The Song of Ruth: Speaking to the Soul, October 28, 2021

Ruth:1-18

 

          The voice I hear this passing night was heard 

                   In ancient days by emperor and clown: 

          Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 

                   Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, 

                          She stood in tears amid the alien corn 

                                                - John Keats, "Ode to a Nightingale."

We six came apart slowly,
like a child plucks petals from a flower.

First Elimelech, the father
whose name and protection showed me that
My God could be kind;
he left us not yet old. And we wept,
and tore our garments, wore
ashes like a waxen crown.
Yet we had each other,
Chilion and Orpah, Mahlon and Ruth—
and we girls embraced you, dear Naomi,
whose loving heart was a foreign land
that made us forget the cruelties of our youth.

I remember well
the day I entered your house;
the swallow had woven her nest on your lintel
and sang honeyed notes.
To be greeted with a kiss and a sweet
word from you, Naomi,
of pleasant face and lovely gaze, remains a balm
to one who had been declared
a burden by the one who bore me into this world—
I drew the first free breath of my life.

Your son beautiful and strong
as my bridegroom, my young stag
brought down by Death
the remorseless hunter.

The last, sputtering pillar of our lives
crumbled to earth that last day,
the day that Mahlon’s breath left him.
Chilion, too, sleeping in the dust
went down before his brother,
our wails keening like a skylark in flight.

“Turn back to your mother’s house,”
you told me, with tears
as bitter as the name you now claim.

My sister Orpah kissed you, her face lined with
tears tracing watercourses of the Negev, weeping
from the well of grief
you would think had run dry by now.
She turned her nape to us reluctantly, persuaded
by your pleas.

                           But not I.

The nightingale’s song lays a path
straight to my heart’s core;
I would rather
stand in tears in an alien field,
homeless as a nightjar, gleaning
for the reluctant scraps left behind
under your Law’s commanded compassion
than return to the cold dwelling of my birth.

Your heart is my mother’s house and hearth:
I who first knew kindness with you
will trace the arc of my life within your embrace
even unto Death’s final stitch in my winding-sheet. To you
will I cling beyond my last breath.

In the midst of your people
will I pitch my tent;
your God will I worship,
whose lovingkindness I know in your eyes.

I would rather shelter with you, rootless
under the cold light of foreign stars,
wandering without a doorway of our own
than be parted from you, ever. Your tenderness
the only inheritance I claim, your embrace
I will never surrender. With you
I will lodge in Bethlehem,
lay my life upon altars
to a God known only through your friendship,
and give you descendants dancing like constellations
to banish your bitterness,
to secure you a home redolent of bread,
abundant with the attar
of roses.

This poem was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul, October 28, 2021.

The Gift is the Call: Sermon for the 22nd Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 25 B

One year in the 90s,  when I taught middle school, the choir teacher decided to take her students on a singing tour of nearby nursing homes. She had enlisted me to be a special accompanist that season because they were singing a song that had classical guitar accompaniment, and so even though I am not a classical guitarist, I agreed to give it a go and learned the music. It was a beautiful piece. The bad part was, there was another piece of music they performed which absolutely drove me nuts. It was the theme to that movie, Titanic. 

And because we were short of sopranos that day, and I was more fully soprano-y back then, so I was asked to stand behind the kids and belt out the melody line in support. Yuck. Couldn’t stand the song, couldn’t stand the movie. I mean, really—plot holes you could have driven an ocean liner through and why didn’t Rose scoot over on that door if she loved Jack so much but she managed to hold on to that necklace? But when we went on our tour, the older folks just ate it up. Which just goes to show you. Sometimes we put our own issues aside and go for it.
We went to three different nursing homes, right around Christmas, and so we also sang some seasonal tunes and a couple of classics from the 1940s as well as those two pieces.

Afterward, the kids would visit with people who were sitting out in the common area and share some treats. We talked to the kids beforehand to prepare them, and some kids were worried, because they didn’t know if they would have anything in common to talk about with people half a century older than they were who were strangers. So we suggested they start out with introducing themselves, and talked to them about shaking hands (not too firm a grip, not too soft). We suggested they could ask residents about what their favorite songs were when they were kids, or pets, or maybe Cardinals baseball or Blues hockey, or their favorite movie stars or movies.

There were lots of people who came out, with varying levels of need. But at the first place we visited, one man didn’t wait. He reached out and grabbed the hand of one of our boys and asked him to sit down and talk with him. He confessed that he had no family nearby and few visitors. He saw his opportunity for a visit, and he grabbed it, literally, with both hands. Soon he was regaling our student with his life as a minor-league baseball player, and giving the kid batting advice. The thirty minute visiting period flew by, and at the end, both the boy and the gentleman had had a great time.

In our gospel today there were lots of people who sat by the gates of towns, and they had various needs. Some came to conduct business, or seek advice, or make a contract with another person, or to ask for alms, like Bartimaeus. Jericho was no different. And Jesus very easily could have passed Bartimaeus by. But Bartimaeus called out and would not be shushed. Just like our friend in that nursing home, he didn’t wait—he asked outright. He perceived an opportunity for help, and he grabbed it and would not be denied. When Jesus hears Bartimaeus’s cry for mercy, he calls him forward. That word call is important—it’s used three times in that single verse alone.

And Bartimaeus responds to that call from Jesus instantly. Even though blind, he “springs up,” throwing off his cloak, and moves confidently, answering Jesus’s question with a bold declaration of Jesus as “My teacher….” The casting off of his cloak, the garment which a beggar used to collect and carry his alms, signifies the throwing off of his old life, the giving up of the possessions urged upon the rich young man we heard about two weeks ago. Bartimaeus is eager to leave his old life behind.

And even though Jesus can probably tell what the man needs, he asks him. For the second time in two weeks, Jesus asks someone what they want from him. Last week we had James and John asking for preferential treatment and honor; this week we see a humble beggar, who sees with his heart and soul what the disciples cannot see despite long experience, asks for his vision to be healed. Jesus doesn’t just assume what Bartimaeus needs—he gives him the dignity of asking for himself.

Jesus heals Bartimaeus’s sight, asking nothing in return, telling the healed man he can go. Unlike almost everything else in our own society, this interaction is NOT transactional. Jesus doesn’t give in order to get something in return. Yet Bartimaeus does NOT go. He stays. He stays and becomes a disciple, rejoicing, not taking the gift he has received for granted.

The blind man sees clearly who Jesus is and what Jesus’s ministry means, even though he is a stranger, not a disciple, and is physically blind. Meanwhile, the disciples with been alongside Jesus for these last 10 chapters have repeatedly shown themselves incapable of seeing and recognizing Jesus for who he is, much less accepting his predictions about his ultimate fate. Here’s what a true disciple like Bartimaeus sees with the eyes of the heart and soul: Jesus came to earth for a little while, filled with the power of God through the Holy Spirit that descended upon him at baptism. In his temptations, he was tempted to use the gift and powers he had received for himself. But instead, Jesus steadfastly insisted on being a conduit of God’s power of love and redemption, to spread wisdom and healing and hope to those he encountered.

Bartimaeus KNOWS what Jesus has done for him, what a gift he has received, and in gratitude he responds by dedicating his life to supporting Jesus and his ministry. This is a story about gratitude—and about giving, perhaps even more than it is a story about healing. It’s a story about how we can live into the ways Jesus calls to us as disciples.

And there’s a lot for us to hear in this story as we begin our annual giving campaign today. We often hear about the three “Ts”—time, talent, and treasure. In the area of sharing our time and talents, there’s all kinds of activities we can engage in, both here at church and in our daily lives. Being a good steward always means being like Jesus, really—and in this particular story, that means being willing to respond to those who are sidelined or silenced by the community. 

Sometimes that response may involve financial resources. 

Those funds are given to literally “treasure” the PEOPLE we meet here even more than the buildings and programs. Empowering St. Martin’s not just for the opportunities for fellowship it provides us but being empowered by that fellowship to hear the call of the world for healing and hope, and be thrilled for the opportunity to give back just a part of the manifold blessings we ourselves have received.

Here’s the practical truth. Each year we ask you for an estimate of your giving for the coming year. We then build a budget off of those collective estimates. And we need to look at what that budget says about our mission and our priorities. What we spend money on in our lives is what we most value. It’s that simple, and that stark. Our giving—yours and mine—is a statement of the depth of our faith and our acknowledgement of our gratitude and our love. Our giving is NOT about using money as a way to settle grievances, or expressing our displeasure or pleasure, a kind of carrot and stick contraption to get our own way. It’s not based on a profit-and loss calculation, on a measurement of how much we first get. No, it’s a way to rejoice for God’s love and presence in your life. It’s a way to live without fear or limitation. It’s a way to be a part of God’s healing work in the world, and to make a real difference.

Sure, some of the money given to St. Martin’s will go to pedestrian things like maintain the building and grounds, paying the light and the heating and cooling bills, finding and fixing leaky pipes. But if that’s all we take care of in the budget, we have failed as a congregation. Even more important, the money we raise each year is a spiritual statement from each of us individually as well as collectively. That statement either empowers us or hinders us as a congregation in our ability to reach out, listen to, and be with folks like Bartimaeus, because we recognize that we have all BEEN Bartimaeus at one time or another.

Whether we engage with someone whose society deems is to be marginalized, or whether we merely keep the lights on for our own sake, our annual budget becomes a spiritual document. It declares to ourselves and to the public our priorities in our efforts to be good stewards and disciples. To follow Jesus on the way. And following Jesus starts, like with Bartimaeus, with gratitude—with recognition for the very real ways Jesus has touched our lives and healed us of our fears, our own willful blindnesses, our tendency to turn inward upon ourselves.

We live in a cynical time. It has become a national sport in some quarters to blame those in need for their situations. We even see so-called Christians engaging in this attitude, even though time and again Jesus models the opposite path: giving because he can. Denying that idea that God punishes people with illness or suffering as we have heard play out in the story about Job in our first reading for the last several weeks—an idea that many people in Jesus’s time held about people like Bartimaeus. That’s why they shushed him at first. Asking for healing was viewed as asking to avoid God’s justice. Again and again, Jesus rejects notions of justice based on the suffering of the most vulnerable. And this story gives us the gift of reminding that above all things we are called to be like Jesus.

We can often close our eyes to the suffering of the world, and refuse to acknowledge the needs of others. We try to avoid placing ourselves in situations where a voice crying out for help can interrupt the rhythm of our lives. That hesitancy can become a weight, like a heavy garment holding us in place, preventing us from following Jesus with our whole hearts, like the weight of that garment Bartimaeus threw aside as he boldly stepped toward the call of his Savior and Redeemer.

Jesus is calling to us, calling to each of us because he loves us and desires to be our companion along the way of this life we are given as an opportunity for connection. This is a moment, right now, when Jesus is specifically calling each of us into the special gift of taking what we individually have, and joyfully, hopefully, faithfully joining together to engage in mutual ministry here in this place. So that we may have life more abundantly. Living joyfully, generously, and open-heartedly. Without the constant anxiety of whether there will be “enough.”

“Throw aside your cloaks, the weights of fear and anxiety that holds you back!” Jesus calls. Throw them aside, and embrace the freedom and the joy of following Jesus.

Amen.

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

Readings:

Job 42:1-6, 10-17
Psalm 34:1-8, (19-22)
Hebrews 7:23-28
Mark 10:46-52

Notes/ Attributions:

I am indebted to a meditation by the Rev. Todd B. Freeman, pastor of College Hill Presbyterian Church across the street from the University of Tulsa campus, for insight about the gospel reading. And I hope you all in the congregation have forgiven my friends and me from what was then called Canterbury House for all the times we climbed up your fire escape onto the roof to enjoy the night view when we were in college.

Prayer, day 3186

God of Abundant Grace, your steadfast hand

guides and upholds us, in joy and in struggle.
You, O Most Holy One, are our covert and our shield,
our very present help when we call upon You.

Let us declare your faithfulness with a glad cry,
and sing out our testimony
to the transforming love of our Creator and Redeemer.
Let us seek the good road of wisdom and compassion,
that we may not disgrace your name,
but imitate our Savior in word and deed.

Lord Jesus, place your healing hand upon us:
relieve the suffering
by the tender warmth of your embrace.
May your voice of justice and mercy
resound throughout the earth,
calling the lost and weary to your side,
O Shepherd of Our Souls.

By the power of the Holy Spirit,
bless and consecrate us this day,
and pour out your grace and hope
over those we remember before You, O God.

Amen.

On the Wings of Angels: Speaking to the Soul, October 21, 2021

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.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul, October 21, 2021.

A Prayer of Praise for Creation: Speaking to the Soul, October 14, 2021

God of the Honey Bee,
God of the Lark,
God of the Aspen Grove,
we join with all your creatures
in a chorus of praise and worship.
We are upheld by your almighty hand;
all that we have and are is yours,
and we bow in gratitude before you.

May we echo the humble thanksgiving
sung out by cicada and tree frog,
who praise You and your provision without ceasing.

May we find delight in the labor you set before us,
as the hummingbird does.

May we lift our arms to you in praise
like the oak as it stretches skyward.
May we constantly sing your praises
like the wind that weaves through pine-needle
and sets them to resonating in joy.

May we open our hearts to your guidance
for our own sake and the sake of the world,
led by wisdom of the Spirit of Truth,
enlightened by the example of the Prince of Peace,
rooted deep in the verdant garden of the God of Life.

Holy Trinity, One God,
envelop us in your mercy and grace this day,
and place the kiss of your blessing
upon those for whom we pray.

Amen.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on October 14, 2021.

Prayer 3173

Holy One of Mystery,
Loving Ground of Being,
Creator of All,
we bow before you in wonder.

May our every breath be a prayer of gratitude and hope
that rises like the morning mist over still waters.

May we know peace by sowing peace,
and release all fear and anxiety
like autumn leaves that cast their blessings to the ground
to nourish the roots of tomorrow's growth.

May we, like the mockingbird, find our true song
in a heart of joy broadcast from the rooftops,
testifying to the gift of light ythst warms us
and love that bears us aloft--
all from You, O God:
Earth-maker, Companion, and Inspiring Force.

May the strength we have today be used to your service
and the service of our fellow-beings;
may the need we have today be laid at your feet.

May we be unafraid to ask for help,
and unafraid to offer the same to others,
looking always outward with eyes of compassion and grace.

Trusting in your unfailing mercy,
sealed by the Spirit of Truth,
O God of the Rising Wave,
we lift before you these beloveds as we pray.

Amen.

Looking for a Bargain: Speaking to the Soul, October 7, 2021

Mark 10:17-31

This Sunday’s collect reads as follows: Lord, we pray that your grace may always precede and follow us, that we may continually be given to good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Despite this collect, this Sunday’s lectionary readings are about how one cannot gain faith by good works alone. Grace, as the first part of the collect reminds, is required. God always makes the first move in salvation. God takes the initiative. Something inside a person responds to that pull from God, even if we are unaware of God’s invitation as such.

The gospel story includes Mark’s version of the “rich young man” who approaches Jesus to find out how he can “inherit” eternal life. This young man means well, and is humble enough to be a seeker after this wandering teacher, instead of attempting to summon Jesus to him, as a person of privilege might do. Jesus at first inquires as to his following of the commandments, and the young man affirms his commitment to them. What is interesting is that the gospel states that Jesus looks at him at this point, and “loved him.” Mark doesn’t usually talk about Jesus’s feelings of love in this way, so this is a significant statement. But somehow, this young man also thinks that he can earn salvation without some cost to himself. When Jesus tells him he should give up his wealth in service to the poor, he goes away, not just sad, but “shocked and grieving,” because he has great wealth.

This passage thus brings us once again to a word that causes so many of us to shudder: sacrifice. Passages like this one make us associate sacrifice with deprivation, with pain, with loss. But the most literal meaning of sacrifice is “something that makes one holy.” This young man, who has probably never been excluded from anything in his life due to his wealth and the privilege wealth brings, hesitates to give that up. Even for “eternal life.” He is looking for a bargain, for a lever with which to move God—always a foolish presumption.

The young man remains inwardly focused, seeing the relationship with God as, ultimately transactional: I will do X and then God will reward me with Y. He is doing what we all do: trying to bargain with God and get the best deal according to a human calculus of value and loss. But that subverts the point of faith, which is to look outside our own concerns to the needs of the community, to the needs of others. To celebrate our common bonds with our neighbors and with creation. To look beyond our delusion that we can earn God’s grace at bargain-basement prices to ourselves and our delusions of autonomy.

In God’s kingdom values, people are not “in” or “out” by accident of birth—where they are born, or who their parents are, or the color of their skin or the language they speak or whether they are outwardly good at following rules while inwardly cruel and hard-hearted. At some point in your life, you are responsible to choose whether to follow God and God’s expansive vision of community or not.

We see it a lot in our society right now, across those parts of the globe formerly known as “Christendom.” There are people who were born into Christian homes, and brought up with going to Church. They even absorbed knowledge of Bible stories and perhaps can quote the Lord’s prayer and the 23rd Psalm. They’re “culturally Christian”—nominally fluent in the language and rituals of the Christian religion. But unless anyone decides for themselves to walk in the Way of Jesus, no matter how imperfectly, their knowledge doesn’t translate into faith.

Luckily, if we can hear aright Christ’s loving message of radical generosity and inclusion, it means that as we embark on our journey of faith, we are assured that we are not only never outsiders, we are never alone. We not only have Jesus. We have each other. We are called to deny the forces of the world that seek to exclude, to divide, and instead to embrace those we encounter, especially those who call out for help.

We ourselves have received astounding grace and mercy, whether we have deserved it or not. Jesus calls us to demonstrate that same grace to the world around us—especially when everything around us tries to make us hard-hearted and afraid. That’s how the light of Christ will shine, even in this time of fear and darkness. It will shine from inside us, once we embrace each other in true charity and empathy. No bargains necessary.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul, October 7, 2021.

A Prayer for Early Autumn: Speaking to the Soul for September 30, 2021

O Glorious, Creating God,
we thank You for being our companion
through the seasons of life,
and we praise and bless You forever!

You are our hope,
    which buds within our hearts like a sapling tree.
You are the green joy that springs up
    from the soil of our hearts and takes root,
    blessing us and holding us fast.
You are the lustrous light of faithfulness:
    you call us to turn to You
    as flowers crane their necks to the sun.
You are the song of praise
    that sings from the symphony of color
    of autumn forests and fields.
You are our warming fire,
    that sets our embered souls ablaze
    through the breath of your Spirit.
Open our eyes to see your dazzling glory, O Creator,
    and open our hearts to nurture your Word and Truth.
Hear the prayers
    that tumble from our hearts like fallen leaves,
and gather in your arms those we now name.

Amen.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on September 30, 2021.

Prayer 3162

Holy One,
we lift our heart before You
like empty basins
to be filled with wisdom and mercy.

We give you thanks, O Creator,
for sun-dappled mornings:
may our prayers arise to you
like the morning mist rises from the hills.

We offer our repentance
for the wrongs we have done others, O Savior,
for our carelessness before You and our neighbors,
for blindly seeking our own way
rather than keeping our feet and hearts
within your path of wisdom and grace.

Spirit of Truth,
grant us the will to turn again toward love
that reveals itself in compassion, generosity, and humility,
in placing ourselves at the service of others
as Christ exemplifies.

Bless the hands and hearts of healers, protectors, and teachers,
of those who sacrifice for our own flourishing,
that we may do likewise.
Blessed Trinity, Eternal One,
give your angels charge over those in need, anxiety, or grief,
and pour out the balm of your mercy
over those for whom we pray.

Amen.

Prayer, day 3161

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.

The Witness of Intention: Sermon for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 21B)

Our readings today have stories of enemies, jealousies, and rivalry coming through them. There are some harsh images in the harsh for such a beautiful day. But certainly relatable in the fractured, divided time in which we live.

In the first part of our gospel, the apostles see someone not affiliated with Jesus nonetheless doing the deeds that Jesus promised his disciples they could do—casting out demons and healing people of their suffering. This is not a story of a magician (code word for pagan) performing magic that was. In competition with the Jesus movement. No—it clearly states that this person was acting in Jesus’s name.

Debie Thomas talks about the fact that what the disciples are complaining about is that, to them, proper procedure is not being followed-- and God knows Episcopalians in particular are allll about procedure sometimes. The disciples here are all standing around saying “Who is dis guy???” and feeling that he or she is stealing their thunder. They have completely lost sight of the fact that this person, acting in Jesus’s name, is doing Jesus’s work, and is bringing about hope and healing where previously none existed. She puts the issue this way: rather than not being a known follower of Jesus, they are complaining that he is not following THEM and placing himself under their supervision.(1)

Jesus's answer to them is the phrase that jumps out to me as being important to hear right now: Whoever is not against us is for us.

In 2021, we just memorialized the 20th anniversary of the September 11 attacks on New York, Virginia across the river from Washington DC, and Shanksville, Pennsylvania, probably on the way to DC had the passengers and remaining crew not risen up and interfered. A somber anniversary, one reminding us of a day that changed us in so many ways, some good, and some bad.

One of the things I remember from those somber days come to me in flashes: the relief I felt when my dear friend’s daughter who had been in Manhattan on a business trip finally arrived home days later. The sacrifices of first responders. The rapt attention of students as we processed what had happened in the days and weeks that followed. The concerts. The anxiety and even tears of kids whose parents or siblings were in the National Guard or Reserve, and who got their orders for Afghanistan. The long lines to donate blood. The concerts to support the families who had lost loved ones.

But one of my memories that touched me deeply was the prayer service held on September 23 in Yankee Stadium for the missing and the dead. Representatives from the Jewish, Roman Catholic, Sikh, Muslim, Greek Orthodox, and various Protestant leaders, as well as famous musicians, joined together to pray and remember. It was a beautiful coming together, a defiant declaration of kinship and love in action in response to the attempt to divide and destroy.

However, one of the ministers who took part in that truly interfaith prayer service was later censured by his denomination. They saw praying with non-Christians as akin to fully approving what they called “paganism”—itself a provocative word. In the end, their arguments ran along the lines of “By praying with Muslims, you prayed to the Muslim (small- g) god.” Their claim was that the Muslim god is different.

Yet here is the first reality we have to consider: different languages by definition use different words. In Arabic, the name Allah simply means “God.” Christians who live in places where Arabic is the language also pray to “Allah.” But secondly, do we really want to claim there is more than one God—all in contention with each other? Or do we not proclaim each and every time we worship liturgically, that there is ONE God, revealed for Christians through Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, true, but one God and Creator of all that is?

To my mind, the objection against praying with anyone who doesn’t believe EXACTLY what you do is, really, as we would say back home, “There ain’t no such thing.” There’s a famous saying—wherever you have two Episcopalians in a room, you have five opinions.” We belong to a branch of the Jesus movement that embraces that ambiguity and openness to matters of practice. We consider intention to be a vital consideration in judging the rightness of an action. And that’s what we hear in our gospel today.

Note the complete details of the situation: someone is performing deeds of healing who has not been previously seen following Jesus. And yet listen carefully to the words used to describe those healing actions: they are being performed “in Jesus’s name.” Whoever they are doesn’t matter—the reason they are doing these things DOES. They are healing and restoring for the glory of God, and God’s dream of healing, reconciliation, restoration, relief, compassion. For the restoration of people to community. For shalom: peace, wholeness, being at ease. As testimony to Jesus’s teaching and witness and example. Whether they’ve completed all the classwork or joined the right clubs doesn’t change the love behind their actions in the least—it might even make it MORE praiseworthy.

From the earliest years of the Church of England’s separation from the Roman church, its great theologians held to a doctrine called “adiaphora.” It comes from the Greek word meaning “indifferent.” It doesn’t mean that one is indifferent to matters of theology, but suggests that in worship practices that are essential versus those that are not. If you visit parishes within our diocese, you will see a wide variety of ways to worship on Sunday: some use incense, and some do not. Some only pray in Elizabethan language, and some use a much more modern vernacular. Some have loads of glorious artwork, like we do, and some have a plain brick building and plain white walls. Even within a parish, you will see some people genuflecting and others not; some people dressed to the nines and others coming as they are. All matters of preference, not commandment. But you will always see people seeking to understand how to walk in the path of Jesus.

It is intention that matters, and intention that witnesses to the glory of God. When those religious leaders of a wide variety of faiths gathered in those dark days twenty years ago, their intention was not to put forward some sort of competition to see whose practices were the greatest, much less the “only.” They were insisting that people of all backgrounds were lost on that terrible day, and that people of all backgrounds could join together in laying their devastation and also their resilient faith on the line together. That as members of the only race that matters— the human race-- the wounds of one person affect us all. The death of one person affects us all. What better way to deny the goals of those terrorists to destroy us and to divide us than to come together faithfully and deny their attempt to use death as a tool by re-committing ourselves to life, to decency, to the respect and dignity of every person—including those who pray, and even vote, differently than we do?

That last phrase might sound familiar to you, especially today. It is one of the eight questions we answer in our baptismal covenant: Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?

And indeed, those questions we affirm each time we renew this Covenant, from the first time or for the hundredth time, describe what truly is important in matters of our religious or spiritual life. Continuing in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread, and the prayers means Living a life of commitment to others and to your own development: it means committing ourselves as individuals to being part of a worshiping community that you may continue to grow deeper in your life of faith. Persevering in resisting evil means it is NOT better to apologize than to ask permission, it means listening to your conscience and being guided by it to avoid hurting others and having to make amends later. Proclaiming by word and example the good news of Jesus means realizing that all that those who call themselves Christian say and do is a testimony to the world of who Jesus is. It means that everything we do, we do in Jesus’s name—including the times we do things we ought not to do. Nothing makes Jesus look as bad to a world deeply unfamiliar with Jesus’s radical love and acceptance more than seeing his followers openly behaving as if they have no intention of embodying his values, either. When the Church violates Jesus’s example, we can’t be surprised that the world turns away in disbelief. Seeking and serving Christ in all persons means being among those who challenge us, who reject us, who are different from us, and yet seeing Christ’s face shining out from their faces, calling us to embrace him through embracing them.

Jesus’s gospel is radical BECAUSE it challenges the life to which we are accustomed. Jesus’s gospel is radical because its power in centered in being a person for others, and not for ourselves; in giving, rather than taking; in seeing the interconnectedness of all life in God’s good creation rather than fighting against everyone else as a competitor and enemy for scarce resources and privileges. Jesus calls us to transformation of our transactional natures. And that is absolutely counter-cultural. The fact is, if you are not confounded at least ten times a day as you attempt to live this life of following Jesus, you are not paying attention. We live in a world where our leaders have proclaimed in times of crisis, “Whoever is not with us is against us,” and there are times when that is true—like when we are silent in the face of violence and oppression. When we proclaim, as one religious leader did recently, that of course we are against sexual abuse committed by ministers, but not if it destroys our denomination to openly investigate that abuse. (2) This axiom is useful when applied to harmful behavior. Jesus is looking at good works in his comment, though. 

When Christians are more interested in claiming they belong to an exclusive club than in engaging in the hard work of loving people, you get alienation of the world from God’s dream of fellowship and amity among people. Mahatma Gandhi, who was no slouch when it came to standing up for the powerless and living a spiritual life with intention, once was asked by a missionary what would help bring more Indians to embrace Christianity. He suggested that Christians, from missionaries to political leaders, begin to live more like Jesus Christ. Consider that for a moment. If you think that is not practical, then admit to yourself that Jesus will never be the solution until Christians stop being part of the problem.

When someone is accomplishing the reconciling and loving work that Jesus embodied, whether they have all the right credentials or not, they are advancing Jesus’s life and mission in the world. That’s what we commit to do today—and every day. As we celebrate the welcoming of our newest Christian today, sweet little Clementine, we stand around her and promise to teach her how to live like Jesus. 

And the way we best do that is by doing it ourselves, knowing that she is learning by watching us. 

What a gift.

Preached at the 10:30 service, held in limited number in person for a baptism, and broadcast online at 10:30 am on September 26, 2021 at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.

Readings:

Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22
Psalm 124 
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50

Citations:

1) Debie Thomas, “Hosts, Not Bouncers,” at Journey with Jesus, 19 September 2021.

2) See the comments by Joe Knott, member of the Executive Committee of the Southern Baptist Convention, paraphrased in this article.

Prayer, day 3160 : The 18th Sunday after Pentecost

Most Merciful God,
we gather around your altar
to worship and give you thanks,
praising your wondrous love.
Help us, Lord Jesus,
always to remember your call to community and grace
formed in the name of Christ
and bearing your truth,
that we be generous and compassionate with each other,
loving each other as you love us.
Knit us together as one,
dedicated to your covenant of hope and mercy,
that we may never be a stumbling block to any
and be welcoming to all who seek our fellowship.
By the power of the Holy Spirit,
make us salt in the world, Blessed Jesus,
a holy offering and a priestly people
embodying your gospel with integrity.
Press the seal of your blessing
upon all who seek you, O God,
and especially on those we now name.

Amen.

Prayer for the Beginning of Autumn: Speaking to the Soul for September 23, 2021

O God of All Creation,

hear us as we draw near to You,
and place our hearts at your feet.

For the long green season that is closing,
and in expectation of cooling nights and turning leaves,
we thank You, O Lord.

For the lengthening purple shadows,
and the joyous click of leaves
teaching us the beauty of letting go,
we thank You, O Lord.

For the sweet tang of autumn raindrops
cooling the air and softening the earth,
dancing on a mirrored pond,
we thank You, O Lord.

For the joy of children and the wonder of the innocent
in helping us to see your world anew,
we thank You, O Lord.

For the blessing of work for your service,
and the constellations of companions
whose fellowship lightens the load,
we thank You, O Lord.

For the wrongs we have done to others
or to You, Loving One,
that we may repent and seek reconciliation,
we pray to You, O Lord.

For all our enemies in word or deed,
that their hearts may be turned,
and we may forgive,
we pray You, O Lord.

For those living in times of fire and storm,
who struggle to stay above the rising tide of anxiety,
we pray to You, O Lord.

For those whose needs we remember before You
throughout this day, especially those we now name.

Amen.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on September 23, 2021, the first full day of autumn.

Wise Guise: Speaking to the Soul for September 16, 2021

Proverbs 31:10-31
Psalm 1
James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a
Mark 9:30-37

This Sunday all of our lectionary readings are about wisdom: wisdom as a housewife who makes her household prosperous; wisdom in those who immerse themselves in studying scripture; wisdom in those who seek to do good and make peace; and wisdom in the guise of a little child being appreciated and welcomed and valued.

At the time of our gospel reading from Mark in the first century of the common era, children were looked upon as potentiallyvaluable in family economics. Children were an investment: expensive in terms of time, care, and nurture at the outset, but upon growing up (at that time as soon as they entered their teen years or thereabouts) they were expected to pull their weight in the household economy. Infancy and early childhood were times of great danger for children, and many did not survive to age five—all the way up to my own parents’ generation. I used to tell my history students that the baby boomers in the industrialized world were the first generation to not regularly experience the death of siblings in childhood. Adolescence as a developmental condition was not even invented until near the 20th century, with the development of the sciences of psychology and psychiatry. For most of human history, you were a child (and relatively overlooked, expected to be “seen and not heard”); then somewhere around age 12 (earlier if your family was poor) —bam!-- you were an adult and expected to start pulling your own weight in the household. Period.

Yet underestimating children and their acumen is a fool’s game. In the exhausting days of raising children, I and my friends would sometimes be startled by the wisdom that would come out of our children’s mouths. I am personally not allowed to tell any of these tales about my own children, but I remember some that I have come across elsewhere.

One six-year-old complained to her mom, “You keep telling me not to talk to strangers, but how am I supposed to make new friends?”

One kid of a particularly frazzled pair of parents had wanted to go to the playground for days. Finally he said, “If we do it now, we will never run out of time.” (I wrote that one into my phone.)

One little guy was having a hard time getting away from a kid who pinched and yelled at pre-school anytime she didn’t get her way, and yet he still kept trying to be her friend. “I know she has a hard time being nice. That’s why I will show her how,” he said.

And in a reminder, as if we needed one in these days, that we need MORE science education in elementary school, not less: “The early bird catches the worm,” a mom told her third-grade daughter who loved to be up at night, trying to get her to get up earlier. The daughter replied, “The night owl catches the mouse, and there’s more nutrition and calories in a mouse.”

One kindergartner would come home from school, and every day his dad would ask him how his day was. Every day, the little guy would proclaim it was a great day. Finally the dad asked him how every day was so great, and the little boy solemnly replied, “Because I decided it was going to be great.”

When Jesus places a little child in the midst of the disciples, and compares welcoming one of them to welcoming him, he is reminding us of several points of wisdom. Wisdom is never mere knowledge, but a way of living with kindness, compassion, mercy, and attention, as we see just from those wise remarks coming out of the mouths of babes. Wisdom is not discounting anyone based on their age or any other characteristic but realizing you can learn from anybody: even those who might be irritating can teach you patience and kindness. Wisdom is being open to seeing others not as potential competitors or “less-than,” but as fellow children of God. Wisdom is making time for taking care of yourself, as Jesus did when he would visit friends or go off for some prayer time alone.

The Wisdom of God is so important in ordering our lives that the Psalter begins by specifically naming wisdom as a blessing beyond all others. The reading from James reminds us of specific characteristics of those who cultivate and seek the wisdom of God: purity, peaceableness, gentleness, being willing to yield and not insist on your own way; being merciful, productive, impartial, sincere.

Welcoming little children—with all their joy and purity and sometimes noise—is the same as welcoming me, Jesus reminds us. That’s no small thing.

We could all use some more wisdom. And it often comes in the voice of a little one.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on September 16, 2021.

Who Do You Say That I Am?: Speaking to the Should or September 9, 2021

“Who do you say that I am?”
the Holy One asks,
each and every day
as so many claim his name.

This is not an academic exercise.

“Who do you say that I am?”
We have the four gospels.
We have the Spirit still speaking among us.
We have saints and martyrs and prophets
--yes, even now.

“Who do you say that I am?”
The Human One
calls us to be human
as we commit ourselves to walk His path,
taking up our crosses
the burden of love
the lifting up of hope
the “re-membering” of his Body
by our commitment to each other,
stranger or friend,
patron or supplicant.

“Who do you say that I am?”
Have we shrunk Him down
for our comfort and convenience,
so that we won’t be called to change that much
beyond our comfort zone?
Do we flinch from the full answer—
and the call to lay down our life
(forgetting He promised us a better one
in its place)?

Because who we say HE is
is also who we say we are
if we are to bear his name in truth.

“Who do you say that I am?”
The gate, the way, the truth, the life?
Then so must we be.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on September 9, 2021.

The Wisdom of Vulnerability: Sermon for the 15th Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 18B)

A group of rabbis gathered one day after a long day of studying the Book of Bereshit, which we call the Book of Genesis. The question that was before them was this one: Why had God waited until the sixth day of creation to create human beings?

Rabbi Rivkah said, “God wanted to make sure the universe was well ordered and operating smoothly, so that we could make use of creation, made for our benefit.” Several of her companions nodded in agreement. Certainly the marvels of the universe had been made for the use of human beings, who had been given dominion over all things on Earth.

Rabbi Chaim said, “Perhaps, perhaps. But God started with animals so that God could learn from God’s earlier attempts. God waited to make humans so that God wouldn’t make the mistakes God made with the various animals and their weaknesses.” Other rabbis nodded in agreement with him. Surely human beings were the crowning achievement of creation, with the ability to talk, and to think, unlike stupid animals!

Rabbi Susan, known for her humility a well as her wisdom, arrived a few moments into the meeting, apologizing profusely. She was running late because she had been engaged in prayers before the sun set. She asked what they were debating about so intently. “We are discussing why God waited until the sixth day to create human beings,” Rabbi Akiva told her. They repeated the two premises put forward by Rabbi Rivkah and Rabbi Chaim.

Rabbi Susan thought for a moment. A dog whined outside in the street, and a mosquito whined past the ear of one of the other rabbis, and he swatted at it forcefully. “I wonder if the answer is more simple. I think it was so that when we were filled with pride, we would remember that even a lowly dog and the annoying mosquito were awarded priority in the grand scheme of the Divine Creator.” And all the other rabbis took what she said, and pondered it for the rest of their lives.

Our readings today focus on two qualities: humility, and wisdom. We begin with a brief collection of verses from the Book of Proverbs. The backstory behind this collection of sayings was that they were written by King Solomon himself. As you know, Solomon was crowned with power and honor: he had hundreds of wives and concubines; he lived in a magnificent palace, and he was the son of the great King David.

Yet, if you remember three weeks ago, when he ascended to the throne, Solomon prayed to God for help in governing God’s people. In a dream God appeared to Solomon and told Solomon to ask God for what he wanted God to grant to him. Solomon could have asked for untold wealth, or military power, or an exceptionally long life and reign. Instead, the new king humbly compared himself to a little child, not up to the task of leading so great a people. Solomon therefore asked for wisdom, so that he could be a good king to protect the people and lead them. God was pleased not just by the thoughtfulness of the answer, but by its humility. Solomon didn’t ask for things for himself, but for a gift that would benefit his people. So God granted Solomon wisdom, and his sage judgment was famous far and wide. Solomon’s humility, his openness to admitting his lack of perception and knowledge, was the beginning of his wisdom.

The proverbs before us are likewise focused on wisdom and humility themselves. Specifically, they depict the wisdom of being generous, just, and hospitable in one’s relationships with others. The wisdom of being open to each other. In the social system of the early Mediterranean world, social division and status was very important—much like our society today. Just like now, there were many ways to close oneself off from those considered lowly or unclean. All these centuries later, we too have the same many ways to separate ourselves from each other—by race, class, ethnicity, ability or disability, wealth and poverty. Those who are considered to be “less-than,” like the poor or immigrants, become invisible—if they are lucky. If they are not lucky enough to be invisible they become objects of scorn, exploitation, and scapegoating.

You’ve seen and heard this done over and over by people around you—some even claiming to be leaders. Businesses that pay starvation wages complain that they can’t find workers, and so smear all of them as lazy rather than consider that the wages they pay do not allow for a person to make even a modest living and pay all of their bills. Lately there’s even been the claim that the $300 a week jobless benefits are actually rewards for laziness. There are public school districts ending breakfast programs because they claim it will make children dependent on handouts for the rest of their lives. The reasons stated for this decision runs like this I guess: Better for seven-year-olds to suffer from the pain and distraction of hunger right now than to expect that the wealthiest country in the world owes them anything. 

I’ve always appreciated the humility and wisdom of leaders who actually try to walk a mile in the shoes of those at the bottom of the income scale—like when members of Congress try to eat for a week only on the benefits given through food stamps, or try to find an apartment for 25% of the income of a minimum wage job. I hope that, on this Labor Day weekend, as we all enjoy our time off, we remember a prayer often said in the Compline service, and humbly pray that we honor the labor of workers, no matter how humble, who make our common lives together possible.

Thus we hear the author reminding us that whether we are rich or poor, we are all children of God, created in God’s image. We are told not to exploit the poor or take advantage of them, or for those who sit at the gate—which is where people would plead for justice if they had been treated unfairly or unjustly. Applied to our own time, one in which so many people are behaving without regard for anything, but loudly proclaim their own grievances, their own rights to do as they please, regardless of the harm to others, our proverbs remind us to remain humble as the foundation of our relationships with each other and as a reflection of our relationship with God.

Likewise our psalm urges us to another set of characteristics that are the basis of wisdom and generosity: trust and honesty. Once again, gifts that seem to be in short supply these days. Our psalm reminds us that the ability to trust and be trustworthy is a sign of strength, not weakness. The letter of James urges us to treat every person with honor—not based on what they can do for us, but based on the love we are called to bear for each and every person, which includes taking care of those who have needs as much as we are able—and we often have more ability to do this than we might like to admit.

Look, it’s easy for us to forget sometimes that we have the power to make the lives of those around us better or worse, often by the simplest recognition that here, around me are other people all beloved of God and beloved of their families and friends. All precious.

Even Jesus has to be reminded of this sometimes. In our gospel reading today, we have two stories of healing. One is of a man unable to hear—Jesus commands his hearing and his speech to be “opened.” There is Jesus, the miracle worker using his divine power to help someone on the margins of society toward full healing and restoration. But if you look carefully, the story before it informs this command to be open. In the story before this healing, Jesus himself had to be goaded into being open to another. We just for a second get a glimpse of Jesus as a human being—prone to all the weariness and challenges we all face.

Jesus has entered Gentile territory to the north hoping for a little R and R, his own version of Labor Day. Maybe if he goes up into Tyre and Sidon, no one will recognize him, and he can move about anonymously for a while until his batteries recharge. Yet no sooner does he get there, and settles into a house to cocoon for a bit, than some woman approaches him and bows down at his feet, cringing like a dog. And so, frustrated and exhausted, he looks on this woman from a wealthy region coming to dare ask him, an impoverished Jew, for healing, and he calls her just that. He calls her a dog, and declares her outside his mission to God’s chosen people. The bounty of his mercy is reserved for his own people, who have hard enough lives as it is. For a moment, his tiredness gets the best of him, and he claims that there’s not enough to go around. There’s not enough of Jesus to go around. And here this woman is, a cross between a mosquito and a dog, annoying Jesus with her request and her refusal to be shaken off.

Here it is the woman who displays humility and wisdom. Even as he tries to belittle her, to cast her as an outsider and unworthy, still she presses on. Maybe because she is not asking out of need for herself, but need for her beloved daughter. Still bowed down at his feet, she responds immediately: Yes, I may be a dog-- but even dogs get to eat the scraps that fall from the table. And that image of a table is a reminder of the abundance and mercy that Jesus has been proclaiming and enacting just so people won’t miss the point that God’s generosity and love for us is unlimited and life-giving. She reminds Jesus of the same thing our proverbs did: that we are called to be open, and generous with each other, rather than try to draw lines around who is worthy and who is not.

Even the wisest people lose sight of what is important from time to time—it’s part of being human. Jesus was fully human too—we are going to say that again in just a few moments in the creed. If Jesus can benefit from a reminder to be more open with others, there’s good news there for us all, as fallible and prone to pride as we can be. Through the woman’s humility, Jesus is reminded that God truly does mean that the table will be wide enough to hold everyone, and that all are not just worthy but are beloved—as beloved when they are in the wrong as when they are in the right. God’s table is open to all, to be accepted, valued, and cared for. And when people feels accepted and valued, they feel secure. And from that security, we can feel brave enough to treat each other with mercy and compassion. This is the purpose God displayed in sending Jesus to us, and in reminding Jesus and us of the wisdom that relationship is woven into the very fabric of our existence. Jesus is opened to that reminder by the woman, and that gift of understanding, of connection, of caring for each other in generosity, grace, and compassion.

And that is the beginning of wisdom.




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


Readings:
Proverbs 22:1-2, 8-9, 22-23
Psalm 125
James 2:1-10, [11-13], 14-17
Mark 7:24-37

Being Open: Speaking to the Soul for September 2, 2021

Mark 7:24-37

Just like all of us, Jesus needed periods of rest. And by now, the only way he was going to get that was by going away, by going to places outside the boundaries of Israel and Judea, by physically propping a “Closed for Business” sign between himself and the persistent crowds. So he went up to Lebanon, to the city of Tyre on the Mediterranean coast, an ancient city, originally founded by the Phoenicians, the people who gave us the alphabet. And yet, even there, immediately he is approached by a woman of the area, who falls down before him at his feet, a position of both worship and pleading. It’s also a wise position, strategically, because it is impossible—and incredibly rude– to ignore someone who has thrown themselves at your feet.

This woman is an outsider on three important levels. First, she is a woman, approaching a strange man whom she does not know. Second, she is a Gentile, of Phoenician and Syrian heritage. Third, the inhabitants of the region of Tyre were typically prosperous, as it was a busy trading hub with a highly lucrative economy as compared to the poorer agricultural area from which Jesus came around Galilee, and so its inhabitants were often looked upon with resentment by their neighbors.

So Jesus responds in a way that is not exactly welcoming—maybe it’s the exhaustion talking. Or maybe he is a little resentful of her forcing herself upon him as he is seeking some peace and quiet. So Jesus tries to turn her away, and he even implies that she and her people are dogs, fit only to cringe outside the doors of the children of Israel. And maybe Jesus, fully human and worn out and frustrated, hopes that like a dog she will slink away.

But the love this woman has for her daughter, and the fear this woman has for her daughter, has led her this far in powering through all the obstacles of race and gender that should keep her completely powerless. Perhaps she anticipated that this Jewish holy man would reject her, as expected, and had prepared her counterarguments with that probability in mind.

“Maybe I am a dog, sir,” she responds, humbly, refusing to be thrown off by any attempt to provoke her. “But even dogs are grateful to accept whatever scraps and crumbs fall their way.” And in this way, she draws Jesus up short, and leads him to reconsider. He himself has just gotten finished arguing that nothing on the outside of a person can make them unclean. And now, standing before him, is living proof of exactly that message.

What we see here is that Jesus really is fully human, and that’s vitally important for us. We have hope because God became fully human in Jesus, and Jesus, just like us, got frazzled and hungry, mourned for his friend Lazarus, and got tired and frustrated. That’s the reality and the comfort of the incarnation when we take it seriously. Jesus emerges from this encounter, just like his tempting in the wilderness and his baptism, changed. He has been reminded that God’s love for the world shows no partiality and admits no lines of division. No one is outside the bounds of God’s grace. No one.

The Syrophoenician woman reminded Jesus and reminds all of us, every single day, to be opened to a crucial reality—a reality still coming into being due to our own resistance and fearfulness. A reality that therefore can never be repeated enough to break through our human tendencies to exclude those different from us. That challenging reality is that God’s reconciling, healing love truly has no limits.

God’s love is a generous, abundant love. God’s call is a generous, abundant call to all. This reminds us that our discipleship too must be open to all. We don’t exist as a community of faith merely for ourselves or for those who are similar to us. We exist as a community of faith to serve as disciples and witnesses to the world outside these doors, both when we are acting as a community and when we are acting as individuals. Even when we think no one is looking.

Being open to the movement of the Spirit of God in our lives is the foundation of salvation and discipleship, but it’s also scary. It means being open to God’s will wherever it may lead us, and we like to be in control of where we are going. It means being open to being surprised. It means being open to acknowledging that God’s ways are not our ways of exclusion and setting people up for failure. God’s ways are always about regeneration of heart and spirit, embracing the vulnerability of being open.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on September 2, 2021.

Indivisible: Speaking to the Soul for August 27, 2021

Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

Many years ago, a sweeping history of Australia was published called The Fatal Shore: The Epic of Australia’s Founding, by Robert Hughes. It told the story of how England shipped convicts to Australia’s harsh terrain in the 18th and 19thcenturies, making it a continent not only wrested from its indigenous people but built by basically convict labor. One could be sent to Australia for seven or even fourteen years for stealing a loaf of bread—just like the “crime” that was the centerpiece of Les Miserables. Those who were deemed to have broken the law were seen as unredeemable.

Some might say everyone who breaks the law is a criminal who deserves to be punished—and even cast out. Those who say things like that, at the same time, we probably all know people who behave unethically while using the law as a cover, and also people who break the law in order to follow what they consider to be the greater dictates of their consciences. Laws are meant to strengthen societal bonds and relationships—not tear them apart.

In our gospel for this coming Sunday, Jesus’s critics are scandalized by the fact that Jesus’s followers do not perform the ritual washing of the hands all the way to the elbows that was the tradition that developed from the Torah over the centuries. Yet, their criticism stems not from concern, or the wish to help someone who does not know better. Instead, their criticism means to cast doubt on the holiness of this holy man and his followers. If they don’t even wash their hands before eating, how good of a teacher must this Jesus be?

And three years ago, when we last read this pericope, most of us viewed handwashing in a much different light than we do now, as deep into COVID19 as we now are. Most of us, before COVID19, gave handwashing a half-hearted effort at best. And now we have all been taught to scrub our hands up to our elbows while singing “Happy Birthday.” Twice.

Jesus reminds us that purity for purity’s sake, stripped of context, becomes an idol on its own. Jewish purity laws were, and in some communities still are, very strict. Sometimes, keeping the law becomes a display of false piety, unmoored from the spirit and purpose of the law at its inception—it wasn’t to make a big show of yourself; it was to demonstrate care for the neighbors and our willingness to be obedient before God. It was about indivisible community, not individualism.

Ultimately, this argument is about authority and tradition. Jesus points out that tradition is all well and good—until it starts interfering with mission. We’ve lost our way when purity is valued over efficacy—when purity is valued over helping people.

We have been given a similar opportunity to demonstrate that lovingkindness and sense of appreciation of the value of our neighbors’ lives. We have the opportunity to live by grace—in humble acknowledgement of the grace we ourselves have received, honestly acknowledging the profligate love that is at the root of such radical acceptance and forbearance. To see no one as unredeemable.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on August 27, 2021.

The Armor of Vulnerability: Sermon for the 13th Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 16B)

I used to love to watch war movies with my Dad, especially those John Wayne classics like The Sands of Iwo Jima and The Longest Day. We loved The Fighting Seabees, because my Dad WAS a Seabee in World War II. I also loved playing games based on battle: Battleship,Stratego, and Risk.

In all those movies and in all those games, there were a few life lessons scattered in there for anyone, whether destined for the military or not. Think twice about attacking if you are outnumbered. Always try to defend the high ground, not the low ground. An army travels on its stomach. Offense is more costly and risky than defense if you are defending your home turf. Even: Never get a tattoo while drunk.

And of course, I grew up in churches that used war metaphors in their hymns, hymns like “Onward Christian Soldiers,” and “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” (which, while it is a patriotic song written during the Civil War, was also in the hymnals of most churches we attended when I was little). Then there were other hymns that glorified the topic of blood: “Because He Lives,” “Are You Washed in the Blood?” “Nothing But the Blood” “What Can Wash Away My Sin?”-- all drawing on the image in the Book of Revelations about the faithful being washed in the blood of the Lamb of God, and made white as snow.

So many words in that image right there that can be deeply problematic if not handled carefully. When I was really little, and trying to understand that last song particularly, I also used to wonder how my friends who were people of color felt about being turned white by Jesus—until I was old enough to read the verse and see that it was talking about garments, not skin. But still, the privileging of the color “white” and its association with some people can be very much misused in prejudiced persons’ hands.

And so, the readings this week brought back some memories—memories of being taught a pugnacious faith, a faith in which Christians were deemed to be persecuted by society and under assault by Satan in a place where every business still was forced under law to be closed until noon on Sunday, the Christian day of worship, and in which my sixth grade homeroom teacher in a public school forced each one of us to take a turn leading the class in prayer every morning, and in which the study of the Old Testament was in the Tulsa Public Schools’ English curriculum not once but TWICE between grades 9-12. And the kids we had in school who were NOT Christian—in particular, the Jewish kids and the Buddhist kids who were refugees from Vietnam and Cambodia—were left to understand that America was a Christian nation, and if they wanted to fit in, they needed to get with the program. Which isn’t exactly how Jesus would have put it.

And these verses from Ephesians were often a chosen text in urging Christians to be ready to violently respond in defense of their faith in Jesus. This section is sometimes referred to as “The Armor of God.” The voice used her is a voice of command—the imperative. That is admirably suited for a passage so filled with martial language. Christians are ordered to take up our positions, to pray (repeated three times) and be alert.

Let’s catalogue the military terms that are scattered like buckshot through this brief passage: “armor” (twice), “belt,” “breastplate,” “shield,” “arrows,” “helmet,” “sword.” Then notice the verbs: “stand” (as in military formation) is used four times; “take” is used three times; “put on” is used three times. The New Interpreters’ Study Bible notes that the word translated as “take” in v. 13 is used in military context for preparations before battle. The order in which the Christian puts each item on is the order used when putting on actual armor and at the end one puts on one’s helmet and places his sword in the sheath.

But then let’s remember who the Christians at Ephesus were: a tiny minority group who chose to follow Jesus in a huge port city that made its living on trade and pagan worship, especially dominated by a Temple of the Goddess Artemis—that also served as one of the biggest banks in the Mediterranean-- that was so big it was one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. That is a VERY different context from ours today, even with fewer people attending church. Even now, for some, claiming the title of Christian is a means to social acceptance and upward mobility, a path to belonging rather than to a life of faithful witness.

The pressure was on these early Christians known as the Ephesians from two directions. First, many of them had converted from Judaism, and Jesus was NOT considered to be the messiah by mainstream Judaism. Second, those who were Gentiles had converted from the civic pagan faith, and their abandonment was feared to possibly bring about the wrath of the gods. They were a tiny, ragtag group of people living in a culture that could turn hostile should some calamity descend and should their neighbors need a convenient scapegoat. They were vulnerable in the worst meaning of that word.

Thus, St. Paul has to urge them to keep the faith. But he does NOT do it by urging them to take up arms against their neighbors. Almost every single piece of the armor mentioned in his metaphorical list is defensive, not offensive. He is also clear that this armor is put on for the gospel of PEACE. The world was already a violent enough place. Jesus spent his public ministry urging people to put down their hatreds, their violent tendencies, and instead to love their enemies and pray for them. Even in this week’s gospel, when people are offended by his blunt words, he doesn’t force them to listen or force them to stay—he lets them depart in peace.

It is even more of a stark contrast to see that the thing Paul is urging those Ephesian Christians to defend in such military terms is “the gospel of peace.” Notice that some of the words used here were also used in our psalm: strength, and then the urging to prayer. Further, the belt Paul urges wearing is truth, the breastplate is righteousness, the shield is faith, the helmet is salvation, and the sword is the Spirit, which is equated with the word of God (not in the sense of Jesus or the scriptures, but in the sense of general revelation). In other words, the tools given to us in the fight against evil are gifts from God, and a sign of God’s loving-kindness toward us.

Nowadays, many of us are rightfully uneasy with concepts of religious warfare, tainted as this imagery is with the evils of the crusades, forced conversion as in Spain in the 15thcentury, jihad throughout the ages, and so on. We continuously see Christians at war against even other Christians. Yet at the same time, the world is in need of people willing to put their entire being behind living out the gospel of peace, grace, and mercy, who ARE willing to stand up for and alongside the cause of the poor, the oppressed, the marginalized.

We see Muslim attacking Muslim in Afghanistan right now, with the Taliban attempting to use brutal, military force to impose their fundamentalist, rigid understanding of Islam on their neighbors who have thus far not been persuaded by their words and deeds. Their willingness to kill fellow Muslims in the name of a religion whose name means “Surrender” shows that Christianity is not alone in its tendency to misplace the peaceful heart of faith with the fist of war.

It is important, therefore, to treat these texts respectfully and also carefully. As we have seen repeatedly over the last many months, sometimes one has to physically put one’s body on the line in the cause of justice and creating a lasting PEACE within society. Our efforts are not in the cause of force and oppression, but must be in the service of the “peace of God,” which surpasses human understanding. Jesus’s gospel is one of vulnerability in the BEST sense: openness, the willingness to lay down one’s privileges for the service of the weakest members of society. Just as Jesus himself did, again and again. It’s a vulnerability that projects strength, not fear,because it is grounded in love and service to others.

Does Paul say this armor is to be used to attack others? NO. He says the armor of God will make Jesus’s disciples who put it on bold—bold in proclaiming the living, loving faith of Jesus, in word and deed—ESPECIALLY against the forces of anger, violence, and destruction. It calls for us to be made WISE, not murderous. The armor of God is the armor of love in the face of hatred.

In the end, we have to remember that armor is just an empty shell. Armor’s importance lies in protecting the one wearing it. God’s armor is not meant to block out the cries those around us, but to enable us to stand alongside them in solidarity. The armor of God is what we put on every day that we choose to not just be fans of Jesus but to be followers of Jesus. This armor acknowledges our vulnerability and our freedom to choose a way of life that is NOT always easy, that does come with some cost and sacrifice.

We hear that kind of vulnerability in Jesus’s question to his closest disciples as some of the crowd drifts off in our gospel, shocked by his unflinching talk about blood and flesh. “Do you also want to go away?” he asked sadly, yet with understanding and compassion. Jesus’s love is a freeing love; Jesus’s path is a path NO ONE can be forced to walk. At the heart of this love is the great mystery: that Jesus doesn’t just come to save us from hell, but to show us the way of life as we are living it. It is a life lived for each other no matter how distant or different we are from each other.

We are called to fight for love over conquest, and to fight using our hearts and our honesty, not our fists. May we all choose the armor of truth, the armor of righteousness, the armor of love and light—the armor of vulnerability.

Preached at the 10:30 in-person and online service at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, MO.

Readings:

1 Kings 8:[1, 6, 10-11], 22-30, 41-43
Psalm 84
Ephesians 6:10-20
John 6:56-69