Bearing the Name, Bearing the Cross: Sermon for Lent 2B

What’s in a name?

Shakespeare first famously asked that question in his tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, a tale of two star-crossed lovers whose families were at war with one another in the streets of Verona. The Montagues and the Capulets were openly at each other’s throats—and Juliet Capulet and Romeo Montague fall in love at first sight, despite their families enmity.

In Act II, scene II, the subject of names is the main topic. Juliet sits at her window and muses these famous lines, with Romeo lurking out of sight in the orchard beneath, listening in:

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Of course, it is not Romeo’s given name that is the problem. The problem is his family name—and hers, for their families are at war under the banner of those names. Their names, and the communities each represents, threatens to forbid their love.

Names are important banners we wrap around ourselves, but they are NOT individual. They tie us to other people, to nationalities, to ideologies, to kin and kindred spirits scattered far and wide. Most importantly, most names are shared, and thus they establish boundaries and expectations for entire communities.

In our readings today, the idea of names and their symbols lies under all our readings. Abram, although a wealthy and faithful man, risks having his name die out, for he has no legitimate children. Yet even though he is 99 years old—about which St. Paul made an incredibly ageist crack in our epistle—we see a second covenant in two weeks, as God promises Abram descendants so numerous that his name will never die, and he will be the father of many nations. 

To emphasize this, God reveals a new name for everyone involved in this covenant. The name used here for God, meaning “God Almighty” or “God of the Mountain,” is “El Shaddai” in the original text. Abram, meaning “Father is Exalted,” become Abraham, which means “Father of a Multitude.” Sarai, which means “Princess,” becomes Sarah, meaning “Mother of Nations.”

In our section from Romans, Paul is writing to the followers of Jesus in Rome, although he has never met them. They are struggling with the requirements to form a community of Christ- followers, with those of Abrahamic heritage arguing about whether gentile converts should have to follow Jewish law before admittance to the community—including becoming circumcised, which was also mentioned in the verses omitted in our reading from Genesis. Paul makes a case that, as Jesus is the fulfilment of the Law, and underlying this is the idea that Abraham was the father of nations, plural, that anyone who shares the faith Abraham had in God is therefore a child of Abraham’s promise, through faith alone. In other words, one follows God by faith, not by bloodline --or painful surgical procedures on tender bits of one’s anatomy. Ouch.

In our gospel, Jesus is talking about what it means to be a true disciple and follower of Jesus as the son of God. And it is here that we must remember that each gospel was written for a specific community at a particular time and place. The Markan community was undergoing great persecution and suffering—so these verse that we might draw back from were written to comfort the listeners, to remind them that their suffering was in allegiance with someone who died out of love for them and for the entire world on the cross. The cross, which had been a symbol of shame, is now a symbol of the victory and power of love in action—self-giving love, that seeks to draw all creation into community, bound by self-giving love.

And here we are, two thousand years later. The name we choose to bear as followers of Jesus, is “Christians.” And it is a name that lays a lot of obligations on us—the first of which is to be guided by love, always. Love that is willing to seek another’s good even at our own expense, just as Jesus exemplified in every moment of his ministry.

Sure, we live in a time when, in our context, following Jesus generally is not going to expose us to a torturous death—although that IS certainly true in other parts of the world, even today, and we should never, ever minimize or forget that.

But following Jesus—not just using his name to hammer other people, but instead living open-heartedly according to his precious gospel—certainly will set us at odds with the culture in which we live. And the way Jesus’s name is used by too many people today is 100% in opposition to Jesus’s message. 

Tragically, some people use the name of "Christian" as a weapon against others and to make themselves feel superior, members in a rarified club. And they use the name of Jesus as a club against anyone they consider “less-than.” They use the name of Jesus as an excuse to contemptuously deny the humanity of those they believe don’t measure up—the very poor, outcast, and oppressed with whom Jesus spent most of his time standing in solidarity. And so, they risk tarnishing the holy name and true gospel of Jesus in the public sphere. They forget that taking on the name “Christian” is about serving others, especially those the world around us despises-- rather than serving yourself.

The core of discipleship, of bearing the name of Jesus with integrity, is self-giving compassion and generosity, Jesus reminds us continually, especially in this season of Lent. Tragically, that certainly is not something in line with our own culture, where self-indulgence is raised up as a virtue. It is at this point especially that Jesus makes it quite clear that the gospel is certainly counter-cultural throughout the ages. And it is still counter-cultural now, surrounded by the myth of “rugged individualism,” in which any need for someone else is portrayed in the public American ethos as a failure.

But that is exactly the kind of life we are challenged to lose and lay down if we want to bear the name of Jesus faithfully and call ourselves “Christians.”

It is that life of selfishness and disdain for others that Jesus encourages us to lay down and lose. Losing that life is the only way to open yourself to living in harmony with Jesus and following him as God’s beloved children. Peter is rebuked for thinking in a worldly way, wanting a warrior Messiah. But that is NOT God’s way.

So, we too are asked to look at the life the world encourages us to lead critically. We are currently in a crisis of loneliness and isolation that has NOTHING to do with COVID but everything to do with the myth that our families and communities can survive when greed and contempt for others are worshiped are embraced to rule over us as gods. Suicide rates, addiction, and violence plague our every step in every community, regardless of wealth or zip code. Antisocial behaviors have been normalized and even applauded and laughed about. Cruelty is sport.

It is THIS life Jesus urges us to lay down and lose in order to have life in him and bear his name as Christians faithfully. We gain so much more than we lose!

The cross in Jesus’s time was something shameful, yet for us now it is a sign of faith and hope. The cross has been so transformed by the power of the self-giving love it represents that we now wear it around our necks, hand it over or behind our altars, and regularly make the sign of the cross over ourselves as we are blessed or absolved.

When I became an Episcopalian, I embraced the habit of genuflection, because it reminded me every time I did it that Christ has asked us, as Christians, to take up our cross—a cross of love, service to others, and community—and follow him, as our gospel recounts today. It is a reminder to me that the Holy Trinity is ever near. And it is a sign, as much as the name of Christian, that binds us all together in one family, one community, one faith—all centered on self-giving love in action for others. The cross and what it stands for is NEVER to be used to divide us.

During every Eucharistic prayer, as part of our Catholic, meaning universal, identity, we are all encouraged to make the sign of the cross over ourselves as the Holy Spirit is called down to consecrate US as well as the bread and the wine—to remember that the cross is a sign of the victory of love and the generosity of God to us in feeding us around this altar a meal which makes us one body sharing one name and one ministry, one obligation to each other—the name of Jesus, the sweetest name in the world.

So today, I challenge you and myself, to take up your cross of love and bear it with joy, right now. Realize the gift of renouncing the suffering wrought by the world’s values. Lay down that life with joy, and take up the life of love, faith, and hope in the name of God. Let us commit ourselves, starting this Lent, to follow Jesus in truth, bearing his glorious name in word, but more importantly in deed, as we all seek to be a blessing to the world around us.

Preached at the 505 on February 24 and at the 10:30 Eucharist on February 25 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church- Ellisville, MO.

Readings:

Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16

Psalm 22:22-30

Romans 4:13-25

Mark 8:31-38

Amen.

No Dress Code: Sermon Proper 23A October 15, 2023

Ah, another Sunday, another gospel reading that seems to portray God as vindictive and violent, and uses religious differences to back that up.

Another Sunday where we misunderstand parables and their symbolism. So let me start out asking these questions:

Do we believe that God is a slave-owning king willing to slaughter anyone who offends him?
Do we believe that scripture portrays God that way, and do we ourselves experience God in that way?
Do we believe that people are FORCED into the kingdom of heaven, measured, and then found wanting?
To be specific, do we believe God would condemn to eternal hell people who do not wear the right clothes to a party to which they were not initially invited? And if so, should we put that on our website in the section for visitors under “What to expect?”

Once, again, NO. And for those of us who are survivors of the kinds of Christianity that DOES promote ideas like that, let me say this: HELL NO.

Jewish New Testament scholar Amy-Jill Levine says this about hell:

“I am among the 78% of American Jews who do not believe in hell. On the other hand, I do like the idea. In my less generous moments, I have delightful thoughts of sentencing people there. Then I stopped, both because I realized such thoughts are ungracious and because I do not believe that eternal pain helps any one. To whether there are postmortem punishments in hell, or rewards in heaven, that I do not want to know personally for a very long time: getting through each day on earth is complicated enough.”[1]

And yet, some of us WANT a God who smites sinners and leaves people we don’t like to roast in hell for all eternity. We especially want that when we ourselves feel victimized or powerless. But I wonder— is this a case of making God in our own image, rather than allowing God to remake us in God’s own image?

We know that this parable has been especially misused by a whole lot of people who like to imagine God to be vindictive and violent to justify their own vindictiveness and violence, which is usually tied to a toxic masculinity and patriarchical model of Christian leadership. This has become, in particular, a deeply dangerous political idea.

To be frank: I am persuaded that this parable has been misused historically when it has been about who is thrown out into the outer darkness, where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth. We gloss over the images of abundance and welcome that are embedded in this story, and in the readings we heard before this gospel in our lectionary. And we may be allowing our resistance to real gospel values to suppress the growth of our spiritual understanding.

First of all, we need to stop believing that we can separate our spiritual lives from our daily lives. We modern Christians keep wanting to separate our daily lives from our spiritual lives—to think about the kingdom of God only on Sundays—and not even every Sunday, since our lives are overscheduled and there are other things to do.

But here’s a truth: your spiritual lives ARE your everyday lives. It is how we live outside these walls that truly reveals our spiritual values and our spiritual compass. And so we are being urged here to understand that we are being called to spiritual renewal.

We overlook the fact that the king invites EVERYONE in, and asks only that they put on the clothing of abundance. I wonder if a more fruitful interpretive lens to hold up to this passage is the universal abundance and universal grace we hear in our first three readings.

In our passage from Isaiah, we hear of rich feast prepared by God for those who live in exile and oppression. Hardly the image of a God who seeks our everlasting torment.

Then, there is the 23rd Psalm. Is there any more beloved and precious depiction of God’s determined love, care, and protection in scripture than this beautiful poem?

And then Paul’s closing thoughts to the Christians at Philippi, urging them to not let a disagreement between two of their members to keep them from embodying the “mind of Christ”—specifically describing the mind of Christ and therefore the mind of God, as being true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, and worthy of praise.

The three parables that we have heard the last three weeks about Jesus’s authority make it clear that those in power had rejected Jesus’s invitation. This third parable makes it clear that Matthew’s community believes that because the leaders and now Jerusalem itself have rejected God’s message sent to them through numerous prophets and finally God’s own son, as last week’s parable made clear, the invitation is going to be extended to people that powerful people usually wouldn’t associate with and denigrated: the tax collectors, the prostitutes, the riffraff, the nobodies, the blind and lame, the people who thought they’d been forgotten. People just like us, just as broken as us, just as in need of grace as us.

When we start trying to exclude people from entering our doors, from sharing in communion with us, from hearing that they are beloved by God, we are behaving EXACTLY as those Jesus is shown here as criticizing.

There is no dress code for God’s kingdom.

When God invites us into the wedding feast, God provides everything that is needed—including the robes. But the robes are not something external. The robes symbolize the inner transformation of living by embodying that same grace and mercy we have received for others.

What if the person who is found without a robe does not symbolize not being the right sort of person by birth or ancestry, but by refusing to be transformed by the banquet? What if that lack of robe is actually a refusal to adopt the mindset of community and gratitude that Jesus makes central to one’s ministry in the world?

Once you’ve come in to the feast, you are expected to put on the garments of love—the same characteristics that Paul lists as necessary to living the faithful life: whatever is true, honorable, just, and pure—and this is about internal purity in the sense of allowing love, not condemnation, to shine out of us.

The Church may bill itself as the representation of God’s banquet—the kingdom of heaven in Matthew’s terminology on earth. That’s beautiful—except for the times when the Church falters in living up to the ideals espoused in the gospel. The fact that we fail as the Church should surprise no one, since the Church is made up of fallible human beings who do not shed their pain, wounds, or sins at the door, but bring them right on in. After all, this community is where the healing can take place. Jesus’s healing of people’s physical ailments throughout scripture was all about restoring people to relationship. And that is necessary work today as much as it was in Jesus’s time.

We as the Church can start to embody the kingdom of heaven rather than mirroring the wounds of our society--IF we are intentional about recognizing that fact, and become very intentional about how we respond to each other and treat each other as we learn this new language of love and life that Jesus’s gospel calls us to. IF we start by constantly examining the way we treat each other here within our communities of faith, and try to change the ways we relate to each other so that we put on those wedding garments.

When we align this parable with the epistle and the gospel, we are led to a reminder that our spiritual life and our daily lives must align within a joyful embodiment of sharing what we have received from God with those around us.

We are led once again to awe at the abundance of God’s mercy and provision in all four of our readings. We are also led to an understanding of the way that God calls us into true community with each other, regardless of our differences. If God can prepare a rich feast for us even while we are inclined to fear and anxiety with our enemies surrounding us, and if God invites EVERYONE to the wedding feast of the kingdom, who are we to harbor hatred, division, or defeatism ESPECIALLY in our spiritual lives OR in our daily lives when we are confronted with the opportunity to toss people out or condemn others?

I have known people throughout my life who were angry, judgmental, and unkind. I have known people who have held others to impossible standards of behavior that they themselves did not meet, but were always searching for some pretext to feel superior to others and to cast others out with curses and condemnation. And all too often, they justified division and cruelty and even aggression in the name of Jesus. And the worst part was, many of these people call themselves “Christian.” And in doing so, they have tarnished the gospel of Christ in the eyes of thousands. We hear actual statements of this from people who have left the church—especially young people—because not only were they not welcomed, but they saw people who claimed to believe in Jesus acting absolutely opposite of Jesus’s example.

What if this parable is meant to remind us that God does not call the perfect, but God asks the called to work toward perfection—and by perfection, I mean those hallmarks of Jesus that actually imitate Jesus: being true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, and worthy of praise, as Paul puts it in our epistle.

Grace is grace because it is not only generous, it is unexpected and unearned. Grace goes against everything for which our human-made systems stand. As Rachel Held Evans writes in our book study book, Searching for Sunday:

The church is positively crawling with people who don’t deserve to be here…starting with me. But the table can transform even our enemies into companions. The table reminds us that, as brothers and sisters adopted into God’s family and invited to God’s banquet, we’re stuck with each other; we’re family.[2]

We all are invited to the banquet, and we bring with us our anger, our flaws, our fears. But just as we are accepted as we are, we are also invited to allow the grace of the sacraments and the community to change us and heal us. Putting on the wedding garment means allowing yourself to be transformed by the miracle of community that the wedding feast is, that we are called to truly re-enact every time we worship together. The point is not to just sit and observe and then go back to our business. The point is to be amazed and transformed by the abundance God places before us in every moment—and to take that into our hearts and souls and share that good news with the world.

Come in to the feast—and let the feast change you. Let the feast change our communities by changing us. And by that, we change the world. No dress code required.

Amen.



Preached at the 505 on October 14 and the 8:30 and 10:30 am Holy Eucharists on October 15, 2023 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:

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


Citations:
[1] Amy-Jill Levine, The Difficult Words of Jesus: A Beginner’s Guide to His Most Perplexing Teachings, p. 101, Kindle edition.
[2] Rachel Held Evans, Searching for Sunday: Loving Leaving, and Finding the Church, p. 152.

Where We Feed Each Other: Sermon for Proper 18A

Long ago, in a poor country far away, a young woman once approached the wise woman of her village with a question: “What are heaven and hell like?”

“Come, let me show you,” replied the wise woman, and the two walked into the forest, until they came to a house. The wise woman opened the door, and there they saw dozens of people all spread out, slumped weakly with their chairs pushed back against the walls, as far from each other as possible. In the center of the single room was a huge round table, about seven feet in diameter, covered with dozens of steaming tureens of delicious-smelling soup.

Yet the people in the house were so malnourished they looked like abandoned dogs. Then the young woman noticed that the only utensils in the room were spoons with handles that were about eight feet long.

There was no way they could use those spoons to feed themselves. Some people had blisters and even wounds on their hands from trying to spoon the hot soup directly into their mouths.

And like mistreated dogs, they were filled with the instinct to lash out. As the two women stepped inside, one fellow seemed to faint for a moment, and fell over onto the shoulder of one of the women seated next to them. With a vicious shove, that neighbor exclaimed “Get off me! Don’t touch me! Don’t I have enough trouble of my own?” and the man, awakened, slowly pulled himself up and slumped back into his seat.

As the young seeker and the wise woman had opened the door and stepped inside, some of the people there began weakly, hoarsely demanding that the two women leave. “Go away!” they cried. “There already isn’t room for any more here! Leave us to suffer in peace!”

The young woman’s eyes brimmed with tears at the sad scene. The old woman let her look a moment longer, then guided her back out the door so that they could talk freely. Once outside, she turned. “That,” said the wise woman, “is hell.” The young woman stifled a sob. “Now let’s journey a bit further,” said the wise woman.

They walked deeper into the forest, and up to another house. The wise woman opened this door, and there again they saw dozens of people all gathered around a huge table piled high covered with enormous steaming tureens of delicious soup. In fact, there were three times as many people in the house. Once again, the only utensils in the room were spoons with handles that were eight feet long. Yet the people here were laughing and joyous. “Come in! Come in!” exclaimed several of them. “Dinner is about to start!”

With some trepidation, the young woman and the wise woman sat down at the chairs pulled close to the table. One of the persons stood to lead the group in saying grace, and together they all thanked whoever had provided the delicious soup—the plants, the bees, the farmers, the harvesters, the chefs, ending with giving thanks for the blessing of those gathered around the table.


After a hearty amen, half the people pulled up to the table took a hold of one of the spoons, and then filled it from one of the tureens. Then, in a staggered rhythm, each spoon-holder reached across the table and fed a person across from them. And then each person who had just been fed picked up their own spoon and fed a person opposite of them. Those who held the spoons chatted merrily with each other while they fed their companions. The young woman and the wise woman, too, were fed until they could eat no more. And yet the tureens never seemed to go empty.

Eventually, the wise woman took the young woman by the hand and said it was time to leave, and they bid their new friends farewell. “Come back anytime!” several of the house’s inhabitants called. “There is always plenty to go around!”

The young woman was stunned. “That was heaven, wasn’t it?” she asked the wise woman, and the wise woman nodded. “I don’t understand!” the young woman cried. “Why was it so different? Both houses had exactly the same tables, the same food, the same spoons!”

“Ah, my child,” said the wise woman. “Hell is where, despite being surrounded by abundance, we isolate and think only about what we lack and don’t see what we DO have. But heaven-- heaven is where we feed each other, where the greatest abundance is love and care for one another.”

I have loved this fable since I read it in a book of folklore when I was a child. And the interesting thing is that versions of the Fable of the Long Spoons shows up in cultures all around the globe: In Jewish midrash, in Chinese fables (where the spoons become chopsticks and the soup becomes rice), in Hindu and Buddhist and Muslim tales. There is obviously universal wisdom embedded in this tale.

In all of our readings, we hear about challenges in relationships with God, and with each other. In our reading from Ezekiel, the prophet is addressing a common, but mistaken, belief, then and now, that people suffer calamities due to their sinfulness. And while it is true that there are often consequences for bad behavior, we also know that sometimes hateful people flourish and innocent people suffer. And it’s human nature to try to figure out a system to it all—to figure out a system, so we can avoid that suffering.

In the case of Ezekiel and his audience, the people of Israel believe that God has punished them for their lack of faith in God by having them be conquered and their leaders carried into exile. Yet the prophet assures them that God does not desire the punishment of anyone. God DOES expect us to examine ourselves, and where we do things that do not serve ourselves or others well, to turn aside from those harmful behaviors and repent—which literally means to choose a new path.

Our psalm portion tells us exactly how to have the perspective to do this: by studying, with humility and gratitude, God’s revelation to us, God’s wisdom offered for us, starting with scripture. Taking that wisdom as our own, and focusing on that revelation as a gift to guide our choices and relationships in all that we do. That’s one of the reasons why Christian education, and regular study and prayer over scripture is so important as a practice, if we really want to flourish and grow as children of God and the best people we can be.

The next reading meant to deepen our wisdom and guide our relationships comes from Paul writing to the beleaguered Church in Rome. His first sentence itself is a wonder: Owe one another nothing…. EXCEPT to love one another. We all know that another word for debt is “obligation.” 

Friends, love is the greatest obligation of them all! And yet it is also the ground of everything good and beautiful and true. We are literally made for love. 

Paul had spent a lifetime even before his conversion studying scripture. And before his encountered with the risen Christ, he had been an aider and abettor of the persecutors of the followers of Jesus. But when the lens of Christ was added to his knowledge of God’s specific commandments, he suddenly saw the universal light of Christ woven into everything and every person, and urges all of us who hear his words to do the same.

But then we come to our gospel. The situation described here seems grim. There is injury within the tiny community of Christ followers to whom the author of Matthew belongs. So Jesus advises a way to address the wrong and seek restitution, reconciliation, and healing.

And I have seen this specific teaching be used to absolutely devastating effect by being misinterpreted in church and our common lives together. And especially right now. I want to ask everyone to concentrate on the fact, that Jesus first urges us to try again and again to confront issues in our relationships openly and lovingly. Repeatedly. To persevere in trying to maintain acknowledgement of where we all fall short in loving God and each other—and remember loving each other is one of the main ways we show the world we love God. 

So being loving and compassionate in our relationships is often the boldest witness we make as to who Jesus, the Son of God, is. And that benefits not just others but ourselves. To remember the lesson of our fable, by feeding each other, we ourselves are fed.

But let us remember, first of all, that the specific issue being addressed here is behavior that directly hurts another. Not our “disapproval” of another person or of ways that they are different from us. This is supposed to address real injury, not looking down on those who don’t look like we do, or dress like we do, or use the same pronouns as we do, or love the same way we do.

Then there is this key statement: if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax-collector.

Oh hey! There’s the chance to start enforcing some codes of exclusion, right? Everybody knows that Gentiles and tax collectors were considered to be enemies of the people, yes? Let’s remember: Gentiles were non-Jews, often soldiers or citizens of the Roman empire or descendants of the Canaanites or Babylonians or Persians, all representatives of the Jewish peoples’ oppression just like in Ezekiel’s time. And tax collectors were those who collected taxes in the name of that regime, economically squeezing revenue out of an already desperately poor people. Yep. All that is true. So does that mean we can cast out and hate and oppress those we consider to be sinful?

And let’s be clear, too often right in what is going on around us right now, that “sinful” label really means “those who don’t live and look and dress and love how we think you should live and look and dress and love.”

But how does this very real tendency we have to bash those different from us line up with Paul’s insistence that Jesus taught us that we should owe each other nothing—except love?

The key is to ask one very important, very much overlooked question: How did Jesus treat tax collectors and Gentiles? Did he urge violence against them, ostracism, excommunication? Did he urge the passage of laws to strip them of their humanity?

Or did he have long conversations with them, teach them, heal their loved ones, praise their astounding faith, sit down to eat with them and even bless them? In fact, does anyone know what the author of Matthew’s gospel was supposed to have had as his occupation before becoming a follower of Christ? Matthew 9:9 and Mark 2:14 state that Matthew, also known as Levi, was sitting in his booth collecting taxes when Jesus walked by and called him to follow him. Matthew himself was a tax collector—and was not just NOT outcast by Jesus, or stoned to death by him, but called to be one of Jesus’s earliest followers.

As we finish up a week that included a secular holiday dedicated to a reminder of how much we all depend upon each other’s common labor, I hope we can see this passage in Matthew’s gospel with clear eyes and a clear heart. How does all of that stuff early in our reading about approaching those who have sinned against us end? With this statement, so important that it is in our prayer book prayers at the end of the morning prayer liturgy: where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.’

When ever even a handful of people gather, in the name of Jesus, which means in the example and imitation of Jesus, Jesus is there in the midst of them. When we hold tight to our relationships with each other, rather than looking for ways to cast people out, Jesus is right here in the midst of us. When we tend to our OWN sinfulness and error first, and stop trying to distract ourselves by pointing the finger at others, Jesus is in the midst of us. When we are willing to stop believing that each other is the enemy, and instead start feeding each other, then Jesus is in the midst of us.

And all of us will be fed. Heaven, my beloveds, is where we feed each other.

--Preached at the 10:30 am Holy Eucharist at St. Martin's Episcopal Church on the 15th Sunday after Pentecost, September 10, 2023.

Readings:

Ezekiel 33:7-11
Psalm 119:33-40
Romans 13:8-14
Matthew 18:15-20

Likes and Loves: Sermon for Trinity Sunday, year A, 2023

A pilot and a priest have died and are waiting in line outside the gates of Heaven for entry. When they reach the front of the line, St. Peter beckons the pilot forth.

"Who are you, so I may know whether or not to admit you to the Kingdom of Heaven?" he asks.

"I am Steven Armstrong of Houston, Texas." St. Peter consults his list.

"Ah, Captain Armstrong! You were an airline pilot for Southwest Airlines for 32 years. Take these silk robes and this staff of gold; you may enter the Kingdom."

St. Peter then beckons the next person in line forth—the priest. He repeats the same question again: "Who are you, so I may know whether or not to admit you to the Kingdom of Heaven?"

The priest straightens out. "I am the Reverend Denise Ford of Stanford, Connecticut," she replies. "Episcopal priest for the past 32 years."

"Reverend Ford," St. Peter says as he flips through his list. "Pastor of the Trinity Church for the last 12 years, honest, supportive, kind, diligent in study and always willing to help. Ah, yes. Take these wool robes and this wooden staff and enter the Kingdom," St. Peter says. The priest shrugs and accepts them before entering.

Later, she finds St. Peter out fishing by a crystalline stream. "Sir, I'm just curious, but the man who stood in front of me outside the gates of Heaven was just a pilot, but he got silk robes and a gold staff. I preached and spoke the word of the Lord for most of my life, but I received these wool robes and this wooden staff. What gives?”

St. Peter turns to the priest. "Well, Mother, up here, we go by results. While you preached and gave your sermons, people slept.

"While he flew, and especially during landings, people prayed and called out to Jesus unceasingly."


Welcome to Trinity Sunday. It’s a day so dreaded for preaching that the Rev. Shug and I flipped a coin and I lost. I am hoping that I will neither bore you, put you to sleep, nor make you scream in terror over the next few minutes. It’s a pretty low bar, you might think. But Trinity Sunday is a day dedicated to a concept that is so famously difficult to preach about that seminarians are warned that no matter what they do, they might either bore their audience, put them to sleep, or commit heresy. All choices one normally would like to avoid.

So why do it? Even better, why have to do it every single year????

This is a question I also ask myself every year.

We start with understanding that the basic definition of the Trinity is that there are three “persons” within, but one God, and all three persons as equal.

But just putting it into words, which are finite in meaning on their surface means there are many ways we end up limiting God when we try to talk about God. For instance, I made a distinct choice there not to use the pronoun “him” just there, because God is beyond gender. God has no need for gender. Our *language* does, though, but if we constantly default to speaking of God as male, or female, we prioritize certain expectations about how God operates over others.

Some people claim that the Trinity doesn't even show up in the Hebrew scriptures. Untrue. But sometimes subtle. For instance, where was the Trinity in our creation story? You might discern it right there where God referred to "us" making God in "our" image. Some claim that the story in Genesis about three visitors who came to Abraham under the oaks of Mamre were actually the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. That's the basis for the painting on the cover of our bulletin at this service, by the way. When Jesus is baptized, the Son goes down into the water, the Father's voice rings out, and the Holy Spirit descends on Jesus like a dove.

But even artists struggle with to depict the Trinity. They often show the Holy Spirit as fire, or a dove. When I was younger I saw a medieval painting that showed one figure with three faces overlapping-- there were four eyes because the faces overlapped and three noses anti was truly the stuff of nightmares. Thank God a pope declared that one a heresy itself. Yuck.

Last night I used two different artistic representations in the bulletin for the 505. The first one depicted God as three male figures. The Holy Spirit was shown as a young African man in the foreground. The Son was depicted as an 8-year-old Middle-eastern boy. And the Father was depicted as an elderly Australian Aboriginal man. It’s a beautiful painting by a Welsh artist who deliberately depicts Biblical images as diverse races.

Then elsewhere in the bulletin I used an icon by Kelly Lattimore that updates the famous 14th century Russian icon of the Trinity as three angels sitting around a table that is on the cover of our bulletin today. Many people today love the original icon because it is actually ambiguous as to whether the characters are male or female—as it should be but is pretty much impossible to do, especially in art. Mr. Lattimore goes one step further and, like the painting I just mentioned, has his figures be recognizably from different continents—one is possibly Latin American, one is Asian, and one is African. He also depicts them as more obviously feminine.

As time has gone on, I have become persuaded that those of us in Lectionary-based churches are challenged each year on the Sunday after Pentecost to address the Trinity because it keeps us humble. It reminds us of the limitations of our ability to express great mysteries, whether in words or image or music. It reminds us that God is a great mystery—the greatest mystery of all—and yet also a mystery that at various times reveals Godself to us in our times of greatest need and greatest wonders and joys.

Language, for instance, contains notions of gender. In French and Spanish and German, nouns can be male, female, or neuter. English makes the neutral option kind of “less-than” and privileges a binary way of thinking about gender--one that is frankly not helpful to reflect the realist of gender expression in all of life. And that limitation has fueled the culture wars over people’s personal pronouns right now. Even though no one is aiming their pronouns, or living their lives, for God’s sake, *at” anyone else.

Especially as we enter Pride Month, that understanding right there might go a long way to cooling down the hatred we have been seeing lately directed at our LGBTQ kindred.

What I find fascinating is that people who resist giving people the dignity of being the final arbiter of who they are also espouse a Christianity that does not see God as Trinity—as three persons but one God, and all three persons as equal. They often privilege Jesus, since he was born a human male, or God, since God was often referred to as “Father.” The Holy Spirit is often waaaaaay too squishy to deal with for these folks, usually. I mean, hey, even artists usually depict the Holy Spirit as a bird or as fire rather than in a figural way. Language-wise, however, the words used 99% of the time for the Holy Spirit in both Greek and Hebrew are female. The words for “breath” and “spirit” are female in those original Biblical languages. So then, we are called to consider that the Trinity, mystery that it is, is also a powerful reminder to us that God is NOT gendered, either.

Further, by extension, we are being shown that God’s image is fully present in ALL people-- regardless of what gender—or no gender-- they claim. Thinking about the Trinity as containing a variety of genders or none at all also has deep implications for how we understand human beings. So NOW we might be getting an idea of why this yearly discussion might be useful, after all, for the world in which we live.

And so, we are stuck with using analogies to describe God. Even “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit”—or, if you are old school “Holy Ghost—are imperfect analogies. So we use that formula, but also perhaps consider others, acknowledging all are imperfect. Alternatives include:

There’s “Abba, Christ, Paraclete,” for the Greek-minded.
Source, Word, and Spirit.
Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life-Giver, from the New Zealand Prayer Book.
Wisdom of God, Love of God, Grace of God, from a common blessing.
Majesty, Word, Spirit.
Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier
The Lover, the Beloved, and Love Overflowing (from St. Augustine)

We struggle as we use a variety of ways to talk about what God is “like.” That’s fine—except analogical thinking is in short supply nowadays. It’s not being encouraged in our schools or in a public sphere. Too many people believe that things have to be black or white, up or down, right or wrong. And it’s okay to think that way—if you are a child. As we get older, though, most of us begin to observe that life doesn’t come at us in two options, just like ice cream doesn’t come in just two flavors. As long as we remember that whatever we think God is “like”—whether that’s a three leaf clover or a raindrop or three heavenly beings seated around a table, that God is still MORE yet, besides. God is like…. And off we go, metaphors and similes coming fast and furious. And yet God is so much more besides.

As I mentioned last week, we returned the Creed to our liturgy last week, after the Great Fifty Day Feast of Easter ended. This was a deliberate choice. The Creed came about to try to describe the Trinity, and how it worked, so it’s good to hear it again with new ears. I hope you do. Because if you DO hear it anew, and actually examine what is in the Creed. You will notice that there are a BUNCH of analogies in it to try to describe the three Persons of the Trinity and yet maintain their full equality: "God from God, light from light, true God from true God, begotten not made, one in being..." Think of that again: to recognize the differences among each person of the Trinity, and yet to honor them as equal. Perhaps practicing this with God would help us practice this with each other.

Wouldn’t that be great?

To recognize that despite all the diversity of the way God touches our lives, that ultimately that diversity is still all part of ONE God. That diversity in unity is a strength. A blessing. A gift for living our own lives with each other.

Just as the Trinity is intimately bound up in each other to ultimately be One, so were we created by God. As we begin Pride month, Trinity Sunday calls us to remember that love is the most powerful force in the universe, and we should always stand for MORE love, not less. Or consider that the Rev. Shug and I are wearing our orange stoles to symbolize our hope to work to end gun violence. If we truly took seriously our invitation into the Trinity’s divine dance of love as children of God, would this madness even be possible?

Sure, some might scoff. Not everybody will do it. But how would it change the world if those of us here and those all around who profess to follow Christ would take the power of that Trinitarian love and mutual support seriously?

What would that be like? Isn’t it worth it to try?

St. Patrick was a missionary to the Irish, and we will hear part of one of his poems to the Trinity in one of our songs today. One of the ways he is depicted in icons is holding a shamrock, which he used to try to explain the Holy Trinity to the Celts in Ireland (which is also a heresy if you stop there, but hey, you have to start somewhere….) He was so good at this that the Celts place the idea of the Trinity at the center of their spirituality. And so perhaps we can learn something from them.

In Celtic Christianity, the concept of the Trinity reminds us that the heart of God is about relationship. It’s not about like—it’s about love. It’s about friendship. It’s about community. It’s about those three persons in the Trinity bound together in love, dancing around each other, taking turns stepping forward or stepping back so that different aspects are revealed about God as is right or necessary. That the heart of God is love, and that we, as God’s children, are drawn into that love. That, if we are made in God’s image, just as the three persons in the Trinity depend upon each other and rely upon each, so too we are called to give up our ridiculous notions of isolation and stubborn pride and realize and even celebrate how much we are made for each other. To love each other. To affirm each other. To see our differences as strengths, not as something that separates us, or worse, calls us to attack each other. 

The Trinity models for us what it is like to love and understand each other at the deepest level. As the great proponent of Celtic spirituality John O’Donohue wrote about the love at the center of the Trinity, and our relationship with that One God:

In this love, you are understood as you are without mask or pretension. The superficial and functional lies and half-truths of social acquaintance fall away, you can be as you really are. Love allows understanding to dawn, and understanding is precious. Where you are understood, you are at home. Understanding nourishes belonging. When you really feel understood, you feel free to release yourself into the trust and shelter of the other person’s soul. This recognition is described in a beautiful line from Pablo Neruda: “You are like nobody since I love you.” This art of love discloses the special and sacred identity of the other person. Love is the only light that can truly read the secret signature of the other person’s individuality and soul. Love alone is literate in the world of origin; it can decipher identity and destiny.

…The Christian concept of God as Trinity is the most sublime articulation of otherness and intimacy, an eternal interflow of friendship. This perspective discloses the beautiful fulfillment of our immortal longing in the words of Jesus, who said, Behold, I call you friends. Jesus, as the son of God, is the first Other in the universe; he is the prism of all difference. He is the secret [soul friend] of every individual. In friendship with him, we enter the tender beauty and affection of the Trinity. In the embrace of this eternal friendship, we dare to be free. (4)

Remembering that we are all beloved of God, all marvelously and wonderfully made by God, made for love in all its true, generous expressions, may we give thanks for being invited into the beautiful mystery of the Trinity, who invites us into the dance of life, or creation, and of celebrating difference and diversity.

Amen.

Preached at the 505 on Saturday June 3 and the 10:30 am Holy Eucharist on June 4 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church in Ellisville, MO.

Readings:

Genesis 1:1-2:4a

Psalm 8

2 Corinthians 13:11-13

Matthew 28:16-20

Citations:

1) Holy Trinity icon by Andrei Rublev, ca 1425. 

2) "Christ with Three Faces" image of the Trinity by the Netherlandish school ca 1500. 

3) Kelly Lattimore's icon of the Holy Trinity (used by permission-- all rights reserved). 

4) St. Patrick icon with a shamrock.

5) John O'Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom, pp. 14-15, kindle version.

The End, the Beginning, but Always Love: Sermon for Advent 1A

In 1969, to wrap up side two of their masterpiece album Abbey Road, the Beatles designed a little two minute number to complete the medley that makes up most of the second half of the album. It was called “The End.” It featured a solo by each of the band members, fiddling around as only the Beatles could do. But closed with this truism: "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.” (1)

This is also the point, ultimately, of our readings that we hear today in the lectionary.

Today is a day of endings, and a day of beginnings. Today, we begin a new church year, a new liturgical year, with this first Sunday of the season of Advent, the time of expectation, the time of “already” but also “not yet” that so describes our lives as 21st century seekers after Jesus.

It is almost the end of November, which means it is almost the end of Native American Heritage Month, and our reminders of the people who brought us the first Thanksgiving to begin with, 400 years ago.

Today is hopefully the beginning of a new dedication to the concept of gratitude and thankfulness to which our faith calls us. But first, we have to confront our misunderstanding about this morning’s gospel. It seems to speak of the end—the Really Big End, the End Times, that if you grew up in evangelical Christianity meant that Jesus was going to appear again in the sky and take up only a lucky few to be with him in heaven, leaving the rest of humanity to suffer through wars and cataclysms and disasters.

This passage itself was one that was quoted to me often in my childhood churches. Many of them talked often about the “end-times,” and this was one of their favorite images: two people will be working side by side, and one will be taken and the other “left behind” when Jesus makes his “second coming.” I didn’t like hearing that any more than I imagine you did, back then.

The problem I had with the strategy behind this rapture stuff was that it put all the emphasis on the end. It really didn’t matter HOW you lived your life—so long as you personally accepted Jesus as your savior. You could still be mean to people, and make fun of or blame the poor, and hate foreigners and refugees. Just as long as you believed in Jesus, you would go to heaven. My problem with this was that I had actually read the Bible all the way through—even before we had the Old Testament TWICE in our high school English curriculum because, you know, I grew up in the Bible belt. And the funny thing was, both Moses and Jesus insisted exactly the opposite.

There is nothing in this passage actually about heaven. Read it again. But there is an insistence that we are accountable for our actions, and for living our lives on no basis other than love, compassion, and obligation to each other. Saying that you believe something, no matter how crazy it is, as we have seen over and over again in the last few years of our lives together, is the easy part. Especially if you think you will profit from it. Living a life guided by Jesus’s example, which called us to care, compassion, and healing, is much more difficult.

Because when we look at the message of the gospels in their entirety, we see a Jesus who called us to be disciples during our lives right now—to heal the sick and feed the multitudes and welcome the outcast. For all of this talk about Jesus coming again like a thief in the night in Matthew 24 there’s the outline of what it means to be a faithful follower of Jesus in Matthew 25, where the king judges the nations based on whether they cared for the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, the prisoner, and the stranger. For every place in the scriptures that it talks about Jesus’s second coming, there’s many times as much of an emphasis that Jesus’s birth and life already initiated the coming near of the Kingdom of God.

The idea that Jesus will swoop down out of the clouds and take only some of us is not a helpful image. BUT the affirmation that Paul McCartney so admirably places before us, that it is the love we give and demonstrate that matters, IS, indeed, more helpful to us in unlocking the gospel imperative.

The Way of Jesus to which we are called is not about what we can take. It is about what we can give. It is not about looking out for ourselves. It is about being grateful for the chance we have to make a difference for others, to acknowledge the web of relationships that bid us together and lead us to flourish and grow as human beings. The heart of the ethical, love-affirming life to which Jesus calls us also means that we ARE accountable for our actions and their consequences, whether those consequences are deliberately intended or not.

This is where St. Paul’s admonition to wake up comes in. When I was a teen, my Sunday school class in my first Episcopal church was asked to design an altar hanging for Advent. It ended up being very simple: large dark golden letters spelled out “Sleepers, awake” with a Chi Rho against a purple background. This thing could easily be read from the back of the nave, and captured the main idea: that Advent is often described as a time of watchfulness, of anticipation, or preparation. It is a time of waking up and preparing for the coming of Christ with joy and gratitude.

Unfortunately, our epistle omits some important verses to help us understand what being awake and being thankful really means. If we back up a bit, here is what we hear:

Owe no one anything except love to one another. For the one loving has fulfilled the other Law. For the commandments “do not commit adultery, do not murder, do not steal, do not covet” and any other commandment is brought to a head/summed up in this word: Love your neighbor as yourself.” For the love of neighbor works no evil. The fullness of the Law is love. And do this knowing the time, for the hour has already come for you to rise up from sleep… (2)

Therefore, although not mentioned within the verses the lectionary places before us, the center of the teaching we heard from our epistle is love, directed outward toward others, our neighbors, as an act of obligation, an ethical imperative to work for the good of those around us, to revel in rather than seek to deny or minimize our obligation to one another in favor of our own advantage or exploitation of those around us.

Today is a day for us to wake up to the blessing that obligation is in our lives, the holy calling to self-giving that Jesus embodied for us to imitate as his friends and followers. To remember that Christian love is not a choice or an emotion, but an obligation, a holy calling, an act of will, and a response ingratitude to what has first been given to us by a God who loves us so much as to give us God’s very Son to show us the way to holy, grateful living. The one we await and yet already know in this season of Advent.

And interestingly this brings us to the Native American wisdom we have been celebrating this month.

Biologist, professor, and enrolled citizen of the Potawatomi Nation Robin Wall Kimmerer’s classic work Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants speaks of the word obligation repeatedly in indigenous understanding of relationship. Early in the book, she tells the story of her father thinking strawberry shortcake to be the best present in the world, made from berries picked by his children. She notes:

Gifts from the earth or from each other establish a particular relationship, an obligation of sorts to give, to receive, and to reciprocate. The field gave to us, we gave to my dad, and we tried to give back to the strawberries. When the berry season was done, the plants would send out slender red runners to make new plants. Because I was fascinated by the way they would table over the ground looking for good places to take root, I would weed out little patches of bare ground where the runners touched down. Sure enough, tiny little roots would emerge from the runner and by the end of the season there were even more plants, ready to bloom under the next strawberry moon. No person taught us this-- the strawberries showed us. Because they had given us a gift, an ongoing relationship opened between us.(3)

It seems obvious, right—and is especially a vital reminder as we continue to confront the need to care for this parish in our annual giving campaign. Use up all the strawberries, and the strawberries will soon not be there for you. It’s a simple reality we completely ignore at our own peril. Fail to take care of your needs now, and soon the things you depend upon for life will no longer be there for you at all. And the fact is, the same thing is true about any of our relationships—including, especially, with each other.

Ms Kimmerer goes on to share in her book an Iroquois pledge of gratitude that is used to start every meeting of the people. It is called the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address, or in their language, the “Words Before All Words.” They start with this pledge of affirmation to remember all for which they are grateful, and I want to share some of it with you. It very specifically lists all the things for which we as human beings depend, and for which we are called to be grateful and acknowledge. It starts like this:

Flag of the Iroquois Confederacy

Today we have gathered and we see that the cycles of life continue. We have been given the duty and responsibility to live in balance and harmony with each other and all living things. So now, we bring our minds together as one as we give our greetings and our thanks to one another as people. NOW OUR MINDS ARE ONE.

We are all thankful to our Mother, the Earth, for she gives us all that we need for life. She supports our feet as we walk about upon her. It gives us joy that she continues to care for us as she has from the beginning of time. To our Mother, we send our greetings and our thanks. NOW OUR MINDS ARE ONE.

We give thanks to all the waters of the world for quenching our thirst and providing us with strength and nurturing life for all beings. Water is life. We know its power in many forms — waterfalls and rain, mists and streams, rivers and oceans. We are grateful that the waters are still here and meeting their responsibility to the rest of creation. Can we agree that water is important to our lives and bring our minds together as one to send greetings and thanks to the water? With one mind, we send our greetings and our thanks to the spirit of Water. NOW OUR MINDS ARE ONE.

And on it continues, listing food plants, medicine plants, animals, winds, thunder, sun, moon, stars. It gives thanks for the teachers of wisdom who pass down the collected lore and knowledge of the people, which once again reminds me of Thanksgiving at my grandfather’s house as we would listen to stories from our elders. It ends by thanking God, our Creator:

Now we turn our thoughts to the Creator, and send our greetings and our thanks for all the gifts of Creation. Everything we need to live a good life is here on this Mother Earth. For all the love that is around us, we gather our minds together as one and send our choicest words of greetings and thanks to the Creator. NOW OUR MINDS ARE ONE. (4)

Our readings today remind us, as our Indigenous friends’ words of gratitude do, that life is a circle, a sacred hoop of giving and receiving that has no beginning and no end. That we are bound together in reciprocity, obligation, and love—and that is a GOOD thing. That personal character—especially a character of giving and generosity—matters. That how we LIVE, rather than how we end our lives, is our foundation as Christians, yes, but as fully alive and flourishing human beings.

Advent is a time of waking from our delusions and embracing life as given to us in Christ. But as Paul insists, and as Jesus implies in the gospel, “the night is far gone, the day is near” is meant to remind us that the ONLY thing that matters is how well we take seriously the idea that we are bound together by the obligation of love and mutual caring for each other which is the essence of the Gospel of Jesus, the foundation of what we are called to BE as human beings made in the image of God. We are fully human when we acknowledge and rejoice in our dependence upon each other: among families—however we make them, among coworkers, among parishioners, within creation, within society.

“Belief” in Jesus isn’t just about heaven and what happens to us after we die or a magic ticket to save yourself, but rather and most importantly a call to work for the repair of the world. Belief in Jesus is about nothing if it is not directed outwardly toward those around us—that’s why there are so many commands to love one another in scripture. Belief in Jesus is nothing if it is not transformative, leading to making us not just fans out to save our own necks, but disciples. Discipleship is about transformation of our lives and our relationships with each other, especially the marginalized, the oppressed, and the helpless, right now. It’s about working to bring the kingdom of God into being the kin-dom of God, to recognize each other as beloved children of the One Who Made Us and Loves Us.

In the end, it is the life and love we offer each other that matters, and brings us back to the beginning. And the beginning is love.

Preached at the 505 on November 26, and at the 10:30 Eucharist on November 27 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:

Isaiah 2:1-5

Psalm 122

Romans 13:11-14

Matthew 24:36-44

Citations:

1) John Lennon and Paul McCartney, "The End," from the album Abbey Road, 1969.

2) Romans 13:8-11

3) Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants, 24.

4) Ibid., 106-116. A version of the full text can also be found here: https://danceforallpeople.com/haudenosaunee-thanksgiving-address/ 

Seen, and Loved: Sermon for Proper 26C

This weekend’s gospel passage includes the well known story about Zacchaeus encountering Jesus on the road to Jericho. It’s a staple of probably every children's Sunday school curricula you've ever encountered. And then there's the song, which, if you are like me, you have a compulsion to sing the minute you see Zacchaeus’s name. It has been an earworm for my entire week. We have heard it and we have sung it countless times. But that also means that we may need to shake off our familiarity with this story and really pay attention to what is said—and not said—in this familiar tale.

I wonder if one of the reasons why this story is so popular with children is that it is deliberately silly-- intentionally so. A grown man, probably used to being catered to due to his wealth, hauling himself up high into a tree while wearing what to American eyes is a dress. The comedic potential is undeniable.

But I also wonder if children don't love the story because at its base there is a beautiful, welcoming truth: that Jesus looks upon all of us, no matter who we are, how big we are, or how much other people think we might need correcting, and truly sees us, knows us by name, and wishes to spend time with us. No matter how old we get, experiencing that kind of not just acceptance but treasuring fulfills our deepest human longings. someone who will never give up on us.

The story of Zacchaeus expands upon the theme we heard in last week’s gospel. Jesus once again encounters someone who is considered an outsider from decent society by virtue of their collaboration with the occupying Roman empire. In both last week’s parable and this week’s encounter we see Jesus talking about or with tax collectors. We see here in this story with the promises of this tax collector what we hope was initiated by the tax collector we met in last week’s parable: not just acknowledging one’s sins before God, but promising restitution and just dealing where before there was exploitation and corruption.

This setting this time is in Jericho rather than the temple. I remember hearing about Jericho in my Sunday school days, when Joshua lengthy newly arrived armies of Israel around its walls, blowing a trumpet repeatedly, until the walls came down and the Israelites were able to take the town and make it there. By the time of Jesus’s lifetime, Jericho was a wealthy city, where King Herod had a palace, which means it was also the city in which the apparatus of taxation was particularly powerful. Zacchaeus is described as a “chief tax collector,” so he is well placed within that system, possibly notorious even among the townspeople.

All the markers are there to assume that Zacchaeus is corrupt to the bone—and yet there he is down mixing among the crowd that is gathered to see this wandering holy man, and he even behaves in the most undignified manner, running ahead of the crowd and eventually climbing the tree in order to merely get a glimpse of Jesus. Once again, the tale is more gently humorous than mean-spirited. Could it be that the crowd is the one wrong about Zacchaeus?

There are lots of details in this story that are surprising. Even with the crowd all around him, Jesus looks up and sees Zacchaeus perched precariously in his tree. Jesus then invites himself into Zacchaeus’s home. Then and now, that was a pretty significant breach of etiquette. Furthermore, by doing this, Jesus shows that he does not care about one of the Pharisees’ main complaints, first mentioned in Luke 5, that he consorted with known sinners and tax collectors.

Yet even the mere idea that Jesus would seek fellowship with him moves Zacchaeus, whose name means “pure in heart” in Hebrew, to publicly proclaim a scrupulous concern for living compassionately among his neighbors. That way of living involves being righteous toward the weak and powerless and seeking reconciliation with those whom you have harmed. Zacchaeus is, as we were first reminded, a very powerful man, regardless of his physical height. He is a man of public prominence. If he embraces Jesus’s insistence of walking the path of mercy and demand for restorative justice for love of those on the margins of society, who knows how many other people we will be affected by his example? If that isn’t what salvation is, I don’t know how else you can define it.

Yet—look closely. Neither Jesus nor Zacchaeus make any mention of sin. At the very end, Jesus says that salvation has come Zacchaeus’s house, because the Human One has come to those who are “lost.” Zacchaeus defends himself against the murmuring of the crowd calling him a sinner by promising publicly to give half of his goods to the poor, and to recompense anyone he may have cheated fourfold. But he uses the PRESENT tense in the original Greek. He says he GIVES half his goods to the poor, and that he compensates those he may have harmed four times over.

The crowds see Zacchaeus one way. Jesus sees Zacchaeus in another way—as a beloved brother (as evidenced by the language calling him a “son of Abraham”). Perhaps Zacchaeus has been “lost” because he has been discounted and abandoned by the assumptions of the community. Once again we are reminded that God’s sense of justice and ours are different, because God sees clearly where we see only “through a glass darkly,” in the words of Paul in the 1st letter to the church in Corinth. As we are reminded over and over again, God is especially concerned about those who are “lost”—whether through their actions or the actions of those around them. And some of those who are lost are not lost through any actions of their own-- but by others denying them as being worthy of remaining in the flock. It's not OUR job to judge this-- it's far beyond our pay grade.

How does this apply to our world? 

Good grief, how does it not? 

Our society is filled with self-righteous people casting out all kinds of people based on their assumptions about them being unworthy, or calling them sinners. Our society is mired right now in casting all kinds of slurs at people who are different than us, or who disagree with us—and ironically, at the same time, excusing all sorts of bad behavior on behalf of those whom they perceive as being “like them.” We see people who are differently abled mocked. We see it when people with accents are mocked or thought of as stupid when they speak. Parents at school board meetings screaming at teachers and administrators. We hear it in attempts to shame people, even children, who do not conform to rigid expectations about their identities or clothing styles or hairstyles or body art. None of which has anything to do with the person anyone is inside—in the place where God sees us and loves us most clearly.

I heard off a pastor asking the kids in his youth group how they thought God saw them—and the overwhelming answer was that they thought God was disappointed in them or angry with them for their imperfections, much less failures. And I remember feeling the same way in those fire-and-brimstone churches I attended as a child. Our kids already have a hard enough time growing up—and many of us have a hard enough time getting through the days in which we do not hear a kind word. And we see the bitter fruit such hate and division has as drug-abuse and suicide rates skyrocket, as school shootings proliferate—even among our children! And this week, we had a school shooting right here in St. Louis, which is why I am wearing this orange gun violence stole. We celebrate and encourage violence and hatred and bullying far too much. And often in doing so, we push others out-- beyond the margins of who is in and who is out.

There is a reason why Jesus constantly reaches out to the margins—and encourages us to do the same as his followers. And it is simply because the judging of others has never won anyone’s heart to God—not really.

Our world is too filled with cruelty and name calling toward other people based on no other evidence than how they identify themselves. There is no doubt that one of the greatest plagues of our modern time is refusing to really see each other- to see each other, to honor the divine spark in each other without questioning who is worthy and who is not. Just like that lawyer who asked Jesus "Who is my neighbor?", we want to know what the limits of the people we have to acknowledge as our neighbors are. But what this world needs is radical acceptance and radical empathy. We are called to lend our strong backs to those bent over from bearing burdens we have no idea that they are carrying..

Too many of us—and it seems to be growing!-- are far too comfortable with failing to honor each and every person as fellow human beings. Too many of us are far too inured to each other’s pain and suffering. Some even take pleasure in the suffering of others, especially those different from them, and see that suffering as justice, and I am not just talking about the criminal justice system.

Embedded within this story is a call to action to us—to examine our own minimization of others. To examine our failure to truly see each other—especially those who are far outside our familiar circles. And even more, to examine our silence in the face of others being minimized. We are not called to simply "like" Jesus-- we are called to BE like Jesus. We are the face of Jesus in the world.

I invite you to think back to the last time you experienced such a feeling of companionship, comfort, peace, and contentment. We live such hectic lives now, it can be easy to forget to make time for each other and to spend time with each other, sharing companionship and enjoying the presence of those we love and giving people the benefit of the doubt. And as we've been talking about prayer the last few weeks, to think of how to apply that same intentionality and loving kindness in our time spent intentionally in communion and prayer with God.

As always, our lives as disciples don't come with an instruction manual-- other than our commitment to follow in the example of Jesus. So this week, I hope you get find the chance to slow down, look up, look around, and share the love of Jesus with those you see. It is the best and only way to be disciples of Jesus in word and deed.


Preached at the 505 on October 29 and at the 10:30 Eucharist on October 30 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.


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