Lead Us to the Throne of Grace

In seminary I took a class at the Methodist Seminary in DC by this funny professor from Mississippi.  He had been a pastor for many years and he would tell these stories but they often used language that I was unfamiliar with as an Episcopalian.  One of the memorable phrases he would often use was about when he would visits churches and the other pastors would say, “Lovett, I want you to lead us to the throne of grace.” 

After we all laughed at his animated expressions and stories, he explained that this phrase just means to lead the congregation in prayer.  It was new to me.  And it is royal language.  And while it might not be a term we are accustomed to hearing, at some level it is what we all desire, to be led to the throne of grace.  We come to church not just to learn about God, but to encounter God, to be led to the throne of the great high priest, the King of kings, the Lord of lords, Jesus Christ incarnate.

Today is Christ the King Sunday, the day in the church where we proclaim the reign of Christ.  Our culture sure has a fascination with royalty and especially monarchies.  The cover of Time Magazine this past week was an emotionally captured shot of Prince Charles.  The article was about the legacy he will leave behind and the vision of his leadership. He has started countless charities and foundations and so the article addressed how he will be remembered as a king. I am sure several people in this room watched the royal wedding a few years ago or followed with great interested the baptism of the newest prince of England.  We care about kings and queens, because we are fascinated with royalty.

There are two images of kingship and royalty that I would like to focus on today.  The first one comes before our Gospel reading in Luke today.  We will come back to the account in the 23rd chapter of Luke, but first we need to move back four chapters to understand. 

While a king will be led to the throne, the procession is also very important and so I want to first look at the procession of Jesus into Jerusalem.   In the 19th chapter of Luke, Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a colt that has never been ridden.  It is the kingly procession that is to take place. Marcus Borg writes that there were actually two processions that were taking place at that time. At the same time of Jesus’ procession, Pilate would have also been entering Jerusalem.  As a Roman leader, there would have been a strong military escort, leaders of the community that benefited from the Pax Romani standing out in the streets to hail Pilate.  And arguable those Jewish leaders threatened by Jesus who knew exactly why Pilate was in town, would have been cheering the arrival of peace as they understood peace.  Pilate’s arrival would have been announced with trumpets blaring, and festive gatherings, a procession of magnificent glory. 

Jesus’ entry on the other hand would have been quite different.  Where we might easily imagine a procession similar to the beautiful and ornate handmade vestments of the clergy who processed at the baptism of the newest Prince George, suspect we are quite off base.   Jesus’ friends were tax collectors and fisherman.  He was a friend to the Samaritans, the harlots, and the blind man.  He was a friend of the demoniacs, and people who were disabled.  He loved the lepers.   People would not have placed expensive garments on the road.  They would have placed their smelly, shredded and weathered clothes.  It was the sweat stained and tattered rags that became the runway for Jesus.   The beauty of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is the stark irony of kingship. Luke is beginning to change our concept of what the triumphal procession of a king should really look like.

Which leads us to where we are today, being lead to the throne of our King.   There is no doubt that Pilate had a throne or a seat.  You can image Pilate sitting high above the people, looking out, and allowing the vocal crowd to decide the fate of Jesus.  And in our Gospel passage today, Jesus ends up on his own throne.  He is crucified between two common criminals, innocent and completely humiliated, left to die before God’s people.  And Pilate has the inscription placed over him – “This is the King of the Jews.” 

Triumphal entry into Jerusalem and the throne of power, both are juxtapositions of competing ways of life.  We can follow Pilate, marching with our armies, in search of power, or merely trying to maintain the control or power we already exhibit in life.  Pilate was merely trying to keep peace in the Roman Empire as he feared insurrection and violence.  Or we can follow Jesus, over the sweat stained and tattered rags of human existence. We can seek the throne of Pilate that rests high above the multitudes where we are commended to offer judgment on others.  Or we can seek the way of the cross that will surely cause us to be humiliated and humbled beyond measure. 

This Sunday is also Stewardship Sunday.  In a moment you will be invited to march forward and place your offering on the Altar.   As soon as the offering for today is brought forward, and lifted, the ushers will step aside and you will be invited to walk forward and place your offering on the plate on the altar.  While we make a procession forward each week to receive communion, we are making an especially important procession today.

 

In a way what we offer to God, what we offer to the church is a counter cultural offering.  We are choosing to not to make the procession to follow Pilate but instead to follow Jesus.  We say that life is not about what we can acquire, but about what we can give away.  No one will know what we give, we will not receive public recognition for our gifts, we will not receive acclimation from the congregation. Our pledge is between God and us.  It is a way of saying humility is greater than praise. 

At our stewardship gatherings we talked about giving as a spiritual discipline that shapes us.  Each time we give, we become more giving.  Each time we make an offering we are learning to become a more generous person. Each time we give of ourselves, we are taking the other path.   While it might not be the language we use, we can still say, led us to the throne of grace.  Luke however reminds us that the throne is not some fancy royal seat of gold, a place of prestige or power, a place where all can look at us and see how wonderful we are.  Instead it is the cross, a place of ultimate humility and sacrifice.  But it is there that we are promised paradise.  Amen.

Sermon Preached on November 24, 2013

Church of the Annunciation

Thinking Ahead: Not One Stone Upon Another

Luke 21:5-19

Who are the Blessed?

Luke 6:20-31

One of my favorite movies of all times is National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.  It is usually watched each year in my family, but an unspoken tradition at best.  There is this brilliant scene where the entire family is gathered around the dinner table and the father who is hosting, Clark, played by Chevy Chase taps his knife against the crystal glass, “Before we begin, since this Aunt Bethany’s 80^th Christmas, I think she should lead us in grace.” 

Aunt Bethany is kind of confused.  Her husband prods her.  Grace.  “Grace passed away 30 years ago” she yells.  Her husband is frustrated, points at his dentures and yells, “They want you to say the Blessing!”  Aunt Bethany nods and begins saying the Pledge of Allegiance.  All of the sudden the whole family led by crazy cousin Eddie (Dennis Quaid) and his full denim suit, chimes in and places their hands over their hearts, “And to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.” 

Beautiful movie.  And Aunt Bethany has no idea what a blessing is.  And I think to some extent many of us struggle with this concept as well.  What does it mean to be blessed?  It is a term we use freely and probably just link Aunt Bethany, we fail to miss the mark.  We look at someone who is wealthy, they are blessed, or someone who is really smart, or really good looking, or has hair that is combable and say, they are blessed.  But are we missing something?  What is a blessing?

There is an uneasiness in our culture that has dominated the last two years of economic growth.  The Dow Jones Industrial Index has reached record heights climbing to nearly 16,000.   Stocks and mutual funds are valued at all-time highs, interest rates are still incredibly low and the housing market is starting to pick up.  Home values are increasing, houses are moving, and jobs are being created.  And I would wager that most people in this room do not entirely buy this notion of the good old days of economic growth such as the 90s has returned.  People are uneasy.  They are skeptical.  They are concerned.   What is being experienced on Wall Street is not mirrored in the inner rooms of our spiritual self.   While the world shows signs of stability, we as humans doubt that this stability is for the long haul. 

Today’s Gospel shares with us Luke’s Beatitudes from what is commonly referred to as Jesus’ “Sermon on the Plain.”   We hear about the Beatitudes often; popular scripture often spouted by Christians.  “Blessed are the poor in Spirit, blessed are the meek.  Blessed are the peacemakers.  Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake.”  But these are not the words of Luke, but Matthew whose comments seem to resonate with us so much more deeply. 

Luke on the other hand sets up parallels.  Blessed are you who are poor, hungry and weep.  Blessed are you when people hate you and exclude you.  But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.  Woe to you who are full now. Woe to you who are laughing now.  Woe to you when all speak well of you.  There is no sugar coating this passage.  There is no diminishing this lesson to allegory or parable.  It is Jesus’ sermon on the plain that reaches out, grabs our attention, and says wake up! 

As someone who preaches every week, I have a sort of rhythm I move with.  On Monday’s I read the lessons and do some research.  I then let the different readings become the backdrop for my week.  All of this played into our church outreach project yesterday.  About 10 of us headed down to Faxon Avenue to the Firehouse Ministry yesterday morning. The Firehouse is an interesting place.  It looks boarded up on the outside, yet on the inside is painted a majestic purple and gold.  Every Saturday, vans drive around the neighborhood picking the neighbors up.  On the outside, the yard is rundown, littered with some trash and broken appliances, yet inside people gather, this Saturday 95 from the community came for a meal, a warm shower. 

And yesterday, the Beatitudes were on my mind.  I chatted with my new friend John about the NFL, his favorite team the Detroit Lions, and our utter amazement at Calvin Johnson’s year.  We talked about the games that are scheduled to take place today and neither of us could remember who was playing.  I pulled out my Apple Iphone 4s, two years old, and there John looked.  “Oh you have a fancy phone… Alright.”  Me, rich.  Wealthy.  And not very hungry.  I could hear Jesus’ sermon on the plain, and I was uncomfortable. 

Ms. Vicky asked the gentleman sitting next to me to stand and tell about the event that many witnessed a few days earlier.  Apparently, Jermaine was fatally stabbed by James over a bowl of soup.   I realized that I have never eaten a meal in fear or worried about my safety in a way that nearly every person in the room knew every waking moment.  And I could hear Jesus’ words, blessed are you who are hungry.  Blessed are you when people hate you.  And woe to you who are rich.  Woe to you when all speak well of you.

 

Ms. Vicky was pretty upset.  She was mad at the group for arguing over soup.  Most of the people in the room were at the soup kitchen a few days ago when this event went down.  She was mad at the girls for seeking protection from the wrong guys.  She was upset with the guys for taking advantage of the girls.  She was upset, and so she yelled and cried.  Ms. Vicky was getting her preaching voice going, volume was increasing and she had the whole room’s attention.  “Don’t you understand… You are blessed.  Each one of you is blessed!”  

I could hear the words of Jesus in a new tone, with new emphasis, in new away.  And she was talking about the others.  Not me.  I didn't feel blessed.  I was hearing the woes so much more clearly and loudly. 

The Gospel according to Luke, points to a world which is turned upside down.  Roles are reversed.  People’s situations are changed.  Maybe the uneasiness of our culture is experienced because we know that fiscal security, a well respected reputation, and even a full stomach are only temporary.   Maybe Luke is pointing not only to the temporary nature of these, but to how, wealth is also deceptive and can keep us from seeing true blessing. 

Today is All Saints Day.   It is the day that we remember all the people, both the saints in our own lives and those who the church remembers who tell the story of faith.  It is also a day where we do not recite the Nicene Creed, but instead renew our Baptismal vows.  We say the same prayer we said when we were baptized, or the prayers that were said on our behalf, because today especially we remember that it is through our baptism that we are united together.  The prayer for today that we said says, “Almighty God, you have knit together your elect in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of your Son Christ our Lord: Give us grace so to follow your blessed saints in all virtuous and godly living, that we may come to those ineffable joys that you have prepared for those who truly love you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting.”

Today we remember that God has bestowed a blessing on us through baptism.  This is not, wealth, it is not fortune, security, food, reputation, or looks.  It is a bond with God.  Maybe those who Jesus encounters who are hungry, who are poor, are able to see more clearly their bond with God so much more clearly because it is not covered up by the temporary things we call blessings in life.  Maybe they can understand a dependency on God that we ignore.  And maybe those who Jesus’ reaches out to know a little bit more than we do what it means to be blessed.

This means those who are poor, those who are hungry, and those who are hated by others, have something to teach us.  They can understand more than we can imagine when it comes to being blessed.  I think so often we approach ministry with the idea that we are there to help someone or to offer them something that they don’t have.  This is a true component to caring for one another, but we can fail to recognize that those whom we minister to have something even greater to offer each of us, and that is an understanding of blessing that our prosperity limits us in seeing.   

Sermon preached on November 3, 2013

Church of the Annunciation

The Loss of Our Self-Identity

Luke 18:9-14

I heard a funny story the other day about the Pope on his last visit to the United States.  On his last day of the visit, he was delayed due to meetings and was unable to break away to catch a flight.

Since he couldn't depend on his Pope Mobile, he phoned for a limousine. When the limousine arrived, the driver was joyfully surprised that it was the Pope who called for him. The driver became nervous and was beside himself and proceeded to drive very slowly. The Pope became nervous and told him to hurry up but it did not make a bit of difference. The driver went slower; he wanted to keep the Pope in his limousine as long as he could. The Pope could not be delayed any longer so he asked to drive the limo himself. He sped off and reached the speed of 85 miles an hour. The policeman who stopped him was shocked when he discovered the famous personality behind the wheel. He frantically phoned his police chief and said, “Chief, I have stopped a very important figure for speeding. I don’t know what to do?”
--“What do you mean? Give him a speeding ticket!” 
--“Sir, in all honesty, I can’t.”
--“Why can’t you? The law is the law. Who is it anyway that you stopped? Is it the mayor?”
--“No, sir.”
--“Is it the governor?”
--“No, sir.”
--“Is it a congressman?”
--“Is it the president?”
--“No, sir.”
--“Well, then, who is it?!”
--“I don’t know sir! All I know is that the Pope is driving him to the airport.”

I would have substituted Archbishop of Canterbury for the Pope, but I don’t think it would have worked as well.  But in all seriousness, the pope continues to teach us about humility.  This week he censured a bishop in the German church.  The Bishop was spending a ridiculous amount on his residence including $34,000 for a conference table and $20,000 for a bathtub.  In a public statement the Pope drew attention to the humility of not only the calling of the ordained, but what it means to be a Christian. 

Humility not only keeps us from lavishly living but it also keeps us from drawing attention to ourselves.  So today, I want to draw attention to our liturgy in particular.  We began with a collect that brought us all together.  It asked God to cleanse our thoughts so that we may love God.  We heard together Holy Scripture and now we are hearing together a sermon.  In a moment we will make a statement of faith.  At each turn, we proclaim what We believe.   What follows are our prayers of the people, a chance for us as a group to pray on behalf of the world, the church, those in need, and those who are in our own community.  We do this together.  We read the names of our congregation together.  We do not offer what we as individuals pray for and this is important.

And then we confess our sin.  While there is silence and space to acknowledge our own personal sin, we offer a prayer that acknowledges our sin together.  We confess that as a group we have failed in so many ways.  We confess that we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves, that we have not always walked the way God has called us to walk. 

And finally, we gather together to make Holy Eucharist.  This is an action that we cannot do alone.  In our tradition, not even a priest can make Holy Eucharist by his or herself.  Jesus tells us that whenever two or three are gathered in his name, God is there.  As Christians we give we take on a corporate identity. 

In all of these actions, what is evident is the loss of a need for an individual identity.  There is even a loss of individual theology or the need for individual prayer.  Instead, what emerges is a corporate identity.  By giving up of ourselves, we become the body of Christ.

A friend of mine from seminary’s daughter was just born three weeks ago. Her name is Audrey Grace.  She is a fighter and not like most others.  Her heart was born with only two chambers.  Immediately after being born, she was flown in a helicopter to another children’s hospital to have her first of several heart surgeries.  There are other complications too.  Over the past few weeks, a trend has emerged.  People who know Grey and his wife Monica, and their family have sent pictures wearing “rally” caps or hats.  Pictures have been sent of entire sports teams, families, and the entire student body of our seminary all wearing “rally” caps.  Thousands of people have sent pictures which essentially say, “We are rallying with you Audrey Grace.”  Word has even traveled from the Presiding Bishop’s office.  Audrey is not even a month old, but their family is learning that they do not fight alone.  Their entire community and more stand in solidarity with Audrey Grace.  This is what community is about.  It means we are not alone.  We give of ourselves to be something greater. 

This Sunday, we encounter two people in the parable from Luke’s Gospel.  We encounter the tax collector and the Pharisee.  We know where this going.  If you heard a story about these two, you would know exactly who is the good guy and who is the bad guy.  The Pharisee is the punk who thinks he is better than everyone else.  The tax collector says, “Have mercy on me, a sinner.” 

One of the challenges of a parable, is to do precisely what we are told not to do – identify ourselves as one of the characters.  The Pharisee has compared himself to others, being grateful that he is not like those others who he believes live inferior moral lives.  He uses comparison as the means to understand himself.  The tax collector, on the other hand, avoids this game of comparison altogether.  The temptation of the parable is to say that we should behave like the tax collector.  Yet in that very acknowledgement is an unspoken claim – to not be like the Pharisee.  The parable lures us into a trap.  It lures us to play the game of comparison, to believe that we are better than the Pharisee because we are not like the Pharisee.  It is a tempting invitation as well, because we want to be the best people we can be.  Being the best, though means better than others.  And this means we view the thrust of our identity as individuals.  Yet when we see ourselves as a collective group, as a body of Christ, there is no need for this comparison.  We accept ourselves for being exactly who we are – beloved children of God.

Look around the room.  As a collective body of Christ, there is no need to evaluate ourselves to one another.  Yes, we all have our flaws.   Big ones.  Bad ones.  Stinky ones.  And it doesn't matter in the slightest.  Because we care and love one another.  We desire the best for another.  And we desire to grow through our love for each other.  This is all possible because we give up our self-identity.  We are no longer John Burruss, or Doug Gordon, Debbie Allen, or Lana Marler.  This is a chance to think back to our Baptism.  In Baptism, We lose our surnames take a new one – Christians.  Our identity is together as the body of Christ. 

Humility is not just about our ego, or trying to keep from evaluating ourselves by comparing who we are to our fellow brothers and sisters.  Humility is about checking our individuality at the door to be a part of a community.   It is about letting go of what we need to have, what we need to know, or what we need to believe. And we can do that right now by turning and proclaiming not what you or I think, but what We all believe.  Let us stand together and proclaim our faith in the words of the Nicene Creed….

Sermon Preach October 27, 2013

Church of the Annunciation

Banging Your Fist on the Threshold of God

Luke 18:1-8

Several years ago, I read this extremely popular book at the time, one that was highly controversial, although in my opinion a pretty unorthodox but beautiful account of describing what is indescribable, the Holy Trinity.  The book was titled The Shack.  The premise of the book on the surface was a man and his family goes camping.  His daughter is abducted and later evidence emerges that she was murdered by a serial killer in a small shack not far from the campgrounds.  The father, Mack, says that at this point his life enters what he calls, “The Great Sadness.” 

Four years later, he receives a letter from God which commands him to go back to the Shack to meet.  Sounds weird right?  And off Mack goes with some prodding and family encouragement and when he is about to leave the Shack, the whole world is transformed and he has this mystical encounter with the Holy Trinity.   Most of the book is a dialogue between Mack, and God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. 

What I found most powerful about the book, was the conversation of prayer and forgiveness that is established by Mack.  The first is an important concept – the need for Mack to forgive God for not disclosing all the answers to life’s most challenging and painful question.  Mack has to get to a place where he can let go of needing to know, to let go of having all of the answers, or even a suitable answer for the pain, the grief, and the sickening destruction of his own self by what he has experienced. 

The next is the work that Mack does to forgive his daughter’s killer.  Each day, it is a prayer.  Each day, Mack asks for help in forgiving the person who has caused more pain than I can possibly imagine a family or individual can endure.  But he prays.   He needs endurance.  He needs to not lose hope for his own grief and his own process of healing.   He knows that the task of forgiveness is the most challenging task he can possible take on, but he also understands the slow process and need to make that attempt, day after day, week after week. 

I thought of the character Mack when I read today’s Gospel.  He reminds me of the widow from the parable told by Jesus.  The widow and the judge are both familiar characters in our lives.  The judge is a politician who is always looking out for his own good and not the welfare of anyone else.  The whole town knows the character of the judge, even the widow in her time of need.  Maybe we are all too familiar with this judge during these times! 

And we can hear the plea of the widow.  She knows that the judge has not an ounce of feeling for anyone but himself, but she knocks anyway.  And she keeps knocking.  Please, please, please help.  By now, its 2am and the neighbors are furious.  They continue to slam their windows shut.  “Help me, help me, help me.”  And finally the door opens, “Fine, I will help you if you just leave me alone.  Now get out of my sight and don’t come back.”

The judge responds, but only to make his life simpler.  He wants sleep and it is easiest if he helps the widow. And the widow who has been seeking justice is appeased.  And we are told this is what prayer is like. Our lives are to be a constant stream of being, of asking for help, of asking for guidance, of giving thanks, even when it seems useless. And this is where we hear the character of Mack each day,   “God, help me.  Help me to forgive the person who has done the unforgivable act. I am not there yet.  Help me.”  Each day, going back, demanding help.  Each day, he assumes, will be like the previous, with forgiveness not fully there yet. 

When I was growing up, my parents constantly reminded, “Be nice to your sister.”  I remember being punished a few times where my father would make me write out on notebook paper, “I will be nice to my sister and my mother, and I will respect women at all times.”  He would have me write some sentiment like that over and over, 100 - 500 times depending on the severity of what I had done. 

Looking back (and after studying moral theology) I am much more aware that my father was not concerned with my immediate actions. If I continued to be disrespectful or mean to my mother, if the behavior was not curbed, then over time, it would be even more difficult to change my actions.  I would slowly grow into being a more disrespectful person.  However, if I would write something down 100-500 times, the sentiment would affect me by encouraging me to be that which the written statement called me to be. 

This underlying principle affects all vices in virtues in moral theology.  Think about lying.  If for say, you decided one year to bend the truth on your taxes.  I imagine it would be a little bit easier to make the same justification the next year, and even easier the third year, and many years down the road, you might find yourself saying, “Hey, everyone does this, it is not a big deal.”  A small action, when repeated begins to shape who we are. 

Or imagine learning how hard it is to apologize and admit that we are wrong to our loved ones.  I bet it is really hard the first time we have to do that, but overtime, it becomes easier, and we become more attuned to the people we are in relationship, and find it easier to admit to our own faults and limitations. 

Small actions, repeated over and over and over can affect who we are becoming, both positively and negatively.  Just as it is not likely that a person just randomly goes off and robs a bank.  It is much more likely they have been committing crime after crime, escalating, until they reach the point of robbing a bank. Or imagine a philanthropist.  It is not probably not likely that a very wealthy person all of a sudden for the first time gives away a lot of money.  There have likely been acts of charity over time that have helped that person become more charitable. 

To some extent, I believe that this understanding of moral theology and how vices and virtues shape who we are as people can help us to understand the intent of the parable that Jesus offers.   Why is it important to pray always?  Why should we be concerned with not losing heart?  What if we are not feeling the inspiration that we desire every Sunday?  Why continue?  Why not just stop going to church?  What if we are not inspired by the sermon, or what if we are not inspired by the music?  Why do we keep praying?  What draws us back?  Shouldn't we just take a break?  Or stop, maybe pick up a new hobby?  Whittling sticks?  Or taking nature hikes?  Playing the tuba? 

To use the famous words of a liturgical theologian – Praying shapes believing.  Just in the same way that writing 500 times, “I will not make fun of my sister’s braces” can help me to be more compassionate to my little sister, what we say and do each week slowly works on each of us as individual humans, opening a relationship to God through prayer.  It is why we need to say the confession over an over.  It is why we need to say peace be with you over and over.  It doesn't mean that from time to time, more often than not, we don’t feel like the widow banging her hands on the door of the unjust and selfish judge.  We do, but we are called to continue to pray, to be open, to be available, to be in relationship. We are called to gather here week after week, to say, “Peace be with you to our friends and family, including those who royally ticked us off, because eventually we will believe that.”  We are called each week to ask for forgiveness and slowly over time we will truly believe that we have been forgiven, and week after week we pray for God to restore the entire universe, trusting that one day that work will be complete, the kingdom come, salvation present.  

Praying shapes believing.  And prayer shapes us, it molds us, and calls us forward.  So do not lose heart, Pray always, banging your fists on the door of the threshold of God.  Because, will God not grant justice to those who cry to him day and night?  Amen.  

Sermon Preached at Church of the Annunciation

October 20th, 2013

Gratitude as a Response to God's Faithfulness

I want to share a funny little event that happened on Tuesday evening.   We headed out to our local neighborhood Asian Cuisine place – Pei Wei.  Jack took with him a gift from his God parents, a bendable Jesus.  As we were getting ready to leave the house, he wouldn’t let the little bendable Jesus out of his grasp, so bendable Jesus joined us on our quick dinner date.  As I held Jack up at the counter, ordering, Jack slammed down bendable Jesus with a big grin saying something like, “Doh, Doh, doh”  and the young guy at the counter, got real excited and looked us.  “Hey little guy, who is your superhero?”

Anne and I just stood there kind of laughing, “umm.  It’s Jesus.”

“Oh, Well I guess that is the ultimate super hero.  Super Jesus!” 

So today, we encounter Super Jesus, fully man and fully God who takes ten people with leprosy and makes them whole. Our passage from Luke this Sunday arrives to us on Jesus’ journey between Samaria and Galilee.  If you recall from a few weeks ago, Samaria was the place where no observant Jew would go.  The Samaritan’s were not just foreigners, but political opponents and theological heretics, a despised group by the entire faith.  Galilee on the other hand, was full of Jewish people, but still a hotbed of political activity and radical thought.  In United States standards, it was considered the Berkley, California of the ancient world.  To call someone a Galilean at the time might mean they are Jewish, but it has a connotation of not being of the traditional sort.  A Galilean applies leaning somewhat outside of the spectrum of orthodoxy.  

And Jesus is journeying in between the two, in between those who stand against and those who mix it up.  And he encounters 10 lepers.  We hear a lot about lepers in the Bible.  We hear a lot about Jesus healing.  And often we as the reader are invited to think about the radical call of Jesus to seek out those who are on the outskirts of society, isolated from the rest of the world because of their physical condition.  The healing of the leaper is so often about the value of those who society has not seen any value in, and healing is extended to all, well beyond the scope of what we have come to value. 

But this week is different.  It is not a group of others that we see as the leper, but ourselves.  We are one of the 10, hopefully called to be the one who turns back to Jesus, praising God.  We find ourselves in the story as a people who need cleansing and healing, somewhere between unorthodoxy and a hotbed of political activity.  So if you don’t feel like you understand everything.  If you feel like you have it all figured out one day, and not the next.  If you feel like you have you faith under control some of the time, but tot the rest, then ok.  If you question, if you doubt, if have reservations, if you have concerns, then maybe you are in the right place, a place where you can truly encounter Jesus.  A place where you can truly seek restoration. 

And this is where we find the 10 lepers.  They ask for healing and Jesus sends them to the priests to be healed.  And off they go.  Somewhere along the journey one turns around to go back to Jesus and he realizes that he has already been made well.   And Jesus responds, “Get up – go on, you faith has made you well.”  Which causes us to pause and wonder, is it our faithfulness that heals us, restores us to communities, and keeps us from isolation?   

I think when we explore this sentiment, similar to last week’s Gospel and sermon, it can be problematic.  It causes us to wonder if the situation we are in is a result of our own lack of faithfulness.  If we were just more faithful would we feel more contempt with who we are, or would we see ourselves as being fully restored in the eyes of God. 

Which brings me to point number 1 – It is not the faithfulness of the leper, but the faithfulness of God that restores all people to him through Jesus Christ.  This is the promise made by God, and the promise of our Eucharistic prayer.  It is our theology to know that God has promised to restore all of us through the blood of Christ that we partake in each Sunday.  In contrast, it is our faithfulness that calls us forward to walk down this isle, to cross our hands and to take the body of Christ, but it is God whose faithfulness that restores us.  It is not by our own merit, but the grace of God that healing, restoration and unity take place.  In our places between Samaria and Galilee, in our places of pain, doubt, and concern, we do not have to rely on ourselves.  There is nothing we can offer to change where we are.  The bond that God has created is indissoluble.  Our faithfulness is only the acknowledgement of God’s faithfulness.  Our lack of trust, or pain, or grief does not change the promise. 

Inevitably the other nine lepers have been healed, they just fail to understand the whole picture as we see it.  The other nine lepers are healed because that is what God has promised, and it is out of that promise that we are to respond.  The other nine lepers forget the response.  They forget that God has acted and now we are commanded to act. 

Which brings me to point number 2 – but first I need to tell a joke. 

There was a tailor named Mendel and he was worried about his business. Mendel was down to his last $50 and was torn between buying a sign and getting food for his family. Mendel decided to pray.

“Dear God,” he said, “I don’t know what to do. If I buy a sign it may bring in business, but I need to buy groceries for my family…and if the sign doesn't bring in sales, we will starve.

God replied, “Mendel buy the sign. Don’t worry, your family won’t starve.”

So, Mendel bought the sign and business took off. The tailor fed his family and all was well. However, as time passed it became evident that Mendel couldn't keep up with orders all by himself. He contemplated hiring on a helper, but wondered if he could afford it. So, he asked God if getting help would be a prudent move.

“Go ahead,” God tells Mendel, “hire some help, you’ll do okay.”

And so Mendel did. And business took off beyond his wildest dreams. After a time, the tailor decided to move to a larger site that would accommodate the growing demands of his business. As he surveyed certain locations, he found a perfect storefront, but the rental price was really steep.

“God” Mendel again prayed, “I found the perfect place to relocate my business. But the cost of the lease worries me. I don’t want to get in over my head.”

“Go ahead and a get a lease on the store, Mendel,” said God. “Trust me, you’ll be okay I haven’t steered you wrong yet, have I?”

So Mendel signed a lease on the 5th Avenue store and profits from his business went through the roof. Out of heartfelt gratitude, Mendel proposed to the Almighty that he dedicate the store to Him.

“How do you like the name “Yaweh and Mendel,” the tailor asked.

“Nah,” God said. “Let’s go with ‘Lord and Taylor.’”

Point number 2 - The response to God’s faithfulness is gratitude.  

Ten are healed but only one returns to Jesus to give thanks to God.  And it sounds like Jesus is upset. I have to wonder if our Gospel is a commentary on the way humanity has always lived in this world.  Do the nine lepers believe that their journey to the priests make them whole? Do we believe that out of our own merit we have received the grace of God?  If the answer to these questions is yes, then we fail to live in gratitude.   Maybe the nine lepers that got away illustrate how easy it is to overlook the importance of gratitude as the appropriate theological response to God’s grace.  Maybe the nine that got away are a clear example of how selfish the human ego can be. 

Sermon Preached on October 13th 2013

To have faith in God’s faithfulness calls us to a life of gratitude.  This kind of exploration of gratitude calls us into a life that looks at every opportunity as an opportunity to give thanks.   What would life be like if instead of our normal interactions with all, we gave thanks for each person, each gift that the offer, each part of who they are.  A life of gratitude calls us to show appreciation for all, to give thanks for all, and to give of our own time, talent, and treasure.  Yes, we are approaching stewardship time in the church.  More formally in a few weeks, but our Gospel leads us this way today. 

And this creates an interesting tension in the church.  It is possible that we often think that God needs our money, or we have to give in order to survive or do X,Y, and Z.  God doesn't need our money.  What would our giving look like it we viewed it as the kind of gratitude that our Gospel calls us to explore?  Maybe we should give, because gratitude is what we desire our life to be.  Maybe we should give because gratitude is more important than keeping the lights on.  Maybe we should give because gratitude is the appropriate theological response to God walking up to the counter and offering us the ultimate superhero, bendable Jesus who has restored all of life and made all things new.  Gratitude in life could be our faithful response to what has already been done and promised, that is the faithfulness of God.

Lord, Increase Our Capacity for Forgivness

Has your faith or lack thereof every made you feel guilty?  Does shame play a role in how we participate, how we engage, how we interact in church?   When I was in high school, there was a mainstream Christian band called Jars of Clay with a hit song called “Like a Child.” The chorus had that famous line, “They say that I can move the mountains, send them crashing into the sea.” All, with faith like a child.  Move mountains.  It is a powerful image that calls us to a deeper faith, but does an unexplored or glossed over reading of our Biblical text, really do that? 

If we stop and think, the lessons we have learned over life, the messages we have heard in church, create a challenging dialogue for each of us.  Our life is a myriad of experiences, events, and overall series of emotional periods.  This is why we might say, ‘I am going through a really tough time right now,’ or ‘that period in my life was really dark.’  Or, ‘this year has been a really good year and I just feel so blessed!’ 

When life is not entirely as easy as we think it could be, we can so often have the tendency to feel like our faith is supposed to dictate where we are supposed to be.  If I just had more faith, maybe I wouldn’t be so sad.  If I just had more faith, maybe grief wouldn’t be so overwhelming.  If I just had more faith, I could be more content knowing where I am today.  When we examine faith from this perspective, doubt and shame both begin to permeate our central belief system.  The lesson of having the faith of a mustard seed almost always undergirds our reasoning.  And for good reason, as we hear the plea of the apostles, to have their faith increased. 

However, we cannot just turn to the story of the mustard seed to understand what Jesus means when he says, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed.”  We have heard this Sunday, the follow up about the worthless slave or servant, an emotionally charged statement that comes from Jesus.  And just before this passage, the disciples are struggling with causing each other to stumble. The disciples are rebuking the offenders and then Jesus says you must forgive those who repent, even if that person sins against you seven times a day.  Forgive.  Forgive. Forgive.  And the apostles respond, Increase our Faith!

I want to change directions for just a bit and share with you the beginning of George Saunder’s commencement speech from Syracuse University this year which just appeared in an editorial in the New York Times.

Now, one useful thing you can do with an old person, in addition to borrowing money from them, or asking them to do one of their old-time “dances,” so you can watch, while laughing, is ask: “Looking back, what do you regret?”  And they’ll tell you.  Sometimes, as you know, they’ll tell you even if you haven’t asked.  Sometimes, even when you’ve specifically requested they not tell you, they’ll tell you.

So: What do I regret?  Being poor from time to time?  Not really.  Working terrible jobs, like “knuckle-puller in a slaughterhouse?”  (And don’t even ASK what that entails.)  No.  I don’t regret that.  Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking up and seeing like 300 monkeys sitting on a pipeline, pooping down into the river, the river in which I was swimming, with my mouth open, naked?  And getting deathly ill afterwards, and staying sick for the next seven months?  Not so much.  Do I regret the occasional humiliation?  Like once, playing hockey in front of a big crowd, including this girl I really liked, I somehow managed, while falling and emitting this weird whooping noise, to score on my own goalie, while also sending my stick flying into the crowd, nearly hitting that girl?  No.  I don’t even regret that.

But here’s something I do regret:

In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class.  In the interest of confidentiality, her Convocation Speech name will be “ELLEN.”  ELLEN was small, shy.  She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only old ladies wore.  When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into her mouth and chewing on it.

So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair taste good?” – that sort of thing).  I could see this hurt her.  I still remember the way she’d look after such an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was trying, as much as possible, to disappear.  After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth.  At home, I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, fine.”  And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”

Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.

And then – they moved.  That was it.  No tragedy, no big final hazing.

One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.

End of story.

Now, why do I regret that?  Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it?  Relative to most of the other kids, I was actually pretty nice to her.  I never said an unkind word to her.  In fact, I sometimes even (mildly) defended her.

Saunders continues to go into his advice for the graduates, how we understand ourselves as humans intellectually and the need for kindness and how kindness is essentially what we need to be working for in life, and he says, that “as you get older, your self will diminish and you will grow in love.  You will gradually be replaced by love.”  

I was struck by his story for a number of reasons.  First, what a wonderful message for college students who are so worried about jobs and careers – kindness.   But there is another part of me that sees the human person in all of life, oscillating between Ellen and George.    Our human experience, our stories in life invite us to see ourselves as both Ellen and George.  We have been the one who has stood their silently ashamed of not offering a response, and we have stood their listening to others, angered and harboring resentment.

There is so much guilt and hurt that makes up each of our collective stories.  Maybe we weren't the young child who chewed on her hair and stared awkwardly at our neighbors, but regardless we carry the burden of things done and things undone with each of us.  We hold resentment at others who have hurt us.  Days, weeks, years later, we stand both as Ellen and as George, wishing we had acted differently or others had been more generous.    If you have been around people long enough, you have probably both been offended and offended others.   This is a part of being human. 

And even in Christian community, human interactions have a way of unsettling our being, causing turmoil.  Even in churches, Christian communities, feelings are hurt.  Just look at the apostles in our lesson today.  They have a deep desire for their faith to be increased.  Their faith is linked to forgiveness.  They needed help with forgiveness, even if their fellow apostles are offending them seven times a day.  They need help forgiving their fellow disciples in Christ, the people they are intimately connected with in relationship.  And in forgiveness there is always a duality.  There exists the need to forgive others and the need to forgive ourselves.   Faith is the driving factor for the way we care for each other.

As I look at the train wreck of our national government, the excessive bickering between parties and the parties’ leaders, the failure to lead and instead to shut down and blame the other, I have to wonder if Luke would have something to say to each member of our Congress.  Faithfulness as seen in light of the ability to forgive one another would have the power to move mountains.  It would have the power to pick up this mulberry tree and plant it in the sea.  Forgiveness (which requires the ultimate faith) has that kind of transformative power to change the course of Washington. 

Maybe Jesus’ response that we only need the faith of mustard seed, is invitation to realize how close and how tangible forgiveness can be.  Something as small as a letting go or a refusal to harbor feelings of animosity, or lay blame on the other can be utterly transformative, utterly life changing.  In a small action lies unimaginable results.  In a small action, forgiveness has the power to do what seems impossible, inconceivable  and to defy not only the law of physics, but human understanding in the way that we behave and function. 

And maybe we need to have that kind of faith.  Our world is so polarized and we long for an appropriate response.  Just like the apostles, we demand for God to increase our faith.  Could the answer as small as a mustard seed?  Could the answer be letting ourselves off the hook for all the things undone?  Could the answer be in our response to ourselves and our response to our fellow friends and family, our neighbors, and those whom we stand in opposition with? Could the answer be rooted in our ability to drop the need to be right, the need to be appeased, or the need to see a limited view of justice?  Could the answer be in the size of a mustard seed?