The Word of the Lord

by the Rev. John D. Lane

This sermon is based on Amos 8:11-12 & Luke 10:39.

The time is surely coming, says the Lord GOD, when I will send a famine on the land; not a famine of bread, or a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the LORD. They shall wander from sea to sea, and from north to east; they shall run to and fro, seeking the word of the LORD, but they shall not find it.

[Martha] had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying.

Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans and the Gulf coast of Mississippi nearly 8 years ago. Thinking about such storms brought to mind the following story which you may already know:

A big storm was coming to a low-lying area, and people were warned they should evacuate. Almost everyone heeded the warning but one man, Rick, who had ridden out a number of storms before, refused to go. A few hours later as the water began to flood the road, a sheriff’s deputy knocked on the door, “It’s time to leave. The storm is coming for sure, and it’s gonna be a bad one. Come with me while I can still drive out of here.”

          “Thanks, but I’ll stay. I have faith; the Lord will protect me.”

A few hours later, the water had come up to the second floor balcony of the man’s home, where he stood watching the sky. A rescue team came by in a boat. “You need to leave now. Get in the boat, and we’ll take you out of danger.”

          “Thanks, but I’ll stay. I have faith; the Lord will protect me.”

A while later, the water had risen even higher, almost to the top of the house, and Rick was standing on the peak of the roof. A helicopter was flying low over the area, and spotted him below holding on for dear life. A rescue worker came down on a rope, and said, “You’re the last person still here. Your house will be entirely underwater in a short time. I’ll hook you on to the rope and you’ll be pulled up into the chopper.”

          “Thanks, but I’ll stay. I have faith; the Lord will protect me.”

The waters rose, the house disappeared below the surface and washed away. Rick drowned. He went to heaven, but he was really mad when he met Saint Peter. “I had total faith in you. I’ve trusted in you completely since I was a young boy. A big flood came, and I prayed for help, and what happened? Nuttin’! That’s what!”

Saint Peter said, “Well, I don’t know what happened either. We sent a police car, a boat, and a helicopter, and you drowned nonetheless. What went wrong?”

Prayer can be answered in a variety of ways, by a variety of means. We pray to the Lord for help, and he may delegate the responsibility to someone else. In the same way, the word of the Lord can come to us in a whole assortment of ways.

Many people turn to the Bible to discover the word of the Lord. It is, however, a long book, and different people get different things from it. There are moving and profound stories and passages in the Bible, but they often don’t have as much effect as music. A particularly wonderful hymn can bring tears to my eyes. A particularly awful hymn can also bring tears to my eyes, but for a different reason.

The time is surely coming, says the Lord GOD, when I will send a famine on the land; not a famine of bread, or a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the LORD. They shall wander from sea to sea, and from north to east; they shall run to and fro, seeking the word of the LORD, but they shall not find it.

[Martha] had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to what he was saying.

Mary was lucky. She was able to sit quite literally at Jesus’ feet, and hear every word and nuance of his teaching. The prophet Amos talks about a different reality, a famine of hearing the words of the Lord. Though a very old book, its warnings sound disturbingly contemporary. Many of us seem to be running on treadmills, overwhelmed by outside stimuli and unable to filter the important from the frivolous. As Thoreau put it, “Most men live lives of quiet desperation.” Today, it might be noisy desperation. It’s important to remember, however, that Thoreau, the prophet of getting away from it all, built his cabin a half mile from his mother’s house. Sounds a little like a couple of 10 year-olds pitching their tent in the back yard.

The word of the Lord can indeed come to us through the Bible and through prayer and contemplation. I think for me it often comes through the lives of others. My parents were good people, humble people. Until my mother was unable to get out of the house, they were in church every single Sunday. They went the extra mile in their jobs and in the community. I didn’t realize it at the time, but by watching them I heard the word of the Lord. And as Yogi Berra said, “You can observe a lot just by watchin’.”

My greatest clergy mentor was the rector of the parish where I worked during seminary. The parish was in Spanish Harlem, and he was the only Episcopal priest in Harlem who lived next door to the church. Everyone else lived in Westchester County. He knew all about every member of the parish, a community of Christians made up of welfare recipients, multi-millionaires, and everyone in between. It was a very special place, and the Reverend Frank Voelcker was the one who made it special. He was gay, which has affected my position on such issues ever since. Look and listen to the word of the Lord.

Our son Andrew provided many life lessons for the rest of the family. We prayed a lot. We didn’t get what we prayed for, but we did come to recognize Andrew as our special blessing. By his life he taught us the word of the Lord. And Bizzy who devoted her life to taking care of Andrew taught me a lot about God’s love.

We both have been inspired by a special friend who has been around for over 100 years, Mary Artis Dennis. I’ve never heard her say anything mean about anyone. Now there’s a lesson for all of us. Call it the word of the Lord.

And speaking of Dennis, many of us were touched deeply by the life of Dennis Case. As someone wrote in the Trinity Tribune, Dennis had an unusual way of ending a telephone conversation. He just hung up. When I was reminded of that in the Tribune, I thought his life ended suddenly. Like one of his phone calls, there was no goodbye.

The Christian faith emphasizes incarnation, and that includes those who bring us the word of the Lord through their lives, transparently lived in front of us all. Think back on those who have influenced you. And don’t forget to take a look around. You might have been sitting at Jesus’ feet without realizing it.

Love is Messy Business

by the Rev. Shelby Ochs Owen

This sermon is based on Luke 10:25-37. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon. 

“And when the Samaritan saw him he was moved…”

Most of you have heard this Good Samaritan story a bazillian times. And if you haven’t heard this story you have at least heard that phrase, “the Good Samaritan.”  In our culture it has come to refer to someone, a stranger, who has stopped to help a fellow stranger in need.  

This story within a story begins with an encounter between Jesus and a lawyer.  Luke says that the lawyer wants to test Jesus. “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” And ever wise Jesus says for the man to look at what is written in the law. Isn’t that what a lawyer should do? The lawyer goes on to read the same words we say each Sunday, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”  But wanting to justify himself, he asks Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

To be fair, lawyers are trained to be precise, informed with the facts, equipped with debate skills, bent on justice, and to be rule followers.  The question is a fair one, the lawyer wants to know exactly who his neighbor is so that he can follow that law, follow that rule, get control of the situation. Cross that “t” and dot that ”i”.  How many of us have a bit of this lawyer in us? Seeking refuge in rules.  We often want to know what precisely it is we have to do to be accepted by God, want to know what the rules and boundaries are for us to be a part of God’s kingdom. How many of us find ourselves wanting to justify ourselves in our behavior.  Just what is the minimum daily requirement of ways we are to love our neighbor?

And then rather than give the lawyer a clear, clean, precise, black and white answer, he tells a story, which is so often Jesus’ M.O., his modus operandi.   Jesus understands human nature well enough to know that the black and white answer just pings off of us like hail on a windshield.  And the story answer can often penetrate our psyches in deeper and more meaningful ways.

A man has been left for dead along the side of the road, a road that is dusty and deserted and probably pretty scary place as it was known for robberies. Two men, a priest and a Levite, who one would EXPECT to help, for whatever reason, choose to ignore the wounded man (doesn’t it figure these are the clergymen?); and then a Samaritan actually sees the man, stops to help him and goes the extra mile to make sure he is o.k.  A Samaritan?  “So what?” you might think. A Samaritan is a good person, right? Well, reverse the tape two thousand years and you would find that in this first century Palestine world, the Jews hated the Samaritans and they had hated them for centuries.  The Samaritans were despised and unaccepted.

No doubt the lawyer, who is bright and perceptive enough, must have been disturbed to hear this twist in the story.  Instead of Jesus being tested by the lawyer, the lawyer is tested by Jesus. He flips the understanding of the lawyer who wants to affirm the law as the gospel to the gospel as law; Jesus turns away from the measurable and precise to something beyond measure, something beyond rules.  Jesus takes him beyond a black and white, two-dimensional answer and offers the multicolored, multi-layered brilliance of Godly love instead.

Jesus invites the lawyer to a new understanding of the ways of God that involve the human heart, that involve human action. We don’t know why the clergymen ignored the wounded man but whatever the reasons, in doing so they protected themselves, kept themselves safe and closed off to the one in need.  By ignoring the wounded man they may have kept themselves ritually clean.  When the priest and Levite walked to the other side of the road, they shielded themselves from the messiness of the situation.

Maybe it’s because he grew up on a farm but my husband doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.  He will pick up an interesting slug on the sidewalk in a heartbeat, will drink the water in a strange lake, he will reach out and touch weird fungi growing on the ground. Not afraid of getting his hands dirty.  He would do well on the show “Dirty Jobs.”

The Samaritan was willing to get his hands dirty for the sake of love. He came near the wounded man, saw him, and was moved with pity; he went to him, bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them, put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn and took care of him. One giant act of kindness. The Samaritan was willing to let the man in need touch him.  He allowed himself to be vulnerable and to risk his own discomfort for the sake of love for the wounded man. No doubt at the end of the day the Samaritan was dirty, bloody, sweaty, tired and had less money. This love thing is messy business! Nothing neat and tidy about it.  And yet by entering into love we are entering eternal life! 

To truly love and to be loved we must allow ourselves to be vulnerable. When one helps a neighbor there is vulnerability on both sides.  It is risky to ask for help, risky to receive help and risky to give help.  Only in vulnerability and humility do we see a need for one another, a need for God.  We are confronted with folks in need every day, family members, friends and strangers. We can choose to see them as a burden, an imposition, an interruption or we can choose to see them as human beings, the face of Christ. It won’t always be clear as to the best ways to help them.  Just as most of us don’t pick up slugs off the sidewalk we must use discernment when we act out of love!  We have to figure out the best ways to use the resources God has given us.

So roll up your sleeves, risk your own ritual cleanliness or your pride to show a little love in this world. Lord knows the world needs your kindness, needs your willingness to gets your hands dirty. This world is crying out to experience the multi-colored, multi-dimensional  love of God through YOU – you, through your smile; you, through your kind word; you, through sharing what is in your wallet; you through your prayer; you, through your presence.  Allow God to use you!

Amen.

The Spirit in the Simple

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on 2 Kings 5:1-14. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon. 

Naaman, war leader of Aram, was in an intolerable situation. In our First Testament reading today, Naaman is a person of great importance. He has the favor of the king, he gives orders to thousands of troops who trust his strategies and obey his commands without question, he wins great victories and inspires fear and respect in his enemies. Naaman is a person of consequence in the world as he perceives it.

And Naaman apparently is accustomed to being a person of consequence. He expects the people around him to show him the proper respect and deference and fear. He is used to giving orders and having them obeyed. In the game of posturing and posing and throwing one’s weight around that was a staple of politics in Naaman’s day – and in ours, too – in the art of being important, Naaman is pretty darn good. And he expects everyone around him to recognize that he is pretty darn good.

But – Naaman has leprosy. Now the biblical word we translate “leprosy” here was in fact used to name several different skin diseases, not just the Hansen’s disease we today name “leprosy”; so we can’t be entirely sure just what kind of skin condition Naaman has. Nevertheless, in the ancient world skin diseases were very bad news: whether Hansen’s disease or not, “leprosy” was considered highly contagious and difficult to treat: which meant that people who had it were typically isolated, quarantined, outcast, and they could look forward to a long, painful, lonely deterioration and death. Naaman doesn’t seem to be at that stage yet: he’s been allowed to keep his wife, and his household, and his servants, and his job – so he’s not yet a total social outcast. But I imagine Naaman is not very welcome at the royal court; the king and the nobles probably don’t want to be too close to someone they think is contagious; people might respect him but I doubt they want to be near him; all of which means Naaman probably does not get to enjoy the perks and prestige that are properly due his position. And for a man of Naaman’s pride and self-importance, that must hurt a lot. And he knows it’s only going to get worse. For all Naaman’s power, here is something he can’t control; for all Naaman’s ability to defeat the enemy on the battlefield, here is an enemy he can’t overcome; for all Naaman’s expectations of heroic consequence, here is something that cares not a bit for his stature and his prestige and his self-importance. Naaman, war leader of Aram, finds this an intolerable situation.

And it is into this intolerable situation that God sends healing grace. A slave taken on a raid into Israel tells Naaman about a prophet, a mighty man of God, a wonderworker, who is to be found in Samaria (at that time the capital of Israel), and who could certainly cure Naaman of his leprosy. So Naaman goes to his king, and gets a letter of introduction to the king of Israel, and puts together an entourage befitting a dignitary of his importance, and brings a gift of gold and silver and festive garments – the lavishness of the gift being another sign of his prestige – and Naaman goes off to Israel to be healed. He expects to arrive at the royal palace, and have the king come out to meet him, and summon forth the wonderworker, who will lead a ceremony of great pomp and circumstance, and call upon his God, and wave his hand over the infected spot, and cure Naaman in the sight of all the people – thus proving once again that God gives Naaman great victories, that even disease cannot become Naaman’s enemy and survive.

But of course that’s not what happens. When Naaman arrives in Samaria, the king there has no idea what’s going on – he thinks the whole thing is a pretext to pick a quarrel, an excuse for starting a war. Elisha, the miracle-worker, isn’t even there – he’s not at the palace, he’s at his own house. And when Elisha gets word of what’s going on, he doesn’t rush to the palace himself, but he sends a messenger to say “Send Naaman to my place, and I’ll see him.” And when Naaman gets to Elisha’s house – presumably a place far less important and far less consequential than the palace – Elisha doesn’t even come out in person, but sends a servant to tell Naaman to go wash in the Jordan River seven times. Wash. No ceremony, no pomp, no circumstance, no waving of hands, no public miracle. Take a bath. And in the Jordan: a small, unimpressive mud-ditch of a river, nowhere near as magnificent as the Abana and the Pharpar rivers Naaman knows in Damascus. If all Naaman has to do is take a bath, he might as well have stayed at home. This is certainly not what Naaman had expected. This treatment by Elisha only adds insult to the injury of his leprosy. It’s more than Naaman can take! So, in a fit of pique, Naaman turns on his heel and is about to leave for home, writing off the whole stupid journey as a bad idea.

And that’s when one of Naaman’s servants, perhaps a foot soldier, speaks up and addresses his commander in a way he might never have dared before: “If the prophet had asked you to do something hard and difficult and heroic,” he says, “you wouldn’t have hesitated. Why not do something simple, and see if it works?” And for once in his life, Naaman puts aside his pride and his privilege and his grandiose expectations – and he goes to the Jordan, and he washes, and he is made clean.

The thing I love about our First Testament story today is the way it shows God using very ordinary means to accomplish extraordinary ends. Something so simple as washing in a river becomes the channel through which God’s creating and re-creating and healing energy can enter Naaman’s life. Things so simple as the ordinary, everyday activities of living can be the openings for God’s grace to come into our lives. But at the same time, this story shows how we have to be ready to perceive God’s grace, how we have to be open to recognize God’s extraordinary presence in the midst of ordinary things. Naaman has to cut through his pride and his self-importance and his expectations before he can receive healing in the simple act of washing. And we often have to set aside our sense of privilege, and our conviction of our own importance, and our expectations – our grandiose or our anxious expectations – if we are to be open to God’s healing and shalom and well-being offered to us in the simple gift of each present moment.

And that ability to set aside our sense of busy-ness or importance or expectation in order to attend to God in the present moment – that’s something that can be learned. It’s not just a talent of the spiritually advanced, but it is a skill, a discipline, a practice of faith that you and I and anyone can begin and develop and grow in with experience. So I invite you to do precisely that; I invite you to adopt and develop that practice in this coming week. Every day this week – maybe even several times a day – take a moment when you’re right in the middle of something and pause, mentally step back from whatever it is you’re doing, disengage from the sense of urgency or busy-ness or attachment that the moment seems to demand, and just ask yourself “What is God doing right here, right now? What movement or energy or inspiration is the Spirit drawing forth from me in this particular action? What moment of love or healing or justice or compassion or joy is God creating with me right now?” Try this spiritual exercise: in the middle of doing some ordinary thing, put your expectations aside and be open to the extraordinary grace God is giving you just then. If you make that a practice of prayer, I can bear witness it will release some amazing energy into your soul.

When Lee and I were in Wisconsin last week, we stopped for a couple of hours at the International Crane Foundation outside of Baraboo. The Crane Foundation is not a very big place; but they house there individuals from all fifteen crane species in the world, some of them quite endangered; and they are doing remarkable work to restore a migrating population of Whooping Cranes in North America. As we were walking around the crane enclosures, we came to some Blue Cranes, which I’d never seen before. Blue Cranes come from southern Africa, and they are smaller and more delicate than most cranes, and they have long tail feathers that give them a dignified and elegant look. It was fascinating to watch them as they moved about their enclosure, looking for food, observing the humans observing them. They weren’t in a hurry, they moved with a kind of simple slowness – and as I watched them, I could feel my mind slowing down, too. The stress of driving through traffic and rain that morning, the urgency about getting to our B&B by the time we’d said we’d be there – all that kind of faded away, and I was just there, watching the Blue Cranes. And in that moment, in that extended now, I felt a great gratitude, a deep joy that such beautiful creatures and such beautiful moments could be. I became aware of the gift God was giving me, and that awareness changed the rest of the day.

That was the moment of God I found when I looked for it. What will you be looking for? What moments will you take to set aside expectations and to attend to God? What ordinary actions will open up for you into extraordinary grace? And if we practice such attentiveness this week, what practice might we grow into in the weeks to come?

Naaman, war leader of Aram, found healing by cutting through his expectations and attending to the extraordinary energy of God flowing through ordinary human action. The Good News for us today is that we can do that too, we can make that a pattern of our prayer, we can make that a practice of our faith, we can let that be healing for our lives. Amen.

Our God is a Wonderful God

The Rev. Ellen Hanckel shared with Trinity Church the good news of her mission to teach at Bishop Gwynne Theological College in Juba, South Sudan. 

Click here to listen to her sermon. 

Spiritual Rorschach Test

by the Rev. Jim Gilman

This sermon is based on Luke 7:36-8:3. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon.

Decades ago I was an undergraduate student in college. This was a year or two after the invention of the wheel. Some of you will remember. I majored in psychology. In a course called The Psychology of Personality students were required to both take and administer several standardized tests that measure personality traits. Some of these tests are still standard today. For example, one was the Briggs-Myers test. Many of you probably have taken this test. The results of this test have permanently damaged the self-image of several generations of otherwise perfectly healthy Americans. Another test we had to take and administer was the Rorschach test. Have you taken this test? Sometime it is referred to as the inkblot test. The subject views a formless ink blotch on a piece of paper; and is asked to interpret it; to explain what they see. Trained psychologists then analyze the interpretation and gain insight into the subject’s personality and psychological condition. It sometimes reveals character traits that the subject is reluctant to talk about openly.

            

Our Gospel lesson today presents us with a kind of spiritual Rorschach test. It asks us to view and interpret the actions of a woman who intrudes on a perfectly peaceful man-cave dinner party. How would you view and interpret this woman and how she acts? What would it reveal about your spiritual condition? Luke gives us two interpretations of the same event; and in a sense Luke is recording the results of a spiritual Rorschach test. He records how Simon the Righteous Pharisee sees the woman and Jesus. He also records how Jesus sees the woman and Simon. These two ways of seeing the same event reveal two distinct spiritual personalities, two different underlying psychological conditions. These two ways of seeing, in fact, are windows into the spiritual condition of Simon’s heart and into the spiritual condition of Jesus’ heart.

Luke’s question to us, his readers, is: Which way of seeing do you and I tend toward? When we view people who are different from us, or difficult, or whose lives are somewhat scandalous, how do we view them? How do we interpret their actions? Do we tend toward Simon’s way of seeing, or do we tend toward Jesus’ way of seeing?

            

Simon is a Pharisee, a Righteous and religious man, who invites Jesus to dinner along with friends. Dinner is interrupted by a woman “who is a sinner,” as Luke puts it; a woman who apparently has a reputation. If we take the woman’s actions as a kind of spiritual Rorschach test, Simon reveals more about the spiritual condition of his heart than he does about the woman. He sees her antagonistically and judgmentally; he criticizes and condemns her for her unconventional, disruptive behavior. In doing so he reveals just how selfish and self-righteous his heart really is. In fact, Simon’s eyesight fails him in several ways. First, he sees her only as a sinner; he does not see her as a sinner in need of love and care, as Jesus does. Simon is first and foremost selfish. He has no concern for the well being of the woman, but only for the well being of his dinner party. In doing so, Simon’s eyes fail to see the fact that, just like the woman, he too is a sinner in need of God’s love and care; something his own religious tradition teaches him.

Not only that, Simon also reveals something about his heart by criticizing and misjudging Jesus. He says, “If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.” Not only does Simon misunderstand what a prophet is, Simon’s pride is so monstrous that he cannot see in himself what he so easily sees in the woman—that he is a sinner.

Contrast Simon’s with Jesus’ way of seeing this random inkblot event. Jesus sees differently. In fact, he suspects that Simon has not really seen this woman at all. In so many words, Jesus asks Simon, “Look at her, don’t you even see what she is doing?” She is showing to me the kind of hospitality, Simon, that you and any decent host are supposed to show a guest. You, Simon, have neglected the very acts of kindness and hospitality that you expect of others. You’re so busy criticizing and complaining that you fail to see the kind heart of this woman; you’re so busy criticizing and complaining that you fail to show me, a guest, the same care and concern this woman, who you criticize as a sinner, shows me.  So, look first at yourself, Simon, and not at the woman. Examine yourself; see if your heart is right and right with God. You will see that you are as much a sinner as this woman; and that God will forgive both of you, as long as you acknowledge you are sinners. But how can you acknowledge that you are sinner when you are so pre-occupied with criticizing and judging and condemning others?

What lessons can we take away from this story, from this spiritual Rorschach test? Everyday we encounter people; how we react to these random, inkblot events reveals the spiritual condition of our heart. Think of people you interact with regularly: members of your family; friends, neighbors,  people you work with or go to school with: How do you see them? How do you judge them? Do you judge them more critically than you do yourself? Do I, do you, simply judge them, as Simon did? Or do you, as Jesus did, see what it is you can do to care for them, to show compassion and contribute to their well being?  Which way of seeing do you and I tend toward? 

Luke’s gospel is teaching us that what we see or don’t see in others reveals as much about our own spiritual condition as it does the condition of others; it reveals who we are in our heart, in our soul. We can all think right now of someone who we tend to see critically and judgmentally, like Simon did the woman; someone who we quickly and easily condemn and dismiss.  By seeing in this way we reveal not what kind of person the other is but what kind of person we are towards them in our hearts. No doubt we can come up with reasons to see them that way. But for Christians there is another way of seeing, a Christ-like way. That way begins with self-examination, that we are sinners and in need of help, in need of God’s love and care. Secondly, Jesus’ way sees others not just as sinners but as sinners in need of help, in need of God’s love and care. This difference between Simon’s and Jesus’ way of seeing may be a small difference, but it is one that makes all the difference: Simon sees the woman as a sinner; Jesus sees her as a sinner in need of God’s love and care and forgiveness, which it is the business of Christians to deliver. Jesus is not the fool Simon makes him out to be; he is not fooled by the women; he knows who and what she is, a sinner. And yet he also knows her heart, and knows what she needs. He knows that her acts of kindness towards him come from a heart of faith and love. Hence, he declares to her “Your sins are forgiven,” something he also offers to Simon and to all of us.

Luke challenges each of us as Christians first to examine ourselves. What kind of eyes do we have? How do we see others? Judgmentally, like Sinon? Or graciously, like Jesus? When we see other people what does that Rorschach test reveal about our own heart, about our faith? What does it reveal about the spiritual condition of our lives? How do we see and judge family members? How about our boss or fellow employees or neighbors or clergy? Do I, do you see with the eyes of Simon or with the eyes of Jesus? May God help us to see as Jesus sees others: not just as sinners but as sinners in need of forgiveness and compassion. May we see with eyes of healing grace; with eyes of acceptance and forgiveness; with eyes of love and mercy. May we as a community of Christians collectively see with the eyes of Jesus; so that Jesus may say of us as he said to the woman: “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” 

Jesus Restores Lives

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Luke 7:11-17. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon.

If I were to write a caption for the picture presented in our Gospel story today, it would be “Jesus restores lives in Nain.” And I would use the plural – lives – because, as I read the story, Jesus restores more than one life on his visit to this village.

Most obviously, of course, Jesus restores the life of the young man who had been ill. Luke never tells us what had made this young man ill, what had brought him to the point of death; we never find out the full context of this story. What Luke does tell us is that as Jesus and his disciples and the crowd are approaching the village, they meet another crowd coming out toward them, a funeral procession, carrying a man who had clearly died before his time, because Jesus sees his mother is walking beside the bier, and no parent should outlive their child. Even without the backstory, these details are are enough to arouse Jesus’ compassion, and he steps up and touches the bier; and he speaks to the body, which of course at that point cannot hear him, cannot hear anything; and he says “Young man, I say to you, rise!”; and the young man stirs, and breathes, and his eyes open, and he sits up, and he begins to speak; and, I imagine, Jesus helps him step up off the bier and stand on his own two feet, and Jesus gives him to his mother. Even though to all external appearances this young man was separated from his mother and his friends and his village and the whole world of light and life, separated from everything by the great gulf of death, Jesus reaches across that distance, Jesus overcomes that separation, and Jesus brings him back, Jesus reconnects him to the circles of relationship and activity and love that make him thrive, Jesus restores his life.

That’s the obvious part of the story. Less obvious, but just as important, is the fact that, when Jesus restores the young man’s life, he restores the life of his mother as well. Luke makes quite a point of telling us that the mother is a widow, and that the young man is her only son – and that means that he is her only connection to the resources that could make for a good and happy life for her. In the culture of Jesus’ time, a woman on her own had very little legal or social standing. In the culture of Jesus’ time, a woman was identified by her relationship to some man: she was some father’s daughter, or some husband’s wife, or some son’s mother; and, with very rare exceptions, the only connections a woman had to property or wealth or a place to live or a means to get by came through her relationship to some man. A woman who lost her husband and was a widow would be expected to move in with one of her sons, become part of the son’s household, and be taken care of that way. But a widow who had only one son, and who lost that son, would have nowhere to go, no household to be part of, no place, no status, no name. The mother’s plight here may be less obvious than the young man’s – after all, she is still standing, she is still breathing, she is still in the world – but in a very real sense, her livelihood, her life, is threatened also by her son’s death, her connections to the circles of relationship and activity and love that give her life are all coming apart and being lost as well.

And the way Luke tells the story, it is the widow’s loss of life that arouses Jesus’ compassion. It is her disconnection from the circles of livelihood and life that moves Jesus to intervene. When Jesus restores life to the young man, he does it, in every sense that matters, to restore life to his mother as well. The real life that is restored in this story is the life that is shared, the life of relationship, that which connects in living the man, and the mother, and their friends, and their acquaintances, and the funeral procession, and the crowd, and eventually the entire town of Nain. Their lives are all restored, their lives are all renewed, to one degree or another, because this young man lives in their circles of relationship and activity and love once again.

In fact, I think one of the most important things this story has to teach us is that life, the life that Jesus restores, the life that matters, is more than just biology, more than just the orderly functioning of a bodily organism. Life in its largest sense is a matter of relationship: what gives biological functioning its meaning, its purpose, its depth, its texture, its significance, its satisfaction, its joy, is the relationships we share in and through and by means of our bodily presence. It’s a biological fact that right now I am breathing; but what gives my breathing significance is that I am using my breath to speak, to share ideas, hopefully to inspire insights, to create a relationship through which the Word of God might come to be recognized among us. After this service we will have a picnic, we will eat food together; and while the food will be fuel for the biology of our bodies, it will be the conversation, the conviviality, the fun of picnicking, that will really be the life of the occasion. When Jesus says he comes that we may have life, and may have it more abundantly, it’s not just biology he’s talking about, but the rich life of relationship that connects us and sustains us and nourishes us and helps us grow into the compassionate, creative, loving people God wants us to be.

That is the kind of life Jesus restores in the Gospel story, for the young man and his mother and everyone. And that is the kind of life Jesus promises to restore in us, as well. It is the promise of this Gospel story that we will be restored, we will be renewed, we will come more alive, as we connect ever more deeply in circles of relationship and activity and love that cause us to thrive.

And Jesus is working among us to create those circles of life-restoring relationships all the time. Here at Trinity, within our parish life together, one of those circles is kept and sustained by Trinity Cares. Trinity Cares is a team of laypersons in our parish who have committed themselves to the ministry of pastoral care, of being there for, and reaching out to, members of our congregation who are going through an illness, or experiencing a loss, or celebrating a birth, or feeling lonely, or needing an encouragement. Members of the Trinity Cares team are there to write a card, or bring a meal, or make a phone call, or come for a visit, or offer a ride – just generally to be a friend in the Spirit who rejoices with those who rejoice and weeps with those who weep, who creates a connection in Christ that can raise spirits and reveal compassion and restore life. If you or someone you know could benefit from the ministry of Trinity Cares, you can contact Muffie Newell or myself, amd we can put you in touch with the team. The pastoral ministry offered by Trinity Cares is a great complement to the pastoral ministry offered by Trinity’s priest and deacons, and is just one way our parish grows and deepens our connections in circles of relationship and activity and love that restore our lives.

And the connections we make to sustain circles of relationship and activity and love that restore lives extend far beyond just our congregation. One fact about our parish life that I’m not sure is widely known beyond the Vestry is that each year Trinity Church makes grants to a variety of agencies and nonprofits in our town and in our state, agencies and nonprofits that offer services and ministries we want to be involved in but we can't do just as Trinity Church on our own. Every year we set aside twenty thousand dollars of our parish budget to give away; every year, through your pledges, through your support of Trinity, you are making connections in circles of life-restoring relationships at SACRA, and the Valley Mission, and the Augusta Free Clinic, and the Valley Children's Center, and Jackson Feild School, and Boy’s Home, and the Blue Ridge Area Food Bank, and many others too. That’s another way our parish life together helps us build connections to circles of relationship and activity and love that restore lives.

Jesus came to the town of Nain, and restored among its people the relationships that gave life. May Jesus come to us, and give us grace to restore relationships that give life in our world too. Amen.

Interaction at a Distance

by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow

This sermon is based on Luke 7:1-10. Click here to listen to an audio version of this sermon.

Our Gospel reading this morning tells the story of a healing miracle of Jesus. And while the Gospel tells of many healings by Jesus, this one is a little unusual. 

In most of the healing stories of Jesus, the moment of healing takes place in some kind of close, personal interaction between Jesus and the person being healed. Jesus lays his hands on someone, or he looks intently at someone, or he makes clay and puts it on their eyes, or he tells them to pick up their mat and walk, or he says to them "Your faith has made you well." Usually, in the healing stories about Jesus, there is a moment of direct contact between Jesus and the person being healed, and it is in that moment that the healing takes place. 

But not in this story. In this story, what is remarkable is the lack of any direct contact between Jesus and the recipient of his healing grace. What makes this story remarkable is that it is one of the very few healing stories in the Gospels that show Jesus acting at a distance. 

In fact, the person who needs to be healed, the slave of the centurion, never even appears onstage in this story. He never has a speaking role. Jesus doesn't see him, Jesus doesn't touch him, Jesus doesn't speak a healing word to him – Jesus simply sends forth healing power, and the slave is found to be in good health. This story is remarkable for the seeming disconnect between Jesus and the one who is being healed, the way Jesus reaches across a physical distance to make the healing happen. 

But that's not the only physical distance in the story. The slave never appears onstage – but the centurion doesn't appear onstage, either. The centurion is active in the story, of course – he's the one who reaches out to Jesus, he's the one who asks for the healing, he's the one who tells Jesus he is not worthy to have Jesus come under his roof – but the centurion does all these things at a distance. He never sees Jesus himself. He sends Jewish elders to Jesus to ask for the healing, and he sends friends to explain that it will be enough if Jesus simply speaks the word. But he himself never encounters Jesus eye-to-eye, he himself never has a direct contact with Jesus' healing grace. Part of what makes this story remarkable is the seeming disconnect between the centurion and Jesus, the way the centurion reaches across physical distance to ask that healing happen. 

And it's not just physical distance that's being crossed. The man asking for healing is, after all, a centurion: he is a Roman soldier, a commander of Roman soldiers; he is part of the occupying army that is making Jewish life very difficult. He himself may have come to love the Jewish people; but he has no reason to expect they will have anything but fear and mistrust for him. He has no reason to expect that Jesus will have anything but fear and mistrust for him. So reaching out to Jesus to ask for healing means crossing a distance of suspicion and hatred that, as far as the centurion knows, could be a huge separation between them.

And of course that distance of fear and mistrust works the other way, too: as a Roman commander, the centurion would have known all about Zealots, Jewish patriots who called for armed uprisings against the Roman occupiers. To a lot of Romans, Jesus looked just like that kind of Zealot. After all, he preached about a kingdom that was not the kingdom of Caesar – and to Roman military ears that could sound like insurrection. The formal charge against Jesus at his trial for Crucifixion was precisely that he claimed to be a king in place of Caesar. To the centurion, Jesus could have looked like a shady, dangerous character indeed. So reaching out to Jesus to ask for healing means crossing a distance of fear and mistrust on his own part, as well. 

And yet all of these distances – distance in space, distance in social standing, distance in military might, distance in fear, distance in politics – all of these distances are crossed in the act of reaching out in grace. Even though Jesus and the centurion and the slave never come into direct contact with each other, they are still connected, they still interact at a distance, because of the love of God that surrounds them and upholds them and brings them together, even though to all external appearances they seem to be apart. 

In fact, I think that is the good news of this story – even more than the good news of healing, the good news of this story is that the love of God revealed to us in Jesus surrounds us and upholds us and brings us together in all kinds of ways that cross the distances that to all external appearances keep us apart. Like Jesus and the centurion and the slave in the story, we are all connected – and connected even with people with whom we have no direct contact – because it is the love of God that connects us. 

In a few days a group of youth and adults will leave Trinity for a mission trip to Honduras, where they will work at a school in the community of San Rafael. Now, most of us in the parish will never go to San Rafael, most of us will never see that school, most of us will never have a sense of direct contact with the important work of teaching and life-building that goes on there. But even though we are not in direct contact, we are still connected, because we as a parish support the youth in their mission – we support them by coming to the spaghetti suppers, we support them with our dollars, we support them in our prayers – and the youth carry our support with them when they go to San Rafael. They will literally carry with them cutout footsteps on which are written many of our names, representing many of our gifts. And through the work of those missioners, we as a whole parish will reach out to cross distances of space, and nationality, and poverty, and we will be connected by reaching out in grace in Christ. 

Today we are having a Baptism here at Trinity, as we welcome Lucy Wood Stisser into the household of God and help her begin her pilgrimage of life in Christ. None of us have any idea where Lucy's pilgrimage might take her, what kind of challenges and joys and experiences she might have as she grows up. Chances are that many of us won't have all that much direct contact with Lucy in childhood and youth and adulthood. But we are still all connected with Lucy, because Baptism makes us all one Body in Christ, and every member of the Body is an important influence on the whole Body. We are all connected, because in Baptism Christ reaches out to us in grace and empowers us to reach out in grace to each other, and all kinds of distances are crossed in that baptismal reaching-out. 

And I think we at Trinity have a mission to keep on reaching out in grace, to reach across distances of space and class and race and wealth and fear and mistrust and difference throughout our community, and our region, and our world. The mission of Christ in which we share is not simply to sit here in our church and wait for people to come in, but to go out, to go into the neighborhood, go into the city, go into the county, go where people need us -- just like Jesus was going to the house of the centurion -- and even if we never come into direct contact, our mission is to make connections that can bring healing and reconciliation and faith and love wherever we see that it is needed. The good news of the Gospel for us today is that we can cross all manner of distance to reveal together the grace of Christ. 

May God grant us the courage and the grace to reach across the distances that seem to hold us apart, and to build up our faithful connections in Christ. Amen.