Prayer 3272: The Ninth Anniversary of the Prayer Circle and 3rd Sunday after Epiphany C

Eternal One,
God of Abundant Grace,
we gather in attentive gratitude:
Speak, Lord, for your serfants are listening.

You have called us
into the service of your gospel of hope and truth,
and made us citizens in your kingdom of mercy and grace:
may we center our hearts within your law
and pledge ourselves anew to your service:
to proclaim good news to the poor,
liberty to the imprisoned,
illumination to those in darkness,
justice to the oppressed,
and jubilee to the alienated and the lost.

May our hands be set to mending
the broken cords of love and faithfulness,
our shoulders aligned to the wheel of mercy
that it may run straight and true.
May we embrace the work of reconciliation
as a sacred offering to You, O Savior,
our Shepherd and our Light.
May our testimony sing out
the truth of your lovingkindness and redemption.

In humility, we lay our lives before You:
bless and hallow them to your glory, O Merciful One.
Spirit of God, rest upon us,
and extend the shade of your blessing over all for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2863: Third Sunday in Lent

We come before You,
O Love above all Loves,
gathered before your altars,
giving thanks to your Holy Name.
Cleanse us of all that separates our hearts from You,
Our Creator and Helper,
that we may worship You with rejoicing.
Open our eyes to see your wonders, O Living God,
that we may hear your call of repentance and new life.
You are our Home, O Savior:
may we carry your healing love into the world.
Joined as one Body,
led by the Spirit,
sanctify us to do your will, O Redeemer.
Pour out your blessing like a balm, Lord Christ,
and gather into your embrace those we now place before You.

Amen.

Prayer 2850: Twnty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Holy One, 

You are the author of all our hopes 

and the ground of our Being: 

we rise to give you thanks and praise. 

We thank you for this day to come: 

may we serve you in newness of heart with joy.
May we offer You 

our talents, time, and treasure, 

transformed by the power of your love.
May we work for justice and mercy, 

having faith in each other 

and in Your holy goodness and lovingkindness.
May we strive to purify ourselves inwardly, 

to be worthy vessels 

for your gospel of peace and compassion.

Live in us, Lord Christ, 

and make us wholly yours: 

take all that we are

and renew it through your love. 

Send forth your Spirit 

to lead us into new life, 

that we may walk in the way of Jesus 

prayerfully, reverently, and mindfully. 

Heal us of our hypocrisy, 

and open our hearts to your truth and transformation 

as children of Light.

Bless us and all those whose hope is in You, O God,

especially those we now name.

Amen.

Prayer. day 2759

 

Most Merciful God,we come before your altars today
in faith, hope, and love,
trusting in your mercy.

Have mercy upon us, Lord,
and bring us to unity in You.
Have mercy upon us,
and forgive us for our denial of your goodness
in ourselves and each other.
Have mercy upon us, Lord,
and heal us of the fears that possess us
and separate us from You and each other.

Through the power of love,
may we be reminded of our kinship
with each other and all creation, Lord Christ.
Place the blessing of your peace,
O God our Mother,
on each of us as your children, those for whom we pray.



Amen.

Prayer, day 2745: Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Almighty God,
we thank You for sheltering us through the night,
and watching over us with a love that never fades:
accept our prayers and praises,
and guide us in holiness this day.

Blessed Savior, you fed the multitudes in the wilderness:
likewise, you sustain us and nourish us
with the sweetness of your commandments,
which melt on the tongue like honey,
and revive and restore our souls.
May we follow in your path of compassion and healing today, Lord Christ,
and seek reconciliation and justice,
rooted in your abundant mercy living in our hearts.

We find our center within the shelter of your embrace,
O Blessed Trinity,
O Creating, Redeeming, Life-Giving One.
Consecrate us, O Holy Spirit,
as faithful witnesses to God's abundance
in all our journeys today.
Shine the light of your countenance, O Holy One,
upon all who call upon you in joy or trouble.

Amen.

Prayer 2731: Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Most Merciful God,
You are the root and ground of our being:
hear our prayer.
Let us make visible the kingdom of heaven
here on earth right now.

Guide us as your Church
to proclaim your gospel of abundant grace
by embodying your healing love.

Forgive us our offenses,
and help us rededicate ourselves
to living in true peace and justice with all. 

Open our minds and hearts
to learn and act upon your call to radical compassion.
Make us brave enough
to love and serve you without fear or hesitation.
Root us in your abundant grace,
that we may always remember our blessings.
Draw us into a new life of unity
knowing that You are God and Creator of All.

Extend the healing shade of your love
over those we now name.


Amen.

While It Was Still Dark: Sermon on Resurrection Day

While it was still dark… 

If you’ve ever been the victim of sleepless nights due to grief, you can probably relate to Mary Magdalene’s decision to get up while it was still quite dark and go to the tomb. It probably wasn’t the first time she had thought about it. But it was the first time she could go. Light probably wouldn’t have helped her that much anyway. And so the darkness outside matched the darkness of grief she bore on the inside. 

John’s gospel tells the story in the present tense, and that is a vital reminder even to us right now. Mary Magdalene arrives there at the tomb, and the stone is rolled back, the body gone, and Mary assumes that someone has taken the body. The idea simply multiplies her grief. And so her first reaction is to run and get some of the other disciples. 

She finds Peter and the unnamed disciple whom Jesus loved, tells them about the empty tomb, and then a footrace breaks out to go and see for themselves. We learn here that Peter may be good at jumping to conclusions, but he is not the jackrabbit of the disciples. The two men, however, see the tomb lying open, and poke around a bit. The shroud and head cloth are there, neatly rolled up, in orderly fashion. Surely grave robbers would not have bothered leaving the cloths behind, or being so neat about the gruesome work. So the two men go home, with one who is noted as believing that Jesus is risen even if he doesn’t understand how.

Only Mary is still rooted to the spot, and so desperate for any clue of where Jesus’s body has been taken that she looks inside—and then she sees the angels, sitting there, addressing her comfortingly, and not unkindly: Why are you weeping? 

But it’s then that Jesus comes up behind her. Of course she doesn’t recognize him. It’s still dark, and she saw him die that terrible death, unable to look away as her beloved Savior drew his last breath and then hung there so still. But in this way Mary is just like us. 

How often is Jesus standing near us, and we can’t see him? Maybe he isn’t what we expect. Maybe he looks different than us. Especially in our sorrows, in our tribulations, when we wonder if we are not being punished punished for something or wonder what we could have done differently as we watch and wait and weep ourselves in this time of pandemic and fear. Maybe we wonder if God has abandoned us, and while we enter into the darkness of our fears of abandonment and loss we just can’t see that Jesus is right there and has been there for who knows how long? 


Undoubtedly Jesus was different. So she assumes he is one of the few people likely to be in a garden before dawn. It is here that thousands of artists over the years have painted this scene, Jesus holding a hoe or some other such gardening tool, sometimes a big floppy hat pulled low across his forehead. And so she turns at the voice behind her. 

While it was still dark… 

When he says her name, comprehension dawns. The beautiful way he says her name, so familiar, lovingly, tenderly, is a balm for her soul. And of course, she longs to touch him, to see if the flesh is warm and real, to prove she is not having a dream or hallucination. Just as John has Jesus reminding us that his sheep know the sound of his voice, and that he knows them and calls them by name, so here Mary knows the beloved sound of her Shepherd’s voice. And just as Lazarus couldn’t come out of the tomb until he was called by name, so Mary can’t abandon her grief and begin to come back to life and move forward in her work as an apostle until she hears her name called.

But Jesus stops her. The phrase “Do not hold on to me,”—or “Do not cling to me” in another version—has a special resonance right now, doesn’t it? We’ve moved beyond not only avoiding physical contact with people, but we’re sterilizing our packages left on the front door, and getting take-out brought to our cars by people wearing masks. We’re sometimes unable to see or touch so many of the ones we love too, right now. 

But just like us, Mary can’t hold on to Jesus and keep him all for herself. Jesus still has disciples to see. Perhaps it is Jesus’s way of reminding all of us that our “personal relationship with Jesus” must be grounded in sharing Jesus and what he means with the entire world, not just keeping our love for him to ourselves. She has to let him go, so that she may step into her role as a witness and evangelist, powered by the love of Jesus in a new way. And of all the disciples, it is Mary Magdalene who comes to understand this even standing right there in the dark. Mary is the one whose love and devotion to Jesus is so pure and steadfast that she is a model without equal for all of us. She never runs away. She never falters.

The inspirational Episcopal priest Becca Stevens shared this meditation on this passage: The story of the Resurrection begins with the words, 

“While it was still dark...” The shadows of the cross were long as the sun was just rising on Jerusalem that Sabbath as Mary heads out with grief guiding her to the body. And that single act of faithfulness is enough to carry her with a peace that passes understanding to the source of love. The peace that passes understanding leads her through despair, leads her to brush aside fear, and to hold onto love. The shadows of the Crucifixion became the grounding of a deep peace that changed the world. And that story is powerful enough to unravel all the upheaval, violence, and fear that keep us from experiencing peace."

Jesus calls our names too, softly and tenderly, if only we still ourselves enough to listen. Jesus calls our names especially while it is still dark. While some people point to tragic events as proof of God’s indifference or lack of existence, we are reminded in this story that it is in the dark vale of grief that Jesus comes up gently behind us, asking us why we are crying not because Jesus doesn’t understand suffering but to encourage us to remember that Jesus is always with us in our suffering, and is our comforting, beloved friend who understands all our trials. 

That’s what Easter means. Even while it is still dark. As our reading from Jeremiah promises exactly for times such as these, the love of God for God’s people is an everlasting, sanctifying, reclaiming love. A love that never gives up even if the days seem the darkest. 

Easter doesn’t really happen when the sun is blazing in the sky and all the lights in the garden are shining brightly.

Easter doesn’t happen in beautiful nave or sanctuary—and a good thing too, because all disciples of good sense are staying home where they belong.

Easter happens often in the darkest part of the night within us. Easter happens not so we can stay frozen in time but so we can take up our mission to deliver a message of hope to the world simply by our way of being in the world as Christians. This year especially, Jesus comes up to us while it is still dark, and by whispering our name reminds us that even in our fear, our loss, and our distress, he is risen, and he is with us and present right now. 

While it is still dark, while we are afraid and isolated, Jesus calls us to embrace resurrection and tell out the good news. We need that light and hope now, more than ever. While it is still dark, Jesus calls us to turn toward his reconciling, abundant love, and take heart. In turning toward reconciliation and resurrection, we called to shake off who we have been, and turn instead to embrace and embody who we are called to be. It’s not enough for us to see the glory of resurrection and what promises it holds for ourselves. We are called to witness to that resurrection and how it continues to work in a world that desperately needs to see it and be transformed, too. 

And that resurrection must be seen through us, as we rise too into new life, now, choosing to set our faces and hearts toward Christ. Jesus Christ is with us, risen indeed. He is still calling us to embrace life and love over death and need, calling us to place the well-being of each other, compassion, grace, generosity, and mercy at the center of our rebuilt lives. Jesus is calling us to embrace him by embracing our responsibilities to each other, to walk in the way of abundant love where there is no winners or losers. Only overflowing compassion and empathy, and acting for the reconciliation and dignity of every single part of this beautiful creation that offers us its beauties even in times of turmoil. For such is the sweetness offered to us in the Kingdom of God.

And embracing that call is where the light dawns. Jesus calls our names, each of us beloved, so that we will see the light dawn even while it is dark. Jesus calls us to go tell out the truth of the Risen Jesus, risen even in this year of pandemic, risen and calling us to not return to our lives as they were before the shadow of these times hung over all of us. With open hearts, especially in times such as this, let us embrace each other, and change the world, in the name of Jesus.

Amen.

Preached at the 8:00 am Celebration of Resurrection Day online at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.

Readings:
Jeremiah 31:1-6
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
Acts 10:34-43
John 20:1-18

Prayer, day 2603: Third Sunday in Lent

Almighty God, our prayers rise to You
with the rising sun: let us worship You 
and give thanks in your holy places.

Give us the wisdom 
to follow with gratitude 
when You lead us through the wilderness of sin 
that envelops us.
In places of contention and testing, 
let us witness to the power of the One 
whose mercies never cease.
Give us living water,
that we may worship You, Lord Christ, I
n spirit and in truth,
testifying to your saving love. 

Holy One, you know what is in our hearts: 
spread the fold of your mercy over us,
and give comfort to those we now name.

Amen.

Bless. Offer. Pray. Give. Do.: Sermon for the Feast of All Saints, (tr.) 21st Sunday After Pentecost

Many of us, when we think of the Beatitudes, first think of Matthew’s version, the one we will hear next year on the Feast of All Saints. Matthew’s version is given from a mountain, and his is sometimes more difficult to understands. For instance, he starts off “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” When I was a kid, I always wondered what being poor in spirit means, and those puzzling words often drew my attention away from the rest of the reading as I kept turning over that add phrase in my head. 

Luke’s version of the beatitudes is much more straightforward—and it is not directed outwardly at “them.” In Luke, Jesus’s first statement is personal: “Blessed are YOU who are poor, for YOURS is the kingdom of God.” Not “THOSE” but “YOU.” What Jesus is doing by speaking directly to us with blessings is this: to remind us that God is alongside us, especially the poor, hungry, or those in need of relief. When Jesus pronounces his “woes” in this reading, it can be uncomfortable to many of us who are NOT poor, the same was that last week’s gospel can make us uncomfortable when we realize that we are all prone to being judgmental and thinking ourselves superior from those on the margins. 

Yet when you set Jesus’s blessings and woes side by side in the Lucan version of the Beatitudes, you understand too that what is especially outrageous is those who hoard wealth in the face of the poverty of those on the borderlines of their lives, filling themselves full in the face of those who are hungry, and laughing at the weeping of those undergoing trauma and tragedy. Actually it doesn’t even require laughing. Indifference is just as bad. And we see too much of that at work in the world around us. The Beatitudes call on us to renounce that indifference, and instead claim kinship with those on the margins, just as the saints of the world still do in ways small and great to this day. 

Professor Richard Swanson points out that the word in Greek translated here as “poor” (for that is the language of the New Testament as we have received it) is ptochoi. He then muses upon another word, a Greek verb, that begins with “pt:” ptuo, which means “I am spitting,” which shouldn’t surprise anyone who grew up watching cartoons—that probably still is literally the sound of spitting in our head: ptooey. 

What if we understood Jesus’s first words here, then, as “Blessed are you who are spit upon, for yours is the kingdom of God?” How would that change our understanding of the beatitudes? And let’s face it: in this upside down world in which we live, if we TRULY express Christian values in the face of the idolatry of the individual that falsely has aligned itself with American Christianity, the risk of being spit upon is not negligible. 

As we celebrate the Feast of All Saints and the Feast of All Souls today, we remember people who, in ways small and great, were willing to be spit upon, to go against the logic and the dominant culture around them, in order to testify to the God Jesus came to bring to flesh and bone before our eyes: the God who always takes interest in those who are humble in spirit, and yet filled with awe and wonder at the glory of this God-infused creation of which we are a part. And saints are those who see with the eyes of Jesus the belovedness of everyone, regardless of any other condition. Those people who are saints, even when not perfect. 

I know it’s hard for us—it’s certainly hard for me. When Luke combines blessings with woes, it brings us up short. Because if we believe that those who are spit upon are blessed, we also have to understand the spiritual peril in being those who spit upon others—especially the poor and the hungry and those borne down by weeping, pain, trauma. Those who dream up new ways to treat supplicants with contempt rather than mercy, like the San Francisco cathedral I read about a few years ago who, when they were frustrated with the homeless who were sleeping in some of their sheltered doorways, used an overhead sprinkler system to spray them with water several times during the night. Maybe they were afraid there wasn't enough to go around, I don't know.

I do know that our culture is predicated upon scarcity, and over and over again we hear a drumbeat warning us that we don’t have enough. That idea of scarcity makes everyone else a competitor in a mad scramble for power and wealth. It’s a culture based on fear. And that is the reason why there are 366 reminders throughout scripture not to be afraid—one for every day of the year, and then another just because, in case we need it. But that’s not the culture of the Beatitudes. 

The culture of the Beaitudes is the culture of the kingdom of God—one where we don’t sit on fluffy cloud playing harps in the hereafter, but instead joyously set about doing the work to prepare the fields of the kingdom by sowing love and reconciliation. The culture of the Beatitudes is the culture of the Saints we celebrate today. As a matter of fact, the word for saint is right in there. “Beati”—is the beginning of the word “beatify” which means to recognize someone as a saint. And the entire point of this day is to remember that saints are NOT born, they are made. 

As we sing in one of my favorite songs for this feast, "I Sing A Song of the Saints of God." The third verse is a vivid reminder that there are saints all around us: 

They lived not only in ages past; 
there are hundreds of thousands still;
the world is bright with the joyous saints
who love to do Jesus’ will.
You can meet them in school,
or in lanes, or at sea,
in church, or in trains,
or in shops, or at tea;
for the saints of God
are just folk like me,
and I mean to be one too.

How do we go about being blessed and being a blessing to others, like those saints? There at the end of our gospel passage today, if you listen, are the verbs for living a Beatitude-shaped life. Take a look and mark them out: 
Listen.
Love.
Do good.
Bless.
Pray.
Offer.
Give.
Do. 

 “I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.” 

Listen. Love. Do good. Bless. Pray. Offer. Give. Do. 

In the Beatitudes, Jesus calls us to one-ness with each other. Jesus calls us to renounce calculations of giving based on fear, calculations of giving to each other that in the end don’t cost us too much, whether that’s in money or attention or time. Instead, we are called to expand our circle of well-being to include everyone, to have the kind of love for each other that sees that peace can only exist where we all support each other. That love can only exist where generosity and empathy rule.

That’s the kind of life real saints embody for us. 

They listen. 
They love. 
They do good, even in—ESPECIALLY in—the face of evils big and mundane, no matter the cost.
They bless, where others laugh in spite and malice. They pray, where others shrug, and in praying, they take responsibility for change. 
They offer, where others take.
They give, where others turn away.
They DO, embodying the Christ-shaped life.

That’s the kind of love that lives on even after our death, as we remember our loved one who are gone from us but not forgotten. What makes them live on in us is their love, their companionship, their support. All the other stuff is just chaff that blows away in the wind.

The Beatitudes encompass the greatest lesson in the lives of the saints, and that lesson is this: no matter what we have or don’t have, whether wealthy or poor, whether sinner or saint, we cannot depend upon our own resources to be blessed and to be a blessing to others. It doesn’t work that way. The key to being blessed is to acknowledge our reliance upon God, whether we are deserving or not in our own minds, that doesn’t matter. To know that God’s grace and mercy are not only necessary, but also real and present in our lives. That changes our perspective from fear to fullness, which is what the beatitudes are all about.

The gift of the Beatitude-shaped life is the gift of acknowledging our own need for others, our own need for God. To be standing in the need of mercy and receive it is to be blessed. To be standing with others helping you stand when you can’t go on is to be blessed. As Pastor David Lose notes, “For what is the promise of mercy to those who are not weak, forgiveness to those who have not sinned, grace to those who do not need it, or life to those not dead? It is at best meaningless and more likely downright offensive.”

Hear again our Savior’s words: Listen. Love. Do good. Bless, Pray. Offer. Give. Do. This is the way of being a saint of God, and we mean to be one, too. 

Amen.

Preached at the 505 on November 2, and at 8:00 and 10:30 on November 3, 2019, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.

Readings:
Daniel 7:1-3,15-18Psalm 149Ephesians 1:11-23Luke 6:20-31

Citations:
1) Richard Swanson, Commentary on Luke 6:20-31, November 3, 2013, at Working Preacher.
2) David Lose, "Losers," October 28, 2013, at Dear Working Preacher.

Nevertheless, Persist-- Sermon for Proper 24C, the 19th Sunday after Pentecost

She was used to waiting around for the left-overs, this unnamed, persistent, probably even irritating widow. 

Under the law of Moses, widows always got the left-overs. But if you know anything about left-overs, they are almost always an afterthought. In the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter 24:19-21, Israelites were admonished to not harvest so thoroughly that there was nothing left. 

If they forgot a sheaf of wheat in the field, they were to leave it for the orphan and the widow; if they harvested olives, there were not to strip the trees bare. They were to do a good job but not a thorough job, so that the orphan and widow could pick what was left—you know, after you’d picked all the good olives, all the ripe ones, all the ones that weren’t already squishy. Same thing with grapes in the vineyards. You also weren’t to harvest from edge to edge of the field, but were told to leave the trees or vines on the perimeter less thoroughly harvested, but lots of landowners didn’t take that seriously. 

So basically, widows and their children—who were called “orphans” in those days even if they had a living mother, that’s how male- centered that society was—they got the crumbs, which they had to pick themselves, and often they might wait around all day to get nothing at all. And all this was because a widow was forbidden to make her living any other way. It was inconceivable for a woman on her own to work for herself without a man as the head of the operation to make the decisions and “own” the work of her hands. 

There was a word for this kind of higgledy-piggledy gathering of the leftovers from the various fields: gleaning. You can hear the word “lean” right in there. Lean pickings, based on the probable ruthlessness with which they landowners and the day-laborers they hired adhered to the principles of profit-margins. 

Even worse, if a widow’s husband died without children, especially a son, for her comfort and protection in such a male-centric society, the law stated that her husband’s brother should marry her. Later, that got stretched to include more distant kin. If that kinsman refused to “redeem” her, she was commanded to try to shame the brother at the city gates. Which of curse also broadcast HER shame at being alone and defenseless. 

Now, sometimes, it worked out. Ruth, even though a foreigner, insistently went back with her beloved mother-in-law, Naomi, to Israel after Naomi’s husband and sons died, and while Ruth was gleaning, she attracted the attention of the wealthy landowner named Boaz, who was her husband’s kinsman. 

Ruth ended up marrying him and having a son to comfort Naomi in her old age. That son became the grandfather of King David, and therefore Ruth became an ancestor of Jesus. 

The widow Judith, likewise, not only castigated the generals of Israel to their face when they failed to trust God enough to deliver them from the Assyrians, she worked it. 

She didn’t leave it there—no, she worked her considerable beauty, charmed her way into the trust of the enemy general, was taken to his tent, got him drunk, and decapitated him. Bam! Off with his head! And after she saved her people, she refused to marry any of her many suitors, and lived out the rest of her life as a widow. 

Probably to save herself from rolling her eyes a dozen times a day, given the shallow dating pool she had to pull from. 

Insistence, persistence, and bravery seem to be defining characteristics of Biblical widows. There are other widows who appear in scripture: the unnamed woman who fed Elijah the last bit of food between her son and herself and starvation based solely on his assurance that all would work out. She ended up not only NOT going hungry, but having Elijah pray her son back to life when he died suddenly, just as Jesus would revive a widow’s dead son in the Book of Luke. 

Jesus criticized his religious opponents for sucking widows dry of all their savings, and immediately watched a widow put two small coins in the temple treasury—all she had to live on—and he raised her up as an example of righteousness and faith. The widow Anna was a prophet who rejoiced when Jesus was presented in the Temple as an infant. 

So, we get a picture of insistence, persistence, bravery, boldness, and faithfulness. It’s remarkable how strong they are, given the way the deck is stacked against them. So when Jesus introduces this widow in his parable, I think we can see her in a long line of women who have been pushed around by virtue of their outcast status. Living without a male protector and provider, literally drawing her living from the margins of the fields and the margins of society, forgotten by all her married friends because she doesn’t fit in to a society based on large family units that were necessary for survival, she’s not beaten down. 

She’s enraged. 

She’s had all she can take, and she won’t take any more. 

She reminds me of a meme that made me laugh a couple of weeks ago: it showed a beautiful night scene, but in bold white letters it said. “Never pick a fight with a woman over 40. They are full of rage sick of everyone’s … um, nonsense.” 

Even though she knows the judge over her case is corrupt, contemptuous, and evil, not caring about any of the responsibilities of his office, she doesn’t quit. Even when shushed and dodged and told to shut up, nevertheless, she persists. She persists in speaking truth to power. She has a claim, her claim is just, her situation is dire as a widow, and she will not—cannot—give up. 

And finally, just like a raindrop and its kindred will wear down even the most solid rock, or the way a delicate flower will shoot up through the minutest crack in the pavement until it causes the entire sidewalk to buckle, she wears down this judge who just doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself. The story states that the judge tells himself he didn’t want her to “wear me out”—but the actual translation is “give me a black eye.” I like that—her persistence scared him a little, or maybe a lot. Kablam! Good! She uses his own sense of self-importance against him, and for love of his nerves, he gives in and grants her justice. 

Now let’s get something very clear right now. The dishonest and unjust judge is NOT a metaphor for God. Instead Jesus is using this story in a method of argument known as via negativa—the “negative way.” But the unjust judge is not EQUATED with God. Jesus uses the unjust judge to describe what God is NOT. Via negativa. God is GREATER than the unjust judge. 

The promise embedded here is this: if even the unjust judge can be moved to acceding to the widow’s demands, how much more trust can we have in God when we ask for justice? It is the job of a judge—and of God-- to fulfill the demands of justice. If a judge who is arrogant before God and the people will eventually give in to the demands of a persistent widow, surely God can be depended upon to do even more. 

In fact, here’s an interesting twist. Consider the scope of scripture, with God constantly urging us to do justice, love mercy, and walk in humility with each other and God—and most of the time we flat-out refuse. What if we saw the persistent widow as God, and the unjust judge as the community? That may be the sermon I preach the next time this comes around in three years. Think about it. Because prayer is a conversation between us and God, that reversal also works, and also teaches us a lesson about prayer as a two-way conversation with God

It is unusual that this parable—which only occurs in Luke—begins with a statement about what it is about. That is not normally the pattern. But prayer is something that most of us do at various points throughout our week and our lives. Of course, most of us have experienced the feeling that our prayers are seemingly not heard, much less answered. That’s what happens when we think of prayer as a laundry list of demands that we hurl at God like the widow’s unceasing cascade of demands for justice. 

Prayer will not succeed when it is simply a way for us to do all the talking. Prayer is certainly not going to work if it is merely seen as a way for us to demand what we think we want and cannot get unless we beg, plead, or wheedle endlessly in some sort of superstitious loop. The point of prayer is that it is a conversation with God. It is only in the silences between our words that we leave any space for the movement of the Spirit in that conversation. 

Prayer is opening ourselves to the possibilities of God’s will, which of course is a scary proposition. We like to be in control, and do what we want. The first verse of this reading actually tells us the real point: we need to pray always in order to keep our hearts grounded in God. Prayer is not just a demand for satisfaction but a conversation, in which we need to listen, not only speak. Prayer is a means of building a relationship with God, of seeking out our own heart and to open it up to the voice of God in our lives. Prayer is a means of strengthening our trust in God and God’s promise of never-ending love. 

As our gospel reminds us, prayer is a way to enter into the presence of God, to be surrounded by the presence of God. This is the kind of immediate experience needed to maintain faith, more than anything else, so that when Jesus returns, faith will be found on the earth. Jesus urges us to be persistent in prayer, to be persistent in being grounded in God, just as Jesus is depicted repeatedly engaging in prayer himself. Being persistent in prayer will also lead us to be persistent as faithful people if not always in faith, and indeed will carry us through those times when our faith flickers, which happens to everyone—even saints. 

When I was in seminary, I once got pulled into a discussion about pastoral care. Whatever you do, I was told, DON’T pray. Several people nodded sagely around me, but I tried not to let my chin hit the floor. Why not? I asked, incredulously. In response, I was told that if you prayed for someone to be cured and they weren’t, it could cause them or their family members to lose their faith. To my mind, that made just about as much sense as arguing that a surgeon shouldn’t operate on someone in case their condition might worsen. 

What we have here, I thought, is a failure to communicate. I remarked that we Episcopalians don’t have a Book of Common Prayer for nothing. We are a praying people! Now, of course, being present with people and listening to them is a vital part of caring for them rather than quickly offering up a rote prayer and going about our business, but to not pray at all? As Episcopalians, prayer is what we do and how we are formed. The law of prayer is the law of belief, after all. 

Of course, prayer is NOT a cure-all, and many of us would very careful about couching our prayers in the language of seeking a “cure.” To be relieved, to be brought to comfort or peace, to be granted resilience and endurance, to feel supported, heard, and known as beloved, yes. But the fact is, as Mahalia Jackson sang, I believe that prayer changes things. 

Prayer changes things-- starting with the person who does the praying. Prayer changes things by giving the one who prays a chance to both speak and listen to the presence and support of God in that person’s life. Prayer is not a wish-fulfillment system, but a mostly-intentional conversation between ourselves and the Almighty. 

I say “mostly intentional” because we’ve all had those times of calling on Jesus when a child or a deer or another car darts out in front of us when we are going full-speed down the road. You know the ones: something like 

"OhsweetbabyJesusdon'tletmehitthat18wheeler!"

But even then, I think that prayer is part of our longer conversation with God. Sometimes—more often than we like to admit, probably-- that conversation calls us to silence and to opening ourselves to the movement of the Spirit in our hearts and minds. 

Sometimes prayer comes in a torrent of words. Sometimes prayer centers on the same word repeated dozens of times. Sometimes it comes in praying with someone who is ill and reminding them that they are not alone, physically or spiritually. Sometimes prayer comes with the click of one prayer bead sliding against another on a rosary, or a deliberate footstep on the path of a labyrinth. Sometimes, prayer is just the name of Jesus, or, as Anne Lamott noted, “help,” or “thanks,” or “wow” prayed on each breath. 

And as we have learned a lot recently, sometimes it comes with praying through selections of scripture that do not seem to be all that congenial at the moment. Sometimes, one of the greatest aids to our prayer life is to realize that we have to get over ourselves, and get out of the way of God. 

Certainly, there are times when it is difficult to pray, or to know what to pray. I’ll tell you one thing, though: when in doubt, there’s never been a time I have regretted praying when choosing between that and not praying. 

So let us ever persist in prayer, that our hearts and minds may be tuned to the presence of the holy alongside us and within us. 

 Amen.


Preached at the 505 on October 19, and at 8:00 and 10:30 am on October 20, 2019, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.


Readings:
Jeremiah 31:27-34
Psalm 119:97-104
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5
Luke 18:1-8

Prayer 2455: 19th Sunday after Pentecost

Holy One, we gather in your courts, 
and offer our morning praise to you, 
our hearts overflowing with gratitude
for your grace and mercy that upholds us. 
Mighty Counselor,
lead us deeper into your truth,
that we may serve as beacons of your wisdom and love, 
and be a light to those who seek You. 
Teach us to persist in prayer, 
to remind us of your steadfastness and love, 
remembering that You never stop seeking us
and offering us the blessings of your presence
in times of both darkness and light. 
Illumine our hearts, O Spirit of Holiness, 
and anoint us with the power of Christ's love,
which nurtures and sustains us always. 
Blessed One, grant us your peace, 
and pour out your compassion upon all for whom we pray.

Amen.

Rich in Soul: Sermon for Proper 21 C, Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Periodically in American Christianity, a theory known as the “prosperity gospel” or “the gospel of wealth” is preached by some religious leaders, often quite popularly. The basic idea is that, if you pray this prayer or give money to that preacher, you will receive wealth and blessings from God. 

 The problem with this is that it is engaging in what is called “magical thinking.” One type of magical thinking is called superstition—where you see a baseball player always eating chicken before a game, or avoiding stepping on the baseline, or not shaving during the play-offs, because he believes it will bring him luck. Sometimes this kind of thing is light-hearted. 

I have a friend who, when she loses something, puts a dollar under a St. Anthony figurine on her mantle, since he is the patron saint of lost things—and frankly, I will admit to calling on St. Anthony to help me find things too—can’t hurt, right? 

 I once knew a strict Baptist woman whose house had been on the market for so long that she went and bought one of the specially made St. Joseph figurines and buried it head down next to her “For Sale” sign—and boom- the house sold. She was aghast—and her world was rocked. It’s a real thing, too, here in St. Louis. Don’t believe me? Just google “St. Joseph sell your house.” 

Sometimes it gets a little more desperate—when I was a kid, a famous televangelist in Tulsa famously told his followers that if they didn’t send him $8 million by March, 1987, God was going to “call him home.” Spoiler alert: he supposedly got the $8 million in 10 days’ time, and he lived for another 22 years. 

Magical thinking, though, can lead to the arrogant belief that if you do X, then God will have to do Y. That kind of magical thinking assumes that humans can control God and figure God out so that God follows our sense of justice and our sense of fairness. 

 Even worse, this kind of magical thinking about money and blessing also implies the inverse: it leads to the belief that anyone who experiences hard times or difficulties is being cursed by God. This kind of thinking is one of the ideas that Jesus constantly challenged. Further it flies in the face of our experience: think of all the times we see bad things happen to good people, and good things happen to bad people! Believing in a simplistic system like this will only lead to doubt, despair, and denial of the love of God by those who, through no fault of their own, suffer. 

And a word about the use of the term “Pharisees.” It is at this point that I realize how much I owe Amy-Jill Levine, whose work I have been reading in the 3 years since I last revisited these notes. She points out that many of the criticisms of “the Pharisees” were inserted into the documents of the early church after 70 AD, with the fall of the Temple. The problem that she points out is that the Pharisees ended up founding the post-Temple Judaism we now see, and they became many of its first rabbis. Thus, blanket criticism of the Pharisees feeds into the dangerous anti-Semitism that was spawned in the first century CE, and is always lurking in the Church. The idea of Jews as greedy and obsessed with wealth is a slander as old as time—and Hitler used that resentment to great effect. (1) 

If we look at this parable as the third in a series from Jesus (beginning with the Prodigal Son, to the Dishonest Steward, and now to this story) as pointing out the problems that worship of wealth can create for any person from any background. Thus, I propose that we understand that there are certainly many people for whom love of wealth is a not just a stumbling block to their spiritual development, but an idol they worship in place of God. It is wrong and historically inaccurate to claim that all members of a certain religious group behave badly, especially when the failing being talked about is a universal within MANY groups. 

Instead of using the word “Pharisee,” I will be using the term "opponent." I am convinced that that is what we should call those who worship money to the exclusion of all else what they are—opponents of the values God commands us to embrace, and opponents of the way of life Jesus calls us to embody. 

That’s why it is important to take a look at the verses that bridge between last week’s perplexing gospel and this week’s reading. Starting at the last verse of last week’s gospel, here are the intervening verses: 
No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.’
The opponents, who were lovers of money, heard all this, and they ridiculed him. So he said to them, ‘You are those who justify yourselves in the sight of others; but God knows your hearts; for what is prized by human beings is an abomination in the sight of God. 

Jesus then continues with this parable to illustrate his point. The rich man, who is a symbol for those who love money more than God, has squandered his life in focusing on his own comfort and honor (being dressed in purple and fine linen signified one’s status more loudly than shouting from the rooftops). The poor man is allowed to languish at the rich man’s very gate, with no mention of any care being given to him—he is there, but “invisible” and unacknowledged—just as many of us respond when we see the poor on the street. 

The poor man is indeed pitiful, not only due to his poverty, but because he is also covered in sores which make him unclean and further accentuated that he is cut off from all decent society. The licking of the sores by dogs is a fine touch within the Mediterranean culture, since dogs were also often seen as unclean—just goes to show how cultures are different, since many of us see this behavior by our pets as signs of love and attempts to comfort us, and we know dogs’ mouths are cleaner than ours, on average. 

Notice the use of names here. The rich man gets no name—he could be anyone. But Jesus tips his hand early in this story when he not only gives the poor man a name, but a name that has special meaning. Lazarus means “God has helped” in Hebrew. Further, when we hear the name “Lazarus,” we think of Jesus’s friend whom he raised from the dead—and this is a story about death. How can Jesus’s opponents be right about money being a sign of blessing and its lack a sign of curse, if the poor man is the one literally “helped by God?” Even more important in helping us judge the rich man is this: he KNOWS the name of the poor man he ignored as he strutted about in fine clothes with a full belly. He knew Lazarus’s name—and yet ignored his need for food, shelter, and medical care. 

This is an important realization to sit with. In an ironic reversal, the rich man “name drops” Lazarus to Abraham—possibly out of a delusion that he NOW recognizes the humanity that had sat, sick, suffering, shivering, at the rich man’s very gates. Or more likely, NOT.

In our parable, he STILL ignores Lazarus as a person, but demands that Father Abraham send Lazarus to wait first on him and then on his brothers, without ever deigning to talk to Lazarus directly. That alone makes it easier for us to understand that he STILL, even in the alleged torment of Hades, doesn’t get it—at all. 

In the best translation of this story, the image of Lazarus's comfort is even sharper: it states that Lazarus was in Abraham’s bosom, or embrace. This, interestingly, is an image from feasting as well. People reclined at table on couches, their head propped on the left hand, eating with their right. One gets an image of Lazarus lying up against Abraham at the great heavenly banquet. If Lazarus is next to Abraham, he is in the place of honor (remember a few weeks ago, when Jesus advised people to sit at the low place at the table so that they could be honored by being asked to move up? Where you sat at the table had deep significance. 

 The image of TWO feasts in this reading, then, re-enacts Luke’s combination of “blessings” and “woes” in Luke 6:21 and 6:25:
‘Blessed are you who are hungry now, 
   for you will be filled. 
‘Blessed are you who weep now, 
   for you will laugh. 

These are then turned on their heads as a caution: 
‘Woe to you who are full now, 
    for you will be hungry. 
‘Woe to you who are laughing now, 
    for you will mourn and weep.'

This is not to say that those who have money are evil—many people make great use of their personal savings to help others. For those for whom wealth is simply a tool to help others, money CAN be a blessing. However, there certainly is the tendency in our society today to believe that the poor are undeserving of help, and that they are not only to blame for their condition, but to RESENT them and to claim that their condition is something that they have chosen. It's a crazy claim. Yet, those doing the criticizing of the poor also have no desire to actually BE poor. If the poor are cleverly manipulating a system, why doesn’t everyone emulate them? 

The rich man, ultimately, in his life served himself, served his belly, served his status. He never served the poor, and so he never served God. This parable again reminds us that dehumanizing the poor is one of the most un-Godly acts we can take. When it comes down to basics, the point of the Torah and the point of the Gospel is to describe how to live a fully human life, and to understand what that means. It is always good, when considering that goal, to remember the concept of shalom, a word that includes the meaning of health, wholeness, well-being, peace, and contentment. Shalom is both a blessing, a prayer, and a hope for the future. 

What if, instead of engaging in magical thinking, we engaged in the magic of hope in action, especially when it comes to how we live and work with others? Many of us have had too much of hopelessness. Many of us have probably heard the excuse that alleviating poverty is impossible, a self-serving argument that actually makes poverty more widespread and more desperate, more hopeless. Pope Paul VI made this point in 1967 in his encyclical “On the progress of peoples:” 

It is not simply a question of eliminating hunger and reducing poverty. It is not enough to combat destitution, urgent and necessary as this is. The point at issue is the establishment of a human society in which everyone, regardless of race, religion, or nationality, can live a truly human life free from bondage imposed by men and the forces of nature not sufficiently mastered, a society in which freedom is not an empty word, and where Lazarus the poor man can sit at the same table as the rich man.(2) 

 That beloved old hymn, God of Grace and God of Glory that we sang as the processional at the 10:30 service, reminds us of a better way. Hear again what verse 3 has to say: 

Cure your children's warring madness; 
bend our pride to your control; 
shame our wanton, selfish gladness, 
rich in things and poor in soul. 
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, 
lest we miss your kingdom's goal, 
lest we miss your kingdom's goal. 

God IS our help, as Lazarus’s name implies, and God’s love offers us life, grace, and forgiveness— not just through some hope in the distant future, but RIGHT NOW. God is our help—through each other, right now. This parable reminds us that we are bound up together and called to care for each other as God cares for us and protects us. It is when we seize hold of our common humanity and celebrate it rather than resent each other and fail to really see each other that we become rich in heart, rich in soul. 



Amen.

Preached at the 505 on September 28 and at 8:00 and 10:30 on September 29 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:
Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15
Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16
1 Timothy 6:6-19
Luke 16:19-31


Citations:
1) Amy Jill Levine and Ben Witherington III, The Gospel of Luke: New Cambridge Bible Commentary.
2) Pope Paul VI, On the Development of the Peoples .