Be Good: August 19, 2018

Year B, Pentecost 13                                                            
John 6:51-58                                                                           

 

            One of the things I love about being a priest is that I get to spend a lot of time thinking about things and relearning things.  While in general I enjoy studying and teaching, there are some things in the church that are really hard to explain.  Every time I have to teach a communion class to children, I hit the books.  Then, I remember that the books weren’t that helpful the last time I taught the class and they are still not.  Yet still---I think---there just has to be a good way to explain this.  When I get in front of the kids, it sounds something like this:  So we eat the bread and drink the wine, but it’s not just bread and wine. It’s more.  It’s special.  It’s Jesus’ body and blood…but it’s not really the body and blood, because that would be gross.  It still tastes like bread, but it’s Jesus.  No you are not eating Jesus, but Jesus is still in you after you take communion.  Jesus is part of you because he died for you, but no- he doesn’t actually die every Sunday.  Look, it’s a mystery, we can’t actually explain it. Well….you get the picture.  It is murky.  I often wish that the Episcopal Church could achieve more clarity in our beliefs around the Eucharist, but it’s doubtful it will happen in my lifetime.    

            The thing about communion is --that at the same time, it is both the simplest part of our faith AND that most mysterious and theologically dense part of our faith.  In the early church, they argued about it endlessly, and to some extent, we are still arguing about it. Matthew, Mark and Luke all share the story of the Last Supper, where Jesus gives instructions about how we are to remember him.  We use those instructions in the words of our Eucharistic prayers (which is the prayer the priest says before we all come to the altar to receive communion).  The words we use come from the Gospels.

The Gospel of John shares the story of the Last Supper, but Jesus does not present the bread and wine as his body and blood. Instead he shares a meal with his disciples and he washes their feet and encourages them to do likewise.  The language of the body and blood instead appears in today’s Gospel reading, which comes right after the miraculous feeding of the 5000 but way before the Last Supper.  This language is rather explicit. “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day;  for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.”

            Flesh and blood.  It’s kind of gross. There is no mistaking what Jesus was talking about.  He was talking about flesh and blood.  Why did he get so specific? Prior to this reading for today, Jesus described himself as the bread of heaven. That is a lot more palatable.  But Jesus was never about making things easy. Notice he said that his flesh was true food and his blood was true drink.  Saying that something is true is another way of describing something as real.  Jesus wanted all those listening (and those of us listening now) to know that this was the real thing—that he was the real thing.  He was real and true, and he still is today.

            A lot of new age spirituality encourages us to find the divine in each one of us. I think that’s find and good.  We are created in the image of God, and that includes divinity to some degree.  Yet what Jesus was teaching people in our Gospel reading from today was the goodness of humanity, of our flesh and blood.  Often over the last 2000 years of the history of the church, flesh has gotten a bad rap.  Religious leaders have been critical of the flesh, saying that the body is sinful and weak.  Yet if that were true, why would Jesus make such a point of highlighting his humanity---so much so that he asked us to eat his flesh and drink blood?

Our bodies are weak. Even at their strongest and youngest, these bodies of ours are painfully vulnerable. Despite that, Jesus still took on a human body so he could experience what we experience. You know that saying that you have to “walk a mile in someone’s shoes?”  Jesus did so much more than that.  He lived a life in our bodies, so that we would never doubt that he understands our pain and that he isn’t some god stuck on high mountain judging from afar.  He is down here with us.

            By celebrating the Eucharist every week, we are remembering the realness of Jesus. We are not elevating him, as much as we are bringing him down to be with us. Then we are taking it a step further by consuming him.  One of the last things the priest says before all the people come to receive the bread and wine is, “These are the gifts of God for the people of God.” Then there is an optional addition. The priest can add: “Take them in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on him in your heart by faith with thanksgiving.”  I always include the 2^nd part because I like the image of feeding on him in your heart.  We don’t normally associate the heart with food, but there is no doubt that our heart and our soul needs that kind of nourishment. It’s not enough to simply consume the body and blood.  We are to be consumed by it.

  Augustine of Hippo was a great theologian of the 5^th century.  Catholics and Protestants are always arguing about who gets to claim him (which means he’s totally an Episcopalian).  He wrote a lot about the Eucharist. One of things he said was, “Come to the table to receive what you are.  Then go into the world to be what you received.” Augustine was saying that we the people are the body of Christ.  Therefore, when we come to the altar, we are receiving something we already are, but we are still being transformed by it. 

            When God created humans, God declared us good.  That never changed. Each one of us is good because we are made in the image of God. When Jesus came down in the flesh, he was reminding us that humans are still good.  In some ways, communion is another way to be reminded of the goodness that resides in each one of us.  Imagine how the world could be if we lived into that goodness---if we acted as good as we are?  So come to the table.  It will not make you good, it will remind you of the goodness that is already in you.  It will feed your body and heart.  It doesn’t matter if you can’t describe exactly what it means.  Eat the bread. Drink the wine. Then leave this church and share that goodness, because our world is desperate for that. Our world is starving for goodness, and we have an endless supply of that kind of nourishment, more than enough to share.

Get Up and Eat: Aug. 12, 2018

1 King 19:4-8                                                           
Year B, Pentecost 12                                                  

 

            We all like to be right.  And let’s face it, it’s kind of awesome when you get proven right in front of a bunch of people who have disagreed with you. The prophet Elijah had that moment in a big way. In our reading for today, he is fleeing for his life.  Just the day before, he had a show down with 450 prophets of Baal (who was a pagan god).  They had a little wager.  They would each create an altar and place a sacrifice on the altar.  Then they would each call on their god to send fire.  This would determine who was the real god, the god of Baal or the God of Israel.  Elijah even decided to show off a little by first dousing the altar and surrounding area with water. He wanted to make sure they saw how powerful God was. 

By the time the altar was prepared, a large crowd had formed. The scene was set. The prophets of Baal and Elijah each called on their god.  Elijah said, “Answer me, LORD, answer me, so these people will know that you, LORD, are God, and that you are turning their hearts back again.” A mighty fire descended burning not only the sacrifice but the altar and the soil as well.  Meanwhile, the sacrifice to Baal remained untouched. It was quite a triumph.  There, before King Ahab, a crowd of people who were waffling between the LORD and Baal as well as 450 false prophets, Elijah proved who the true God was.

Therefore it is slightly shocking to see where he is in our reading for today. He is sitting under a bush begging God to end his life.  It is too much for him.  What happened? We all know that a lot can happen in 24 hours.  A lot can happen in 24 minutes.  When King Ahab told Queen Jezebel that Elijah had not only proven their god a fake, but also killed 450 prophets of Baal, she was understandably upset. She sent word to Elijah that his fate would be the same as her prophets and it would happen in the next 24 hours.  This terrified Elijah.  He ran as far as he could.  He escaped the territory of Ahab and Jezebel.  He was safe for the moment under that bush.  But despite his safety, he was miserable. 

It seems odd given what happened the day before.  Obviously, having your life threatened would be disconcerting.  I would run and become desperate. But this is Elijah we are talking about. He is a prophet especially chosen by God--the God.  Just the day before Elijah had proven what his God could accomplish.  His God could rain down fire and all he had to do was call upon God.  Therefore, why would Elijah be so threatened by a human?

Elijah was definitely afraid.  The text tells us he was afraid and ran for his life.  But it seems as though there was something more going on.  It was more than fear. He was discouraged, which does not make sense given his recent victory.  The more I read the chapter that preceded our reading for today, the more I realized that there is an undercurrent in the story.  One of the people who Elijah was trying to convince (or convert) was King Ahab.  He was there for this whole dramatic show down.  After the water, fire and death--Elijah told King Ahab to go and eat.  It had been a long day and he wanted the king to get some food.  He then went to the top of mountain to check the weather. He was looking for rain so he could tell King Ahab to leave before the rain. 

Despite all the conflict, Elijah was intent on caring for King Ahab.  I imagine he hoped that through the display of power and then the way he cared for him, he figured maybe….just maybe King Ahab’s heart would be touched. Remember the prayer he used before the fire came down. He asked that people’s hearts be turned.  And it worked, after the fire descended, all the people who had gathered bowed and confessed their belief in the LORD God.  But not King Ahab.  What King Ahab did was go and tell his wife (who was not a fan of Elijah) all that happened.  As a result, Elijah was running for his life.  

There is no doubt of the reason for Elijah’s rapid departure.  He was scared and knew he had to get away.  But wanting die….that seems like an overreaction.  I wonder if what was really bothering him was his perceived failure to win over King Ahab.  Remember, King Ahab was present for the entire display of power.  Everyone else was convinced by the words and actions of Elijah.  Elijah took particular care of King Ahab. He had a relationship with him.  And yet….it did not accomplish anything.  All Elijah’s hard work and he could not turn the heart of the person whose heart was most important to him.  

Consider the times when you have been discouraged, frustrated and wanting to give up.  How many times have those circumstances involved another person, someone you cared about?  How many times have you seen a friend or family member refuse to respond to love and forgiveness?  No matter how hard you tried, the friend still did not respond.  It seems to me that this was the final straw for Elijah.  Sure, he was a great prophet, but he was also a human being who cared for people and wanted to know that what he was doing made a difference. Who among us cannot identify with that?

Thankfully, that moment---asking God that he would take his life is not the end of the story.  In our reading for today, an angel came to him and said, “Get up and eat.”  Food immediately appeared and he ate it.  He then went back to sleep.  Either he was tired or the miraculous appearance of the food was simply not enough.  The angel came again.  This time the angel said, “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.” The angel was acknowledging what Elijah had said when he first sat down under the bush.  He said: “It is enough now…” In other words---this is too much.  I can’t do this anymore.  The angel is agreeing-- you can’t do this unless you accept this gift from God and follow God’s instructions.  

Elijah was reminded that he needed support and couldn’t do this on his own.  That was all well and good, but Elijah had to actually accept the gift and follow God’s instructions.  He did.  The food gave him the strength to begin yet another long journey.  This did not mean that things got easier for Elijah.  But he received the sustenance he needed. 

After the big show down, but before he was warned that Jezebel was planning on killing him...I bet he was feeling pretty good about himself.  He was thinking: “Sure God was there, but   I was the one who lay the ground work.   God came because of my prayer.  I really am a great prophet.  I can change people’s hearts.”  

While that is a great feeling-it can’t last.  Because inevitably when we are trying to do the work of God, we will fail.  As long as we put it all on our own shoulders, those failures will feel like the end of the world.  But if we can accept that all the victories are God’s victories, it might not be as hard when we cannot change the hearts of others--when we can’t accomplish what we want to accomplish.  While it is frustrating, we must remember that only God can change hearts.  As Christians we are called to love people with all our might.  On our best days, we do.  Then we leave the rest to God.  We leave the hearts of others in the capable hands of God.    We can’t know what is happening in the hearts of others.  We can control what is happening in ours.  God is telling each of us: Get up and eat and then continue on your journey.

Response to General Convention

The clergy deputies. I was feeling punchy.

In case you are wondering...this is not a sermon! This is my attempt to summarize a part of General Convention.

            The 2018 General Convention marked my 4^th convention.  While some people may perceive that as a punishment, it has been an honor for me.  That said, it can be overwhelming at times/most of the time.  There is a lot of information to digest.

            In some ways, this year was the first year we were not in the midst of something major (like a big conflict or the election of a Presiding Bishop.)  My first two conventions debated gay marriage a great deal.  We knew that the news that would come out from those conventions would be about gay marriage.  This year, it was the Book of Common Prayer revision.  Keeping up with the resolutions (even if you know which one you are following) can be onerous, which is why many Episcopalians tune into the news.

            If you looked at the headlines, you might see the following:

Episcopal Church considers making God gender neutral

Is God male? The Episcopal Church debates whether to change its prayer book

What’s in a name? Episcopalians move to change their words for God

From these headlines, some people might conclude that we are not using the name of God anymore.  This is not the case.  There are different perspectives on what it would look like to move to gender neutral language.  For most people, it is simply a matter of not using pronouns to refer to God.  This was the policy of Princeton Theological Seminary when I attended in 2001.  It’s not a new idea and it’s not an Episcopal idea.  Using gender neutral language for God does not mean that we no longer refer to the Trinity as: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.   It does not mean that we no longer assign a gender to Jesus.  It does not mean we change the Lord’s Prayer.  There are some people who would like to change some of those things, but that is not the majority.  The majority simply want to refer to God as God and not as he or him.  It’s that simple. 

        Why does this matter?  There are a couple of reasons.  First of all, the name of God is a confusing thing.  I am not a Hebrew scholar and, therefore, I do not feel equipped to explain it without a lot of time studying and even then, I am not sure it would be helpful.  So let me use one example.  When Moses receives his instructions from the burning bush in Exodus 3, he asks what to call the being that is sending him forth.  God answers , “I am who I am…Thus you shall say to the Israelites, ‘I am has sent me to you.’” That name is neither male nor female. It allows for a more expansive view of God.  Therefore ,if we are true to what God calls Godself, then perhaps we should not relegate God to one gender.

            The other compelling reason for dropping pronouns when referring to God is that it enables us all to see God in different ways.  It keeps our minds open.  Genesis tells us that we (male and female) are made in the image of God.  Every person is made in the image of God. Therefore, relegating God to one gender can make it difficult for all people to see themselves as the image of God.  There are several other reasons that people listed for revising the BCP, but the gender neutral language was the one that came up the most. 

            I know what you are thinking… “Just tell us what they decided!”  Well...it’s not super clear. I would encourage you to read the actual resolution which is here: https://www.vbinder.net/resolutions/A068?house=hd&lang=en

In essence, we will think about it some more and form a task force. That is usually the go to answer when we cannot find a good compromise.  Part of the issue was the cost in creating a new BCP.  The estimate was about $8 million over 9-12 years.  There wasn’t enough money in the budget for that.  Instead, they put aside $200,000 to create a good Spanish, French and Haitian Creole translation. I was absolutely shocked to learn that we don’t have good translations for our current BCP.  What have literal translations.  As you can imagine, a literal translation lacks the flow and cadence of our beloved BCP.  Another thing the resolution did was memorialize the 1979 BCP.  No one is exactly sure what that means.  Most have interpreted that it means that no one is taking away your 1979 Book of Common Prayer.  There might be a new BCP in the next 20 years, but we would still be able to use the liturgy of the 1979 BCP.  This was to allay the fear of another schism in reaction to a new BCP.  At this point, the soonest we could have a new BCP would be 2033 and that would only be if the process started at the next General Convention in 2021.  Long story short, there is no reason to panic.

            Obviously, there was a lot more that happened at General Convention and I will try to write one more post, as I am sure you all are dying to hear what I think.  To be honest, I am not ready for a new Book of Common Prayer.  The 1979 BCP has a lot of flexibility already in it and we don’t use the flexibility that is already there.  Personally, I would like to start using some of the liturgies that have already been authorized but continue to use the 1979 BCP as our primary text.

Walls of Hostility: July 22, 2018

Year B, Pentecost 9                                                                
Ephesians 2:11-22                                                                  

 

            When I was being considered for this position at St. John’s, I was reminded on a few occasions of the difference between Hampton and Norfolk (which is where I previously served in a church).  I dismissed these reminders for the most part. My house is 8 miles from here—which is fairly close.  There are plenty of people who go back and forth between Norfolk and Hampton. I will admit that doing it in the summer the HRBT is a form of torture, but other than that, it’s really not a major problem. 

Early on in my time here, it became clear to me that Hampton and Norfolk are different, a lot more different than Norfolk and Virginia Beach or Norfolk and Chesapeake.  There is a different culture. It’s quite fascinating.  We have this division despite modern transportation and communication that is light years ahead of what it was 25 years ago.  It’s odd because normally we associate walls with things that divide us, and bridges with things that connect us.  Yet in Hampton Roads, it is bridges that divide us. Sometimes, I feel like we are East and West Berlin in 1965.

            This reading from Ephesians can seem a little irrelevant at first glance.  Once the Bible starts talking about circumcision, most Christians tune out.  When Paul referred to those circumcised, he is talking about Jewish people. When he referred to the uncircumcised, that  was everyone else.  The circumcision was a physical sign of a very real commitment that the Jewish people made.  At this time (about 70AD), the division between the circumcised and uncircumcised was like North and South Korea today.  That’s not completely accurate, because people did interact with one another.  However it was that drastic.  If there were interactions between Jew and non-Jew, those interactions were superficial and limited.  There were no meals together, no inter-marriage, no friendships.

            In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul was saying that this barrier (as impermeable as it seemed) was no longer relevant or necessary because Jesus died on the cross for all.  They were no longer Jew and no longer Gentile.  They were Christians, followers of Christ and that is all that mattered.  Paul wrote, “For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is the hostility between us.”  A lot of people have tried to figure out what wall he was referring to.  Was it the wall that divided the temple from the outer courts?  Was it a wall between heaven and earth? 

I am not sure why we debate it as it seems to me that the text is clear.  It’s the hostility between us.  There is no real wall.  Humans manufactured the wall through fear, jealously, anger, and apathy.  The wall was created by humans for humans.  Unfortunately we build pretty good walls, even when they aren’t physical.  That is why Jesus had to live as one of us and then sacrifice himself on the cross. He had to show us what it was to love without walls.    

            “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.” Hearing about the blood of Christ has the same effect on some of us as hearing the word circumcision.  In many Christian communities, there has been an overemphasis on the blood of Jesus.  Some people and groups have attributed magic like qualities to the body and blood of Jesus.  It is the opposite of magical.  The blood of Jesus, and the broken body of Jesus are reminders of Jesus’ sacrifice for each one of us.  Jesus did not make the sacrifice only for one group or one country.  Jesus sacrificed for all of us.  If we can truly accept that, we can find ways to come together.  We always say that God loves everyone, but we rarely act like it.  Someone gave me a little coaster that says, “Jesus loves everyone, but I am his favorite.”  We might not say it out loud, but we act like that a lot. If we can try to believe that Jesus died on the cross for every one of us in every part of this world, we might be more inclined to make our own sacrifices. 

            In this text, Paul wrote, “He (Jesus) is our peace.” He doesn’t write that he brought peace. He does not refer to him as the Prince of Peace.  He says, “Jesus is our peace.”  It is one of the most achingly beautiful ironies of the Christian faith--that the way Jesus embodied peace was to be executed by the Roman Empire.  We cannot be sure exactly why the Romans executed Jesus.  However, it is most likely because they were afraid that he would inspire people to revolt.  They recognized Jesus as a leader and one who could inspire the masses. The Roman Empire maintained peace through oppression.  They killed the people who threatened their rule.  Jesus’ mere existence threatened their rule. The irony is that this violent sacrifice that Jesus made paved the way for real peace, not peace maintained through violence and fear, but real peace.

            I am not overly concerned about the divisiveness of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel (unless of course it’s taking more over an hour to drive 8 miles), but I am concerned about the walls of hostility that we are building all over the world.  Humanity has become adept at erecting walls and that terrifies me.  A couple of years ago, a giant rubber duck ended up in Norfolk.  This thing is 6 stories tall and  travels all around the world.  What astounded me was the number of people from Hampton who went to Norfolk to get a picture the duck.  (You know who you are.) These were people who would never go to Norfolk normally, but the rubber duck brought them there.  I thought, is this really all we need to bring us together---a 6 story rubber duck?  Alas, the duck had to move on to its next port and that ended our temporary connection.  But it made me wonder what it would take to start dismantling our walls.  What is it going to take motivate us?  So often what brings us together is tragedy.  I don’t want to wait for another tragedy.  Frankly, I am not even convinced that would bring us together anymore. 

            We celebrate Holy Communion every Sunday.  One of the things we do in communion is we remember the sacrifice that Jesus made for us 2000 years ago.  Jesus knows that humans are fickle and tend to forget things. That is why he asked his disciples to share the bread and wine in memory of him.  Because not only do we remember the sacrifice when we celebrate communion, we come to this table together. Just for a few minutes, we remember that Jesus died so we could dismantle the walls and live as the community of believers.

            Think of the history of St. John’s, all of the people who have gathered together at the altar.  People fought wars in this town.  People on opposing sides eventually came together at the altar.  Our altar stands as a reminder of what we are called to do as Christians.  We cannot let it end here at the altar.  Church isn’t a temporary cease fire.  It’s a window into God’s dream for us.  Let’s open the windows and show people what it is to be the household of God for the whole world.

Your Whole Truth: July 1, 2018

Year B, Pentecost 6                                                                
Mark 5:21-43                                                                         

 

          Have you ever felt like an outsider? Maybe it was a momentary feeling.  You walked into a room and you realized that didn’t know a soul, or at least you did not know anyone well enough with whom you could stand and chat until you could politely leave.  Or perhaps it was something a little more nuanced. You knew most of the people and even got along with them, but you always felt like you were different somehow.  I would imagine that most people have felt like an outsider at some point in their life. Even in church, where we try so hard to be welcoming and friendly, there are people who feel like outsiders.  Being an outsider isn’t bad in and of itself.  Some people embrace it as a choice, as something that distinguishes them.  However, there are times when being an outsider is not a choice and it can be incredibly painful when it is forced upon us.

In Biblical times, there were clear boundaries between people.  People were divided by religion, ethnicity and gender.  It’s still true today, but today it’s a lot more nuanced than it was in Jesus’ day.  In the time that the Gospels were written, divisions were the norm. There was no expectation of inclusivity or embracing people who were different.  In the Jewish faith there were holiness codes.  There were rules on what you needed to do to be clean and unclean.  For most people, if they followed the laws they could be ritually clean, which meant that they could be included in the community.  Women and men had certain times when they were unclean.  For instance, women were unclean after giving birth or during their monthly cycle. However, there were rituals they could take part in that would cleanse them and allow them to enter back into the community. 

However, there were some people who suffered from illnesses or diseases that caused them to be unclean for the duration of the illness.  In our story for today, we hear of two people who needed healing.  One was a young girl who was very sick. The other was a woman who had been hemorrhaging blood for 12 years.  That meant that she was physically and ritually unclean for 12 years.  She was not able to worship with her community (if she even had one).  She was not able to share a bed with someone.  She could not even touch someone without contaminating them—making them unclean.  It was worse than being an outsider. If you are an outsider, the assumption is that there is a crowd that you can at least approach.  But for this woman—she shouldn’t have even been on the outskirts of the crowd, and she definitely should not have been touching someone in the crowd. 

Imagine what that would be like, to be that isolated. You’re not just alone, you are dangerous to be around.  You’re not just a sinner, you are the sin.  That is what this woman had lived with for 12 years.  She was desperate for a cure, not just for her body, but her soul.  I doubt that any of us can blame her for that desperation. In fact, we might admire her for having the will to keep going as long as she did.

She did what she was forbidden to do.  She entered a crowd and she touched someone.  It wasn’t just anyone. He was a holy man.  He wasn’t just any holy man.  He was a holy man on the way to heal the daughter of another holy man.  That meant that she wasn’t just putting this holy man at risk of becoming unclean, but she was risking everyone he touched.  Maybe that was why she just touched his outer robe. Perhaps she was trying to limit the contamination. She knew that if she could just touch his robe, she would be made well. 

She had been to all the doctors.  She had said all the prayers she could possibly say.  She had followed all the rules until now.  None of that had worked.  Yet somehow, somehow she had known that all she had to do was get close enough to touch his robe.  She was right.  As soon as her fingers brushed against the fabric of his robe, the bleeding stopped.  Her 12 years of bleeding was over. Her illness was healed.

Of course Jesus knew what had happened.  He knew that someone had touched him and been healed.  He could have kept walking. He was in a hurry after all.  But he knew something else.  He knew this woman needed more than a clean bill of health.  He asked, “Who touched me?” not because he didn’t know who she was.  He was giving her an opportunity. She could have slinked into the crowd.  That would have been the smart thing to do. Instead, she fell at his feet and told him the whole truth.  The whole truth. I wonder how long that took her, to tell her whole truth.  After hearing her whole truth he said to her and to all who could hear him, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace and be healed of your disease.” 

Had she left the scene after the bleeding stopped and not approached Jesus, I am sure her life would have drastically improved. She would have had the opportunity to be ritually clean again.  She might have been able to re-enter her community.  Perhaps people would have even accepted her again.  Yet those 12 years of isolation would have left her wounded. The bleeding would have stopped but the emotional and spiritual wound would have remained opened. She would have still been an outsider. 

Yet that is not how the story ended.  She found the courage to drop down at his feet, the feet of her Savior, and tell her whole truth.  And while her whole truth might have been bloody and perhaps shameful in some way, she told it to Jesus.  Because of that Jesus was able to proclaim to her and the crowd that her faith---her faith—had made her well.  The Greek word that is translated to “made well” means to be saved.   Her faith saved her—her wiliness to drop down at the feet of Jesus and tell her whole truth saved her. 

Last week I said that we all have a question that we are yearning to ask God, but that we may be afraid to ask for some reason.  I encouraged you to ask the question, even if you are not yet ready for the answer. This week, I want to encourage you to share your truth, the whole truth with God.   That doesn’t necessarily mean a confession of your sins. It could, but with this woman, I don’t think that is what her whole truth was.  Her truth was her loneliness. Her desperation.   Her willingness to break the rules. 

We have a God who died for us.  He rose for us. He saved us.  Not only that. He wants to know our whole truth.  He wants to know those parts of us where we carry shame and fear. Then he wants to tell each one of us and anyone else who will listen, “That’s my child and their faith has saved them.”

If we are all children of God, then we are all God’s family.  There can be no insiders and outsiders.  Jesus was consistent in his message of loving the people who were unloved and who were not accepted.  When he referred to her as daughter, he wasn’t just offering her healing and salvation, he was reminding the crowd that the community needed healing and that could only be accomplished by welcoming the outcast.  It wasn’t just the unnamed woman who had to tell the whole truth, it was all the people in the crowd.  It is all of us today. 

We are called to tell our truth and the truth of our community. We are called to do that in a loving way—not intending to shame people.  So of much we see right now are attempts to shame people and that might provide a superficial and limited solution, but it never brings healing.  What brings healing and salvation is telling our truth (not someone else’s—ours) with love and compassion and remembering that each one of us is a beloved child of God.  There are no outsiders.

Ask the Question: June 24, 2018

Job 38:1-11                                                                                         
Year B, Pentecost 5                                                                            

             Shortly after college, I served as youth minister in a small Methodist Church in the middle of Pennsylvania.  It was the beginning of what would be a very short long distance relationship.  It was clear to me in my first few weeks in this town that my relationship from college was not going to work out. But I refused to accept it. I had a key to the church and was living right next door in the old rectory.  One night I went over and decided to pray about it. I asked God if this relationship was worth saving.  I asked God to give me a sign that this was going to work out. I begged. I pleaded. I cried. Suddenly, there was a clap of thunder.  I thought, well that could really go either way.  Maybe God was really in favor of this doomed relationship.  I asked God for another sign as that one was unclear.  There was another clap of thunder and bolt of lightning and the lights in the sanctuary were extinguished. All I could see was the rain pelting the stained glass image of Jesus praying in the garden of Gethsemane. If you ask God a question, you should be prepared for an answer you might not want. I was not prepared. I sat in the dark wondering how I could spin this one. I was reminded that Jesus said that we should not ask for signs and this was a reminder of that.  I left the dark church and returned home to plot the way that I would save this relationship. 

            This reading from the Book of Job comes at the end of the book.  Most people know this Biblical book as it is often referenced in relationship to the question of “why bad things happen to good people.”  Job was a good and righteous man.  God loved him as he loves all his children, but he also distinguished him as one of the most righteous of his children.  Job had a good life.  He had a wife and many children who loved him. He had land, animals and money. Things were going swimmingly. Then God and Satan got into a little argument about Job.  Satan argued that Job was only good because his life was good, and what would happen if things turned bad?  Would he still be righteous? They decided to test Job. Now, this part in and of itself is problematic, and I don’t have time to address it.  My guess is that this was the author’s way to dramatize the suffering and make it a good story.   So let’s just skip over the whole God and Satan making a bet part.

            We can’t be sure why, but things got ugly for Job. His animals died. His children died. His wife died. He lost everything. When he was the only one left, he caught some illness that covered him with boils.  To his credit, he lasted a long time before getting angry. I would have never made it as long as he did.  However, even he could not stay positive through this devastation.  Yet instead of giving up and deciding that there was no God or at least no God worth talking to—he talked to God.  He talked and talked. He defended his innocence.  He questioned God. Why would God let this happen to him?  Why was God absent?  Why was God ignoring him?  He was asking the questions that many of us ask at one point in our life. He begged God to respond and give him an opportunity to state his case.

            Finally, after all of this catastrophe, God spoke out of the whirlwind. He started off with one of my favorite quotes from scripture: “Gird up your loins like a man...” Men in this time wore tunics.  If they were about to go into a battle, or partake in any major physical exertion, they would gather the fabric up around them and tuck it in their belt. When God told Job to gird up his loins, he was inviting him into a confrontation, one that promised to require energy and work. One translation interpreted this phrase as, “Pull yourself together.  Up on your feet.”  (See: https://churchpop.com/2016/02/02/an-important-biblical-skill-how-to-gird-up-your-loins/ for helpful illustration on how to gird your loins.)         

            After that God proceeded to ask Job question after question.  “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” “Have you an arm like God, and can you thunder with a voice like his?”  In other words… “Who do you think you are talking to?”  We talked about this reading at our staff meeting and at vestry and I could not find one person who thought this was a helpful response from God.  In seminary, we are trained to provide pastoral care to those in need.  One professor told me, “The greater the tragedy, the fewer the words.” Because sometimes, there is nothing helpful to say.  However, there are unhelpful things one can say and God would have surely flunked his class in pastoral care with this response. 

Yet…for a moment, let’s look past what we think of this response and look at how Job responded. After many chapters of God’s questioning, Job finally says, “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted…I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you…”   While God’s response might not appeal to us, it seems as though it worked for Job.  He might not have liked the response, but he was grateful for it because it proved to him that God was still there. God cared enough to appear to him personally. 

            Originally the theme of this sermon was going to be, “If you ask God a question, you should be prepared for an answer you might not want.” But I thought a lot about the times I asked God questions and ignored the answers.  If I had just listened to God about that guy, it would have saved me months of heartache. A more recent example was my decision to adopt. There were many times when I heard God whisper in my ear “Adopt” and I ignored him because that was not my plan.  The thing is that even if we are not prepared for the answer, we should still ask the question. 

For some reason, Job needed this talk.  In some ways, it was what he had asked for.  Perhaps the reason that God went on so long was because it took Job awhile to get on board.  Perhaps God sat there with him for days or months.  I like to think that is what it looked like—that Job came to his revelation slowly and God was patient with him.  Because even when I have asked the question and ignored the answer, the seed was planted.

Would it have been better had I listened the first time? Sure.  But eventually I got there, because I never stopped talking to God and at some point…I let him talk and I listened.  Ask the question that you are afraid of asking.  Ask it. You might not like the answer. If you don’t like the answer that’s a good sign because that indicates that you are really hearing God.  If it was your own voice, it would be telling you what you want to hear.  If you are not ready to hear the answer, that’s ok. Keep asking.  Keep talking.  One day, you will find the strength to accept the answer that God has given you and to follow the path that moves you closer to who God wants you to be. Ask the question.   

Let's talk about death: June 3, 2018

Year B, Pentecost 2                                                                
2 Corinthians 4:5-12                                                              

 

            When I was 12 or 13, I read that your body starts dying at the age of 25.  It had quite an effect on me.  My brothers are older and I considered their ages.  One was 25, but the other 2 still had some time left, which was a relief.  As you can imagine my 25^th birthday was a bit of a downer.  Since then I have learned a little bit more about the body and how it ages.  It’s not quite as stark as it seemed at age 12 or 13, but I am aware that one way or another, time takes its toll on your body. We are all mortal which means we are all dying.

            I was in seminary on my 25^th birthday, so while coming to terms with my own mortality, I was also reading about how to minister to people who are actually dying. I was practicing my first funeral sermon.  This meant that I thought more about death and dying than your average 25 year old. Since then I have had some time to put it in perspective.  I have also read a lot of the Apostle Paul and he can be reassuring at times.  Had the Apostle Paul been around for my 25^th birthday, he would have told me that I already carried death within me. Once baptized, you carry the death of Christ in you.  In his letter to the Corinthians, he wrote, “(we are) always carrying in (our) body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our mortal flesh.”  I am not sure that would have made a great message on my 25^th birthday card, but it works in this passage.

            That said, what does it really mean?  It’s definitely not straightforward. If we are going to carry Jesus within us, wouldn’t it make more sense to carry the living Jesus in us? For Paul, understanding and experiencing dying was integral to understanding living.  Think of it in your own life.  When do you really appreciate your own health—after you have recovered from an illness.  I have been fortunate in that I have only been really sick once in my life.  One of the side effects was problems breathing.  After I got better, I remember thinking, “I will never take breathing for granted again.”  That lasted about a day, but that experience did give me a renewed appreciation for living and breathing. 

            Paul talked a lot about physical suffering in his letters.  In doing so, he emphasized the vulnerability of the human body.  In this passage he said, “But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” The clay jar is a metaphor for the human body.  In the time Paul was writing (almost 2000 years ago) clay jars were a common household item. They were easily made an also easily broken.  They weren’t put on display. The important thing about the clay jar was not the jar itself, but what the jar carried. As Christians, we carry the death and life of Jesus.  It’s a precious thing.  The jar is precious not because of what it looks like, or what it is worth.  It is precious because what it holds. 

            This metaphor of the jar is one of the ways that Paul displayed and taught humility. It is easy to become a little self-important.  We may even feel that we are in control. Then we get sick and we remember we are not in control at all. Paul was saying that the fragility of our bodies helps us to remember that it is not we who are powerful, it is God who is powerful.  The metaphor of the jar can seem a little insulting.  Clay jars had little worth. They were fragile and easy to replace. No one wants to think of themselves that way.     

            We don’t have to, because we carry a treasure of infinite value, which means that we, even in our fragile state are extraordinary.  It also takes a little pressure off us.  There is so much competition in this world.  It is easy to feel as though we are not good enough.  But what if we could just accept that we are not good enough?  What if we could just admit that we are fragile?  We are somewhat ordinary. After all, there are 7.6 billion people in this world. We are one of 7.6 billion. But that doesn’t matter because we are the vessels of a treasure, a priceless treasure. What can make us unique and special is our ability to display that treasure that we all carry.

            One of the ways we can display that treasure is in how we approach suffering and adversity. Paul wrote, “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair;…struck down but not destroyed.”  Being a Christian does not mean that we do not suffer.  It means that we have a reason to move through the suffering. I don’t like to use the phrase overcome suffering, because some suffering cannot be overcome.  We don’t conquer suffering.  We wade through the suffering and eventually we make it to the other side.  One commentator wrote that “We are at our wit’s end but not our hope’s end.  As Christians, we may not know what to do, but we always know that something can be done.”[1] That is what it means to be perplexed but not be driven to despair. 

            Despite my advanced age (well past 25), I cannot be exactly sure what Paul meant when he said that “we carry the life and death of Jesus in our bodies.” However, I believe what Paul was really talking about is how we cope with suffering as Christian.  I n facing adversity and suffering, we are showing how we carry the dying Christ.  When we move through that suffering and adversity and refuse to give up hope, that is when we display the living Christ, the Christ who conquered death and rose again.  Unfortunately, there can be no living Christ without the dying Christ. There can be no Easter Sunday without Good Friday. The Good News is that with God in our life, there always is a resurrection.  There always is reason to hope. We may be dying, but death isn’t the end, it’s a chance for new beginning.

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[1] Barclay 199