Turning in the Wildeness: Sermon for Advent 2C

The gospel reading for this Sunday begins with a list of VIPs—men of power and influence. Movers and shakers. Men whose every word could command fear, subservience, and obedience.

Yet we go astray if we let our attention get drawn to the limelight. We would make a mistake if we allowed our gaze to turn toward the representatives of the Establishment, the powerful. Instead, as we prepare for the Incarnation, we remember that it takes place in obscurity. And, in order to get there, we have to pull our attention from the glittering thrones of power to the wilderness—and tune our ears to a voice coming from that wilderness.

The word for wilderness translated from the Greek here is “Eremos”—eremoß (er’-ay-mos) was used 10 times in Luke’s gospel. It has the connotation of a place of desolation. It has been variously translated into English as “wilds,” “wilderness,” “deserted place,” “desolate place,” and “open pasture.” The broadness of its meaning is indicated by its definition in a Greek-English lexicon as describing places which are solitary, lonely, desolate, uninhabited. It also describes a flock abandoned by a shepherd as in 15:9 when used in the metaphor of the 99 sheep. Interestingly, it is also used when describing a woman neglected by her husband from whom the husband withholds himself.

The very first Christians tended to be urban dwellers—yet for those who came from Judaism, the wilderness bore strong memories from the Torah and the histories of their people. At the surface, the wilderness was a place of chaos, disorder, fear, tempting, deprivation. It’s a place where a person by themselves faces serious danger of starvation, or accident, or exposure to the elements.

The wilderness is not a place we modern folk normally choose for ourselves if we see it as a place of barrenness. As in almost everything in life, it all comes down to perspective. That stripping away of every extra extravagance can also be clarifying. Preparation is key, of course, and respect for the power of the land must be acknowledged. Focus only on yourself, and the wilderness is overwhelming. Focus on how you are interconnected with the unspoiled landscape that stretches before you, and the wilderness can be a place of insight, spiritual renewal, and physical renewal.

Wilderness also has a positive side. It is a place that one enters by cutting off one’s past in an attempt to make a fresh start, and one is utterly vulnerable. But vulnerability, which is the power of hope encouraging us to try, leaves you open for good things—new vocations, new relationships, new perspectives.

The wilderness is a place for solitude, which is usually positive; but it also a place of abandonment and loneliness. It is place that clarifies your thoughts and purifies your soul; but also it is a place that can overwhelm you with its dangers if you treat it callously or with disregard. It is a place where one is immediately and blatantly reminded of the providential care of God—which is necessary because it is a place where resources are slim to nonexistent otherwise. It is therefore a place that encourages trust in God and the deepening of relationship with the holy, the sacred, the sublime.

For those who encountered John and later Jesus, the wilderness also was God’s favored place from which to show God’s care and concern. It’s where God made a covenant with Abraham, where Jacob wrestled with God and became Israel, where manna fell from heaven and humans ate the bread of angels. The wilderness is a place where the people of Israel were formed as a people during their exodus from Egypt. It is a place of crying out—but also, it is a place of hope.

And we need that voice of hope. As we continue in year two of this pandemic, we certainly have been thrust into a wilderness experience of our own—a wilderness where we have been tested and tried, a wilderness where we have been challenged to finds an inner strength and resilience. Where we have been challenged to see through the particularly western sin that the only thing that matters is our own personal freedom. Instead, perhaps the voice of God crying out in this wilderness is a reminder that we are bound up together, and that we cannot spurn concern for those around us.

The events of this week draw our special attention to another way in which we have been thrust into a wilderness. I stand before you today wearing this orange stole created for Bishops United Against Gun Violence because we had been plunged yet again into a continuing national nightmare. 

Yet another school shooting in Michigan took the lives of four young people, wounded many others, either physically or spiritually, and this one seems particularly egregious in the way that, like in the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in December 2012, weapons whose main purpose is for killing human beings were knowingly provided to a young man who should never have been considered safe to have them, whose tendency toward violent thoughts and role-playing was already noted. Yet this young person not only received no intervention by his parents but was possibly enabled in his narcisstic, nihilistic belief that the only authority he answered to, even as a troubled adolescent, was himself.

The tragedy of the modern insistence on individualism is that it is a false idol, an idol of death and meaninglessness. Ultimately, it diminishes us and makes us feel vulnerable. It weakens, threatens, lashes out, and destroys. It makes everyone else around us a competitor for scarce resources, an enemy who is trying to deprive us of something if we don’t get there first. This viral pandemic continues because of the refusal of too many to look beyond the tiny circle of themselves and consider the impact of their actions upon others. The pandemic of gun violence continues for exactly the same reasons.

This wilderness of violence and nihilism is one of our own making. Can we hear the voice of one crying out a word from God from this wilderness? Can we hear it, acknowledge our need for turning around and choosing a different path? That is, after all, the meaning of repentance.

The words of Isaiah remind us that the wilderness, for all its barrenness, for all of its wild beasts, for all of its lack of comforts, is also a place where the horizons stretch on forever, after the mountains are levelled and the valleys are lifted. And once we experience that change of perspective, the view becomes so broad that “all flesh” can see God’s salvation.

God’s declaration comes out of the wilderness via John because that is where Israel was formed as a people and where the covenant with God was made and remade, again and again, through God’s steadfast grace and lovingkindness. Thus John’s proclamation is for repentance—a literal turning around to return to God.

The wilderness is a place for repentance, and we all like to think we have no need of that. But what if the path of repentance is also the path of liberation for all of us—liberation from the dangers that very much threaten each of us right now in our modern wildernesses?

Perhaps this pandemic—both the viral one and the one of gun violence-- is the voice of God crying out in the wilderness that the way of selfishness, the way of clutching our possessions to us rather than embracing those around us, the way of contempt for each other is the crooked path. Perhaps the voice of God crying out in the wilderness right now is a call for us to return to the value of community and compassion, to seek justice for those around us because ultimately that increases the security and contentment of all.

Perhaps the voice of God calling to us out of this continued pandemic of virus and violence is a reminder that we were not meant to be separate and exposed, but we are instead actually a part of something larger than ourselves. A reminder than the Jesus John prepares the way for commands us repeatedly not to grab everything we can for ourselves but to love one another.

Because the good news is that repentance is possible because God is faithful in ways we struggle to be. God’s love is enduring far beyond our own fickle attachments. God calls us to draw our attention from ourselves to each other and all creation as a precious gift to remind us that we are not only never alone but beloved and precious, even as we struggle, stumble and go astray. For it is only when we cast aside our delusions that we don’t depend on each other can we see the image of God in each other.

There is a voice calling to us in this wilderness—and it’s a voice that is calling us back from the brink into being brave enough and strong enough to become a people of faith and hope. To become a people the world desperately needs right now.

Hear the voice crying out in the wilderness, calling US to discipleship and witness against the forces of fear and death; calling US to make straight the Lord’s pathways— straight into our hearts, if we open them in faith. May we hear that voice, and turn to God in trust. And then begin to walk the straight path of liberation. Freedom is waiting to be born.

Amen.

Preached at the 505 and at the 10:30 Eucharist, online and in person, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.

Readings:

•  Malachi 3:1-4
• Philippians 1:3-11
• Luke 3:1-6
• Canticle 4 or 16

The King of Truth: Sermon for the Reign of Christ, November 21, 2021

In 1925, the fires of World War I still smoldered in the memory of those who had lived before it. And yet, even with the memory of the suffering and destruction still vivid in the minds of millions on three continents, nationalism and fascism began to arise in Europe in the 1920s and 1930s--political movements who sought to gain power by dividing people into victors and vanquished, that sought to claim the right to empire, exploitation, and oppression as the natural order for humanity.

Ironically, 1925 was a Jubilee Year in Christendom—the 1600th anniversary of the final meeting of the Council of Nicaea, which confirmed that Christ is of the same substance as the Father. The second section of the Nicene Creed, explaining who Jesus is, ends with the statement: “His kingdom shall have no end.”

And so, when Pope Pius XI issued his encyclical Quas Primas, which discussed the threat of fascism and nationalism as it rose again across the planet even while World War I was a bitterly fresh memory, he also initiated a corrective to that threat—a threat which still hangs over all of us, especially in America, Europe, and elsewhere. That corrective was the Feast of Christ the King. And here’s what Pope Pius XI said about this concept, which relates so perfectly to our gospel today:

It has long been a common custom to give to Christ the metaphorical title of "King," because of the high degree of perfection whereby he excels all creatures. So he is said to reign "in the hearts of humanity," both by reason of the keenness of his intellect and the extent of his knowledge, and also because he is very truth, and it is from him that truth must be obediently received by all mankind. He reigns, too, in the wills of humanity, for in him the human will was perfectly and entirely obedient to the Holy Will of God, and further by his grace and inspiration he so subjects our free-will as to incite us to the most noble endeavors. (Quas Primas, 7)

Referring to our gospel passage, Pope Pius continued:

Before the Roman magistrate he declared that his kingdom was not of this world. The gospels present this kingdom as one which men prepare to enter by penance, and cannot actually enter except by faith and by baptism, which, though an external rite, signifies and produces an interior regeneration. This kingdom is opposed to none other than to that of Satan and to the power of darkness. It demands of its subjects a spirit of detachment from riches and earthly things, and a spirit of gentleness. They must hunger and thirst after justice, and more than this, they must deny themselves and carry the cross. (Quas Primas, 15)

The Rev. Edward J. Quinn KNEW what the battlefields of that terrible war had been like. The Roman Catholic priest had been a chaplain in that war. And in 1926, he had just been appointed the priest to a new parish in Cincinnati, Ohio—the first church in the world to be named after the new Holy Feast of Christ the King. The 200 people gathered to worship at the first Mass at Our Lord Christ the King parish on December 5, 1926 didn’t even have a building— not even electricity. Just a room in a storefront, illuminated by car headlights pointed into it. The Rev. Quinn used his mass kit from his army chaplaincy to celebrate the Mass. This was as bold a statement as could be that Jesus’s reign was not about power or strife, but about peace and reconciliation.

The very humility, simplicity, and hopefulness of the scene is a reminder of the humility, simplicity, and hopefulness Jesus calls us to practice in our relationships with each other—especially in a world that is founded even right now on exactly the opposite values. Those values are listed by Pope Pius: a detachment from earthly things that we too often worship, allowing our pursuit of them to rule our lives in place of God. A spirit of gentleness. An acknowledgement of the grace that sustains us, the source of all goodness in our lives so that we may live out our gratitude by caring for each other and fighting not for advantage over our neighbors but for justice for our neighbors—a hunger and a thirst after justice that Jesus embodied with every breath and every action but we far too often shove aside in our quest for more for ourselves.

Explaining why we stiff-necked Americans, who have ever claimed to disdain anyone who tries to be king over us has always been a difficult task for preachers—right up there with encouraging people to “carry their own crosses.” Also NOT a pleasant metaphor at a time when sacrifice is pretty much a dirty word.

Yet if we are call ourselves Christians, we are called to abandon our insistence upon our own way and our own prejudices, divisions, and narcissism and bow the knees of our hearts before the power of Christ to transform us and enlighten us. We are called to give our ultimate allegiance to no country or principality, but to a Savior who refused to bow before the Imperial authority that Pilate represented. It was in this context that the Feast of Christ the King was first proclaimed. It is a feast that calls us to remember whose, exactly, we are, and the real power to which we owe our allegiance.

In our gospel today, Jesus is handed over to the power of empire, and resists its claim of dominance. Jesus literally speaks truth to power in our gospel today. Governments rise and fall, because they are the work of human intention and fallibility, always, even the best of them-- but the reign of Christ is eternal. Pilate asks Jesus three questions in our gospel-- but Jesus does not answer a single one of them. This is a reminder that Jesus is not going to cower before power. Instead, he claims for himself the role of witness—a witness who testifies to the truth.

And what is truth? One of my favorite TV shows is Ted Lasso. On it, a wise therapist named Dr. Sharon repeats this mantra: “The truth will set you free. But first, it will [tick] you off.” She is speaking about the truths of this world. The truths agains the delusions people tell themselves to justify anything in order to preserve their own sense of privilege. Even though privilege is exactly what Jesus refuses to exercise, again and again, and as his followers we are called to a radical, fierce unity in the pursuit of justice and the ending of oppression for our neighbors, even those who are strangers to us. We are called by our true King to relieve the burden of the poor, the suffering of the sick, the isolation of the imprisoned even if they are guilty of wrong-doing, to bear banners of peace and justice rather than weapons of war in our streets, to prioritize life over property. And if you don’t think that is counter-cultural, you haven’t been paying attention to just this week’s news alone.

Jesus’s truth, Jesus’s witness must be OUR truth and OUR witness. And beyond any earthly maneuvers for power, for exploitation, or for domination, this truth will set you free, and give you life and joy and community. That’s the truth of Jesus’s life. He calls us to be the very best versions of ourselves because he knows that is how we were made to be all along. He has faith in us, and calls us to have faith in ourselves that a better way is possible, through the loving, healing, restoring touch of Christ within our inmost being.

This is the truth to which Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection testify: God is love, and those who follow the Way of Jesus walk and live and move in and through and out of love for God but also, and this is the harder part, being animated to live and breathe and speak love for each other. Especially those we believe are outside our comfort zone. The Good News is: God loves us immensely. The other side of that truth, sometimes less comforting and more challenging, is that we only follow God when we love each other, especially the people who tick us off, that much.

One of the key signs that one lives under the oppressive heat of empire is realizing that the values of the powers and principalities depends upon fabrication, defamation, and subterfuge. Injustice prevails by convincing the comfortable that if they dare push back against the unjust, they will only succeed in being at the mercy of the unmerciful. It is not for nothing that one of the ancient pseudonyms for Satan is “the Prince of Lies.” We spend too much of our lives in a kingdom of calumny, an empire of evasion, a realm of revilement, a principality of prevarication. Jesus offers us true freedom from being false to our true natures as God’s children, if only we can let go of the fear that causes us to go along to get along.

The Way of Jesus was and REMAINS a threat to the power and empires of the world and right here in our own country and communities. Yet, periodically, Jesus’s followers have been tempted to claim that Jesus’s kingdom IS of this world, to claim that Jesus loves the same few people we love and hates the same people we fear or despise. They have attempted to drape God’s altars with national symbols-- as Nazi Germany did, never forget-- as if Jesus was synonymous with any nation. But that is certainly not the truth Jesus embodies.

Jesus is not about power, but about service—and so we must follow if we claim his name. Jesus is not about taking, but giving—and so we must follow if we claim his name. Jesus stands before the man who can order his death and talks not about power but about truth—which is the most dangerous power of all, in reality.

Jesus’s truth—and therefore our truth, as his followers-- is about the power of compassion, the power of healing, the power of hope, the power of restraint, forbearance, and forgiveness. Jesus’s truth—and ours—is about nothing less than refusing to harm each other when we think we can get away with it but instead honoring the image of God Godself that resides in every single human being whether we approve of them or not. Jesus’s truth—and ours—is about nothing less than reverencing all of creation and devoting ourselves to caring for it rather than consuming it and using it up because every leaf and speck of dirt bears the fingerprints of their Maker—who is also our Maker, Our Sovereign, Our Beloved. Our Lord and our God.

Recognizing Christ as reigning over us and within us, as the only authority to whom we owe allegiance, means not just following him to gain eternal life but to GIVE all of ourselves to his work of love and healing, not just from our leftover scraps but with everything we are and have.

But beyond flags or nationalities or economic maneuvering or earthly empires, Jesus’s truth most certainly WILL set us free. Free to embrace each other in love, generosity and hope.

Preached at the 10:30 Eucharist, held in person and online in a continuing time of pandemic caution, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:

2 Samuel 23:1-7
Psalm 132:1-13 (14-19) 
Revelation 1:4b-8
John 18:33-37

Citations/ Links for More Information:

Click here for the text in English to Quas Primas.

Click here for an account of first Mass at Our Lord Christ the King Parish in Cincinnati.

Prayer 2701: A Prayer for Juneteenth

Almighty God,
Your benevolent hand upholds us as
You call us to a shared life together
built on the solid rock of justice and kinship.
We shout with joy
at the breaking of the captives' chains
and join in the glad cry of freedom!

Set us upon the higher rock of brotherhood,
and make us wise in the knowledge
that none are free unless all are free.

May we never seek our well-being
at the expense of others,
but protect each other in amity and compassion.
May we stand with courage
on the side of equality and liberty for the oppressed.

Triune, loving God,
may we never forget that freedom,
intended for us by God but generated within community,
comes with responsibility to each other,
grounded in love and mutual support.

Open our eyes to see the lingering divides among us,
O God of Justice,
and strengthen our hands to build bridges
and join hands in Your Holy Name.
Bless and keep us
and all those who cry out to You, O God,
and rest your peace upon these for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2590

Most Merciful God:
in thanksgiving we come before You,
rooting ourselves in your mercy and sheltering embrace.
Bring us to a new awareness of the gifts You have given us,
that we hear your call to holiness.
Lord, you give us freedom:
forgive us for when we have abused our freedom
to exploit others or oppress the weak.
Strengthen us in kindness and humility:
lead us into new paths of compassion
in the name of healing and love.
Guide the hands and the minds of the healers, Lord Christ:
bless doctors, nurses, and caregivers,
and those they tend.
Bend near to all in trouble or need, O Spirit of Love,
and comfort especially these beloveds.

Amen.

Fearlessly Human: Sermon for the 1st Sunday in Lent, Year A

From the birth of philosophy, one of the ultimate questions has always been, “What does it mean to be human?” It’s an attempt to define those unique human characteristics that separate us from other animals, and from the rest of creation. What makes humans unique? 

We start with eliminating things. It certainly isn’t strength, or speed, or agility—other creatures have us beat on all of those fronts. No, it must be something else. Over the centuries, the possible answers have been varied. Reason, some highlighted—and then we learned that dolphins, ants, and chimpanzees problem-solve and use tools. Language, others proclaimed—and then were learned about whale song and Koko the gorilla learning sign language. Memory, others suggested—and then we hear stories of elephants grieving their deceased kin, even years afterward, and loyal dogs returning to their family home after years of being lost thousands of miles away. Some claim that only humans have souls—but that takes us down another rabbit hole again, since you can’t prove the existence --or not-- of a soul in ANYTHING. 

There are things that unite us as creatures: a desire for growth, breath; a need to communicate and be understood; a drive for assuring the survival of our offspring; a longing to be fed, nourished, watered. Hungers and needs met. These are some of the basics of existence—and we are even learning that about organisms we once arrogantly assumed lack awareness. Trees sing to each other, and eavesdrop on each other through their roots. The dance of the honeybee communicates where to find water and pollen to their hivemates. Yet are they as free as human beings? 

What DOES it mean to be human? Perhaps it is bound up in the misuse of the freedom that is our inheritance. Sadly, often those who have asked that question have done so in order that they can exclude some OTHER group, and justify taking something from them or using them as objects rather than accord them dignity and rights. 

We seem to always get into danger when we overlook the responsibility part of being free humans, in favor of the argument from exceptionalism that confers more rights on whoever we define as “us” versus whoever we define as “them.” When we define being human as something that makes us exceptional, that elevates us above the balances built into creation, that’s a dangerous endeavor, because it inevitably leads us to trying to justify satisfying our wants throug selfishness, violence, and injustice. Like all creatures, we are driven by hunger, but God holds us accountable for how we assuage it. 

In the 15th-19th centuries, many Europeans denied the humanity of Africans so that they could be enslaved, abused, and killed. In the 20th century, Nazis famously denied the humanity of Jews, using a German term for them that translates to “beneath human.” And right now, we see some loudly deny the humanity of immigrants, or people of color, or LGBT people. We see people even now, through fear and prejudice, deny the humanity and right to life of people merely suspected of crimes, much less of actual convicted criminals. 

That denial of these “othered” groups as fully human is used to justify denying them their rights to life, liberty, and property in one guise or another—to justify the filling of one person’s hunger for status by denying someone else’s humanity. We run the terrible risk of privileging our own freedom and our own surrender to hunger until it morphs into the mistaken belief that it rests upon the necessity of others’ oppression. 

I was thinking about this question of humanity and exceptionalism as I pondered our readings this week. There IS one thing that scripture mentions that makes us different from other creatures—the fact that we have been specifically charged to be obedient to God. That's not because we are special-- it's because we HAVE to be told. Faithfulness comes naturally to the other creatures, but not to us—it’s part of the other side of our freedom. Our stories this week are about our temptations to place our freedom, our hunger and the materialism that together they spawn ahead of our faithfulness and trust in God. 

Our readings seem to be pointing us toward consideration of one thing that humans definitely are really good at—and that is rationalizing sin and disobedience. Ultimately, one of the hallmarks of humanity is our ability to sin, our ability to know right from wrong, and to do the wrong thing anyway. 

As our readings from Genesis and Matthew point out, the root of sin is unchecked hunger—of pridefully “independent” people surrendering to the fear that we will lack something or be denied something we want. It is that ability to choose the expedient or the pleasurable thing over the right and honorable thing that lies at the heart of the excuse “Well, I’m only human, right?” when we get caught doing something wrong.

The story of Adam and Eve is at the beginning of scripture for a reason, after all. This story begins with the reminder that God had provided Adam and Eve everything they needed for survival and even comfort—and yet they were driven to try to take something that God said was not meant for them. I am always struck by the fact that right after God supposedly makes humans the lords and masters of the rest of the creatures, humans are depicted as misusing their freedom and thus risking throwing away our privileged place where we imagine ourselves to be most beloved of all of God’s creatures. 

I love the fact that the ancient people who first told the stories in the Torah start right out with admitting that when it comes to temptation, we humans have almost never met one we didn’t like. It’s so incredibly honest. It’s like that great saying, “Opportunity may only knock once, but temptation leans on the doorbell.” 

The placement of that story as the first with human characters is an important and honest admission – that from our earliest knowledge of ourselves, our ability to sin is bound up with our freedom. Part of the creaturely condition is a desire and hunger for freedom. But God gave us as humans the freedom to choose, and we live in a time when people often lose sight of the fact that freedoms must be balanced in the name of justice and the good of those around us. 

God knows that’s absolutely not a popular message today. But especially with a backdrop of a fears of an epidemic and climate catastrophe looming before us, I think it bears repeating that especially for us humans, freedom comes not just as a privilege, but also as a responsibility. 

In the story from our gospel today, we get another story of temptation, but with a far different result. And just to make it clear that the result is bound up with freedom, Jesus faces not ONE but THREE temptations. And this time, Jesus in his full humanity—he is famished after all, just as all of us would be. So up pops the Devil, just as crafty and cunning as that snake in the Garden of Eden. And then we get to watch a little game of “dueling scriptures:” 

Devil: (in wilderness) You’re hungry; 
I dare you to turn stones into bread. 

Jesus: Deuteronomy 8:3 says no, 

God is sufficient.     

Devil: (on top of temple) Yeah? Well, 
Psalm 91:11-12 says you are bulletproof. 

Jesus: Deuteronomy 6:16 says no, 

God should not be tested (Irony!).

Devil: (on high mountain) Okay, just 
worship me for political power, then. 

Jesus: Deuteronomy 6:13 forbids it, 

and commands worship of God only. 

Once again, the parallels jump out: the temptation of Adam and Eve started out with a discussion of food, there through God’s providence; in the first two temptations, the devil tries to get Jesus to turn his back on God’s providence, and use his power for himself and deny his humanity. 

 The first two temptations try to play up to what in anyone else but Jesus would be human vanity— “Hey! You’re God’s son! The rules don’t apply to you, and what can it hurt?” The first two try to lead Jesus from obedience to God by setting himself up over God. The third temptation drops all pretense and nakedly reveals the agenda: “Abandon God, worship me, the God of the Belly.” 

What we see here in looking at the parallels between our Genesis reading and the temptation of Jesus here is that the “original” sin has nothing to do with sex. It has to do with not trusting God. It has to do with putting the trust and faith that we should have in God instead in our own arrogance and our own judgment—even as we know that our judgment is often tainted by fear, anxiety, and feelings of scarcity. Focusing on our hungers makes it impossible to have true peace and contentment. 

Our original sin is to let our hunger for more, which is inwardly focused, override our true calling to love and generosity which is outwardly focused.

We are often drawn into sin when we try to escape the hunger and longing that lies at heart of our existence as humans. That’s why giving up something for Lent CAN be instructive—IF it leads us to sit with our hungers and our longings as a way of getting to know ourselves better. Our longings can be blessings or curses, depending upon whether we master them or whether we let them master us. When we let our hungers master us, we fall into greed, selfishness, anxiety about perceptions of scarcity that our fears persuade us are fact rather than perception. 

Christian educator Debie Thomas notes that temptations can also been seen as invitations to lean into our relationship with God and our understanding that we don’t have to grab everything we can get our hands on, especially if that comes at the expense of others. She says this, and it pierced my soul so much I wanted to share it with you: 

Hunger in and of itself is not a virtue, it’s a classroom. To sit patiently with desire — to become its student — and still embrace my identity as God’s beloved, is hard…. But this is the invitation. We can be loved and hungry at the same time. We can hope and hurt at the same time. Most of all, we can trust that when God nourishes us, it won’t be by magic. It won’t be manipulative and disrespectful…. And through us — if we will learn to share — it will feed the world. (4) 

It’s absolutely vital that we understand Jesus as being BOTH fully human and God’s son—an understanding that Jesus demonstrates during his temptations. Jesus fearlessly faces his time in the wilderness because he has been led by the Spirit into the wilderness as God’s beloved Son, for the express purpose of being tempted to deny his humanity. Jesus, in facing down these particular temptations, redeems and reclaims the full goodness of humanity that some, like Paul, have claimed ended with Adam and Eve’s downfall. 

And what can we learn from this? Jesus is fearless and bold in the face of the devil’s temptation because he knows who he is, and he knows that God is with him. And we can do the same, if we trust that God is with us, too. Jesus’s ultimate trust in God means that he can’t be tested away from his faith or his obedience to the will of the Father. He is secure within the love of God, which satisfies far beyond any bread made from stone. We are tempted to sin when we are afraid— afraid that we are alone in the world, that we will never have enough, despite all the promises of God that God is always with us. 

Jesus shows us how to sit with being hungry, yet still and nevertheless faithfully, fearlessly human—and part of that lies in not being afraid to rely upon God. To put our trust in something beyond ourselves. That’s what it means to be fearlessly human—to be strong enough to be vulnerable. To be generous and openhearted, even when there are hungers for “more” beating out a cadence in each heartbeat. To be strong enough to depend on God, and depend on each other. To be fearless, because no matter how much we fall into temptation, through God’s grace, we are still beloved.

Amen.

Preached at the 505 on February 29, and at the 8:00 and 10:30 am services on March 1, 2020, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.


Readings:

• Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7
• Romans 5:12-19
• Matthew 4:1-11
• Psalm 32

Sources:

1) James Tissot, Jesus Being Ministered to By Angels, Brooklyn Museum of Art.

2) "Adam and Eve Eating the Forbidden Fruit," Detail from Ste. Chappelle, Paris.

3) James Tissot, Christ Borne Up unto a Pinnacle of the Temple, Brooklyn Museum of Art.

4) Debie Thomas, "Tempted," in Journey with Jesus, February  23, 2020

5) James Tissot, Jesus Tempted in the Wilderness, Brooklyn Museum of Art.

Seen, Loved, Freed: Sermon for Proper 16 C, the 11th Sunday after Pentecost

The question of keeping a Sabbath can seem quaint and old-fashioned and even ludicrous to many of us. Our culture prizes busy-ness so much that even our days away from work aren’t often really away from work, thanks to cell phones and email. And even on weekends, our lives are jam-packed with activities—taking the kids to lessons and practice for sports teams, doing laundry and fixing up our homes. Even our leisure activities are all too often a whirl of activity. Sometimes our culture can even make volunteering not so much voluntary but part of our competition with each other. 

But when I was a kid, there were still these things called “Blue laws.” Does anyone remember them? These were state and local laws that actually shut down businesses on Sundays. By the time I was a kid, it was only until noon on Sunday, because after church we Okies had to buy our beer and our snacks so we could watch football after church, but still. And just like in our gospel today, these laws had unintended consequences. 

And that’s the problem illustrated by the reaction of the synagogue leader in our story who protests Jesus’s healing of this poor woman on the Sabbath. He privileges his interpretation of the law over the intent of the law regarding the Sabbath. He privileges a moral system over the moral imperative to compassion. 

That, and the fact that, for the third time in five weeks, we see someone triangulating again. Because I hope you pay attention that the synagogue leader doesn’t approach Jesus to question or complain. Oh no-- instead he complains to the crowd, not Jesus, about what Jesus has done that he thinks is a violation. 

Once again: trying to score cheap points off of someone publicly when you disagree with them rather than talking to them directly is absolutely dirty pool, people. When people engage in triangulating behavior like this, it almost always is about their own threatened sense of power or personal issues, rather than really trying to work with someone else. The synagogue leader sees that the crowd is enthralled by Jesus’s power to heal—and it threatens his position as an authority. So he sets out to prove his competence—and Jesus’s lack of authority. 

The synagogue leader does not see what a miracle this healing is for this woman--all the leader can see is that, in his mind, the timing isn’t right. And Jesus is having none of that. As we see over and over again in the gospels, when you privilege human-made interpretation of rules over real human suffering, you always come down on the wrong side of God’s kingdom. And that’s exactly what Jesus then points out, to the crowd the synagogue leader has attempted to manipulate. 

Jesus makes it clear that the purpose of the Sabbath is not to place another set of burdens on people. No—just the opposite: the purpose of the Sabbath is freedom. Freedom from work. Freedom to worship and center ourselves in God. Freedom to be with those we love. Freedom from anxiety. Note that when he heals the woman, he frames it within the context of freedom, the kind of freedom that doesn’t oppress others, but the kind that immediately enables her to give praise to God and stand upright and joyful before the altar of God. Jesus speaks of freedom because it is praise that is the highest expression of our freedom to worship, then and now. 

In the New Testament, religious authorities are constantly confronting Jesus regarding his violations, in their opinion, of cleanliness and Sabbath regulations. In these stories, the religious leaders are always watching to see what Jesus will do—and also to be able to testify as to his apostasy for violating the Sabbath. Jesus confronts the leaders and questions whether it can even be unlawful ever to heal on the Sabbath. They never seem to actually SEE what Jesus is doing, however, perhaps because they are blind, from a compassionate point of view. 

Here’s the thing: this goes back to the lawyer’s question of Jesus as to what the greatest commandment is. Do you remember Jesus’s answer? I hope so, because at the 8:00 service we have the ultimate cheat sheet, since we say it every Sunday. 

Because the controversy we have before us is based on pitting both halves of the Great Commandment against each other: the synagogue leader promotes rigorously observing the Sabbath as the fulfillment of “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, strength, and mind.” Jesus performs miracles of mercy and healing, which certainly is the fulfillment of loving your neighbor as yourself. 

However, Jesus refuses to concede that this should ever be an either/or proposition. It is obvious that Jesus believes that these two acts are complementary, that healing the suffering IS showing faith in and love for God, ESPECIALLY on the Sabbath. 

Indeed, as Jesus himself notes, does not healing actually hallow the holy day? Is not this daughter of Abraham worthy of as much consideration as even one’s livestock? His blunt comparison probably provided a much-needed shock to his critics—and to us today, as well. Think of the people who get outraged at animal cruelty and yet don’t blink at the prospect of children in cages without adequate hygiene, rest, or health care. Is it because they refuse to see them as if they are our own children? I don’t know. 

Our gospel story is a story of incredible generosity. The woman who is bent over is not depicted as approaching Jesus—instead, Jesus sees her and approaches her. 

And let’s just stop right there and really hear that. What an amazing thing—Jesus really sees her, not as disabled, but as a beloved child of God. He sees her, even bent over, which makes her even smaller than the tiny space women were usually begrudged in the public arena then and often still now. That limited female space was even more constricted in a place like a synagogue, where 10 MALES were required to be able to meet, even if there were 400 women present. Yet Jesus sees her as a “daughter of Abraham”—subtly using the feminine form of a common label for Jewish men. He sees her as a beloved child of God deserving of as much consideration as anyone. He sees her—even as those around her have ignored her and her plight, shrugging it off with “Nothing can be done.” 

The attitude of the synagogue leader is clear: She’s already been this way for 18 years, so what’s one more day in order to preserve the Sabbath as HE sees fit to interpret that. 

Jesus turns that on its head: the time already spent bent double is too much; what is the point of waiting one more day when the means for not just healing but freedom stands right in front of her? To make her wait would be an act of injustice—and certainly of needless suffering. 

Jesus offers her freedom from her affliction NOW. And that promise and that healing extends to us, today, right now, as well. Because I am convinced that too many of us have our backs bent double, too, just like that woman in the synagogue. And we can’t tell just by looking who that applies to, but it’s safe to assume that EVERYONE carries some burden we don’t know. Our backs can be bent double by neglect, through the wounds and scars many of us bear from our childhoods, from traumatic experiences we may have encountered throughout our lives, accidental or not. 

We, too, long to hear Jesus pronounce our freedom and help us stand upright. And the loving gaze of Jesus sees each and every one of us just like he truly saw that woman. The good news is that Jesus offers us—all of us!-- that freedom, offering it to us in the name of a love that sees us exactly as we are, that loves us no matter what, but then doesn’t just leave us there. That amazing love that Jesus offers each of us is like that balm in Gilead, that makes the wounded whole. 

But while we’re accepting that love and that freedom that pours over us like a balm, we are also called to ourselves embody the generosity and empathy that Jesus does. That’s the privilege and essence of discipleship. Our healing NEVER stops with us. Our healing empowers us to be agents of healing in the name of Jesus for the sake of the entire world—no exceptions. 

Because, beloveds, there is no doubt that one of the greatest plagues of our modern time is refusing to really see each other- to see each other, to honor the divine spark in each other without questioning who is worthy and who is not. Just like that lawyer a few weeks ago, we want to know what the limits of the people we have to acknowledge as our neighbors are. But what this world needs is radical acceptance and radical empathy. We are called to lend our strong backs to those bent over from bearing pain or hatred. 

Too many of us—and it seems to be growing!-- are far too comfortable with failing to honor each and every person as fellow human beings. Too many of us are far too inured to each other’s pain and suffering—as the continuing crisis on our southern border, and all over the world, demonstrates. We inoculate ourselves against caring in a variety of ways: by telling ourselves that those who are suffering deserve it; or that we’re sorry, but they have to wait for freedom in the midst of their suffering in the name of rules far more capricious than the Sabbath-day work injunction. 

Some even take pleasure in the suffering of others, especially those different from them, and see that suffering as justice, and I am not just talking about the criminal justice system. 

We have criminalized poverty in this country especially in the 170 years since the Industrial Revolution, and we are told over and over that poverty and hunger are the results of character flaws or stupidity rather than a travesty of systemic oppression and institutional structures that siphon wealth away from the poor and middle class, redistributing wealth upward into an ever-tinier circle of people who cannot possibly spend all that they have in a hundred lifetimes. 

Our society has grown too comfortable with the phrase “the working poor” even while pretending that poor people don’t work—because too many refuse to truly see the poor and all the groups who have been “othered” like that woman as full human beings. 

Refusing to see and acknowledge the essential humanity of others was also the basis for the system of racially-based chattel slavery imposed on African captives and their descendants for over two hundred years, and that was first imposed on indigenous peoples throughout the Americas and the Caribbean almost from the landing of Christopher Columbus in 1492. 
Slavery can only exist when we refuse to acknowledge those who are enslaved as human beings. It is indeed important that we contemplate the echoes of that blindness this week, as we remember the 400th anniversary of the selling of the first 20 African captives to English colonists in Virginia—what some African American historians call the beginning of African American history. 

 This history is still permeated with the refusal by too many people in our country to truly see people of color as being just as deserving of freedom and liberty to move around in public spaces like our neighborhoods and schools and shops—a casual freedom just to “be” in a public space that too many of us take for granted for ourselves.

Permit Patty called the police on a family BBQ in a park

When the first assumption made when seeing a person of color or a young person is not that they are a citizen entitled to sit in a coffee shop or park like anyone else but are presumed to be a potential criminal or interloper who is out of their “proper place,” none of us are truly free. 

Perhaps we could see a connection here between this woman, bent double and minimized by those around her, and those who bear burdens that make them invisible or objects of scorn and rejection in society today. Because here’s a truth: there are many ways for one’s back to be bent double. There are entire groups of people who call out to us to be seen and freed of their added burdens. And one of the most prevalent ways we add to this problem today is by blinding ourselves to the systematic burdens of injustice, oppression, contempt, poverty, racism, homophobia, and xenophobia that we see rising up again in our world. 

Jesus insists that healing on the Sabbath honors the original intent of God that the Sabbath be a day dedicated to God and godly things. The argument here is over just what practices make a day holy—and Jesus’s answer is, “Miracles and healing!” 

Too often we set the law and compassion at odds against each other—and that kind of thinking always leads to undermining the very purpose and spirit of the law in the first place. Laws began when people began to live in community, in relationship with each other. Laws should not be invented just to trip people up. They should exist to maximize the happiness and security of everyone. Laws that provide freedom at the expense of someone else being placed in danger are neither just nor do they make society stronger. Laws only exist in community because the purpose of law should be the flourishing and security of everyone. 

Embedded within this story is a call to action to us—to examine our own minimization of others. To examine our failure to truly see each other—especially those who are far outside our familiar circles. And even more, to examine our silence in the face of others being minimized and bent double by the weight of that erasure. To examine our excuse for inaction in claiming that we are powerless to challenge and fight against the denigration of others based on who they are or where they come from. 

Jesus insists that one of the highest forms of honoring God is by honoring the image of God that resides in EVERYONE, no matter what. And once we are willing to truly see that, we realize that the most sacred use of our freedom is to work for the freedom of others. From being bound double by fear and suspicion, freedom lies in letting love heal us and bind us to each other.

The love of Jesus sets us free from all that keeps us bent over in pain—may we lend our strong backs to those bent over from pain or hatred. We have been seen, loved, and freed by the grace of Jesus our Savior. Let us now go forth and do likewise. 

 Amen.

Readings
Jeremiah 1:4-10
Psalm 71:1-6
Hebrews 12:18-29
Luke 13:10-17

Preached at the 505 on August 24 and at the 8:00 and 10:15 services on August 15, 2019, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.