Preaching with a broken heart: August 25

 Year B, Pentecost 14                                     Psalm 34:15-22 & John 6:56-69                                             

I can’t remember where I read it, some important preaching professor no doubt--- said that preachers must preach from our scars and not our wounds.  The idea is that we don’t unload our issues onto our congregation.  We can talk about that which troubles us, but only after we have reached some resolution.  It’s wise advice, and advice I have followed for many years.  But like all sage advice, there are exceptions.  One of my very dear friends died of lung cancer last Saturday.  She was my first priest friend and then became my go to for all things.  We started a writing group together and many years later, we wrote a book together about our experiences with illness and our irreverent prayers that came out of those illnesses. 

Unfortunately her lung cancer returned while we were writing.  Even after she was moved to stage 4 lung cancer, she continued to preach and write.  She wrote about the axiom of preaching from our scars rather than our wounds. She said she no longer had the luxury of preaching from scars---because her wounds would not heal.  That made sense given her situation, but I thought I would stick with that advice until I couldn’t anymore.

Then I read the psalm for today.  “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and will save those whose spirits are crushed.”  When people have asked me how I am over the last week, my answer has typically been, “My heart is broken.”  Obviously this is not the first grief I have experienced in my life.  But it’s been particularly acute.  She was someone I communicated with multiple times a day.  She knew the worst things about me and celebrated the best things.   I like to think I did the same for her.  A friend of mine who is a grief counselor said that when you lose someone that close it’s like someone cuts a hole out of a piece of a quilt and that quilt is the story of your life….it’s like part of your story is gone and you don’t really know how to start writing again.

I am not afraid to admit to myself or you that I am angry at God. I know that good people die tragically long before their time, every minute of every day.  There are some clergy out there who preach the prosperity Gospel.  That is the idea that if you are good, if you love and serve God and of course give money to that preacher, good things will come to you. You will be compensated not only with a good life, but also with material goods.  It’s a complete heresy and contrary to so much of scripture, but it’s a convenient message and a popular one if that is what you need to believe. 

Yet this Psalm shows us that’s not how it always works.  “The Lord is near the brokenhearted…” That means followers of God still have their hearts broken, sometimes over and over again… It then says that “Many are the troubles of the righteous…”  It doesn’t get more direct than that.   Good people, righteous have troubles, many troubles. Most people are not comfortable calling themselves righteous. We associate it with being self righteous. Or we just don’t think we are worthy of being called righteous. In the Bible righteousness is more about the relationship between the person and God, or the person and others.  It’s right relationship.  It’s ok to associate yourself with the righteous—even if you have not yet achieved perfection.

  Unfortunately suffering is a reality for most us.  No one goes through life without suffering.  Sometimes I even wonder if being Christian brings us more suffering.  It’s not a great advertisement for Christianity.  I would never be an effective mega pastor.  It’s not that being Christian brings more bad things upon us---it just that our hearts become more malleable. We are more vulnerable to heartbreak.  If you never love, if you never open your heart to another, your heart will never be broken. 

So what does it mean that God is close to those who are broken hearted? That probably brings comfort to many, but I worry that shames some people. They think, if I don’t feel God’s presence when I suffer or when I am broken hearted, there must be something wrong with me.  I must not be righteous enough. 

The reason that Elizabeth and I decided to write our book together is because we both realized that when we were in the hospital---when we were the most vulnerable, we felt the furthest from God.  We could not pray.  We decided to write prayers that we would have wanted to pray, or we would have wanted others to pray for us. Please, hear me when I say, it’s ok if you when you suffer, you don’t feel close to God.  It’s not your fault. You are not a bad Christian.  You don’t lack righteousness.  Sometimes, you just need the prayers of others to lift you---which is why a Christian community is so vital.  The prayers of others can carry you when your own prayers feel as though they are falling on deaf ears, or when you can’t pray---when your broken heart doesn’t bring you any closer to God.

Over the last week, I realized that I was talking to God all the time. I was raised Roman Catholic.  We were taught that the saints interceded for us on behalf of God.  As Episcopalians, we believe that all Christians are saints…not just the perfect Christians who rarely sin, but all Christians.  My friend Elizabeth always advocated for those she loved, and she didn’t care who she upset doing it.  I realized that she’s with God, interceding in all my prayers. It made me want to pray more, talk to God more. That was one of the last gifts she gave to me.

We are on our 5^th week of the 6^th chapter of John’s Gospel.  We have been hearing about Jesus being the bread of life for 6 weeks.  It’s a long time to talk about the bread of life.  In our reading for today, the disciples said, “This teaching is difficult, who can accept it.” Jesus then said a few more difficult things, because he was never one to make things easy on people.  Then, realizing that many people in the crowd had left because it was too much for them, he asked his 12 disciples if they also wanted to leave. Peter replied, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

There are many times I have struggled with my faith over the years.  In the end, I believe that while Jesus never makes my life easier, Jesus has the words of eternal life.  And while so many people in this world come and go, Jesus has the words of eternal life. Jesus will save those whose spirits are crushed.

All Saints is Complicated: November 6, 2022

Year C, All Saints                                  Luke 6:20-31                                                                           

            It’s complicated. All Saint’s Sunday is complicated. This is partly because the understanding of this day has evolved over the years. It was originally meant to be a day to commemorate all the Christian martyrs (those who had been persecuted and died for their faith).  In the first few centuries of the church, they would commemorate a martyr with a specific day. But by about the 4^th century, with the increased persecution of Christians, it became clear that they were going to run out of days.  Finally, by the 9^th century, they picked one day and called it All Saints Day.  This was to be the day that would not only commemorate all Christian martyrs, but all Christians who had died.  With all of these changes, the understanding of what it was to be a saint shifted to what many people perceive as the original intention of the New Testament—to mean all Christians who have died and all Christians still living.

            When Paul used the word saint, he was almost always referring to those who were alive. In his letter to the Ephesians he wrote, “I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints…” Here at St. John’s, and in many other churches, we attempt to embrace both perspectives. In the evening, our choir provides a lovely Evensong where we read the names of those in our parish who have died in the past year. 

            At this service we sing, “I sing a song of the saints of God” and we talk about how we can meet them at school, on the sea, in church, in trains and at tea—and then we end by singing, “…and the Saints of God are just folk like me and I mean to be one too.”  I don’t know about you, but I have always interpreted that as, I mean to be one in this life.

            But that is the thing about the Christian life, the line between the living saint and the saint that has died is blurred.  We live in this life—it’s all we know.  But we live this life with a promise of what is to come.  We live knowing that life as we know it could end at any moment. We have all experienced that too many times, someone we love dies unexpectedly or even a personal health crisis that has taught us how incredibly fragile life is and how narrow the line is between life and death.

            A lot of people think that we come to church or read the Bible to learn how to be good Christians/saints, so that we can get into heaven when we die.  But the Bible isn’t a how to manual on heavenly acceptance.  Jesus was a lot more concerned about how we live in the here and now—how we love the saints in our midst. 

            Our gospel reading is often referred to as “the beatitudes.”  You can also find the beatitudes in the Gospel of Matthew.  However, Matthew’s beatitudes are a little tamer, more palatable. Both gospels contain blessings (which in Latin is translated to beātitūdō). However, Luke contains fewer blessings and balances them with woes. Like All Saint’s Day, Luke’s beatitudes are complicated. 

            First of all, they contradict what we think of as being blessed. Usually when someone says that they are blessed, they are talking about something good that has happened.  They just had a healthy child.  They got a new job, a nice house, a clean bill of health.  No one ever says, “I just lost my job. I am so blessed.   Everyone is mad at me. I am so blessed.  I am so depressed…and blessed! I have never heard anyone say anything like that.

            But that was what Jesus was telling his disciples—“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh…”  Another way that blessed is translated is to be happy. That makes even less sense.  The best translation that I have found is “unburdened or satisfied.” While that is better than happy, it still makes this text complicated. Usually when people are struggling with money, they don’t feel unburdened or satisfied.  People who are grieving are not unburdened. Sometimes you can tell someone is grieving by the way they walk as if they are literally sinking under this invisible weight. So what in the world is Jesus talking about?

            We aren’t blessed because we are poor or sad or persecuted. We are blessed because in our grief or poverty, we are (hopefully) able to reach out to God, we are able to acknowledge that we need God and that we are nothing without God. That is where the blessing comes in. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

            Luke also has a woe section—“But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.” This doesn’t mean you aren’t blessed if you are rich. In means that if you find your consolation (or your comfort and security) in your wealth, then woe to you.  Alas, that doesn’t really make me feel a whole lot better because most of us find comfort in financial security. That is why it’s called financial security. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.  But if we put too much faith in that and not enough in God, then our priorities are askew.  Because in the end, money can only do so much. It can’t protect us from grief or illness.  It definitely cannot protect us from death. And when we face those things, we better have some other place where we can find comfort and strength.

            That’s why I think Jesus said that the poor, hungry, weeping and persecuted were blessed.  It wasn’t because their life was easy. In fact, it almost guaranteed that their life was hard. It was because their hope was in God.  Remember who Jesus was talking to in this text—the newly chosen disciples, who had just left their homes, their family and any chance of financial security. They needed to hear this. While I find the beatitudes a lot more challenging than comforting, I bet the disciples found comfort in these words. 

            All Saints Day was first created to commemorate the lives of Christians who were persecuted for their faith and died as a result.  There was a time in the church when sainthood was exclusively connected to martyrdom and how you died.  Today, I think most of us want to be remembered for how we lived. 

            I’ve buried a lot of saints since I have been at St. John’s.  Many of them inspired me with their faith and service.  Yet I think the ones that inspired me the most are the ones who found blessings even in the midst of trials, those who never gave up on God. This isn’t to say that they didn’t question or struggle, but they found strength in their weakness, they found God’s strength.  I have seen that in many of our living saints as well.

And if I have just one hope for each one of you, it would be that—to find blessings not merely in the success and security that life can bring, but also the hard and scary times when we can see glimpses of God’s presence in our lives and the lives of those around us. When we are overcome by darkness, the blessings come in narrow rays of light that break through the broken places in our lives.  Those narrow rays of light might be the most beautiful and life sustaining light we’ve ever seen.

Homeward Bound: May 14, 2017

Year A, Easter 5                                                  
John 14:1-14                                                              

            As some of you know, my parents moved here just last week.  It is wonderful to have them here.  I could not be happier for so many reasons.   Therefore it surprised me at how hard it was for me to say goodbye to their house.  My dad was in the Navy for almost all of my youth.  I was a late addition to the family and did not move around nearly as much as my brothers, but I never had a house or a place I was really attached to.  When we moved to a tiny town in upstate New York when I was 16, I was kind of miserable.  Yet I made amazing friends there and became very attached to the life my parents created. I loved that house. Even as a priest, my husband and I returned every year a few days after Christmas.  Driving up the road, I would see the Christmas lights hanging from the balcony of the deck and every light lit. The house sat on a hill and from the road it seemed like a tree house. 


Painting of the house at Christmas by my brother, Bill Vincent

          As soon as I walked in, I felt safe. I felt like I was home even though I had spent so little time there. This Christmas, as I packed up my old photo albums and yearbooks I could not stop crying.  I kept thinking, what is wrong with me??? They are coming to live near me! This is just a house. Besides, you know what they say, home is where the heart is.  That means a home can move. Yet even knowing that, it was still heart wrenching driving away for the last time.

            The words of John 14 are familiar to me and probably familiar to many people.  Those first 6 verses are the most common verses you will hear at any funeral…perhaps second only to Psalm 23, which we heard last week.   While I have never asked anyone why they chose those verses, I assume it has a lot to do with the first line, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”  It’s something that we all need to hear when we are grieving.  It’s not saying, “Don’t be sad.”  It’s saying, “Don’t let your heart be troubled.”  To be troubled is a more permanent condition.  It’s the kind of sadness that has no hope. Jesus is saying, if you believe in me, there is always hope, even in grief. 

However, the part that sees to really resonate with people is, “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.”  Jesus then goes on to tell his disciples who are gathered around him, desperate for words of comfort and hope-- that he is going to prepare a place for them so that “there you may be also.”  Many of us hear this and envision Jesus up in heaven in a magnificent mansion fluffing the pillows and opening the shades to let the bright effervescent light of the sun in.  What could be more comforting than knowing that when this life is over, there will be a place for us that Jesus has prepared, a place where Jesus waits to greet us?  It is an incredibly comforting image and one that I have preached at many funerals. 

            I suppose that the only thing that could be more comforting than knowing that there would be a place for us after death, would be knowing that  there is a place for us while we are alive as well.  Another way to read this text is: “In my father’s house there are many abiding places.”  If you look through many of the readings for this Sunday, you will find this theme of abiding, or living with the Lord. It would seem that Jesus was not just referring to our final home, but the place where we can abide here, in this life. Jesus was telling his disciples (and that includes us) that there is a place here on earth where we can feel the presence of God, feel as though we are safe, at home. 

            When I was at college, there was one place where I always felt safe. It will be no shock to you to know that it was the college chapel.  Yet it was surprising to me at the time.  You see, before college, I had never felt at home in a church. Church was a nice place to go.  I liked the music.  I liked the essence of church.  But it never felt like home.  It was never a place I sought.  Yet in college, the chapel was always open.  There were rooms in the basement where we could study.  One fridge was always stocked with Diet Dr. Pepper.  And no matter what time you came (whether it was 10am or 1am) someone was almost always there.  I studied there. I made friends there.  I worshipped there.  It was a safe place.  It was a place where I felt that I belonged.  The reason I felt like I belonged there was not just that there were people I knew and comfy chairs, but I felt close to God.  It was like God was right there and I could pop in anytime.

            When Jesus told the disciples about a dwelling place that was prepared for them, he wasn’t just talking about a future place where we all congregate after death. He was talking about the place where God abides.  God isn’t just waiting for us in this mysterious place called, “life after death.” God is here with us now. This was important for the disciples to know because Jesus wanted them to understand that even after he died, was resurrected and ascended into heaven, he was still there with them. There was still a place for them, on earth, a safe place where God dwelled with them.  They did not quite understand it at the time.  It was only after Jesus spent time with them after his resurrection when they were able to fully comprehend what it was to abide with God, even though Jesus was not present in bodily form.  Once they started to understand that, they were able to help other people have a sense of that abiding presence of God here on earth.

            My parents moved last week.  I helped them a little bit on their move.  Even when their stuff was still in boxes….even though it was only the 2^nd or 3^rd time I had been there…I had this overwhelming feeling that I was coming home.  It is nothing like where they used to live.  It has none of the familiar smells, sounds, or views. But they are there. That is their dwelling place, which means it is a safe place for me.  I feel the same way about St. John’s.  When I walk into the sanctuary….it does not matter what day it is.  It does not matter whether it is full, empty or mostly empty…it feels like home.  It feels like the place that I belong, not because I am the rector here, not because I know the people here, but because this is a place where I can feel God.  That is my prayer for all of you; that you can find God in this place, that this can be a home for you in your joy, in your grief, and in your doubt.  There is always a place for you here.  But more importantly, there is a place for you anywhere you go.    When you experience the love of God, you are home.  Welcome home.

             

Letting go: Mark 12:38-44

Year B, Pentecost 24                                                         November 8, 2015

            Our Gospel reading is a deceivingly difficult text.  At first glance, it seems like a gift from heaven. Here we are in the middle of our fall stewardship campaign and the Gospel reading is the widow’s mite.  Everyone knows that story…the woman who has little gives all she has to her faith community. It’s almost like we purposefully picked this reading for this time of the year.  But then you have that darn context again.  Right before this lovely story about the widow is Jesus telling the crowd to beware of the scribes who like to walk around in long robes….who devour widow’s houses for the sake of appearances say long prayers.  These scribes that Jesus is warning about are the same scribes who might benefit from the gift that this poor widow is making.  Furthermore Jesus is accusing them of taking advantage of the plight of widows like her and here she is giving everything she has to them. It seems odd that Jesus would support such a action.

            We hear a lot about widows in the New Testament as well as the Old Testament.   The Bible tells us again and again how important it is to care for widows.  There were several reasons this group of people received special attention in the Bible.  Now when we think of widows, we consider the emotional ramifications, the loss one experiences when he or she loses their spouse.  While that was certainly a factor at this time, the primary social concern was related to caring for the physical needs of the widows. 

At this time, women could not inherit money or property.  If her husband died, she would be left with nothing.  If she had a son, the property would all go to the son and the expectation would be that the son would care for his mother.  However, if there was no son, then there was no safety net.  If the woman was still young and able to have children, she might be able to marry again.  If this was not possible, then her options were limited to: depending on the kindness of male relatives, begging on the streets, or becoming a prostitute.  Working was not an option for women and there was no social security or Medicare.  Widows epitomized what it was to be completely vulnerable and dependent on others for their own well-being.  This is why the people of God were commanded again and again to care for widows. 

In the Gospel for today, we are told that not only was this woman a widow, but she was a poor widow, which tells us that she had no one caring for her.  She had nothing except for two coins.  She gave both of those coins to the treasury of the temple.  The traditional understanding of this text (and the one that is most convenient for stewardship sermons) is that she was a model of sacrificial giving.  She gave everything she had to God.  Jesus was holding her up as an example for all of us to follow. The more critical interpretation is that Jesus was using her to illustrate how unjust the system was, another example of how the poor and vulnerable were abused.  Right after he pointed her out, he predicted the destruction of the temple.  Why would he encourage her or anyone else to give to a temple that was about to be destroyed? 

The more I wrestled with these two interpretations, the more frustrated I became. I realized that I could not with integrity preach the traditional interpretation of the text with the emphasis on sacrificial giving but I also felt that she had more to teach us than what was wrong with the world at that time. 

We had a funeral recently and I was reading the liturgy and I came to a part that I have never given much consideration.  “For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord, and if we die, we die in the Lord.  So, then, whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s possession.”  We are the Lord’s possession.  It seems strange to me that we find comfort in this statement after someone has died because I am pretty sure there is no other time when we refer to ourselves or others as the Lord’s possession.  People would probably balk at that idea. Nobody wants to be someone else’s possession, even if that someone else is God.   It is only when we lose someone to death that we can allow for the possibility that they are now God’s possession.

That reminded me of the widow in this story.  All the commentators and scholars, when they talked about her being a widow, it was only to explain her plight, her financial circumstance.  It was never about the fact that this woman had lost not only her financial stability, but her partner in life. I know that there are many people here who have suffered that loss, or the loss of a child, a parent, a sibling, a close friend.  Most of us have lost someone who is precious to us.  I can only imagine the pain that must come with losing a partner in life.  In my limited experience with loss, what I have learned is that even in our grief when we acknowledge the person as the Lord’s possession, we still have to find the strength to let go, to truly accept that they are the Lord’s possession.  We have to let go of something that was once ours to hold and give it to God.  When you have experienced that kind of loss, then letting go of a few coins, even if they are the only coins you possess, isn’t that big a deal…not much of a sacrifice at all. 

I wonder if this widow, in her intimacy with loss and grief, knew something that the great scholars of her day and ours cannot quite grasp.  Whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s possession.  If we can understand that while we are still living, then we become free from everything.  When we declare that we are the possession of the Lord, then we no longer feel as possessive about what we have or think we have.  This woman is held up as a model of sacrificial giving.  Perhaps that is true, but not because she sacrificed a few coins, but because she learned to let go.  She learned the hard way, but she learned.  I imagine that is one of the hardest lessons in life, letting go of people, letting go of control, letting go of things, letting go of independence, letting go of prestige…. The way we find strength to let go is to trust that we are not letting go into some abyss.  We are letting go so that God can take hold.  In letting go, we are giving…we are giving to God.