Who Really Knows?

By the Rev. Dr. John D. Lane

This sermon is based on John 12:3. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon.


Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

It is often said that John’s account is the most theological of the four gospels. Mark’s version is the most direct and succinct. Matthew and Luke expand upon Mark and add many stories and parables of their own. Luke is my personal favorite. He is great with language and is the only evangelist who tells the parables of the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son. The Prodigal you heard last week.

By contrast, John wants not only to tell us stories, but to interpret what they mean. He does not care a great deal about when events occur, but about their significance. We encounter Mary and Martha once in Luke’s gospel, and twice in John’s, where their brother Lazarus also appears.  In addition, John’s gospel is full of Jesus’ long and sometimes hard to follow discourses.

Luke’s Mary and Martha story is played out in many families. I’m sure most of you know it–or think you do. Jesus is visiting, along with his gang of disciples. Martha is working her fingers to the bone in the kitchen, making certain that everyone gets a good meal and a memorable experience at her house. Meanwhile, her sister Mary is lollygagging, contentedly sitting at Jesus’ feet. So Martha complains to Jesus, asking him if he isn’t distressed that Mary is good for nothing, all while Martha herself slaves away.

The gospels tend to be efficient, terse, brief, economical with words, but in my imagination Jesus says something like, “Martha, just take a break. You don’t have to make such a fuss over us. My guys and I would have been just as happy if you had sent out for pizza, or made us some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,. Mary is in here listening to important ideas and participating in the discussion. Why don’t you take off your apron and join us here in the den?”

Often this Mary and Martha story is presented in a kind of post-modern ‘different strokes for different folks’ way, often a little patronizing of Mary. In this fantasy version, some of us are Marthas, practical types, taking care of business. And some of us are dreamers, kind of lost in the headlights of life. Hail, Martha! If it weren’t for her, nothing important would ever get done. Mary, you ought to be grateful to your sister.

But this is the very opposite of what the story tells us. As Jesus himself puts it, in the text, not just in my imagination, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” Sometimes we need to listen up, especially when Jesus is talking. Last week, preaching in Nelson County, I pointed out that the Prodigal was not forgiven because he repented. The Father forgave him before he confessed his sins. For the Prodigal and for Mary and Martha, we need to read the text very carefully. Otherwise, we tend to hear what we think is in there, even when it’s not.

Lazarus, who was risen from the dead in the preceding chapter, is only mentioned as present in today’s story. John, economical in his storytelling assumes we remember the earlier great miracle. Being raised from the dead made Lazarus a local celebrity. Everyone wanted to see him. The Jewish leaders wanted him dead for all time so that the people wouldn’t be reminded of Jesus and his power every time they looked at Lazarus.

In chapter 12 it is neither the hard-working Martha nor the uniquely blessed Lazarus who is the center of the story, but everyone’s favorite biblical space cadet, Mary. We aren’t certain how she comes to understand Jesus, but she is the one who truly gets it. Martha hasn’t been paying attention because she’s way too busy doing ‘important things.’ I’m sure Lazarus has his own issues. Three days in the tomb has perhaps left him pretty confused.

In John’s gospel and in the overall story of Jesus, we have to be ready for surprises. A clergy friend of mine, Harry Pritchett, wrote a campfire/vacation bible school song called “God is a surprise.” You’ll be pleased to know that I won’t attempt to sing it this morning. Besides miracles themselves, God picks unlikely people to carry out his work, people like the liar Abram, the murderer Moses, the adulterer David, the Christian persecutor Paul, the coward Peter. Given this crew, we have no reason to believe that we ourselves can’t help to carry out God’s mission. God is a surprise, often counter-cultural, turning the world upside down, saying things in the Bible which, if we pay careful attention, are the opposite of what we expect.

I had a neighbor growing up whose body matured a lot faster than his mind. In fact, he soon grew to 6'9". David was a bully, though he usually let me alone. I was a year or two younger, and always a lot smaller. He was about 17 when he stole someone’s new Corvette and took it for a joy ride. Afraid that he’d get caught, David drove it into a flooded quarry. Someone ratted him out, and I still remember the picture on the first page of the newspaper of everyone’s favorite dream car dangling from the crane picking it out of the water.

David got his day in court, and he was lucky enough to get a wise judge. He gave David the choice between prison or the service. It didn’t take very long until he was in the US Navy. It tickled my mother that this giant wound up in the close quarters of a nuclear submarine. He served his 4 years, then became a patrolman in the Princeton Township Police Department, the very force who had handcuffed him not too long before. He got married, adopting his wife’s two kids, and lives an exemplary life. The last time I saw him, we had a very nice conversation. I didn’t mention the Corvette. Did I say he’s much bigger than I am?

Like the judge in my friend David’s case, Jesus sees something more in Mary than others do. Bethany, where Jesus is in essence hiding out, is an easy walk to Jerusalem. Martha cooks. Lazarus is counted as present. It is however the flaky Mary who sees deeply and understands what is going on. Knowing the danger that Jesus is in, she brings out a pound of very costly perfume, and begins to anoint Jesus’ feet, wiping them with her hair. She understands who Jesus is and she understands what is going to happen. As Jesus himself points out, she is anointing his body for burial.

The challenge to us is to be open to the Spirit. To recognize that God can be surprising, indeed that God is a surprise. To look beyond our own familiar but often incorrect reading of scripture. To dig deeper. To see more clearly what God is telling us. To pray fervently that we may know God’s will. To go beyond ourselves in becoming better and better followers of Jesus. And beyond all else be open to the Grace of God.

A Human Point of View

By the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on 2 Corinthians 5:16-21 and Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon.

"From now, on we regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way."

I have to admit that when I first read those words from our Epistle reading today, they really threw me for a loop. "A human point of view"? What's so bad about a "human point of view"? We're human beings – what other kind of point of view could we have? God became human in Jesus; doesn't that mean human beings, including their "human point of view" have been blessed and raised up to a greater life in God? Why then should we disparage the "human point of view"?

Well, it helped a little when I checked this line out in other translations, and in the original Greek. What Paul actually says here is "we regard no one according to the flesh." Ah, that makes more sense! Because you see, in Paul's writings, he uses the word "flesh" in a very particular way. For Paul, the "flesh" is one part of a human being, but not the whole human being. For Paul, the "flesh" is not just the muscle and organs and tissue, not just the body, which is the way we usually use the word; but Paul uses the word "flesh" to mean a particular psychosomatic reality, a combination of bodily factors and psychological tendencies that all revolve around satisfying our appetites. For Paul, the "flesh" is a pattern of feeling and reacting that is all about making sure that you are the most important thing in your entire universe. The "flesh" is that in us which is essentially self-centered, entirely focused on preserving our own self-images, completely devoted to gratifying our own self-involved desires. Because it is essentially self-centered, the "flesh" is also essentially opposed to God: the "flesh" doesn't care about God's calls to us to work for justice and peace, to build up right-relationships of mutual well-being, to turn outward beyond ourselves to give and receive in generosity and grace; the "flesh" knows nothing about loving God and loving our neighbors; the "flesh" is exactly the opposite of the spirit that opens to God and lives in God and co-creates with God. The special way Paul uses the word, the "flesh" represents pretty much the worst behaviors of being human.

So to regard someone "according to the flesh" is to regard them in pretty much the worst kind of way. Regarding things "according to the flesh" means seeing them and thinking about them and treating them only as means toward your own gratification. It means treating everything around you as nothing more than counters in the calculus of your own satisfaction. It means not caring at all about what things or people are in their own rights, but only caring about what they can do for you. Regarding things "according to the flesh" is being just about as greedy as you can be.

And I think we get a couple of wonderful example of regarding things "according to the flesh" in the two sons in the parable in our Gospel today. Yes, I said "two sons": I think both the prodigal younger son and the dutiful older son are guilty of putting themselves at the center of their universes and watching everything else – including their father – revolve around them.

That's pretty obvious, I suppose, for the younger son. He doesn't care at all for his father: he says "Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me," which means "I want what's coming to me when you're dead," or the short version, "I wish you were dead," which is a pretty uncaring thing to say to your father. He doesn't care at all about his property, squandering it in dissolute living. It's not even clear that he cares about forgiveness: when he decides to go home, he doesn't even plan on asking his father to take him back, he's just thinking about the three hots and a cot that he can get as a farmhand on his father's ranch. Right up until the very end, the younger son is measuring everything in terms of what it will do for him, he's regarding everything and everyone "according to the flesh."

And the same thing is true of the older son. Oh, he's less obvious about it than his younger brother, but he is every bit as much "according to the flesh." He works on the farm, he does his duty – and he resents every minute of it, he spends all his time counting up how many brownie points he's earned and how much his father owes him for being such a good son. And he's banking all those brownie points; he's never even asked for a small goat for a feast with his friends, because that's one more thing he can tell himself his father owes him. Right up until the very end, the older son is measuring everything in terms of what is owed to him, he's regarding everything and everyone "according to the flesh."

And, as the brothers in the parable illustrate, regarding everyone "according to the flesh" can be a pretty burdensome way to live. They don't make it look like much fun. Between Paul and the parable both, we're left with the question "Isn't there a better way to regard things than 'according to the flesh'"?

Of course there's a better way – and we see that better way at work in the father in the parable. When the father looks at his sons he doesn't see them just in terms of himself. He doesn't see them as disappointments to his hopes, or drains on his resources, or hands for his farm, or investments for his old age. When the father looks at his sons he sees them in their own rights, with the gifts and the passions and the faults and the foibles they each have, with the accomplishments and the potentials that are theirs and nobody else's. And more than that, when the father looks at his sons he sees them as partners in relationship, as ones who can co-create with him moments of joy and love and celebration. After all, it is the father who goes out to them – to the younger son on the road and to the older son in the field – it is the father who goes out to them and brings them in to the party. The father regards them, not just in terms if what they can do for him, but in terms if what they can do together to create joy and peace and reconciliation and love. The father sees them in just the opposite way from regarding them "according to the flesh."

Now the father's point of view, Jesus makes very clear, is God's point of view. And the point of view of God is shared in Christ; and the point of view of Christ can be shared with us as well. Paul says, "If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God." The grace that comes from God is given to us in Christ, and that gift of the Spirit opens us up to a new creation, to a new creativity. It changes us, and it changes how we see the world: it empowers us to recognize the creating work of God all around us, and to realize how we can join with God as created co-creators to bring into being occasions of joy and peace and justice and well-being and love. The reconciling love of God frees us from the point of view of the "flesh," it frees us from seeing everything simply in terms of how it can satisfy our mere appetites, and it creates us anew to be ambassadors for Christ, missioners of Christ's own work in the world. The reconciling love of God helps us be like the father in the parable, to go out to meet people where they are and welcome everyone into the party of God's joyful love.

In this Lenten season, may our special devotions open the way for God's Spirit to free us from regarding according to the flesh, and fill us with reconciling love. Amen.

Unless You Repent

By the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Luke 13:1-9. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon.

"Unless you repent, you will all perish."

These surprisingly threatening words from Jesus in our Gospel this morning come in a scene where Jesus is teaching, and someone in the crowd raises a question about how to interpret something in the news, some current event. There were some Galileans, anti-Roman activists probably, insurrectionists possibly, whom Pontius Pilate had executed while they were at worship, so that their blood was mixed in with the blood of their sacrifices. To be killed while at worship would have seemed doubly disastrous to Jews of Jesus' time, so they ask him whether these Galileans were particularly bad sinners to have met with such a particularly bad end. I mean, it stands to reason, doesn't it: if God rewards the righteous and punishes the wicked, then if someone has bad things happen to them it means ipso facto that they're a bad person, right? If those Galileans had been repentant, good people, like us (the questioners imply) that never would have happened to them, right? That's the question the crowd puts to Jesus; and in response Jesus asks a question of his own: what about those eighteen people who died when part of the Jerusalem city wall collapsed on them near Siloam? Do you think they were worse sinners than everyone else in the city because this bad thing happened to them? Does that stand to your reason, too?, Jesus asks.

And then Jesus throws a curve: "Do you think these people who came to a bad end were worse sinners? No, I tell you, they were not." In one sentence Jesus cuts the connection the crowd is making between bad fortune and bad behavior. It is not the case that a person's inner moral life is reflected in their outer accidental happenstance, Jesus says. Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to bad people. You cannot draw moral conclusions from mere chance, Jesus says. Perishing is not God's punishment for the unrepentant.

But then immediately Jesus says, "Unless you repent, you will all perish." Why? Why does Jesus say that? If Jesus has just cut the connection between bad behavior and bad ends, why does he now appear to connect them again? If it is not the case that God sends bad deaths to bad people, then why does Jesus now appear to threaten the unrepentant with perishing? Or is Jesus really saying something else?

I think the key to what Jesus is really saying is in the word itself, repent, and in the parable Jesus tells to illustrate repentance. The original Greek word we here translate as "repent" is μετανοητε, which literally means "change your mind, transform your way of thinking." What Jesus calls for here is not just feeling sorry for our sins, not just promising God we'll never do bad things again if God just gets us out of this jam — what Jesus calls for here is a deep change in the way we think, the way we assess what's really important to us, the way we make our choices about how to act and what to do, the way we direct our energies in life.

And what it means to change our thinking in this way is illustrated in the parable. There is a tree that bears no fruit. The landowner wants to cut it down: it's taking up the soil and the water and the space and giving nothing back: how can it continue? But the gardener really wants the tree to be fruitful: it is in the tree's nature to bear fruit, and the gardener wants the tree to live up to its nature: so the gardener offers to dig around the tree, aerate the soil, put on fertilizer, feed the roots — basically to do everything possible to give the tree what it needs to bear its fruit. And if it still isn't fruitful, if it still takes and takes and takes and never gives, if it still will not participate in the flow of life that makes the vineyard, well, then, it isn't fully alive anyway, and it cannot continue to live.

In this parable, repentance, metanoia, is illustrated as the change from being barren to being fruitful, the change from taking and taking and taking to participating in the exchange, in the give-and-take that makes for life. And Jesus' call to repentance is revealed to be not so much about placating the God who would strike us down, as it is about embracing the God who wants us to be fruitful, who longs to give us everything we need to grow and flourish and be co-creative with God in bringing forth the fruits of the Spirit and the works of love.

In fact, I think this little parable is a wonderful capsule summary of the whole Christian doctrine of sin and redemption. According to our teaching, God creates us for love, God brings us into being so that God can love us and we can love God and the neighbors God gives us. We are meant to live out that love by giving and receiving, by taking into ourselves what others generously offer and by offering out from ourselves what we have generated; and we are meant to do this giving and receiving in generosity and freedom and right-relationship and mutual well-being. That is God's ideal for us. But we get selfish: instead of receiving, we take; instead of giving, we keep; instead of being generous and free, we manipulate and bargain and connive and quid-pro-quo and do everything we can with strings attached for our own benefit. That is the root meaning of sin: the disorder of love that takes and keeps rather than giving and receiving in freedom and grace. That is the tree that bears no fruit. That is the way that perishes, because if you only take and keep, if you only turn in on yourself, if you refuse to participate in the flow of right-relationships and mutual well-being for too long, eventually you use yourself up, eventually there is nothing left, eventually you fade away into your own self-centered emptiness — and that is a terrible way to perish.

But God doesn't want us to perish like that. God doesn't want us to fade away into self-centered nothingness. God wants us to be fruitful in giving and receiving in generosity and freedom and love. So God sends us Jesus, who shows us what it means to live a fully human life in perfect fulfilment of the divine ideal of giving and receiving; and who not only shows us, but also calls us into relationships — relationships as disciples, relationships as brothers and sisters in Christ in Baptism — relationships where we ourselves learn how to love as Jesus loves, where we become less self-centered and more love-centered, where we are transformed in our way of thinking and choosing and acting, so that we spend less and less of our time and energy taking and keeping with strings attached, and more and more of our time and energy giving and receiving in freedom and grace. That transformation is how we are saved.

And that, I think, is the positive meaning of repentance that is the real heart of our Gospel today. When Jesus says "Unless you repent, you will perish," I really don't think he is threatening that God will execute us or make a tower fall on us or cut us down unless we say we're sorry. What I think Jesus means is the simple statement that the way of self-centeredness leads to becoming empty and trivial and perished; but if we will let God's love transform us, if we will change our thinking with God at the center, then we will grow and flourish and bear fruit of love and joy. We repent not because we are afraid of the punishment, but we repent because we long so much for the good of God.

So what does that say to you? If you think that repenting means not just telling God you're sorry, but being actively transformed for love, then where in your life might you repent right now? Is there some relationship, some habit, some pattern of behavior, some repeating loop of emotion where you feel stuck, we you are aware of taking and taking and taking, where you would like to give and receive in freedom and mutual joy instead? Is there some place where you long to be transformed in your mind so that you can be freed to love? That is where Jesus speaks to you in this Gospel today and says "Do not perish, but repent and live."

In this Lenten season of repentance, may we each hear Jesus calling to us, and may God give us each grace to respond. Amen.

Seek God's Face: Do God's Work

By the Rev. Roger Bowen

In this sermon, the Rev. Roger Bowen reflects on verses from Psalm 27 -- "You speak in my heart and say, 'Seek my face.' Your face, LORD, will I seek" -- and Luke 13:31-35 -- "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings" -- and a group of Massachusetts students building a partnership with a school in Haiti. 

Click here to listen to this sermon.

Who We Are

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Luke 4:1-13. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon.

Who are you? And who, in God's love, are you willing to be?

That is the question set before us in our scripture readings today, and most especially in Luke's Gospel account of the temptation of Jesus by the Devil in the wilderness. In this story, temptation is all about asking the question whether we will be the people God wants us to be, or whether we will settle for something less: a lesser love, a littler life, a smaller self.

In the story, the Devil makes his opening move against Jesus by saying “If you are the Son of God…” Now remember: this all happens right after Jesus’ baptism. When Jesus was baptized he experienced the heavens opened up, and the Holy Spirit coming down like a dove, and the Voice of God saying, “You are my Son, my Beloved, and with you I am well pleased.” Jesus is filled with the Holy Spirit, filled with the awareness and the knowledge and the energy of being God’s beloved Son. And he goes into the wilderness to fast and to pray and to get focused on being ready to do the things he’s got to do in order to live out the mission of being the Christ, being the Holy One, being the Son of God. And that’s when the Devil comes to him and says, “If you are the Son of God… If. You might not be, you know. That whole Baptism thing might have been a hallucination. You might be deluded about yourself: maybe God isn’t calling you to be the Savior. You might be deluded about God: maybe God won’t be there for you when you need him. So, if you really are God’s Son, prove it. Show me. Demonstrate that God is with you, and then I and all the world will know.”

Each of the Devil’s temptations to Jesus is designed to get Jesus to doubt who he is, to lose sight of who God is calling him to be, and therefore to settle for something less than the fullness of life God wants to give to the Beloved Son.

“You’re hungry,” the Devil says. “Change these stones to bread for yourself.” The temptation for Jesus is to feed his stomach, but starve his spirit, to settle for something less than the full sustenance that comes from God.

“You’re destined to be King of kings and Lord of Lords,” the Devil says. “I can make that happen for you, quicker and easier than the way God has in mind.” The temptation for Jesus is to feed his ego, to grab for false glory in in a quick-fix, self-gratifying way; the temptation is to settle for something less that the true glory of Ascension that God wants to give him.

“Jump from the Temple,” the Devil says. “Surely God will protect you and hold you up — Scripture says so! You trust Scripture, don’t you?” The temptation for Jesus is to fear that his trust in God is misplaced, and so to settle for a cheap test of God’s love, rather than the deeper trust that Passion and Crucifixion and Resurrection will demand.

In each case, the Devil tempts Jesus to doubt who he is, to forget who God is calling him to be, to settle for a cheap substitute instead of the real love God wants to fulfill in the Beloved Son. And in each case Jesus refuses to take the bait. Jesus resists the temptation, not by exerting his will power, or gritting his teeth and bearing it — Jesus resists each temptation by remembering who he is, by remembering who God is calling him to be, by staying focused on living in God’s word, and worshiping God alone, and trusting that his relationship with God goes deeper than any cheap stunt could show. Jesus is God’s beloved Son, and nothing the Devil can do can make him forget that.

And that’s how temptation works for us, too. Temptation tries to make us doubt who we are, it tries to make us lose sight of who God is calling us to be, it tries to make us settle for something less than the fullness God wants to give to us: a lesser love, a littler life, a smaller self. And that doesn’t just happen out in the desert, out in the wilderness; it doesn’t just happen in the big, extreme moments of life. It’s happening all the time. It’s temptation when you want to settle for the momentary satisfaction of self-righteous anger against someone, rather than the harder, truer satisfaction of forgiveness and reconciliation. It’s temptation when you know you could speak out against injustice — when someone tells a racist joke, or makes a sexual slur, or uses language that’s hurtful and hateful — you know you could speak out, but you’re willing to settle for keeping silent and not making a scene. It’s temptation when you know you could use your unique gifts and skills and talents to do something beautiful and generous and Christlike — and yet you’re willing to settle for hiding your light under a basket and not showing forth the beauty that God has put in you. Day in and day out, in so many ways, we are tempted to settle for less, to go for the quick fix, the momentary gratification, the smaller self, and tempted to turn away from the real life God wants to give us.

And for us too, as for Jesus in the story, the way to resist temptation is not just to be strong and exert our will power. The way to resist temptation is to remember: to remember who we are, and to remember who God is calling us to be, and to remember the abundance of life that God has promised to us. Jesus defeats the Devil’s temptations by remembering that he really is the Son of God — and we defeat temptation by remembering that we are God’s children, too: remembering that we are sons and daughters of God, sisters and brothers of Jesus, and that God calls us and empowers us to be like Jesus, to share with Jesus in a life that is faithful, and truthful, and generous, and compassionate; a life that is nourished by God’s Word, and worships God alone, and trusts in God’s love that will never let us go — and doesn’t need any cheap stunts to prove it. We defeat temptation by letting God love us into being the people of love God wants us to be.

That’s what Jesus does in the wilderness. And that’s what we are invited to do in this Lenten season, as well. Lent can be for us a time to remember, a time to get focused, a time to know and to feel that we really are God’s beloved children, and a time to act like the children of God that we are: fervent in prayer and in works of mercy, using Lenten disciplines to clear the space in our hearts where God's love can come in, growing in God a greater love, a larger life, a truer self. That is what it means to keep a holy Lent; and that’s the kind of Lent that we can keep together. Amen.

Shining with Resplendent Light

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on 2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2, Exodus 34:29-35, and Luke 9:28-36, [37-43a]. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon.

Imagine coming to church some Sunday morning and finding everyone’s face shining. Imagine finding everyone’s eyes bright and alert, everyone’s expression open and engaging, everyone’s energy level way up here, everyone’s enthusiasm evident. Imagine walking into a church where you are greeted warmly and genuinely, not just by people you know but by people you don’t know. Imagine coming to a church where everyone participates in the service, where every reader and every choir member and every chalice bearer and every person sitting in the pew really believes that they have an important part to play in making the worship whole, and they play their parts with energy and liveliness. Imagine coming to a church which is so filled with enthusiasm that it lifts your spirits up and fills you with an energy you just didn’t have when you first walked in the door. Imagine coming to church and finding everyone’s face shining.

Can you picture that? Then listen to this: St Paul writes to the Christian congregation in Corinth in our epistle reading today: “All of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit. Therefore, since it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart.”

Paul’s message here is couched in an extended metaphor which is a little complex, maybe even a bit arcane — but I think Paul is basically describing the same quality of church we’ve been imagining together. Paul’s imagery of “unveiled faces” in "glory" is a deliberate echo of two other stories in scripture — and fortunately for us we have those two stories as our First Testament and Gospel readings today. So we can unpack Paul’s symbolism, we can learn more about what he’s trying to say about the church, if we touch base with those other two readings.

The first reading, from Exodus, tells how Moses came down from the mountain after talking with God, and the skin of his face was shining. Moses had been in God’s presence, so he was radiant — literally radiating — with divine energy. Aaron and the other Israelites were a little freaked out by this, so they asked Moses to cover up his face, to wear a veil, so the divine energy in him would not overwhelm them. Being that close to God, they felt, was a little too much for ordinary humans to handle. But Moses would take the veil off every time he went to talk to God, every time he went up the mountain or every time he went in to the tent of meeting, Moses would take the veil off and be fully present to God, so that his face, his whole being, would be filled and radiant with divine energy. The light in Moses’ face was the sign of God with him.

Likewise, in the Gospel story, Jesus goes up on the mountain with Peter and James and John, and while Jesus is praying, while Jesus is talking with God, his appearance is changed, he is transfigured, his face, even his clothing, begin to shine with heavenly light, he reveals to his disciples the divine energy that is in and under and through all his human being. Peter and James and John are a little freaked out by this — but they don’t turn away. They witness Jesus’ manifestation of glory, and Peter says it is good for them to be there, even if he’s not entirely sure what’s going on. In his transfiguration Jesus reveals divine energy. The light in Jesus’ face is the sign of God with him.

Now Paul takes those stories about Moses and about Jesus, and Paul uses them to say something about the church. Paul says that when we Christians gather together, we can shine with the same divine energy that was reflected in Moses, we can shine with the same divine energy that was revealed in Jesus. And that energy is something we don’t have to be afraid of. Unlike Moses, who put a veil over his face, unlike Peter and James and John, who were terrified as they entered the brightness, we don’t have to cover up that light, we don’t have to try to restrain that energy. We, Paul says, can face each other with “unveiled faces,” we can let the light of Christ be reflected in us and shine forth for each other and all the world to see. We can let our energy level rise up to here, because we know that energy, that enthusiasm, is the sign of God with us.

That’s what Paul says about the church. But as moved as I am by what Paul says about the church, I have to pause here for a moment over what Paul says about the synagogue. Paul says that when the people of Israel, when Jews, read the Books of Moses today, a veil lies over their minds and their hearts are hardened. Paul implies that Jews don’t understand their own scriptures unless they see in them the promise of Christ. In Paul’s day and age, when there was a lot of tension between church and synagogue, when Christians had to work hard to explain why they were different from Jews, that may have made some sense. But we today recognize that Christians and Jews have much in common, and we want to work together for biblical ideals of justice and peace in the world. I, for one, would hardly want to go to our friends at Temple House of Israel and tell them they don’t understand their scriptures because they don’t read them the same way we do. If Paul’s words are taken out of context here, they could become an excuse for anti-Judaism, and I don’t think any of us want to interpret them that way. So we need to do our best to move that over to one side, and see what positive thing Paul is saying about Moses and the church.

And I think the positive thing is this: that the divine energy which was reflected in Moses is the same as the divine energy which shone forth from Jesus — and it is that same divine energy that can be revealed now in us. When we come together as church, we can be enthusiastic, because there is divine energy inspiring and encouraging and enthusing us. Paul’s imagery of us meeting with unveiled faces, and our imagination of a church were everyone’s face is shining, where everyone is filled with energy and joy — those images are one and the same, because it is the same light of Christ that radiates from us all.

So how do we catch that energy? How do we generate that enthusiasm? Our scripture readings this morning give us an answer: that energy comes from prayer. Prayer. You know, we usually think of prayer as something very quiet, very private, very inward — we often think of prayer as the opposite of energy. But the scriptures this morning make it very clear: Moses comes alight when he goes in to speak with God — that’s prayer. Jesus comes alight when he goes up on the mountain to pray. We come alight when the Lord, the Spirit, comes into us and transforms us from one degree of glory to the next — and that is what happens in deep and genuine prayer. It is prayer that releases divine energy into our lives, so that we can pour that energy into welcoming hospitality, into compassionate pastoral care, into social transformation of our community, into living joyful lives, into practicing the ways of faith that make us the people of God for the world, into gathering on Sunday morning for the kind of worship that can make everyone’s face shine. All of those things we do to be a vibrant, vital, welcoming, enthusiastic, growing church — all of those things begin with prayer, begin with opening up our spirits so that the Lord, the Spirit, can remove the veil from us and set us free.

So how do you pray? What do you do to open your spirit so the Holy Spirit can energize you? Some of us read the Bible daily, and ponder each day what that scripture passage says directly to us. Some of us use prayers from the Prayer Book, whose poetic language lifts us up out of ourselves and helps us feel the presence of God.  Some of us imagine having conversations with Jesus, just talking about whatever is in our hearts, opening up to Jesus so that Jesus can dwell in us. Some of us pray without words, feeling the Spirit move in our breath, seeing the light of Christ shining in each other and in ourselves. Some of us pray with all of the above. But no matter what style of prayer we use, the point of prayer is this: that in praying we come into the presence of God, so that God can transform our hearts, and God can empower our lives, and God can fill us with divine energy, so that we can radiate God’s love to the world.

Imagine coming to church some Sunday and seeing everyone’s face shining. We can be that church. We can shine with Christ’s light. We can pray. And we can live out our prayers together. Amen.

Prophet without Honor

by the Rev. Deacon James E. Gilman

The Gospel story in Luke 4:21-30 shows Jesus reminding the people of Nazareth of some dangerous stories from their tradition. In his sermon, the Rev. Jim Gilman reflects on how those stories might bring some eye-opening and risky remembrance to us, as well.

You may listen to the sermon by clicking here.

Introduction

What a provocative gospel story about Jesus. What happened? Was it something he said? How is it that at the beginning of this episode “[Everyone] spoke well of Jesus and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth,” as Luke puts it, and by the end of it, “The [same people] got up, drove Jesus out of town, and led him to the brow of the hill… so that they might hurl him off the cliff.? Wow!! What a sudden and unexpected reversal of fortune for Jesus. Why is it that his home town neighbors praise him for his gracious words, on the one hand, but a short time later threaten him with death. What happened? What caused this sudden reversal? What does Jesus do to incite his neighbors?

Remembrance

The answer, I think, can be summed up in a single word: REMEMBRANCE! Now, remembrance seems like an innocuous and harmless activity. It is something we do often and happily. We recall, for example, warm and cozy things—like family and friendships and goodwill and vacations and the like. And that’s all well and good. But truth be told remembrance can also be a provocative and dangerous activity. In Jesus’ time remembrance was a common Jewish activity—in the home and at synagogue. By telling and re-telling ancient stories, as Jesus does here, a community remembers who it is and what it is suppose to be doing. Remembering and telling stories should be today a common Christian activity. And indeed it is. Remembrance is central to the sacrament of Holy Communion, which in a few minutes we celebrate.           

So, what is it about remembering that caused such a ruckus in Jesus’ hometown? What is it about the ancient stories Jesus refers to that is so scandalous? Why do his neighbors want to put him to death? The stories Jesus refers to are ones they are already familiar with. Why are they provoked? Partly it is because Jesus interprets them in such a way that his Jewish friends suddenly recognize that they are part of the narrative, characters in the plot.

Both stories are classic; they are about two prophets—Elijah and Elisha. Listen to these stories; listen to what is provocative about these stories; listen for how you and I, how the church today, is part of their narratives

(1) The first story is about the prophet Elijah and the widow of Zarephath. There is a famine throughout the land, both in Israel and in Sidon. Elijah goes to the village of Zarephath, a foreign, Gentile region of Sidon (today Lebanon). Sidon was a longtime enemy of Israel. A woman comes out to gather sticks. Elijah says, “Give me something to eat.” She says, “I’m gathering sticks so I can make a fire and cook the last of the food that I have. My family and I will eat it and then die.” Elijah says, “I don’t care, get me something to eat.” Now, the woman easily could have been offended and said, “Get lost;” but she didn’t. With great faith and kindness, she brings him the last bit of what she has to eat. Elijah then tells her that her jar of meal and oil will feed them during the long famine, and incredibly it does. The kicker is what Jesus says next. He says that at the time of this miracle there were also many widows in Israel who were dying of starvation; but Elijah was sent by God to none of them. He was sent not to the Chosen people Israel, but to a foreign enemy. The implication is that the people of Israel were faithless; that they had forsaken their God. So, Elijah brings God’s love to a woman of a foreign religion who, unlike the starving women of Israel, has faith enough to receive the power of God’s mercy. How could that be? How provocative! How dare Jesus claim that the faith of a devotee of a foreign, pagan religion is greater than the faith of God’s Chosen people.

(2)  The second story Jesus tells is even more graphic, offensive, and scandalous. Naaman is a general in the Syrian army. He carried out many military campaigns in northern Israel; a region God had allowed the Assyrians to eventually conquer, again because Israel had forsaken their God.  So this is a story not just about an enemy; but about a conqueror and oppressor. On one raid, Naaman captures a young Israelite woman; he takes her home as a slave. When Naaman contracts leprosy, the slave girl, out of compassion, tells him about a prophet in Israel, named Elisha. Naaman seeks out Elisha. When the general arrives, Elisha doesn’t even go out to greet him; he sends a message telling Naaman to go and bathe in the Jordan River. At first, Naaman is offended, but his servant convinces him that he should give it a go; he does, and is made whole. The kicker is what Jesus says next. He says that “There were many lepers in Israel in the days of Elisha but none of them were cleansed.” Only Naaman, the Syrian general, the foreigner, the oppressor, has faith and is healed. What? The faith of a conquering, enemy general is greater than the faith of Elisha’s own Chosen people? Saying this to Jews then,is today like saying the faith of a Muslim Iranian general is greater than that of an American Christian. The hometown crowd immediately recognize themselves as characters in the story’s plot. They are not amused. How scandalous? What nerve? For Jesus to praise the faith of a conquering general and to chastise Israel for its lack of faith.

Implications

So, remembrance is sometimes provocative and dangerous, as the people of Nazareth found out. But where in these stories do you and I as Christians discover ourselves? Where in these narratives is the church today to be found?  

There are least two provocative points I think Jesus is making in referring to these stories. (1) First, that the power of God’s healing grace is not just for the Chosen, but for people of all nations and people of all religions, yes, even enemies. Israel had come to idolize its own Chosenness; it came to believe its own press; with great pride Israel deceives itself into thinking it is a nation and religion superior to all others. So it is today, I think, with so-called American exceptionalism; many Christians buy into this deception: that somehow America as a nation is called to be a beacon to the world, a city on a hill.  Like Israel we are often smug in our own sense of Chosenness. Last I looked it is the Kingdom of God and not earthly nations that is exceptional; that the gospel Jesus taught and lived is what is exceptional; so that the power of God’s grace belongs to the church, to peoples of all nations; that the power of God’s grace in the lives of all faithful people is  what is exceptional.

(2) Secondly, by referring to these stories Jesus is reminding Israel that people of other religions also have great faith, and that we should learn from their faith. The faith of the widow of Sidon and the faith of the general of Syria invites the power of God’s healing grace; in contrast, the faith of God’s own people sometimes is lacking. Can we Christians accept that the faith of some Muslims or Hindus may be greater than our own? Just as Israel could learn from the faith of the widow and general, Christians can learn from the faith of people of other religions. Just as in ancient Israel, we American Christians often place more trust and confidence in superior military power and in superior wealth than in the power of God’s grace to heal and redeem. Just as Jesus was asking his Jewish neighbors to learn from the faith of foreigners, like the widow and general, he is asking the church today to learn from the faith of others;  like the faith of Gandhi, for example, who believed that the power of God’s grace was greater than the military might of the British Empire; that the power of what he called “soul force” is greater than the power of what he called “body force;” that the spiritual weapons of non-violent, civil disobedience are more powerful than the physical weapons of violence and brutality.   

Jesus could have told his neighbors pastoral stories instead of prophetic stories. On some occasions he did; but not on this occasion. The stories he told were provocative and dangerous. The story we come now to celebrate is also a dangerous story. By participating in Holy Communion we enter with our lives a narrative of grace and mercy and peace that Jesus calls his church to practice.  It is a story that, like those of Elijah and Elisha, draws us well beyond nationalistic, racial, ethnic, and class divisions; a story that enables us as faithful Christians to see the grace and mercy and love of Jesus even in the faith and faces of foreigners and enemies. To do this is not easy, not something we can do under our own human power. Only by God’s power can we as Christians see with Elijah and Elisha the power of God’s healing grace in the faith of people of other religions. May Holy Communion draw us into the narrative of God’s redemption; may in faith we receive Christ’s healing power and pass it on to others, especially those different from ourselves.