Sermon: Shortening the Chasm

I just watched a frightening news report on PBS Newshour about a bunch of graduate students at the University of California, Berkeley who are all studying wealth inequality.  The studies were fascinating and frightening.  The experiment I found most interesting was around a Monopoly game.  The study required two participants and was rigged.   One player was allowed to use both dice and was given $2000 money and the Rolls Royce as a playing piece.  The other player was only allowed to only roll one die (so no chance of doubles), played with the old shoe as a playing piece, and was given $1,000 to begin the game.  At each passing of Go, the wealthy player was given $200 while the other player was given $100.  Before the game began, a coin was flipped to decide who would begin in which position.  After the game, a survey was done with both players.   

Now I assume most people have played monopoly.  And I know it brings out the finest qualities of competitiveness and greed in each of us.  Which is one of the reasons this study is so helpful.  The group ran this study on hundreds of college students.  What was striking is when they finished, they would ask the wealthy participants in a questionnaire, how much the felt like they deserved to win.  Almost always, the winning students were entitled which is an amazing insight into the human brain.   The participants began to attribute success to their own gifts and skills and less attuned to the situation which caused the disparity in the first place, a coin flip, and not any skills or talent.   It is possible that the wealth, or the idea of that one has wealth, false or real, leads to entitlement which causes a greater gap between the two. 

The Gospel reading today also talks about a gap.  This week we hear of a rich man and a poor man named Lazarus – not to be confused with our other friend Lazarus.  The story sets up a series of parallels all with what the text claims creates a chasm.

We have a rich man.  We have a poor man.  We have a person dressed in purple cloth and fine linen.  And we have a person dressed in sores.  The rich man has had a proper burial.  And the poor man is carried away by angels.  And they are no more.  We have a gulf that exists between the two and just as the Gospel so often does, the entire story, the entire reality experienced by both men is completely turned upside down.  The rich man now exists in Hades looking up, and the poor man, Lazarus, looking down.  And the text says, “Between them a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.”

In death there is no chance to bridge the gap.  I find the concept of permanence in death absolutely frightening.  But it is true.  What we do here in the world in our lives stays in the world.  We do not carry it with us to the grave.  I think the ancient Egyptians wished otherwise when they fill up tombs with gold and riches hoping that what was here on earth will be carried forward.  The messes we make on earth remain messes when we are no longer here. 

Which makes me wonder, is the gulf that exists between the two only impassable in death? And is the whole reason of the talk about Hades which seems out of place, unlikely, and disjointed, really pointing to the fact that this divide between the ‘haves’ and the “have nots’ not necessary on earth.  Is it possible that some can move across before death? 

We know that on earth there seems to be an impassable gulf between the rich and the poor. The richest 1% of our country have 34.6% of all wealth in the US.  The bottom 80% have 0.4%.  There is an enormous gap and if you have spent time driving around Memphis, you have seen it.   If you have lived here long enough, you have experienced it.   Maybe this is why we are so moved when we hear a story like the one of the young girl from Vance Middle school in the poorest zip code in Tennessee who through the help of the Emmanuel Center gets a scholarship to St. Andrews at Sewanee, then Wellesley College in Massachusetts, and finally Harvard for graduate school. The story sticks with us, it moves us, and gives us hope.  These stories are significant because they are so rare, uplifting because they are so filled with grace, and it feels like someone has accomplished what is not possible – a real miracle.  The impassable gulf between the rich and the poor is passed.   It is crossed over. 

And as Christians, we believe that Christ came to uproot the system and turn it upside down.  We have been working through the Gospel According to Luke for as long as I have been at Annunciation.  Luke places great emphasis on the poor and the marginalized.  His whole premises is the radically reversal the Christ creates in this system.  As Christians, are challenge is to shorten the gap.  To help movement take place over the gap.  Jesus’ presence with the poor and the destitute, the company he kept, the friends he made are all invitations for us to shorten the gulf that exists in our world. 

Although I am frightened by the studies of the psychology department at University of California, Berkeley about wealth and entitlement, I think it provides a suggestion to how we respond.  While we may struggle with the need to save for retirement, to provide for our families, to live in neighborhoods where we feel safe and secure, these are all challenges, I would like to suggest, that it might be possible that if we can lose the entitled nature that wealth causes we may become more connected to people who our wealth has caused a divide from. 

The study suggests that to some extent our location at birth is not far removed from the flip of coin.  Our location, how we were raised, our parents, have all had more impact on us than any amount of work or merit we could claim.  We don’t want to admit this because maybe we believe it would be a blow to our egos, or it would diminish our self-esteem, or that we might not see ourselves as good enough.  If we take away all of our hard work what do the pieces of paper we hang on our walls, or the race times, or records we set mean or the competitions or games we have won?  What is their value to us if we acknowledge the role of chance, luck, or societal location? 

By trying to rid ourselves of entitlement we can shorten the gap that exists because we begin to see the value in all. We can lose the cloud of suspicion that questions peoples merit and return.  We can believe in the words of Timothy which say, “for we brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it.”  We can see that what we inherit is not of our own merit.  We can work on contentment knowing that God has blessed each of us. God has made each of us holy.  It is response to this to shorten the gap that exists between God’s Holy people, and if we can just lose a little of that entitlement, we can make leaps and bounds.  

Shortening the Chasm

Thinking Ahead:

Luke 16:19-31

The Gift of a Journey

CS Lewis writes in “The Great Divorce” about a man who finds himself in a bus queue in town that seems to be ever expanding.  The town known as the “Grey” town is enormous although sparsely populated.  The narrator wanders the desolate town until he meets others at the bus stop who are all desiring to go somewhere else.  The narrator says, “Time seemed to have paused on that dismal moment when only a few shops have lit up and it is not yet dark enough for their windows to look cheering.  And just as the evening never advanced to night, so my walking had never brought me to the better parts of the town.”  The town was frozen, or stagnant.  Yet ever expanding.  We are later told that the town has people who cannot get along.  So they quarrel and get sick of their neighbor and move to edge of town.  And all they have to do is imagine a house and poof it exists.   Stability for the community is the result of houses that are separate and isolate.   

The narrator ends up at bus stop waiting for some movement.   Some squabbling and fighting breaks out, worried that they will not all fit on the bus and the line diminishes until a manageable crowd is around and then the bus just appears.  They all rush fighting to get on and when the narrator finally steps in, there is still plenty of room.  He walks past everyone, and all the empty seats, and sits in the back.

 On the bus, the conversations of the travelers unveil their stories.  The bus begins its journey upwards and the passengers begin interacting with the narrator, telling their story until they reach their destination, a place of abounding light… heaven.     

They leave the bus, many concerned of when they need to return, although the bus driver reminds them that returning is not necessary.   Many are more comfortable in their desolate homes in the grey city.  The passengers are unhappy or skeptical.  This new place is unsettling.  And each passenger realizes that as they leave the bus, they have also become ghost like or spirit like.  And then they encounter the people.

These new people are solid and they are inviting the ghost like spirits, the passengers of the bus to join them.  But no one is willing.  One of the new persons is a murderer, and the person who he murdered is also in this heavenly place with him, yet the ghost who knew both in their previous life just can’t believe it.  The people teach the ghosts that they can become people as well.  One ghost slaps his chest, and says,

“Look at me now.  I gone straight all my life.  I don’t say I was a religious man and I don’t say I had no faults, far from it.   But I done my best all my life, see?  I done my best by everyone, that’s the sort of chap I was.  I never asked for anything that wasn’t mine by rights.  If I wanted a drink I paid for it and if I took my wages I done my job, see?  That’s the sort I was and I don’t care who knows it… I asking for nothing but my rights.  And I got to have my rights same as you. I am not asking for anyone’s bleeding charity…”

The man refuses to see himself in the same company as the murderer.  He is too stuck in his own mindset, unable to grow to see himself different.  If he can only accept that he didn’t always do his best, that nobody does, and it doesn’t matter in the least, then his body will become more solid, and he will move from being a ghost to a person.  All he has to do is embrace unceasing joy, which takes place through repentance.

Lewis’ account tells the story of several of these “ghosts” each choosing to return the city of separated homes.  Each is firmly rooted in their own home, a structure built up of walls of self-righteousness, and pride, that keeps them from accepting unceasing joy.  They refuse to permanently leave their city behind , because they are too stuck in their ways.    The refuse to move into what is so liberating, but they cannot get to that reality. 

The juxtaposition Lewis creates is that movement into the new, accepting their limitations and faults, actually moves them from being ghostly to being solid in this new state, or as Lewis describes, where their feet can push against the blades of grass.   If they are able to leave everything behind, their homes, and the ever expanding ‘grey’ city they can move into actually being grounded in the eternal place of joy. 

Now you are probably wondering, what in the world does this have to do with our Gospel reading, the extremely confusing passage from Luke.  If you are finding yourself confused after this passage, let me reaffirm you – you are not alone.  For as many possible meanings, there are even more commentaries and thoughts and articles all trying to make sense of what the words of Jesus meant nearly 2000 years ago and what they can mean to us today.  And there is clearly no consensus.  Which I think is an invitation for a more creative approach of what this text could mean to each of us, of what could be possible. 

First we have the manager for a rich man who essentially is scared of losing his job, and wants to make some friends quickly in case his job loss becomes reality.  He essentially says, “I have decided what to do so that when I am dismissed as a manager, people may welcome me into their homes.” (Luke 16:4)  Yet Jesus says later that one should make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.”  (Luke 16:9) I am indebted to one commentator who suggests that our translation is obviously meant to parallel the word ‘homes.[1]’ 

T

he home that the manager seeks is (oikous) translated correctly as home.  Yet the eternal home that Jesus promises is (skenas) which in Greek actually means, tent.  While the unjust manager, who is the steward of the rich man’s wealth, seeks a home, he is promised a tent.  He is promised a different kind of home for someone who is unable to be stable, or secure, but instead is off wandering, or worse, a refugee. 

I wonder if Lewis’ imagery can help us consider what it means to leave the homes we have constructed for ourselves to wander in eternity.  And is wandering as pilgrim where we find a truly solid foundation.  The passage from Luke seen in this light then suggests that wealth being given with the idea that something will happen in return, the promise of later security fails to give us a Holy security that we can only know from letting go.  If we give something with the promise of returns, we have tarnished the gift.

Imagine a husband coming home from a long day’s work.  He stops by the florist and picks up flowers for his wife.  They have both been overworked and over stressed.  Their marriage is being taxed.  They both arrive home near the same time.  He reaches out and hands her the flowers.  “I love you and you are so very special to me.” 

Now imagine that same couple, same situation.  The husband reaches to hand the flowers to his wife, “I love you.  And I know that it has been tough lately.  And I was hoping this would make our lives less stressful and maybe you won’t yell at me, and I figured if I got you flowers, you would just chill a little and might stop giving me such a hard time.”  Doesn’t really work does it? A gift predicated on something in return is not a gift.  It keeps us focused on maintaining the status quo, or returning to where we came from.  This second gift of flowers expects the two lovers to move back to where they were before the fight, not changed and not growing from their challenging life together.  In actuality, there is no moving backwards.  Grace comes from accepting, growing, and stepping forward in perpetual transition.  The first gift accepts the challenges of marriage and says, let us keep working.  This is grace. 

Our Collect today says, “Grant us Lord, not be anxious about earthly things, but to love things heavenly.” So often our lives are a system of bartering.  We do something with the promise of a gift in return.  Maybe we are nice, with the hope that someone will like us.  “Or we say, I can’t believe that person was so rude.  Do they remember when I helped them out ten years ago?”  This is trying to be rooted in the houses that we build.  Yet Jesus promises an eternal joy that resides in heavenly tent living, constantly moving around, never completely settled, never focused on what we can get in return.  Maybe in that we learn a little bit more about the nature of God.  A God who gives us all, never expecting a gift in return, only a journey with him that opens our world to unceasing joy.  Amen

Sermon Preached on September 22nd

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[1] Scott Bader-Saye, “Theological Perspective: Luke 16:1-13” Feasting on the Word.  Year C, Volume IV

"Thinking Ahead": Generation to Generation

Luke 14: 25-33

The Cost of Discipleship / The Gift of the Cross

Luke 14:25-33

Every morning we have breakfast.  Our kitchen has an island and two bar seats.  Jack refuses to sit in his high chair anymore so he climbs up the big boy seat and plops down and eats.  He is all grown up.  So when he wanted to take his yogurt down and cruise around the house, I said no.   And he let me have it.  He screamed for the next 20 minutes.  He would climb back grab his yogurt and begin the decent.  I would take it from him set it on the counter, he would scream more and repeat.   He was not a happy camper. 

I think I behaved similarly when I was twelve-years-old.  I was in six grade, and invited to my first concert – two boys who were my age and wore there overalls backwards – Kris Kross.  

Kris Kross was playing a show at the Memphis fairgrounds and I had some school regulated standardized testing the next day.  My parents said no, and I threw a fit.  I think I told my parents that I hated them.  And therefore I wanted to leave the house and run away.  I wanted to be off on my own.   It was as if was using hate as a catalyst for my own desire to leave home.  I am pretty sure I didn't hate my parents, and I didn't want to leave home, but I sure tried to convince them otherwise. 

This Sunday, we hear once again, as we have several of the last few weeks, some unsettling words from Jesus.  A few weeks ago we were reminded of parents being set against their children and now in the 14^th chapter of Luke, Jesus says, “You must hate your father and your mother if you want to follow me.”  Really Jesus… What happened to love of neighbor or respect your elders?  He continues, “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”  And you must give up all your possessions as well.”  That sounds easy.  Love Jesus.  Hate your family.  Get rid of everything.  You are a Christian.  Boom.

I am not sure if Jack’s 20 minute temper tantrum was anything unique, a characteristic that he has inherited from me.   I am sure that he has inherited a crooked smile and a Burruss nose.  People say he has his mother’s eyes.  We pass on to our families much and then we pass on even more.

If you really want to learn about yourself, you should start with your family and go back a little ways.  One of the ways people do that is to write out a genogram.  A genogram is a way of making a family tree where you diagram relationships and other personal characteristics.   You draw out your family tree and you make marks for things such as who served in the military, or who has heart disease or cancer.  Or you mark family members who have struggled with alcoholism or drug addiction.   The process can also ask you to examine death, children, marriage, divorce, and life expectancy.  What we find that often emerges are patterns. And the study of these patterns can be exceptionally enlightening to who we are and why we have become the people we are today. 

Our families pass down more than just a few physical characteristics.  We share with each other, the good and the bad, the beautiful and the brokenness.  It all exists in every single family and is experienced from generation to generation.  Friends of mine have opened a ministry in an area of Memphis that was built in the early 1900s.  The house across the street from the ministry has been in one family the entire time.  At that residence, there have been 100 arrest dating back to 1926 all with people with the same last name.  It is hard to break out of certain family systems.  

All this is true.  The wonderful parts of John Burruss and the scary parts of John Burruss that I try to hide yet my family knows to exist – all of these are in part influenced by our families or how we were raised, or how we weren't raised.  But hating my parents, now that is a little extreme.  And as I hear the words of Jesus, I can only move forward cautiously, scared of what the implications of his strong bidding might be for me.  And I think to some extent I agree with many others who believe that his words are only hyperbole – pointing at the drastic challenge of discipleship. 

But that is what we are asked today - to consider the cost of discipleship.  This is the only place in the Gospel that this phrase is used, yet it is a familiar one.   Cost implying that we must give up something, or some of our resources, for something else.  The word cost implies change.  Change can mean transformation.  It means we lose something else, possibly our possessions and our families. 

For example – if you are struggling to make sense as a Christian and the looming possibility of war in Syria, you are not alone.  This very dilemma keeps me up at night.  On one hand we have heard over and over “Blessed are the Peacemakers” yet our faith has also taught us that each human life is precious and worth saving.  As more military intervention draws near, we fear for our loved ones who serve, we pray for wise judgment for our leaders, and we pray for all who are in harm’s way.  I wish I had a good answer as to how to respond faithfully, but what I can tell you is that the Gospel reminds us that there is a cost of being a Disciple that can drive us away from our friends and families.  The cost of discipleship means that we very likely cannot appease the world, the public, and even possibly our families if we are to follow Jesus Christ.  The Cost of discipleship means that the road ahead is tough.  It means leaving behind the influences of the world to say that the way we move forward is a response to our discipleship.  What that looks like is for each of us to prayerfully consider.  But it very well might come at a cost.   

Throughout Luke’s Gospel, we are given a vision of following Christ that is constantly challenging us.  It leads us, over and over again into places that stir us up and make us uncomfortable. It causes us to wrestle with the cost of following Jesus.  But the cost ultimately leads us to the cross.  And what we must always remember is the gift of the cross – that is Grace. 

Father Chip is really pushing me to study the Bowen theory of family systems.  He, along with many others who have studied church structures and pastoral theology, believe it to be the key to understanding congregations.  One of the major concepts in Bowen theory claims that our success in life is predicated on the ability to function outside of what we have learned or inherited from our family.  If we are able to broaden the scope of our behavior we have a greater chance at success.   If we can just move beyond all those good and not-so-good traits that we have inherited from our families, we can more healthily function in society. 

And this is all related to grace – the free gift of salvation.  The cost of discipleship must be understood in light of grace, the other theme of Luke.  I cannot imagine my life without my family, but there is something liberating about leaving behind what I have inherited from them.  Yes, both the good and the not so good.  When we truly become a follower of Jesus we can let go of our identity that is rooted in family and our family history.  We can let go of who everyone around us expects us to be.  Or how they expect us to function.  We can let go of all the possessions, the gifts, and the burdens because we have taken on a new identity – as a disciple of Jesus Christ.  Like all things that have a cost – in giving up something we receive something else.  The cost of discipleship demands that we turn our lives fully over to God.  And in that we find grace and salvation.  

Sermon Preached on September 8th

Church of the Annunciation

The School Cafeteria and Extending an Invitation

Luke 14:1, 7-14

Back when Lindsay Lohan’s career trajectory was moving upward, she starred in a wonderfully horrible film called “Mean Girls.”  The movie played on all the stereotypes of high school – you had the band geeks, the jocks, the nerds, the theater kids, and the “plastics” which was a new term for me.  The plastics were the extremely popular girls and were they ever mean.  And then there was Cady, played by Lohan who had lived in Africa her whole life, her parents had just moved back to the United States and so she enters high school, incredibly smart, attractive, and completely unaware of the hierarchy of high school social groups.  Therefore she has the opportunity to figure it all out. 

The movie is about Cady’s trail of figuring out the social dynamics of school and as one would expect she desires more than anything to become one of the cool girls, a mean girl, a ‘plastic.’  And she does, and overthrows the queen bee Regina.  During that struggle, here is a conversation taking place at the equivalent of a wedding banquet – the fancy cafeteria lunch.

Gretchen: Regina, we have to talk to you.

Regina: Is butter a carb?

Cady: [Rudely] YES.

Gretchen: Regina, you're wearing sweatpants. It's Monday.

Regina: So...?

Karen: So that's against the rules, and you can't sit with us.

Regina: Whatever. Those rules aren't real.

Karen: They were real that day I wore a vest!

Regina: Because that vest was disgusting!

Gretchen: You can't sit with us!

Regina: [pause] These sweatpants are all that fits me right now.

Regina: [after being ignored] Fine! You can walk home, *&^%%$.

There is a feeling that where you sit in the cafeteria defines who you are. 

Which is nothing new. 

The school cafeteria has always existed.  In ancient Palestine, there were special seats in wedding feasts.  The men would recline on couches and a center couch existed for the person of honor.  Honor depended on wealth, power, or political office and if some showed up late to the party, as was often the case, a little game of musical chairs was played and the most prominent guest would end up in the middle.  If you choose the worst place in the party, you have no option but to move up if someone lower in status arrives. 

And it is not surprising that we identify with this story in Luke’s Gospel.  We have been experiencing this since we began in primary school.  We dreaded it in middle school, we loathed it in high school, and we are ashamed of it as adults.  

I was walking down the street in my neighborhood the other day.  There are 22 kids on the block and I mistakenly asked a mom where her child went to school.   She responded, but I could sense this mom was hesitant to share.  The public vs. private school world in Memphis, just another example of the dreadful cafeteria and having to sit at certain lunch table that defines who we are. 

We are all to some extent trying to figure out our place in life.

A lot of the deep theological concepts that we wrestle with every single day are not really spelled out in the Bible.  If they were, I wonder if you would have tens of thousands of different Christian denominations all believing they have it figured out rightly. To some extent this exists because Jesus taught using metaphors and parables.  They are rich ways of opening up our hearts and minds to that which we can’t really understand – the rich mystery of faith.  

One of the themes that has moved through the sermons the last few weeks is the Kingdom of Heaven.  As a people of faith we wait for the kingdom of heaven to be ushered in on earth.  Or maybe we believe it is here now and we can catch glimpses of it from time to time when life is moving in harmony with God.   Throughout the Gospels Jesus is often referring to the Kingdom of God as a wedding banquet.  So when we hear this parable in today’s Gospel we should immediately begin asking question – what does this have to do with the kingdom of God.  And is my struggle to find acceptance and my location in the world not only a present emotional reality but a spiritual one as well?

I think the first reality is one we know well.  In this week’s “Thinking Ahead”, I quoted Golda Meir, the prime Minister of Israel in the 1970s, who made this snarky comment to a visiting Ambassador – “Don’t be so humble.  You are not that great.”  Humility is the remarkable sign of the ultimate greatness.  And boy is it ever hard to really be humble.   We have all met remarkable life changing people who are doing so much good for the world.  And if they have too much ego, too much pride, we want nothing to do with them.  And when we get really excited about our own accomplishments, we have to be so careful to temper how we share what are involved in or our own need for credit.  Which brings me to what I believe the first of two points our Gospel can invite us to consider about the kingdom of heaven. 

The work of God in our lives is pulling us forward to a greater place of life – the kingdom, and we participate in this action through humility.  The parable of the wedding banquet encourages the listener to move to the lowest seat in order to be elevated.  The reason being, that Palestine weddings assumed movement and a constant stream of new visitors.  Our humility allows for other people to be lifted up as well. 

What, I am saying is that the kingdom of heaven is full of many guests.  And our humility allows all to be lifted up in life.  This is about the ministry of all.  It is about humility allowing each gift of each person in this community to take the place of honor.  Our task is about making the space for all people to use their gifts, to be a part of the community.  This is a lesson I need to deeply learn.  In my own life, in my gifts of ministry I can get side tracked into trying to accomplish a lot of tasks and do a lot of things.  And if that inhibits others from participating, I have pushed my own humility out of the equation.  If you are person who operates similarly to me, today’s Gospel is a chance to reflect about humility and making space for others. 

If you are person who doesn't think your gifts are not being used, I hope you hear the plea for your presence and your talent.  As a people of faith, we do not walk alone, but are all drawn together to bring about the kingdom of heaven, which brings me to my second point. 

What separates people from the kingdom is an invitation.  Jesus follows up the parable with another plea to invite the marginalized in society.  He reminds the apostles to invite people to parties that have nothing material to give back, or no other invitations.  He mentions the poor, the blind, and the lame.  What is evident is that the people we don’t expect to be at the party are the very ones we are supposed to be inviting.  It is an extension of the kingdom of heaven, and who is there… all, the ones who are so hesitant to get involved with.  And while this Gospel is also a plea to reach out to all, to not do the typical social climbing, or networking that is part of American privileged culture, this story also points to another possibility – the kingdom of God is only an invitation away.  And guess who has the invitations. 

Funny that we have mailed out 350 postcards inviting people back to be with us to celebrate 25 years of being church.  But of course, the parable goes much deeper, is much richer, and needs much more to be heard.    The Gospel make a few claims, one specifically in Matthew 16:19 where Matthew says, “I give you the keys to the kingdom.”  I think that while we may not fully ever understand what this kingdom of heaven really is, the reality that we long for, and we what catch glimpses of from time to time, is only an invitation away.  It is about how we open ourselves and our community up to be welcoming to all.  And how do we as individuals become available?  Is it about what we expect in return?  Do we seek out friends who are similar to us and make us comfortable and less available to others? Maybe humility is the ability to see someone who society sees as having nothing to offer, an to allow them a space to make an offering.   

The kingdom is only an invitation away, and we are called to be an inviting congregation.  I wish I had definitive answers to what this looked like.  And I don’t, but I am excited to be a part of a conversation that is exploring how we more fully open this property to the greater community wanting nothing in return except to glorify God.   While I wrestle with what an inviting congregation should be, and what this reality looks like, I think we can be confident, that our humility can allow for an invitation to be heard.    By our humility, we create space for others to use their gifts, and that is an invitation all by itself. It is an invitation to leave the school cafeteria. It is an invitation that all can receive, and it is a good place to begin.   

Amen.

Where is My Place Card?

Thinking Ahead: Luke 14:1,7-10

The Invasive Nature of God & Why We Should Dream

Jeremiah 1:4-10, Luke 13:10-17

The Kingdom of God.   Are we there yet?  Is it here, present among us as we act live and be in relationship with God?  Or is it something that is coming.  Realized or future?  Present, or not yet? Today is the first time and for the next several weeks, we will hear the young boy Jeremiah.  He is a young preacher, full of energy and excitement who questions his call because of his youthfulness and his lack of experience.   The text reminds Jeremiah that God has always known him and will always be with him.  And that God will put words into his mouth.  And then Jeremiah’s words are going to be used to pluck up and pull down, destroy and overthrow, build and to plant. 

I think Jeremiah’s story is very present in the lives of Church of the Annunciation.  As we plan for celebrating our 25^th anniversary, we look back on our young history.  We are one of the youngest, if not the youngest church in the diocese of West Tennessee.  25 years is a blip in the course of history.   With all of these beautiful old cathedrals and churches with rich histories in our diocese, in the country, in the world, what possibly could Annunciation have to offer not only Cordova, but the entire Memphis area?

Yet God used the young boy Jeremiah, his youthful energy, and his lack of experience, probably in part because Jeremiah realized his inexperience and accepted who he was, no more, no less.  He was just a young boy, and we are just a young church, just a small child in the sight of all others, with so much energy and excitement about what both can offer to the world.    

And our history is storied.  Jeremiah’s reminder that his words are going to be used pluck up and pull down, destroy and overthrow, build and plant, might strike a little too close to home for those that have been here the longest.  The negative images of plucking, pulling, destroying, and overthrowing, are not the memories we want to remember, but then Jeremiah’s words move to building and planting.  These connote growth and renewal, and they remind us that the pain of growing and being community bears new life, restoration, and reconciliation.  

This is a carry over from last week when we examined the grit and grind of being Christians, and the hard work it takes to be people of faith.  Which is why I find it so comforting to encounter the woman that we hear about in Luke who receives the healing of Jesus.  The Gospel is full of healing stories.  People searching for healing, people who travel miles and endure great journeys.  There is a woman in the Bible who crossed all sorts of cultural boundaries who while bleeding, touched the clothes of Jesus.   Or Jesus who spit on the ground and rubs mud in the eyes of the blind man who wanted to see, or Mary and Martha who demanded that Jesus heal and raise Lazarus from the dead.  Yet this story is different. 

Today, we encounter a woman who did not stand up straight for 18 years.  This is a good portion of her life, filled with being pulled down, self destroyed, and unable to live into who she was meant to be.  Yet this woman does not seek healing.   Presumably she has not heard of Jesus, or she does not buy into the rumors floating around.  Instead, Jesus seeks her out, bringing healing in a most unexpected way.  It takes no effort on her part, no need to reach out, but healing comes to her, breaking through to lift her up to the full stature of her personhood. 

What is missing from the lectionary is the context for this miracle story.  This story is actually bookended by two parables which provides for an interesting reading of the account.  First, in the beginning chapter 13, we hear the parable of the fig tree which is a commentary on repentance.  Following the healing narrative is the parable of the mustard seed and parable of leaven.  These parables are often seen as addressing discouragement and despair when a community feels they have failed.  These parables are about the reign of God, the kingdom, and God’s realm. 

And set down right in the middle is the story of a woman who is sought out by Jesus bringing healing and enabling her to stand up to be the person she was created to be.   God breaking into this world, without asking, without being sought after to heal, restore, and make new.  That is news we all need to hear.

50 years ago, almost to the day, 250,000 people converged on the National Mall in the largest public demonstration in American History, and with a single speech, one man changed the course of American History.  Drawing on the Bible, The Constitution, The Emancipation Proclamation, and “My Country Tis of Thee”, Martin Luther King Jr. shared with the American public a vision for the kingdom of God in his famous “I Have a Dream” a speech. 

He said, “I have a dream today” and it changed the course of human history.  Michele Norris of NPR recalled this week that while in some ways we have exceeded King’s vision, we still have much work to do.  Is the kingdom here, present among us, or is it not yet? Realized or future?  King had a dream and it spurred America, and consequently the rest of the world to move forward, to begin the process of healing, and bringing about the kingdom of God. 

As I look at the remarkable timeliness of our lectionary, not only in the course of our national history, but as our history of being Church of the Annunciation, I believe the great Saint Martin Luther King Jr. has something remarkable to offer each of us.  And that is the need to have a dream, to look for what is ideal and what we want the world to look like, and what we want our community to become.  We are called to dream.  Whether it is through helping with the 25^th or imagining how we can use our property, we can dream.  We can imagine what a full all-ages Sunday school can look like, with an overflowing level 1 and level 2 atrium would be.  We can dream of formation opportunities each day of the week, of a knitting ministry, of a food bank, of a renovated trail with a stations of the cross, a flat volleyball court, of a weekday service, of partnerships with schools, diocese in other parts of the world, and so much more.  We dream, because dreaming helps to usher in a new reality.  Dreaming moves us in a direction. 

The encounter of the woman who is healed by Jesus must be seen in light of the larger narrative.  As we seek to understand the realm of God, the kingdom, we are comforted that God breaks through.  This is a wonderful wonderful thing.  God is invasive, searches us out to stand us up straight.  Or the story of Jeremiah in his youthful inexperience, is also the reassurance that God has known him since before he was born. 

In context of our church lives, we are six weeks away from celebrating our 25^th Anniversary.  To date, over 350 postcards have been mailed (only 20 have been returned), press releases have been sent out.  We are preparing for an unbelievable celebration because as a church we have a dream what we can offer this community, the larger community of Cordova and the diocese of West Tennessee.    We look forward to gathering with several hundred people, people we have not known long, and people we have known a long time to celebrate all of the wonderful memories.  Yet we acknowledge that not all of the memories were pleasant, yet through gathering and welcoming others, telling stories, and celebrating our history, we pray that healing might come in a most unexpected way.

And in context of our own lives, today’s Gospel can be a reminder that we need to dream of what life can be.  Smack in the middle of a parable of repentance and a parable of the vision of a kingdom comes unexpected healing.   Maybe all we need to do is a little self-examination, remembering our own histories and conflict, retell our own story which can help us all to be more available for growth and transformation.  This is good news.  Amen.  

Sermon Preached on August 25th, 2013 at Church of the Annunciation