Getting What We Deserve: Proper 20 Year A

At the edge of 6^th street and I-35 in Austin Texas there was a small, ramshackle building. From the outside, you might imagine it is a storage room. Instead, every night about fifty men call this place home or, at least, shelter for the night. 

In the morning, these men stood outside and waited. 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 their promise of a daily wage. 

The irony is 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 frustrate them? Would they identify with those who grumble or those who rejoice in the unexpected income? 

Which brings me to the question, who are we in this parable? Do we rejoice at God’s abundance or do we grumble about those who we deem unworthy?

A rich young man comes to Jesus and says, “Teacher, what good deed must I do to have eternal life?” 

Jesus says, “Why do you ask me about what is good?  There is only one who is good.  If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.” The rich young man gets frustrated. He has kept all the commandments and he wants more. He wants security. He wants to know for sure. He wants to be perfect. Jesus says, “…go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you have will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” And the rich young man leaves burdened by Jesus’ answer.

Interestingly, it is the disciples who are upset by Jesus’ teaching. Peter seems especially frustrated saying to Jesus,“Look, we have left everything and followed you.  What then will we have?” In this moment, Peter and the rich young man are the same. Peter wants security. Peter wants to know he’s reached perfection. 

And he wants his reward. He wants to know that all the sacrifices he has made are worth it.

 Unlike the rich young man, Peter can leave satisfied. Jesus promises all those who follow him heavenly glory. 

Yet, there is one hitch. Jesus says to Peter, “…many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.” 

And he tells the parable of the laborers in the vineyard.  

Peter has his promise, his reward. Yet, the reward is not only for him: one who has followed Jesus from the very beginning. The promise of eternal life, a life bound to God forever, is for anyone who follows.  Ultimately, it’s not about how good we are or reaching perfection. Indeed, there are some who never come close to perfection and receive the same heavenly glory.

I wonder how Peter felt hearing this story. Did he imagine himself as first and balk at the thought of being last?  Was the promise of his reward satisfaction enough? Or did he grumble at the thought of the rich young man sharing his heavenly glory? 

Which brings me to the question, how does this story make us feel?

Maybe we place ourselves at the front of the line. We work hard.  We try to be good. We know there are rewards for being good and working hard.  And this belief gets mixed up in our theology. In other words, we are tempted to believe we can earn God’s love.   We’re often tempted to believe all of our hard work and goodness pays off in a great heavenly reward.

Maybe we place ourselves last, at the back of the line. Maybe we are like the rich young man.  Overburdened by our possessions, we are unable to leave everything and follow Christ.  We know when we have failed. We know there are consequences when we are not good. We have a keen sense that we do not deserve any reward, earthly or heavenly. 

Those of us burdened by mistakes and failures are hindered by fear.   Our fear keeps us from taking opportunities that might align our lives with God. 

Those of us who see ourselves as good and righteous become self-righteous. We become dependent on our goodness and forget God’s goodness. 

And we are ALL quick to judge one another’s reward. 

There is one thread that binds us together. We all depend on God’s mercy.  The day laborers need a daily wage. Whether hired at morning or dusk, their life depends on the wage they are promised. We need God’s mercy. Whether our self-righteousness or anxiety threatens to overwhelm us, we depend on God’s promise. 

Jesus says to Peter, “…everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields, for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold, and will inherit eternal life…” Everyone who chooses to follow Christ chooses a new way to live. It doesn’t matter when or how, the point is we receive a new life in Christ. This way of life binds us to God, no matter what. That’s a promise.

World Series: Game 2

Here's a short story made long...

Recently, a very close friend gave me the most wonderful, authentic compliment I've ever received.  She told me that I am a "gatherer of wisdom."  I spend my time reading, watching, listening, gathering because I believe that at some point it all weaves together; at some point, there is a revelation of God in the middle of our daily, ordinary lives.  For this reason, I never just read a book or watch a movie.  For me, at some point, I have to go deeper and contemplate, even if it's just a really good sandwich.

Last night, my husband and I watched the most wonderful baseball game.  (Here's where the story gets long...)  I want to tell you how we ended up there, sitting on the couch at 11 o'clock at night watching baseball.

In December of 2009 (I said: short story - long), I decided to teach myself how to knit.  I discovered is that I needed some background noise, especially when unknotting the yarn (grrr...).  At the time, football seemed to do the trick; however, all football fans know that there is an empty space left in our lives when the National Championship is over.  That's when I discovered The Texas Rangers, not basesball, The Rangers.  To be honest, it wasn't even really the sport; it was the commentator who hooked me.  I loved listening to his voice and stories.  Meanwhile, my husband started playing the guitar.

So, here we were sitting in our living room, baseball on the tv, me in my chair knitting, him on the couch playing guitar.  And something happened.  I don't know how to describe it other than: the moments of God's grace in our marriage became more frequent.

Fast forward to the fall of 2010.  Some dear friends of ours shared some of their season tickets with us.  And one warm evening, we found ourselves sitting six rows behind first base in Ranger stadium.  No guitar.  No knitting.  Just some hot dogs, popcorn, beer, baseball and us.  Talk about grace.  It was wonderful.  Fast forward to the ALCS PostSeason 2010.  We found ourselves sitting in those very same seats as Texas won the ALCS!  I don't think either one of us will forget it; it will always be a highlight of our life together.

A lot has happened in our lives since then.  We moved to Kentucky in the Spring of 2011, far away from Ranger Stadium and, more than that, an incredible community of friends.  The move, itself, is a revelation of God's grace for us and we are happy here.  We miss our friends and we know this is where God calls us to be.  AND: we had no tv.  What I mean is: we had the actual television and no cable, not even an antenna.  This was just one piece of this huge change in our lives and over the last six months we've made that particular adjustment fairly well.  Despite this change, I followed The Rangers from afar and could see they were having a good, perhaps great, season.

AND THEN...THEY DID IT AGAIN!  PostSeason ALCS Champions 2011!  And we got cable: just so we could watch the world series.

Game 1 was a disappointment, perhaps it was because I was so excited.  We let the kids stay up and watch the first inning.  And this time there was no knitting (there was a little bit of guitar).  Our attention, though, was on the game.  And I was grumpy that we lost.

When I awoke Thursday, I made a deal with myself: I would only watch half of the game.  I was tired and had 5 miles to run on Friday.  We got half-way through the fourth inning and I couldn't leave.  My husband pulled out the guitar.  Every once in a while he would cheer his cheer: Go Baseball!  Then, there was that fifth inning play: Kinsler and Andrus, doing their thing, and making a beautiful, beautiful play.  And we needed runs.  The score was 0-0.  And then St. Louis scored.  And I almost went to bed.

Now, let me tell you something about my day.  I had had an exhausting day.  I was tired.  My emotions were thin.  I was upset about some critique I received first thing in the morning.  I was upset because my learning curve in my career right now is so steep.  I was frustrated because I cannot MAKE something happen.  And I felt as if I was watching my day play out on the baseball field.  At that moment, I felt like The Rangers would lose and that was not good.

And then...they won!  They won because they played like a team.  They worked together: each one offering his particular gifts and skills to the game.

This brings me to my point: in that moment, they were a living image of Church, community working together by authentically offering their gifts to something larger than themselves.  This is why I gather; this is why I listen; this is why I watch: because at some point, God's wisdom is revealed and, for a brief moment, I understand.  We go eight innings offering our very best, which still seems inadequate, and, then, something happens.  It's unexplainable, unknowable; it is a mystery.  Yet, this "something" is the thing that unites us, gives us hope and reminds that there is always one more inning.

Maybe it is just baseball.  Maybe I wouldn't feel this way if they hadn't won.  Perhaps my St. Louis friends disagree with me because their team didn't win.  Except, St. Louis played an incredible game last night.  I saw it in them too: offering their best, which may have felt inadequate, yet they still had those moments when the team worked together.  I know, I know: the analogy breaks down eventually.

 And, I wanted to say, out loud, to God: Thank you.  I get it.  I understand: it's not about me.  It's about us, working together, offering ourselves back to God with the hope that something will happen.  And that "thing", that mystery, will draw us closer to one another and, most of all, to God.  Thanks be to God!

Peace be with you,
Amy

A Dream for the Future: Proper 19 Year A

The last time I preached a sermon on the events of September 11 2001 was ten years ago. I was a senior in seminary. It was supposed to be about stewardship; y’know, a sermon that would evoke the generosity of each member. In some ways, it was a sermon on stewardship: a call to turn to God in the face of such great tragedy. 

This past week has been full of remembrances. The newspapers, radio and television compel us to re-live that day. I remember two things about September 11, 2001. I remember my run that morning, hours before planes and towers fell to the earth. It was still dark outside and I remember watching the planes fly overhead.  I did this during every run because I was always fascinated by the way their bellies light up. And I remember sitting with my friends, John and Ann, as they talked with their children. I remember being grateful for the wisdom of parents and that I was not a parent. 

In my sermon from 2001, I wrote this: “ I feel that I am now living in a world of chaos. I want, somehow, to make sense of what happened…my heart struggles…I am sad, angry, confused, overwhelmed and I am afraid. What will happen to the world that I knew on September 10^th?” I remember feeling all of these emotions and struggling to write that sermon. I remember feeling that the world would never be the same.

And, indeed, the world is not the same. Over the last decade, we’ve seen a lot of change.  For instance, we now have smart phones. There’s also Facebook and every other social networking media. For the last decade, we’ve also been at war. Our literature now focuses on non-fiction, especially about the Middle East and Islam. We watch more news, reality television, and dramas focused on first responders and soldiers.  And there’s no more showing up at the airport 30 minutes before your flight. Instead, we willingly submit to full body scans and carrying small bottles of shampoo, just in case. We cannot deny any of these changes and, even if we expected them, we were not prepared for them.  I never imagined that my seven year old would text me from her father’s phone. I never imagined that I would drive a car that is powered by gas and an electric battery. I never imagined that I would one day try to explain to our son what happened on September 11 2001.

As we reflect on the last ten years, I hope we will begin to imagine the next ten years. How will we explain to the next generation what happened on 9/11, the days and years that followed? How will we be changed and transformed by our experience?  Because it is not only our past that shapes us; our dreams, imagination and vision inspire and guide us into the future.

Matthew’s Gospel, written around the year 100, is more than the telling of Jesus’ life. It is a vision for the Church: a story that guides the Church closer to the kingdom of God. One quality of God’s kingdom is forgiveness. Matthew uses the words forgive 47 times in his Gospel, more than any other book in the New Testament. And Chapter 18 offers us the most explicit teachings on forgiveness.  Last week, Jesus directed the Church in the practice of reconciliation. This week he tells us a parable.

Before we get to the parable, let’s take a moment and consider Peter. There are many reasons to admire Peter; one of them is that he always says what everyone else is thinking. Like, in Chapter 15, after Jesus tells another parable. And Peter is the one who asks for understanding: “Lord, explain this parable to us…”, he says. 

And so, I can imagine, the disciples discussing Jesus’ mandate for reconciliation in the Church. They must’ve wondered: how often to do we have to do this?  When do we have to do this? What about when someone does something unforgivable, do we still have to reconcile with one another?  And it’s Peter who asks the question: “How many times do we forgive?”  Peter is the voice of the Church, the voice of our humanity, wondering how we fulfill Jesus’ teaching.

Jesus answers Peter with a number. Scholars have spent reams of paper and hours of study on the number 77 (or is it 70 times 7?). Personally, I think it’s a sign of Jesus’ sense of humor (like when my children ask me how many of their vegetables they have to eat…). If we have to ask, then the answer may be a bit facetious.  We all know the answer. How many times do we practice reconciliation; how many times must we forgive?  We must live this way every time, all the time. 

The one aspect of the parable I want to be sure is clear has to do, again, with numbers. The debt of the first slave is ten thousand talents. Biblical scholar, Eugene Boring, calculated the 10,000 talents exceed all the taxes of Syria, Phoenicia, Judea and Samaria.  In other words, Jesus is being facetious. More than that, the extreme debt becomes a revelation of the master’s generosity. And the master’s generosity is really God’s generosity. Jesus’ hyperbole reveals the intensity of God’s love for creation. 

Jesus goes on to contrast the master’s generosity with the slave’s hardened heart. Despite his own reprieve, the slave harasses and terrorizes another. It is as if the slave was never offered forgiveness or, at least, he never accepted it. And for this reason, he is held accountable: not for his financial debt, for the life of his fellow slave. The parable could be a story of transformation. Instead, it is a tale of judgment.  Because the slave depends on his own righteousness, he is condemned. 

And Jesus says, “So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” The truth is very plain.  To experience the grace of God in our lives, we must offer it freely to one another. 

How often should we forgive? Every time, all the time, no matter what. 

A friend of mine shared with me a story from 9/11.  A reporter encountered a couple whose daughter died in the towers. The reporter, trying to offer comfort, said, “Well, I know that you will be able to go to your place of worship this weekend and there maybe you’ll find some consolation in your faith . . .”  And the grieving mother replied, “No, we won’t be going to our place of worship this weekend ’cause we’re Christians, and we know what Jesus commands about forgiveness, and frankly, we’re just not ready for that yet. It’ll be some time before we’ll want to be with Jesus.”   This story captures the tension between Peter and Jesus today: When do we forgive?  How many times? All the time, every time, no matter what.

This is overwhelming to me. My thinking brain goes into overdrive arguing with myself about how this forgiveness thing works. And this is where I end: I know that I have, that WE have, all been offered a massive amount of forgiveness. Sometimes it is easy to receive this gift and then offer it to someone else.  Most of the time, though, accepting and offering forgiveness is difficult. 

This is why I love our baptismal covenant. The covenant reminds us that repentance and forgiveness are done by the grace and help of God. To know how deeply we are loved by God, we must accept God’s gift of forgiveness and mercy. To be transformed by God’s love, we offer God’s forgiveness and mercy to others.  The truth is: it is not the commandment that is overwhelming; God’s love is overwhelming.

What will the next decade look like? What will our reflections on September 11, 2021 sound like? I don’t know. I do know that we make an impact on the future, we can shape the next decade. 

May we receive the gift of God’s love, grace, mercy and forgiveness today, every day, no matter what.  May God help us as we carry it with us, offering it to everyone we meet, all the time, no matter what. May forgiveness be our dream and vision for the future.