Showing posts with label MLK. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MLK. Show all posts

Sunday, January 19, 2025

Everyday Glory, Everyday Faithfulness: Sermon for the 2nd Sunday after Epiphany


 
In year C in the lectionary, the readings we will hear this weekend always are heard near the day we honor the life and legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King. Although I don’t know if that was deliberate or simply serendipity, I think it is worthwhile to examine the readings alongside Dr. King’s life and legacy.

Our reading from Isaiah 62 and Psalm 36 highlights God’s love, faithfulness, and redemption, and protection, and use wedding metaphors to remind us of the covenant between God and God’s people. Given that last week we were called to remember our own baptismal covenant with God, our promises to live and act faithfully as witnesses to God’s lovingkindness in all we do, we see a common theme between these last two weeks of readings.

The reading from the 12th chapter of First Corinthians emphasizes unity, honoring differences, and the gifts given by the Holy Spirit… and of course is leading up to Paul’s famous, poetic tribute to Godly and Christian love in the next chapter—a reading that is often read at weddings. The gospel portion from John 2 highlight’s Jesus’s first miracle at a wedding, focusing on issues of God’s abundance, and questions of honor at the occasion of a wedding. Jesus, as God’s son at the start of his ministry on earth, makes sure the bridegroom would not be accused of poor hospitality as the start of his married life.

If you step back, there is a tie among all the readings about covenantal relationship, like those between God and God’s people, and like those between two spouses. The recurring themes are about God’s faithfulness and love, and the enduring and mutual obligation that makes a covenant so much more serious than a mere agreement or contract. The same longing to discern and feel God’s presence in our lives is one that we humans still feel today, whether we use the words “God” or “Jesus” or “Holy Spirit”—or not. expressed that I would think most of us have felt—to know that God loves us and is present to us, that sense of immanence that can be all to difficult to find in our profoundly secular and often overburdened daily lives. But there is also an implication here to remember that, as people of faith, we have, at our baptism and henceforth, entered into a covenant with God and with each other in fulfillment of the Great Commandment, which commits us to love of God, and love of our neighbor in all our actions and choices.

Even though Cana is an obscure place (8-9 miles north from Nazareth) that is mentioned nowhere else in the Bible, Jesus’ first two signs as supposedly performed there (the nobleman’s son is cured also at Cana in 4:46-54). This is the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry—and in a tiny little town. But weddings are important milestones in people’s lives. In John, therefore, Jesus begins his ministry with a miracle at a notable event in people’s lives- a wedding. In between these two signs in John, Jesus goes to Jerusalem and cleanses the Temple—yet no sign is performed there. Thus this miracle shows Jesus doing the most unexpected things in the most unexpected places—not surprising for a man from the backwater of Nazareth. This glory Jesus reveals is not performed to dazzle thousands of spectators.

Further, the final verse remarks that, in this act, Jesus “revealed his glory.” This is not the kind of glory that rips apart the heavens or sends choirs of angels to sing over trembling shepherds. It is. instead, the same quiet glory Luke shows us with the babe in the manger. It is the glory of the incarnation itself, with all its earthly implications. It is a story reminding us of the abundance of God, and reminds that there are wonders around us everyday that reveal that glory of God, if only we take the time to look.

Jesus has gone to the wedding of an ordinary couple who is unnamed, not intending to be anything but a guest, as he remarked to his mother about his time not being come. The only people who actually witness the miracle are the servants who are the lowliest witnesses you could imagine. And Jesus takes ordinary elements-- water and stone jars-- and uses them to turn one substance into another--but quietly. No showy waving of arms or appealing to heaven. One second it’s water and the next it is wine.

We can imagine the bridegroom when being confronted by the steward not being able to account for this sudden abundance of good wine either and probably being very confused.

How does this fit into the theme of Epiphany? Once again, Christ’s light is shining forth into the world, no matter how trivial the location, and his love for us is overflowing just as the jars of new wine are. Jesus is “giving himself away” at the wedding; two people give themselves away to each other in our modern understanding of what a marriage is.

Note Jesus’s mention of “time”—that his hour has not come. Biblical scholar Karoline Lewis in her commentary on this passage points out that the wine had run out on the third day of the wedding feast. This is a detail I had missed previously. The language brings to mind Jesus’s death for our sakes, a precious gift that shows the overcoming of evil and death --and leads to his resurrection “on the third day.”


 How does this apply to the life of Dr. King? We have to remember that Dr. King’s leadership in the civil rights movement began partly from being in the right place at a critical time: he was a 26-year-old pastor in Montgomery, Alabama when Rosa Parks famously refused to give up her seat on a Montgomery bus and was arrested, inciting a 13 month-long boycott of the Montgomery bus system by African Americans. Dr. King’s sense of calling to fight against segregation and racism stemmed from his call to be a faithful witness to Christ, who always took the side of the oppressed, the marginalized, and as we saw above, the overlooked.

He was empowered by his deep faith in God at a time when the laws and culture in which he lived sought to disempower and control people of color by legalized oppression. As a direct result of his faith in Christ, he prophetically confronted a cultural hierarchy that denigrated the honor and dignity of the lives of African Americans all over the country, but especially in the Deep South.

Dr. King gradually acknowledged that his time to lead was now, as he said “The time is always right to do what’s right.” Words that we certainly see Jesus embodying again and again through our gospel accounts, and words that remind us of our obligation not remain silent in the face of oppression or need, but instead to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being” in the capstone commitment in our baptismal covenant.

Jesus sought to create a community of faith here on earth that encompassed all, regardless of rank or station. Dr. King, too, grounded his work in the image of the “Beloved Community,” bound together by faithfulness and the love of God and love of neighbor. This dream of a Beloved Community was inspired not just by his Christian faith but also deeply grounded in the covenant described in the Preamble to the US Constitution. He sought to create “a more perfect union,” establish justice that would ensure domestic tranquility, create a mutual sense of security, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty for ALL people. His ideals were aligned with the most sacred ideals of our common life together.

May we too remember and live into our covenant with God, and continue in the quest that Dr. King frequently described as being guided by “Soul Force.” To be guided by the Holy Spirit who gives us all gifts, a Paul reminded us, in order to lift up those around us.

On this coming Monday, let us remember that our country was also founded on promises to create a country where all receive the blessings of liberty, as the Preamble to the US Constitution declares. Let us honor the legacy of a great modern prophet who called us to heed the better angels of our nature. And let us always remember that God is a God of abundance, love, and faithfulness, who has called us into covenant with God and each other. Let us remember that the glory of God is not revealed in flashy miracles, but in God meeting us in the everyday needs and occasions of our lives, and performs wonders too glorious to number sometimes by using us as people at the right place for a time such as this to reveal the love of God for all ourselves.

Amen.


Preached at St. Martin's Episcopal Church on January 18-19, 2025.

Readings:

Sunday, January 14, 2024

The Call for All: Sermon for 2nd Sunday after Epiphany B



This morning I had a decision to make: should we go ahead with in-person worship, or should we go online? The bitter cold outside and the safety of everyone was my overriding concern—but then I feared that if I decided to call off in-person worship, some people would not get the message. Even if I tried to call people, I was afraid some would not get the call—or take the call, if they didn’t recognize my number.

Then I laughed to myself, because the theme of calling runs all through our scripture choices this morning. In this season of Epiphany, we are drawn through our readings to see how God was manifest in the life of Christ to both Jew and Gentile alike. But this week, and actually next week, we are led to a deeper consideration: how are WE manifestly known, treasured, and called into partnership by God? This, too, is a vital question that the season of Epiphany calls us to explore.

First of all, our readings encourage us to consider WHO God calls into partnership. It can be someone who is so young that they do not even KNOW God’s voice, as with the child Samuel. We see throughout scripture that God knows us better than we know ourselves—and loves us intimately because of and sometimes in spite of that knowledge.

The portion of Psalm 139 that we read this morning reminds us of exactly that—that because God created each of us, God knows us to our very core. And as beautiful as the verses we hear today are, the part that is omitted is even more precious:

6 Where can I go then from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
7 If I climb up to heaven, you were there;
If I make the grave my bed, you were there also.
8 If I take the wings of the morning
And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
9 Even there your hand will lead me
And your right hand hold me fast.


Even the reading from 1 Corinthians, which normally I would not want to touch with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole, supports the day’s theme by reminding us that what we do in front of others as self-professed Christians not only affects the Church, but reflects back upon what the world thinks about Jesus. We are, as St. Francis and many other saints insisted, the only Christ, most people will see. Part of our call as Christians is to exemplify the life for others that Jesus embodied with every single breath.

In our gospel, we again see a call narrative: the calling of Philip and Nathanael as disciples of Jesus. John’s gospel is the only one that lists Nathanael as one of the apostles. The other gospels mention Bartholomew in Nathanael’s place, so some scholars wonder if they are not the same person. It certainly is common that people in the Bible have multiple names: Abram-Abraham; Jacob- Israel; Simon-Peter; Saul-Paul, just off the top of my head. So it’s possible.

Nathanael at first fails to understand who Jesus is, just as the boy Samuel misunderstood who was calling him and speaking to him. Yet Jesus tells Nathanael that he had “seen” Nathanael under a fig tree, and this causes Nathanael to believe that Jesus DOES have the special powers that the Messiah would have. Just as in our psalm, we have Jesus as the Son of God claiming to know a person intimately, even though he and Nathanael had never met. Once again, we see God through Jesus reaching out to us and seeking us, knowing us even better than we know ourselves. The image of the ladder reinforces that our relationship with God is a two-way street. God calls to us, but we can choose to respond or not.

One of the reminders we have here in all of our readings is that whatever we hear or know about God comes first from God. Without God’s initiative, we would know nothing about God. Our own reason alone will not lead us to that understanding—in fact, depending on reason alone can lead us in exactly the opposite direction if we believe that reason works in opposition to faith (an incorrect assumption, but nevertheless the point holds).

Of course, fitting with the theme of Epiphany, this reading is about various people having a sudden understanding or revelation of who exactly Jesus is. But there’s another, important discovery being made here. In each of this week’s readings, God calls out to us as much as we recognize God.

We are assured in each of our readings today that God knows us, better than we know ourselves. And in knowing us, God sees in us our potential to share in God’s work of reconciliation and redemption.

The great Jewish teacher and rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote a wonderful book after a lifetime of study. It was called God in Search of Man. The title was meant to startle us by the order of the words—it wasn’t “Man in Search of God.” Instead, Rabbi Heschel pointed out that throughout scripture, it is always God that seeks us—and too often, it is US who hide, or run away, or evade, or stop up our ears or our hearts. And when we do that, we inevitably come unmoored. We lose our way. We make compromise and prevaricate against doing what is right in favor of doing what is easy. We stop listening for God’s call to us to use our lives to God’s glory. And that is the start of the slide toward evils both small and great.

The 20th century, after all, with its terrible cataclysms that rocked the world, including the Holocaust as the most glittering example of the dangers of humanity’s technological prowess operating free of ethical or moral constraints, led to an actual movement called the “God is Dead” movement in some intellectual circles.  Yet those evils were the result of us abandoning God, not God abandoning us.

Sometimes bad things just happen. But more often, bad things happen, and they happen because of choices that have been made by humans and human societies. The most dangerous examples throughout history occur when people are convinced that they themselves cannot make a difference and blind themselves to the consequences of their inactivity. When we see suffering or danger, but we convince ourselves there is nothing we can do, we acclimate ourselves rather than exercising the agency God has given us. Rather than asking “Where is God?” when trials or cataclysms happen all around us, what would happen if we instead asked ourselves, “Where are we?”

Always, always, there’s a reminder that in our journey through life, the biggest obstacle most of us have to overcome is ourselves. Our fears. Our doubts. Our lack of faith in both God and in ourselves, especially when it comes to making a real difference in the world.

Epiphany reminds us that God realized that being WITH us was not enough. God came into this world as Jesus and became ONE of us in God’s search for us. When we couldn’t hear God’s voice calling us in nature or in history or in law or in scripture, God became one of us, in the hopes that we would hear the voice of God calling us into relationship. Relationship with God, and each other, in order that we would make a real difference in the world. In order to truly be children and disciples of God.

We may believe we are not worthy of being called by God—that’s completely normal. We may think what good we might try to do doesn’t matter. But that’s exactly the opposite of why God became incarnate in Jesus and came to show us the way to live.

When God calls to us, God empowers us to step into our status as beloved children of God. Where we once believed ourselves powerless, or disconnected, we are changed. The overall call we hear from God as God’s children is to a new identity with new possibilities, a new understanding of ourselves. That new understanding is predicated upon God’s knowledge of and love for us, asking us to open up our eyes to have an epiphany in our understanding of ourselves as well as of our understanding of God. When Jesus calls to us, we are really being called to see ourselves in a new light, in a new way.

Epiphany is not just about Jesus being recognized as the Messiah and the Son of God. It is also about people throughout history who have listened to and heard the call of God to a life of love, compassion, reconciliation, and healing. It’s a time when we are called to remember that Jesus’s call to US is not to be simply spectators, but to BE members of a Beloved Community that encompasses all people and all of creation—to be people who work for the common good, having faith that God sees us, knows, us, and makes us partners in this world-changing work, even if we simply do so one small action or kindness at a time.

And how each and every one of us are being called by God in every moment is a vital question to ask ourselves during this weekend in which we celebrate the life and calling of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. We celebrate his life as a catalyst for equality at a time when most of this country accepted the separation and oppression of others based on the color of their skin.

But especially as Christians, we must NEVER forget that every single thing the Rev. Dr. King did was not just as a civil rights leader, but as a person whose life was directed and formed by his faith in God and by his response to God’s calling to him. And that is why, at the start of his leading others to fight for the freedom and equality of all people, Dr. King grounded his leadership in prayer.

How is God calling you, and us, right now to embody the life of Christ in our lives, in our choices, in our common life together here at St. Martin’s? Let us hear and share this prayer of the Rev. Dr. King’s:

O God, our gracious heavenly Father,
We thank thee for the inspiration of Jesus the Christ,
who came to this world to show us the way.
And grant that we will see in that life
the fact that we are made for that
which is high and noble and good.
Help us to live in line with that high calling, that great destiny.
In the name of Jesus we pray. Amen.
(1)




Preached at the 505 on January 13 and at the 10:30 Holy Eucharist on January 14, 2024, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO

Readings:


Citation: 
1) Prayer from “Thou, Dear God:” Prayers That Open Hearts and Spirits (King Legacy Book 6), p. 63.

Sunday, January 15, 2023

Being At One With God and Neighbor: Sermon for the 2nd Sunday after Epiphany, A




The season of Epiphany is about the dawn of comprehension and understanding as to who Jesus is in terms of his role as Messiah and Savior, as Son of God, the Incarnation of God in human flesh to reveal to us who God is. Our readings we just heard are directed at that purpose.

However, we could all be forgiven for feeling a bit of whiplash. After all, last week, Jesus was still an infant, and the Wise Men from the East had just arrived—the first non-locals to proclaim Jesus as someone set aside and worthy of worship. The writers of the lectionary unfortunately skip over the next events recounted in Matthew’s gospel of Jesus’ early years—the seeking of asylum by the Holy Family in Egypt until Herod’s death, and Herod’s slaughter of the innocents attempting to kill the infant Messiah. Instead, we go straight the account in John’s gospel of Jesus suddenly being an adult, and being proclaimed the Lamb of God by his cousin John the Baptist to his own followers.

Jesus is referred to twice by his cousin John as the “Lamb of God,” and the first time this saying is used it is followed by the qualifier “who takes away the sin of the world.” You might recognize those words as those called the “Agnus Dei,” which we sing or say at certain times in the year:

Lamb of God who takest away the sin of the world,
have mercy on us.
Lamb of God who takest away the sin of the world,
have mercy on us.


Sin is an injury or rupture in relationship, which creates an imbalance that requires atonement. “Atonement” is an interesting word—and very much misunderstood. Atonement is too often seen as a bargain that lets someone off for the consequences of their actions. Some people, over the centuries, have misinterpreted the idea of atonement as something done for us rather than something we are called to do.

Just the opposite.

Atonement is an action or attitude that seeks to provide reparation for an injury or wrong that has been committed. Atonement is making amends, and being willing to sacrifice in order to restore a sense of wholeness and. Atonement allows for reconciliation when one person owes another for the wrong or injury they have done. But look at the word when you place hyphens within it: “at- one-ment.” The suffix “-ment” is defined as “condition” or “the means of making or being.” So, literally, the meaning of “at-one-ment” is “the condition of unity,” or “the condition of being ‘as one.’” 




Injury or wrong creates separation. When someone has hurt us, that hurt creates a divide or a gulf between us and that person. That gulf might remain indefinitely, unless the hurt or injury of the offended party is alleviated or tended to in some way. This can be something as simple as expressing remorse and apologizing, or it can include attempts to restore what was damaged: if kids vandalize playground equipment by spray-painting graffiti on it, their atonement for their wrong can include paint removal, repainting the equipment themselves, or paying for said repairs. But atonement is deeper. It means we are at one with each other—the offender and the offended—and thus we would never think of repeating the offense, for it would be the same as hurting ourselves.

The goal of atonement is to try as much as possible to return to the condition between the guilty party and the injured party as it was before the act that was wrong. The goal of atonement, in other words, is not about blood sacrifice and substituting an innocent victim for a guilty one. The goal of atonement is reconciliation and repair. It is about choosing to avoid harming another in the first place, in imitation of Jesus as Jesus exemplified during his earthly life and ministry.

Jesus will take away the sin of the world, and people may understand it in two helpful ways. First, Jesus is the incarnation of God in humanity, both fully God and fully Man, living among us and teaching us. Second, Jesus’s teaching is revelatory—he reveals God to us in a new way as the Son of God, and as we say each Sunday in the Nicene Creed, as “very God.” He helps us to understand how God wants us to live our lives—by modelling it himself. Atonement leads to nothing less than for us to change our orientation from our own blind self-centeredness to an outward orientation where we work for mercy, justice, peace as disciples and children of God.

In other words, atonement is NOT merely about saving ourselves from the consequences of our sins. It is about humbly recognizing and acknowledging our failures and our sins, known and unknown, things done and left undone, individually and communally, and working to not just make amends but place ourselves on a more ethical, empathetic path. Atonement literally means seeing a seamless bond between ourselves, creation, and God.

The heart of atonement is empathy for those around us, because we acknowledge that we are all one.

Talk about counter-cultural.

But there’s more. In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is presented as the new “Moses,” the greatest prophet of God and shaper of the religion of Israel. Thus, like John, Jesus is a prophet. He is MORE than John because he is also, in addition, the Messiah, the anointed One, the Lamb of God who call us to atone. And this brings us to a happy coincidence between our national holidays and our religious ones. For this weekend in the season of Epiphany, we remember and celebrate a great modern prophet who called us to unity, empathy, and reconciliation with each other—the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. And as a prophet, one of his primary tasks was to call us to self-examination, reconciliation, and atonement.

We often forget that Dr. King was not just a protest leader and orator. He was, first and foremost, a Christian preacher. And he had much to say in his sermons about atonement as the restoration of relationship.

In the book Strength to Love, a collection of Dr. King’s sermons, Dr. King uses the story of the Good Samaritan from the gospel of Luke as the foundation for his sermon, “On Being a Good Neighbor.” First, let’s remember that the man who had been attacked by robbers in Jesus’s story was not named or described by Jesus. Dr. King echoes the question Jesus was answering about our obligations to others and states it this way:

“Who is my neighbor? ‘I do not know his name,’ says Jesus in essence. ‘He is anyone toward whom you are neighborly. He is anyone who lies in need at life’s roadside. He is neither Jew nor Gentile; he is neither Russian nor American; he is neither Negro nor white. He is ‘a certain man’—any needy man—on one of the numerous Jericho roads of life.’ So Jesus defines a neighbor, not in a theological definition, but in a life situation.” Dr. King then goes on to describe the Samaritan:

“What constituted the goodness of the good Samaritan? Why will he always be an inspiring paragon of neighborly virtue? It seems to me that this man’s goodness may be described in one word—altruism. The good Samaritan was altruistic to the core. What is altruism? The dictionary defines altruism as “regard for, and devotion to, the interest of others.” The Samaritan was good because he made concern for others the first law of his life.” 

Dr. King then goes on to point out that the Samaritan acts out of altruism, which he describes three ways. First, he says the Samaritan possesses a “universal altruism,” that overcomes the prejudice against prejudice against those different from us. Second, Dr. King states that the Samaritan possesses a “dangerous altruism,” willing to risk what he has to behave morally and compassionately. Doing right can have risk—that’s why too many avoid it. Dr. King observes:

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. The true neighbor will risk his position, his prestige, and even his life for the welfare of others. In dangerous valleys and hazardous pathways, he will lift some bruised and beaten brother to a higher and more noble life.” 

And finally, Dr. King states that the Samaritan has “excessive altruism.” Dr. King defines this as moving from being motivated by pity in which you still see the neighbor as someone “other,” and instead move to sympathy and empathy, or being AT One with the neighbor in their suffering, and thus being willing to go beyond the minimum required perhaps by law to loving completely in unity and community with those around us.

Dr. King then applies the lessons of this parable to the evils of discrimination and segregation that plague this nation by living into living by the inner law of God that calls us to atonement. And he concludes with a statement that reflects back upon our focus in this season of Epiphany and in our gospel reading. Dr. King concludes:

"In our quest to make neighborly love a reality, we have, in addition to the inspiring example of the good Samaritan, the magnanimous life of our Christ to guide us. His altruism was universal, for he thought of all men, even publicans and sinners, as brothers. His altruism was dangerous, for he willingly traveled hazardous roads in a cause he knew was right. His altruism was excessive, for he chose to die on Calvary, history’s most magnificent expression of obedience to the unenforceable." 

As both Jesus and Dr. King remind us, we are called to atonement for our failures, yes. We are also called to a brave and joyful proclamation of our essential unity and fellowship as children of God. When we live into the relationships that Jesus calls us to embrace with both God and with all creation, we are transformed. We make room within our hearts for the inner light and wisdom of the folly of the gospel of Jesus, one that denies that there must be winners and losers as much of the world’s systems demand. It is embracing the paradox and the gift of God coming into time as a helpless infant, and of the greatest becoming the least, all for love beyond all of our own fearful limitations.

So as we continue to invite the Epiphany light of love and wisdom into our hearts, may we be led by the examples of prophets like Dr. King, who point us to the way of knowing ourselves more fully, and of knowing God through the power of being at one with each other.

Amen.


Preached at the 505 on February 14 and at the 10:30 Holy Eucharist at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.


Readings:

Citations:
Martin Luther King, Jr., Strength to Love, pp. 20-30, Kindle edition.


Sunday, January 16, 2022

The Heart of a Home: Sermon for the 2nd Sunday after Epiphany (Observance of MLK Day)



The last few months have seen a variety of challenges in the lives of our family—like everyone, we’ve had illnesses and tension. But one of the blessings we have had has been our son being able to stay with us, perhaps for one of the last times, for a month. He is in his senior year of college; he already has a job lined up after graduation. He’s our youngest, so that empty nest thing is staring us right in the face. We have played numerous games of UNO, he has tried once again to get me to understand how a Playstation controller works so I can play video games with him, and I have introduced him to the joys of 80s video games like Joust and Ms. Pac-Man.

One of the things we have always enjoyed as a family is watching movies together, and one of the ones we got to share was Encanto, the latest Disney movie. It’s even got music by Lin-Manuel Miranda. The basic outline of the story is this: A young family with triplets flees a war in Latin America, Along the way, the father perishes as they are pursued, but the mother, Alma, with only a candle to light her way, manages to save her children when the candle suddenly magically protects them. Not only that, the candle then creates a magical home for the family in a hidden valley and burns continually for the next 50 years. 

The house gives each of the triplets--and their children-- their own special power AND their own special room as a symbol of that power: being able to produce flowers at will, or incredible strength or hearing, or being able to cook dishes that heal others. All of the children and grandchildren of Alma, now known as Abuela, or Grandmother, have powers—except for poor Mirabel. And because she lacks a special power, she is scorned by her grandmother and overlooked, even if unintentionally, by much of the family. She is literally deprived of her own room in the house, as well.

One day the youngest grandchild, Antonio, gets his special power. Abuela takes great pride in these miraculous gifts and in their miraculous house—and there is great rejoicing as Antonio learns he can talk to animals, and his room appears in the house, filled with animals for him to engage with. The family celebrates by taking a picture--- leaving Mirabel out. During the celebration, Mirabel has a vision of the house cracking apart and the candle going out—a vision she alone experiences. Not only is she not believed, her grandmother treats her as a malcontent and a misfit, trying to destroy the celebration because she is jealous at her own lack of miraculous gift..

Yet Mirabel is certain she has seen that the house, and therefore the family, is in grave danger. Mirabel decides to try to prevent this calamity, and sets out on a quest to find out why she is experiencing what she is. In the course of her investigation, she uncovers family secrets and hidden fears. Perhaps these secrets and hidden fears are at the root of the house’s instability.

I don’t want to spoil the movie, so I will leave it at that. But as we prepare tomorrow to celebrate the impact and legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., on what would have been the start of his 93rd year, I can’t help but see this charming little cartoon as also giving some insight into MLK’s own life, and into our readings for today.

Mirabel had a prophetic vision. That was her gift. It didn’t require magic. It required courage—the unbelievable courage to tell the truth to those you love, even if—especially if—they don’t want to hear it, even if they FEAR the truth being told. She foresaw a disaster, and tried her best to get her family to focus on what should have been most important to them: not their individual powers, but each other. Abuela takes great pride in these miraculous gifts and in their miraculous house—more pride in these things than she does in seeing the family itself as a miracle. Frankly, the foundation of the house was shaken by the failure to value each person who lived within it equally.

In our hymns today, and in our readings, we see reminders of prophetic voices also urging us to seeing the blessing of true communion with each other in our lives. We hear the prophet Isaiah renouncing silence when he sees calamity besetting God’s people: “For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, until her vindication shines out like the dawn and her salvation like a burning torch!”

You can just hear the prophet thundering in his refusal to accede to staying silent for the sake of comfort. And what calamity was it that Isaiah, and all of the prophets of Israel, named and denounced? 

It was one that was ever-present, then and now. A failure of the Great Commandment: to love God with all of our hearts, strength, and minds, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. A refusal to commit to justice and care for all of those within society, attempts to exclude and marginalize others deliberately—or the softer, more insidious danger of being blind to the existence of division and injustice in the community, a preference for the comfort of the illusion of peace bought at the price of respecting the dignity and full equality of all people.

Isaiah also makes it very clear that salvation is not defined by a personal, individualist focus. Salvation, redemption, and release from the peril of death and destruction isn’t just about whether this person or that person individually goes to heaven or goes to hell. Jesus’s miracle of turning the water into wine similarly isn’t about just saving a wedding host from embarrassment. It’s about reminding us of God’s abundant gifts to all of us, and about God’s abiding call for us to share that abundance with each other and to be animated by that abundance in our dealings with each other. Salvation is about the reclamation of the community, about the strength of the entire body of God’s children. All or nothing.

Our reading from Isaiah is thus a perfect reading as we look back on the life and legacy of the Rev. Dr. Martin’s Luther King Jr. In the 54 years since Dr. King’s assassination, we have come to take for granted just how radical his message was, and how his vision of the Beloved Community still is yet to be realized.

Through the mists of time, we forget how much hatred and opposition Dr. King received—and not just from acknowledged segregationists and racists. No, as Dr. King noted in his famous “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” some of the greatest attempts to silence him and the civil rights movement’s prophetic demand for freedom and equality came from within the power structures of faith communities and the Church itself—the very body that as followers of Jesus should be most committed to justice for all. That letter—which every American should re-read at least every year, was written in response to a group of faith leaders, including Episcopal bishops, denouncing what they termed his radicalism, his impatience, his “outside activism” since he was not actually from Birmingham. We have forgotten how much suspicion the civil rights movement received from the federal as well as state governments, even from people of goodwill. 

And it continues. Too many of us have insulated ourselves from the very real injustices that still exist right now. Even from within the Church—the very family which was the source of Dr. King's own hope. A nation, a church, or any institution, is only strong when the people within it are valued more than its edifices. When leaders focus on the institution, rather than the people, injustice flourishes.

Like Mirabel, like Isaiah, like Jesus, like Abraham Lincoln, Dr. King saw the cracks in the house—the house of this nation, in his own particular instance, a house which proclaimed itself dedicated to the notion that all persons were created equal on paper, when its reality was vastly different in practice. This was a truth and unvarnished revelation that those who were powerful, those who were comfortable, refused to acknowledge as an injustice, much less confront. Dr. King not only saw those cracks, and the long-term dangers they posed to African Americans and to all Americans, through his years of activism and his fifty arrests. He sought to have even those whose privilege inured them to the perils of injustice and oppression believe in a possibility and the necessity of a better, stronger, more united house that would include all. The heart of a home-- the heart of a nation-- is the people, not the structures. 


But also, like Mirabel, like Isaiah, like Jesus, like Abraham Lincoln, Dr. King didn’t raise the alarm merely to be a critic and announcer of doom. He raised the alarm because of the great faith he had that we can do better in living into the vision of love and unity to which God calls us as Christians, and to which I believe God calls each and every nation, especially this one. Through the lens of this pandemic, it is patently obvious that this nation is still divided—and that the source of that division is STILL refusing to act out of a desire for the flourishing not only of ourselves and our personal circle, but of everyone.

You cannot repair the cracks in the house until you see them, and then determine to do the work of repair. You can’t repair the cracks in the house until you understand that the value of the house is about the people within it—and making sure all of them are equally protected, equally valued. Dr. King’s vision of a strong, united house, home to a strong, united community, founded on the bedrock of equality and commitment to ever seeking to make ourselves stronger as one people, is a vision we all as people of faith are called to share.

May we continue his prophetic work, rooted in our faithfulness to God, and to God’s desire for all of us to live in a house that is not only undivided but strong and flourishing because the people within it are secure and valued, regardless of their different gifts. Let us be a house united by our dedication to truth, to justice, and to dedication to our God and to each other.

Amen.

Preached at the 10:30 am online Eucharist at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO, on January 16, 2022 during time of COVID.

Readings:





Sunday, January 17, 2021

Known, Called, and Transformed: Sermon for the 2nd Sunday after Epiphany



Even when I was a kid, I read anything I could get my hands on. Given that my parents were older when they had me, and therefore my grandparents were older when I came along, and also that we didn’t have much money so most of our books were second-hand, that meant I did a lot of reading that usually was more common among older generations of kids. My step-grandmother handed me a battered Hardy Boys book she’d found at a garage sale, probably to get me to stop bugging her during one visit. And it was during reading that book that I learned that one could make one’s own radio from what was called a crystal radio set. This intrigued me. And so, since I was also a big fan of Radio Shack, because they gave you a free 9 volt battery each month, I discovered that they still sold those kits, even in the 1970s.

So I saved up my lawnmowing money and my babysitting money one summer, and for once, rather than buying books with my cash, I bought a crystal radio kit. This was a bare basics model, but when I was done, I had a functional AM radio with a solitary earpiece as well as a speaker, and I had learned a little about circuits and coils and all kinds of stuff. I could listen to the radio at night without my parents being any the wiser. I especially loved listening to Cardinals games, when the reach of KMOX made it all the way to Tulsa at night.

In making that radio, I learned a little bit about how radios worked at their most basic level. Making helped lead to understanding.

Perhaps that’s why our psalm today particularly resonates with me. Our psalm expands upon the idea we’ve heard throughout Epiphany of being known intimately by God who is our Mother, Father, and Creator. Psalm 139 reminds us that God’s knowledge of us is complete, even as we cannot possibly presume to know God in the same way.

Sadly, some of the most beautiful and humbling verses of this psalm are among those omitted today, and I think they make a vital point, so I want to include them here:

6 Where can I go then from your Spirit?
   Where can I flee from your presence?
7 If I climb up to heaven, you were there;
   If I make the grave my bed, you were there also.
8 If I take the wings of the morning
   And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
9 Even there your hand will lead me
   And your right hand hold me fast.
10 If I say, “Surely the darkness will cover me,
   And the lights around the turn to night,”
11 Darkness is not dark to you;
   The night is as bright as the day;
   Darkness and light to you are both alike.

These omitted verses make a valuable point about human nature. It is true that we often FEAR being known that much. Someone who knows us that intimately would know our faults, our pettiness, our dishonesty, our cowardice as well as our moments of courage, compassion, and wisdom. We want to manage our own PR. We want to selectively put on display only our best versions of ourselves—and sometimes don’t want to admit our failings even inwardly. We want to believe that we can bury our flaws and our faults, our sins and trespasses, so deep they can never be found. When we find out how deeply we are known by the One who loves us, our response may be to flee. It’s often that way. We feel the blessing of God’s presence with us, and know that God is “our portion and our cup.” We radiate with that blessing. And yet, the minute we think we have God all figured out, that’s when we get off track. Deep down, we think God is like us. We humans tend to judge others harshly, and we project that attitude on God as well, despite all evidence to the contrary, despite the doctrine of grace that makes our approach to God possible at all. Deep down, we think that God can only love the best versions of ourselves, because that is too often how we work in relation to others and their flaws.

Yet the second we think we can hide from God, we are lying to ourselves. God is with us always—not just in good times, and certainly not just in bad times. And God is not only with us, but God KNOWS us. Three times it is stated that God knows us intimately—and the knowledge of that simply boggles the mind of the psalmist. In the last part of the psalm that we read today, we are reminded that God not only knows us, but has made us, each and every one, which implies an even more intimate level of knowing.

We live in a time of great turmoil. And I am grateful for these words of this psalm at this time. I see this psalm being sent to us at this time as a true sign of God’s grace. God KNOWS us—and yet loves and treasures us anyway. Even when part of what makes us who we are includes our anger, our spite, our recklessness, and the very real damage we inflict upon others. Even then, when the thought of that love is overwhelming, and we just “know” in our hearts that we don’t deserve such love, that love nonetheless remains. God is with us throughout our fallible, messy lives. God’s love penetrates whatever veils we try to draw around our present or around our past. We sometimes pray, “God have mercy upon me, a sinner.” Yet, the promise is there within those words: God DOES have mercy on us, sinners as we all are, because we are known and loved with a fierce, unending love that is beyond our imagination.

We are all naked before God, like Adam and Eve in the garden. Yet God is with us, loving us, knowing us in all our victories as well as in our darkest, meanest actions. God is with us, loving us, from our first breath to our last. God’s hand is upon us, pressing upon us and at the same time bearing us up with a love that cannot be denied, not even by sin or by death.

Deep in our hearts, unless one is without a conscience, and there ARE people like that, we know the shortcomings of our own lives, the places where our nerve has failed when we could have chosen to do right but instead went along with the crowd.

That’s why most of us resist the idea that God knows us that deeply and completely, and yet STILL calls us to share as disciples in ministry to the world. Yet each of us who call ourselves Christians also must accept that we have been called to transformation of our lives and to discipleship—to carrying God’s good news out into the world. A world that as we have been seeing for the last many months, is groaning our in pain and distress.

We see Samuel called by God in our first reading, and we see Philip and Nathanael called by God in our gospel. When Philip tells Nathanael that Jesus is the one predicted by Moses and the prophets, but then he includes a contradictory detail—Philip adds that Jesus comes from Nazareth. This information actually works against Jesus, for none of the messianic prophecies claimed that the Messiah would come from Nazareth. No, the Messiah was supposed to come from Bethlehem, as part of the House of David. But Nathanael is willing to go take a look.

Nathanael at first fails to understand who Jesus is, just as the boy Samuel misunderstood who was calling him and speaking to him. Yet Jesus tells Nathanael that he had “seen” Nathanael under a fig tree, and this causes Nathanael to believe that Jesus DOES have the special powers that the Messiah would have. Just as in our psalm, we have Jesus as the Son of God claiming to know a person intimately, even though he and Nathanael had never met.

Once again, we see God through Jesus reaching out to us and seeking us, knowing us even better than we know ourselves. God calls to us, but we can choose to respond or not. And Jesus could have said a lot of things about Nathanael—he could have shamed Nathanael for being a cynic, or for passively sitting under a fig tree. Instead, Jesus calls out the characteristic about Nathanael that Jesus most wants to bless, the quality of honesty and lack of deceit that we ALL need more of, especially after living through a century that has been marked by demagogues repeating dangerous, bloody lies until they become powerful weapons against reason, integrity and truth. Jesus calls Nathanael one who is without deceit, and Nathanael is transformed by this assessment to begin to live into it.

When God calls to us, we are changed. The call we hear is to a new identity with new possibilities, a new understanding of ourselves. That new understanding is predicated upon God’s knowledge of and love for us, asking us to open up our eyes to have an epiphany in our understanding of ourselves as well as of our understanding of God. When Jesus calls to us, we are really being called to see ourselves in a new light, in a new way.

We may feel unworthy of our calling to be disciples of Jesus—and we may use that excuse to confirm our natural inclination to keep our faith quiet rather than to share it. The problem is, that natural inclination then leads us to fail in our duty to be witnesses and workers rather than mere claimers of the privileged status of Christian, especially when that claim is used to claim superiority over others as we see too often today.

This reading always comes around the observance of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s birthday on January 15. When we find our courage to urge others to “Come and see” failing, it is good that we are surrounded by, as the saying goes, “so great a cloud of witnesses” as the saints who have gone before us. Dr. King’s legacy was to not just invite but to challenge the white majority in this country to “come and see” a God who called all people of faith to demand justice and equality among all of God’s children by truly “seeing” that the historical system of laws and attitudes were meant to oppress, silence, and disenfranchise people of color. Dr. King invited all of us to come and see and follow a Jesus who made his home among the outcast, the oppressed, and the marginalized. Dr. King’s words from more than half a century ago confront the challenges we are facing in 2021 boldly and presciently:

“One of the great tragedies of life is that men seldom bridge the gulf between practice and profession, between doing and saying. A persistent schizophrenia leaves so many of us tragically divided against ourselves. On the one hand, we proudly profess certain sublime and noble principles, but on the other hand, we sadly practice the very antithesis of these principles. How often are our lives characterized by a high blood pressure of creeds and an anemia of deeds! We talk eloquently about our commitment to the principles of Christianity, and yet our lives are saturated with the practices of paganism. We proclaim our devotion to democracy, but we sadly practice the very opposite of the democratic creed. We talk passionately about peace, and at the same time we assiduously prepare for war. We make our fervent pleas for the high road of justice, and then we tread unflinchingly the low road of injustice. This strange dichotomy, this agonizing gulf between the ought and the is, represents the tragic theme of man’s earthly pilgrimage.”(1)


Coming and seeing is a start, but of itself is not enough. Proclaiming that you believe is not enough. Jesus calls his disciples not just to listen, but then to follow. To take a different path than they had planned. To upend their lives in the name of the outrageous truth about the power of love in a world in which oppression lies and tells us we are always alone and vulnerable.

God has searched us out and knows us—and loves us completely. Knowing us as we truly are, God calls us to a life of action and virtue as God’s children. I have seen you, God says. Now come, and see—and be transformed.

Come and be open to seeing—let us be brave enough to admit we need transformation in our personal and national lives. Come and see, and confess where we have closed our eyes to the damage of dishonesty about ourselves—and take hold of God’s call to see honestly our own faults and blindnesses about the struggles of others—and be transformed. Come and give thanks for God’s grace—for a God not of vengeance and violence, but a God that knows us and loves us as petty as we can be—and step out onto a new path in which we truly live by the creeds we claim, as kindred who live lives worthy of our calling as children of God in truth, in integrity, and in mutual love.

Amen.


Preached at the 10:30 online service at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO in time of COVID19.


Readings:


Sources:
1) The Rev Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., "Love in Action," delivered April 3, 1960, published in Strength to Love, p. 31.

Thursday, April 4, 2019

Prayer, day 2258: On the Feast Day of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.


Lord, we we lift our hearts in wonder and praise:
thanks be to God.
Holy One, hear our supplications and meditations,
and open our ears to hear your call to us.

Help us to hear the voices of your prophets,
especially the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.,
that we may be the Beloved Community.
Place your guiding hand upon us, Lord Christ,
that we may enter into the promised land
of fellowship and compassion.
Give us the courage to work for equality and right;
give us wisdom to celebrate our unity and mutual love.
Make us patient in loving each other,
even those who oppose us;
make us implacable in the face of racism and injustice.
Help us bear any burden in the name of hope and freedom,
placing our freedom in the service of others.

Spirit of Healing, hold us within your grace,
and give your blessing to those we now name.

Amen.


Photo: Dr King delivering his last sermon, April 3, 1968, in Memphis, on the eve of his assassination.

Monday, January 21, 2019

Prayer, day 2185: In Honor of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.


Almighty God,
You send us prophets and martyrs to awaken us to your demand
that we purge ourselves of injustice, oppression, and hatred:
we remember before You today our beloved brother,
Martin Luther King, Jr.

Strengthen us to work for economic justice, O God,
remembering the 47 million of our fellow citizens
who live below the poverty line,
fifty years after Dr. King's death.

Almighty One, may Earth and heaven ring
with songs of justice and brotherhood,
and may we bring to reality the dream of collaboration and equality for all,
renouncing racism, fear, and hatred.

Empowered by the Holy Spirit,
may we become a resurrection people,
bringing to life the Beloved Community
in which all are seen as precious in your sight,
and therefore in ours, Lord Christ.

May we seek always to support and encourage each other
in the work of your justice and peace, O Lord,
that the Spirit guide all our steps.
United by your promises of mercy, 
bless and keep us this day, Lord Christ,
and bless those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Sunday, January 20, 2019

The Abundant Now: Sermon for the 2nd Sunday After Epiphany C



My mother is a church- hopper. I would imagine that in her life she has been a member of probably 30– some churches, in at least eight denominations with a couple of non-denominational ones thrown in just for fun. I am not exaggerating. As a child, I and my siblings then experienced and joined with her until we got old enough to make our own choices. I have attended, in my lifetime, as I recall, United Methodist, non-denominational charismatic, Church of Christ, Free Will Baptist, Free Methodist, Church of Christ again, non-denominational again, Southern Baptist, and, finally, I formally became an Episcopalian at age 17, thanks be to God and also with y’all.

And then, I’ve been a member of three and a half Episcopal churches in my time as a layperson: St Luke’s in Tulsa, where I was confirmed; then St. Timothy’s in Creve Coeur; then Holy Communion in U City, where I was lifted up for ordination.

During my seminary training I served at Good Shepherd in Town and Country, and after my ordination I did supply work in eight different parishes in this diocese --including this one-- while assisting for a year at Christ Church Cathedral, which makes nine.

At various times our family has visited three other parishes in this diocese: one where not one single person said hello to us and we heard someone mutter about our college-student attire; one where the people behind me insisted that I send my child out of worship with a bunch of people she didn’t know even though she was making not a single sound, and kept insisting until we almost left; 


and one where people were friendly at the peace, but at coffee hour they all huddled in circles that were as impenetrable to a newcomer as the conversations in the country dance scenes in Pride and Prejudice. 

The time I spent at each one of these parishes and congregations was varied. Sometimes, as a child, I was forced to go to churches that made me uncomfortable with their theology or customs—yes even as a child, I thought a LOT about theologies that sought to silence groups of people, and by “thought a lot about” I mean “resented the hell about,” since I was a member of at least one of those groups attempting to be silenced.

Yet, and only in retrospect, because we are meaning making people by nature, looking back I can see various benefits I received from each one of these places. I learned a LOT about scripture in the fundamentalist places, and about how scripture can be used-- or misused. I learned that I don’t like a lot of shouting or other surprising behavior in the charismatic places, which is great if you do, though. I learned from its supposed lack how much I love liturgy, how it opens up spaces for worship rather than being restrictive or limiting.

 I learned about being told I was “less-than” simply by accident of birth and how much I am not by nature the kind of person who takes that kind of malarkey well, whether I’m the intended target or not. I learned a master's course about how to not do hospitality well; how it felt being told that there wasn’t as much grace for me as there were for some others.


That’s why the failure of hospitality that Jesus encounters while he and his mother are guests at a wedding jumps out at me every time I read our passage from John today. I have always found it fascinating that this miracle, which only occurs in John’s gospel, is the first of the seven signs in that gospel. It’s rather a small miracle, after all.

Hospitality back then was a much bigger deal than it is nowadays. The notions of hospitality in the culture of first century Palestine often required people to take in strangers into their own homes, and to give those same strangers whatever they requested, even if that meant that the host had to do without.

When you read carefully, probably the only people who knew that a miracle had taken place at all were Jesus, his mother Mary, a handful of servants whose arms were probably aching from toting perhaps 180 gallons of water around, and some of his newly-called disciples. The people hosting the wedding apparently had no idea what happened. And yet, if the wine had actually run out, especially in that culture, it would have brought shame down upon the hosts. After all, wine was a symbol of the blessing of God, of the abundance of God’s gifts. It was also a matter of practicality, being safer to drink than water at that time.




So Jesus’s mother notices that the wine was running out, and she knows her son can do something about it. Even though Jesus initially resists, Mary acts as though she knows all along that he will do as she asks. Just like many of us, Jesus has one of “those” mothers—the kind who believe their children can do anything, and don’t mind getting behind their kids and pushing a bit.

We also can tell that Jesus might get away with calling his mother “woman”---which I would recommend against especially if you have a mother like mine--but in the end, he does what his mother wants. It’s a surprisingly human portrayal of Jesus, especially for John’s gospel. And in the end, the wedding feast is saved, because they have more than enough wine for another three days of celebration—the equivalent of a thousand modern bottles of wine, and not just any wine, but the good stuff. The Chateau Lafite 1869, in fact.

And here’s where our gospel speaks to our time today. We live in a time in which cries of “There’s not enough!” pervade nearly every single second of our lives. We live in a consumer society, one that only functions if people are led to believe that the way to happiness is through how much they can accumulate. “He who dies with the most toys, wins” say the bumper stickers. And so people toil away, so that they can spend, so that maybe they cannot feel the emptiness inside that is the foundational cause of our discontent to begin with.

But then it goes deeper. Society tells too many of us that we ourselves are "not enough." Not skinny enough. Not smart enough. Not tech-savvy enough. Not pretty enough. Not young enough. Not old enough. Not talented enough. Not rich enough.

And that extends outward. We are told that there is not enough to go around. We have to ruthlessly, zealously guard what little we have, because the scarcity mindset that runs our culture has convinced us that there is never enough.

But that’s where the miracle is. Jesus comes to us in our common struggles, and assures us that, no, there IS enough. Here at this table, we participate in the banquet table of God, where there is always enough, and more besides. Where the best stuff is just as available at the end as it was in the beginning.

Just as Jesus turns water into wine, Jesus works within ordinary people, like you and me, because he knows we have the potential to be transformed by his gospel into the good stuff- the best- by God’s transforming love and call to each of us. The first step is being willing to admit that the time of transformation is now.

Now, at first, even Jesus questions whether it was yet time to reveal the wonders of God’s abundance. But his mother, who isn’t just some pale waxwork figure but a woman who has risked and loved and raised Jesus for thirty years by this time, knows better.


And so John’s gospel symbolically reminds us of the mystery of God’s abundant love. If you pay attention, here in this story, the entire arc of salvation is encapsulated. What were the very first words we heard this morning? We heard that the wedding feast is on its third day. We’ve heard those words “on the third day” before, right? Remember, Jesus is crucified and buried, but on the third day he rises again to new life as the Christ. On that third day, the sheer mind-boggling abundance of God’s kingdom, of God’s love for us that holds nothing back, is revealed for the entire universe to see.

On the third day of the wedding, Jesus’s glory is revealed for at least a handful of witnesses, despite his protestations that his “hour” has not yet come. Just like all of us, Jesus knows that the revelation of his glory will bring about change, and he first protests that the time has not yet come.

Change is hard. We often cling to what we know, even if it’s not very good, really, because at least it’s KNOWN and reliable. We unfortunately grasp the not so great because it’s here than let go and open out hands and our hearts to be able to grab something better. It’s easier for us to resist changing ourselves, too, for the same reasons.


I am reminded of that tendency to resist recognizing the time and need for change in all of us, when considering that, just a couple of days ago, one of the great prophets of the 20th century, the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., would have turned 90 years old, were he still alive. And a large part of Dr. King’s prophetic work was in recognizing the time, and pushing for change. Of insisting that there was more than enough for everyone.

At the heart of his famous “I Have a Dream” speech in August of 1863, he spoke stirringly about the urgency of now, when it came to changing our acceptance of injustice, and America’s obligation by its own founding principles to ensure abundant freedom and justice for everyone, no matter what their race or religion or origin.




At the time he spoke, civil rights legislation had finally been proposed by the Kennedy Administration seeking to guarantee civil rights and voting rights to African Americans, rights which were routinely denied. As he stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, recalling that exactly 100 years previously in 1863 Lincoln had signed the Emancipation Proclamation freeing slaves in Confederate territory, he proclaimed this:


We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

And here we are, 55 years later, with much of the dream he then described still partially unfulfilled, with too much resistance against the proclamation of welcome and embrace to all, no matter what their race or nationality, with too much resistance to trusting in the abundance of generosity and compassion as we are called to practice it, especially as followers of Jesus.

Dr. King, as a profound disciple and witness of Jesus’s values of justice, especially for the oppressed, knew that there was enough good wine for all to share. He knew that the life of witness to Jesus is a life in which we try to emulate God’s abundant table here on earth. He knew that was so when he proclaimed, “I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.” 

And we have a table like that, right here, but we have to carry that same sense of welcome and abundance out into the world. He spoke of the abundance of God’s grace pushing through even the civic life of this country, and every country that struggles against the poisons of racism and discrimination. He knew that the result of inviting everyone to the banquet would be a true and lasting peace in which America as an ideal ascended to ever greater glory.



Jesus’s first miracle at Cana is a proclamation of the importance of fellowship, of hospitality, of brotherhood—the same dream that Dr. King spoke so vibrantly of over a half a century ago. It is a call to proclaim God’s presence in our lives by holding nothing back. May we all be inspired to embody Jesus’s abundant healing, abundant reconciliation, abundant grace in our own lives as well. 

It’s time.

The hour is now.

Amen.


Preached at the 505 on January 19, and at 8:00 and 10:15 am on January 20, 2019 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.


Reading:
John 2:1-12

Links/ Citations:
The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., "I Have a Dream," August 28, 1963.