Prayer 2815- The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Most Merciful God,

You call us into your feast:
may we enter into your kingdom rejoicing.

May the food we share and the cup you offer,
O Blessed Savior,
nourish us in love and compassion.

May we take delight in each other,
led by the Holy Spirit,
and seek to embody your message of love and healing.

May we never make idols
for ourselves,
or of ourselves,
and instead remember that love--
love for You O God,
and love for each other--
is the sustenance for life in your kingdom,
the living water that satisfies the soul.

Your table of fellowship is broad:
even in the presence of enemies we know you care for us,
and call all to reconciliation.

Lord, let us be your healing hands in the world today,
as we ask your blessing upon those we now name.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2814

Lord Jesus, we invite your presence into our hearts, 

that we may abide with You,
and learn your ways of peace and justice.
Renew and restore those
whose souls are cast down within them,
O Holy One;
refresh them with springs of living water.
Shield us from the arrows
of those who lie in wait for us, Merciful One,
and heal their hearts of their angry wounds.

Guide us, O God,
that our ways be gentle and blameless,
sowing peace where there is discord and strife.
Help us seek a deeper knowledge of You
and of your saving ways, O Redeemer.
Let our thoughts and prayers be directed toward You in hope,
O Holy Spirit,
that we may humbly hear your word, and act.

Gathered with all your saints, O Merciful God,
we lift up those whose hope is in You.

Amen.

Prayer 2813

O God Our Shepherd,
Lord of Life and Light,
we give thanks for your drawing us safely
into the embrace of this new day.

You have placed us at the center
of a delicately filigreed web of life
carved by your own hand, O Infinite Wisdom.
We give thanks for the beauty that sustains our spirits
and for the infinite mercies that trail behind us,
our stepping stones toward deeper devotion to You,
O Christ our Savior.

Let our perspective take in all around us,
and give us the strength to hold each other in empathy,
O Merciful One.
Help us hold open a space for healing,
a space for reconciliation,
a space for mending sundered hearts and hopes
that we may practice the Way of Love
within our witness of your grace and mercy.

Spirit of God, breathe upon us and renew us,
and grant your angels charge
over those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2812

Lord Jesus Christ,
we bow before You,
and ask that You lead us
into your path of holiness and love. 

Let us raise a joyful noise to the Lord
and come into God's courts with thanksgiving!
Let us join hands around the altars of the Almighty,
united in truth and spirit with one another.
Let us open our table to all,
as we hope to rejoice at the heavenly banquet.
Let us seek not just comfort but transformation,
dedicating all that we are the the service of God. 

Bless and keep us
under the shadow of your wing, O Holy One,
as a mother nurses her newborn babe.
Lord Jesus, give your angels charge
over all who call upon you today,
and look with favor
upon those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Building a Bigger Table: Speaking to the Soul, October 8, 2020

Matthew 22:1-14

This Sunday, we hear Jesus’s parable of the Wedding Banquet. To be frank, I always dread having this story thrown in my face. Too often, the focus ends up on the people who get thrown out of the banquet. I fear that misses the entire point. After all, a banquet doesn’t get to be a banquet if only one person is eating. A banquet, by rights, especially in Jesus’s time, was a community celebration.

When we concentrate on the expulsion part of this story, we also get our heads turned around and focus on the wrong things. We forget that gospel values aren’t ever about taking pleasure in the torments of others. We also end up glossing over the images of abundance and welcome that are embedded in this story. We overlook the fact that the king invites EVERYONE in, and that the focus of this parable is a joyous feast where we should hope that everyone welcomes each other, and where everyone invited in is fed and cared for.

In the story of the Golden Calf in Exodus, we see what happens when we make gods for ourselves, and in this gospel we are warned, in a way, against making gods OF ourselves. We don’t get to decide who’s in and who’s out. In this parable, one of the many things Jesus is trying to tell us is that God’s grace is there for everyone—not just those who are just like us. It’s at the table that we learn how to love and care for each other, and the healing power that that love can have for all the wounded, sinful places we all carry within us.

Unlike us, God doesn’t hold grudges, and God’s love extends beyond the hurts we so often inflict in our relationship with our Creator and Sustainer, as we see in our first reading we will hear on Sunday. Because we are also those people who make the Golden Calf, as well as those who are called to the banquet. If grace and mercy are there for us, no matter how many times we stumble, grace and mercy are there for everyone.

Too many Christians think that belief in Jesus is all about avoiding hell when you die. But belief is only valuable when it bears the fruit of transformation within our lives. Jesus repeatedly tells us that Christian living is all about avoiding hell in the way we live. The wonder in this parable is comparing life to a banquet. And in the words of Auntie Mame, “Live! Life is a banquet, and most poor fools are starving to death!”

Yes, here’s the good news: God calls everyone into God’s kingdom.

And here’s the bad news: God calls EVERYONE into God’s kingdom.

Because “everyone” means everyone: notorious sinners by the standards of Jesus’s time were the people he most hung out with, and when he was questioned about that, he pointed out that doctors don’t go work only among those who are well if they are true to their purpose. God doesn’t just call the godly.

God calls all to the heavenly banquet: prostitutes, con men, drug dealers, thieves, as well as the so-called good and upright folk of the world. They get a place alongside everyone, too. No matter how much that makes US nuts. No matter how much WE want to see these people get thrown into the outer darkness. We want a God who keeps score. Who punishes. Who looses thunderbolts and lightning that are very, very frightening at those we consider to be beneath us.

Having faith in God’s abundance is the first step, even when it shocks us. But this parable also tells us that this banquet brings about transformation on our parts. God expects something from those who accept the invitation: conversion of life to live according to a gospel of abundance. This is hard for most of us, because we live in a world dominated by scarcity—even sometimes, the illusion of scarcity.

If we truly give our lives to Christ, though, we give ourselves over to a different vision for how to live together, a vision not based on selfishness or dominance but on mercy and empathy. And there are some who may reject something that alien to our default way of living. It’s so counter-cultural, so mind-blowing, that most of us have to re-dedicate ourselves every day to Christian living.

There’s room at the table for everyone—we may need to set more place settings or mabe add a new leaf. We may need to build a bigger table.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on October 8, 2020.

Prayer, day 2811

O God, all that we have
and all that we are
we offer for your service and glory:
let us renew our hearts and minds to dwell in You.
Help us to accept and welcome
the call to follow you, Lord Jesus,
in our daily lives and work.
Let us live our lives in joyful praise
of all God has done for us,
and love and serve each other
in amity and peace.
Keep us steadfast and true
in walking in your wisdom, O Holy Spirit.
Refresh our souls
and restore our hearts, O Holy One,
and unite us to each other in love
as we pray for all whose hope is in You.

Amen.

Prayer 2810

Most Merciful One,
we sit in the beauty of this new day,
listening to the wakening earth sing
and sigh in eager gratitude of your gifts,
and we bow our heads in awe.

The living Earth breathes out a song
and sweeps us up into the melody
calling us to join the tune:
with each breath may we give thanks
and savor the sweet fragrance of the autumn air.

May our eyes delight in all your works,
O Living Savior,
and may our hearts overflow with hope and tenderness
as we seek your guidance in all we do
that we may glorify your Name
among all people.

Breathe into us a Spirit of charity and mercy,
O God of the Ages,
and press the kiss of your blessing
upon all those fo whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer 2809

God of Creation, God of Mercy,
You are our stronghold and our home,
and we have rested safely under your care
throughout the night:
accept our prayers and praises
as we are led by your wisdom this day.

Help us to let go
of all that separates us from You,
that we may walk in gentleness with each other.

As autumn leaves shower us with beauty,
may we be filled with wonder
at this world you have made for us to share.

Remembering your steadfast loving-kindness,
O Shepherd of Our Souls,
may we serve each other with joy,
and embody a spirit of peace and unity,
joining in the song of fullness of hope
that rises from the abundant earth.

Set your seal upon us,
O Spirit of Charity,
and rest your blessing upon those
we remember before You.

Amen.

Restoring the Vineyard: Sermon for Proper 22A

Today, a day in which we celebrate the feast of St. Francis, I decided to stick with the lectionary readings for this Sunday in the regular lectionary cycle. And now, I am berating myself for not taking the easier path. Because this parable in the gospel before us is hardly on anyone’s top ten list of beloved stories. It is instead filled with corruption, violence, and murder. If that weren’t enough, over two thousand years it has been interpreted by far too many in the Church to justify the exclusion and even attempted extinction of the Jews, claiming that they forfeited their position as God’s “chosen people” when “the Jews” denied Jesus’s authority.

And that is anti-Semitism and hate, my friends. Jesus, after all, was a Jew for his entire earthly ministry. No, it is important to circle back and remember that when Jesus tells a parable, it is important to read it as though it applies to us—exactly how Jesus himself used his parables. And of course, that is the LAST thing we want to do with this one—because those main characters are AWFUL.

In order to faithfully engage this parable, then, we have to do one of the hardest things for us to do in 21st century America: to lean INTO our discomfort. To accept that this story has something to say about us. To acknowledge that we are not mere bystanders but participants in the injustices that surround us.

It is way too easy to use these parables to point the finger at others—even those who historically have been marginalized already, like the Jews. So let’s take a breath, and ask ourselves to consider how we ourselves are the evil tenants in Jesus's parable.

The genius of Jesus’s parables is that they can be applied to many different situations. Those who heard Jesus's parables at the time understood the vineyard to be a symbol for Israel, and since they were Israelites, that means they understood what he was saying as seeking to correct their own behavior. Thus if we are to enter into these parables correctly, we cannot use them to judge others; instead we must see them as a mirror in which our own lives are reflected.

One of the theological claims attributed to St. Francis was a sense of unity and harmony in all creation, the idea that the love of God is revealed in the natural world, as St. Francis extolled in his “Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon.” On this feast day of St. Francis, we can take the parable of the vineyard as a commentary on how we treat the Earth and all her creartures, which would align nicely with the concern St. Francis himself spoke of frequently.

What would it be like to see all of creation as beloved family, rather than tools or objects of exploitation? Too often we use poor interpretations of texts in Genesis to claim that God gave us human beings dominion over all of the earth. For some, that leads to ideas that we can use up this beautiful earth and its resources as we see fit. What if, instead, we saw ourselves as tenants, placed by God within the vineyard of the earth to tend it and care for it? In our parable before us today, the tenants try to steal what is not theirs—and they are willing to kill and destroy in order to accomplish that theft. Yet, as we are reminded in the opening verses of Psalm 24—the one that comes right after the beloved 23rd Psalm:

1 The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it,
the world and its inhabitants too.
2 Because God is the one who established it on the seas;
God set it firmly on the waters.
3 Who can ascend the Lord’s mountain?
Who can stand in his holy sanctuary?
4 Only the one with clean hands and a pure heart;
the one who hasn’t made false promises,
the one who hasn’t sworn dishonestly.
5 That kind of person receives blessings from the Lord
and righteousness from the God who saves.
6 And that’s how things are
with the generation that seeks him—
that seeks the face of Jacob’s God.

                                    —(from the Common English Bible)

We, like those murderous tenants, reject the sovereignty of God when we look at rising seas and melting glaciers, and at devastating wildfires and catastrophic floods that have gone from being once in a lifetime events to yearly events, and say we can do nothing or deny that we have anything to do with such devastation. It’s dishonest—and in this case, foolhardy-- to claim powerlessness right in the midst of our simultaneous proclamation that we can do anything we want, without consequences.

We could also see the vineyard as being the ground of our hearts. Do we acknowledge God’s ownership of that territory? Or do we reject Jesus and throw him out when he asks of us what we do not wish to give: our time, talent, and treasure? Do we reject Jesus and throw him from the vineyard of our hearts when, in response to the new life he offers us not as a gift, we instead see a threat to our insistence on our utter and complete independence? We throw Jesus from the vineyard by our resistance to empathy and love of each other so that we can be instead be selfish and cruel.

The way of God cannot be aligned with contempt for God’s creation, or with a delight in cruelty or mockery.

We always have to remember that a vineyard is judged by the fruit it produces. 

And hateful, careless behavior from people who claim to be faithful children of God is a large part of why so many people are turning their backs on faith. As Christian convert G. K. Chesterton cynically noted, “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and left untried.”

I like to think he was speaking out of his own despair and frustration. The vineyard is the Christian ideal of abundance, compassion, justice, that leads to true peace. Which brings us back to St. Francis.

Even though most scholars realize that it is highly unlikely that St. Francis actually wrote the famous peace prayer that bears his name that we will pray together in a few moments, nonetheless the sentiments in that prayer beautifully express the components of a society grounded in love, justice and peace—one in which injustice, cruelty, and contempt for each other and this world truly become unimaginable. 

That same sentiment is also found in this beautiful poem by farmer/environmentalist, and poet Wendell Berry, entitled, “The Peace of Wild Things:”

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.



I rest in the grace of the world, and I am free.

Amen to that.

What if each of us resisted the despair of the world, a world who groans and asks us for love and protection, by dedicating ourselves to changing despair to hope, and hope to action? What if we resisted the despair of the world by remembering our oneness with this beautiful planet, and with every single person and thing in it and on it? What if we welcomed the Owner of All and his beloved Son into the vineyard of our hearts, instead of the wilderness of our fear? In the words of Joni Mitchell: “We’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.”

In the end, even the parable of the Murderous Tenants contains good news, however, because it is about justice and reclamation, about embracing the generous love of God and being remade by it. Jesus’s parables call on us to re-imagine the world, and to re-imagine our lives, if we allowed ourselves to be fertile ground and faithful tenants within the abundant vineyard of God.

Amen.

Preached at the 5:15 outdoor Eucharist and pet blessing on October 3, and at the 10:30 worship service on October 4 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:

Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20
Psalm 19
Philippians 3:4b-14
Matthew 21:33-46

Citations:

1) Wendell Berry, "The Peace of Wild Things," from Openings: Poems (1968).

Prayer, day 2808: Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Most Merciful God,

we gather together
to worship You as one people
united to You in love.
You, Lord, have claimed us,
and we bow before You in gratitiude.

May we treasure your law
and love You, O God
and each other
with all we are.
By the power of the Holy Spirit,
may we tend and care for those
who are lost, isolated, or struggling
just as You care for us.
Make us one body, one heart
acting in concert for peace and justice,
caring for those who are in pain or trouble.

Blessed Jesus,
may we listen to your call
to return to holiness and compassion
and live in integrity with each other in your name.
Holy One,
fill us with your wisdom,
and place your blessing upon those for whom we pray

Prayer, day 2807: On Angels' Wings

Holy, holy, holy, the hand of the Almighty One,
that brushes away the cares of the troubled
and stands guard over those who sleep.
Like a child, O God, I trust in You;
your praise is ever on my lips,
O my Savior and Redeemer,
whose love never fades

but burnishes and blesses
all it touches, all it embraces.
Revive my spirit, Lord Christ,
that I may serve you in all I do--
each breath a prayer of gratitude,
each day a hymn declaring your grace.
On wings of angels, we raise our prayer to You.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2806

Lead us, O Holy One,
with the banner of your love ever before us.

Guide us to the pathways of peace,
paved with justice and mercy,
smoothed by the pilgrim feet
that have gone before us.
Strengthen us for this day's journey,
that we may not turn aside
or falter in doing your will.

Help us bridge the chasms that divide us,
and be united in love and brotherhood.
Give us wisdom
gentled by compassion,
that we may show out your glory in all we do.
Turn our hearts to the concerns of those
in pain, suffering, anxiety, or want.

Press your healing hand
upon the brow of each beloved child
who calls out to you.

Amen.

A Better Cornerstone: Speaking to the Soul, October 1, 2020

Matthew 21:33-46

The last several weeks have been a whirlwind of activity in our gospel readings. After Jesus’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem and cleansing of the Temple (which we strangely skipped over), he has entered the locus of power and engages in direct confrontation with those who would deny his authority as the son of God. This is the climax of the Gospel of Matthew, in terms of setting the final chain of events into motion, until we finally get to the Passion Narrative in later chapters.

And so this Sunday, we get the Parable of the Wicked Tenants, and the musing about rejected cornerstones. As I was looking for an image for our worship bulletin for this coming Sunday, I learned that the “chief builders” Jesus cited in his snippet from Isaiah weren’t the only ones confused about suitable cornerstones. I found images from churches that supposedly labelled all kinds of things the “cornerstone”—but instead depicting capstones on the tops of walls and keystones at the apex of arches.

Now, I am no architectural expert—but a childhood inspired by the cartoon genius of Chuck Jones taught me what a cornerstone is—besides adding in the fantasy of finding a ragtime-singing frog inside of one. Jesus tells us that the political and religious leaders of Jesus’s time, despite their reputation for being learned and wise, were just as confused when looking for the cornerstone.

Unlike the capstone or the keystone, the cornerstone was not among the last stones placed. It was the first. It had to be placed just so, so that the walls would be straight. The alignment of the whole structure was determined by the cornerstone. The choice and orientation of a cornerstone influenced the integrity of the entire building.

Jesus points out that the qualities the religious leaders are looking for in a cornerstone cause them to reject the intended stone for one that conforms to their own preconceived notions and prejudices. The intended stone instead becomes something over which they will trip and come to ruin upon. And this is not the first time a cornerstone and a stumbling block have been linked together—earlier in Matthew, Jesus renames Simon as Peter and declares he will be the cornerstone of a new group of believers. Yet a second later, Peter gets into a disagreement with Jesus, and Jesus rebukes him, warning Peter not to become a stumbling block to others.

Jesus’s claim to be the cornerstone is meant to remind us that we are being called to be new creations in Christ—opposed to the direction and orientation of a religious AND political structures, then and now, that often seek to exclude rather include, that divide as a means of power and prestige rather than seeks to unite people of all persuasions and to the glory of God. And after watching the events of the last couple of days, I wonder if anything has changed that much 2000 years after Jesus’s use of this original metaphor.

So how can we understand this metaphor for our situation now, in 21st century America in particular? Perhaps by viewing this story as being about the struggle for integrity and authority, especially against the attempted normalization of dishonesty, ruthlessness, and selfishness as the markers of an orientation toward “success.” To remember that aligning ourselves with Jesus as our cornerstone means aligning ourselves with the power of shalom- wholeness, peace, harmony, completeness, delighting in the welfare of others as the foundation of justice.

Making Jesus our cornerstone as his disciples means literal alignment with the values of the kingdom of God. How do we respond to God’s claims upon our lives? Do we line ourselves up according to God’s values of justice, mercy, and integrity? Do we give our share of the glory to God by working for the betterment of this society that we, in our freedom, have built? Do we seek to make the building and walls stronger? Or do we embrace the alignment of empire with suffering for the many for the benefit of the few, and thus become a stumbling block for those whose only understanding of God is through our own words and actions? Such a thing would be a true scandal—a word in Biblical Greek often associated with the concept of the stumbling block.

I am struck by the incongruity every morning as I pray the Venite at the start of Morning Prayer: we affirm that the Earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it, and invite each other to bend our knee in submission and reverence. Yet at the same time we are a rebellious, fractious people, who take great pride in never submitting before anyone in heaven or on Earth.

It’s enough to make one despair. We are called to counteract the griefs of the world, not surrender to them. But then, like Wendell Berry, in his beautiful poem, “The Peace of Wild Things,” I remember that “I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.” Free to choose a better cornerstone for my life, and the life of my loved ones. Free to remember that “loved ones” includes not just my family or my tribe, but calls me to open that circle wide to encompass all living things around me.

Yes, we have hope—because there are mighty cracks appearing in the walls and edifices of the empire of disdain, injustice, and exploitation. As our Presiding Bishop constantly reminds us, There IS a balm in Gilead, and it calls us to heal the wounds and build again in faith, upon the cornerstone of the Lord of Life and Love.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on October 1, 2020.

Prayer, day 2805

Come Holy Spirit,
and heal our hearts. 

Bring us together,
unified in body, heart, and soul,
to soothe the sorrowing
and comfort the afflicted. 

Give us hands and hearts and will
to do your work, O God,
that justice rolls down to restore the land. 

May we seek reconciliation
as the foundation for true peace
in both our relationships and in the world. 

May we stand with brothers and sisters
in time of mourning or in time of trial:
we pray for your peace and grace to bear them up. 

We rest and renew our spirits
in the loving arms of God:
Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. 

Bless us with holy wisdom, O Loving One,
and hear the prayers of your people.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2804

Eternal One,

who is making the heavens and the earth,
who watches over all that dwells therein,
we draw our hearts open before You,
and center ourselves within your presence,
upheld by your Spirit of Love.

The marvels of creation,
the works of your loving hand within our lives,
remind us of your unfailing love for all that is, O God,
and we sing out your praise with joy.

Merciful God,
give us a mustard-seed faith,
that spreads its branches out for the benefit of your little ones,
that welcomes and shades and shelters
all who turn to us for refuge.

By the power of the Holy Spirit,
awaken within us a spirit of charity and faithfulness,
that we may walk beside you, O Savior, in integrity.

Let us sink our roots deeply into your gospel, Lord Christ,
to be strengthened to embody your compassion and healing
as testimony to your truth
that love and reconciliation are why we are here.

Almighty Redeemer,
extend the hand of blessing and relief over all who seek you,
and grant your peace and reassurance
to those for whom we pray, O Lover of Souls.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2803

Most Merciful God, 

in thankfulness we sing out our praise, 

and remember your love to us in each moment.
You have taught us how to walk in your ways: 

now let us set out in holiness, 

determined to follow your paths, O God. 

We know what is good: 

now let us love and serve You 

and each other 

with our whole hearts.

Forgive us for our failures 

to act in love and forgiveness, 

and guide us in paths 

of compassion and empathy. 

Transform us by the power of the Holy Spirit 

to work for justice for the oppressed 

and mercy for the fallen.

In all our ways let us be joyful 

in the service of your kingdom, O Holy One: 

let our lives testify to your glory. 

Bless us and keep us 

under the shadow of your wing, O God, 

and shield and comfort those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer, day 2802

Lord of Life and Light,
we thank You for watching over this world
as it has turned from day to night.
We thank You for watching over us
as we rested through the night,
and we lift our hearts to you in the gathering light.

We bow the knee of our hearts,
confessing our failings
and the times we have hurt others
through carelessness or fear.

Guide us in the spirit of gentleness and faith
to see the beauty of your imprint in all we see
in the rosy light of dawn.
Give us healing hands and compassionate hearts:
help us to see ourselves
in the plight of those in trouble.
Help us to choose healing over hurt,
and unity over division,
and hope over despair.

Lord Jesus,
abide within our hearts,
and set our feet
upon the paths of peace and justice.

Anoint us by your love, O Holy One,
and envelop within your healing embrace
those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Not Empty But Open: Sermon for Proper 20A

As I was pondering this Sunday’s readings I was enjoying a gorgeous afternoon to sit in my backyard garden. I decided while I was sitting there to water all the different plants in the hillside garden around the seating area where I like to work. Then I just turned on the hose and let it start running down the hill to water all the hostas, ferns, and other plants that dwell under the canopy of trees in our backyard.

After about 10 minutes, suddenly there was great rejoicing in the Land of Birds, and dozens of sparrows, finches, chickadees, and wrens began to wing their way over to wash themselves in the birdbath and in the puddles of water on the ground. One of them, a particularly raucous bluejay, even had the temerity to land on an empty birdfeeder, give me the stink eye, rap the base of the empty feeder sharply with its beak a couple times, and then flutter off in a huff, and then cuss at me in blue jay-ese.

Never mind that I had generously turned on the hose, which is what had drawn these birds here in the first place.

Are these birds never satisfied? And the answer is: yes, and no. Once I started providing them with birdseed and water, they expect me to keep doing it.

In our reading from Exodus this morning, the Israelites are the same way, but their situation is more dire than those of my birds, who can always just fly to the neighbor’s birdbaths if mine run dry. The Israelites are having a hard time trusting God to provide—and to be fair, they are in a wilderness so hot that, if they do not find fresh water each day, they WILL be in serious trouble. But, because they lack trust in God, they turn on God, and God’s prophet Moses, faster than the speed of sound.

Forgotten is the groaning that they raised up to God—groaning so loud that God could not ignore it—and that God has promised that God will always be in their midst—exactly what they question when the water bags start to empty.

And we should be able to have some sympathy for the Israelites, since, after all, we currently stand on similarly vulnerable ground. We are more than six months in to this pandemic, and we are just as much lost and disoriented in a wilderness at were the Israelites in this story. It’s so bad that we are looking back longingly at the time before this pandemic—even those of us for whom the situation wasn’t all that great. At least it was familiar.

We too, stand in the midst of a trackless wilderness, and that can lead us to wonder where God is for our own situation. We are also months and years into a struggle for equality and liberty for all in this country, as more and more people see the prejudice and division that shreds the fabric of our country in very deadly ways.

The uncertainty we have been thrust into is very real. The anxiety that hangs over us is very real. The shifting sand beneath our feet, the changing situation from day to day with no obvious end in sight. And the more the clamor in our heart and head increases in volume, the harder it can be to hear the still small voice of God murmuring in our ears.

It’s at this point that our reading from Philippians reminds us that we truly have God-among-us, as the Israelites did, and we can trust that, if only we can still the frantic beating of our hearts. Jesus shows us a different way, a better way, of calming our fears and anxieties.

And it’s by looking beyond our own concerns to see how we stand in solidarity with others—and to realize that the gifts of unity and community can help us all not only survive this time of testing but emerge on the other side of the wilderness stronger as both individuals and as a people of faith, and hope, resilient against the forces of fear and scarcity.

We’ve been hearing for weeks now that the least will be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Paul starkly reminds us that Jesus himself is our model in how to do this.

Paul speaks of Jesus “emptying himself” of all his rightful honor and glory due to him as the Son of God, and choosing to be born as one of us. The Greek term for emptying is “kenosis.”

In Jesus, as Paul explains, one who was the greatest became a humble human, and not just a human but a peasant in the farthest, out-of-the-way occupied corner of a vast and relentless empire. Jesus faced rejection again and again, even to the point of being accused of being a rebel and blasphemer and dying for it.

Jesus lived out of a love that sustains the world, a love that challenges the calculus of exploitation and injustice, and that made him an enemy of the state and a threat to those who thought themselves righteous. Jesus did this so that we would know that God has experienced all our suffering, and stands in solidarity beside us. As his disciples, Jesus calls us to be brave enough to likewise empty ourselves—but in our case, what we are called to let go of is what SEPARATES us from each other, and from God.

Now that can still be scary—in a time of crisis, the human things is to hold tighter to what we have, even if it’s really not good, like those Israelites, rather than let go of the familiar. But what exactly is Jesus calling us to let go of and empty ourselves of? What does kenosis mean for us?

Kenosis is emptying ourselves of our willfulness, all of our prerogatives for self- aggrandizement, in order to make room for the beauty of living from in truth, rather than self-delusion, to living for each other in unity rather than fear. That’s the foundation of discipleship—loving and embracing each other, creating the beloved community in which no one is an outcast. It’s opening ourselves to the possibility of love.

Our hearts are about the size of a fist, but a fist cannot take hold of the good. It’s only when our hearts are open that we feel the presence of God alongside us.

This is not the terrifying emptiness of the wilderness, the emptiness of fear and scarcity that besets them and us as we long for proof that God is with us. This emptiness we are called to embrace is to make room for God within us—so that we can never again wonder where God is, because God will dwell within us and guide us to a deeper faith and unity.

Discipleship has to be oriented to doing God’s will, not our own. It’s too easy to fall into the belief that Jesus, God incarnate, is just like us, rather than embracing the more uncomfortable call of trying to be more like Him.

The writer Anne Lamott has a wonderful observation: “You can safely assume that you have created God in your image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.”

That’s always been one of the main challenges in Christianity. We anthropomorphize God, turning that whole “made in God’s image” thing from Genesis on its head. We don’t need a God who is more like us. We need to be a people who are more like God. And the good news is, we already have a template: God has lived among us as one of us, and God continues to live among us. And as self-proclaimed members of the Body of Christ, there is our charge. Even though it is clear, it certainly is not easy. Transformation never is. Transformation, both of ourselves and of our world, requires work, and that starts with the will to do it.

That’s our main role as the Church, as Christ’s body in the world. Jesus calls us to empty ourselves, yes—but empty ourselves of all that weighs us down in misery and fear. And in the dual crises we have going right now—the pandemic, and the fight against racial injustice that infects our country, and harms all of us. These twin pandemics reinforce the same truth spoken by Martin Luther King, preaching from the gospel of Jesus—that we are all interconnected. That injustice anywhere leads to injustice everywhere unless we demand something better and are willing to stand up for it.

Jesus calls us to transform the dry rocks of our hearts into springs of life and hope for the good of the world. Out of love for us, Jesus encourages us to empty ourselves of all that prevents us from seeing the inherent unity God has woven between you and me and all of creation. To empty and open ourselves, so that we may be filled with something better. We let go of the death-dealing fears and hatreds of this world so that we can make more room for God, more room for love within us. To make room for transformation not just of ourselves, but of the world around us. And as it begins to transform each of us individually, that love set free within us will transform our parish, and the world. God’s presence becomes clear to us when we open our hearts to see God’s presence in each other.

We can choose to empty ourselves of fear, to interrupt the downward spiral that seeks to grip us; to still the cacophony in our heads and hearts. To remember that we are beloved, and so is our neighbor. And if that neighbor is oppressed by injustice, to stand in solidarity with them as part of our witnessing to the power, right now, of the transformative life of Christ. Episcopal priest and theologian Stephanie Spellers puts it this way:

Kenosis, cracking open, embracing disruption, releasing control, giving your life away -- these are only one part of the equation. We let go of one life in order to take up new life, the life of the beloved. We release what we hoarded in order to receive gift upon gift from God. Our cracked open hearts are at last roomy enough to hold the lives and hearts of others. We practice kenosis in preparation for solidarity.

Solidarity is love crossing the borders drawn by fear and selfishness, in order to enter into the situation of the other, for the purpose of mutual relationship and struggle that heals us all in enacts God's dream of beloved community.

Solidarity is the voice that finally comprehends: “You are not the same as me, but part of you lives in me. Your freedom and mine are were always inextricably entwined. Now I see it, and because of what I see, I choose to live differently. I will go there, with you for your sake and for my own.”

The dream of God is that we all experience the conditions to thrive, and that we sacrifice in order to create those conditions for one another. If you've got privilege, as Jesus did, don't use it for your own happiness or to elevate your circle; leverage it as part of Jesus movement to ensure everyone flourishes.(1)  

Jesus calls us to be of one mind with him, as Paul reminds us. This means to look beyond the narrative of hopelessness and look back to see a record of endurance and resilience. To see how far we have come at this point, and look for lilting notes of grace that run as a counterpoint to the basso profundo of despair. To see the flickering light of those small gifts that we have overlooked along the way, even something as simple as signs of community when people of good will take care of each other, when we’ve seen people recognize strangers as neighbors and companions along the way. Sharing each others’ burdens.

May we have the will to embrace the blessed emptying of all that holds us back. May we embrace the gift of being one with the mind of Christ in his embrace of all creation. May we allow God to be at work in us, so that we may do God’s work in the world.

Amen.

Preached at the 10:30 am worship service livestreamed from St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO on September 27, 2020.

Readings:

Exodus 17:1-7
Psalm 78:1-4, 12-16
Philippians 2:1-13
Matthew 21:23-32

References/sources:

(1) The Rev. Canon Stephanie Spellers, The Church Cracked Open: Disruption, Decline, and New Hope for the Beloved Community, to be published in March 2021, made available on September 26, 2020 at Medium.com, https://medium.com/@revsteph/on-kenosis-solidarity-and-stewardship-of-privilege-by-stephanie-spellers-30d5fce95152  

Prayer 2801: The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

Blessed Savior,
we gather to worship You,
to walk in your ways
that we may carry your light and praise.

Holy One, help us practice
the self-emptying Way of Christ,
that our hearts may be open
to be filled with love rather than fear,
with solidarity and community rather than division.
May we build up our hope
for the lifting up of those around us
suffering in body, mind, or spirit,
as Jesus gave us the authority and privilege to do.

Make us a blessing for others,
and our words align with our actions,
that we may live not for ourselves
but as children of God,
and God's radical dream of shalom,
for the glory of your Name, O God of All Creation.

May we be struck by your power,
O God of Mercy,
that the hard stones of our hearts
may flow with the water of compassion and justice
into the parched and barren places around us.

Grant your blessing upon us, Lord,
and upon all those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer 2800

Creator, Redeemer, Guide,
we worship You and give you praise.

As a shower of leaves descends from tree and branch,
we remember your grace and blessing
bestowed liberally by your compassionate hand,
and we center ourselves in gratitude to You, O God.

The flowers of the field complete their season
of producing seed and nut
that the earth may be replenished,
and the creatures of forest and grassland
may rejoice at your generous sustenance.
We too rest within the promise of your provision, O God,
and marvel at the web of life that sustains our existence,
knit together by your generous wisdom and care.

May we live gently and lovingly upon the earth,
and dedicate ourselves to the care of creation
and of each other,
walking in the path of openheartedness
modeled for us by Jesus, our teacher
and guide for holy living.

Plant us firmly within your courtyard, Beloved Savior,
and help us to flourish under your loving care,
holding your instruction to our hearts
as a precious stay and mercy.

Pour out your abundant protection over us,
Most Merciful God and Shepherd,
and grant your tender compassion
to rest upon those for whom we pray.

Amen.