Let me be a Witness: Advent 1, Year B

I am stunned by the reality that today marks the beginning of the third week of Advent. How can this be? To be honest, I’m never ready for Christmas by the third Sunday of Advent. Rarely do I buy Christmas presents on time, despite the ease of Amazon prime. Often, it’s our daughter who gets the house decorated by now (she grows impatient waiting on her parents to pull the lights down from the attic). This year, like most years before it, I’m simply moving from one activity to the next: caught up in the energy and busy-ness of the season. 

Of course, this year is different from all other years. Instead of prepping the house for visitors, I’m pre-recording worship services. There’s no long wait at the post office to ship presents. There IS splurging for two day shipping, hoping gifts will arrive on time. There are no parties or Christmas cookie exchanges. Instead, our family wonders how we can make this Christmas more unique. We are trying to honor being together and all the people and traditions we miss.

One tradition that I will miss is the Christmas pageant. Christmas pageants are a new tradition in my life. When I was a small child, we traveled to my grandparents for Christmas. Then, as I grew older, we stayed home at Christmas and attended “midnight” mass (no pageant at midnight mass - all the children are in bed by then). After college, working at an Episcopal school, I experienced my first Christmas pageant. Christmas pageants have been an adult experience for me: as a chaplain, priest, and parent.  And, I love them. Every year, through costume and music, the story unfolds. Here is the angel Gabriel. Here is Mary, and Joseph, and the donkey. Here is the innkeeper, the shepherds, their sheep, stars and angels. Here is the baby, our Christ. The pageant invites the children, invites all of us, to find our place in the story. 

One character who is rarely, if ever, found in the pageant is John the Baptist. Maybe that’s because no one wants to wear camel’s hair? More likely, it’s because we associate John with Jesus’ adulthood. Of course, Luke weaves Jesus and John together from infancy. And mostly, John baptizing Jesus is the story we know. Notice, in John’s Gospel, John is not the baptizer; he is the witness. If John (the Baptist) was in the pageant, he’d be a sole voice, standing the in the wilderness: “Look,” he’d say, “There’s the lamb of God.” Would he be at the beginning or the end - or both?

Forgive me while I chase a rabbit here, there’s a point to the chase. All while preparing this sermon I kept getting distracted: John the Gospel writer and John the baptizer. How to distinguish between each? And, this is how John’s Gospel works: words repeated with different characters and images for a purpose. BOTH John the Gospel writer and John the baptizer are witnesses; they “testify to the light, so that all might believe…” The Gospel inherits John the baptizer’s witness. And we are to do the same: to come, see, and believe. The point is we inherit John’s ministry, like the Gospel writer, and become witnesses.

In John’s Gospel, a witness does more than tell a story or attest to what they have seen. A witness or witnessing leads to belief. At the end of the Gospel we hear: “…these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” (John 20: 31). The power of witness is the life it brings to the listener, the reader, to the whole world.

Let’s talk about Jesus for a minute. Who is he and what does he do? He is the light of the world that shines in the darkness and will not be overshadowed. He is the Incarnate Word, present from the beginning, life for everyone. He is the power by which we are children of God, born from God. From him, we receive “grace upon grace” (John 1: 16). By his life, death, and resurrection, our lives are bound to His life. This is God’s life reconciling creation to God’s own self. On Christmas morning, when we sing “Joy to the Word the Lord has come let earth receive her king…,” this is what we sing: that Christ Jesus came to us and for us, and not just for us, for the whole world. This is our witness, our testimony: Jesus, the Son of God, born of a woman, calling us to come and see: healing, forgiveness, and abundant life for all.

Those of us who believe in Jesus the Christ, the incarnate word of God, are witnesses. We have a story to tell of how Jesus transformed our lives. Maybe it’s a story, like Nicodemus, of finding new life, being born again. Maybe it’s a story, like the woman at the well, of finding meaning and value in our lives. Maybe it’s a story, like those at the feeding of the 4000, of discovery: that God, through the life of Jesus, gives us all we need. For me, following Jesus has led me to a life of humility, mercy, and grace. 

Without Christ, I depend solely on my self and am ruled by anxiety and narcissism. I wonder, how are you a witness to Jesus?

John the baptizer, the first witness, is the standard for our witness. John the baptizer escapes every name. He is a voice making a way for the Christ. He baptizes with water only to prepare for the One who is greater than all others. Everything he does points away from himself and to the Christ, and not for his sake. He takes up this witness “so that all may believe.”

May we take a moment and examine our lives. How are we a witness to the Incarnate Word? How does the light of Christ in our lives break through the darkness? How do we make the paths straight, a way for the Word of the Lord in the world?

Here, at the Cathedral, we’ve used our resources to benefit our community: building an awning for St. Francis House, offering warm clothing for Dorcas House and El Zocola, and supporting The Stewpot. We’re also working diligently to offer a variety of ways for for our community to come close to God through prayer and worship. There are other ways, of course. Every time we love God and our neighbor we live in service to God’s kin_dom. We are witnesses of Christ’s reconciling love to the world. 

May we witness Christ’s reconciling work in creation. May we believe in the transformative power of Christ in our lives and the world. May we know Christ and make him known. Amen.

We remember. We press on: The Feast of All Saints

I recently had the pleasure of presiding at a wedding. It was wonderful. The bride and groom gathered with family in the Chancel. The flowers were perfect, the music glorious. And the bride and groom themselves were delightful. As they bound themselves to one another, I had a glimpse of God’s presence in our midst. It was a moment of God’s mercy, grace, and of course, love: faithful, honest love.

You may know that First Corinthians chapter 13 is one of the most popular readings for a wedding. Perhaps you’ve heard it: Love is patient, love is kind… Speaking for myself, I rarely listen to the whole text anymore. I think I already know it. Yet, when I really listen and seek to follow Paul’s guidance on love, I am transformed. 
Over the last few years, I’ve found that the Beatitudes have also become popular for weddings. And I’m always so pleased when couples choose this portion of the Sermon on the Mount. The Beatitudes invite us to experience God amidst some hard realities in our lives. If a couple chooses this reading, they seem to acknowledge that hard things will come.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit…” 

A bit easier to ponder for some than Luke’s version: “Blessed are you who are poor…” (Lk 16: 20) To be honest, I’m not really sure what it means. Are we poor in spirit when we are feeling sad or lonely? Are we poor in spirit when we recognize our dependence on God? Is this a bit like the first will be the last and the last will be first?

“Blessed are those who mourn…” 

Do we imagine there is blessing in our mourning? Probably not while we are deeply in our mourning. Yet, when we hold one another in our grief, when we share our sorrows with one another, blessings come. There is a sacredness, a sacrament of God’s community and kin_dom, when we mourn.

“Blessed are the meek…” 

Indeed, every relationship and community benefits from patience and gentleness. And people I know who practice these (meekness, humility) are blessings, to me, in and of themselves. 

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” 

We all know that life is uncertain and there will be moments of grief and humility. To me, this beatitude, though, presents a particular challenge. How do we hunger or thirst for righteousness? What is righteousness; who decides? Many of Jesus’ teachings challenge us to move from self-righteousness to righteousness, from moral superiority to justification. Justification or sanctification in the Christian life comes from binding our life to Christ. In other words, we are made holy by the ministry of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. When we hunger for Christ in our lives, we come close to God.

“Blessed are the merciful…the pure in heart…the peacemakers…” 

These are all fairly palatable and strong wisdom for marriage, or any relationship. Mercy, faithfulness, peace making make for good connections in community. They are primary ways to love God and our neighbor.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake…Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you…”

These last few verses are very compelling and uncomfortable. Couples are inclined to leave these out for their wedding. (Rare is the person who wants to equate marriage with persecution.) These two Beatitudes are very specific to the Christian life: what does it mean to bind our life to Christ? How do we live as peace makers, loving God and our neighbor? Will it require our social standing, hostility and criticism, even our lives? Following Christ may cost us something, more than just giving up our way. When we choose Christ’s way over any other, we come very close to God, like the prophets, like the saints. These Beatitudes are stark reminders that God’s ways come first, above human glory; and, our desire for human glory can be hard to shed.

The Greek word we translate as blessed is makarios. If there’s anything I’ve learned studying the Beatitudes it is this: this word does not naturally translate to English. Blessed could mean happy. Except, makarios doesn’t mean happy the way we imagine happiness. Rarely is anyone who is mourning walking around joyful and laughing. Blessed could mean blessed; but, again, not the way we mean commonly mean blessed. We often consider being blessed along the lines of being prosperous, fortunate, or enviable. Rarely do we equate persecution with fortune or prosperity. Blessed could mean greatly honored. That translation helps me the most. Indeed, I honor those who mourn, the humble or meek, the merciful, and the peacemakers. And, perhaps that’s a good motivator for embodying The Beatitudes. Whatever translation works for us, the point is that these ways, the ways highlighted by The Beatitudes, are closest to the ways of God. 

We can find God in self-less-ness, grief, humility, a desire for doing what is right, and compassion. We will find God when we seek peace and righteousness, when we follow God’s ways before any other. If we’re looking for God’s plan, if we’re looking for ways of belonging, if we’re looking for the image of God, The Beatitudes are a clue.

This is why we read The Beatitudes on All Saints’ Day. Consider anyone you imagine a saint (we’re about to read a long list), do we imagine that their lives resemble the ways found in The Beatitudes? 
I didn’t know St. Francis or St. Clare. And we consider them saints. Their lives are measured in acts of mercy, humility, and an ardent desire for righteousness. 

You don’t know The Groundhog Queen. She isn’t perfect. And she’s a lot of fun. She is loving and kind, gracious and self-giving. She is humble and pure of heart. She has borne deep grief. My friend, The Groundhog Queen, is joyful in the Lord. She wants nothing more than to share that joy with you. She is a saint. 

I never met Bishop Pierce, Mary Worthen, Jim Moseley, or Gordon Wittenburg. Yet, they are saints in the life of this parish. Men and women who sought the ways of God in their life and the life of this church.

The Feast of All Saints is the day to remember. The heart of Christian community is the desire to follow Christ: to pursue righteousness, God’s way of love, to risk seeking God before ourselves. The life of faith is marked by poverty of spirit, mourning, humility, and mercy; markers often scorned, belittled, and feared by our culture. Our community bears the marks of those who came close to God right here on Spring Street. It was no easy task building community on the corner of 17th and Spring Street. Many people gave, and continue to give, generous offerings of themselves to this place. And, even if they found glory in these offerings, it is Christ who reigns. Enter into the Garth, the Garden, the Cathedral and we will find ourselves surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses: lives measured in acts of love rooted in something greater than themselves. We remember.

And we press on. This afternoon (Tomorrow evening), as I’m installed as the Dean and Rector, we will also baptize two adults. Perhaps this is a holy coincidence. More likely, this is God’s way of nudging us closer to who God calls us to be: a gentle reminder that the life of the Cathedral is not about us. Our life together is a sign and symbol, a sacrament, of something greater than ourselves. God is working, at all times and in all places, to reconcile us to God’s self. As we seek Christ’s ways, we bind ourselves to his life, death, and resurrection: we are raised to new life in Him. Our community, yoked in Christ’s love for the world, has the power to bring God’s reconciling love to the world. If we remember anything today, may it be that we are a community of God’s saints: those who strive to seek God, to follow Christ, in all times and all places.

Over the last few months, I have experienced the great pleasure it is to be “The Dean.” Of course, I long to know more of you and more about each of you. And, what I already know, what you’ve already taught me about you, is: kindness, hospitality, a deep desire to serve, and your hunger for God. I know that you grieve, personal and communal losses. And I know that you hope, that you believe God raises us up from what presses in on us. I am honored to grieve with you, to dream about the future, to bind our hopes together. I am delighted to be a member of this community of God’s saints.

I am so excited for our future. I know it will not be easy. Our desire to love God and our neighbors is our foundation as we face any challenge. We know hard things will come. And we know we will experience God in the midst of them. Blessed are we when we search for God and find God. Blessed are we when we mourn, for we will find comfort.

Blessed are we when we seek ways of meekness, righteousness, purity, and peacemaking, for we will come close to God. And may God grant us strength and courage to keep searching, keep following, keep showing up, that we may see God again and again and again…Alleluia! And thanks be to God!

Be at peace: Proper 23A

Recently, I saw a twitter thread about the six month mark of a crisis. It came from a crisis journalist: someone who covers long term conflict and trauma. He was writing to share his experience with these people and places. He wrote that the six month mark of any crisis looks and feels very similar to the beginning. Even though there is change, the exhaustion comes afresh. The feelings of grief, loss, and change rise to the surface again. Now is the time to remember to take care of ourselves, if we can: to eat and rest well, he wrote.

Here we are: six months into COVID social distancing and the grief resonates all around me. There is so much I miss. I miss restaurants, movies, and date nights. I miss coffee hour, Sunday school, and Communion. I feel the loss of having some sense of what each day will bring. Every day brings a remember that (to quote a friend) all 2020 plans are fluid. I’m trying to stay as flexible and adaptable as possible. And I want everything to go back to normal; except, what is normal? I am tired and tempted to fall into bad habits. I am trying to be gentle to myself so that I can be gentle with my neighbor. Sometimes, to offer rest to my soul, I come into the Cathedral to pray. I sit in the silence and wonder. I wonder which pew is your pew. I try to listen: for the choir, the creaking of the pews, children’s laughter, and the lifting of our voices in prayer together. I know that it will not be like this forever. I am trying to let myself grieve, so that my hope for the future can thrive.

Scripture tells the story again and again of God’s people in the desert, or metaphorical deserts. These are not always struggles. The desert becomes a place where the absence or search for God is palpable. Adam and Eve are thrown out of the garden. Abraham and Sarah finding God in the stars and sand. Joseph is sold by his brothers into slavery and taken to a foreign land. Moses, Aaron, and Miriam lead their people from slavery into a desert. The people of Israel watching their kingdom fall and sent into exile by foreign empires. Jesus driven into the desert encountering Satan. The disciples hiding in the upper room, afraid and grieving the death of their friend and teacher. Paul sitting in a prison cell, wondering if his life or death will spread the Gospel. The desert is not one place. It is the place where our grief and hope meet; our yearning to understand where God is in our deepest suffering and greatest joy. 

The letter or letters to the Philippians is written while Paul is in prison, probably in Rome. What we call the letter to the Philippians is likely the remnants of four letters. The threads of friendship, joy, and the glory of Christ hold our version of the letter together. Paul hints that the Philippians are suffering or facing opposition. Paul uses his suffering to encourage them. 
Philippians is a short book, four chapters. I encourage you to read it. Last week, the Sub-dean drew on those marvelous phrases: “I press on…straining forward to what lies ahead…” Provocative reminders that, whatever our circumstances, we continue to reach for Christ. 

Paul seeks purpose while in prison, believing his death will bring life to him and the Gospel. And Paul depends on the faith of his friends and the power of the Holy Spirit. Most of all, Paul binds himself, his life and death, to Christ. He encourages the Philippians, he encourages us, to do the same. The life we find in Christ, even as we suffer, strengthens us for all our circumstances.  

How, then, do we bind ourselves to Christ? In baptism? In the Eucharist? Yes AND in joy and gentleness and peace. There is no either-or. Baptism and Eucharist unite us to Christ’s life and death that he may dwell in us and we in him. The story, our story, though does not end there. We are sent into the world to love and serve. This is its own binding: glorifying Christ with our lives, loving God and our neighbor as Christ loves us. 

Our reading today comes just after Paul urges unity in the community. We don’t know the conflict between Euodia and Syntyche. We can imagine; there are all kinds of ways we are divided from one another, even in the church. He reminds the community, then, what they have in common: they “have struggled beside [him] for the sake of the Gospel.” For the sake of the Gospel, they must remember their common goal: the glory of Christ. This purpose binds them to one another and to Christ; this purpose is their community.

Then Paul encourages them. He commends practices of joy, gentleness, and peace. He invites prayer in the face of worry. Seek truth, honor, justice, and purity, a list of philosophies that pair well with the Gospel. His assumption is that we agree on what is true and honorable, just and pure. Because he assumes all of these are rooted in Christ. What are the things we have learned, received, heard, and seen in Paul? They are a life lived devoted to the ministry and glory of Christ. Follow Christ, yoke ourselves to Christ’s life, and we have all we need. In Christ, our divisions cease; we have union with God and one another.
Here we are in the desert. We miss our church. We miss our community. How can we bind our selves to Christ and one another when everything is so different? 

We practice. We study scripture, remembering the story of God’s ongoing activity in the world. We pray, giving thanks and interceding on behalf of all of creation. We seek Christ, practicing gentleness and turning our minds towards truth and justice. We practice all that we have learned and received. These words of Paul, to me, are a series of sayings we can keep in front of us at all times. Embroider them on a pillow or hand letter them on a card. Choose your favorite verse and write it on a post-it note. And, let’s remember that Paul wrote these words during some of his darkest days. They are not a glossing over of suffering and hardship. They are reminders that there is more to us than our circumstance. We are faithful members of Christ’s body; our lives vehicles for Christ’s peace to the world. 

Dear beloved children of God, be at peace. Be gentle to yourselves and one another; pray for one another trusting the Holy Spirit to empower and strengthen us. These days may seem dark and divided. And, as we seek Christ in all things, we will know His peace. For Christ is with us. 

By whose authority: Proper 21A

Authority: who has it and who gets it? Parents have it - or that’s a rumor I heard once. And, we know it’s a good thing when children begin questioning that authority. In my mind, teacher’s have it. Until I remember the first time I questioned what I was taught. Then, I began to wonder: why do I give teachers authority? The same thing happened to me in the church. The church has all kinds of categories for authority that work - until they don’t. Abuses of power, decisions we disagree with, order we don’t want to fall: all of these are moments when we question authority. 

“By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” The question comes from the Chief Priests and the Elders. Who are they, we might wonder. These are the elite, the leaders of the Temple. They are the ones in charge of the Temple. And, in case we wonder why they are asking the question, here’s what Jesus has been up to in the Temple:
Jesus entered the temple and drove out all who were selling and buying in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold doves. He said to them, ‘It is written,
“My house shall be called a house of prayer”;
   but you are making it a den of robbers.’
The blind and the lame came to him in the temple, and he cured them. (Matthew 21: 12-14).
This is, of course, after he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey while the people cried, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” He is hailed as King and then behaves like a king, or at least as one who has power. Except, he is not the “official” authority. He is not a chief priest or elder; he is not one of the elite Temple authority. Why, then, is he acting like one; why is he claiming power as someone who decides the use and care of the Temple? What authority does he have and who gave it to him?

Today’s Gospel is the beginning of five challenges between Jesus and the Temple authorities. The stakes are high. Twice Matthew tells us that the Chief priests AND Pharisees are trying to entrap Jesus. They want him to fail. He undermines their authority. They have created a system that works well for the elite: filling up the treasury and requiring the people to travel hundreds of miles to worship. Meanwhile, Jesus has fed and healed the crowd. As he journeys across Israel, Jesus tells the crowd, “the kingdom of God is near to [them].” The crowd, for now, is loyal to Jesus. The problem is the chief priests and elders depend on the crowd. Indeed, the crowd has its own power. If the leaders of the Temple lose their authority, what will happen: to the Temple, to them, to a whole way of life that depends on certain people being in charge. And so, the chief priests and elders, the Pharisees and scribes, are united in one goal: to reveal Jesus as a fraud, to prove he has no authority. Jesus must succeed at every challenge.

Today’s challenge is the longest and includes three parables. The chief priests and elder come out with their strongest punch: prove you are who you say you are. Except they already know who he is. His life, as told in the Gospel, tells them all they need to know. They are avoiding the real question: how will it change them, if they believe? They are not leaders. Instead, they are power hoarders who care little for the people under their authority. Already, in the first challenge, Jesus shows how their power is weak and ineffective.

Jesus’ answer to the question comes in two parts: a question and three stories. Each piece chips away at Jesus’ accusers. 
First: What about John? John appears in the wilderness proclaiming a Baptism of repentance (Matthew 3: 1). Crowds from all over the region come to be baptized by him. Even the Pharisees and scribes come for baptism. John rebukes them: “You brood of vipers!” he says, “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance.” It is not enough to be baptized: they must be transformed; they must change their ways. John calls their authority into question because of the duplicitous nature of their actions. And John continues to assert his own authority with an added warning, “I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me…” John prepares the way for Jesus, exalting his authority above his own. John and Jesus are intimately linked. John’s baptism prepares us to follow Christ into the fullness of God’s kingdom among us.

The Chief Priests and elders are in a tight spot. The crowd, a crowd loyal to John’s baptism, is watching them. If they reject John, the crowd may revolt: the community agrees that John is a prophet. If they affirm John’s, then why do they not submit to John’s baptism and why reject Jesus? They do not know the answer. They have already lost.

Then, Jesus tells a story of two brothers. This is his version, of the two sons tradition. These stories are, hopefully, familiar to us. If not, do a quick Bible search for Cain and Abel, Esau and Jacob, or Aaron and Moses. Luke’s Gospel tells its own version in the parable of “The Prodigal Son.” Today’s parable has its own twist. 

“Which brother does the will of the Father,” Jesus asks. Whenever Jesus asks a question, I assume it’s a maneuver or device. Before I answer, I try to remember how Jesus lived. I try look at the question from the perspective of mercy, or in favor of the most vulnerable. I try to imagine how the question is asking about who is first and who is last. Jesus’ own answer to this question reveals a depth to the parable. Jesus calls attention to those who are normally cast out of the community of the righteous. Except, their faithfulness, shown by repentance and transformation, draws them close to God. The parable is not only about these brothers; it is about anyone who repents and returns to God. 

As we eavesdrop in the Temple, how do we answer Jesus’ questions? How do we understand the baptism of John? Do we unite ourselves to this baptism, repenting and returning to the Lord? How do we judge these two brothers?
Authority: who has it and who gets it? I wonder what authority Jesus has in our lives? 

The first thing Jesus does in the temple is call for justice. He demands that the Temple become a place where people have access to God. He cures the blind and the lame in the temple. Access to God is not limited by what human authority deems righteous. Jesus comes close to the people and reveals God’s mercy for the people.  His actions show how far the Temple has come from God’s ways, God’s authority.

The Gospel shows the difficulty of repentance. For the chief priests and elders to repent, some things will have to change. Are they willing to relinquish themselves, and the systems they depend on, to God’s authority? Are we?

The good news of the Gospel is the mercy of God’s justice. There is John the Baptist, who calls us to repent and bear fruit worthy of repentance. And there are the two brothers. Even the brother who says yes and doesn’t go can still say yes. Any one of us can repent and return. The parable invites us into this wondering. How often have we said no, only to say yes; how often we’ve said yes, when we really meant no? The good news is we can always change our answer; we can always return to God. 
This week as we go about our days: may we be attentive to our yes’ and our no’s, especially to God’s ways in our lives. May we bind our wills to God’s mercy and justice. May we give up ourselves that God’s kin_dom will reign.

The scandalous grace of God's mercy: Proper 20A

At the edge of 6^th street and I-35 in Austin Texas stood a small, ramshackle building. From the outside, we might imagine it is a storage room. Instead, every night about fifty men called this place home or, at least, shelter for the night. In the morning, these men would stand outside and wait. They are day laborers, men whose income depends on a daily work. They have no salary, no budget. They depend on the contractors who pick them up in the morning; and, the promise of a daily wage.  

Many of these men use very little of their wages on themselves. Many of them have family living in other cities. They have come to Austin because the climate and economy promises the most work in a year. They save enough for meager meals and a bed. Everything else is given away to those they love.

I came to know some of these men while I was in seminary. Every Friday a group of us would take homemade bean burritos, fruit and water down to the shelter. We knew there was not much day labor over the weekend and, for some, this would be their only meal. We began to learn their names and share stories. We talked about our families and, of course, Jesus. By the time I graduated and left Austin, these men were imprinted on my life. And it is their faces I imagine when I hear Jesus’ parable of the laborers in the vineyard today.

They know, more than I, what it means to work for that daily wage. They know, more than I, the frustration of watching those who work less be paid the same amount. They know, more than I, how it feels to live at the mercy of the landowner and his justice.

I wonder how they would respond to this parable. Would they, like me, find it shocking?  Would the story offend or comfort them? Would they identify with those who grumble or those who rejoice in the unexpected income? Would they identify me or fellow seminarians as the landowner: those with the privilege and power to hire them and pay them however I choose?

Godly Play is a storytelling practice similar to The Catechesis of the Good Shepherd (our children’s formation curriculum). When we tell the stories of the parable, we use boxes. We wonder about the box. Could be a present - it is a gold box…maybe it is a very valuable present. When we knock on the box, we discover it is made of wood. Wood is strong and sturdy - and it sounds a bit like a door. What could be on the other side of this door? We open the box and discover all the pieces of the story. We begin to tell the story and enter into the kingdom of heaven. Jesus begins, “The kingdom of heaven is like…” Enter into the community - enter into the kingdom. I wonder what we will find in this space?

I want to go back in time for a moment to the beginning of Matthew chapter 20. A young man comes to Jesus and says, “Teacher, what good deed must I do to have eternal life?” Today’s parable ends the teaching that begins with this question. 

There’s a lot that happens in between the two stories. Here’s a brief summary:

• The young man walks away, grieving. It seems his possessions inhibit his ability to follow Christ. 
• Jesus declares:  “Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven.”
• Peter wonders what will come from following Jesus.
• Jesus promises the disciples “twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.”
• But…“But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first,” Jesus says.

Here’s where we find our parable. This is the link from the question to the teaching to the wondering: many who are first will be last, and the last will be first. Imagine standing in any line - being at the front of the line - knowing this makes you first - only to discover that the person at the back of the line - they are first. Feels frustrating to me. There’s no real assurance there, not for me. I want to first, to be first, I must be last. How can I be last without wanting to be first? Dear Jesus, tell me what this means.

“For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard…” 

Who are we in this story? The landowner? The laborers? The first? The last? And what difference does it make?  

The day laborers in Austin showed up every day because this was their work. And it was the work of the landowners to pay those men as they chose. At the end of the day, this is how the work got done. Every morning, we show up. Some of us have the privilege to hire and pay others. Some of us depend on someone else to pay us. Either way, this is how the work gets done. How is this like the kingdom of heaven? 

The scandal of the parable is that everyone earns the same wage. Maybe this is an abuse of power by the landowner. Maybe it is an act of justice and mercy. Either way it creates scandal and drama.

The promise of the Gospel, the promise of Christ’s life, is that we all receive mercy. From the tax collector to the Centurion, there is enough. From you to me, there is enough. For each of our neighbors, there is enough. We may grumble. We may be envious. We may not believe it. And it is true. God’s mercy is a scandalous grace given to all of creation: to each laborer, each landowner; to the day laborers in Austin; to us. This mercy is God’s prerogative. There is no good deed to earn it. It is not ours to own. It is the last and the first. There is more than enough. Mercy for every moment of every life from the One who made us. 

May we know this mercy. May we receive this mercy. May we give this mercy away. Thanks be to God!

Transformed every step of the way: A sermon for Proper 17, Year A (Sunday, August 30, 2020)

The readings for this Sunday can be found here.

Good morning - how are you? It’s been a week. We reached 80,000 deaths from COVID in our country. And we witnessed devastation along the Louisiana and Texas border from Hurricane Laura. There was the shooting of Jacob Blake in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Over the last two weeks, politicians have explained how their political party will save us. Meanwhile, our lives continue. This week I met exhausted teachers, cancer fighters, and those mourning. It’s been more than a week; it’s been a year.

Enter scripture. What meaning or understanding will it bring to our lives?

I will admit my bias. I don’t think the lectionary, the calendar of our Sunday readings, helps our understanding. Scripture is often broken into smaller pieces or out of context. Sometimes, the parts are spread so far apart, they lose their meaning. For example, we began reading Romans June 14th; and we started with Chapter 8. How many of us remember the sermon from June 14th? And who starts a book in the middle? This is not the most helpful way to read (or study) Romans or any Scripture. Yes, the Sunday readings ensure that we are hearing and reading Scripture. To know, in our hearts and minds, how the Scriptures guide us, we must study them.

Consider today’s readings. All summer long we have bounced around in the Hebrew Scriptures. The Lectionary wants to link the Hebrew Scriptures with the Gospel. There could, though, be a great benefit to reading Jeremiah from beginning to end. Then, there’s the Gospel reading. Matthew, the Gospel writer, puts last week’s and this week’s text back to back on purpose. 

He is telling a story about Peter and Jesus. He is also telling a story about discipleship. I cannot encourage you enough: take some time and read all of Matthew’s Gospel at once. Take some time and highlight all the moments Peter and Jesus share. What do these moments teach us about discipleship? How are they part of a larger story of Jesus’ ministry and our ministry?

Let’s put last week and this week back together.

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a man who did such wonderful things and said such amazing things that people followed him wherever he went. Peter was one of them; indeed, he was one of Jesus’ closest friends. 

One time, while they were on their way, Jesus asked his friends, “Who do people say that I am?” They had many answers. Then Jesus asked Peter, “Who do you say that I am?”  “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God,” Peter replied. Indeed, this is exactly who Jesus is. And because Peter knew Jesus and claimed Jesus rightly, Jesus named him “The Rock.” Jesus set Peter free to minister in His name. And the disciples continued on their way.

As they traveled, Jesus began to teach them about the Messiah, about his life. He told them they would go to Jerusalem and there he would be arrested. His arrest would lead to his trial where he would be beaten and sentenced to death. Then, three days after his death, Jesus told them, there would be resurrection. As Peter listened, he wondered how any of this could be true. It felt like Jesus had already given up, like he had already decided to die. He cried out, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” But Jesus said, “Your way is not my way. My way is God’s way. You follow your own desires and becoming a stumbling block. Put your mind on God. Be the rock God made you to be.”

Jesus said many other things to the disciples that day. Later, when Peter told the story, he remembered: the journey to Jerusalem, the cross, and the resurrection. He remembered how Jesus taught them God’s ways. He remembered how he, and all those who followed Jesus, were transformed.

I wonder.

I wonder how does Peter know who Jesus is?

I wonder why Peter cries out against Jesus?

I wonder what are Peter’s ways; what are human ways?

How do these ways, our ways, conflict with God’s ways? 

This is when I urge us to put the whole Gospel back together. Sure, we can wonder about the Gospel in short vignettes. And, our wonderings are informed by all that we know about Jesus, God’s kin_dom, and Peter’s discipleship.

From the beginning of his ministry, Jesus reveals God’s ways. Frankly, Matthew sets the tone in the very beginning. For example, Matthew links the genealogy of Jesus with the visit from wise men. This is the first hint how Matthew will portray God’s ways Matthew links sacred genealogy and history with the tribes of the world. God’s kin_dom is more than what Matthew’s people expect; God’s ways reach beyond their tribes to all the nations. And when Jesus begins his ministry and to teach, the ways of God are made clear: the sick are healed, the poor are blessed, and the people are the light of God to the world.

Imagine a world shaped by the ways of God. Imagine a world where healing the sick was our way. Imagine a world where blessing the poor was our way. Imagine a world where each one of us shined the light of God through our lives into the world.

Last week, when Jesus set Peter free for ministry, this is exactly what He imagined: that Peter would depend on God’s ways more than his own. Faith had already revealed to Peter who Jesus is. Now, that faith will lead Peter as he follows Christ and shares Christ’s ministry with the world. Except, Peter gets in his own way. His faith brings him to the Living God. Now, his faith must grow and bring him closer to the ways of the Living God. For Peter to be truly free, he must continue to bind himself to Christ. This means every step to Jerusalem, the cross, and the empty tomb will transform him.

Every step will transform us. We have all we need to follow Christ’s way in the world. And we are our own stumbling blocks. Even those of us with deep, abiding faith, trip ourselves up. Maybe it’s my selfishness. Maybe I’m more committed to my own health and well-being than my neighbors. Maybe I’m bound to systems, institutions, or political parties, and I lose faith in Christ’s ways. Christ turns to us and says: your ways are not my ways; Put your mind on God; be the rock God made you to be. Again and again, we must commit ourselves to God, who is alive in all of creation. Again and again, we must die to our ways and live by the ways of Christ. We must be transformed by the ministry of Christ “to discern the will of God - what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12; from last week’s readings). 

May we commit ourselves to widening our view and caring for our neighbor. May we put our whole faith in God’s ways: liberating ourselves from institutions and systems that enslave us and trusting Christ to save us. May the Spirit empower us and bind us to Christ’s grace, mercy, and love in every step we take.

Set free for ministry: Proper 16, Year A

The readings for today are found here: The Lectionary Page.

I’m about to say something I rarely say: I’m not a big fan of today’s Gospel. It feels scandalous to say it out loud. Usually, I’m declaring the Gospel my favorite or one of my favorites but not today. Indeed, I spent most of the week trying to craft a sermon on Isaiah or Romans. I even considered preaching the other option for our Hebrew Scripture text this morning (the wonderful story of the five bold women who prepare the way for Moses’ leadership in Exodus 1). And then, on my walk Friday morning, I found myself leaning in to today’s Gospel.

When I listen to the reading from Matthew, my mind lingers on Peter. The problem is I’m not a big fan of Peter’s. I mean, I know I didn’t know him in real life; and, I’m sure he was a great guy. I simply prefer Jesus. And this story, too many times, even by title “Peter’s Confession” puts Peter at the center of the story. I often feel our interpretations of this story focus too much on Peter and not enough on Jesus.

This week, though, I began to wonder what Jesus is up to. Why ask the disciples, or Peter, this question: Who do people say that I am? Why does the question matter? Is this a quiz or, as my Old Testament professor used to say: a guess what the teacher is thinking question? Is he interviewing Peter? What would have happened if Peter’s answer was wrong? Of course, that wouldn’t have happened,or, even if it did, Matthew would not have told us. Matthew’s intent is to lift Peter up: the head of the church, the foundational rock. Matthew, the Gospel writer, includes the question because Peter’s answer gives him authority. Why, though, does Jesus ask the question(s): Who do people say that I am? Who do you say that I am?

Consider the question: who do we say that Jesus is? On any given day, who knows what our answer might be: Moses, Elijah, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets. On another day, we might respond: Emmanuel, Incarnate Word, or Resurrected Christ. Names we find in the Gospels. Or on another day, we might call Jesus the Good Shepherd, the Good Samaritan, or the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Names Jesus uses for himself. If Jesus stood before us today and asked “who do you say that I am,” how would we answer?

Growing up, my religious experience was in a nice Episcopal bubble. I knew kids at school went to other churches and youth groups, and I never paid much attention. I was quite happy at my church with my people. We named Jesus as our friend, comfort, and guide. And I don’t remember ever talking about Jesus outside of church. 

College was when my religious experience widened. I attended a state liberal arts college. In class, the Bible was studied as literature not Holy Scripture. My fellow students were mostly either atheists, agnostic, or Baptist. I spent a lot of time listening as my classmates argued either for or against God and Jesus. For some, Jesus was the only path to salvation, the guarantee of eternal life with God. For others, Jesus was no more than another man for history books. Those years I talked more about Jesus with those outside the church than in the church.

Then, my second Junior year of college (yes, I had a second Junior year), I had the opportunity to study in Northern Ireland. There, I found myself welcomed by the Christian Union. These students invited me into their community and encouraged my faith. 

This was a group of young people who knew the grace and mercy of Jesus in their lives. Their one goal was to share that love with the world. There was no denominational bubble. There was only the love of Christ for the world. 

My faith was renewed and enriched. I began to know Jesus as more than a man of history, more than a friend. I came to know Jesus: the Messiah, the Incarnate Word, the Son of the living God. With this experience, I bound myself to Jesus’ way of life. My faith in Jesus began to root me in Jesus’ love for creation. Yes, my faith in Christ bound me to his resurrection, raising me to a new life. Now, my faith deepened as I sought practices of grace and mercy. As I followed this way, I began to build a foundation, a rock, for my faith and ministry. I discovered that I, like Peter, held the keys to the kin_dom. Following Christ, the son of the living God, liberated me for ministry as a beloved child of God.

Who do you say that I am is a question of faith and personal piety. Our answer reveals our belief about the nature and character of Christ. 

Who do you say that I am is also an invitation. Our answer evokes ministry in Christ’s name. If Jesus is a good man, then we can be good - like him. If Jesus is a friend and companion, we are friends and companions. Today, though Jesus enriches our lives, invites us closer to the presence of God in our lives. 

The Gospel is clear: Jesus is the Son of the living God. This belief transforms us. It means that we, bound to Christ’s life, are children, beloved and chosen, of God: a God who is alive in us and our world. We no longer live for ourselves. We are no longer bound by duty or a moral obligation. Now, the love of God is revealed in the life and ministry of Christ in our lives. God’s grace and mercy, revealed in Christ, sets us free to love and serve all God’s children.

Today, Jesus liberates Peter for ministry. When Peter names Jesus, he binds himself to Jesus’ way of life. In turn, Jesus names Peter: identifying his faithfulness as a beloved child of the living God. Peter’s experiences of Christ’s ministry give him the keys to God’s kin_dom: God’s living love, grace, and mercy revealed in Jesus.

We, like Peter, are set free for ministry, no matter our circumstance. Of course, we yearn to be together. We miss the presence of God we experience when we are together. The question some of us are asking is: What does it mean to be church, to experience God’s kin_dom when we cannot be together? One answer is in our Gospel today. As Christ gives Peter the keys of the kin_dom, they are dropped into our open hearts and hands. We, children of the living God, have all we need to be Christ’s hands and heart in the world. If we believe in a living, loving God revealed in Christ, then we have confidence that God is with us. We have the power to share that love with the world. 

May we name Christ Son of the Living God. May we, by the ministry of Christ, experience God’s grace and mercy in our own lives. May we enact the presence of a living God in our community: loving our neighbors, practicing forgiveness, and seeking Christ in everyone we meet.

Peace be with you,

Amy+

The Fourth Sunday of Easter, Year A: Good Shepherd Sunday

The Fourth Sunday of Easter is always “Good Shepherd Sunday.” Every year we read from Chapter 10 John’s Gospel about shepherds and sheep. In this chapter, Jesus uses a lot of words to describe who he is.

The image or theology of the Good Shepherd is very popular. Psalm 23 is one of the, if not the most, popular Psalms from the Bible. Many of us know the psalm by heart. I learned it when I spent a year reciting the Psalm every morning to make a habit of trusting God. The theology is inherently good: God is our trustworthy guide through good and bad, and, ultimately, the eternal good. It is, perhaps, a particularly poignant image during this time of a global pandemic. The Good Shepherd reminds us: God is with us; we have all we need; and, the ordinary is extraordinary in the presence of God.

All of the Gospels use the image of sheep and shepherds in some way. Sometimes it is the Son of Man separating the sheep and the goats. Other times, Jesus views the crowd as lost sheep without a shepherd.

The Gospel of John, though, is the only Gospel where Jesus calls himself the Good Shepherd. He does so in the middle of a long speech about gates, shepherds, thieves, bandits, and hired hands.

I sometimes feel like Jesus uses too many words (and I love words and Jesus). I find myself trying to keep track of each image, weaving them together in my imagination. By the time I’m done, I feel dizzy and unsure.

I felt especially unsure in John’s Gospel this week. Every day, my mind bounces from one task to the next: the kids’ schoolwork, preparing for Sunday, checking on people, household chores… I’m constantly interrupting myself or being interrupted by someone/something else. I have a feeling this is because of the underlying anxiety that comes with a global pandemic. It’s not that things are bad. And isolation and face masks are just two reminders that life has changed. As I read and re-read this Sunday’s Gospel, I struggled. I would go read or listen to a commentary, and struggle. I would sit down to write and think, and struggle. I couldn’t focus. I felt scattered. I kept wondering: which image is the most important; what do I want to remember about this Sunday’s Gospel?

I want to remember that Jesus loves us the way a good shepherd loves the sheep.

I once read a crime novel about sheep who solve the murder of their beloved shepherd, George (Three Bags Full by Leonie Swann). What I remember about the book is how much the sheep loved their shepherd. They loved him because he loved them first. I believe a good shepherd loves their sheep. And even though I know sheep can not solve mysteries, I believe they know love. And so do we. We know the feeling of loving and being loved.

Sometimes, it is difficult to know the love of Jesus in our lives. We might wonder if we will have all we need, especially when we walk through dark places. We might wonder if we will find our way, especially when we feel lost or afraid. We might wonder where God is, especially in the presence of thieves and bandits. The image of the Good Shepherd is a solid reminder of Christ’s love and presence. When we feel lost or afraid, uncertain or unsure, we can meditate on the Good Shepherd.

The Good Shepherd reminds us that God gives us all we need, guides us, even in the dark, and is always with us. The Good Shepherd is a revelation of God’s love for creation. The Good Shepherd teaches us to love like God. I want to remember that the Good Shepherd loves us, all of us, all the time.

I want to remember that Jesus is a door to abundant life thrown wide open.

The doors of our church are some of the most well known doors in town. Take a look at the mural on 3rd street: there are Trinity’s doors. Our doors are beautiful and they are just doors: an entry way into our sacred space. I know when people look at our doors, they wonder what is inside. I hope when they come inside they experience the love of the Good Shepherd.

The word translated as gate in our Gospel today is actually door. I’m not sure if that changes its meaning. Except, it is a reminder that Jesus is talking about access: who enters the sheepfold. If we skim the reading or listen half-heartedly, we might hear limitations. These limitations, though, don’t make sense in light of the whole story of Jesus. Just before today’s reading the Gospel tells the story of a blind man healed by Jesus. After the blind man is healed, his community does not believe him. Indeed, they drive him out of the community because they are so offended by his healing. Jesus, though, welcomes him into the community of followers, into the sheepfold. Jesus gives the blind man access to a community of mercy and love.

The Good Shepherd welcomes anyone who wants to be close to God, turning no one away. The Good Shepherd creates community, even amidst isolation. I want to remember that the Good Shepherd opens the door to peace, mercy, and healing love.

And I want to remember that I can love the way the Good Shepherd loves. I want to offer peace in the dark places. I want to spread a table of mercy and healing. I want to the throw open the doors of love in my own life: to create and inhabit a community that leads to abundant life.

Of course, community looks very different right now. And we can still love. Maybe it’s sending a card, making a phone call, or waving to your neighbor. Maybe it’s a kind word, or a generous offering. Maybe it’s an act of forgiveness and reconciliation invites healing and peace. We are empowered by the Good Shepherd, who loves us, to love. May we have the courage and strength to be who Christ calls us to be.

Peace be with you,

Amy+