to the hurt of the ego. To be truly great, one has to know that the individual is nothing without the many.   

It's at this point that Peter jumps in. “How many times?” he asks. How many times must one overlook an offense and forgive someone in the new Christian community? The rabbis had traditionally said three times, but what does Jesus say? Having walked many a mile with Jesus and observed his confrontations with the scribes and Pharisees, he fully expects that Jesus will require an even higher standard. Shall it be seven times, more than twice the traditional mandate? But Jesus shakes his head. No, Peter, not seven times, but so many times that the number is inconceivable. Peter is speechless and so are we. It would seem that Jesus does expect of us a spirit as vast as the sea itself.

The parable Jesus tells makes the point. It’s very simple, really. There is no score to keep. There are no calculations to make. We forgive because we have been forgiven; we are merciful because we have been shown mercy. To set any condition whatsoever on how much or how often would only demonstrate that we don’t truly accept or comprehend the mercy that has been shown towards us. And this is where we need to make a crucial distinction. This is not the way we normally experience life in the world. In the church, we have to be clear what kind of people we are. We are not like other people. We do not hold onto sleights. We do not seek revenge. We pray for our enemies. We always hold out hope for redemption. We are those who stand for the ridiculous, nonsensical, utterly courageous claim that “we are saved not by getting it right, but by the love that redeems us while we are getting it wrong.”[2] We are the ones who follow a God bloodied on a cross.  

If being able to forgive in this way sometimes cuts against our notions of what’s fair and right, perhaps that just goes to prove that this is not something we can do on our own. The ability to forgive in the way Jesus demands asks too much, and that’s why we can only succeed with God’s help. Supernatural forgiveness must be by supernatural means. To make the church work we are going to have to take some blows. To be agents of reconciliation in the world, we must be willing to demonstrate the kind of mercy that surprises and subverts. And so I would like to end the way I began by talking about largeness of spirit, and I know no better example of how the Christian way of being in the world has the power to change the world than in a prayer pinned inside the clothes of a dead child discovered at Ravensbruck concentration camp where 92,000 women and children died:

Oh Lord, remember not only the men and women of good-will, but also those of ill-will. But do not remember all the suffering they have inflicted on us; remember the fruits we have bought thanks to this suffering – our comradeship, our loyalty, our humility, our courage, our generosity, the greatness of heart which has grown out of all this. And when they come to the judgment, let all the fruits that we have borne be their forgiveness.[3]

[1] Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: The Modern Library, 1995), 13.

[2] The quote is by Richard Holloway, formerly Bishop of Edinburgh and Primus of the Scottish Episcopal Church.

[3] Quoted in Michel de Verteuil, Lectio Divina with the Sunday Gospels: The Year of Matthew – Year A (Dublin: The Columba Press, 2005), 225.

Sunday, September 10, 2023

Proper 18

Romans 13:8-14, Matthew 18:15-20

The Rev. Cn. Joann Saylors

I had some time off recently, and in my efforts to be completely unproductive, I found myself becoming hooked on the show Alone. I’m late to the party; it started back in 2015, so two seasons in, there are still lots of episodes waiting for me. If you haven’t seen it, the premise is that 10 people are dropped off individually in some wilderness with minimal supplies, and they stay as long as they can. Months of foraging and shelter building and avoiding predators. The last one to bail out wins $500,000, so there is incentive to continue through starvation, fatigue, bad weather, injury, and disappointment, rather than tapping out and going back to civilization. Early on the greatest challenges are physical. But as the weeks go by, the difficulty is more emotional. The contestants begin to reexamine their pasts, their mistakes, their relationships. They give thanks for the people who encouraged them. Participants end their time for a variety of reasons, but very often it is because they miss those other people. They get lonely. It’s really hard to be all by yourself for weeks on end.

Human beings are made for relationship. And Christians are meant to be in relationship in particular ways. We are supposed to be morning people. Sorry, night owls, I’m not just saying that because I am one; it’s right there in the letter to the Romans. In a commentary on the passage, Dr. Susan Eastman of Duke Divinity School says,

“Paul tells us that as Christians we are all 'morning people.' The time is just before dawn, the sky is brightening, the alarm is ringing, day is at hand. It is time to rouse our minds from slumber, to be alert to what God is doing in the world, and to live in accordance with God's coming salvation.”

That is such good news. For all of us. Paul is naming a situation that applies today as well. It is still dark, still night. In these times of earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, droughts, and fires, nearby and around the world, we have all faced moments of darkness. And for many those moments have lasted a very long time.

But the sun is rising; there is light dawning in the hope of salvation, which is unfolding around us all the time. I’m not just talking about the end times, when that work of salvation is completed, but now, when we are participating in it. The world is brightening through the relationships we build.

When we connect with one another, a light shines through the darkness. When we live together in ways that reflect the reign of God, the sun is peeking over the horizon. When we reach out, as transformed people, to repair the cracks in a broken world, the clear light of day pushes back the night.

There are times when the darkness feels like it’s winning, in the sadness and fear of those who feel they have been left behind in society. Or the disappointment and worry of those who see many intractable problems and few resources to solve them. Or the despair of someone who has lost a loved one far too soon. Just living in a world with so much anger and fear is draining. These are dark times, times which overwhelm us if we let them.

There are many who believe God wills terrible events, whether to teach us or to punish us. But that is not how we Anglicans believe God works, not the God of light. The Son of God took on human flesh and suffered as a human. And the risen Lord walks with us in our own suffering. We never have to be alone. Jesus tells us in our Gospel passage today, where two or three are gathered together in his name, he is with us. We become his hands and feet in the world and, when we are willing, his voice. As Jesus followers, it is our job to be with other people. Humans were not meant to be alone.Our work is not to dwell by ourselves in the darkness, but to be with others in the light. To point to where the sun is beginning to rise. To help others see God at work in so many ways, large and small, all around us. To name what is of God, and what is not.

As Church, our work is to foster reconciling, Christian communities that speak to the hopes and hurts of people in our community, to get to know our neighbors, and to share and discover Jesus Christ in the process. Helping, for us, begins with a focus on people and relationships more than simply on giving them stuff. Stuff matters – don’t get me wrong – but donating money or food or diapers isn’t the same as listening to and praying with people. Relationships are what strengthen the community and they can continue to grow even after immediate needs are met.

Of course, connecting with other people is messy work. It’s a lot harder to be people of relationship than people of transactions. We can take on the work of being light to the world with the best of intentions, but we are not perfect. The Kingdom has not come to its fullness. There will always be times in our lives together when tempers are frayed, when we’re too tired or hangry to be compassionate, when stress causes us to behave badly, when we sin against each other. Reconciliation to one another and to God takes real effort.

I know we’re called to be messengers of peace and love, but quite honestly some days I’d rather work alone to check items off my to-do list than deal with one more person. But that’s not how transformation happens. A life based only on productivity doesn’t change people the way a life based on listening, learning, and loving does. Transformation requires intentional engagement with people who are different, people we don’t understand, people we might not like very much. It’s easy to dismiss someone’s way of thinking, or even their way of life, when we don’t understand it and don’t choose to learn. Easier to draw a line that separates us from them than to make a circle that includes both us and them.

That was as true in first century Palestine as it is today. This morning we hear both Paul and Jesus describe how to live together in all of the relationships of our lives. They are both interested in building communities that bring healing to our world. Paul teaches us that love is the foundation for a faithful community, and we are to love our neighbors as ourselves. He reminds us that if we keep turning back to love, keep asking ourselves if we are loving others the way we want to be loved, we bear the light of Christ into the world. If we are truly loving as God loves, there’s no room for drunkenness or licentiousness, but more importantly, there’s also no room for quarreling and jealousy, no place for self-centeredness or rejection. Paul is challenging the early churches us to love God’s way, and the reality of scripture is that he’s challenging us as well.

Now, I don’t know about you, but while I’ve given up the reveling and debauchery of my youth, I have not managed to completely strip jealousy, arrogance, rudeness, selfishness and irritation from my life. It is not unknown for me to get crossways with people I love dearly or to unfairly judge others. We are human and we are sometimes cruel to each other. And so Jesus teaches us another important component of love: forgiveness. Since we are all broken creatures, healing the world can’t happen without forgiveness. We have to stay in conversation with each other. We have to give each other grace. We have to commit to listening more than speaking, to praying, and to practicing reconciliation. Listening, learning, and loving as a way of life.

Sometimes the deepest darkness is in our relationships with other people, not the circumstances that befall us. As a healthy church we can live and model a different way. Our work is to serve our neighbors – to address their needs as we can. Sometimes it is simply being with people, Doing the work of bringing hope instead of judgment and love instead of fear. Healing out of our own brokenness. That’s a big job, and way more than any one of us could do. But if we work together faithfully, we can do it, with God’s help. We don’t have to be alone.

AMEN.

Sunday, September 3, 2023

Proper 17

Exodus 3: 1-15; Psalm 105: 1-6, 23-26, 45c; Romans 12: 9-21; Matthew 16: 21-28

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

While in seminary, I spent a summer as a hospital chaplain at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland.  My summer assignment was the level one trauma center and emergency room.  That meant I was called into all kinds of circumstances, ranging from an emergency baptism of a premature infant before the ventilator was to be removed to praying with a city worker had recently lost his leg in a truck accident. 

There was nothing in seminary – no book or class – that prepared me for walking into a room to provide pastoral care to parents who had just lost their child or offering hope to man with an inoperable malignant tumor on his brain.  So, with not a lot of preparation, I jumped into the deep pastoral waters of that hospital.  Over the summer, as I visited and prayed with patient after patient, I found myself learning more about God in a trauma center than I did in theology class. 

This experience of having to act – to figure out what to do in situations we are not prepared for is what makes us all human.  We improvise.  We do our best.  As I read the Gospel for today, I believe the disciples were going through this very experience.  Until today’s reading, the disciples seemed to enjoy following Jesus around, watching him perform miracles – healing the sick, turning water to wine, raising the dead to life.  As much as the disciples saw this, I am not sure that they really understood what they were being asked to do. 

That changes today, where Jesus tells the disciples very clearly that because of who he was, his fate would lead him to Jerusalem where he would suffer before the political and religious authorities, where people would spit in his face, and where he would be crucified.  All of this must have come as a tremendous surprise for Peter.  What Jesus was talking about was the complete opposite of what Peter was hoping for.  Like some people at the time, Peter was expecting Jesus to be a king like David or Solomon – a military leader who would bring the Jewish people out from underneath the oppression of the Roman Empire. 

Peter wanted Rome out of Israel, and he believed that God’s messiah would do that, not turn himself over to the Romans to be crucified.  Peter replies to Jesus, saying, “God forbid this Lord!  This must never happen to you!”  And Jesus replies quickly, perhaps even coldly with his rebuke “Get behind me Satan” (that’s also the name of great album by the White Stripes – I digress). 

Recognizing that the disciples aren’t really understanding what Jesus (or their) purpose was, he says that they need to understand three things: (1) they are called to deny themselves, (2) they must take up their cross, and (3) they are to follow him.  Now it’s getting real for them.  There is nothing they could read or learn to prepare themselves to do what Jesus is asking them.  They were likely completely shocked and confused. 

The three-fold path Jesus explained to his disciples is the same path for us as well.  None of us are exempt from the same call put toward the disciples:

(1)   Jesus tells us to deny ourselves.  In the eating hall of a Buddhist monastery, a beautiful stuffed parrot hung from the ceiling.  From its golden beak dangled a card which read, “We are in training to be nobody special.”    Try repeating that phrase to yourself throughout today, and as you do, notice how repeating it redirects you from a certain seductive struggle into a more stable focus.  Forget what others think of you, forget the future goal of achievement; arrive instead into this present moment enjoying the freedom of being nobody special.  Deny yourself. 

(2)   When we are told to take up our cross that means we must confront the things in our life we would prefer went away.  We all practice some form of denial in our lives, and if you are like me you might have a psychological closet full of problems you prefer to keep behind a closed door hoping that God will be like the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus and wave the magic wand and they will all go away.  God doesn’t have a magic wand.  God does have a cross, and we are compelled to carry our problems, and bring them there.  The spiritual life unquestionably involves pain and sacrifice.  The word sacrifice means “to make sacred.”  When we take up our cross, we are taking up our problems, and making our problems sacred.  When we do that, a door opens, and God begins to live in that sacred space we have created, and God builds a comfortable residence in the midst of our problems.  Have you invited God into your problems?

(3)   We follow Jesus.  We hear this all the time “follow Jesus,” but I don’t we really understand what that means.  There is no course to take for following Jesus.  You just do it by praying in the morning and in the evening, by reading the Bible.  I promise you, over time, if you follow Jesus with all your heart, you will experience a peace which passes all understanding.  The sought after peace of God is more valuable than anything else in the world.  We cannot buy this peace as it is not for sale.  The only way to find it is by denying yourself, taking up your cross, and following Jesus.  It is a lifetime journey, and it begins with a single step.  If you have not started, I pray that you take your step today.  You are ready.  AMEN.

Sunday, August 27, 2023

Proper 16

Exodus 1:8-2:10; Psalm 124; Romans 12:1-8; Matthew 16:13-20

The Rev. Clint Brown

“Upon you…while still living among us, we already bestow divine honors…and confess that nobody like you will arise hereafter or has arisen before now.”[1] Though not expressing the idea in quite as dramatic a fashion as Peter’s confession, these words make the same point …how in the annals of history, there once came a moment when it had to be admitted that a man of flesh and blood was something more, much more…which would be fine except that these words were not spoken about Christ. These are the words of the poet Horace, spoken not to recognize the Word made flesh but to honor the Roman Emperor Augustus. It was Caesar Augustus, during whose reign Jesus was born, whom the peoples of the earth, near and far, understood to be worthy of divine honors while still alive, and this, from the beginning, set up a fundamental tension with the claims of Christianity: if Caesar was king, then Christ could not be, and vice versa.

To understand the Gospel we must understand that this is the tension in which Christianity operates – the tension between the claims of two kings: the man-become-God and the God-become-man. Who is the real king and who the imposter? Who is the real divinity commanding our loyalty? It is easy to overlook the fact that before it mentions angels, or mangers, or shepherds, the Christmas story mentions Augustus and Quirinius. The context for the birth of Christ is empire, and the omnipresence of that empire lurking in the background is as much a part of Jesus’ story as his miracles or parables. It is the long arm of empire that can force an entire population – among whom were a small-town carpenter and his pregnant wife – to displace itself and return to their ancestral cities to be registered. The census-taking was admittedly a means to more effective administration, but mostly it was about power – the ability to reach down and exert control over every aspect of the lives of a subjugated people – and so “empire,” as I say, is the context for Christ’s life, shaping his life even before it had begun, and it is in the confrontation between the divine Augustus and the divine Jesus that we must consider Peter’s confession.

Which, as it happens, occurs not just anywhere but in a place called “Caesarea Philippi,” a city named for the emperor. How that came to be is worth a brief aside. For most of antiquity, the city had been best known as a shrine of the nature god Pan, and when Caesar Augustus gifted it to Herod the Great as a token of his esteem, he did so under the name Panion = “place dedicated to Pan.” Years later, Herod’s son Philip assumed the role of tetrarch of the region and ordered the city rebuilt and expanded as a way to enhance his image. And to emphasize his loyalty to the emperor he renamed it, this time after the emperor and himself: Caesarea Philippi. It was hardly a subtle gesture. When one’s own power rests in the hands of someone else, it pays to curry the favor of the real power, and, in first century Palestine, the real power lay with Caesar. If the question is asked, “What’s in a name?” then in this name Philip was both courting power and binding his own fate intimately with that power. So when, walking alongside the walls of Caesarea Philippi, Peter confesses that Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (v. 16), you can see now how context is everything. In the very shadow of a monument to imperialism and all that it stands for, Peter is claiming that despite all the evidence to the contrary, Caesar is not actually king, Jesus Christ is.

Now for Christians, of course, our difficulties with the Roman Empire have long since faded into the past. There is no longer a flesh and blood emperor vying for our loyalty. In one of the supreme ironies of history, the empire that had apparently defeated and neutralized the threat of a rival king by crucifying him was itself converted when Constantine declared Christianity the state religion less than 300 years later. But make no mistake, we do live with empire and empire still calls for our allegiance. Empire may no longer be embodied in the measured shuffle of marching legionnaires, but it is alive and well in the values we espouse and in the manner in which we allow the world to operate. It is manifested in the dehumanizing ways we treat one another, in our privileging of self-interest, and how we build great towering edifices not to peace and justice but to greed and domination and idols of our own making. Caesar is no longer king, but the business of making man-into-god goes on. Empire is what the world looks like when the worst human impulses motivate us rather than the law of Christ. Empire is the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God; the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God; the sinful desires that draw us from the love of God.[2] All that we renounce in our baptism is what Jesus Christ came to confront, and this fact demands a decision. It demands a taking of sides. It demands coming out for one or the other. And so, the question for you today is, Will you crown the king of empire or will you crown the King of kings?

[1] Quoted in Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The First Christmas: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’s Birth (New York: HarperCollins, 2007), 63-64.

[2] BCP, 302.

Sunday, August 20, 2023

Proper 15

Genesis 45: 1-15; Psalm 133; Romans 11: 1-2a, 29-32; Matthew 15: 10-28

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

On Thursday, January 15, 2009, US Airways flight 1549 took off from La Guardia Airport enroute to Charlotte.  Moments after takeoff, the Airbus A320 plane struck a flock of geese, and all engine power was lost.  Not only were all 155 people on board the plane immediately in danger, but thousands more people in New York City unknowingly were at risk had the plane crashed into New York City’s urban landscape.

Recognizing that they did not have enough engine power to make it back to La Guardia, pilots Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger and Jefrey Skiles made a split-second decision to “ditch” or land the plane into the Hudson River.  The time from the bird strike to the ditching in the river was less than four minutes.  All 155 people on board survived, and the incident quickly became known as the “miracle on the Hudson.”  I find it serendipitous that the flight number – 1549 – was also the year the first Book of Common Prayer in our church was published.  The Mayor of New York City gave the pilot, who had saved them, the keys to the city.  Keys like this are usually given in recognition of great service to the city, and they represent access and authority.

While none of us will likely achieve the heroic notoriety of somebody the pilot of that airplane, we are nonetheless given keys to God’s kingdom.  The keys to the kingdom, given to us, by Jesus, also instill within each of us honor, responsibility, and spiritual authority.  All of us have received the keys to the kingdom.  Yet many of us seem to have lost them.  I lose my car keys all the time, and I have a tile on them that helps me relocate them.  I also misplace my keys to the kingdom.  This happens when I choose productivity over prayer, or superficial conversation over honest sharing. 

In the story from Genesis this morning, I see an example of what it looks like to really live a life in which you have been given the keys to the kingdom.  In the reading from Genesis, we meet Joseph.  Recall from last week’s reading that Joseph was the favorite son of his father Jacob.  Jacob’s preferential treatment of Jospeh angered his brothers, and they left Joseph in a pit to fend for himself.

Today’s reading picks up the story several chapters later, and we find that Joseph who was once left nearly dead by his brothers, has come into very good fortune, and is a high ranking official under Pharaoh in Egypt.  We see that the tables have been turned for Joseph and his brothers.  A famine has swept across Israel, and Joseph’s brothers have travelled to Egypt to appeal for assistance.  They do not know the person they are talking to is their long-lost brother until today’s reading. 

It is obvious to me that Joseph has held onto his keys to the kingdom, as we see him use them to unlock doors.  The door Joseph unlocks is the door of his heart, and when he identifies himself to his brothers, he weeps over them and is deeply emotional.  I love this part of the story because Joseph’s emotion, his weeping over his brothers, speaks to me deeply.

When I was in Colorado – two times – when I got to the top of a mountain after a long hike, I wept.  I cried, partly because the altitude was so high, but also, I wept because that was all I could offer in response to the limitless horizon I saw all around me.  We shouldn’t fear showing our emotions.  Jesus wept and showed compassion all the time. 

Jospeh totally forgave his brothers, and because he had not lost his keys to the kingdom, he understood that despite all the hardship he had been through, God used him to save lives.  Captain Sullenberger saved the lives of 155 people on flight 1549, a heroic achievement.  Joseph saved the lives of his brothers, and the people of Israel, also remarkable.  Jesus saved all of us, the most incredible accomplishment the world has ever known, and for this remarkable act, was given keys not to a city, but to the entire kingdom of God.  And what did Jesus do with these keys which he received after accomplishing the greatest saving act the world has ever known?  He gave them away.  He gave them to all of us.  He gave them to you. 

Are you using the keys to kingdom Christ gave you?  Or have you put them in your spiritual junk drawer where they do nothing but collect dust?  Joseph forgave his brothers.  Jesus forgave the sins of the entire world.  Who are you called to forgive today?  AMEN.  

Sunday, August 13, 2023

The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 37: 1-4, 12-28; Psalm 105: 1-6, 16-22, 45b; Romans 10: 5-15; Matthew 14: 22-33

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

Water is a paradox.  We cannot live without it, but too much of it is harmful for all of us.  Estimates of flood-related damage in Norway just last week came in at over 100 million dollars.[1]  The week before last, flooding in the Hebei (huh-bay) province of China displaced over one million people from their homes.[2]  Water, necessary for life, can be dangerous, chaotic, and wildly unpredictable.

The authors of the Bible understood this, and in many places in the Bible, water was used symbolically to represent the impulsive forces of chaos and death.  In the reading from Matthew’s Gospel we hear a story which expands this idea of the watery chaos, and the fear it may have provoked in people. 

 After feeding the five thousand, Jesus sends the disciples in a boat to cross the Sea of Galilee, while he withdrew to the top of a mountain to pray.  While the disciples are in the boat, winds pick up and waves form and start beating against the boat, and the disciples are afraid.  They see Jesus walking toward them above the chaotic waters, and Jesus is not afraid.  One of the disciples, Peter, unsure if it is actually Jesus, says “Lord if it is really you, command me to step out of the boat and walk to you on the water.”  Jesus says, “Peter, it’s really me.  Step out.”  And Peter does, and what happens?  He begins to sink.  Jesus reaches his hand out to save him, to pull him from the drowning water.  Jesus and Peter get into the boat, and the wind, and the waves stop. 

Many ways to understand this story – I will offer two interpretations.  The first interpretation of the story is to see the boat which carried the disciples as the church.  Not a far stretch by the way, considering that the part of the church where the congregation sits is called what?  It is called the nave, which comes from the Latin word navis, which means “boat” or “ship.”  It is where the word “Navy” derives from.  If you look above us at the architecture of the roof, it purposefully is intended to represent a boat or ship.

In the Gospel story today, the ship carrying the disciples, is battered by the chaos of the sea.  The disciples are afraid.  Like the boat, the church is battered by many things – Covid, poor leadership, arrogance, and entitlement by its clergy, disaffected parishioners, the list goes on and on.  The Gospel offers a stark, yet necessary lesson for the church:  the reason the disciples were afraid was because Jesus was not in the boat with them.  When the church forgets Jesus, it will fret, it will become nervous, self-centered, narcistic, entitled, and only worried about its own survival.  And the church that does not have Jesus in the boat, will not, and should not, survive. 

The second interpretation I offer is this: like Peter, Jesus calls us to step out into the watery chaos.  Like it or not, pain us the admission price we all must pay for a life of deeper spiritual connection with God. 

To grow spiritually, we must become powerless, so that we learn that God is truly powerful.  Like Peter, we are called to step out of the boat that protects us from the chaos of life, and to sink into it.  Only by first sinking do we find the outstretched arm of Christ to pull us out. 

I close with words spoken by St. Augustine, many years ago, who said this: “Do you wish to rise?  Begin by descending.  You plan a tower that will pierce the clouds?  Lay first the foundation of humility.”  AMEN. 

Sunday, August 6, 2023

The Transfiguration of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Exodus 34:29-35; Psalm 99; 2 Peter 1:13-21; Luke 9:28-36

The Rev. Jeff Bohanski

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer. 

A lot has been said about the story of Jesus’ transfiguration.  Here are some fun facts about these readings. This story comes up twice each year in the lectionary. The first time we hear it is the last Sunday of Epiphany, the Sunday before Ash Wednesday. It is interesting to note that the last Sunday of Epiphany is about halfway between Christmas and Easter.  The second time we hear it is today, August 6th. The Feast of the Transfiguration. Again, it is interesting that we find ourselves about halfway through Ordinary Time. This tells me that the creators of our current lectionary felt this story to be quite valuable.  This leads me to think, perhaps we should pay attention to it and integrate it into our own personal theology and spirituality.

It is also important to note that all three synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) include this story.  It is also important to note that the author of the Second Letter of Peter that we just heard mentioned it outright. It seems to me that the members of the early church certainly found this story to be very important.  A lot of our understanding of who Jesus was and is comes from this story.   

Concerning the part where Jesus speaks to Moses and Elijah about his departure, biblical commentator N.T. Wright writes an interesting piece that I think is important and some here today may find it noteworthy.  N.T writes:

“In his death Jesus will enact an event just like the great Exodus from Egypt, only more so.  In the first Exodus, Moses led the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt and home to the promised land.  In the new Exodus, Jesus will lead all God’s people out of slavery of sin and death, and home to their promised inheritance — the new creation in which the whole world will be redeemed.”

This summer I have been doing what I like to call hiking, some would call it walking. I’ve been putting in between 4 and 6 miles a day.  I’ve walked many miles to and around Memorial Park.  Some miles have been hiked/walked along The Buffalo Bayou.  I’ve even done some hiking/walking in Galveston, and on a hill near Giddings, TX.  Because of this current heat streak, we find ourselves in, I’ve walked many, many miles on our treadmill listening to books and watching scenic YouTube video tours from all parts of the world and in a few different seasons. This last week, the winter mountain videos have been especially appealing.

So, this August, when I hear the story of Jesus’ transfiguration, it strikes me as a hiking story.  Wouldn’t it be great to take a hike with Jesus!  In my mind’s eye I can see Peter, John, and James packing their gear and Jesus reminding them to pack nothing, just like the time he sent them out in His name. Remember, God will provide the rest.  I can see Jesus smiling to himself because he knows what is about to happen to these three unsuspecting apostles.

I can see Peter stumbling up that mountain like I stumbled up my hill near Giddings. I imagine a smiling, caring Jesus reaching out his hand to help Peter and the others negotiate the rocks like I negotiated the rocks on my hill. I can imagine the look of amazement and awe the three apostles gave Jesus as they headed down the mountain after hearing those all-important words from the cloud, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

I wonder what the world, or just each of us, would be like if we would actually listen to the words of Jesus.  Can you imagine the stress we would miss if we would listen to and incorporate the words of Jesus when he said, “Friend, your sins are forgiven.” (Luke 5:20b) Or “Do not fear.” (Luke 8:50a) or even “Peace be with you.” (Luke 24:36)

In my world, school is about to start.  I’ve already begun receiving emails and texts about the return of teachers on the 14th.  Last week an email had been sent out informing teachers that our school will be open next week if we “want” to come in and get started on our rooms. Not a day goes by that I don’t hear something in the news or on my Google feed about the state takeover of the district and the upset it’s causing.  My stomach has already begun to turn as I feel the stress of the start of a school year that looks to be quite unpredictable. 

Friends, I have come to accept that this may be a very tumultuous year. The last few certainly have had their unique challenges. I suspect many of us here today may also have many stressful things happening.  Perhaps it’s the stress of taking care of an aging parent, or you are the aging parent.  Perhaps you are dealing with health issues, or you are taking care of someone with health issues. Perhaps it’s the stress of taking care of school aged children or perhaps you are a school aged person dealing with your parents. 

This week I’ve decided to listen to my own sermon and strive to incorporate those words of the cloud into my life.  “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” I invite everyone here today (and online) to join me in this. 

Together as a community of faith, lets confess when we have done wrong to ourselves or to others and trust in Jesus’ words, “friend, your sins are forgiven.”  Let’s let go of the guilt.  Together, let’s strive to put faith in Jesus’ love, strength, and compassion above all our fears. He will be with us. Let’s have Jesus do the judging, not us. And together, let’s strive to live in the peace of Christ that the Father and the Spirit intends for us.  Amen.

Sunday, July 30, 2023

The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 29:15-28; Psalm 105:1-11, 45b; Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

The Rev. Clint Brown

For the next few minutes, I’d like to talk about prayer. What is prayer and what’s it for? And I suppose the best way to begin is to ask what comes to your mind when I say the word “prayer”? What associations does it conjure? What images? Are you alone in a room by yourself or in a communal setting? Is your prayer formal, repeated from a book, or more spontaneous, spoken from the heart? Or some combination of the two? Do you have a prayer list in front of you? Do you have a set time and place for prayer? Is there a particular person you try to emulate or a particular way of praying that you feel drawn to?

What I think of when I think of “prayer” is someone older, much more holy and spiritual than me, kneeling at the side of their bed late at night silhouetted against the low light of a bedside lamp. They are very still and their eyes are closed. They give the impression of being quiet but earnest. Their hands are clasped in the traditional pose of prayer, and they are speaking aloud, though not loudly, as if they were addressing God on a throne directly in front of them. They start their prayer with adoration and thanksgiving. They have long since learned that having no agenda other than the praise of God is an important but neglected aspect of prayer. They remember to speak by name all those they have promised to pray for. They remember also those who are in need who haven’t asked for their prayers: the poor, the refugee, the widow, the orphan. They remember to pray for government officials. They pray for the church and its ministers. They pray for people in foreign lands. They remember the dying and the dead. Finally, they pray for their own need for spiritual refreshment and renewal, and, especially, they confess their sins and failings and plea for forgiveness and amendment of life.

That is what I think of. Whatever you think of when you hear the word “prayer” – no matter how similar or different from me – I’m confident, however, that it probably isn’t this: “The Spirit helps [me] in [my] weakness, for [I] do not know how to pray as [I] ought…[but] the Spirit intercedes for [me] according to the will of God” (Romans 8:26-27). When I hear this, my first reaction is to be pleasantly surprised. For such an important activity as prayer, the pressure seems to be taken completely off. There is a world of difference between the wordiness and me-forwardness of my usual thinking about prayer and the almost passive, hands-off, Spirit-forward way described here by Paul. And when we survey the best writing about prayer through the centuries, we find there, almost without exception, the same “less is more” emphasis. It turns out that prayer is not supposed to be busy at all. It is not supposed to be a chore. It is supposed to be God and us alone together, opening space for conversation. And, from our side, that generally means mostly silence and expectation and stillness.

If you’re thinking to yourself that this sounds suspiciously like meditation rather than prayer you are right, but there are some key differences – and that is the most important idea I want you to take away today. To the extent that meditation is silent, expectant, and still it is a helpful comparison. But in contrast to meditation, the goal of prayer is completely different. Prayer is not usually about losing yourself but bringing your full self. Except for the very real possibility of “mystical experiences,” what prayer should be for the majority of us the majority of the time is quiet but not passive; contemplative but not empty. The key that unlocks the door of true prayer is to see it as focused upon God with every expectation that you will hear God speaking back. That can only happen if we minimize the chatter and that is the only reason why so many of the techniques of meditation can be recommended for prayer.

So here are a few suggestions for how you can make your prayer something like that of an Indian yogi but not really: 

1. Prayer is you and God alone together. That means negotiating with your life and the people in it a quiet space and a quiet time every day where you can be alone with God. Whatever that means to you, do that.

2. Start small. An hour may seem too daunting, but what about a mere ten minutes? Or five? Whatever time you can carve out, do know that it often means using the time you already have better, like commuting in silence instead of talking on the phone. And, if we’re honest with ourselves, there is almost limitless time available if we cut into our distracting and less enriching drains on time, like video streaming or scrolling through social media.

3. Don’t try to not think, just try to focus on God. If you come to God early in the day, run a movie of what you anticipate your day to look like. Offer to God the people and the situations you will face and ask for direction. If there are difficult decisions to make, offer them to God. If you come to God at the end of the day, replay the day: its successes and failures. Allow God the chance to weigh in and yourself the opportunity to be vulnerable.

4. Be prepared to try something in the way of a renewed prayer life and then fail miserably at it. Don’t give up. Persevere. Continue to experiment until you find what works for your life. Eventually you will come to require your prayer time and miss it when you don’t.

5. Finally, whatever you do, determine in your prayer to do what the reading suggests: talk less and listen more. Try silence. Try opening a space. This is going to be the hardest for those of you goal-oriented types. You do not always have to have a list prepared or things to say. Trust that the Spirit “who intercedes for the saints according to the will of God” (v. 27) is praying for precisely what needs to be prayed for in precisely the right way. Accept this promise as the gracious thing it is, meant to take the pressure off of you. What you will hear in the quietness and stillness is the Spirit recalling to your mind those people and things you need reminding of, and you will hear also instruction about how to handle them.

This is not all that should be or could be said about prayer, but it is enough to suggest a way forward.

Sunday, July 23, 2023

The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

The Rev. Francene Young

In a sermon by King Duncan, the principal writer of Dynamic Preaching magazine, he shares his Murphy’s First Law of Gardening: It goes like this “When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.

And, of course, there is a corollary to that law: To distinguish flowers from weeds, simply pull up everything. What grows back is weeds.(1)

Last week the gospel lesson from Matthew was about the Sower, the seed and the different types of soil upon which the seeds fall and how the seed grows or not, based upon the type of soil it lands on. We learned that different kinds of soil produce differing levels of results.

He tells the people on the shore as he told stories in parables. Listen! A Sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up.

Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away.

Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them.

Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.

l left the service last week feeling relieved that 25% of the seed sown by our generous creator is likely to fall on GOOD SOIL AND MULTIPLY BY LEAPS AND BOUNDS. Amen, Hallelujah! Let Sow’s, Let God do the rest!

But wait…the parables continue and today we read the someone has come in and planted weeds among the seeds in the good soil! What? Weeds in the good soil among the good seed? What? Jesus throws us a curve ball!

Today we are confronted with the question: what do you do with the weeds?

Going back to our garden, we know, those who have ever tried to plant a flower garden, or a vegetable garden or even a plain ordinary lawn, the weeds are going to come.

So listen to Jesus’ parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.

“The owner’s servants came to him and said, ‘Sir, didn’t you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?’

“‘An enemy did this,’ he replied. “The servants asked him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’ ‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.’”

If you take this literally, this is a scary parable. The weeds are going to be thrown on a fire and burned.

But Jesus isn’t actually giving us a guide to growing good wheat, of course. He’s talking about our human behavior.

We’re told that the weeds in Jesus’ parable were a poisonous variety called “bearded darnel.” In the early stages of growth this bearded darnel so closely resembles wheat that it is not possible to distinguish one from the other. Later when it is possible to distinguish between them, the roots of the wheat and weeds are so intertwined that one could not be pulled without also tearing up the other. To rip up the weeds would also be to destroy the growth of the wheat. It is said that even Roman law prohibited the sowing of darnel among wheat of the enemy.

So the landowner was being wise when he said, “No . . . let both grow together until the harvest.” The harvesters were not allowed to try to separate the weeds from the wheat until the final harvest.

Then I wonder, what is the field or where is the field where the weeds are planted become intermingled with the wheat?

Many commentors focus on the church as the field intermixed with wheat and weed. They reflect on the conflicts within almost every church. At times, I found myself saying “When 2 or 3 are Gathered, OH MY GOD! ”

But I prefer to focus on you and me; the individuals that make up the church and our individual fields of good soil into which some weeds have sprouted.

In an article by TALITHA J. ARNOLD in Feasting on the Word, she states

“Sometimes our own lives resemble the farmer’s infested field, with weeds and wheat intertwined in our souls, hearts, and minds. The apostle Paul certainly knows it: “I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Rom. 7:15).

Members of AA or Alanon acknowledge this. The First Step confesses, “We are powerless over alcohol and our lives have become unmanageable.” The Fourth Step is to “Make fearless moral inventory of ourselves,” sorting out the wheat from the weeds within. (2)

Our personal experience of the enemy’s sowing may be more subtle, as in the countless distractions we let derail us from the Word and work of God. For me those looks like endless E-mails, phone calls, and meetings can make it look as if I am working on the realm of God, but in many cases they are simply symptoms of my own divided soul. It is the struggle between knowing and doing what I ought to do; but doing something else that I ought not or that simply distracts me.

At the same time, in this parable Jesus clearly cautions against a rush to judgment. We cannot always tell initially what is a good plant and what a weed. They are two closely intertwined.

What is dangerous for us, is spending time and energy trying to figure out what other people are going to reap.

Some people, I’m sorry to say, delight in separating people into acceptable or unacceptable, worthy or unworthy, good or bad, wheat or weeds.

Now what does that mean for us? A constant theme in Jesus’ teaching is that his followers were not to pass judgment on others. But wait for the harvest. One of my weeds, is that I do not have God’s patience. Do you?

Before my grandmother died at the age of 102, we had weekly calls. She lived in a long-term facility. Needless to say she was full of wisdom and advice. Now my grandmother was no saint. That is not a judgment. It is a fact that she admitted.

During one of my last calls with her, I asked how she was doing and how she was spending her time. She said and I quote

” I spend half of my time, to myself, reflecting on my life and minding my own business and asking for God’s forgiveness. I spend the other half of the time, staying out of other people’s business. Judge lest ye be judged.”

Writer Kent Crockett tells about a married couple who pulled into a full service gas station to refuel their car. As the tank was being filled, the station attendant washed the windshield. So you know this must have been sometime ago. Anyway, when the attendant finished, the husband stuck his head out the window and said, “It’s still dirty. Wash it again.”

“Yes, sir,” the attendant replied. After he cleaned it a second time, the husband said, “Don’t you know how to wash a windshield? It’s still filthy. Now do it again!”

The attendant scrubbed the windshield a third time, carefully looking for any messy spots he might have missed. By now the husband was fuming. “I can’t believe you are so incompetent that you can’t even do a simple job like cleaning a windshield! I’m going to report you to your boss!”

Just then, his wife reached over and removed her husband’s glasses. She wiped them clean with a tissue, then put them back on his face. And it was amazing how clean the windshield was! (3)

We forget that when we judge others, we are looking through our own smudged lens. Sometimes we criticize others unfairly. We don’t know all their circumstances, or their motives. Only God, who is aware of all the facts and is able to judge people rightly.

I will close with a reframing of my grandmother’s comments during our call.

“I spend half of my time tending to my own wheat and weeds and the other half not passing judgment as you tend to yours.”

In the meantime, we are to focus on what God has called us to do which is to care for all his people and to witness to his amazing grace of as shown in Jesus Christ. AMEN!

1. Alexander Humez, Nicholas Humez and Joseph Maguire, Zero to Lazy Eight (Simon & Schuster), Reader’s Digest, Dec. 1994, p. 154. 2. Philip Yancey in What’s So Amazing About Grace? Leadership, Vol. 19, no. 3. Cited by Rev. Adrian Dieleman. http://www.trinitycrc.org/sermons/1tim2v05-06.html. 3. http://www.kentcrockett.blogspot.com/.

Sunday, July 16, 2023

The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 25:19-34; Psalm 119:105-112; Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

The Rev. Clint Brown

Tradition calls it the Parable of the Sower and tradition has provided us with a traditional interpretation, but why settle for one way of reading the story when you can have three? – which is what I’m going to do for you today. As I see it, there are at least three different ways of interpreting this parable and I’d like to acquaint you with each of these alternatives. It’s my hope that you will not leave here today without the benefit of some food for thought – some new way “in” to a familiar favorite.

1. The Parable of the Sower

The first of these puts the entire focus on the person planting the seeds, the Sower, rather than on us, as in the traditional interpretation, and so this reading is the one most properly called The Parable of the Sower. To understand it, one must be acquainted with the idea of “broadcast farming.” In the old days they did not furrow the ground into neat rows the way that we do today but, instead, slung or broadcast the seed out in all directions. Sometimes this happened before the plowing, sometimes after, but, in whatever order, the seed was distributed indiscriminately and it was all but certain that some would fall in places where it could not grow. Incidentally, this is why the term “broadcast” was adopted in the early days of radio. The signal, emanating from a source, was simply sent out indiscriminately and could be picked up by anybody in any direction with a receiver. Yet this kind of uncertainty did not deter the farmer. No farmer in his right mind would sacrifice the certainty of some harvest, so the inevitable loss of some seed had to be accepted. In this interpretation, Jesus would have us see, first and foremost, not the waste of seed but the extravagance of this act by the Sower, who is God, broadcasting indiscriminately, not knowing for sure on what kind of soil the seed will land, and yet scattering it abundantly nonetheless. In this reading, the birds, the thorns, the rocky ground, these are not allegory, only types of obstacles familiar to every farmer in every time and place, and the lesson is that it is like that for us, as well. We are not to be paralyzed into inaction just because of the inevitable setback. We also are to sow extravagantly into the lives of everyone we meet, for who knows where our efforts may find a place to take root? Ask any teacher, as I was for 11 years, if they do not wonder what impression they are making or in whose life they are making a difference? Time and time again we find that the most surprising and wonderful human beings often grow out of the most awkward, incorrigible, and undisciplined little sprouts. Maybe you were once one of those students whom your teacher didn’t quite know what to do with? But you turned out all right in the end. Since none of us can know the ultimate results of our labor, all we can do is plant, water, and tend the little bit of ground we have been given to the best of our abilities. Knowing as we do that good often enough comes from the most unexpected places, should we not also sow as extravagantly as our Lord? That is the Parable of the Sower.

2. The Parable of the Four Soils

But a second possible interpretation is probably the one with which we are most familiar, which we will rename The Parable of the Four Soils to more accurately reflect its focus. The focus here is no longer on the Sower, but, as I said before, on us. It asks of us, What kind of disciple will you be? The seed that is sown is God’s Word, and we are represented as varying classes of “germinated disciples” who have begun to grow. We are told that the life of any would-be disciple of Christ is fraught. There are obstacles that come from outside of us that try to steal the good Word that has taken root, and also troubles within us that can suppress and smother it. There are anxious cares, the lure of wealth, various addictions, pride. The lesson we are meant to draw is that the work of discipleship is not passive. It is not only a matter of accepting the Gospel, but also of holding onto it in spite of hardship and persecution and temptation. Against all these assaults and dangers, the disciple of Christ must be prepared to make a defense. So then, says the Parable of the Four Soils, judge for yourself the state of your discipleship and with what kind of ground you receiving the word of Christ.  

3. The Parable of the Miraculous Yields

Finally, there is what we might call The Parable of the Miraculous Yields, for despite how much we may worry ourselves about what we are doing, in my opinion the emphasis of the story should not finally be on us at all… but on God. The point is this: in God’s Kingdom, the efforts of the Sower – who, you will remember, is God broadcasting away – produces a harvest that is massive – so much greater than any ordinary Middle Eastern farmer had a right to expect. We read of superabundant yields of a hundredfold, sixtyfold, and thirtyfold. In fact, for an average farmer in the time of Jesus, sevenfold could be counted a very good year while tenfold was true abundance. Here the minimum yield is thirtyfold, three times the best that anyone could hope for. And, well, sixty- and a hundredfold? Those kinds of numbers were nothing short of miraculous. The Word of God, you see, will not return empty but will accomplish that for which God has purposed (Isaiah 55:10-11). So while the theologians can go on debating the relative contributions of human agency and “works righteousness” in the process of our being saved, on this matter this particular interpretation forces us to concede that these matters must take a back seat to grace. Faith is and ever will be a gift of God and fruitful discipleship is the work of God in us. It is a nice exercise in displacement, removing ourselves from the center of the picture where we so much like to be, and putting God there. Here is a clarion call to recognize that the focus of our discipleship should not finally be inward, wasting precious energy on ourselves, but directed outward to address the needs of a suffering humanity. God is already at work sowing extravagantly into the world; our task is simply to join in that grace-filled work.

So, there you have it, three parables for the price of one: (1) the Parable of the Sower who sows extravagantly into everyone; (2) the Parable of the Four Soils which asks with what kind of heart you are receiving God’s Word; and, finally, (3) the Parable of the Miraculous Yields which displaces us from the center of the picture and returns God there, asking of us only to serve faithfully the Lord of the Harvest. Which of these, I wonder, did you most need to hear today?

Sunday, July 9, 2023

The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67; Psalm 45:11-18; Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

The Rev. Clint Brown

Today I would like to talk about the Gospel reading and its imagery; in particular, two of its images: the somewhat puzzling, even random story about the children playing in the market and, second, Jesus’s imaginative use of the old metaphor of the rabbis – the draft animals’ yoke. At first there would not seem to be any connection between the two, but it will be my purpose to try and discover one and what that might mean for us today.

After an encounter with some messengers sent by John the Baptist, who now sits in prison, the scene opens with Jesus addressing a crowd of curious onlookers. He takes advantage of their curiosity to explain to them the importance of John. John, he says, was a true prophet, like the prophets of old – bold, zealous, absolutely committed to his mission – and, especially in his rough dress and manner of life, representative of a philosophy of life altogether different from that of the self-righteous, self-important, self-serving leaders occupying the corridors of power. And, just like the prophets of old, he has been misunderstood, not only by them, which was to be expected, but even more tragically by the crowds. The situation, he says, strikes him as no different from a group of children at play who pout when they don’t get what they want. We played our flutes, didn’t we, why do you not dance? We wailed our hearts out, why do you not accompany us with a song? John the Baptist had come neither eating nor drinking but with a stern demand for repentance, but most people had thought that too extreme, if not dangerous. And Jesus came eating with tax collectors and sinners and entering into joyous fellowship with others and the Pharisees had thought that an affront to the Law. Why if John’s disciples fasted, did not yours (9:14-17)? A true prophet would know to keep Sabbath and not heal. And now we see Jesus’s point. No matter in what guise God had reached out to this generation, they were obstinately set against it. Neither John with his strictness nor Jesus with his easy manner had danced to their tune or sung their songs. So who could blame Jesus for being just a little frustrated and left to wonder just what could satisfy these people? And, in the final analysis, the answer was that nothing could – nothing could satisfy them because they weren’t looking for correction or further alternatives. They already had the answers they wanted. Jesus rightly perceived what so many of his generation were blind to, that they were destined to topple over under the sheer weight of their indifference and conceit. This is the first image.

The second image Jesus gives is that of a yoke. Now for those of you who are imagining an egg or don’t know precisely what I’m talking about, I will tell you. A yoke is an appliance of animal husbandry. It is the wooden frame placed upon the necks of two draft animals that allows them to pull a heavy load, like a plow or a wagon, in tandem. By yoking the animals together, it maximizes the effect and you get more out of their effort than if they were harnessed separately. Over time it is understandable why this should have become a standard metaphor to illustrate obedience and subordination, and the rabbis spoke of the yoke of the Torah or the yoke of the commandments. Each of these were understood to restrain you and set limits upon your freedom – much like a yoke.

But here Jesus does something quite remarkable. He goes beyond this standard application and introduces paradox. My yoke is “easy;” my burden is “light” (v. 30). Now you may well ask, What yoke is comfortable? What burden is light? A yoke introduces restriction and constraint and this is obnoxious to us, yes, but does it not also enable? Is it not simultaneously a burden and a possibility? And then Jesus goes one step further. No Jewish teacher had ever told a disciple, Take up my yoke, and yet here is Jesus audaciously saying precisely that. He is claiming that he is Torah. He is Revelation. He is the totality of what God wishes to make known of God’s nature, God’s purpose, and what God would have us to do. And if we would take his yoke, we would make the easiest, most satisfying progress in life. This is the second image.

There is a Zen story that tells of two monks walking down a muddy road. They come across a young girl unable to cross a large puddle without ruining her clothes. The first monk offers to carry her across despite the fact that monks are never supposed to have anything to do with women. His companion observes this and is astonished but says nothing about it right away. But finally, at the end of the day, he cannot hold his tongue any longer and prepares to admonish his companion, I want to talk to you about that girl, to which the first monk replies, Dear brother, are you still carrying that girl? I put her down hours ago.

The things we ruminate on, the things we insist on carrying in our minds and hearts, the things we refuse to put down…are really the things that poison us and erode our souls. We dull our senses with television and wonder why we cannot see the beauty that is around us. We hold on to things outside of us instead of concentrating on what is within [and this] keeps us noisy and agitated. We run from experience to experience like children in a candy store and wonder how serenity has eluded us…. Dwelling on inessentials and, worse, filling the minds of others with them distract from the great theme of our lives. We must learn to distinguish between what is real and what is not.[1]

Jesus rightly perceived what so many of, then as now, are blind to, and that is that we are destined to topple over under the sheer weight of our burdens. And that is why Jesus says, if we would make the easiest, most satisfying progress in life, the secret is simple – to be yoked to him. Accepting Christ’s yoke means unburdening ourselves or our false assumptions and misconceptions and accepting his truth. A “Christian,” after all, literally means a “Christ-follower.” You’ve heard of the Great Commission? Here is the Great Invitation. “Come to me,” says Jesus, “and unburden yourself of all your distractions – all your cleverness – all the pain and disappointment of a life lived out of your own resources – and learn my ways. For they are altogether more simple – more satisfying – more true – and you will find rest for your souls.”

Amen.

[1] Joan Chittister, OSB, The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21st Century (New York: Crossroad, 1992, 2010), 289.