Taken, Broken, Blessed: Sermon for 4th Sunday After Epiphany A and Annual Meeting

Sometimes it seems that we live—and die—by numbers. Especially when it comes to our health or our status.

For instance, health: think about it. For the last three years, we have watched what the infection and hospitalization rates were from COVID, the flu, and RSV, and proceeded accordingly.

But then there’s the more prosaic numbers. How old are you? How much do you weigh? What’s your resting heart rate? What’s your cholesterol count? What’s your A1C? What’s your BMI? And the dreaded, soul-crushing, fun-sucker of all questions: how many calories are in that?

Then there’s status: How many degrees do you have? How much money do you make? How much in your 401K or Roth? How many bedrooms—or more importantly, bathrooms-- in your house or apartment? How many cars do you have, if any? How many shares of stock do you have? What iPhone model do you have? What’s your zip code? And if you think that one doesn’t matter, let me try an experiment. What numbers come after this? Beverly Hills… (90210).

And what’s worse, all the numbers in that second set can have an impact on those numbers in the first set. In fact, here in the US, depending on what zip code you are born and then live in, your life expectancy can differ from those in other neighborhoods by as much as 22 years in St. Louis County alone.

You will forgive me if numbers have been on my mind a lot lately, and on the minds of a lot of us here at St. Martin’s whether you’re a staff member or lay leader or member. It’s annual meeting time, after all, and then comes parochial report to the diocese and the Episcopal Church time, and once again that seems to be all numbers, numbers, numbers.

But I am snapped out of this obsession by our gospel today. Today, Jesus gives us nine statements of blessing—and hopefully that’s the last number I use for a while as we ponder this pivotal and yet in some ways puzzling teaching. Because for Jesus, numbers have nothing to do with belovedness or with ranking.

Instead, Jesus lists categories of people whom he names as being blessed, right now. And what’s intriguing is that the categories Jesus names are NOT categories many of us would normally associate with being in a state of favor or blessing. Especially the first four. In the first four, he singles these out: the poor in spirit, those who mourn, those who are meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.

In all four of these categories, people are not there because they want to be. They are there because of trying circumstances in their lives. According to Psalm 51, the “poor in spirit” are the broken-hearted; those on the verge of giving up, or those who are oppressed. The Message translation of the Bible, which uses modern idioms, translates this verse as those who are “at the end of their rope.”

Likewise, we hear “meekness” in our macho-obsessed culture as “powerlessness” or “wimpiness” even though that was not the case in Jesus’s day—in fact, it was one of the adjectives used to describe both Jesus and Mary his mother, and neither one of them were in any way weak. Instead, their meekness was their willingness to yield to God’s will, as we pray in the Lord’s prayer every time we pray for God’s kingdom to come.

Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness and justice are those who see the brokenness in our world and cry out for resolution and correction. They are those who allow themselves to see and name the sorrows and injustices that surround us, and call on us to stand against the forces of hatred, division, and inhumanity. And as we have seen especially in the last few weeks with the death of Tyre Nichols and the release of the video evidence of his brutal murder at the hands of those who dehumanized him even though sworn to serve and protect, we also know that these categories can overlap. Those who thirst for justice are also those who mourn, and those who are at the end of their rope.

Jesus calls us to recognize ourselves within these four categories. We need to be honest and think of those times we have been in one or more of those categories, either through our own circumstances or by empathy for the circumstances of those around us. Jesus reminds us that those who are poor in spirit, those who mourn, those who protest against oppression should be as dear to us as ourselves, that we are all bound together in mutuality and love. What one suffers, we all suffer. We see that in the next three categories Jesus names as blessed: the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers.

The merciful receive mercy and it grows and grows until the violence and exploitation our society is absolutely drenched in is cut off at its knees, because the merciful will never support the merciless, no matter how much it may profit them in the short-term. The pure in heart will see God, because they will see the image of God everywhere, as they view creation with wonder and each person in it as being in the image of God Godself, as precious to us as our own breath. 

And the peacemakers—oh, the peacemakers. Here Jesus uses the term you might hear elsewhere translated as shalom, which is more than just the absence of conflict. It is working for wholeness, wellness, the common good, repairing what is broken and strengthening what is good. Peacemakers work to align humanity with God’s dream for us, vertically as it were, as well as recognizing our neighbors as just that—our neighbors, our kindred, regardless of differences—peace spreading out horizontally until it covers all the Earth.

Jesus finishes up by acknowledging the cost of living in this state of blessedness. Those last two statements of blessing may be the most paradoxical of them all. And Jesus is blunt. First, he makes a general statement: blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of working for Jesus’s gospel. Because it is certain that the forces of this world will fight tooth and nail against being overturned. But then, Jesus turns and looks at each of us and makes it clear: he means you and me. Blessed are YOU, he says. The first time he uses that word in his sermon. Blessed are YOU when you are mocked and resisted as you work to help bring my kingdom into being. He is looking right at what we now call the Church, here. We are called to stand at the nexus of each other and God and, with our fallible yet faithfully striving hands and hearts, and promote blessing instead of curses, healing instead of injury, engagement instead of apathy, care instead of disdain.

And there our gospel portion ends. If that was all we got, surely we would be left at best scratching our heads, or at worst, scoffing and declaring this precious message, this encapsulation of all of Jesus’s teaching, to be impossible and simply walk away. But we are blessed for another reason: we know the entire story of Jesus’s saving life and example among us. And when we gather in worship, we do so not for what it gives us, but for how it empowers us to give to the world.

There is a story from Hasidic Judaism. A teacher and his students in schul were studying the story in Deuteronomy when Moses gives the Ten Commandments to the people, and God commands them to place the words on their hearts. One of the disciples asks the rebbe, or teacher, “Why does Torah tell us to ‘place these words upon our hearts’? Why does it not tell us to place them in our hearts?” The rebbe answers, “It is because as we are, our hearts are closed, and we cannot place the holy words in our hearts. So we place them on top of our hearts. And there they stay until, one day, the heart breaks and the words fall in.”(1)

And we know something about blessing being possible through brokenness, don’t we? Every single time we gather around this altar, God’s altar, here at St. Martin’s, we take, break, bless, and eat. We share communion only through breaking and blessing the offerings we bring forward—not just bread and wine, or our money, but our very selves—and sharing them with each other. That’s why we ask you to rise as the offerings are brought forward. We rise because what we are truly called to offer to each other is ourselves. That’s what makes this parish a blessing in the world—the breaking open and the blessing and the consecrating of ourselves to God’s service, out of love and faith and hopefulness. Breaking open the hard muscle and fortresses of our hearts so that the words can get in, especially the most important word of all—the Word of God, Jesus.

Come, Lord Jesus. Come to us who are poor in spirit, who mourn, who seek your will, who cry out for justice and righteousness. Come to us as we embody your call to be merciful, to be pure in heart, to hammer our swords into plowshares and our hearts into worthy vessels for your love in the name of peace. Come, break us open that your Word may find a home within our hearts, and make us a blessing for the world in truth and love.

Amen.

Preached at the 9 am single service and annual meeting at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO on January 29, 2023.

Readings:

Micah 6:1-8

Psalm 15

1 Corinthians 1:18-31

Matthew 5:1-12

Citations:

1) Christopher K. Germer, The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion: Freeing Yourself from Destructive Thoughts and Emotions, pp. 142-143; cited in J. Marshall Jenkins, Blessed at the Broken Places: Reclaiming Faith and Purpose with the Beatitudes, loc. 756/3579, kindle edition.

Bless. Be. Speaking to the Soul for January 26, 2023

Matthew 5:1-12

O God, You bless us in every moment, 

and uphold us by the strength of your Love:
hear our prayer, for our hope is in You.

Bless those who work as your servants,
for they have fixed their hearts upon salvation in each moment.

Bless those who are gentle and kind,
for they draw others to You through their witness.

Bless those who hunger for a just society,
for they seek to build the kingdom of God.

Bless those who demonstrate mercy and forgiveness,
for they live out a life of Love and Charity.

Bless those who are innocent and childlike,
for their hearts are always open to You.

Bless those who spread peace in their wake,
for they call us to live as better people and children of your household.

Bless those who suffer for their faith,
for their resolve will never be shaken.

Bless those who cry out to You,
for they know that God will comfort them in their needs.

Almighty One, guide us to be
the blessed, the generous, the brave,
whose faith reflects your blessing upon all creation.

Amen.

This was first published at Episcopal Journal and Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on January 26, 2023.

Prayer, day 2313

Holy God, we give thanks to You
for your gracious mercy upon us,
and for the beauty of loving hearts in the world.

We thank You for steadfast and faithful friends,
whose love and support strengthens us each day.
We thank You for the glory of your creation,
which inspires us to love and care for this Earth.
We thank You for your angels
who bend over us at sleep or at work or at play.

Kindle our hearts and minds with a holy fire
to serve and worship You with all that we have.
Soothe the pains and sorrows of those who mourn today.
Accept the whispered supplications of your people, O Holy One,
and scatter the blessings of your love and tenderness
upon those we now name.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2298: Inspired by the Beatitudes

O God, You bless us in every moment,
and uphold us by the strength of your Love:
hear our prayer, for our hope is in You. 

Bless those who work as your servants,
for they have fixed their hearts upon salvation in each moment.
Bless those who are gentle and kind,
for they draw others to You through their witness.
Bless those who hunger for a just society,
for they seek to build the kingdom of God.
Bless those who demonstrate mercy and forgiveness,
for they live out a life of Love and Charity.
Bless those who are innocent and childlike,
for their hearts are always open to You.
Bless those who spread peace in their wake,
for they call us to live as better people and children of your household.
Bless those who suffer for their faith,
for their resolve will never be shaken.
Bless those who cry out to You,
for they know that God will comfort them in their needs.

Amen.

Prayer 2208

Day by day we worship You,
O God Most Holy,
who blesses the earth and all that is in it.
We raise our hands and hearts to You
in blessing and for blessing:
You answer us with mercy and loving-kindness.
May our actions today extol your wondrous Love
to all who hunger for the way of life.
May we treasure your wisdom in our hearts,
and break the chains of injustice and poverty
in the name of Christ.
Merciful God, we call upon You
in the name of those for whom we pray,
that they be comforted and blessed this day.

Amen.

Claiming the Blessing: Sermon for Proper 28B

Every autumn after the harvest was over, Elkanah’s family made its way to Shiloh to thank God for God’s bounty. And every year, it seemed to Hannah that her situation got worse, not better--- this terrible sense of dread and longing after another year is gone without any children, after her sister-wife has presented their shared husband with yet another child. Elkanah and his two wives go to Shiloh each year to celebrate the harvest—a time of thankfulness for fertile fields and abundant harvests. All that talk about abundance reminds Hannah of all that she lacks.

Poor Hannah. The first two people she interacts with absolutely fail to understand her. One of them should know better—her husband, Elkanah. Knowing full well the kind of society in which they live—one where a woman was valued first and foremost by her ability to do the one thing a man absolutely could not do, which is conceive and bear children—Elkanah dismisses Hannah’s very real pain, distress, and grief. Even if he meant well, his response to Hannah’s grief over her failure to have children is ham-handed at best, and arrogant and unfeeling at worst. He has spectacularly misread the scales of redemption and disaster that fill Hannah’s field of perception night and day.

When he asks, “Am I not more to you than ten sons?” he is spectacularly short-sighted. I am sure he is very dear to her. But if anything ever happens to Elkanah, his love for her during his life will do nothing to save her from being absolutely destitute, and we can already see that the other wife will waste no time tossing Hannah out into the streets, since through the children she has with Elkanah, Peninnah will inherit everything.

In her despair, Hannah goes alone into the shrine at Shiloh to pray, Shiloh, the ancient worship place where the Ark of the Covenant resided. The walls of her endurance are crumbling. She’s frustrated. She’s angry. She’s scared. And yet, she dares to dream of fulfillment. She dreams of an other trajectory for her life. And so she prays.

And there she encounters old Eli—who has led Israel as a political and religious leader, but whose sons’ corruption is taken as a sign that God’s favor is being withdrawn from the old man. He sits in a darkened corner, brooding. What will become of Israel? Their enemies, the Philistines, live right on top of them, and God’s voice has been withdrawn from Eli’s hearing. Eli then looks up, and sees the woman swaying, her lips moving. He’s seen this before after a family sacrifices and feasts—some people have too much wine, and then they make a spectacle of themselves. He feels his anger and frustration spill over into his reaction to this drunk woman shamelessly making a fool of herself.

Hannah was so intent on her prayer she was startled as the old man loomed up next to her and took her by the arm while berating her. The injustice of his charge of drunkenness on top of the bitter treatment she has received from her sister-wife as well as her husband’s insensitive comments nearly causes her to break down completely. Here’s another person who has failed to understand Hannah this day, and now it’s a stranger with stooped shoulders and an air of failure about him. Hannah knows failure when she sees it.

Maybe it was the catch in her throat that stopped the old man’s hurtful insults on her character. She defends herself with a quiet dignity, because, in her situation, dignity is all she has left. Dignity, and probably a foolish hope that somehow she will be granted a heart’s desire. Hannah’s candor stops old Eli short, and instead of continuing to berate her, he realizes his failure to care for this woman , and feels his own heartbeat hammering against his chest, in a rhythm that sounds like it is tapping out “ A fraud! You’re a fraud! You’ve exposed yourself as a fraud.”

So Eli adopts a posture of conciliation. Now that he is closer, there’s no smell of alcohol on the woman. And so he blesses her, with whatever blessing he has in him. And then, thank God, she leaves. And he promptly forgets about her.

But Hannah doesn’t forget. Hannah hears that old prophet’s promise, and she has faith and strength and hope enough to claim that blessing. Eli forgets about her. Until… until nearly four years later, a woman appears with her toddler son and, to Eli’s astonishment, places the boy into the old prophet’s care.

And yet, as Hannah leaves her young son behind, she doesn’t weep. Instead she sings out a prayer of victory and thanksgiving at God’s gift of a son to her, ending her shame. She gives the boy back to God because she knows he was God’s all along. And her song anticipates the role the boy Samuel will play in redeeming Israel from being a people on the margins of destruction. Hannah has gone from despair to certainty and gratitude, and that is enough. Hannah has been shown that God has heard her, and the sheer miracle of that moves her from poverty of spirit to exaltation and praise. 

Even more—her song shows that she has been given a glimpse of redemption and true shalom for all. Her son will become a great prophet himself, and he will be sent by God to anoint the first kings over Israel. Just like her, Israel will go from being a barren, despairing people to a priestly people, a people from whom a savior will rise—all through the power of a God who forms mountains and the foundations of the world but does not scorn a despairing woman’s cry

Hannah’s story reminds us that God has the power to transform lives in ways beyond our knowing, for God is utterly free to act as God wills—and God often acts through those who would otherwise be the least likely suspects—not the mighty, or the powerful, or the comfortable, but the humble, the defenseless, those who have experienced heartbreak and even loss, those who seemingly had nothing but hope and faith to power them through.

Yet hope and faith are blessings enough, and they form a song, harmony and melody combined, that never dies. Hannah’s song certainly endures. Generations later, Hannah’s song would be adapted and echoed in the mouth of a young woman who finds herself suddenly with her own impossible pregnancy. Hannah could have given up. But instead, she maintained a faith in God not just as someone to whom she could appeal, but someone who would never turn an unfeeling eye toward God’s beloved chosen people.

Hannah’s song declares a new set of values, where those who are humble are lifted up, and the exalted are humbled. Yet Hannah’s song, and the story of so many people like her throughout scriptures and throughout history, is one where we find ordinary people willing to open themselves to helping bring about God’s blessings in the world. The story of Hannah itself echoes with the stories of Sarah and Rachel before her. All these stories will themselves resound in our memory in a few weeks, when we hear the story of Elizabeth, and the story of Mary. Hannah eventually sings a great song of victory after the birth of her son, which will be very similar to another song of victory sung by a young woman named Mary in a few weeks’ time, who also will be brought to shouting out a song of victory, inspired by her own impending motherhood.

In a few weeks, Mary will also sing about the greatness of God and all God’s works in overturning the hierarchies of power, to bring restoration of God’s design for peace and justice. Hannah’s song is a joyful outburst of gratitude and thankfulness. She knows her life could have been otherwise. 

Hannah is not just given a son. She is given a vision of a new triumph of peace; structures of injustice and weapons of war have been shattered; the hungry are satisfied and at peace; the oppressed are lifted up and exalted, while the oppressors are humbled and crumbled.

In times of struggle, hopefulness itself is an act of rebellion and resistance. Those who have been empty, without hope, have been, and will be, filled. And that’s an important reminder for us all. Even in the midst of everyday struggles, there are blessings, too. How often do we assign bad motives to people we encounter, failing to listen to the story of their lives rather than filling in their narrative based on our assumptions, like Eli did? How often do we get impressed by the wrong things, instead of treasuring simple pleasures that together remind us of beauty or wonder?

Poet Jane Kenyon expressed that kind of mindfulness in her poem, “Otherwise:”
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

Even in such small things as a ripe peach there is a blessing to be claimed.

We live in a time when many people believe that, like in our gospel passage, all the edifices of faith have been pulled down, until not one stone rests upon the other. But perhaps sometimes the walls have to come down to remind us that faith and hope should not and ultimately must not be contained, that they don’t reside in buildings or monuments.

What if, instead, we placed ourselves in the power of the untamed Spirit of God, and dared to claim the blessing of real love and fellowship that Jesus calls us to again and again when he modeled the life of discipleship, the life of living for God and for each other? What if we realized that, when our own walls come down, the light of Christ that burns within us becomes that much more visible in the darkness of these times?

In all we do and all we say, we can bear the image of redemption, forgiveness, and compassion into the world. Each day we are experience a scattering of gifts that may escape our notice if we are not mindful of them. May we open our hearts to claim the blessings of our lives, and help multiply those blessings in the world. And sing a mighty song of redemption and hope that might get overlooked, otherwise.

Amen.

Preached at the 8:00 and 10:15 am services at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.

Readings:
1 Samuel 1:4-20
1 Samuel 2: 1-10
Hebrews 10:11-25
Mark 13:1-8


Notes/ attributions:
1) Image: Wilhelm Wachtel, Hannah in Prayer.
2) Hannah, Eli, and Samuel.
3) Jane Kenyon (1947-1995), "Otherwise," from Otherwise: New and Selected Poems, 1996

Prayer 2058: Song of Joy in Creation

Arise, O my soul, and worship the Lord,
Creator, Redeemer, Life-Giver,
our rock and sure foundation.

Let me join my voice with the morning stars
whose song resounds even behind the blue curtain of sky
to give you praise, O Creating God,
and marvel in the wonders of your handiwork.
It is You, O Holy One,
who inscibes the melody of life within our hearts,
a cadence of blessing that thrums in our veins,
and calls us to proclaim your glory with every thought
and your lovingkindness with the gift of every breath.

At twilight, when one day tells its tale to another yet to be,
let my account be one of compassion and grace,
of walking in faith in the shared light of hope
in beloved communion and companionship
with Christ and with each other.

Spirit of the Living God,
consecrate us to your service and witness today.
Blessed Jesus, extend the awning of your mercy
to those disquieted in body, mind, or spirit,
and place the kiss of your benediction
upon those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer 1997: On Stewardship (Matthew 15: 1-13)

Holy One,
we rise to center our hearts in you,
offering you thanks and praise for your protection and love;
for you are Creator of All,
and Creator of this little bird
and Creator of the seed she is eating.
You gather all things to yourself, O Merciful One,
and we rejoice at your lovingkindness,
O Holy and Undivided Trinity:
Source of All Being, Incarnate Word, and Holy Spirit.

Help us be alert for opportunities
to do justice,
to love mercy,
and walk humbly beside You, O God,
that our testimony to your beauty may be a light to all who see.
By the power of the Holy Spirit,
make us wise and resourceful in fulfilling our call,
offering to You, O God,
from the blessings you have given us,
that we as your disciples may do your work in the world around us.

Beloved Savior, press the kiss of your healing love
on all who turn to you for comfort, for relief, for peace,
especially those for whom we now pray.

Amen.

Photo: the open doors of Calvary Episcopal Church in Louisiana, MO, July 15, 2018.

Blessing and Expectation: Speaking to the Soul, December 6, 2017

For the last several months, I’ve been collecting blessings to use at the conclusion of the liturgy. As a new priest, this is one of those things that wasn’t really on my radar in the last crush of seminary. And I’ve found some lovely ones, from a variety of traditions. Some come from scripture, like the familiar priestly blessing of Numbers 6:24-26, which remains fresh to me even though I’ve probably heard it a thousand times, helping us to envision the joy of standing before the loving face of God, looking upon us as a parent tenderly drinks in the sight of their child:
The Lord bless you and keep you;
the Lord make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you;
the Lord lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace. Amen

And then there was this one, which I had heard put to music by the great choral composer John Rutter. It reminds us that each Sunday, as our worship concludes, we receive a blessing and a benediction to send us out into the world empowered to do what we can to walk in the Way of Christ and embody His presence in the world:
Go forth into the world in peace;
be of good courage;
hold fast that which is good;
render to no one evil for evil;
strengthen the fainthearted;
support the weak;
help the afflicted;
honour everyone;
love and serve the Lord, rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit;
and the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,
be amongst you and remain with you always. Amen

And then I found this one, adapted from the old Sarum Rite from Salisbury Cathedral, which was developed starting in the 11th century:
May the Lord direct our hearts,
this day and for ever,
in the love of God
and in the patient waiting for Christ.
The Lord bless us
and preserve us from all evil
and bring us to everlasting life;
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

In all of these benedictions, there is a sense of both anticipation and response through God’s protection and encouragement. There is a call to action and transformation, a reminder that we are called from despair into expectancy, and from fear and anxiety into trust and assurance, from uncertainty into a life of joy and meaning rooted in God’s love and grace. We are asked even in the heart of winter to prepare ourselves to be fertile fields for the gospel of Christ to come into new flower and fruitfulness, if we a re patient enough and trusting enough to allow God’s work in us to take root and grow. Prayers of benediction invite us to remember that we are the Body of Christ in the world today, and that we are also looking toward the time when that aim will be brought to fulfillment.

Praying and meditating on these benedictions reminded me of what a blessing Advent is for my own spiritual life. In both blessing and Advent, we are invited to live with the “is now/and yet to come” tension that is being revealed to us anew each moment if we are alert enough to pause and look. Christ has been, is now, and will be—all at the same time, Advent reminds us: the Jesus of history whom we remember being born over 2000 years ago as a humble baby in a lowly corner of the world; the Savior and Redeemer who lives in us still today and leads us toward the reign of God we celebrated on Christ the King Sunday; and the Christ Triumphant who will come again in glory, for whom we will await with longing even after the Christmas lights have been boxed up for another year. As God’s beloveds, we have been blessed, and will be blessed, and are called to then carry that blessing forth into our lives lived for others.

Embodying a benediction reminds us that we have cause for rejoicing, yes, and also a charge before us to translate that joy and redemption for the sake of each other and indeed for all creation. As I pondered these and other blessings, I became newly aware of the sense of hope and anticipation that permeates these and other beautiful benedictions—holding within our lives that “patient waiting for Christ” that is also such a vital part of the season of Advent we have just begun. These prayers have the same burgeoning joy and exultation that is infused in Mary’s Magnificat, another favorite scriptural selection popular in Advent devotions.

We are waiting, yet at the same time we are called to action. The season of Advent settles over us as the most beautiful of benedictions, by calling us to see ourselves through the loving eyes of God, and drawing us to embrace the vocation of living into that dream God has for each of us. As we lean into this season of watching, waiting, hoping, anticipating, may we lean anew into hearing and answering the call of love to restore our souls as we await the light of Christ to pierce the winter darkness and lead us into wisdom and renewal, devoting ourselves anew to a “now and will be” life sustained by the Lord of Life whom we look for in hope and joy.

(This was first published at the Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on December 6, 2017)

Prayer, day 1745- On the Beatitudes (Observance of All Saints' Day)

O God, You bless us in every moment,
and uphold us by the strength of your Love:
hear our prayer, for our hope is in You. 

Bless those who work as your servants,
for they have fixed their hearts upon salvation in each moment.
Bless those who are gentle and kind,
for they draw others to You through their witness.
Bless those who hunger for a just society,
for they seek to build the kingdom of God.
Bless those who demonstrate mercy and forgiveness,
for they live out a life of Love and Charity.
Bless those who are innocent and childlike,
for their hearts are always open to You.
Bless those who spread peace in their wake,
for they call us to live as better people and children of your household.
Bless those who suffer for their faith,
for their resolve will never be shaken.
Bless those who cry out to You,
for they know that God will comfort them in their needs.

Amen.
476

Prayer 1730: Inspired by Psalm 20

Holy One,
we rise with your name on our lips:
may we live with your love in our hearts.

May God bless us and keep us
in paths of grace and mercy,
that we may be Christ's healing hands in the world.
May we center our hearts in compassion,
that we may be a blessing in the world.
May we prepare ourselves for service
and rejoice in our union with God's glorious creation.
May we intercede with loving spirits
where there is hatred, strife, or suffering.

Almighty One,
Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier,
pour out your blessing over us
and over all for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer, day 1639: For God's blessing

Passion flower at the National Garden.

Almighty One,
Earth-maker,
Incarnate Love,
Wisdom-Giver,
we lift our hearts to You in thanksgiving:
hear our prayer. 

May God bless us at our rising,
that we may dedicate this day
to the praise and glory of God's kingdom. 
May God bless us in our meditations,
that we may seek wisdom, compassion,
and unity with God and each other. 
May God bless us in our travels,
that our steps may take us toward reason, justice, and peace
through the power of the Spirit. 
May God bless us in our struggles,
that we may be strengthened and renewed
to persevere in the face of trial. 
May God bless us in our relationships,
that we may love and care for each other
and embody lovingkindness to all. 
May God bless us at day's end
with the peace of Christ,
which surpasses all understanding. 

Holy One, let your light of compassion and comfort
envelop these, your beloveds, for whom we pray.

Amen.
1177

Prayer 1177- for God's blessing and renewal

At the Thistle Stop Cafe in Nashville, each cup of coffee or tea comes with
wisdom from the Circle from Magdalene House.

Almighty One, Earth-maker, Incarnate Love, Wisdom-Giver, we lift our hearts to You in thanksgiving: hear our prayer. 

May God bless us at our rising, that we may dedicate this day to the praise and glory of God's kingdom. 
May God bless us in our meditations, that we may seek wisdom, compassion, and unity with God and each other. 
May God bless us in our travels, that our steps may take us toward reason, justice, and peace through the power of the Spirit. 
May God bless us in our struggles, that we may be strengthened and renewed to persevere in the face of trial. 
May God bless us in our relationships, that we may love and care for each other and embody lovingkindness to all. 
May God bless us at day's end with the peace of Christ, which surpasses all understanding. 

Holy One, let your light of compassion and comfort envelope these, your beloveds, for whom we pray.

Amen.

The Beginning of Wisdom: Sermon for Proper 20, Year B

Readings:

Proverbs 31:10-31, Psalm 1, James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a, Mark 9:30-37

First impressions, we are told, mean a lot. I have been truly blessed already in just the few days that I have been with you here at Church of the Good Shepherd. I can tell you that I have been welcomed, and I have been uplifted by your spirit of joy and faith. I want to begin today with telling you all how grateful I feel to be among you and to be welcomed into your midst.

First words mean a lot. Think of famous first lines in literature. Jane Austen began Pride and Prejudice with this insight: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

Elizabeth Barrett Browning began her most famous poem, Sonnet 43, with these words of adoration, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 begins, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate….” 

Just as I believe that Austen, and Barrett Browning, and Shakespeare all chose their opening words carefully, so it is, I think, with scripture. Genesis fittingly begins with the words, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the Earth….” Mark, probably the first gospel written in the Christian scriptures, echoes Genesis when it opens with the proclamation, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” The Gospel of John is even more obvious in its reverberation of creation: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

The first words that jumped out at me today in our readings came from our Psalm, Psalm 1.  Its first two verses are these:

Happy are they

who have not walked in the counsel of the wicked,

nor lingered in the way of sinners,

nor sat in the seat of the scornful!

Their delight is in the law of the Lord,

and they meditate on his law day and night.”

Think of it: the very first word of the Psalter is “Happy.”

Now some versions of the Bible use a different word: “Blessed.” That’s an amazing thing. Happiness here is explained to us as something deeper than mere giddiness, but a sense of being rooted in community with God and all creation. And those who are happy in this way know their blessings, no matter what else may come.

This is an insight that all too often gets drowned out in the lives of many of us. We are programmed to think about satisfaction—or more importantly, the lack of it. We are told to buy, buy, buy. We are persuaded that products will make us more beautiful, thinner, fuller—as if those three things could coexist at the same place and time. But will those things make us truly happy? Will they make us truly blessed?

Psychologist Martin Seligman has claimed that there are three components of happiness: pleasure, engagement, and meaning, and the last two are the most important in living a happy life—while pleasure is fleeting, being engaged with others and feeling a sense of positive purpose in one’s life is more enduring, and leads to a general determination that life is worthwhile. Happiness does not rest in things. Happiness rests in living life well, in communion.

Most of us do not live our lives feeling happy all the time, or even most of the time. There are so many things that are beyond our control. There are too many things that tug at our attention and draw us into feeling lost.

Yet Psalm 1 points to something that IS in our control. Happy are those who delight in the law of the Lord, who meditate upon it day and night. This then requires a further determination of the law and what its ultimate ends are. Here, we are fortunately given the answer in Mark 12:29-30. When asked what the pinnacle of God’s law was, Jesus answered: “The first is this: ’You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” 

This is the basis for true connectedness and purpose, that which will make us truly happy. This is the summation of the law, Jesus tells us AND shows us, over and over again. The law of God is meant to connect us with others and give our lives a sense of purpose. Contrary to what gets portrayed on the news where Christians are concerned, the law of God is meant to bring us together and make us joy-filled people! This is the beginning of wisdom.

What all four of the readings for today have in common is a continuation of a discussion over the last few weeks about wisdom. Proverbs are wisdom sayings. Psalm 1 is a wisdom psalm. The Epistle of James might seem to be the exception here, but it’s not. James is about action-- and reminded us a couple of weeks ago that “faith without works is dead.” Fifty-four times, the Book of James includes an imperative statement—a command or exhortation to do this thing or another. (Who here has guessed that I was once an English teacher?) Biblical scholar Elizabeth Johnson explains that this may be why the letter of James is often unpopular: no one likes being told what to do!

But James’s real subject is wisdom, and in scripture, especially, wisdom is not about just being smart. It’s about living a good life—a life devoted to God and neighbor, which all too often is depicted as NOT being smart in our society.

Now I’ll be honest: as I was studying the readings for today, there was another thing that stood out to me. Several of these passages include stuff I don’t want to hear.

I don’t want to hear about how a “good woman is hard to find,” especially when that “good wife” is someone depicted as a woman who works her fingers to the bone so that her husband can go sit around with the elders all day and be admired. That’s how some people have interpreted that section of Proverbs, instead of understanding the good woman as THE personification of wisdom—a gift from God which draws us into closer relationship with God and each other, and will indeed then help us all live a better life.

And then I look at the passage from Mark. You know, the author of Mark is always hard on the disciples, constantly making them seem not just foolish but what the Irish would call “thick”—the opposite of wise. In today’s gospel, for the second time, they are painted as being too thick to understand what the gospel writer, with his gift of time and hindsight clearly understands—that Jesus will be handed over and killed and raised again.

Then they are depicted arguing over status right after Jesus tries to tell them what lies in store. They seem to engage in foolish posturing and competition just at the time when they should be engaged in seeking the heart of wisdom. They are silent just when they should be asking questions.

But here’s where God’s wisdom seems foolish to the eyes of the world. Jesus tells them the first shall be last and the last will be first. He puts his arms around a little child and holds it up as the most valuable thing in the world, at a time when small children were nothing but a drain on the survival of the household until they got old enough to work. And even though our Savior is probably rolling his eyes, he still keeps loving those thick-headed disciples, which certainly is good news of grace and hope for all of us, who so very, very often get it all wrong—especially when we try to be clever in the ways of the world.

Yet we worship a God whose wisdom is often seen as foolishness in the eyes of that very same world. A God who tells us to love people the world sees as broken, and love them fully.

We follow a savior who took a hard message and made its delivery even more unpalatable to the movers and shakers of his time by hanging out with notorious outcasts of all stripes—blind men and lepers, grieving widows, dirty peasants who stink of fish guts, and—my personal favorite:

uppity women who refuse to stay in their nice little boxes, and who run around telling tales of miraculous doings that seem not just foolish but crazy, then and now.

THESE people made up Jesus’s family of choice! These are our ancestors in the faith!

In her latest book, Lutheran Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber remarks: “Never once did Jesus scan the room for the best example of holy living and send that person out to tell others about him. He always sent out stumblers and sinners. I find that comforting.”

Jesus came not to make us complacent but to shake us up, and he is always using unlikely people to do it. Even people like you, and me.

The summary of the law, the key to happiness, the heart of wisdom, is love: love of God, and love of each other. When we do this, we bless God, and bless each other. But we also bless ourselves, and remind ourselves of what roots us in the heart of real truth, and real happiness. The key is not to sit in "the seat of scoffers," to all-too-coolly hold ourselves aloof from real connection and real risk in loving, but to embrace love of others—even in their messiness and imperfections-- and damn the risk of failure. This kind of love never fails, but is, to quote Shakespeare again in Sonnet 116, "an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests, and is never shaken."

That's the wisdom—and LOVE-- God offers us and at the same time calls us to embody. Happy are those who delight in the law of love, which is the end of all our days, and the promise of all our longings. Alleluia!