Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Prayer, day 2804



Eternal One,
who is making the heavens and the earth,
who watches over all that dwells therein,
we draw our hearts open before You,
and center ourselves within your presence,
upheld by your Spirit of Love.

The marvels of creation,
the works of your loving hand within our lives,
remind us of your unfailing love for all that is, O God,
and we sing out your praise with joy.

Merciful God,
give us a mustard-seed faith,
that spreads its branches out for the benefit of your little ones,
that welcomes and shades and shelters
all who turn to us for refuge.

By the power of the Holy Spirit,
awaken within us a spirit of charity and faithfulness,
that we may walk beside you, O Savior, in integrity.

Let us sink our roots deeply into your gospel, Lord Christ,
to be strengthened to embody your compassion and healing
as testimony to your truth
that love and reconciliation are why we are here.

Almighty Redeemer,
extend the hand of blessing and relief over all who seek you,
and grant your peace and reassurance
to those for whom we pray, O Lover of Souls.

Amen.

Tuesday, September 29, 2020

Prayer, day 2803



Most Merciful God, 
in thankfulness we sing out our praise, 
and remember your love to us in each moment.
You have taught us how to walk in your ways: 
now let us set out in holiness, 
determined to follow your paths, O God. 
We know what is good: 
now let us love and serve You 
and each other 
with our whole hearts.

Forgive us for our failures 
to act in love and forgiveness, 
and guide us in paths 
of compassion and empathy. 
Transform us by the power of the Holy Spirit 
to work for justice for the oppressed 
and mercy for the fallen.

In all our ways let us be joyful 
in the service of your kingdom, O Holy One: 
let our lives testify to your glory. 
Bless us and keep us 
under the shadow of your wing, O God, 
and shield and comfort those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Monday, September 28, 2020

Prayer, day 2802



Lord of Life and Light,
we thank You for watching over this world
as it has turned from day to night.
We thank You for watching over us
as we rested through the night,
and we lift our hearts to you in the gathering light.

We bow the knee of our hearts,
confessing our failings
and the times we have hurt others
through carelessness or fear.

Guide us in the spirit of gentleness and faith
to see the beauty of your imprint in all we see
in the rosy light of dawn.
Give us healing hands and compassionate hearts:
help us to see ourselves
in the plight of those in trouble.
Help us to choose healing over hurt,
and unity over division,
and hope over despair.

Lord Jesus,
abide within our hearts,
and set our feet
upon the paths of peace and justice.

Anoint us by your love, O Holy One,
and envelop within your healing embrace
those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Sunday, September 27, 2020

Not Empty But Open: Sermon for Proper 20A



As I was pondering this Sunday’s readings I was enjoying a gorgeous afternoon to sit in my backyard garden. I decided while I was sitting there to water all the different plants in the hillside garden around the seating area where I like to work. Then I just turned on the hose and let it start running down the hill to water all the hostas, ferns, and other plants that dwell under the canopy of trees in our backyard.

After about 10 minutes, suddenly there was great rejoicing in the Land of Birds, and dozens of sparrows, finches, chickadees, and wrens began to wing their way over to wash themselves in the birdbath and in the puddles of water on the ground. One of them, a particularly raucous bluejay, even had the temerity to land on an empty birdfeeder, give me the stink eye, rap the base of the empty feeder sharply with its beak a couple times, and then flutter off in a huff, and then cuss at me in blue jay-ese.

Never mind that I had generously turned on the hose, which is what had drawn these birds here in the first place.

Are these birds never satisfied? And the answer is: yes, and no. Once I started providing them with birdseed and water, they expect me to keep doing it.

In our reading from Exodus this morning, the Israelites are the same way, but their situation is more dire than those of my birds, who can always just fly to the neighbor’s birdbaths if mine run dry. The Israelites are having a hard time trusting God to provide—and to be fair, they are in a wilderness so hot that, if they do not find fresh water each day, they WILL be in serious trouble. But, because they lack trust in God, they turn on God, and God’s prophet Moses, faster than the speed of sound.

Forgotten is the groaning that they raised up to God—groaning so loud that God could not ignore it—and that God has promised that God will always be in their midst—exactly what they question when the water bags start to empty.

And we should be able to have some sympathy for the Israelites, since, after all, we currently stand on similarly vulnerable ground. We are more than six months in to this pandemic, and we are just as much lost and disoriented in a wilderness at were the Israelites in this story. It’s so bad that we are looking back longingly at the time before this pandemic—even those of us for whom the situation wasn’t all that great. At least it was familiar.

We too, stand in the midst of a trackless wilderness, and that can lead us to wonder where God is for our own situation. We are also months and years into a struggle for equality and liberty for all in this country, as more and more people see the prejudice and division that shreds the fabric of our country in very deadly ways.

The uncertainty we have been thrust into is very real. The anxiety that hangs over us is very real. The shifting sand beneath our feet, the changing situation from day to day with no obvious end in sight. And the more the clamor in our heart and head increases in volume, the harder it can be to hear the still small voice of God murmuring in our ears.

It’s at this point that our reading from Philippians reminds us that we truly have God-among-us, as the Israelites did, and we can trust that, if only we can still the frantic beating of our hearts. Jesus shows us a different way, a better way, of calming our fears and anxieties.

And it’s by looking beyond our own concerns to see how we stand in solidarity with others—and to realize that the gifts of unity and community can help us all not only survive this time of testing but emerge on the other side of the wilderness stronger as both individuals and as a people of faith, and hope, resilient against the forces of fear and scarcity.

We’ve been hearing for weeks now that the least will be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Paul starkly reminds us that Jesus himself is our model in how to do this.

Paul speaks of Jesus “emptying himself” of all his rightful honor and glory due to him as the Son of God, and choosing to be born as one of us. The Greek term for emptying is “kenosis.”

In Jesus, as Paul explains, one who was the greatest became a humble human, and not just a human but a peasant in the farthest, out-of-the-way occupied corner of a vast and relentless empire. Jesus faced rejection again and again, even to the point of being accused of being a rebel and blasphemer and dying for it.

Jesus lived out of a love that sustains the world, a love that challenges the calculus of exploitation and injustice, and that made him an enemy of the state and a threat to those who thought themselves righteous. Jesus did this so that we would know that God has experienced all our suffering, and stands in solidarity beside us. As his disciples, Jesus calls us to be brave enough to likewise empty ourselves—but in our case, what we are called to let go of is what SEPARATES us from each other, and from God.

Now that can still be scary—in a time of crisis, the human things is to hold tighter to what we have, even if it’s really not good, like those Israelites, rather than let go of the familiar. But what exactly is Jesus calling us to let go of and empty ourselves of? What does kenosis mean for us?

Kenosis is emptying ourselves of our willfulness, all of our prerogatives for self- aggrandizement, in order to make room for the beauty of living from in truth, rather than self-delusion, to living for each other in unity rather than fear. That’s the foundation of discipleship—loving and embracing each other, creating the beloved community in which no one is an outcast. It’s opening ourselves to the possibility of love.

Our hearts are about the size of a fist, but a fist cannot take hold of the good. It’s only when our hearts are open that we feel the presence of God alongside us.

This is not the terrifying emptiness of the wilderness, the emptiness of fear and scarcity that besets them and us as we long for proof that God is with us. This emptiness we are called to embrace is to make room for God within us—so that we can never again wonder where God is, because God will dwell within us and guide us to a deeper faith and unity.

Discipleship has to be oriented to doing God’s will, not our own. It’s too easy to fall into the belief that Jesus, God incarnate, is just like us, rather than embracing the more uncomfortable call of trying to be more like Him.

The writer Anne Lamott has a wonderful observation: “You can safely assume that you have created God in your image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.”

That’s always been one of the main challenges in Christianity. We anthropomorphize God, turning that whole “made in God’s image” thing from Genesis on its head. We don’t need a God who is more like us. We need to be a people who are more like God. And the good news is, we already have a template: God has lived among us as one of us, and God continues to live among us. And as self-proclaimed members of the Body of Christ, there is our charge. Even though it is clear, it certainly is not easy. Transformation never is. Transformation, both of ourselves and of our world, requires work, and that starts with the will to do it.

That’s our main role as the Church, as Christ’s body in the world. Jesus calls us to empty ourselves, yes—but empty ourselves of all that weighs us down in misery and fear. And in the dual crises we have going right now—the pandemic, and the fight against racial injustice that infects our country, and harms all of us. These twin pandemics reinforce the same truth spoken by Martin Luther King, preaching from the gospel of Jesus—that we are all interconnected. That injustice anywhere leads to injustice everywhere unless we demand something better and are willing to stand up for it.

Jesus calls us to transform the dry rocks of our hearts into springs of life and hope for the good of the world. Out of love for us, Jesus encourages us to empty ourselves of all that prevents us from seeing the inherent unity God has woven between you and me and all of creation. To empty and open ourselves, so that we may be filled with something better. We let go of the death-dealing fears and hatreds of this world so that we can make more room for God, more room for love within us. To make room for transformation not just of ourselves, but of the world around us. And as it begins to transform each of us individually, that love set free within us will transform our parish, and the world. God’s presence becomes clear to us when we open our hearts to see God’s presence in each other.

We can choose to empty ourselves of fear, to interrupt the downward spiral that seeks to grip us; to still the cacophony in our heads and hearts. To remember that we are beloved, and so is our neighbor. And if that neighbor is oppressed by injustice, to stand in solidarity with them as part of our witnessing to the power, right now, of the transformative life of Christ. Episcopal priest and theologian Stephanie Spellers puts it this way:

Kenosis, cracking open, embracing disruption, releasing control, giving your life away -- these are only one part of the equation. We let go of one life in order to take up new life, the life of the beloved. We release what we hoarded in order to receive gift upon gift from God. Our cracked open hearts are at last roomy enough to hold the lives and hearts of others. We practice kenosis in preparation for solidarity.

Solidarity is love crossing the borders drawn by fear and selfishness, in order to enter into the situation of the other, for the purpose of mutual relationship and struggle that heals us all in enacts God's dream of beloved community.

Solidarity is the voice that finally comprehends: “You are not the same as me, but part of you lives in me. Your freedom and mine are were always inextricably entwined. Now I see it, and because of what I see, I choose to live differently. I will go there, with you for your sake and for my own.”

The dream of God is that we all experience the conditions to thrive, and that we sacrifice in order to create those conditions for one another. If you've got privilege, as Jesus did, don't use it for your own happiness or to elevate your circle; leverage it as part of Jesus movement to ensure everyone flourishes.
(1)  

Jesus calls us to be of one mind with him, as Paul reminds us. This means to look beyond the narrative of hopelessness and look back to see a record of endurance and resilience. To see how far we have come at this point, and look for lilting notes of grace that run as a counterpoint to the basso profundo of despair. To see the flickering light of those small gifts that we have overlooked along the way, even something as simple as signs of community when people of good will take care of each other, when we’ve seen people recognize strangers as neighbors and companions along the way. Sharing each others’ burdens.

May we have the will to embrace the blessed emptying of all that holds us back. May we embrace the gift of being one with the mind of Christ in his embrace of all creation. May we allow God to be at work in us, so that we may do God’s work in the world.

Amen.



Preached at the 10:30 am worship service livestreamed from St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO on September 27, 2020.

Readings:

References/sources:
(1) The Rev. Canon Stephanie Spellers, The Church Cracked Open: Disruption, Decline, and New Hope for the Beloved Community, to be published in March 2021, made available on September 26, 2020 at Medium.com, https://medium.com/@revsteph/on-kenosis-solidarity-and-stewardship-of-privilege-by-stephanie-spellers-30d5fce95152  

Prayer 2801: The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost



Blessed Savior,
we gather to worship You,
to walk in your ways
that we may carry your light and praise.

Holy One, help us practice
the self-emptying Way of Christ,
that our hearts may be open
to be filled with love rather than fear,
with solidarity and community rather than division.
May we build up our hope
for the lifting up of those around us
suffering in body, mind, or spirit,
as Jesus gave us the authority and privilege to do.

Make us a blessing for others,
and our words align with our actions,
that we may live not for ourselves
but as children of God,
and God's radical dream of shalom,
for the glory of your Name, O God of All Creation.

May we be struck by your power,
O God of Mercy,
that the hard stones of our hearts
may flow with the water of compassion and justice
into the parched and barren places around us.

Grant your blessing upon us, Lord,
and upon all those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Saturday, September 26, 2020

Prayer 2800



Creator, Redeemer, Guide,
we worship You and give you praise.

As a shower of leaves descends from tree and branch,
we remember your grace and blessing
bestowed liberally by your compassionate hand,
and we center ourselves in gratitude to You, O God.

The flowers of the field complete their season
of producing seed and nut
that the earth may be replenished,
and the creatures of forest and grassland
may rejoice at your generous sustenance.
We too rest within the promise of your provision, O God,
and marvel at the web of life that sustains our existence,
knit together by your generous wisdom and care.

May we live gently and lovingly upon the earth,
and dedicate ourselves to the care of creation
and of each other,
walking in the path of openheartedness
modeled for us by Jesus, our teacher
and guide for holy living.

Plant us firmly within your courtyard, Beloved Savior,
and help us to flourish under your loving care,
holding your instruction to our hearts
as a precious stay and mercy.

Pour out your abundant protection over us,
Most Merciful God and Shepherd,
and grant your tender compassion
to rest upon those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Friday, September 25, 2020

Prayer, day 2799



Almighty One, let our prayers rise to You
as the morning mist,
that we may praise You in each moment of this day.
Forgive us our sins and pride,
and convert us anew to love and service,
we humbly pray.
Dwell within our hearts, Lord Jesus,
and help us make them into a temple worthy of your mercy.
Give us the grace to serve You fully, Lord,
and carry your gospel into the world in all we do.
Give us strength to seek out your path
nd walk in your ways in love and service.
Crown the spirits
of those hurting, anxious, or oppressed
with your blessing, O Holy One,
especially those we now name.

Amen.

Thursday, September 24, 2020

Therefore, The Grace of God: Speaking to the Soul for September 24, 2020


Exodus 17:1-7


As I was pondering this Sunday’s reading from Exodus, I was enjoying a rare afternoon to sit in my backyard garden. It’s the first day off I’ve had in a long while. I decided while I was sitting there to water all the different plants in the hillside garden around the seating area where I like to work. I made sure to fill up the birdbaths while I was at it. Then I just turned on the hose and let it start running down the hill to water all the hostas, ferns, and other plants that dwell under the canopy of trees in our backyard.

After about 10 minutes, suddenly there was great rejoicing in the Land of Birds, and dozens of sparrows, finches, chickadees, and wrens began to wing their way over to wash themselves in the birdbath and in the puddles of water on the ground. One of them even had the temerity to land on the empty birdfeeder, give me the stink eye, rap the base of the empty feeder sharply with its beak a couple times, and then flutter off in a huff, as if to say, “Get up off your duff, and get me some food, woman.”

Never mind that I had generously turned on the hose, which is what had drawn these birds here in the first place. Never mind that I had graciously filled the bird bath and emptied of all the leaves and other junk that accumulated in it. This bird was not satisfied, and he was letting me know it. Meanwhile, a gang of sparrows promptly and joyously splashed out all the water I had placed in the birdbath, and one of them flew to a branch over my head and started to shrilly berate me to refill it.

Are these birds never satisfied?

And the answer is: yes, and no. Once I started providing them with birdseed and water, they expect me to keep doing it. The nerve! That’s also the way it is when you help people, sometimes, too. There are some people in the world who, when you get into a relationship with them, it ends up being all about them. No matter how much you give them, they always want more. No matter how much you give them, they’re never grateful. They never seem to stop and think, “Okay, that’s enough.”

The Israelites are the same way. Over and over again, they claim to long for their days of slavery in Egypt over freedom in the wilderness. The more the going gets tough out in the Sinai peninsula, the more rosy their memories of their time in Egypt becomes.

Forgotten is the groaning that they raised up to God—groaning so loud that God could not ignore it. Nope, just like infants, the minute their tummies grumble or their mouths get dry, they turn and bite the hand that feeds them. Last week we saw God provide them with meat and bread, manna and quail that fell from the sky, and all the Israelites had to do was go and pick it up. Today, it’s water—or, specifically, the perceived lack of it. Gripe, gripe, gripe. Complain, complain, complain. I think that’s one of the reasons why, although it did them very little credit, the ancient Israelites liked to tell this story on themselves-- one of the side purposes was probably to explain just why they complained so much, as all of us do.

Sometimes, we focus on what we don’t have instead of what we do. Here are the Israelites, freed from slavery in Egypt, moaning about how their every need isn’t being taken care of while they are traveling back to their homeland. We are an unhappy, discontented, grumbling people at times. Our reading from Exodus today is one of an Old Testament genre called “murmuring stories.” These are stories in which the people “murmur”—in our text, it is rendered as “quarreled,” but it seems that misses the flavor. “Murmuring against” someone is so much more suggestive of that tendency we all have to mutter just audibly enough to be heard, that passive-aggressive tactic that allows one to later deny that she has said anything at all. Murmuring of this type is filled with negativity, ingratitude, a simmering resentment. Freedom includes responsibility to look at our situation with clear eyes. And the first step is to be glad that we are free.

And it is here that we perhaps can consider our own similarity with those Israelites in the wilderness. We are more than six months in to this pandemic, and we are just as much lost and disoriented in a wilderness at were the Israelites in this story. It’s so bad that we are looking back longingly at the time before this pandemic—even those of us for whom the situation wasn’t all that great. At least it was familiar.

The uncertainty we have been thrust into is very real. The anxiety that hangs over us is very real. The shifting sand beneath our feet, the changing situation from day to day with no obvious end in sight. And the more the clamor in our heart and head increases in volume, the harder it can be to hear the still small voice of God murmuring in our ears.

But it’s also true that with those birds, that with those Israelites, and even with us, the complainers can seize the attention and seem to be a bigger presence than they are. And once we realize that, we realize that the narrative doesn’t have to be surrendered to the murmuring crowd. That there is a thread that can be pulled loose and be used to anchor a counter-narrative. A narrative of resilience, of community, and of faith. From the hard rock of our hearts, the water of gratitude can flow.

It’s at this time that we have to interrupt the downward spiral that seeks to grip us; to still the cacophony in our heads and hearts. To reset. And it starts with something as basic and necessary as the breath, and remember its connection to the spirit. To look beyond the narrative of hopelessness and look back to see a record of endurance and resilience. To see how far we have come at this point, and look for lilting notes of grace that run as a counterpoint to the basso profundo of despair. To see the flickering light of those small gifts that we have overlooked along the way, even something as simple as signs of community when people of good will take care of each other, when we’ve seen people recognize strangers as neighbors and companions along the way. Sharing each others’ burdens.

We’ve gotten this far by the grace of God and those of good will who reflect it and magnify that same compassion outward. It is then that we can acknowledge our uncertainty, but still see the glimmer of hope that can be used to light our way forward. To go from, “There, for the grace of God… “ to “Therefore, the grace of God.”


This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on September 24, 2020.

Prayer 2798: Reclaiming the Day in the Name of Love



Merciful and Beneficent Creator,
we rejoice in your blessings without number,
and lay our hearts before you
that they be hallowed and purified:
uplifted by the love
of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

This day have you given us, O God of the Ages:
it has been woven on the loom by your hand
and lays before us like fine linen,
full of possibility and hope.
Where we see division threatening to rend it,
may we mend it
through the unity of the Holy Trinity.
Where we see hatred and contempt staining it,
may we cleanse it
through the power of love and affirmation of worth.
Where we see the heat of injustice unraveling it,
may we reknit ourselves in solidarity as one,
shoulder to shoulder with the oppressed.

May we reclaim this day in the name of Love Incarnate,
and be known as your children
by our steadfast love and compassion.

Blessed Savior, Healer, and Teacher,
place your hand upon us
to guide us, to heal us, to strengthen us,
and cast wide the net of your peace and hope
to encompass all those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Wednesday, September 23, 2020

Prayer, day 2797: On the first full day of Autumn



O God of All Creation,
hear us as we draw near to You,
and place our hearts at your feet.

For the long green season that is closing,
and in expectation of cooling nights and turning leaves,
we thank You, O Lord.

For the joy of children and the wonder of the innocent
in helping us to see your world anew,
we thank You, O Lord.

For the blessing of work for your service,
and the constellations of companions whose fellowship lightens the load,
we thank You, O Lord.

For the wrongs we have done to others
or to You, Loving One,
that we may repent and seek reconciliation,
we pray to You, O Lord.

For all our enemies in word or deed,
that their hearts may be turned,
and we may forgive,
we pray You, O Lord.

For those living in times of fire and storm,
who struggle to stay above the rising tide of anxiety,
we pray to You, O Lord.

For those whose needs we remember before You
throughout this day, especially those we now name.

Amen.

Tuesday, September 22, 2020

Prayer, day 2796: As Autumn begins



Creator, Redeemer, we seek your presence:
still our minds that we may abide in your care today.

Grant your blessing to all our labors
that we may praise you and testify to your glory
in all we do.
May we preach reconciliation and hope to the despairing,
restoring the broken places within and among us.

The Earth turns toward autumn radiance
as a child turns on his bed in sleep,
subsiding into a time of rest.
Grant us that peace in our hearts and our ways:
'comfort the weary and give them repose and recovery.

Rest the hand of your blessing and healing
upon those whose cares we lay before You, O God.

Amen.

Monday, September 21, 2020

Prayer 2795



God of Creation,
we praise you with our whole hearts
knowing your eye is upon us
and your love inspires us to discipleship.

Blessed Jesus,
may we take up your yoke with steadfast faith,
revealing your healing presence in each moment.
May we walk in your ways with reverence, O Redeemer,
and draw closer to you in devotion,
for you are the source of life.

Holy One, Blessed Trinity,
may the power of the Holy Spirit wrap around us
like a late-summer breeze
to renew us in zeal as your children.
Give us joy
in taking up our work in your kingdom,
of reflecting your light and truth in the world.

Extend the cooling shade of your blessing,
O Eternal Wisdom,
and let the comfort of your enduring peace
rest upon all for whom we pray.

Amen.

Sunday, September 20, 2020

Prayer, day 2794: The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost



Most Merciful One,
we gather this day to worship and praise You,
intent on hearing your call to unity and justice as your children.

Let us remember that the kingdom of heaven
is your dream for us right now, O God Our Maker,
not in some distant future,
and that You call us to the vineyard
for the restoration of your dream among us.

Let us make melody in the praise of our God,
and remember the common bonds we bear in your image
rejoicing in the flourishing of all
who are given by You, Blessed Savior,
according to their need.

Let us rejoice in the labors you give us, O Lord,
and glory in each moment we work for your kingdom.

Help us bend the arc of history toward justice,
and stand for those oppressed in body, mind, or spirit.

Let us remember your justice is restorative,
and tell out the fruits of grace in our lives.

Lord Jesus, transform us and reconcile us,
and heal and comfort those whose needs we lift up.

Amen.

Saturday, September 19, 2020

The End of the Line: Sermon for Proper 20A


I spent some time this week wondering what a modern version of this parable would be like—one that used a situation from right now. I came up with a few ideas, so that we could feel the same shock Jesus’s original audience felt with his stories. So let’s try this:

The kingdom of heaven is like a company developing a COVID vaccine, but then distributing it so that the most vulnerable in the population get the vaccine first, regardless of the insurance they have or don’t have, or their ability to pay. And when challenged about this passing up of potential profit, especially by people who are willing to pay a premium to get that vaccine first, the CEO and board points out that a healthier population is better for everyone, even in terms of economic health in general.

What would be your reaction? Would you be scandalized? Intrigued? Filled with admiration? That’s how Jesus’s parables are meant to work.

Because Jesus’s parables use such common everyday situations and characters, his audiences—then and now—often get lulled into that familiarity. They start taking things for granted, thinking, “Ah yes! We know this!” Jesus’s parables are so familiar to us, because we love stories, that they become like a lucky penny that gets worn down in your pocket. But it is just when we begin to get comfortable that Jesus’s parables always take their plot twist—a plot twist we may not get because we’ve heard these parables for so long the twist now becomes the expected. But we need to never forget what those twists mean.

For instance: A Samaritan being “Good” and righteous—especially when other decent, respectable folk avoided helping a man in distress—flew in the face of all of the audience’s biases. It was equivalent to finding a boa constrictor wrapped around a baby, not to kill the baby, but to keep the baby warm and protect it from the cold.

Planting a mustard tree in the middle of a garden was considered crazy, because then this great big shrub would be taking up valuable real estate and inviting birds in to eat all your produce.

And in another parable with a message very close to this one, having your kid brother return from being lost forever, but only being able to obsess about your father throwing a party when your younger brother has blown half the family’s assets, does NOT make you an especially good son OR brother.

Just like with the parable of the Prodigal Son, the twist in this parable is that God’s radical generosity and abundance flies in the face of our own human-manufactured insistence that scarcity makes things valuable. The twist in this parable is that God insists, no, in the end whether you spent your life believing in God, or if you converted in your heart in the last week of your life, God loves you just the same no matter where we are in line-- and that means God loves us beyond our wildest imaginings. What if we lived our lives by trusting that truth?



Sure-- it's human nature to try to divide each other into categories. We like order. We like lines. We especially like lines when we are at the front of them. We tend to imagine ourselves as those who were at the front of the line, who worked hard all day and expect that length of service to be taken into account. 

But there’s probably a reason why that last group of workers was still standing around the marketplace is the evening approached. If indeed they have been standing there all day, they have already been passed over many times, possibly by that same landowner’s agents. Or maybe they were late. Maybe they couldn’t find child care. Maybe they had to take care of a sick relative during a large part of the day.

If these workers in Jesus’s parable are day laborers, they have no special skills, no land of their own, or they would be farming it. They are among the poorest of the poor in Jesus’s time, at the mercy of working from day today with no illusions about job security or hope for betterment. These are the people for whom Jesus inserted the line “Give us today our daily bread” into the Lord’s prayer. If these day laborers don’t get hired today, they will not be able to obtain food enough to help them survive until tomorrow. These are not people for whom the days’ wages go into a savings account, or into purchasing a luxury item. These are people for whom when they get paid, that money goes right back out of their hands so that they can get food or shelter. They are working each day literally to survive.

Yet we are already clued in that this is not going to be a story that plays by human rules of exploitation and scarcity, but by God’s rules of generosity and abundance. We know that because Jesus starts off with these key, easily overlooked words: “The kingdom of heaven is like….”

The kingdom of heaven is like a vineyard in that a vineyard is a proclamation of abundance. Sure, there is always work to be done, and that work must be shared. “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few,” Jesus will remark later on. And that’s why Jesus calls us not just to be fans of his work, or simply beneficiaries of his saving work but to share in it for the sake of others. The point of the gospel is not selfishness, but the liberation of the world from the powers of scarcity and death. And as we mourn the passing of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the great champion of equality for all, we are reminded that equal opportunity is often denied to those who are placed at the back of the line.

But here is an important point. Jesus always talks about the kingdom of heaven in the PRESENT tense. We are so used to thinking about heaven as a place where we hope to go after we die. But that is a misunderstanding from hell, since it makes our lives a shadow instead of substance. For too many people, hell is right now. It comes from all the forces that tell us to suspect each other and fight each other and leave some of our kindred behind to die. But heaven begins right now-- and it begins with our choice to follow Jesus and to trust in his promises.

And that's why Jesus calls us not just to be fans of his work, or simply beneficiaries of his offer of salvation, but to share in it for the sake of others. The point of the gospel is not selfishness or self-interest, but the liberation of the world from the powers of scarcity and death. The point of Jesus's work and call to us, especially as we meet this day during the Jewish High Holy Days, is what our Jewish kindred call tikkun olam, the restoration of the world to the vision that God had for it in the beginning: justice, plenty, community, generosity.

It’s a dissonant message that Jesus proclaims- and we have been fooled into scoffing at it. But that is hell talking. We have been programmed to grab while the getting is good. We have been programmed to value only what is scarce, and fail to see that such thinking often leads us to devalue or take for granted what is common—the steadfast love of a lifelong friend, the beauty and uniqueness of every sunset we are privileged to witness, the gift of forgiveness we give each other without keeping score. We also want grace for ourselves, but consequences for others. And that is human, all right—but it is also not living according to the values of the gospel, and if that sounds like something we’ve heard over and over, it’s because we HAVE.

There is a key point being made here about the grace of God. Jesus is reminding us that there is no rank among God’s children.   There is no rationing of salvation, but more importantly salvation is not inwardly focused, but outwardly directed. Salvation is not a possession; it's a way of relationship g to the world with love and hope in action. In the kingdom of heaven, we truly all are equal. And because the kingdom of heaven is what we are called to work for now, Jesus is calling us to organize our lives around this abundance and open-heartedness to each other now.

Now, once again, we like to imagine ourselves as the workers who have been working all day. But just for a moment, imagine you’re still sitting there in the marketplace as the shadows lengthen. Your children are hungry and if you don’t get hired, they will not eat that night. The fact that you were still in the marketplace indicates that you haven’t given up in despair, and in the calculus of the subsistence wage, something is certainly better than nothing.

And the miracle wrapped into this parable is found in the final sentence: “The last shall be first, and the first shall be last.” After watching the distribution of the wages, those who have worked all day complain that the landowner has made those who worked for only an hour “equal to us.” The landowner points out, reasonably, that he has done no wrong to them by paying them what had been agreed. And what had been agreed was what was necessary for subsistence. 

But here we see the tension that runs riot in our society right now—the tension between fairness and generosity, yes, but accelerated by the power of the narrative of scarcity that holds us all by the throat. This parable urges us to rejoice in the generosity that others receive, rather than keeping a tally card of who should be first and who should be last.

The landowner lets the first laborers see that he is paying the last one hired a full day’s wage—in fact, this is what necessitates their grumbling—the same grumbling we heard in our reading from the Hebrew scriptures. Even though they agreed to work for a day’s wage, they get their hopes up when they see the latest laborers being paid that amount. Hauerwas notes that this is a reminder to us that God doesn’t hide the truth from us, and that God means what God says. If we are all equal in the eyes of God, we are all equal in the eyes of God.

It's a hard thing to let go of. We all want to be in the front of the line. We take pride in how hard we work, and we fool ourselves that in this country how hard you work determines how much you get paid—which is not the case at all. Nurses and teachers work harder than anybody, but they certainly aren’t the best paid.

We all want to be in the front of the line. But it’s interesting to note that the front of the line is where all the grumbling is. You might be in the front OR the back of the line out of sheer luck or circumstance. But in Jesus’s parable those in the front cannot bring themselves to rejoice that some of their kindred workers have to received enough to sustain them and their families for another day. It’s at the end of the line where all the rejoicing is found. Where gratitude swells up into a holy shout of praise. And Jesus is calling us to be happy and glad for each other, no matter where we are in that line. We’ve all been assured of being fed! Where’s the bad news in that?

But the love of God is not expressed in half measures. Those who come late to the table still receive the full benefits of the fellowship. And really, if we think about it, we wouldn’t want it any other way. The values of God turn the values of the world and justice on their head, because the kingdom of heaven is based upon mercy and abundance. And as citizens of the kingdom of heaven we are called to base our lives on mercy and abundance, too. No matter where we are in line.

Amen.


Preached at the 5:15 pm Outdoor Eucharist on September 19-- the 55th anniversary of the founding of our parish-- as well as at the 10:30 am worship service on September 20, 2020 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.

Readings:

Prayer 2793: The Turning of the Year (in Memory of Ruth Bader Ginsberg)



We praise You, O Wisdom of the Ages,
and ask your guidance
as we seek to walk in holiness and engagement
with the world around us.

Maker of Peace,
help us to rededicate ourselves
to being a people of integrity and hope,
seeking the flourishing of all,
purifying ourselves of envy and resentment.
Teach us to treasure
the gifts great and small with which you bless us,
to see your love for us woven into the fabric of creation
from the smallest turning leaf to the majesty of the mountains,
from a child's laugh to a grandparent's embrace,
from music in the wind to conversations with a friend.

Fashioner of Light,
help us to be worthy
of the true heroes in our midst
who show us what true generosity is,
guided by love in action for the sake of others.

Bless us and keep us
as we seek to join in the work of healing and reclamation,
O Life-Giver of All.
Grant the sweets of your loving-kindness and peace
to all for whom we pray.

Amen.

Friday, September 18, 2020

Prayer, day 2792



Holy One, we seek your radiance
even as the shades of night are lifted.

May we nurture your radiance within us, Lord,
and recognize it within all that surrounds us.
May your wisdom, O God, dawn in our hearts,
and guide our feet into paths of peace and justice.
May we use our hands to heal, not hurt,
and may we work for reconciliation and unity.
May we ever seek to fill the empty spaces within us
and within our communities
with compassion and generosity.
May we grow green and strong in the courts of the Holy,
and bear the fruit of mercy abundantly.

God of Grace, Light of Light, we open our hearts to You:
in your tender love grant us your peace as we pray.

Amen.

Thursday, September 17, 2020

Prayer, day 2791: On the Feast Day of Hildegard von Bingen



O God,
you are the foundation of everything,
giving us abundantly all that we need:
earth, sky, and water,
beauty, science, and music--
all signs of your tender love for us.

Lead us into wisdom,
O Spirited Light,
that we may lift our song with angels
praising and reverencing all creation,
even the dust from which we are formed.

Breathe your spirit upon us, O Christ,
that our spirits may be borne aloft
like a feather on the breath of God,
that we may devote ourselves to your path with joy.

With all our will,
may we assist you, O God,
in renewing and protecting the Earth,
in casting joy around us like a heavenly light
for the glory of your Name
as your beloved children.

Bless and preserve us in hope,
O Beloved Savior,
and shine the light of your countenance
upon those we now name.

Amen.

Wednesday, September 16, 2020

Prayer 2790: A Prayer in Dialogue with Confession



Loving Creator,
who knit us together, bone and sinew,
in love and delight,
we sit before You in wonder,
our cup overflowing with gratitude
as we seek ways to praise and worship You.

May we seek to serve you and testify to You,
in thought, word and deed,
for as we claim your Name, Lord Christ,
we are your face in the world.
Let us embody your love and compassion,
and renounce the poison of division
and hatred of neighbor that surrounds us and poisons us.

Let what we have done overflow with the love of God,
testifying, O Holy One,
to your presence and light within us,
making our hearts a worthy habitation for You, O Savior.
Let what we have left undone be only that
which greets our neighbors' pain with silence,
denies injustice in the name of our own comfort,
or denigrates the dignity and value
of those with whom we disageee.

May we love You, O God That Heals,
with our whole heart,
transforming ourselves in the Name of Love.
May we love our neighbors
as much as we love our own selves,
setting their good alongside ours
seeking their flourishing with joy
joy that You have called us
to embody Christ's compassion and healing
for the building up of your kingdom come among us.

May we examine our hearts,
own our wrongs and seek conversion of spirit,
casting aside the works of faithlessness,
that we may be renewed in faithfulness and compassion,
delighting in your will
for the restoration of the dream You had for us
from the foundation of time.

We rest upon your grace, O Merciful One,
and know that all the good we do,
we do by your support and aid,
by being true to your image that dwells within us all.
We walk by faith and hope, led by the Spirit.

Centered within your abundant tenderness,
we place our cares and concerns before You,
O Life-Giver to All,
and ask your mercy to rest upon those
whose needs we now name.

Amen.



This prayer was written in dialogue with this prayer of confession:

Most merciful God, 

we confess that we have sinned against you 

in thought, word, and deed, 

by what we have done, 

and by what we have left undone. 


We have not loved you with our whole heart; 

we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.  


We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.  


For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, 

have mercy on us and forgive us; 

that we may delight in your will,  

and walk in your ways,  

to the glory of your Name. Amen.

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

Prayer 2789: A Prayer for Hardened Hearts



Almighty God,
generous Creator,
we breathe in the sweet peace you offer,
and lift our hearts to you in intercession.

We humbly confess our wrongs,
and seek your help in converting our hearts
from stone to flesh.

Help us to remember
the spirit of love and reconciliation to which you call us,
and walk in your light and community in hope,
never condemning others to darkness.
You call us to be instruments of hope and mutual care,
following in the footsteps of Jesus,
living by compassion and grace.

Let us never twist your words, beloved Savior,
to support our our hatreds and prejudices.
Let us remember the mercy and forgiveness you offer,
and count the graces you have given us
as reminders that our words and actions are our testimony.

Lift us up
by the rising wave of your Spirit, O Blessed One,
and remind us to choose the road of compassion
as we seek to spread your gospel,
and to uproot the weeds of division that spring up within us.

Holy One, we depend wholly upon You;
may we be led by your wisdom into love and gentleness
and bless the world by our devotion to your Truth.

Grant the sweets of your mercy, Beloved Jesus,
to all those in any need,
and gather within your embrace
all those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Monday, September 14, 2020

Prayer 2788: For What Binds Us Together



Blessed Redeemer,
Fount of All Blessing,
creation sings out your praises
and we center ourselves within your presence.

May we find common ground with each other
listening without prejudice
that we may work with shared intent for the common good.
May we hold fast to our shared identity
as children of God
and seek new pathways for justice and peace.
May we walk gently upon this earth,
our beautiful, vulnerable common home,
remembering, O God,
that You placed her into our care.

May our prayers rise like the sweetest incense before You
O God of Mercy,
as we ask your shelter peace to encompass those
whose needs we lift before You.

Amen.

Sunday, September 13, 2020

All Apologies: Sermon for Proper 19A



As a Christian, as especially as a preacher, I always approach this reading with a good dose of fear and trepidation. I have had people attempt to use this injunction against me—and I bet you may have too. You know what I am talking about—the person who knows that as a Christian we are supposed to forgive, and when they have knowingly done wrong, perfunctorily apologize and demand forgiveness.

Now maybe you can go ahead and forgive them—but unless their request for forgiveness is back up by a turning away from the habit or action that caused the initial injury, the relationship cannot be fully reconciled. 

To be very clear: Jesus does not expect us to deliberately place ourselves at the mercy of those who abuse us or even just take advantage of our good graces. Asking forgiveness is not a get-out-of-jail-free card. Asking forgiveness without being willing to make amends and to name specifically what one has done does nothing to actually create a spirit of reconciliation.


And let’s face it. We live in an era where the non-apology has become an art form. 

Apologizing makes one vulnerable—even sometimes legally vulnerable. 

People try to wriggle out of apologizing so that they won’t be seen as being at fault. 

Some examples include, for starters, anything with “I’m sorry” followed by “but,” “if,” or “that you….” Such as

1. “I’m sorry if you were hurt.” This is called a “conditional apology.” It can be used to gaslight the person who was hurt by suggesting that the wrong didn’t really happen. And speaking of gaslighting, there’s

2. “You know I would never…” Nothing to see here folks! Didn’t happen. Why are you so sensitive?

3. “I’m sorry that you…” This is called a "blame-shifting apology"—it puts the onus on the person hurt and evades making the wrongdoer the subject of the sentence.

4. “I’m sorry, but ...” This is the “excuse-making apology.” It is worse than saying nothing at all.

5. “Mistakes were made…” Nice "passive voice" non-apology there. Mistakes just sprung up out of nowhere!

6. “I regret that you were injured…” This so-called “side-stepping apology” is also terribly passive voiced.

7. “I guess I should apologize…” Also known as a “phantom apology,” it also never actually apologizes AND is self-delusional while also trying to inject doubt into the admission of fault.

8. “If anyone was offended by my behavior, I apologize.” This one seems to be a favorite of politicians. What does that even mean? If no one was offended, I got away with it? There’s even a great word for this one: the “ifpology.”

9. “I was just… (kidding, trying to help, etc.) This is known as a “self-justifying apology.”

10. “The Devil made me do it/I am not that person” which shifts blame onto, no kidding, Satan, The Prince of Darkness, Lord of Hell. This was an actual excuse used most recently by an Arkansas sheriff recently who was caught using repeated and disgusting racial slurs in a tirade. This is the "demonic possession" non-apology, I guess.


Apologizing sometimes seems to be harder than forgiveness in our culture. And that is exactly why using today’s gospel for self-reflection is so necessary.

We are always interested in mercy, as long as those receiving mercy have not harmed us personally. But, as we discussed last week, the far more difficult thing to do is to get our own house in order and forgive those who hurt us, even when they do it repeatedly. Some other scriptural reminders that this has been true throughout cultures and throughout time:

“Do not be so confident of forgiveness
that you add sin to sin.” (Ecclesiasticus 5:5)

Yet a common misperception is that the verses we’ve been hearing about forgiveness and reconciliation have only to do with approaching the offender. Jesus is advocating care for both the offender and the injured party.

Jesus calls us to forgive, and to remember that we ourselves have been unconditionally forgiven by both God and others in our lives. But forgiveness does not take away the original injury. And one of the great sicknesses in American society is a lack of empathy for others—an ability to discount or deny the validity of others’ suffering and pain. In the places in our own lives where we have hurt others, an illustration I like to use is that of a piece of paper, fresh out of the package. If you wad up the piece of paper, no matter how much you try to flatten it out, it will always bear the mark of having been crumpled. Even when you say “Sorry” to the paper, it will never be the same.


Peter’s question that opens our gospel reading today should be relatable to most of us. Peter wants to know what the limit is. He wants to know when he is let off the hook if someone continually injures him. He starts—like most of us—in thinking about times when he has been the injured party. Yet how would the question change if we approached it from the position of the transgressor? “Lord, how many times should my brother, sister, or friend forgive me?” Do we want the answer then just to be only seven? I am certain that I could pile up seven offenses against my loved ones in a very short amount of time. When we are on the giving end, we like to limit our obligation. When we are on the receiving end, we want a never-ending stream.

This gospel message calls us into something that is uncomfortable for many of us—reflection. In our busy lives, this is hard for us. It hurts if we have either been terribly hurt by someone who has not sought reconciliation. But it is FAR WORSE if we ourselves are the ones who have wronged someone and we have not sought not just forgiveness but reconciliation. 

And that’s the thing—we are pretty apt to view forgiveness from the perspective of the person who has been hurt. But we also have erred. 
We’ve been bad friends. 
We have betrayed confidences, or said something unkind behind someone’s back, or lied, or cheated. 
We have cut people out of our lives when they were too much trouble, or became too needy, or just when their friendship just became inconvenient. 

It’s important to go back through this gospel and look at from the perspective of one who has hurt others either by what we have done, or by what we have remained silent about—what we have refused to acknowledge. Jesus here is not just calling us to forgive, but more importantly, is calling us to examine ourselves.

This is a daunting task indeed—impossible for any individual. To try to live a life based on the determination to forgive as is described here would require help. That’s when we remember that these instructions Jesus gives us are addressed to the community of faith—to the Church. We are reminded of the communal nature of this commitment to forgiveness every time we say the Lord’s Prayer together at worship and repeat, “Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.”

Because we have been fasting from Eucharist in this time of pandemic, it has been a long while since we have said the Lord’s Prayer together. But there’s another prayer we do say that reminds us that forgiveness is a two way street. Thinking about forgiveness from the perspective of the person who has been sinned against is easy. Thinking about forgiveness from the perspective of being the person who has harmed others is harder—our tendency is to flinch from that, or deny our fault altogether.

Yet anyone who denies that they hurt others is dangerously fooling themselves. As the Church, we are called to the work of discipleship—by both reaching out to the world to share the good news of Jesus, but also by holding each other accountable. By naming sin as SIN, and not just an “accident.” Everyone sins. Everyone has things for which they need to atone—both for the sake of the person they have hurt, and for their own sakes. Thinking you have nothing to apologize for is the mark of a narcissist.

So how DO we apologize? By acknowledging that sin exists both individually and systematically. Listen to the words of the Confession we often say this service. We often say it together in a block, it’s hard to see how much is being said here. Let’s look at it on page 12 of our service leaflet together:

"Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us; that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways, to the glory of your Name."

What does this mean? Let’s take it apart.

“Most merciful God,” -- we are reminded that God’s very being exudes mercy and grace.

“We confess that we have sinned against you”—We confess. Together. And we confess that each time we have sinned, we have harmed our relationship with God who calls us to be a new creation in Christ.

“in thought, word, and deed,”—Our sins start even in our intentions and snap judgments inside our heads, that little sarcastic silent running commentary no one usually hears, and includes even careless words as well as deliberate choice.

“by what we have done,” -- these are known as “sins of commission;” we did something that hurt someone else.

“and by what we have left undone.”—This is actually an important point to understand. By failing to act or refusing to acknowledge the hurt even our passive acceptance or support of a wrong, we sin. And the excuse of “that’s just the way it is” doesn’t excuse us.

“We have not loved you with our whole heart;” -- this refers to the ancient Jewish statement of belief, the Shema Yisrael found in Deuteronomy, that promise to love the Lord your God with all your heart, your strength, and your mind.

we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.”—this ties to the Great Commandment that we have discussed several times recently. We should love those around us and care for them as if we were caring for our very own self.

“We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.”
– No dodging. Just acceptance of blame and a determination to turn from the path of sin and being the cause of pain for others. In the Greek, it’s called metanoia—the turning to repentance.

“For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us;”-- We are God’s children alongside Jesus, and as children seek reconciliation.

“that we may delight in your will,”—Love does not insist on its own way, but delights in the wellbeing of the beloved. Likewise, God’s will for us is our full flourishing. If we look at it this way rather than as “submission"—a word that scares far too many, we will DELIGHT in making God’s will our own.

“and walk in your ways,”-- As disciples it is not own way, but the way of Love as revealed in Jesus that we are called to emulate.

“to the glory of your Name. Amen.”-- Our actions as professed Christians should bring glory to God- Our lives should be our most powerful testimony to God’s goodness. And “Amen” signals our full-bodied assent to this new creation God is calling us to be, seeking forgiveness and reconciliation with all.

This willingness to apologize and turn aside from holding grudges is anything but bad news! No! This is the way of freedom. The way of compassion and empathy for others, that hopefully will lead us to be more mindful in our care of each other and faithfulness to God. In this way, we are given new life in Christ, and renewal of the bonds of community which are more important now than ever.

Amen.


Preached at the 10:30 am worship service at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO on September 13, 2020

Readings:

Citations:
1) Top image is Forgiveness © Jan Richardson. Used by permission from janrichardson.com.