The Abundant Gift of Freedom: Sermon for the Proper 19A

We are here this weekend celebrating so many things: the start of a new program year, the 58th anniversary—on Tuesday, actually—of our first Eucharist as a parish in 1965—58 years ago, and the start of our annual pledge campaign at a critical juncture in the life of this parish.

Since the start of September, we have met seven times for worship, offered three online services to the world, all due to hundreds of man- and woman- hours in preparation, from more than 15 hours creating and printing all the bulletins, to the efforts of the altar guild, the printing and the publishing of them here and on the website and newsletter that a volunteer curates and maintains to the preparation of the readers and Eucharistic ministers, to the ten-plus hours of programming the broadcast crew provides and then watches over each week, to the preparation and return of our choir and the efforts of our music director. We have excited volunteers offering scores more hours creating the curriculum and teaching our littlest members in church school, and are preparing for the launch of a new adult forum.

We have had staff and volunteers adapting, printing, and preparing the mailings for our annual pledge campaign and getting them to the post office. We held a fellowship gathering out at a local restaurant in our community. We are preparing to enjoy a delicious feast with our brunch later this morning, and preparing for another day of fun and fellowship with the Lunch Bunch, and are in the midst of preparing for our annual pet blessing on October 7 and our Fall Festival on October 21.

But that’s just within our doors. Since the start of September, this parish has kept one family from losing its electricity; has provided one person with the means to get new clothes so that they could work after everything they had was stolen as they moved here; has funded and assisted in cleaning laundry for a dozen households; has provided school children with new backpacks, food, and personal items from our blessing box; and has begun winding down our garden ministry which provides food throughout the Midwestern growing season to hundreds of people. We have visited and cared for members who are ill or housebound.

And that’s just in 16 days—because this day has barely started. In the next few days, we will, God willing, hold a nearly fully subscribed blood drive that will help as many as 144 people in need of blood in the coming weeks throughout the St. Louis region. We will also attempt to help a person struggling to get to work who lacks transportation whom we also helped keep their power on in the spring.

We are preparing to provide the means for people in our community to avoid death by overdose in the midst of a silent plague of opioid addiction in this county that enslaves millions of people and devastates millions more and costs billions of dollars each year. This parish has provided a priest to pray over and share the communion of this parish with the dying last night, and to comfort the living as they begin both their anticipating the grief of the passing of a loved one.

In other words, we have been not just a beacon of Christ’s love, but a beacon of the freedom and abundance that Christ lived and died and rose again among us to embody and to model.

Now imagine if St. Martin’s was not here. The world, my friends, would not just tick on, unnoticing. Instead, there would be an enormous void throughout this area. And in our own lives.

Each one of those ways we help our community around us is an offer of empathy, independence, and most importantly freedom with our joyful, generous accompaniment alongside them. Not out of a sense of superiority but out of a recognition that we are all equally beloved in the sight of God. This parish is a living witness to the actual real, LIBERATING love of God in a world that spends 99% of its time trying to divide, oppress, and impoverish the majority in the service of a few who then benefit with the hoarding of wealth and power.

A world whose modus operandi is TAKING from others rather than giving to others. A system that actually fears the growth of generosity and empathy for fear of people realizing the liberating power and the joyful sense of freedom that God’s love in action in the world offers.

We stand as witness to the power of freedom—real freedom. Not the freedom to oppress, or grab at the expense of others. But the freedom and flourishing that love, compassion, repentance, and forgiveness bring. The freedom that comes from believing that there not only is enough, there is MORE than enough among us.

In our gospel passage today, Jesus is concerned with helping his followers live a life embued with grace, but even more importantly, with freedom.

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 what is the least he can do when someone has wronged him. 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.

But life together in this parish of St. Martin’s reminds us again and again that the “least we can do” is basically the same as doing nothing, the same as standing by a burning house with a fire hose and refusing to turn it on because we are worried about the water bill.

We are called to embody the grace of compassion, mercy, community, and forgiveness because we ourselves have received it without limit. That’s who God is. God never gives up on us or keeps tally when we fall short in our lives of living the completely loving, completely free way God created us to embody.

We all know 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. Because when we try to avoid apologizing, or when we refuse to forgive, we are chaining ourselves to the past. I ask you to think really hard about the last time you really forgave someone, yes, but also the last time you apologized and were forgiven.

Do you remember the sense of relief you felt in both instances? Do you remember the weight that was released from your shoulders and your heart, and the freedom you felt?

Yes, freedom. Yale professor theologian Miroslav Volf calls forgiveness “… a genuinely free act that “does not merely re-act,” forgiveness breaks the power of the remembered past … and so makes the spiral of vengeance grind to a halt. This is the social import of forgiveness.”[1] And that is true relief, and repair of our fragmented world. That is our path to true freedom. And it starts with loving and caring for each other as though we were a single body.

Because we are. What happens to anyone happens to all of us. That's another reason why forgiveness and repentance are vital Christian practices.

Forgiveness, and true repentance, are part of the gift of freedom Jesus pleads with us to accept. To use our own freedom to set real love in motion throughout our lives and the lives of our communities-- for our own flourishing, and, better, for the flourishing of others.

As we begin our program year and our annual pledge campaign, it is more important than ever that we step out of the paths in our past that have not served us well. The paths that have sought to find “the least we can do.” The paths that have convinced ourselves that this parish of St. Martin’s doesn’t really matter, and does not make a vital difference in the lives of literally hundreds of people each and every week of our 58 year existence. And the next 58 years in the future. And beyond.

We are, instead, called by God to embrace our freedom by seeing the world through the eyes and heart of abundance and grace. Of forgiveness and reconciliation. By pooling together our substantial resources to OWN our agency and our witness to the world that there IS enough. We are called to free ourselves from the fear of scarcity, and embrace the abundant freedom of securing our financial not just survival, but flourishing. For the life of the world. For the lives of our neighbors. For the lives of joy we all want and NEED to live.

And in that proclamation, to embrace the freedom of living in a way that matters, a way that gives purpose to each day because we know we are accomplishing real miracles and making a real difference in the world. And it starts by truly walking the path that the liberating love and forgiveness of God places before us. Starting now.

Amen.




Preached at the 10:30 Holy Eucharist at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO, on September 17, 2023.

Readings:
Genesis 50:15-21
Psalm 103:(1-7), 8-13
Romans 14:1-12
Matthew 18:21-35


Citations:
[1] Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace, Revised and Updated (pp. 121-122). Abingdon Press. Kindle Edition.

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

Fiercely Compassionate: Sermon for Proper 17A

Have you ever had an enemy?

I know I have had a few people in my life who I have realized did NOT to put it mildly, have my well-being at heart. The worst ones have been relatives, or better, “frenemies”—people who to your face pretend to be your friend, but behind your back undermine you and work against you at any opportunity.

The problem is, how can you avoid granting them power in your life?

What if the first step is refusing to allow them the position of “enemy” to begin with?

I ask this question, because this may be the nub of so much of the division we suffer from in our lives.

And this ends up being something our readings are asking us to consider this weekend.

Last week, in our epistle from Romans 12:1-8, Paul urged us to offer our bodies as a living sacrifice to God.

This week, in urging us to bend over backwards being kind to those who seek to hurt us, it almost sounds like Paul is now demanding our sanity.

In 205 words in Romans 12:9-21, there is a rapid-fire list of 27 specific commandments about how we are called as followers of Jesus to live in relationship with others. Twenty-seven! And seven of those begin with either “do not” (six times) or “never” (once). All the rest are stated positively, centering around the words “love,” “bless,” and “rejoice.” Under all of this are commands to give: to “contribute to the needs of the saints (fellow church members),” and to give your enemies food and drink if they hunger or thirst. There’s a lot there that absolutely sounds doable, though.

Until we get to that last bit there.

It is obvious that Paul himself understands that the standards of behavior here ARE incredibly demanding. Probably the most difficult is being not only not vengeful, but actually kind and solicitous to your enemies. Perhaps that’s why he includes that little bit that, if you are loving toward your enemies, it will actually “heap burning coals upon their heads.” We used to call it “killing them with kindness.” And that’s a pretty bizarre collection of words, if you stop and look at them. Are we really being kind if we are also “killing them?”

But then that brings up a conundrum: do I gain anything by doing these kindnesses, if that “heaping of burning coals” on their heads is then something I can’t avoid enjoying? I think that Paul is trying to toss us, and our human nature, a bone there. I also think this lines up nicely with our earliest view of Paul back when he was the Pharisee and persecutor Saul, and he held everyone’s coats when they stoned the first martyr of the Church, Stephen, to death in the Book of Acts. Paul definitely loved himself some vengeance.

And of course, Paul assumes that our enemies even HAVE consciences or feel healthy shame, which is a big assumption, then or now. Too many people have made selfishness and contempt their real gods.

This section of the letter to the church in Rome emphatically urges us to live into a paradox as people of faith. We live in a world that we believe is based largely on punishment and negative reinforcement, or motivation out of fear-- but we pray (at least when it comes to ourselves) for a God that uses a different accounting method; listen closely when we pray the Lord’s prayer, and you will see what I mean. Many of us know that we fall short of doing what we ought to do in all our relationships. Most of us believe we could be better children, better parents, better friends, and better Christians. Knowing our faults and failings, we also want to believe in grace for ourselves—but all too often we want to believe in judgment and condemnation for others.

The point is not to heap burning coals upon our enemies but to be kind and loving to them—it’s the kindness and love that should be emphasized. If we’re not careful, enjoying heaping burning coals on the heads of those who have wronged us approaches schadenfreude—a great German word for the phrase “enjoying another’s misfortune.” Satisfying as that may be, it also is antithetical to a real spirit of compassion and forgiveness. Schadenfreude leads us right back to contempt and dehumanization.

Remember the command that began chapter 12 in this letter: to not be “conformed to the spirit of the world” around us, because the spirit of this world—one WE humans have created mind you, and keep reinforcing by our willing participation in it—is one of misery for the vast majority of people. Even to just begin to live by the golden rule would be a radical act of defiance against this cruel calculus. We are, through our baptism and discipleship, called to be better people through Christ who strengthens us, and models for us this kind of self-giving love.

Being a Christian cannot ever be about oppressing anyone—that’s the party the gospel demands we leave. It’s part of making generosity and grace a true part of our lives. Christianity should make loving others the central act—no matter what we think of their behavior, rather than only loving those who conform to our notions of belief. Just like Jesus, we are in the “never give up on others” business.

We live awash with messages of hatred and fear. We live in a time of name-calling and dehumanization of anyone who is different from you.

And I think, at the root of it, is not just a lack but an attack on empathy, which is then an attack on compassion. Think on it. And that’s the first step in defeating this terrible division in our world, which transcends national barriers. Because the minute you think about who is pushing the division, and then ask yourself why, you take the first step toward defeating them.

I love the work of Brene Brown, a teacher and social worker (and Episcopalian!) who works to help people live wildly compassionate, brave lives. I ran across an interview where she discussed the work of Dr. Chris Germer and Dr. Kristin Neff (1). They are psychologists who study compassion, and they name the enemies of compassion, which is a vital step in defeating the forces of division that seek to divide us. Germer and Neff identify two kinds of compassion: soft compassion, and fierce compassion. Both are necessary to effect change not just for ourselves, but for others, especially groups being marginalized.

Soft compassion is gentle, nurturing compassion, and God knows we need lots of that. It’s the kind of compassion that many of us need to practice for ourselves: giving ourselves a break when we fall short or mess up or struggle. It’s acknowledging where we ourselves are hurting and giving ourselves grace, so that we may do the same to others.

Fierce compassion is more active, more filed with agency. And it is this compassion that fomenters of hatred fear the most, because it leads to not just weakly accepting injustice as they “way things are” but urges us to action. Real action. Even if we have to start off slow, like feeding our enemies and giving them something to drink, so that we can realize they aren’t our enemies after all.

But there are many things that stand in the way of us practicing this kind of compassion. They list these as both far enemies and near enemies of fierce compassion. Far enemies are opposite of what we are trying to cultivate, and they include:
Anger and Fear (emotional reactivity, as opposed to attention and mindfulness
Demonizing (Other-ing, as opposed to empathy)
Hostility (versus kindness)

Near enemies are more tricky, however. Near enemies seem harmless, but are meant to roadblock any real change. The near enemies of practicing true compassion include:
Complacency (can’t we all just get along?)
Sameness (the claim that we are all the same—the “all lives matter argument” or “I don’t see color” claim that blocks the acknowledgement of oppression)
Pity (feeling bad for someone in a way that makes you also feel superior) (2)

I would probably add here avoiding shame, like when some leaders claim that truths and facts that might inspire “feeling bad” should be suppressed in school.

I wonder if what Paul is getting at here is the same thing Germer and Neff are talking about. If we refuse to allow ourselves to dehumanize our enemies, and instead refuse to react to them in ways that cedes to them our own power, we free ourselves from the endless cycles of division and vengeances that weakens us all.

I know it sounds hard. To change this cycle of reaction and vengeance requires incredible mindfulness, empathy, and compassion—compassion for both ourselves, and for those around us. But here is a universal truth: hurt people hurt people. Breaking that cycle of hurt is a gift to ourselves beyond price.

Maybe THIS is the cross Jesus is urging us to take up in order to follow him in our gospel. I think we flinch when we hear that commandment from Jesus because we literally associate the cross with death and pain. Of course, that is why crucifixion was invented. But for Christians, the cross means something different. It means emptying ourselves of all our privileges, just like Jesus did, and reacting to those who have hurt us with the grace that we ourselves do not deserve but receive a million times over from Jesus. 

This not only is a gift we give to ourselves, because there is nothing worse than allowing someone who has hurt you to live rent-free in your head and heart. It also denies our enemies their power to hurt us in the ways that matter most—inside our own hearts and spirits.

To be clear: neither Paul nor Jesus are telling us let people abuse us. Instead, we are being given the power to refuse to allow ourselves to be defined by those who attempt to hurt us. Instead of sinking to the level of our opponents, we expose their injustice, and free ourselves from carrying the boulders of hatred they are attempting to place on our backs.

The heaping burning coals upon their heads thing is just a bonus.

We are seeing a lot of hateful acts being perpetrated right now by people who claim to be Christian, and that cruelty and contempt is part of why so many people are turning away from religious belief of any kind, as we discussed last week in the result of the “Jesus in America” survey the Episcopal Church commissioned a year ago.

The cross is not just a symbol of torture—if it were, why would we place them over our hearts or wear them on our clothes or hang them over our altars?

The cross, instead, is a symbol of fierce compassion—the compassion that didn’t just see the injustice and the violence of the world, but met that violence and injustice with love—and with ACTION. The kind of action Martin Luther King Jr called “soul force.” The kind of compassion that refuses to conform itself to the world but actively seeks to change the world to relieve the suffering of others—because when one person suffers, we are ALL diminished. Even if they are so-called “enemies.” That’s why wars happen.

The cross we are being urged to take up is a sign of victory, and a sign of enlightenment on the path of love.

And there’s no time like now to rededicate ourselves to living in the Way of Jesus.

And that doesn’t just involve believing, but doing.

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind” and your spirit. Let us take up our crosses and learn from Jesus. To take up our cross, we put down the burdens of fear and division that paralyze our souls.

The world will know we are Christian by this fiercely compassionate love. Then we will carry the cross of Jesus with honor.


Amen.



Preached at the 505 on September 2 and the 10:30 Principal Holy Eucharist at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, Missouri.


Readings:
Jeremiah 15:15-21
Psalm 26:1-8 
Romans 12:9-21
Matthew 16:21-28

Citations:
1) “Interview with Dr. Chris Germer on the Near and Far Enemies of Fierce Compassion, Part 1 and 2,” on Brene Brown’s Unlocking Us podcast, November 2022, found at https://brenebrown.com/podcast/the-near-and-far-enemies-of-fierce-compassion-part-1-of-2/

2) Dr. Chris Germer, “The Near and Far Enemies of Fierce Compassion,” October 22, 2020, at Mindfulness Teacher Training, https://mbsr.website/news/near-and-far-enemies-fierce-compassion