Grace in the Storm: Senior Sermon, Eden Theological Seminary

Readings:
Psalms 130 and 131
Matthew 14: 22-33

Icon: Jesus and Peter walking on the water

Once, when I was a teenager, I got left out in the middle of an Oklahoma lake during a sailing lesson at summer camp. The minutes I spent trying to swim to shore were some of the longest in my young life. Once I realized I was marooned, it got even more interesting. The sky overhead matched my mood, turning gray and surly, with dark low-lying clouds scudding by in that way that in Oklahoma says “You think it’s a pretty summer day? Hold my beer.”

In those few minutes I did a lot of thinking out there, though, powered by panic. And one conclusion I came to was this: when you’re out on the water, staying in the boat always seems like the best thing. Not exactly earth-shaking as realizations go, but solid.

That’s probably what the disciples thought too, when Jesus put them on that boat on the lake. Until that storm came up.

In our gospel reading, Jesus has put his disciples on a boat so that he could get a moment’s peace. Throughout Jesus’s ministry as a teacher and a healer, he still needed times to re-center by through a mindful practice of prayer. As our great High Priest, Jesus models a truth for everyone engaged in ministry: to be the best minister you can be, you also have to be mindful of maintaining your own spiritual life so that you can have something to give to others. That’s what prayer and worship is all about: courage as well as comfort. Strength for the journey.

However, it doesn’t take long for the disciples to run into some stormy weather out there on the water. The disciples in that boat must have been terrified. And then along comes what they think is a ghost: a figure walks across the waves toward them there in the middle of the night in that storm. Is it any wonder that they don’t recognize Jesus? But Jesus speaks, and seeks to reassure them.

And then here comes Peter. I don’t know about you all, but I love Peter. If ever there is a disciple that reminds us of us, if we’re honest, it’s Peter. Leap before you look Peter. Peter, who makes commitments rashly and then loses his nerve. Just like all of us. And yet this is the one upon whom Jesus will build his church. I sometimes wonder if Jesus wasn’t being ironic calling Peter “the rock.” Because if he is rock, he’s more like sedimentary rock, or maybe limestone. Maybe he’s the rock because he can be kind of dense. Whatever the reason, Jesus is awfully patient with Peter, loving him and pulling him along out of this mess or that one whenever he puts his foot in his mouth. And thank God! We can take hope from the fact that Peter was given the grace by Jesus to make mistakes while he was trying to find his own way. Even when Jesus gets exasperated or irritated with Peter, Jesus also at the same time never gives up on him. Nor with us.

Jesus’s generous urging of Peter to take that step and share in the miracle of ministry reminds us of the unfailing grace and patience we all receive, even when we lose sight of our goals again and again. Peter’s faith does falter, and he begins to sink—yet out of the depths he cries out to Jesus, who chides him and pulls him up and keeps Peter from sinking. Some think of Peter as being a fool here. But I think Jesus admired Peter’s willingness to dare, even if it came from an impulse. To my mind, even as Peter is sinking under the weight of that flickering faith, he actually at the same time perfectly embodies the life of faith, knowing that Christ is the One Peter can call out to and trust to save him. There’s a lesson for us in that. Even a little faith is enough.

Some people might say that the boat represents the Church, and the lake represents the world, and I think those might be fruitful metaphors for our time. The Church does not exist for her own sake, within her own walls, but is called into mission for the life of the world. That means that sometimes we have to risk leaving the confines of the boat and step out onto the waves for the sake of the gospel of love and unity that has drawn many of us here as seminarians.

It’s easy to get cynical about the Church today. We see that the Church is being battered around by storms both within and without it. Many of us ourselves feel battered. We’re not sure everyone in the boat is on the same page. We’re not sure the boat is going to hold together. We’re not sure the boat is going the right direction, even before the storms come up. Some of the people in the boat don’t show too much concern for anyone not already in the boat. Frankly, a whole bunch of us look at that boat, and we feel anxiety. For many of the disciples, the last thing they want to do is leave that boat to engage the world. And in our time, there are so many people who see the boat pitching around in the storm, and the last thing they want to do is get in it.

But I’m convinced that the boat is the way we get out on the water in the first place. We see that Jesus is out there on those waves. And for me, that fills me with hope and wonder. As Jesus’s disciples, we are called to engage with the world for the life and healing of the world. In order to bear witness to the God we worship, we have to remember that the Church exists for the world, and not the other way around. God reveals Godself to us in the most unlikely of ways, and Jesus reminds us again and again of God’s solidarity with all creation, which calls us to engage with creation in a spirit of unity and healing. Jesus encourages us to open our eyes and recognize him when he shows up in the most unlikely ways. We can’t just sit passively in the boat and expect the world or Jesus to come to us.

The Church cannot bear witness to the saving love of God if those in the boat forget what our true calling is: to be bearers of hope and grace as members of Christ’s body, transformed by the love that lights our paths and heals the woundedness we all have, friends as well as opponents.

There is a lot of despair, fear, anger, and hopelessness in our churches and in our world right now. Even as we enter Lent, it’s hard not to feel that all that looms before us is the cross and the tomb. But we have to remember that the Holy One who is our Savior ultimately calls us to be an Easter people. We confront pain and injustice, and are called to respond with something radically different: 
Shalom.
Wholeness.
Peace.
Integrity.
Empathy.

We are called as disciples to be sacraments, which in my tradition is defined as “outward and visible signs of an inward and spiritual grace.” Poet Gerard Manley Hopkins reminded us of the sacramental nature of the universe when he said, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” We have a special calling to embody that beauty, even in the face of fear and storm—even out there on the water. The water can be a place of danger and struggle, but it can also be a place of rebirth and new life.

In the name of Love Incarnate, we come up out of the waters of baptism, and we can come up out of those waters empowered to be Christ’s saving hands to those who themselves feel they are being pulled under. The world is already mired in cynicism, fear, and love of self. But that presents us in the Church with an opportunity to be truly counter-cultural as the gospel calls us to be. We have the chance as the leaders of the Church to protest and stand for right and resist hate, but in doing so to testify in hope-filled witness to the God of Life and Light. As our psalms and Peter remind us, we call upon God when we are sinking, but we also can rest within the embrace of God like that weaned child resting upon the shoulder of the One whose love envelops and sustains us and all of creation, and then do the work of God’s kingdom.

And we are in a perfect place to learn how to do that. We come to Eden to study theology- and be reminded that Christ is in places we never expected. We have been called to embody Christ’s radical love as well as righteousness into a world that desperately needs that hope and love in the face of anger and violence.

Many of us in the class of 2017 learned that, even before our first class started. We learned that Christ was in the streets of Ferguson on August 9, 2014 and in the streets of St. Louis in October of that year, and Christ was in Waller County, Texas, that following July. We heard the voices of young people and older people, gay, straight, queer, or transgender folx of all kinds joining together in the name of justice, reminding us that “Love is Love,” and those voices all echoed with the reassurance that carried across the waves, saying, “Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid.”

But I hope we have also learned that God is found in simple things like sitting by the bedside of a sick person or a shut-in and being present with them. We have learned that God is found in common prayer, in reverent worship, in songs of praise and in silence, in sharing communion so that we never forget who we are called to be: the Beloved Community, the joyful Body of Christ. Just like Jesus, we are also called here to learn how to make worship and prayer the center of our lives, the thing that gives us the groundedness to step out in faith. We have learned all kinds of complex academic material in our time here at Eden, yet along the way we have also been called to serve God and each other with humility and kindness.

But I’ll tell you one thing: we DON’T come here to learn how to sit safely in the boat and just hang on. We come here to learn to dare to step out on those waves in love and hope. We come here because we are willing to hear Christ’s call and see where it leads. May we have the courage to long to hear Christ call us to step out on those waves, to testify to the beauty of God’s love all around us, knowing that even in the storm, we are not alone, but are upheld by God's grace.

Amen.

 (Preached in Wehrli Chapel at Eden Theological Seminary on Monday, March 13, at 11:40 am).

Defying Expectations: Sermon for the 3rd Sunday of Advent, Year A

Preached at the Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd, Town and Country, Missouri,
December 11, 10 am

Readings:
Isaiah 35:1-10
Canticle 15
James 5:7-10
Matthew 11:2-11

Last week, I was unable to be here with you because I was in a car wreck last Saturday, and Pamela urged me to stay home. The wreck came as a total surprise. I had pulled up at a four-way stop, and two cars perpendicular to me pulled up at the same time just a second later. So, knowing that four-way stops are always trouble, I waved the other two cars through. All the stops but mine were then empty, which is just how I like my four-way stops—I don’t know about you. Imagine my shock, then, when as I was in the middle of the intersection I heard a huge bang and then had something white loom up in front of my eyes and the next thing I know I was spinning. And it was some GOOD, thrilling spinning, let me tell you. People pay hundreds of dollars at Disney World for such spinning.

I entered that intersection expecting to get through it and go on my merry way. It is an understatement to say that I most certainly and without a doubt did NOT get what I expected.

There are many people in our readings today who also did not get what they expected. The vision Isaiah gives us this week shows a desert blooming, the weak being strengthened, the disabled made whole, waters gushing forth in the driest of places.

This will be the vision that greets the eyes of the faithful ones, the followers of the Way of God. Instead of desolation, they will see fertility and abundance and beauty. They will see a land of promise. And they will rejoice, and all will live together in wholeness as a community at peace.

It’s the same vision of healing and restoration that Jesus uses to define and describe his ministry in our gospel: “the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” 

And Jesus comes by this radical vision of real peace and wholeness honestly. It was given to him by his Father in Heaven. It was proclaimed by his Mother here on Earth in her brave hymn of praise and rebellion known as the Magnificat, which has been prayed and sung and whispered throughout the ages. 

Biblical scholar and Anglican bishop N. T. Wright calls the Magnificat
“the gospel before the gospel,
a fierce bright shout of triumph
thirty weeks before Bethlehem,
thirty years before Calvary and Easter.” 

Mary’s vision and Jesus’s vision align, and that’s no accident. It’s a reminder of what the gospel really means and what it tells us about living into God’s vision for us.

It’s a gospel which has always confounded any who try to twist it based on their own expectations. Last week we saw John proclaiming the coming of the Lord. So much anticipation was imbedded in that gospel, which is of course so perfect for Advent. When indeed Jesus did appear, Jesus was not exactly what John had been expecting. 

Isn’t that so often the case? We dream about something wonderful happening in our lives, and then reality ends up being still so random. Not worse, but different than our expectations. John had been expecting Messiah to be obvious to him. He expected Messiah to establish a certain way of justice that would reorder society the way John thought it should be.

And that’s not what he got. Instead, like Charlie Brown trick-or-treating and only getting rocks, in Matthew 4:12, John was arrested. The prophet rots in jail for seven chapters, and now, in chapter 11, he is forced to send some of his followers to attempt to ascertain whether Jesus is indeed the Messiah. 

Sitting in his jail cell, John has doubts. To find the source of his disquiet, simply look at his words of prophecy. He has been foretelling doom, and judgment, and punishment. This is not the Messiah John has been expecting. John was expecting someone who would emphasize repentance more, even though Jesus certainly did plenty of that.
John was expecting vengeance!
John was expecting a leader who would be a strong man.
John was expecting some retribution at broods of vipers!

Many people, even today, especially today, expect to see that kind of God and that kind of leadership operating in the world right now. The problem with having a leader or God who is a “strong man” is that the only way he becomes a “strong man” is by taking away agency from everyone else and gathering all the power to himself and maybe his buddies. 

Jesus IS a strong man- make no mistake. As God incarnate, he COULD treat us as infants and take care of everything. But Jesus’s strength as God, clothed in humanity, is rooted in love, not fear. Jesus’s message is about healing us, strengthening us, empowering us for the work he is going to send US into the world to do in his name. 

Jesus didn’t come to patronize us or treat us as infants, but to lead us back into the full vision of humanity that was planted in us by God in creation: a vision of wholeness, integrity, justice, and peace that our Jewish brethren sum up in one small word: “shalom.” And Jesus shows us who he is by what he does in the name of mercy and healing, not by what he says in condemnation or by threats.

So John sends some of his followers to ask Jesus straight up: “Are you the One we have been waiting for, or is there another?” There is a little bit of a forlorn quality in the question. John seems to be wondering, “Have I been wasting my time? Have I been wrong about what my role is?”

Notice how Jesus answers John here, too. Jesus is NOT about Jesus. Jesus does not say, “Yes, I am he! I have healed the blind, the lame, the lepers, the deaf! I have raised the dead! I have brought hope to the poor!” Jesus lets the actions speak for themselves. He emphasizes the healing, not the credit that is due. He puts the focus on the kingdom, healed and established on foundations of wholeness, rather than his status. He echoes the prophecies we heard in our section of Isaiah today. He fulfills the promises his mother shouted out with defiant joy in her canticle today.

So what we see here is that John has not gotten the Messiah he wanted or expected. And yet, here is his cousin, Jesus, and he is NOT some warrior king. He is not about restoring the former glory of Israel by having it rise to new military or political or economic power.

What Jesus IS about is moving among those who have been outcast. This God, we see, emphasizes mercy over retribution, in contrast to the God that many people today still seem to expect—a God of retribution and smiting, a sender of earthquakes and famines to punish millions.

Jesus reminds us that his ministry will surprise us, and will lead us in ways we did not expect and heal us in ways we may not even deserve. “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me” he says. Blessed are those who embrace and follow Jesus for who Jesus is, radical enough for the best of us, instead of trying to make Jesus fit their preconceived notions of who Messiah will be. 

John asks who Jesus is. Now in the second half of our reading Jesus asks the crowds if they understand who John is. A “reed shaken in the wind” would have been someone who sought to appeal to popular opinion, who would have said what was pleasing to the crowd. That certainly wasn’t John—and in the end, it isn’t Jesus, either, then or now. Was John a smoothly groomed, tanned, manicured huckster in a bespoke suit, preaching an easy message in some plush setting? Not even close. But even John lost sight of the fact that the inbreaking of God’s kingdom into the world would completely upend all the power structures he despised-- by NOT playing into them and the inherent violence that is the foundation of human systems of empire and domination.

John is a prophet—but more than a prophet. He is the last great prophet of the old age, who is pointing to the new age. He is the transition between the Old Testament, which depended upon prophets to explain the ways of God, and the New Testament, which has the Messiah, who is a prophet and God incarnate. Yet the least in the kingdom of heaven—among those who have faith in Jesus as the Christ—are greater than John at this moment, not because John is doubting, but because John is trying to impose his own expectation upon Jesus. Jesus’s ministry is making John uncomfortable, because it is not what he expected.

Advent kind of does the same number on us. We are anticipating Christmas, with a cute chubby baby lying in a manger, and instead we get this fully grown holy man speaking riddles and challenges as well as hope. 

We can see one thing, though. Jesus is his MOTHER’S son, as well as the Son of God. “My soul proclaims the GREATNESS of the Lord, and my spirit REJOICES in God my Savior!” she cries out. “God has lifted up the lowly, starting with me, and has placed his strong arm before me!” she sings. And Jesus himself, in his words and actions, proclaims the very same thing.

Jesus was NOT the one that John was expecting. And John certainly wasn’t the only one confounded. Jesus often confounded those who encountered him—and still does, today more than ever! Look around at all the different gospel visions we see proclaimed today in the name of Christ! 

We don’t own Jesus—Jesus owns us.

That’s why we identify ourselves through his title as Christ. Now the next question to logically proceed is this: Who, then are we, and what are we to do?

Nothing less than carry Jesus and his gospel of healing, mercy, and fierce compassion into the world. We, like Mary, are called to be Christ-bearers, to be disciples, not just fans. We are called to a way of life that saves us right now, not in some distant future, through our own lives bearing testimony to the JOY that is God’s kingdom. As Caryll Houselander reminds us in her book of devotions to Mary called The Reed of God, Mary is not just human, she is humanity. She is us. Houselander writes, “The one thing she did and does is the one thing that we all have to do, namely to bear Christ into the world. Christ must be born from every soul, formed in every life.”

And that means making Jesus’s path our own, and remembering that he seeks to live within us right now. As Christians, we are called to be the body of Christ and to literally embody Christ. The operating instructions are right before us: in this season of darkness, our business is to shine that light of healing, of compassion, of love even in the face of hate, into the world.

Given that this third Sunday in Advent is called “Gaudete” or “Joy” Sunday, what could be more joyful than to be reminded that God generously defies our expectations again and again? Throughout scripture God calls us to turn away from systems of behavior based on scarcity and anxiety. The reading from Isaiah reminds us that God does not intend for us to live that way, nor to try to impose that anxiety and fear upon others. If we see the face of God in each and every fellow being, how can we hope that others will “lose” so that we will “win?” That kind of losing and winning denies the inherent goodness and dignity of EVERY human being that we repeated a couple of weeks ago at the baptism we celebrated together. 

If it sounds crazy to hope for such a world, that’s because maybe it is. That’s why our presiding bishop calls us “crazy Christians.” We are called not to give in to being ground down by the expectations and limitations of this world, but to work to establish the kingdom of heaven on Earth. And that involves defying expectations and challenging injustice and impoverishments of all kinds in the name of mercy and the Love who came and is coming into the world as Jesus Christ our Savior.

Amen.

Prayer 1348

The rear of the nave of All Saints' Chapel, Sewanee.

Most Merciful God, we rise to greet this day You have made, hearing the praise song of creation testify to your glory. 
May we echo that praise in every moment, from our rising to our resting, and bear witness to your Love. 

We thank You for your manifold blessings, especially your fellowship of saints and companions who guide us in wisdom. 
Set our feet firmly in the paths of peace and compassion, O Holy One, and help us to love unreservedly as Jesus taught us. 
May your Spirit descend upon us like a cloud, that our tongues may tell out your wonders, O Earth-maker. 

God of Compassion, bend near to all who seek You, and envelop all who call upon You with hope.

Amen.

Prayer 1347

Worship at Sewanee during the DuBose lectiures with former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams.

Almighty God, we thank You for your protection and care over us in the night. Help us to walk in the way of wisdom today, worshiping You in all our words and deeds. Help us, like Jesus, to be with and for others, emptying ourselves to be filled by your Holy Spirit and do your will. Holy One, grant us your grace and peace this day. Be with all who travel, that they rest in your traveling mercies. Place your hande especially on those who call upon You in joy and in anxiety.

Amen.

Prayer 1346- for peace, love, and unity

The Memorial Cross at the University of the South, Sewanee, at dusk.

Most Holy Lord, God of All Tenderness, we arise with joy to seek your truth, and be led like children into your ways. We give thanks for the love that supports us, for companions and loved ones who keep faith in joy and sorrow.

Forgive us for our offenses, and uphold us in the embrace of your love and mercy. Lord Jesus, we pray for justice and wisdom to roll down like waters, to lift us like a tide over the shoals of division and disaster. Give us hearts open to each other, enlightened by your gospel, transformed by love and faith. 

Strengthen the hands and skills of doctors, nurses, and caregivers, that they may persevere in compassion. Gentle us, as a mother soothes her restless children, and let your embrace bring us to peace, we pray. 

Holy One, you press upon us behind and before: envelop those who call upon You in your unfailing mercy.

Amen.

Prayer 1334- for discernment

It's Saturday, so, God willing, it's the day that includes the 5:05 service at St. Martin's in Ellisville this evening.

Most Merciful God, receive our prayers and praises, that we may serve You in unity and peace. 

Give us discerning hearts and a will to serve, singing with joy as we are called by our Shepherd's voice. Guide us by your light, O Christ, and open our eyes to your truth, that we may be renewed and transformed. May the beauty of God enlighten us, that we may reflect and testify to the Light, animated by love and wisdom. 

Shield and comfort all who are in distress, O Holy One, and make us bearers of peace and unity in your Name. Gather within your embrace all those for whom we pray, Blessed Jesus.

Amen.

Prayer 1329

Christ Church Cathedral, St. Louis, Diocese of Missouri.

Holy One, we thank You for watching over us through the night, and welcome the morning You have placed before us. 

Heal us of our sins and offenses, that we may live in wisdom, gentleness, and integrity. Help us to empower the powerless and protect the weak. Guide us in paths of peace and compassion today, that we may bear each other's burdens with joy. 

Having rested in your refuge, let us go forth in the strength and power of the Holy Spirit, witnessing to your truth. Help us to embody the life of Christ, to bring your love into the world. 

Holy One, we place within your care all those who are troubled in body, mind, or spirit. Comfort the vulnerable, Blessed Jesus, and place your hand upon those who call upon You.

Amen.

Prayer 1238- Eighteenth Sunday After Pentecost

Window at Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd, Town and Country Missouri. tt is Homecoming Sunday!

Good Shepherd of our souls, keep us in wisdom, that we may remain with rejoicing within the sound of your voice. 

All like sheep we wander afield, and find ourselves misled by folly and stubborn pride: yet You seek us always in your love. Your faithfulness and compassion, Lord Christ, rescues us from the pit: you hold us fast when we fall. Your care for us pours over our heads like a soothing balm: we are secure in your arms, and comforted by your embrace. 

Carry us upon your shoulders with rejoicing, dear Lord, and restore us to unity with our brothers and sisters. In your mercy, may we abide with You forever, at peace in verdant pastures of peace, justice, and plenty. 

Bless us and keep us, O Holy One, and lift those who call upon You upon the rock of your love.

Amen.

Prayer 1325- Open Doors

Window at Emmanuel Church, Webster Grove, Missouri.

Lord Jesus, you stand at the door and knock: let us answer in joy and hope! 

Let us open wide the doors of our hearts, to welcome love in and to sweep out all bitterness. 
Let us open wide the doors of our minds, to welcome wisdom in, and seek the Way of Truth in Christ. 
Let us open wide the doors of our souls, to welcome the Spirit of Compassion to fill us with light and peace. 

Most Merciful God, Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life Giver, place your seal of blessing upon us, and upon those we remember before You, we pray.

Amen.

Prayer 1324

Detail on the facade of Press Hall, Eden Theological Seminary.

Lord Jesus, let us abide in you this day. 

Let us cast aside the suspicion and distrust that isolates us from our God and our brothers and sisters. 
Let us open our hearts to love fully, opening our arms and hearts to the world in joy. 
Let us step forth onto the path of truth, and be warmed by the wisdom of your way. 
Let us be bearers of the light of peace, and be tempered by the fires of justice. 
Let us be animated by the Holy Spirit to be compassionate toward all fellow-beings. 

Holy One, we walk by faith and hope: let us always trust in your promise of mercy. 
Guide and guard us into the arms of your love, and let your tenderness rest upon those we now name.

Amen.

Prayer 1323

The Tower at Press Hall, Eden Theological Seminary.

Lord Jesus Christ, we lift up our hearts and lives to You, offering You all that we are, rejoicing in your abiding love. 

For all who rejoice and celebrate their blessings today, we thank You. 
For all who seek and travel the holy path of compassion and peace, as You yourself guided us, we thank You. 
For all working to amend their lives and reconcile to those they have hurt and to forgive those who've hurt them, we thank You. 

For all who have lost their way, or who have lost hope, that the Spirit of Wisdom and Truth enliven them, we pray to You. 
For all who sorrow, or who are anxious in the face of uncertainty or injustice, that they be freed and comforted, we pray to You. 
For all who are in pain or sickness in body or mind, that they be healed and restored, we pray to You. 

Holy One, accept our praises and our cares as we lay them before You, and bless and keep those we now name.

Amen.

Prayer 1172- hope in times of testing

Seminarians thinking long and hard before their exams-- window in the McCarthy Room at Eden Seminary.

Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer, You are our good above all others: accept our praises and our prayers in like measure, we pray. We rise with a song of joy engraved on our hearts, stirred by the brush of angel wings as You have protected us in the night. 

Earth-Maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver, your love is written in our bones: may we breathe out your grace, and be a blessing. Help us to sing out your wisdom, O God, and uphold us in your grace that we may testify to your truth and saving power. 

Let us place the Wisdom of God always before us: borne up by your encompassing Love, we shall never fall. Let your loving-kindness enlighten our souls, O Holy One: your gospel, like honey, sustains us and strengthens us always. 

Resting within your embrace, bounded within your mantle of grace, we place our cares before You, and ask your blessing as we pray.

Amen.

Grounded in holiness: sermon for Proper 28, year B

Readings:

1 Samuel 1:4-20

Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18) 19-25

Mark 13:1-8

Sermon Proper 28B (Ingathering Sunday)

November 15, 2015

Last week in our gospel we heard the story of the “Widow’s Mite.” We were led to contemplate how the Church might actually represent the widow in the story—giving our all to God all for nothing but the sake of Christ—in other words, for the greatest free thing in all the world: love.

This week we hear stories about worship in our readings. The story of Hannah is centered around the shrine at Shiloh that contained the Ark of the Covenant. And our gospel reading from Mark continues the discussion Jesus and his disciples are having about the Temple. Yet I think love is woven into this, as well, since worship is all about love- love for God, and love for each other.

Places of worship come and go, but the ways we worship God are more important. Shiloh was an important place of worship—until it was overrun and looted. Then the First Temple was built at Jerusalem by Solomon. That Temple, in turn, was destroyed, and it was only after a long exile that a new Temple replaced it. That second Temple was then further expanded by King Herod, whose family governed Israel as puppets and collaborators under the Roman Empire during the life of Jesus.

Our gospel story depicts Jesus and his disciples discussing the Temple that Herod had expanded. Allegedly, it was an amazing sight, with marble columns and pavements, and it was so massive that its walls were sixteen feet thick in places. And some of those stones that the disciples remarked about weighed over 100 tons EACH. All of this magnificence was paid for by taxes that Herod and the religious authorities levied upon the people, whether wealthy patrons or poor widows.

This Temple may have been declared to be the center of the worship of God, but the guy whose name was all over it was HEROD’S, and it was a monument to Herod’s claims to power and legitimacy as a ruler. The problem of the Temple for Jesus is that it was NOT dedicated to the humble work of love, the work of building up the community, the work of worshiping God.

In our first reading, Hannah’s entire household—including her husband’s other wife and children-- are on pilgrimage at Shiloh, yet Hannah was restless and troubled. Although beloved by her husband, she is childless. Her husband doesn’t seem to understand the depths of Hannah’s pain—possibly because he has children with his other wife. Yet Hannah knows that if, God forbid, something were to happen to her husband, she would be absolutely destitute-- just like that poor widow in last week’s gospel.

Hannah gets up from the family feast to go and pray alone before the Ark, observed by Eli, the priest. Humbly but fervently, she begs God for a son, even promising to give that child back to God’s service as soon as he is weaned. She begins praying so hard yet so silently that Eli thinks she’s drunk. After defending herself, Eli bids her go in peace. But something shifted during that prayer. Hannah is “remembered” by God, and blessed with a son, who was named Samuel, meaning “God hears me.” Hannah will give birth to that son, only to give him to Eli, to grow up in the sanctuary at Shiloh, and serve God as a prophet and judge of Israel.

Hannah eventually sings a great song of victory after the birth of her son, which will be very similar to another song of victory sung by a young woman named Mary, inspired by her own impending motherhood. I want to mention it so that we understand that Hannah worshiped and praised God as much as she railed at God. Hannah had first approached God with angry pleadings, but eventually she sings a great song of power and rejoicing. Hannah’s marginalized status was overturned through her very great faith.  In a few weeks, Mary will also sing about the greatness of God and all God’s works in overturning the hierarchies of power, to bring restoration of God’s design for peace and justice. Hannah and Mary are linked: they each have a son, and they raise him and love him only to give him away to serve God. They give all they have out of love. Just like the widow in last week’s gospel.

Our sermon last week closed with imagining that the widow had gone home from the Temple, not to impending starvation, but to the loving care of others—perhaps someone who witnessed her act pressed some money into her hands, perhaps she had her own loving daughter-in-law to help her, as Naomi had Ruth. Perhaps she had neighbors who would check on her and take care of her. I love that image. That love and care we show for others IS true worship. It’s true discipleship—one that’s not dependent on buildings but on hearts on fire with the love of God.

I particularly thought of that image during the last few days, as we heard of atrocities in Lui, in Syria, in Baghdad, and in Beirut. On Friday, the terrible attacks all across Paris killed at least 120 persons, and wounded nearly 400 more.

It seems overwhelming. Yet even in the midst of carnage, there were also beautiful stories of good people opening their homes to people displaced by these tragedies; of people airdropping food and supplies to refugees in one place and plucking them from the ocean in others; of people growing and giving away a ton of food even when the weather doesn’t cooperate. All of these actions are holy. All of these actions remind us of the best in us that was planted by God in creation.

Sacrifice doesn’t just mean to give up something—sacrifice means to make something holy. What makes a place holy isn’t its grandeur. What makes a place holy is how it brings us closer to God. The story of Hannah reminds us of that. It reminds us that worship is much more about how our hearts are oriented than being in the midst of resplendent surroundings. Similarly, what makes a people holy isn’t their numbers. What makes a people holy is their dedication to serve and worship God.

And that’s an important message to hear, as we keep being told that Christianity as we know it, and the Episcopal Church as we know it, is in decline. We are a small church. But, if our hearts are filled with worship and wonder at what God has done for us, we can still do great things, if our souls proclaim the greatness of the Lord, and our spirits rejoice in God our Savior, who looks with favor on his lowly servants.

Yet I’m reminded of a beautiful point that Pamela made last week. She said, “Being a member of a church, and giving generously of your time, talent, and treasure, is NOT going to impress people today.” But she reminded us that this is actually good news. Here’s what she said: “If we Christians can embrace our marginalized place in society and stop chasing respectability and status, we will be that much closer to the life of faith that Jesus modeled and wants us to emulate.”

This reminded me of one of my favorite poems, by e. e. cummings (I told you all I was an English major, yes?).  This poem reminded me of the holiness to be found in humility, the kind of humility and steadfast love we see in Hannah, and Mary, and countless others like you and me right here at Good Shepherd who seek to give God our all.

Here’s what e e cummings wrote:

i am a little church(no great cathedral)

far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities

-i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,

i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;

my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving

(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children

whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

around me surges a miracle of unceasing

birth and glory and death and resurrection:

over my sleeping self float flaming symbols

of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains

 i am a little church(far from the frantic

world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature

-i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;

i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

 winter by spring, i lift my diminutive spire to

merciful Him Whose only now is forever:

standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence

(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)

I thought of that poem, and I thought—that’s us! 

This is a church attuned to the life of the sower and the reaper. 

This is a church that has known birth and glory and death and resurrection. 

We’ve even got the “diminutive spire.”

This is a holy place, and we are holy people. Let us be gathered together, to proclaim with our time, our prayers, our talent, and our treasure, to do great things in love, sacrifice, and humility.

Amen.