O God of peace, awaken our souls to the glory of your creation, and let our praises and prayers rise to You. From the cool light of morning to our lying down in peace, let our minds be firmly fixed upon doing your will. Let our actions be our testimony to your greatness and love, O Holy One. Let our words be gentle and our backs be strong, that we may serve You with joy and gladness. Drive far from us all contention and strife, that your Spirit of wisdom guide us in paths of compassion and grace. Watch over your children with a tender hand, Lord Christ, and press your kiss of blessing upon those we now name. Amen.
The four evangelists; detail from the pulpit at Vanderbilt Divinity School.
Lord Christ, Beloved Shepherd, keep us as the sheep of your pasture, and hear our chorus of praise. Let us join with the stars that sing the dawn into being, and rise in the morning to give praise to the Creator, Holy and Loving! Abide with us through fair weather or foul, through heartbreak and joy, O Spirit of Healing and Peace. Turn our hands and hearts toward good, and our mouths to praise and faithfulness. Make us instruments of peace and healing in the world, that we may proclaim the Truth of God in all things. Holy One, watch over and bless your servants, we humbly pray, especially those we now name. Amen.
Almighty One, we bow before You in wonder: thanks be to the Prince of Peace, who knits us together in love! Place your blessing upon us, O Merciful One, that we may serve You in constancy and peace. Allow us to persevere against adversity, O God, and know your grace in each moment of our trials as well as joy. May our words be sweet in counsel with each other, and may our steps be sure in working in the fields of the Lord. Cast the mantle of your comfort over all in sorrow, distress, or anxiety, especially those we now name. Amen.
Hear our prayer, O Lord of Hosts, and let our praises and thanksgivings rise like incense before You. Holy One, inscribe your precepts upon our hearts: let them overflow with charity and compassion. By your grace, O God, make our spirits a fitting habitation for your Spirit: with all we are let us worship You. Blessed Jesus, may our inmost souls welcome You, that we be filled with a Spirit of peace and wisdom. Place your hands upon our hearts, Lord Christ, and bless and keep us this day, and uplift the spirits of those for whom we pray. Amen.
Let us waken the dawn with our songs of praise: O Lord, the beauty of your day is upon us and we give your thanks indeed. With hearts open to the light of your truth and love, O Creator, we lift our prayers in gratitude. Bind us to each other today, for You have called us to unity and brotherhood through your wisdom. We praise You for your faithful care of all in need, for their cry rest in your heart like a fledgling under its mother's wing. Let us treasure your promise of blessing and shalom within our souls: in You, O God, we find rest and peace. Strengthen us for the day's journey, and equip us with the wisdom to do your work in the world, Lord Christ. Send forth the Holy Spirit to shelter and shield us, and press the kiss of comfort upon the brow of those we now name. Amen.
If you know me, you may know that I love
music—all kinds. When I meditate on scripture, I often think of songs or poems,
maybe because all three of these forms are measured in verses. One of the songs
that I thought about when thinking about the readings for this Sunday is the
song “On and On It Goes,” by Mary Chapin Carpenter, one of my favorites.
I was
especially blessed last night to be able to hear Chapin sing this song live
with the St. Louis Symphony, and it was, ironically, the first song she sang.
As I looked forward to being here with you today, these lyrics in particular
caught my attention:
Every night the TV shows
one more bad day's news
A world away from what I know
and what I do
But I could save a stranger's life
if I had a clue
And on and on it goes
Attention must be paid
Before it seems we're one soul short
and a second late
On and on it flies
Across the stratosphere
At the speed of love, if you stop
and feel it you will hear
I thought
about this song of perseverance, love, and hope as I looked forward to seeing
you all again today. I thought about the many times I have witnessed many of
you reaching out to save the life of a stranger, in big ways and little ones. The
life we live in Christ moves at the speed of love. And on and on it goes.
In our
gospels today, we hear stories of people persevering even in the midst of the
darkest times they could ever have imagined, and we hear them after a week
remembering those who grieve. Monday was Memorial Day, remembering those who
died in warfare. On Thursday, many people remembered those killed by gun
violence as part of the “Wear Orange” movement—remembering not just the ones
who have been wounded and killed, but their loved ones who are left to deal
with the aftermath of this terrible calculus that seems unstoppable. Too many
in our society claim that nothing can be done, or make false comparisons about
guns and cars, or talking about laws not being enforced or the nature of
criminals in ignoring the law.
But when I
think about this crisis in our common life, I first see the faces of mothers
and fathers, sons and daughters, grieving. Saying nothing can be done—to say we
are helpless—is not the American way. Monday’s remembrances on Memorial Day are
testaments to that. Saying nothing can be done is certainly not the Christian
way, either—and not the way of Jesus that we are called not just to admire but
to follow.
In our
gospel today, we see another story of life in the balance, and this one is
magnified in several ways. This is not a slave, but a son. A widow’s son—her
only source of support—has died, and the people of the town are accompanying
her to bury him. Jesus sees that grief and loss, and acts with compassion.
Jesus reaches out and saves a stranger’s life, because, in Christ, there are no
strangers.
Biblical
scholar John Pilch writes that Jesus’s healings are about restoring not just
life but about restoring meaning—restoring wholeness at that moment not only to
the person in need of healing, but to the entire community that surrounds them.
This effect is magnified in our stories today, where people are not only healed
but resurrected. Stories like these remind us that we are a resurrection
people, an Easter people. In professing our faith in Christ, we have been given
our lives back, and given a charge: to work for renewal and resurrection within
the world and within ourselves. Like that widow, after Jesus walks away having
given her back her son, we are looking for meaning ourselves, as we try to shed
our coat of cynicism, and step out as persons of faith every day, believing in
resurrection.
This is an
important point as we consider the state of our communities. As I was revising
this sermon yesterday, within five minutes two stories appeared in my news
feed: a father shot his baby daughter, tried to kill his wife, and then killed
himself in Ohio. A 16-year-old boy was sitting on his front porch in Indiana
when he was killed in a drive-by shooting. Within five minutes.
When we hear
stories like this, we could get overwhelmed by our anger, or be filled with
feelings of impotence. Or we could act out of hope that there is a better way.
We could determine that our society might be better based not on fear,
suspicion, and division, but rather based on true love of our neighbor and
dedication to work together for the resurrection of the common good.
Our psalm
today reminds us that weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning.
Today we hear two similar stories of healing, of restoration. Yes, these are
stories of miracles. I’ve known people who don’t believe in miracles. But I
heard a wise rabbi say something to me this week. As much as he lived a life
rooted in practicalities and science, he said, “Of course there are miracles!
Every breath—even painful ones—are miracles.” And he is right-- miracles
surround us. But I don’t know if we would be as sensitive to miracles if we
also were not alive to the heartbreak we sometimes also feel.
Each of the
stories we ponder today involves heartbreak. The poet Mary Oliver reminds us
that heartbreak does serve a purpose. In one of her poems she tells a tragic
story of a group of loons. These birds arrived at the harbor near her home, and
they all died, one by one, for seemingly no reason, and it’s heartbreaking. But
just when we are wondering why she is telling this terrible story, she makes
the point that brings it home. She concludes the poem with this observation:
I tell
you this
to
break your heart,
by
which I mean only
that it
break open and never close again
to the
rest of the world.
Most of us
are born with hearts wide open, but sometimes, over time and experience, we try
to protect ourselves, and our hearts, the size of a fist in our chest, tightens
up like a fist as well. But to really love each other, our hearts have to be
cracked open, even just a bit. Sometimes a broken heart can spur us to
action, actions like empathy, compassion, and even, eventually, hope. A broken
heart knows how important it is to love each other.
And once we
love each other, no matter what, for good or for ill, our hearts will be broken
open a little more. Broken hearts are also miracles, because broken hearts at
least have known the gossamer bands of love.
One of the sources
of heartbreak we pray for today is for our country to be healed from the plague
of gun violence. It seems to be a plague that has affected us by balling our
hearts into those hard fists rather than breaking us open. Some have allowed fear
to take root under our ribcages and in our imaginations to see enemies
everywhere. Some of us try to build defensive walls and carry weapons in the
name of security and self-defense.
So why
don’t we feel safer? Why do we feel even more fearful? With every wall we make,
we overlook the fact that we have made ourselves feel ever more alone and
therefore vulnerable. In trying to prevent heartbreak, we have instead
cultivated even more fear. But this heartbreak can also remind us that we need
each other. That’s the way we are made. That’s the way we are made stronger,
and healed.
Although
it’s not in today’s epistle, in some of his earliest writings to early
Christian communities, the apostle Paul was wise in using the metaphor of the
body to try to unify Christians. Christians are all one body, Paul reminded us,
and not just ANY body—but the Body of Christ himself. As the Body of Christ, we
are called to minister to the world in the name of the love of God. We are a
priestly people. Priestly people do not give up. Priestly people, especially in
this day and age, know the power of love to transform and heal the world. Like
Jesus, our great high priest, we Christians are called to look out on the world
with compassion, and try to restore meaning through that active compassion upon
the places that especially cry out for healing, and for resurrection.
This means
being willing to step forward and envision a better society, and demand this
from our leaders-- to work for resurrection as Jesus does. It means being
willing to remember that as a nation, we too are one body, and resurrecting the
ties that bind us together as a society. Honor. Tolerance. Charity (which has
somehow become a dirty word, but literally means “heart-full-ness”). Civility.
Generosity. Compassion. Responsibility. Trust. Faith in each other. These are
the bedrocks of well-being as one people, regardless of our race, religion, or
creed—as Americans. Not surprisingly, they are also the hallmarks of the
Christian life, Jewish life, Buddhist, Muslim, and human life. I believe that
that’s a resurrection in our common life that can take root, too.
Every night the TV shows
one more bad day's news
A world away from what I know
and what I do
But I could save a stranger's life
if I had a clue
And on and on it goes
Attention must be paid
Before it seems we're one soul short
and a second late
On and on it flies
Across the stratosphere
At the speed of love, if you stop
and feel it you will hear
On and on
it goes—life, love, loss, hope. And into that unfolding always we know the love
of God.
Soon we
will gather at the table and be reminded of our common life together in Christ,
and then be asked to carry that knowledge and that power out into the world,
and act upon it.
There is
really nothing that is a world away from what we know and what we do, when we
look out upon the world mindful of our common life together. We are one body—an
injury to any part is an injury to us all. Our hearts open to the joy of that
common life, can we be willing to step out into places where there is weeping
during the night, and practice resurrection? Like Jesus, then and now, we could
change a stranger’s life at the speed of love. On and on it goes. Resurrection
moves at the speed of our love for each other and our willingness to work
together.
Detail from the floor in the entryway of La Sagrada Familia.
We worship You, O God. Our strength comes from Your abundant Love, that gives us hope to press on toward our goal.
You call us to faithfulness: let us always trust in Your abounding grace.
You call us to compassion: let us always love one another.
You call us to action: let us work for justice and peace as love made manifest.
Give us eyes to see clearly, minds to discern justly, hearts to love freely, and hands to work unceasingly. Give hope to those who are troubled, wisdom to those who seek a path, and comfort to those who suffer, especially those we now name.
Morning light, La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Spain.
Holy, Holy, Holy God, we rise in happiness to worship you this day.
Let us be glad in the wonders of all your blessings, and give thanks for the might of your arm. Defend us, Lord God, from all perils and dangers: keep us as the apple of your eye. Draw us close to your side: hide us under the shadow of your wing; for You are our God, and we worship You in beauty. We turn to You in our work and in our rest, Lord Christ, for You are our guide and our stay, the keeper of our souls.
May we place the spark of your love to the kindling of our hearts, and be set aflame to serve and worship only You, O God. Spread your blessing over us like the canopy of forest, O Holy One: let us walk with You on cool, wide paths of goodness and mercy. Place your hand of blessing upon those we now name, Almighty God. Amen. 858
Lord God, we thank You for watching over us as we slept and walking beside us throughout the day. Give us gentle, joyful hearts, O Holy Spirit, and the humility to honor your spark in each person we meet today. Give rest and comfort to the weary, the sick, and the troubled, Blessed Savior. Give a spirit of repentance, O Holy One, that we may own and renounce our sins and failures to act. Give us eyes to see your handiwork in all creation, that we may treasure and care for it. Spread your blessing like a mantle over all who call upon you. Amen.
Lighting a candle for Michael Brown, August 10, 2014.
Most Merciful God, our faces warmed in the rays of the rising sun, we rise also and give your thanks and praise. Guide us, we pray, throughout this day. Help us to love rather than fear, and stretch out our hands in brotherhood rather than anger. Give us the courage to dare, and the perseverance to press on in the face of challenges. Give us the wit to solve problems and the strength to help those who call upon us. Give us healing hearts and helping hands, that we may put our shoulders to the wheel of your kingdom. Blessed Savior, abide in our hearts, that there be no more room for anything but love, faith, and joyful discipleship. Holy One, place your hand of blessing upon us this day, and upon those whose cares we lay at your feet. Amen.
Holy One, enter into our hearts, we pray, that we may see anew the beauty of thy handiwork, and be glad. Let us consider our steps, and be mindful of our ways, that we may reflect the light of Christ into the world. Let us burn bright with the hope of grace and reflect the mercy of God, which we ourselves have received, into the world. Let us seek to put away rancor and spite, that we may reflect the generosity and compassion of the Holy Spirit into the world. Let us repair our relationship with creation and with God and each other. Restore our spirits, Lord Christ, that our hearts may beat true within us, in joy and gratitude for each breath. Turn your face toward those in need, O Savior, and place the hand of power of blessing upon those we now name. Amen.
Galatians 1:11-24
As part of my seminary training, I took a class this past spring in Biblical Studies entitled “Paul and His Interpreters.” We read the epistles actually believed to be written by Paul, the epistles written in the name of Paul, and the Book of Acts, where Paul was introduced in the New Testament. At the end of the class, the students in this class were required to meet with our professor to talk about what lessons in ministry we had learned from our study of these works. My answer began with “Never write a letter or email when you are angry and send it before you have a chance to cool off.” It also included, “Don’t try to constantly defend yourself, or you will never get anything done except talking about yourself all the time.” Both of those statements were lessons I absorbed from Paul’s letter to the Galatians.
Last Sunday, the Revised Common Lectionary began a series of weeks devoted to the Epistle to the Galatians. It’s an unusual letter that violates most of the rules of the letter form used in the Mediterranean world at that time. As we heard on Sunday, it starts out with no personal greeting, no real thanksgiving or flattery. It just slams into rebuking the Galatians for abandoning the message Paul felt he had planted among them for a “perverted gospel” brought by others. It is obvious Paul also feels betrayed, and he lets that come through forcefully. This next Sunday, we will hear Paul’s long justification of himself and his bona fides as a Jew and as an apostle—twenty-four times we will hear Paul refer to himself as either “I” or “me” in Galatians 1:11-24. In this coming Sunday’s readings, Paul will attempt to emphasize the zeal that has characterized his life—first as a Pharisee, then as an apostle who, although not one of the original twelve, carved out a vital mission as the apostle to the Gentiles. This initial three year missionary journey helped those in Jerusalem accept the reliability of the conversion of one of the most notorious enemies they had thought they had among Jerusalem’s Pharisaic authorities.
One has to wonder if Paul’s relationship with the Galatians ever recovered from the forceful criticism and palpable anger that radiated from the opening verses of this letter. I imagine it probably never was the same—and I wonder if he ever regretted sending that letter. If the Galatians had already been persuaded by other evangelists, being angrily and bitterly denounced by someone who spends thirteen verses talking about himself right at the get-go is probably not going to make the Galatians smack their foreheads and admit that he had a point, human nature being what it is. One usually cannot persuade people by attacking them.
Defending himself is important to Paul in these verses. I was thinking about how ironic that fact was, in light of the fact that many Episcopal churches will also be talking about gun violence this Sunday as part of the call from leaders of Bishops United Against Gun Violence to wear orange on June 2 and June 5 and engage in conversation (and hopefully conversion, in some cases) regarding our moral obligation to address the scourge of gun violence roiling our country. The actions of some Episcopalians this Thursday and Sunday is part of a broader Wear Orange movement for Gun Violence Prevention Day on June 2. Many of the tragic incidents with gun deaths in our country begin with an avid proclamation of the right of people to be able to defend themselves, too—using not words, but personal weapons.
We began this week by remembering, on yesterday, Memorial Day here in the US, all those who have given their lives in defense of our country. Yet, according to statistics from Everytown for Gun Safety, in the seven days between the start of Memorial Day and the end of next Sunday, 637 people (91 people a day) will likely die as a result of the use of a gun. Forty-nine of those people will likely be teens and young children. Adding further to the carnage, more than 1200 people will be wounded by guns but survive during that same week. How better to end the week than by remembering all those whose lives have been taken through senseless although often willful violence, made deadly all too easily through ready access to machines designed solely to kill other human beings? Sadly, and all too often, we see guns used not to defend one’s self from harm, but being used in suicides (two-thirds of all gun deaths), domestic violence, drive-by shootings, and incidents when children not only are the victims (about 100 a year) but also sometimes the shooters themselves, often of friends or loved ones.
Defending ourselves is a natural instinct. But when that instinct leads to far more harm than good, we need to try to find another way to feel safe—a way that doesn’t increase the danger that originally caused us to be afraid. The debate over guns in our society needs to be just that—a debate, with the willingness to listen. Too often, tragedies happen at the end of a gun barrel, and how many of those times would the people involved give anything to take back what had happened? Too often, like Paul with the Galatians, both sides have been prone to attack first and intractably defend their positions, rater than listening or seeking common ground. Let us try to reason together, starting with an acknowledgement that each of these precious lives lost through gun violence was entirely preventable. Then let us pray and work together for real transformation this week, and in the days thereafter.
Apostles look down from the facade and towers of La Sagrada Familia.
Almighty and Merciful God, we rise to bless Your Holy Name: hear our prayers. Come, Precious Jesus, and lead us in the paths in which we should go, that love will reign in our hearts and minds. Come, Holy Spirit, and guide and illumine our hearts today with a sacred flame of holiness. Forgive us, O Lord, for our failures and carelessness: open the closed fists of our hearts, and renew our spirits, we pray. May our souls proclaim the greatness of the Lord, for You are the Source of all our blessings. Bend near, O Spirit of Healing and Wholeness: lend your aid to those we now name. Amen.
This flag flies every Memorial Day in honor of my father, who was a Seabee in World War II.
For Memorial Day Most Precious Jesus, we rise to give you praise, and lay our thanksgivings at your feet. Breathe upon us, Breath of God: renew our hearts and spirits that we may love as little children love, in joy and wonder. Help us honor those who have fought overseas or at home for the freedoms we now enjoy, and who longed for peace. Help us remember our call to defend the oppressed, the impoverished, the marginalized, and the weak. Strengthen us, O Almighty God, to stand against those at home or abroad who espouse violence, hatred, inequality, or tyranny. Lord, you know the inmost secrets of our hearts: comfort all who mourn. O Gracious Spirit, illumine our hearts with your truth and glory, and lift up those we now name. Amen.
Gloria! Window exterior at La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona.
Almighty God, we joyfully gather before You to worship and honor You with our hearts, souls, and bodies: alleluia! We thank You for watching over us as the night has passed, and raise our spirits toward You, offering all that we are for your service. As we gather around your altar, may we also have joy in each other's presence, and honor the face of Christ reflected in each other. Nourished by Christ's love, send us forth into the world reflecting the light of Jesus into all the corners of our lives. Holy One, send forth your Spirit upon us, we pray, and upon those for whom we pray, especially.
A window from the interior of La Sagrada Familia Cathedral, Barcelona, Spain.
Lord Jesus, in your mercy, bend near to us, and brush our hearts with the warmth of your goodness and lovingkindness. May our gratitude well up like fresh water in a dry land and soak into our bones, bringing forth shouts of praise to our God! Guide us, O Almighty One, into paths of peace, that we may be true children of your gospel. Make us bloom with compassion, reflecting the grace that shades our steps and overflows our hearts. Blessed Savior, place your hand of blessing upon us, and turn your healing heart toward those whose cares we lay before you. Amen.
Looking down a staircase in a tower at La Sagrada Familia Cathedral, Barcelona.
Most Merciful God, we rest under your neverfailing love, centered within your compassionate Spirit. Let us sing a song of unending praise, and open our eyes to the light of holiness that pervades all creation. Bless and keep us this day, we pray, for we are lambs of your own sheepfold. Forgive us for our wandering, headstrong ways: we are manifestly and heartily sorry for all our offenses. Send your angels to give their tender care to all in danger, sorrow, or any kind of trouble, and give us compassionate hearts to love the least of your creatures as much as we love ourselves. Spread the tent of your mercy over all who call upon You, O God, especially those we now name. Amen.
