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ST. THOMAS EPISCOPAL CHURCH |
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ST. THOMAS EPISCOPAL CHURCH |
Year
C
(RCL)
Hosea 1:2-10 and Psalm 85 (Track 2: Genesis 18:20-32 and Psalm
138); Colossians 2:6-15, (16-19); Luke 11:1-13
There was a little girl who lived on
a street
right next to a cemetery. Her school was straight across, on the other
side of
the cemetery. That cemetery frightened all the children who lived on
her
street. In fact, they took great pains to avoid the cemetery, walking
all the
way around it to get to the school, and then all the way around it to
come
home.
But not so our little
girl. Every morning she would just head straight through the cemetery,
and at
the end of the day she would walk back, straight through, to come home,
usually
whistling all the way.
An elderly neighbor sat
on her porch each day and watched and wondered. One afternoon, she
called the
little girl over as she returned from school and said to her, “My
little
friend, I notice that every day, all the children on our block walk
around the cemetery
to go to school and back, but you just walk right through. How can you
do that?
Doesn’t it frighten you to walk so close to death?”
And the little girl
replied, “Why, no. I’m not frightened, because I know that I’m only
passing
through.”
Our Collect for today
bids us pray for an abundance of God’s mercy, that with God as our
ruler and
guide, “we may so pass through things temporal, that we lose not the
things
eternal.” Living faithfully has everything to do with how we pass
through our
daily lives. Living faithfully means always being connected with God as
our
ruler and guide, as with one another.
The way we pass through
life each day – the way we walk – matters.
One of the riches of our
Episcopal hymnal supplement, Wonder, Love and Praise, is hymn
number
791, “Peace before us”:
Peace
before us, peace behind us, peace under our feet.
Peace within us, peace over us, let all around us be peace.
This beautiful prayer is,
in fact, based upon a traditional Navajo prayer used regularly in
congregations
of the Episcopal Church in Navojoland. In part, that prayer can be
translated:
Jesus
Christ, just as I pray, you do it; guard me,
In my defense, stand, reach out,
Plead in my defense.
Let peace come to me from the forest stream,
Let there be peace from the lowly grass,
Let there be peace from the wind’s way,
Let peace come to me from passing rain,
Let passing thunder bring peace to me.
Just by me let the dew fall,
Just by me let corn pollen form.
Beauty before me,
Beauty behind me,
Into fullness of life I have come,
Into beauty I have come.
All is peace again.
All is peace again.
All is peace again.
All is peace again.
How we walk through life,
day by day, matters. Moving from a state of anxiety and restlessness
into a way
of harmony and balance is a blessing of grace that keeps us centered
through
whatever challenges rise to face us.
Watching children grow,
from shaky first steps into the ability to dart here and there, intent
on
escaping their anxious parents’ grasp for as long as possible, we know
that it
is human nature to try to cast out on our own, to make our own way. The
playfulness of children is engaging, and – usually! – we smile to see
their
sport. Children yearn to be able to “do it all by themselves.” Doesn’t
being
“grown up” mean taking care of ourselves – all by ourselves?
This relentless drama
certainly makes life interesting for the parents of any toddler, and
often for
the rest of us as well.
“Doing it all by
yourself” is part of growing up. But being fully grown up involves more
than
moving from dependence into independence. Our lessons today teach that
to be
fully alive means to embrace an interdependence with one another and
with God,
in a faith-filled confidence that leads us from life driven by anxiety
and
angst into life blessed by harmony and balance.
“Grant
that as we pass through things temporal, we lose not things eternal.”
The first step in
embracing a healthy interdependence, is to chose to turn back from the
initial
exhilaration of striking out on our own, to return to right
relationship with
those whose love formed us to begin with. Like the toddler squirming
away from
the embrace of her ever-loving parents, there must be a moment – God
willing,
before damage is done! – when the child turns and recognizes a need
deeper than
the need to assert her independence: a need to reconnect with her
parents. What
happens in that moment is a gift of grace, a seed which, with God’s
love and in
God’s time, will germinate and then blossom.
That turning point, which
opens the door to right relationship restored, is grounded in the
abiding,
steadfast love of God, which is a constant, no matter what we have
chosen to
do. God chooses to include us in the dance of reconciliation, waiting
for us to
turn and open our hearts in some way to return and receive God’s ready
embrace
in that steadfast love.
Consider the exchange
between Jesus and his disciples in our gospel reading as just such a
moment.
Jesus has gone apart to pray, and upon his return, the disciples greet
him with
a question, a request, which is just such a turning with an opening
heart:
“Lord, teach us to pray.”
It is significant, first,
that the request is made at all. To ask for help is a deeply spiritual
action –
and not one that we are often prepared to do gracefully. To ask for
help
requires that we acknowledge our need of one another. It is to confess
faith,
confidence in the one we are asking for help. To receive and respond to
that
help leads to growth in our relationship with one another. It involves,
at some
level, healing; for to receive help from another heals us, and in that
action,
we become healers ourselves. So, what seems a simple request from the
disciples
is profound: “Lord, teach us to pray.”
What follows, of course,
is the prayer loved and used by so many, so regularly, down through the
centuries. The Lord’s Prayer transforms those who pray it, teaching us
to walk
through life in a harmonious and balanced way. Let go of what makes you
anxious
and restless, and trust in what God is doing around and through you,
that as
you pass through your daily life, you may lose not the things eternal,
which is
your birthright by baptism.
Our
Father: “Abba,” “Father,”
“Daddy,” whose
love for us is so certain, it cannot be broken,
Hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come: may your way of justice be followed by all
the
people of the world.
Give us each day our daily bread: confidence that you will
provide for
our basic needs, each day,
And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted
to us:
the way of healing is within reach.
And do not bring us to the time of trial: grant that as we
pass
through things temporal, we lose not things eternal.
Yes, the way we walk
through life matters. Give us the blessing of a harmonious and balanced
life
together. And thank you for the gift of a prayer to be offered daily to
keep us
on that way:
Peace
before us, peace behind us, peace under our feet.
Peace within us, peace over us, let all around us be peace.
**************************************************
Year C
(RCL)
Amos
8:1-12 and Psalm 52 (Track 2: Genesis 18:1-10a and Psalm 15);
Colossians
1:15-28; Luke 10:38-42
There is an old vaudeville joke
about a man
and woman dancing in the Catskills, at a singles resort. “I’m only here
for the
weekend,” the man says. “I’m dancing as fast as I can,” responds the
woman.
Martha is that kind of a
woman, dancing around her house as fast as she can, trying to get
things ready
for her honored guest, and trying in her own way to make the most of
their time
together.
Our natural sympathies
are with Martha. We recognize her condition. Were he expected, the
visit of
Jesus would probably have sent Martha and Mary scurrying ahead of time
in
preparation. And that may have been the case. But note also, this text
does not
give us reason to believe that Jesus was expected when he came to call:
“She
received him,” it says, which may mean little more than that she opened
the
door to his knock, not necessarily expecting to see him standing there.
If that
were the case, then there was much to be done post haste, as
hospitality was
always the rule of the day and the more unexpected the guest, the more
lavish
and bountiful the hospitality typically was. Such hospitality is the
hallmark
of the Jewish home, where even at Passover a spare chair is left for
Elijah,
should he come to call and partake of the family’s meal.
Martha is a sympathetic
sister for our time because she is in the business of activity and
anxiety: two
chief preoccupations of our age. The Marthas of this world are intent
upon
doing the right and good thing at the right and good time. We all
recognize
them because we all have at least some of Martha in us.
Yet, look again, and you
will see that Jesus does not deny the value of what Martha is or of
what she is
doing. He does not say to her that everything is all right and that
there is
nothing to do or to worry about. He says to her, in essence, that she
has her
priorities wrong. He recognizes that Mary knows that she has something
to learn
from Jesus. He would like Martha to know that as well. He seems to be
saying to
Martha: “Don’t just do something, sit here, at least for a moment.
Listen to
me.” He seems to want to slow her dance, to let her mind and soul catch
up with
her body.
It is not that Martha’s
work is unimportant, and it is not that Jesus does not appreciate the
work. But
Jesus is about priorities; first things first. And he is unambiguous
about what
comes first here. He said it once before, in his sermon when he warned
people
about being anxious regarding what they would eat and wear. Remember,
he
concluded that remarkably practical address with the words “Therefore,
do not
be anxious … But seek first God’s kingdom and righteousness, and all
these
things shall be yours as well.”
What was so important
about sitting at Jesus’ feet? It seems certain that he had been a
visitor
before to the home of Martha and Mary. He was a great friend of the
family, and
we know of his love for their brother, Lazarus. The answer to the
question
comes in the words that introduce the story, “Now, as they went on
their way…”
This is the crucial context in which we understand not only this story
but our
own as well, for if we read the paragraphs and chapters before this we
will
find that “they” – Jesus and his followers – are on their way to
It seems doubtful that it
was Mary’s regular custom to entertain visitors by sitting at their
feet while
her sister did all the work. In fact, Martha’s comments suggest that
Mary’s
behavior was not her typical behavior. But perhaps, somehow, Mary
sensed that
this was not an ordinary visit. The Lord was passing by, and after he
went, things
would never be the same again. Mary sensed that the time he had with
them was
precious and to be savored.
We learn an important
lesson from this story in the example of Mary and Martha. The mark of
hospitality is the capacity to give. Martha was doubtless very good at
that,
and she was busy about that very work, giving Jesus a pleasant time,
providing
for his needs and comforts, organizing his stay under her roof. It is
hard work
and should be rewarded, as it usually is, with appreciation and
gratitude. But
just as Jesus interrupts the routine of the household in
An ancient custom of
hospitality in
The Marthas of the world
are so busy doing good and necessary things that sometimes they don’t
have time
to realize how deeply they themselves stand in need. When Jesus comes,
he
reminds us that we need the grace and peace he offers. Rather than be
distracted by providing service, or being anxious and troubled about
many things,
we would do well to slow the dance we are doing, to stop, look, and
listen.
This, then, is a parable
about giving and receiving, doing and being, and about the presence of
Jesus in
the midst of the ordinary that becomes extraordinary. It is a parable
about
priorities, first things first, and it is a parable about two women who
in
their lives and attitudes give our Lord and his Church an opportunity
to teach
an important lesson for our time. It is also a parable of our worship,
for it
reminds us that what happens in our churches – our prayer, our praise,
our
instruction, and our fellowship – is not what we do for
Jesus,
entertaining him and busying ourselves with some sort of fast dance.
But
rather, we slow that dance, we come to “sit at Jesus’ feet,” and we
come to
receive from him the means of grace and hope of glory.
******************************
Year C
By
the Rev. Christine Wysock
(RCL)
Amos 7:7-17 and Psalm 82 (Track
2: Deuteronomy 30:9-14 and Psalm 25:1-9); Colossians 1:1-14; Luke
10:25-37
One
of the all time
greats in baseball was Babe Ruth. He had a lifetime batting average of
342. His
record of 714 home runs remained until Hank Aaron came along. Most of us have heard of the records he set,
and how wildly popular he was in his heyday. But in time, age took its
toll (as
it inevitably does). The great Babe’s popularity waned. Finally the
Yankees
traded him to the Braves. In one of his last games Babe Ruth began to
falter.
He struck out and made several misplays that allowed the Cincinnati
Reds to
score five runs in one inning. As the Babe walked to the dugout, chin
down and
dejected, there rose from the stands an enormous storm of boos and
catcalls.
“Loser! Get off the field! You Bum! You has-been!”
Just then a
boy jumped
over the railing onto the playing field. With tears streaming down his
face, he
threw his arms around his hero. Babe Ruth didn’t hesitate for a second.
He
picked up the boy and hugged him. Then he set him down and gently
patted his
head. Then the two of them walked off the field together. And a hush
fell over
the entire park.
You have to
love the
fearlessness of children. That little boy didn’t worry about what
people would
think; he only saw a need to let someone know he was loved and
selflessly acted
– straight form the heart.
That little
boy didn’t
know it but he was a “Good Samaritan.” And just like last week’s Gospel
and
sermon, he was being a disciple, sowing the seeds of God’s love.
Wouldn’t it
be wonderful
if we could keep that ability to act straight from the heart, without
thinking,
pondering the choices, weighing the outcome of our act against possible
repercussions? We’re on “Bad news overload”. We have to worry about the
“what
ifs”. In fact, we worry about bad outcomes so much we have created the”Good Samaritan laws” to protect us
in
those times when we do act selflessly.
Our task –
and granted,
it’s not an easy one, is to forget the “what ifs” and act as Jesus
calls us to
do. We are – all of us – people who are sent to spread the news of
God’s love
for the world. Jesus needs us. The church needs us. The world needs us
to
accept that call.
Jesus calls
us to a
committed way of life that places him first and everything else second.
A
faithfulness that is reflected in all that we say, in all that we do,
in all
that we are. Jesus wants us to set our priorities on the most important
areas
of life. Those are - loving the Lord our God with all our mind, with
all our
soul, with all our heart and to love our neighbor as ourselves. When
this comes
first, then everything else will fall into place.
This
commitment takes
dedication, it takes faithfulness and it takes a mindset to follow
through. I
wish I could tell you that this is easy to do. It’s not. It’s
especially
challenging, I think, in this day and age where we are constantly
bombarded
with the exact opposite of the love and care that Jesus preached. So,
though it
is not easy, in the long run it will be rewarding since we get to spend
eternity in heaven. And in the short run, living in this commitment
will give
meaning and purpose, comfort and strength, guidance and courage as we
walk the
faith journey.
As
Christians we are
commanded to love our neighbors as ourselves. The degree to which we
carry out
this responsibility probably lies in how we define “neighbor”. If we
believe
that our neighbor is the person next to us then we serve God by handing
a few
dollars to the panhandler on the street or making a special effort to
do
something nice for someone who is difficult or we may not particularly
like.
If we take
the much
broader definition of neighbor, then we serve God in the much larger
community.
This response is usually not difficult at all because often, we can do
this
anonymously. We act swiftly to help those communities and countries
that have
suffered devastation from earthquakes, hurricanes and tsunamis. We
donate
clothing and household goods to a family who has been left homeless
because
their house burned down. We have nothing to lose. We may even get a
closet
cleaned out because of this demand for help.
The
difficulty arises
when we are confronted by a need that could directly affect us, cause a
sacrifice on our part. When we are in a position of risk. Then our
Christianity
is truly tested.
Think of
someone
particularly hard to deal with. An over bearing boss, a self righteous
relative, a rude neighbor. If we are honest with ourselves, we have to
admit
that we set limits on whom we love.
To love
one’s neighbor
is to abolish all boundaries, all divisions. It means seeing an issue
from the
other person’s point of view. I have to do this whenever I am with one
of my
sisters. She is very fundamentalist in her interpretation of the Bible,
in her
Christian beliefs. Long ago we amiably agreed to disagree on these
issues. If
we hadn’t done this, I am sure that one or more of the Ten Commandments
would
be broken when we are together.
We don’t
have to make
grandiose gestures to show our neighbors they are loved. Often it is
just a
word or a touch. Monday through Friday I exchange my alb and stole for
nurses’
scrubs and work at a large community health care center in Woodburn.
The need
to demonstrate this love for our neighbors is huge, sometimes
overwhelming, but
time and again my staff will find a way to accomplish what needs to be
done.
Sometimes this means giving up a lunch hour to drive someone to the
hospital,
or staying late to teach that new diabetic patient how to use their
insulin.
Many mornings I walk into my office to find a card, a flower, an
encouraging
Bible verse on my desk. My staff all know that my husband and I are
walking
that faith journey right now as we deal with his cancer diagnosis. By
those
simple gestures, I know that I am more than their boss, I am the
neighbor that
God commands us to love.
The lawyer
who
questioned Jesus in the parable today knew that the law could be
summarized as
loving God and our neighbor. But Jesus challenged him by saying: “You
have
answered right; do this and you will live.”
This is the
way we are
supposed to live. This is the standard. Have we hit that standard
everyday of
our lives? Of course not. We have all fallen short of what God would
have us
do.
That’s why
you and I
need a Good Samaritan too. Our Good Samaritan is Jesus Christ. He is
the
ultimate good neighbor. He gave his life for us.
Year C
By
the Rev. Christine Wysock
(RCL)
2 Kings 5:1-14; Psalm 30;
Galatians 6: (1-6), 7-16; Luke 10:1-11, 16-20
There was
an old farmer,
not from around here, who sat raggedy and barefoot on the steps of his
tumbledown shack. He was approached by a passing stranger who was
searching for
a cool glass of water. Wishing to start up a conversation and get
acquainted
with this farmer the stranger asked how the farmer’s cotton was coming
along
“Ain’t got none”,
replied the farmer.
“Didn’t you
plant any?”
asked the stranger
“Nope,”
said the farmer,
“’fraid of weevils.”
“Well,”
asked the man,
still wanting to be friendly, “how’s your corn?”
“Didn’t
plant none,”
replied the farmer, “fraid there warn’t goin to be no rain.”
“Really. So
what did you
plant? asked the puzzled man.
“Nuttin,”
said the
farmer. “I jest played it safe.”
In today’s
Gospel, Jesus
is sending out seventy of his followers. And he doesn’t want them to
play it
safe. He wants to make sure the Word is spread, that all people will
hear the
good news of Jesus Christ.
As a good
upstanding
church member approached the Pearly Gates, she was asked by St. Peter
how many
seeds of faith – seeds of the gospel – she had planted while on earth.
She
replied, “None, I just played it safe. I was afraid that some would
think I was
just trying to show them I was better than they were. Others knew I
wasn’t and
I didn’t want to be called a hypocrite. And, you know what St Peter? I
don’t
really know all that I should about Jesus, faith and salvation to go
around
talking to others about it. And come to think of it, isn’t that what we
pay the
priest to do – go out and plant those seeds of faith – to win souls for
Jesus?”
But tell me St. Peter, when I look beyond the gates here, I don’t see
very many
people – what’s that all about?’
“Oh, that’s
easy,” St
Peter replied, “There were so laborers that not very many seeds were
sown.
There wasn’t much of a harvest to take in.”
Jesus knows
how
important it was to “get the word out”. That’s why he sent seventy
faithful
disciples on road to heal, to preach, to spread the love of God, and
help
others understand that it is every believer’s responsibility to share
this
wonderful faith and belief.
Jesus
doesn’t sugar coat
it for the disciples either. He tells them they are like lambs in the
midst of
wolves. He knew not everyone would accept them. But the important point
is he
wanted the disciples, the 70, to try, to go out among the people and
tell them
about Jesus.
None of us
are perfect;
we all need the help of Jesus, of God’s grace. But just as we need the
help of
Jesus, Jesus is counting on us to tell others about his saving grace
and
presence in our lives. He wants us to tell others how we have been
changed by
his love and our knowing him. He wants us to share with others.
I bet there
are a lot of
family gatherings, family picnics planned for this 4th of
July
weekend. As a child, my family had a lot of picnics. Mom and Dad,
Grandma and
Grandpa, my two sisters and I would really look forward to the trips to
the
mountains. We’d load up the cars with the picnic gear and head out for
the day,
our mouths already watering in anticipation of hot dogs and charred
marshmallows. Well, you know how it is – you get everything set up, all
the
food out and people sit down to eat. And what happens? The ants show
up, right?
First maybe just one ant crawls onto the table and searches until he
finds
something good, something really sweet and yummy. So he goes away,
packing a chunk
of something bigger than he is. Next thing you know, you have ants all
over the
place, heading right for the watermelon and brownies.
Well that’s
what Jesus
wants. He wants us to be like that first ant. After we have experienced
the
love of Christ in our lives, he wants us to spread the good news. He
wants us
to call on others so they may be able to experience the same sweetness,
the
good news of Jesus Christ in their lives. And again, it will not always
, and
maybe not even often, an easy task.
Are we
willing to carry
someone else’s burdens? Not only in the crisis times of their lives,
but in the
ordinary, everyday experiences and tasks. Are we willing to get
involved with
someone on a day to day basis, concerned with their life, their faith?
That would
be a commitment – and there’s a lot of “commitment phobia” out in the
world.
Are there
lonely people
who could use a visit? Are there sick and dying who could use a prayer
and a
kind word? Are there those in grief
trying to go on but are struggling and cannot get past their loss?
The answer, of course,
is yes to all these questions. We, any one of us, could be the answer
in their
lives. We could be the ones to bring them peace and happiness in the
knowledge
of God’s love.
But it takes someone who
is willing to risk. Not like the farmer at the beginning of this sermon
who was
afraid to plant anything for fear it would not grow. And sometimes
there will
be a drought, or too much rain and the crop will fail. But the crop
will always
fail if it is not sown. It’s like I tell my staff – “The answer is
always no if
you don’t ask.” We can never bring people to the love and knowledge of
God if
we are not willing to till the fields and sow the seeds. We will never
fill
these pews or have the opportunity to change someone’s life if we are
not
willing to work at it.
Remember
the Kevin Costner movie “Field of Dreams”? Probably the most famous
line from that movie is – “Build it and they will come.”
By
the Rev. Jay McMurren
Year C
Luke 9: 51-62
“He
set his face to go to
How
many times have you set your face to do what was in front of you?
Most
of us have already done it this morning.
I’m remembering my father getting out of a sickbed to go to work. My mother objected, but, “he had set his
face” to take care of the family.
We
could say that Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem – to save the
world – but
it’s hard to say that he had anything that grandiose (or crazy) in his
mind. It was just the next step on the
road he was sent – and chose to take.
We
all face these moments all the time.
Sister Wendy Wright, a Roman Catholic nun from
If you think
you sense the will of God in your life in some long-range, highly
detailed
plan, something you can see stretching out with clear goals and
successes into
the future, that is not
the will of God. If, however, you have an
insistent sense that
the next, very hesitant step beyond which you can see nothing is in
fact the
step that must be taken, that
is most likely the will of God for you.
We
know that for Jesus it was with struggle and doubt – and bloody sweat
in prayer
– that he chose the path he believed he was called to take. He gritted his teeth, which made his face
take a set, and went ahead. He was
resolute in his decision, and to those on his way who offered to come
with him,
he was blunt and clear: there are no
safeguards, no Plan “B”.
For
the disciples this had to be puzzling and frightening, and perhaps
exciting. Jesus had been counseled and
warned not to go to
So
far the story has been about preparation:
This
was mostly in the green valley in
Jesus
and his disciples begin the 80-mile trek through increasingly arid,
rocky
terrain, up to the city that kills the prophets, the city where death
has
always had the last word. And Jesus
becomes very blunt with the people around him, “You can’t plow a field
looking
backwards!”
And
now Luke begins the part of the story called “On the Way” - ten
chapters in the
middle of his Gospel story. And for six
months of Sundays we will hear again the familiar stories that give us
word-pictures of what it’s like in this kingdom God has mode for us. These and more are presented before the
beginning of the way of the cross:
Wherever
you are this summer, in church, or on the road, or at home, God’s
people the
world over will be reading and hearing one of these stories.
Don’t
miss it.
Year C
By
the Rev. James Liggett
(RCL) 1 Kings 19:1-4, (5-7), 8-15a and Psalm
42 and
43 (Track 2: Isaiah 65:1-9 and Psalm 22:18-27); Galatians
[NOTE TO READER: Gerasene demoniac is pronounced
“JER-uh-seen
de-MON-ee-ak”]
Let’s look for a minute at the story of the Gerasene
demoniac; it’s about
time somebody did. The story doesn’t get a lot of attention in
preaching these
days, and that’s a shame. There’s some really good stuff here, and it’s
pretty
funny if you come at it from the right angle. Also, it’s very handy to
have it
coupled with Paul’s words in Galatians. The two readings help each
other.
First
of all, let’s look at the issue that seems to get in
the way of engaging it the most these last few centuries – those poor
doomed
demons. The fact is, the New Testament world had a different way of
seeing
reality than we do, or than the 10th century did, or than the 17th
century did.
And I’m confident that in just a handful of decades there will be a
still
different way of seeing the world – different categories, different
ways of
naming and organizing the stuff we experience. And so on. That changing
never
changes.
These
days, we don’t do demons, at least not much. We don’t
have a category for that. But it’s not a big deal; and it’s sure not
worth all
the effort folks put into trying to force this square peg into the
round hole
of our current categories. Instead of that, let’s see what’s going on
here; and
let’s see where the gospel is.
On
one really important level, the story is a hoot – it’s
somewhere between a political cartoon and a graphic novel. The whole
scene is
bizarre. You’ve got a naked crazy guy, chatty demons, charging pigs
doing swan
dives, tombs, chains, shackles, freaked-out locals, and a small riot.
All in
gentile territory where, as far Luke was concerned, Jesus had no
business being
in the first place.
The
folks who first heard this story must have loved it. In
addition to the great action and dialogue, there was ancient regional
rivalry.
What
could be more fun for the good Jews of Galilee to hear
than a story about how un-kosher, unlucky, and generally weird the
gentiles on the
other side of the lake really were; and about how all those unclean
pigs came
to a well-deserved and hilarious end.
Then
there’s the political subtext. Everybody knew instantly
both that it was no accident that the demons called themselves “Legion”
after
the famous and feared Roman legions, or that pigs were a staple of both
the
Roman army and the Roman economy. Caesar’s legions, and Caesar’s
rations, were
mere child’s play for Jesus – a quick flush and they’re gone. What fun.
And
most Romans who heard the story probably wouldn’t even get this part.
But
as delightful as all this is, this is much more than a
mildly comic interlude in Jesus’ Galilean ministry. It’s really good
news, and
it’s good news about power – all sorts of power. The Gerasene demoniac
appears
just after the more familiar account of Jesus calming the storm on the
lake. In
fact, the storm was on the very same trip that took Jesus and the
disciples to
Gerasene. Both of these accounts are part of Luke’s run-up to the big
question
Jesus asks his disciples in the next chapter: “Who do you say that I
am?” In
fact, all of these stories are hints about what the right answer is; so
they
all are not so much stories about what Jesus did, but about who he is.
And
who Jesus is has to do with power. It has to do with
which, of all the powers in the universe, regardless of what categories
we use
to talk about them, are the strongest, which powers will have the last
word.
You
see, there are a lot of powers out there, powers that
can, and do, hurt and isolate and torment and destroy – in all sorts of
ways.
The categories we use to describe them don’t really matter that much.
Whether
we live in a world full of demons or schizophrenics, of storm-gods or
indifferent natural laws, of illness or of possession – regardless of
the
categories we use, we live in a dangerous world, a frightening world, a
world
that seems at both first and second glance to be pretty much against
us. We
live in a world that doesn’t seem to care about us or our pain. We know
this
all too well.
And
the story of the Gerasene demoniac, like the story of the
calming of the sea, like so many of the other stories about what Jesus
did, and
about who Jesus is, these are ways of saying that all of those powers
out
there, regardless of how we name them or organize them, regardless of
how real
they are, and regardless of how awful they are – none of them is
ultimately
powerful, none of them has or will have the last word, none of them
will
prevail, ultimately. In the end, when all is said and done, we are
safe. And
the power that Jesus brings, the power of love, the power we see most
clearly
on the cross, that power will prevail. And this victory is ours by
gift.
At
the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what is lined up
against us. Look, the Gerasene demoniac had more to worry about than
his
demons. He was also a pariah, cut off from family, friends, community,
relationships – from all those connections that together weave the
fabric of
our humanity. That isolation, that apart-ness, was also the victory of
powers,
perhaps powers we humans create, powers that can destroy as
effectively, and as
completely, as madness or storms.
Still,
by the time Jesus got through with him, our demoniac
was on the other side of those as well. He was not only in his right
mind, but
he was, as they say, dressed appropriately; and Jesus told him to go to
his
home, a home he didn’t have when our story began. He was given the
fullness of
his life back. Remember, there are all sorts of powers out there; and
all sorts
of victories.
This
is part of what Paul is talking about when he insists
that, in Christ, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer
slave or
free, there is no longer male and female.” Paul is saying that these
distinctions, and others, these powers of the social, economic,
ecclesiastical,
and political structures – as ancient, hallowed, destructive, and
potent as
they were, and as they are – these are powers that will fall, and that
have
fallen, before Jesus. Their voices are not the strongest voices, and
they will
not have the last word. It is our vocation to oppose them, and by God’s
grace
they should not, and ultimately they cannot, separate, isolate, define,
or
destroy us.
Because
the love that Jesus is, and the love that Jesus
brings, is stronger than anything, even the worst, the very worst, that
the
world can throw at us. That’s who Jesus is – that’s what these stories
are all
about, that’s the metanarrative or “big story,” regardless of the
categories
and the worldviews we use to talk about them.
And
that is good news.
The Rev. James Liggett is Rector of
St. Nicholas’ Episcopal Church in
*****************************************************************
Year C
Luke 7:36-8:3
I
really hate
this story.
Well,
not hate
exactly – I just get uncomfortable when I hear it.
It’s common knowledge that Jesus was
generally hard on the Pharisees for their holier-than-thou attitude
toward
other people. But I confess that I’m
with Simon, the Pharisee, when this scene opens.
Put
yourself in
his place: He has invited Jesus to his
home,
with others (probably Pharisees) for dinner.
We can assume that his home was well appointed, and probably
understated, fitting for Simon’s status in the community.
Then this unnamed, unknown, unwelcome woman
lets herself in. The passage says, “She
was a sinner”, but it doesn’t say what her sins were, except that they
were
great.
It
was customary
for guests to recline on couches when dining.
So the woman was able to approach Jesus from the back or from
outside
the gathering. It says she wet his feet
with her tears, and wiped them with her hair, and kissed them, and
anointed his
feed with ointment. This had to be
bizarre behavior for the guests, especially a group of men only, in a
private
home.
Simon
was
sophisticated enough to have gracefully dealt with the intrusion, by
treating
the woman as deranged and needing help, and simply having her removed
from the
house without a disturbance. In the
corporate world this is called “letting them over the side without a
splash”. And Simon, being socially and
economically secure, and among people who respected him, probably would
have
done just that. Except that the guest of
honor, Jesus, made that impossible by accepting
her.
That’s
the
trouble with Jesus. Not just for
Pharisees like Simon, but for the Pharisee that exists in all of us. He just keeps on accepting people. Neither Simon nor the woman really said
anything in this scene. It was Jesus who
watched them both, and observed that they had a lot in common. He read Simon’s thoughts; he read the woman’s
life, and saw that they each had a need for forgiveness – the woman
probably
more than Simon. But the woman knew it
and Simon didn’t.
To
Simon and the
others the woman’s behavior was scandalous.
To Jesus, it was a total confession and repentance for all her
sinfulness, and complete openness to the forgiveness, which she
believed Jesus,
could give. That was the reason for what
can only be described as tears, not of grief, but of joy and release, a
reckless
acceptance…
To
Jesus she was
not the “sinner” she had been, but a sinner set free by forgiveness.
The
irony in the
story is that Simon, who “owed less” (as in the parable), could have
received
the same love and forgiveness had he not been hindered by his own
“moral
rectitude” leading him to stand in judgment of both the woman and
Jesus
(Jesus for not realizing her sinfulness).
Well,
why do I
seem to dislike this story so much?
Because it brings up the Pharisee that still exists in me, as it
does in
most of us. In a small parish in
I
believe Jesus
is not a liberal – Jesus is a radical.
And Jesus is far more radical in his love for people than we
dream
of. He tried to lead us to see people
like he does, like this woman, with love, respect, forgiveness, which
is just
the way he sees, loves and forgives us - and holds us accountable –
when we look
to him.
Year C
By the Rev. Angela V.
Askew
The
picture of Elijah being both confrontational and cryptic
with King Ahab is actually emblematic of the whole collection of
prophetic
literature. Prophets are the ones God calls to speak God’s truth to
power – to
speak and to live as example and warning of God’s alternate reality
while the
powers that be in monarchical or temple leadership pursue other goals,
and
achieve their ends by ungodly means.
Prophets
function in Biblical texts as the vehicles of God’s
word: when they speak God’s judgment on those who perpetrate injustice,
they
are announcing God’s own critique of social, political, and economic
injustices
that bring about death, despair, and hopelessness. When they offer
alternate
pictures of life as God intends it, prophets bring hope to the
hopeless, life
to those shadowed by death and disaster. In short, prophets bring God’s
good
news into bad times.
Elijah
in today’s reading offers us just such a picture of
hope in contrast to the world Ahab and his predecessors have made. In
the midst
of the drought affecting King Ahab’s world and people, God interrupts
Elijah’s
life and sends him outside Ahab’s jurisdiction.
First
Elijah is sent to the
Yet
the whole point of the Elijah stories is, precisely, that
having nothing at all in the worldview of King Ahab, Queen Jezebel, and
all the
priests of the pagan gods who are turning the lives of God’s people
into a
desert, the prophet brings unimagined and unimaginable hope into the
parched
lands because he brings the life-giving word of God.
Through
Elijah’s faithful obedience, God’s life-giving word assures
the daily bread for the widow. And more than that; when the widow’s son
dies,
and her hope for any sort of normal, ordinary future dies with him, the
life-giving word of God renews the boy’s life, and therefore hers too.
There is
holy power at work in Elijah, as in all the prophets, the power of
God’s
life-giving word to break through the death-dealing ways of nature and
culture
alike.
Before
moving to Jesus, we must pause to meditate. You and I
have been assured of holy power at work in our own lives: the power of
the Holy
Spirit allows us to live transformed and transformative lives. Hold
that
thought.
Now
we can move into the gospel and watch Jesus, the living
word of God, who is bringing life into another socioeconomic situation
like
that in the First Book of Kings. Here is Jesus with a widow whose only
son is
dead.
Our
reading from the Gospel of Luke says: “When the Lord saw
her, he had compassion for her and said to her, ‘Do not weep.’”
While
Luke has undoubtedly structured the scene based on the
story of Elijah, there is a significant difference: Jesus’ compassion.
To have
compassion, and to be moved by compassion, is to take the suffering of
other
persons into oneself. Elijah the prophet was so identified with the God
of the
life-bearing word that his own actions brought life in the midst of
death.
Luke’s Jesus embraces the suffering of people at the edge of the social
fabric,
on the margins of the power structures, and thus he identifies with the
hopelessness of the widow. With Elijah and Jesus alike, however, the
hope that
blazes forth from the Biblical texts is God’s life-bringing and
life-bearing
presence, which transforms death-dealing situations into visions and
experiences of life as God intends.
Life
on the margins is brutal, nasty, and often much shorter
than “
Christmas
and Easter are behind us now, but as the angels
said at the nativity and at the empty tomb: “Do not be afraid.”
Let
us go forth into the world rejoicing in the power of the
Spirit. Amen.
-- The Reverend Angela V. Askew is
priest-in-charge of
|
First Sunday after Pentecost/Trinity
Sunday Year
C |
|
Isaiah
6:1-8; Psalm 29; Revelation 4:1-11; John 16:(5-11)12-15 It is sometimes
said that Trinity Sunday is the only feast in the church year devoted
to a doctrine. This observation, while amusing, is off base. The
Trinity is not a doctrine, but a Person - three Persons, in fact.
"Trinity" is nothing less than the name by which we identify the God we
worship. "Trinity" is the name of the God we know -- insofar as we can
know God -- as Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit. The primary
difference between Trinity Sunday and the rest of the year is that on
this day we focus on God's being rather than on God's doing; on who God
is rather than on what God has done. On this day we turn from the
"sacred story" to the sacred itself. The readings chosen for this day
focus on the fact of God, pure and not so simple. During the rest of
the year most of our Biblical readings are narrative: they tell a
story, whether as history, or myth, or parable. On Trinity Sunday, we
encounter not a collection of stories, but a set of visions. It's as if
we've moved from watching a film to gazing at a slide show, from a
moving picture to a snapshot, from a drama to an icon. The snapshot
imaged before us reaffirms that the Trinity is not a doctrine but a
mystery. Now, in theology, unlike the situation in detective stories, a
mystery isn't a puzzle we can figure out if we are given enough clues.
In theology, the word mystery is a synonym for sacrament - not
something to be solved but something to be experienced. A sacrament is
something that draws us beyond the surface appearances of the image to
something deeper or higher or broader - or all three. And a sacrament
does this so very effectively that it becomes a means to experience
that deeper or higher reality. Icons have been called "windows into
heaven" and sacraments do even more; they open a door to another
dimension; through it we have the opportunity to peek through and catch
a glimpse of an otherwise invisible realm, and begin to participate in
it. What we see
through that door, what we begin to experience, can be put into words,
but the words don't capture the fullness of the vision or the
experience; whether of the temple filled with the hem of God's robe and
the smoke of God's glory, or of a throne set in heaven with someone
seated upon it. There is always
more than meets the eye in a sacrament: there is always some inward
reality to which the outward, visible sign directs, draws, invites,
guides, and brings us. Every sacrament is an open door through which
grace flows, and through which we experience and anticipate in grace.
The water of Holy Baptism and the bread and wine of the holy Eucharist
reveal truths that doctrine cannot express, truths not simply assented
to, but experienced - living truths from the hand of the one who is
living, loving Truth. This doesn't mean
that theologians have given up trying to understand or communicate
these truths in other ways, though their efforts are much like
translating poetry into prose. Often, rather than deepening our
understanding, only confusion results from the attempts of theologies
to explain. Worse than that, over the years when theologians have tried
to define exactly how Baptism renews or regenerates, or how bread and
wine can (at the same time) be the Body and Blood of Christ, division
and persecution have resulted. The same is true of efforts to "explain"
the Trinity - and it would be foolish to add to the succession of
failed attempts! Rather, today let us follow the church's warning and
example in the lessons appointed for Trinity Sunday: to set the Trinity
before ourselves much like the water of Holy Baptism or the bread and
wine of the Holy Eucharist, as a sacrament to contemplate and
experience rather than to analyze, as an open doorway through which we
have access to God's presence. The important
thing about doors, after all, is that they provide access. We've all
seen the comedy bit where the character opens a door only to find a
brick wall on the other side: the humor stems from the utter
incongruity of having a door that leads nowhere. So while we might
admire the woodwork and the craft in a well-designed door, it is
important that we not forget its purpose; to go through. Just as the
bread and wine of the Holy Eucharist are not about baking and
wine-making (although these arts have a place in bringing the sacrament
to fulfillment), so, too, the Trinity is not about craftily constructed
Greek and Latin formulas designed to rule the limits of theological
speculation, beyond whose boundaries lie the dangerous territories of
heresy and schism. Our efforts at understanding, our doctrines and
creeds, are at best doorposts, lintel, and threshold of the door
leading towards the Being and Loving and Doing who is behind all
created things, a God too big for definitions: and today we open the
door marked "Trinity" for a moment and gaze through. This door marked
"Trinity Sunday" comes along more or less at the mid-point of the
Christian year, and reminds us who it is upon whom everything else
hinges. This is one of the reasons for the passages of Scripture we've
heard today. We've joined Isaiah for a terrifying, mortifying glimpse
of the majesty of God as the doors of the temple creak open in awesome
slowness, and the pivots of the threshold shake. We've been dazzled by
Saint John the Divine's Technicolor description of the heavenly court,
the throne and the torches, the sea of glass and the fantastic
creatures who came to seen as emblems of the four Evangelists. Finally,
we've heard Jesus give the promise of much more to come, including the
coming of the one who will guide the disciples into all truth, when all
of God's children will be ushered through that door by the Spirit. What do these
readings tell us about God? What do they tell us about the mystery at
the heart of life, the One upon whom everything hinges? What they show
us is that God is, There is no
question that the God described by Isaiah and John is above all. No one
could see these visions, no one could peek through these doors and not
realize who it is seated at that throne. This is a scene beside which
Dorothy's encounter with the Wizard of Oz is just a pale, wrinkled, and
faded copy. The Scripture shows us the real thing. This is the reality
at the heart of the universe. There's no one off to the side behind a
curtain, pulling levers and producing special effects. This is not
humbug; this is the gate of heaven, and awesome it is indeed! The royal imagery
in both readings reveals that God is "high and lofty" and is One before
whom all the creatures - and what creatures they are! - Fall down and
worship. This is clearly the One God, living and true, whom is "above
all," the God who, as John records, "created all things and by whose
will "they existed and were created." Everything hinges on God: God is
- above all - above all. However, at the
same time God is also in all. Perhaps the most striking think in these
readings is that the God of Heaven, the King, the Lord of Hosts,
condescends to ask for human help in working out the divine plan for
and in the world. What is more, God does not appear to expect only
perfect people to be capable of carrying this burden and
responsibility. Isaiah knows full well that he isn't up to the task: he
is a man of unclean lips, and he lives among a people of unclean lips.
Yet he has been permitted to look upon the Lord; the temple doors have
shaken to their foundations and swung open before Isaiah, cowering and
trembling in fear. But even when the seraph has touched Isaiah's lips
with the cleansing coal from the altar; God still leaves the initiative
in Isaiah's court. God asks for help! "Whom shall I send, and who will
go for us?" This question
reveals one of the most profound mysteries of God; that God works in
people. Each of us has some share in the divine image after whose
likeness we were made in the beginning. Each of us still carries a
spark of that first creative fire in our hearts. And though that spark
we carry in our hearts sometimes gets obscured or dimmed when we forget
our original blessing because of original sin, God can bring that flame
back to brightness within us with the touch of a live coal from the
heavenly altar, a coal that burns away any thought of uncleanness from
us, a heat that galvanizes us and make us able to bear the divine spark
within us into the darkest reaches of a world in need of illumination
and redemption. Each of us can risk the kiss of a coal held by an
angel, a kiss that burns but does not consume - a special sign of
divine fire! And it calls forth the fire in our hearts, the yearning
burning fire of hearts that are restless until they rest in God. Which brings us
to the third truth about God presented in today's readings. Not only
does God work in us, but also God also works through us. For God not
only ignited us with the coal of redemption, but blows upon us with the
spirit of sanctification, bringing that spark up to a bright flame,
with a wind blowing through our very souls, a wind that carries up
forward to do God's work with gladness and singleness of heart. God
sends us forth in the power of the Spirit, back out through the doors
these visions open for us, back out through the doors of this church,
out into the world grown cold and listless - awaiting God's fire,
awaiting the breath of God's Spirit to call it back to vitality and
life. God is Trinity:
above us, and in us, and working through us - when we are willing to
join Isaiah with a hearty "Here I am, send me!" God is Trinity, in
whose name we are baptized with water and the Holy Spirit, and through
whom we are called, we are cleansed, and we are commissioned in service
to the Trinity. It is God's being that empowers and inspires our doing.
Isaiah and John opened doors for
us, and Christ has left us the Spirit to sweep us through them, into
all truth, into all charity, into the love that moves the sun and the
stars. God is Trinity, this God whom we adore: who was, and is and is
to come - and to whom we ascribe all might, majesty, power and
dominion, henceforth and forever more. Amen. |
Year C
By
the Rev. Rob Gieselmann
(RCL) Acts 2:1-21 or Genesis 11:1-9;
Psalm
104:25-35, 37; Romans 8:14-17 or Acts 2:1-21; John 14:8-17, (25-27)
The
promise of Pentecost is baptism. “The one coming after
me,” the Baptist promised, “will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and
with
fire.”
This
Pentecostal promise speaks not of some infantile
christening, the dribbling of water across the crown, water wiped away
with
delicate embroidered cloths. Nor does this promise speak of the
lighting of a
candle with safe flame, or the rubbing of an oily cross on the forehead.
You could drown, or perhaps burn, for the Holy Spirit entombs you in
explosion,
and conflagration. Flames of God’s power lap inexhaustibly skyward –
with your
soul as fuel.
Baptism by fire is soulful, like the first baptism. “As I
went down in the river to pray …” The line of pilgrims snaking
upward from
the shore, grasses blowing at heels. Person after person stepping
tentatively
into the water, with promise as soap to cleanse.
Hope to change: regeneration by element. But water is
dangerous, fire is dangerous, baptism is dangerous, and the Holy Spirit
is
dangerous – an unshucked atom. But John the wild-Baptist promised this
type of
Pentecostal baptism.
Now
“you have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer
you who lives, but Christ who lives in you.” You are “Christ’s own
forever.”
In February, NASA launched the space shuttle Endeavour, in
what was billed as the last nighttime liftoff. Originally, launch
STS-130 was
scheduled for
They say a space shuttle launch is dangerous. Not just to the
astronauts, but to spectators. Liquid hydrogen, 423 degrees below zero,
is
combined with liquid oxygen to inaugurate an explosive thrust of 37
million
horsepower. The explosion consumes so much fuel that, were it water in
a
swimming pool, the pool would drain in 25 seconds.
The closest non-NASA spectators must watch from six miles
away, across water. Even the raw explosive sound would kill you if you
were
located much closer than a football field from the launch.
On
February 7,
About one hour before the launch, a bank of low-ceiling
clouds rolled in, threatening the launch. NASA actually needs to see a
shuttle
visually to 5,000 feet.
It was rescheduled for the same time the next night, but few
spectators returned. What were the chances, when the same cloudbank
still hung
low that second night?
About
thirty minutes before launch, the cloud bank slid off
to the side, a few stars appeared, and this time, the countdown passed
T-minus
nine.
Only it was no old man; it was, as someone remarked, “instant
sunrise,” for the fireball lit the sky and clouds and horizon. The
cloudbank
turned orange; the water, too, and the fish in the
The single most beautiful element of launch is the rumbling
roar speeding low across water, far slower than the speed of light.
At five seconds per mile, the sound reached the spectators at
thirty seconds after liftoff, bathing them at last in extraordinary
spirit.
Jesus’ followers heard sound first, before they saw the
flame, the sound of spirit traveling faster than light, not slower.
Now, today, the prepossessing roar of Spirit as at creation,
the same breath of God, ruach expressed across the deep – like
oxygen
fanning flame – the sound itself baptized these neophyte Christians by
Holy
Spirit and translation!
Jesus had written them into his Last Will and Testament: “My
peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you.” The very peace of
God as
fire in them imploded, changing them forever. Estate settled.
Perhaps you received the Holy Spirit in some civilized
ceremony, with droplets of water falling onto your head, and the polite
sign of
the cross pressed into your forehead. On that day, the church ladies
smiled.
They nodded to one another, and observed, “How sweet.” Neither they,
nor you,
realized the power transmitted by liquid drops of hydrogen and oxygen
onto your
head. An unshucked atom. The very Spirit of God in you is still
unshucked.
You have received the Spirit of God, the power of peace
within, and without. Perhaps it is time for you and me to shuck the
atom, to
unleash the power.
• Advocate: The Holy Spirit
prays on your behalf, interceding regularly for you, and through you,
for
others. God as creator jumps to answer these prayers, but do you pray
boldly?
• Guide: The Holy Spirit
will guide you, but the compass-power of God is
located in the silence. How can you possibly hear above the internal
cacophony?
• Interpreter of Scripture:
The Holy Spirit will interpret Scripture for
you, will open your mind like that of the disciples to see the Word of
God lurking
behind the black letters on the page. How will you discover God in
Scripture if
you never crack the book?
• Healer: The Holy Spirit
heals, sometimes physically and emotionally, if
you can believe it, and always spiritually. How will you be healed if
you won’t
forgive those who have wronged you?
There is so much more, and it is all explosive, all the
conflagration of God. The promise of Pentecost, uttered by the Baptist,
is not
impotent, but potent. Not weak, but strong.
“I have been
crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I
who lives, but Christ lives in me.”
Christ
in living Technicolor, and instant sunrise. Amen.
-- The Rev. Rob
Gieselmann is the
rector of
.