by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow
This sermon is based on Mark 6:30-34, 53-56. An audio version of this sermon is available here.
When Jesus saw the crowd he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.
When Jesus saw the crowd he saw that they were disorganized, lacking focus, without direction, scattered. There were so many, coming and going, this way and that, rushing around, so busy but so disconnected, with no leisure, no rest, no quietness, no peace, not even to eat. And when they saw Jesus there, they gathered around him, they flocked to him, because they could feel that he had something genuine, they could feel he had a real life — and even though they were so disorganized, so scattered, they didn’t know what they wanted, they knew they wanted what he had. So they flocked to him, they crowded in around him — even though they could tell he has trying to get away to a quiet place, a retreat, with his disciples, they came anyway, they waylaid him on his way, because their souls were so scattered and their need was so deep.
And when Jesus saw them, he had compassion for them, he was moved for them — he felt for them in his belly, in his innards, the Greek says — that kind of deep-down, visceral, undeniable connection you feel with someone you really care about. So he gave them what he had to give: he taught them. He taught them many things. And when he taught them, he taught them in parables. Remember that Mark says Jesus always taught the crowds in parables — that “he did not speak to them except in parables” — and parables are a very particular form of teaching. Teaching in parables is not like saying “Do this” or “Don’t do that” or “Believe this” or “Behave this way.” Teaching in parables doesn’t just lay out information or direction and expect the learner to follow automatically. Teaching in parables always comes at the point indirectly. Teaching in parables always sets you up for one expectation, and then gives you something else, and the learning is in the difference between them. Teaching in parables doesn’t just dump information in your head, but makes you participate in your own learning. Teaching in parables makes you work for what you learn, it makes you figure out for yourself what’s really going on, what God is really doing, beneath the apparent surface story. Teaching in parables makes you co-create with your teacher the thing that you have learned. Teaching in parables doesn’t just convey knowledge, it creates wisdom. And creating wisdom is forming in the very soul the creative image of God.
So when Jesus teaches the crowd in parables because they are like sheep without a shepherd, he is doing for them a very specific thing: he is not just telling them what to do, but he is putting them in touch with God, he’s helping them grow wisdom in their souls so that they can better know what God would have them do, and where God is calling them to go, and how God is leading them in their lives. When Jesus sees the crowds are like sheep without a shepherd, he helps them know their true shepherd is God.
And that is the promise of this gospel for us: that the teaching of Jesus will be there for us to form wisdom in our souls when we feel lost, and scattered, and disorganized, and at loose ends, and like sheep without a shepherd. When the bottom seems to drop out of life for us; when the ways and means and patterns we habitually use to make our lives feel ordered and sensible and meaningful suddenly don’t work anymore; when tragedy or disaster upset the delicate balance we’ve made out of all the desires and duties and aspirations and responsibilities that tug in different directions for us; — then the promise is the Wisdom of Christ is there for us, to help us look beneath the apparent surface of the story, to help us look beyond our own understanding or lack thereof, to put us more deeply in touch with what God would have us do, and where God is calling us to go, and how God is leading us in our lives. The Wisdom of Christ is there for us to help us know our true shepherd is God.
And the fact is our lives can feel very fragile, very vulnerable, very close to the edge of feeling scattered and wandering and shepherdless. A windstorm blows up, and knocks down trees and powerlines and cable connections, and suddenly pumps and water and freezers and communications stop working, and roads are blocked and cars can’t get through — and suddenly a lot of the common infrastructure we so easily take for granted in daily life isn’t there for us, and things just don’t work the way they’re supposed to — and that can make us feel lost, and scattered, and like everyone’s rushing around without any order, and shepherdless. An occasion of vocational change or career move or educational advancement comes up, and anticipation-and-excitement and anxiety-and-trepidation tug both ways within you, and you start to wonder about what you’ve done so far and question what you might be yet to do, and you can almost feel the ripples of change beginning to spread out through all your relationships and all your activities and all your connections — and that can make you feel lost, and scattered, and out of focus, and shepherdless. A gunman carrying an assault rifle walks into a crowded theater during a popular movie and opens fire, and when we hear about it we feel horror and sadness and compassion for the victims and anger at the shooter, and perhaps we begin to feel how our own safety hangs by a thread and our own security is never quite assured and we never know when someone with a gun might be coming close to us — and that can make us feel lost, and scattered, and wandering in the valley of the shadow of death, and shepherdless. We come to church, even, seeking a place of stability and tradition in the midst of a changing world — and we find that God’s mission for us to proclaim the gospel in a changing world requires that we change, that we find new ways to live out the timeless truth that make sense and are engaging and are transforming for the times at hand — and even that can make us feel a little lost, and scattered, and unsettled, and shepherdless. It doesn’t take much to show us our lives are more fragile than we like to think.
And that is when Jesus sees us, and has compassion for us, and teaches us many things, so that we can come to know ever more deeply that, even when we feel most scattered, our true shepherd is God. That is when the Wisdom of Christ is at work in our souls, opening our eyes to see what God is doing beneath the apparent surface of the story, helping us to recognize the new possibilities for compassion and justice and peace and right-relationship and wholeness of life that God is creating even out of the ashes of tragedy and disaster and dis-ease, helping us to realize how God is calling and empowering us to be co-creators with God of those new trajectories for good. Even when we feel most vulnerable, God is as work: a community rebuilds after storm; a career, a vocation, an education enters a new stage, and even though it is challenging, relationships and connections readjust; people gather to grieve, and to sympathize, and to pray, and to work together to change the conditions that lead to violence so that peace may prevail instead; a church turns to mission and faith-practice and not just being an institution but living the Gospel in the timely ways of daily life. Even when we feel most vulnerable and lost and scattered, God is at work — and the Wisdom of God forms in us the mind of Christ, teaching us many things, so that we may know and trust and work with and follow the true shepherding of God.
That is the promise of the Gospel today. Let it be so for us. Amen.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Freedom or Not
By
John Wilkinson
It may be impossible for us as human
beings to avoid foolishness. Where we have a choice lies in whether our
foolishness leads us to freedom or a loss of freedom, whether our foolishness
takes us onward to the God revealed in Jesus Christ or traps us in our small
selves. Will our foolishness bring about salvation, or will it take us
down to irreversible loss?
Today's readings from scripture portray
both true and false foolishness, both freedom and the lack of freedom. In
one case they show us a party where wisdom is absent, hope has been cast aside,
and freedom is nowhere to be found. In the other case, we see a most memorable
parade led by a man who knows both sides of foolishness, but at his best
chooses the foolishness which points to God.
King Herod throws a birthday party for
himself. He invites his courtiers, his yes men, and the people he needs
to impress. He has no friends in sight, for he has no friends at all. His
daughter Herodias does a dance of the sort no father should approve of, but
Herod is the one who applauds the loudest. He sputters out a promise to
give the girl anything she wants, even half his kingdom. This promise
exceeds Herod's power; he's but a puppet king, unable to give away even an
acre. But the girl does not ask for real estate. After consulting with
her mother, a latter-day Jezebel, she calls for the head of John the Baptist,
King Herod's prisoner, to be delivered to her posthaste on a platter. Now Herod
is in away fascinated with John; holding him prisoner keeps him safe from
Herod's bloodthirsty wife. But now this so-called king has gone and shot
off his mouth in front of a dining hall full of self-important guests.
Backing down from his intemperate promise would make him look bad in
front of this snide, unforgiving audience.
We
need to hear it too, because we, like God’s people through the ages, are prone
to interpret difficult times as a sign that evil has trumped God. This story
serves another purpose as well. The deaths of John and Jesus warn us that God
does not always reward faithful discipleship with an easy life.
The truth-teller’s road is narrow and
filled with potholes. Thank God that's not today's only
scripture story. And that’s not the only way life can turn out. We
hear also of a real king, King David, bringing the ark of God to Jerusalem in
the grandest style.
He musters thirty thousand soldiers, and
they accompany the Holy Ark carried in a cart, step by step toward Jerusalem.
Everybody is dancing, everybody is shaking it up! Loud singing,
lyres and castanets and cymbals, and still more loud singing!
The star of the show is King David
himself, who, as scripture tells us, "danced before the Lord with all his
might," like Little Richard and Elvis and the Four Tops and Bruce
Springsteen all rolled up into one. David is a free man! He dances
before the Lord, dances for the love of the Lord! His life is not easy,
his life is not perfect, he has done wrong and dealt wickedly and been
forgiven; this king dances with abandon, for the joy of the Lord is his
strength!
King David, though an obvious believer in
monarchy, would have answered AMEN to what anarchist Emma Goldman said,
"If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your revolution!"
King David would climb up on stage and
play a harp or blow a horn with U2 as they sing out, and this free man would join with choirs
of Anglican cathedrals. He will not dance alone. He does not
dance alone. Look for him in the line of dancing saints that now
encircles the throne of God and the Lamb, a conga line that stretches past the
horizons of heaven. Picture them all present at this altar when our
Sanctus sounds forth.
Heaven's music is a lot like David's
dance, for there as well tragedy does not get the last word: joy and exuberance
prevail. The deep energies of God ignite a cosmic dance that shakes,
rattles, and rolls; that never wearies and never stop’s.
Will our foolishness bring about our salvation,
or will it take us down to irreparable loss? That’s the question that each of us must
answer. Amen!
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Weakness and Strength
By the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow
This sermon is based on 2 Corinthians 12:2-10. An audio version of the sermon is available here.
“When I am weak, then I am strong.”
That statement, from our Epistle reading this morning, is one of those paradoxes of the Gospel, one of those statements of the Good News that seems self-contradictory on the surface, but with meditation and reflection reveals a deeper meaning — like “The last will be first” and “Blessed are the poor” and “Whoever loses their life will save it.” “When I am weak, then I am strong” on the face of it makes no sense — especially in a culture and a society like ours that values being strong and being independent and being able to take care of yourself and getting yourself whatever you want whenever you want it. To us, becoming weak in order to reveal a deeper strength just doesn’t add up.
But that is what Paul is talking about, in this second of his letters to the church in Corinth. It seems that sometime after Paul established the Corinthian church, when Paul himself had gone on, traveling further to plant new churches, some other traveling preachers arrived in Corinth — and these other preachers apparently wowed the Corinthian Christians. These preachers would speak about the revelations they had received, and the miracles they had done, and the signs and wonders they had performed. After a while of this, the Corinthians began to think, “Well, Paul wasn’t all that impressive, was he? He didn’t tell us about all the great things he had done. Maybe Paul’s teaching wasn’t all that good, either. Maybe we should be listening to these other preachers, maybe we should believe things their way, instead of the way Paul taught us.”
It was to answer that challenge that Paul wrote this letter to the Corinthians. And in that letter Paul explains, rather patiently, that when he was with them he didn’t draw attention to himself, to his revelations and signs and wonders, because as an apostle it was his job to draw attention to Christ, not to himself. It was his job to draw attention to the Holy Spirit, not to himself. It was his job, not just to talk about the Spirit, but to help the Corinthians experience the Spirit for themselves, so that it would be their revelations and their miracles and their faith that would be their connection-point to God. Paul says, If you want boasting, I can boast: I can tell you about my vision of the third heaven, I can tell you about all the times I’ve spoken in tongues, I can tell you about the unclean spirits I’ve cast out and the people I’ve healed. But what would be the point?, Paul says. The Good News about the Spirit forming Christ within us doesn’t come just by words, Paul says, it comes by experience. And for us to experience that together, Paul says, I have to set my own accomplishments aside, so that we can discover what Christ will accomplish among us. I have to put my own strength aside, Paul says, I have to put my own power aside, so that the Spirit can strengthen all of us and empower all of us, so that we can be more together than any of us can apart, so that God can do more with us than we on our own could ever ask or imagine.
When I am weak, Paul says, I open the space for God’s strength — and that is when I am strong.
And that same truth speaks to us, too: in our personal lives, in our spiritual lives, in our life together as a parish, as a community, as a nation: when we rely too much on our own strength, our own powers, our own abilities, then we are weak, then we are unsure of ourselves, then we can be consumed by the anxiety that we are not good enough. But when we can admit our weaknesses, when we know our need for help, when we can make room for God’s grace, then we are strong, then we are empowered by a power greater than our own, then we become able to do the work God gives us to do.
I knew a woman once who was a recovering alcoholic — and she would talk quite frankly about the path that led her to recovery. She said that for a long time she knew she drank “too much,” she knew she had a drinking “problem” — but she said she would never accept the words “addict” or “addiction” for herself or her situation. She said she always believed she was strong enough to stop drinking whenever she wanted — she just didn’t want to. She said that, looking back, she realized as long as she thought she was strong, then she was too weak to do anything about her drinking. It was only when some close friends did an intervention, when some people who cared about her deeply brought her face-to-face with the evidence of her own addiction — only then could she admit her weakness for alcohol — and only in admitting that weakness could she find the strength to trust her friends, and trust a treatment program, and trust that she could turn around and get clean and live a new life as a sober person. For her, too, it was when she was weak that she could open the space for God’s higher power, and only then could she become strong.
And I think there is a lesson there for our church, as well. I just heard yesterday that the House of Deputies of the General Convention, now meeting in Indianapolis, has voted to sell the Episcopal Church Center office building at 815 2nd Avenue in New York. That is a hugely expensive building, but that building, at that address, has served for a long time as a symbol of the prestige and importance and social position of our church. Not having that address will look to a lot of people like a big step backward. One person commented that “as a business owner” it looked to him like a failing enterprise “slowly selling off assets” before going under. I’ve never been to 815 myself, so I can’t comment on its merits as an administrative center. But I do know that giving up a prestigious address does look a lot like an admission of weakness, it does look like the Episcopal Church admitting to not being on the top of the social heap like it used to be. But there are many people in the church who see this admission of weakness as really an opportunity for strength. One deputy said that 815 was a “relic of our delusions of being an established church from an imperial era.” A lot of people think the old image of the Episcopal Church being “the upper class at prayer” (when I was a kid growing up in Michigan, I once heard someone call the Episcopal Church “General Motors at prayer,”and even as a kid I wasn't sure I liked that corporate image) is actually harmful for us today, because that notion of us being the church of the “upper crust” gets in the way of our doing Christ’s mission, it gets in the way of our reaching out to everyone, and making a tent big enough for everyone to come in, and standing with the poor and the outcast and the marginalized, and laboring for the transformation of our society to be less like a consumerist shopping mall and more like the Peaceable Kingdom of the Reign of God. As a church, our job is to draw attention to Jesus, not to ourselves; and maybe not maintaining a big expensive central office in New York will help us do our job better. Admitting our church’s weakness in institutional reach and social prestige may well be a way for us to become stronger in our on-the-ground work for the mission of Christ. On the national level, or even on our own local parochial level, thinking less about our institutional footprint and more about equipping every member for their mission might be a weakness that reveals a deeper strength.
So for Paul and for the church and for us, the same paradox of the Gospel holds true: when we are weak, when we know our need for grace, when we can put aside our pride and our boasting and our being too full of ourselves, when we can open space for God — then we become strong, then we are filled with a power greater than our own, then we become able to do more than we had ever thought was possible.
That is the Good News for us today. That is God’s invitation to us to live in the Spirit’s strength every day. Amen.
This sermon is based on 2 Corinthians 12:2-10. An audio version of the sermon is available here.
“When I am weak, then I am strong.”
That statement, from our Epistle reading this morning, is one of those paradoxes of the Gospel, one of those statements of the Good News that seems self-contradictory on the surface, but with meditation and reflection reveals a deeper meaning — like “The last will be first” and “Blessed are the poor” and “Whoever loses their life will save it.” “When I am weak, then I am strong” on the face of it makes no sense — especially in a culture and a society like ours that values being strong and being independent and being able to take care of yourself and getting yourself whatever you want whenever you want it. To us, becoming weak in order to reveal a deeper strength just doesn’t add up.
But that is what Paul is talking about, in this second of his letters to the church in Corinth. It seems that sometime after Paul established the Corinthian church, when Paul himself had gone on, traveling further to plant new churches, some other traveling preachers arrived in Corinth — and these other preachers apparently wowed the Corinthian Christians. These preachers would speak about the revelations they had received, and the miracles they had done, and the signs and wonders they had performed. After a while of this, the Corinthians began to think, “Well, Paul wasn’t all that impressive, was he? He didn’t tell us about all the great things he had done. Maybe Paul’s teaching wasn’t all that good, either. Maybe we should be listening to these other preachers, maybe we should believe things their way, instead of the way Paul taught us.”
It was to answer that challenge that Paul wrote this letter to the Corinthians. And in that letter Paul explains, rather patiently, that when he was with them he didn’t draw attention to himself, to his revelations and signs and wonders, because as an apostle it was his job to draw attention to Christ, not to himself. It was his job to draw attention to the Holy Spirit, not to himself. It was his job, not just to talk about the Spirit, but to help the Corinthians experience the Spirit for themselves, so that it would be their revelations and their miracles and their faith that would be their connection-point to God. Paul says, If you want boasting, I can boast: I can tell you about my vision of the third heaven, I can tell you about all the times I’ve spoken in tongues, I can tell you about the unclean spirits I’ve cast out and the people I’ve healed. But what would be the point?, Paul says. The Good News about the Spirit forming Christ within us doesn’t come just by words, Paul says, it comes by experience. And for us to experience that together, Paul says, I have to set my own accomplishments aside, so that we can discover what Christ will accomplish among us. I have to put my own strength aside, Paul says, I have to put my own power aside, so that the Spirit can strengthen all of us and empower all of us, so that we can be more together than any of us can apart, so that God can do more with us than we on our own could ever ask or imagine.
When I am weak, Paul says, I open the space for God’s strength — and that is when I am strong.
And that same truth speaks to us, too: in our personal lives, in our spiritual lives, in our life together as a parish, as a community, as a nation: when we rely too much on our own strength, our own powers, our own abilities, then we are weak, then we are unsure of ourselves, then we can be consumed by the anxiety that we are not good enough. But when we can admit our weaknesses, when we know our need for help, when we can make room for God’s grace, then we are strong, then we are empowered by a power greater than our own, then we become able to do the work God gives us to do.
I knew a woman once who was a recovering alcoholic — and she would talk quite frankly about the path that led her to recovery. She said that for a long time she knew she drank “too much,” she knew she had a drinking “problem” — but she said she would never accept the words “addict” or “addiction” for herself or her situation. She said she always believed she was strong enough to stop drinking whenever she wanted — she just didn’t want to. She said that, looking back, she realized as long as she thought she was strong, then she was too weak to do anything about her drinking. It was only when some close friends did an intervention, when some people who cared about her deeply brought her face-to-face with the evidence of her own addiction — only then could she admit her weakness for alcohol — and only in admitting that weakness could she find the strength to trust her friends, and trust a treatment program, and trust that she could turn around and get clean and live a new life as a sober person. For her, too, it was when she was weak that she could open the space for God’s higher power, and only then could she become strong.
And I think there is a lesson there for our church, as well. I just heard yesterday that the House of Deputies of the General Convention, now meeting in Indianapolis, has voted to sell the Episcopal Church Center office building at 815 2nd Avenue in New York. That is a hugely expensive building, but that building, at that address, has served for a long time as a symbol of the prestige and importance and social position of our church. Not having that address will look to a lot of people like a big step backward. One person commented that “as a business owner” it looked to him like a failing enterprise “slowly selling off assets” before going under. I’ve never been to 815 myself, so I can’t comment on its merits as an administrative center. But I do know that giving up a prestigious address does look a lot like an admission of weakness, it does look like the Episcopal Church admitting to not being on the top of the social heap like it used to be. But there are many people in the church who see this admission of weakness as really an opportunity for strength. One deputy said that 815 was a “relic of our delusions of being an established church from an imperial era.” A lot of people think the old image of the Episcopal Church being “the upper class at prayer” (when I was a kid growing up in Michigan, I once heard someone call the Episcopal Church “General Motors at prayer,”and even as a kid I wasn't sure I liked that corporate image) is actually harmful for us today, because that notion of us being the church of the “upper crust” gets in the way of our doing Christ’s mission, it gets in the way of our reaching out to everyone, and making a tent big enough for everyone to come in, and standing with the poor and the outcast and the marginalized, and laboring for the transformation of our society to be less like a consumerist shopping mall and more like the Peaceable Kingdom of the Reign of God. As a church, our job is to draw attention to Jesus, not to ourselves; and maybe not maintaining a big expensive central office in New York will help us do our job better. Admitting our church’s weakness in institutional reach and social prestige may well be a way for us to become stronger in our on-the-ground work for the mission of Christ. On the national level, or even on our own local parochial level, thinking less about our institutional footprint and more about equipping every member for their mission might be a weakness that reveals a deeper strength.
So for Paul and for the church and for us, the same paradox of the Gospel holds true: when we are weak, when we know our need for grace, when we can put aside our pride and our boasting and our being too full of ourselves, when we can open space for God — then we become strong, then we are filled with a power greater than our own, then we become able to do more than we had ever thought was possible.
That is the Good News for us today. That is God’s invitation to us to live in the Spirit’s strength every day. Amen.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Opposites Joined Together with Faith
By Susan Peyton
This sermon is based on Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15; 2:23-24, Psalm 30, 2 Corinthians 8:7-15, and Mark 5:21-43. An audio version of the sermon is available here.
In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Good morning. For those of you I have not met, I am Susan Peyton. I’m a member of Emmanuel, and taking classes with the ultimate goal of becoming a deacon. One of the requirements is to do an internship at a church other than your own. So my thanks to each of you for providing a church community that has welcomed me. Also, please remember that any mistakes are my own.
The Wisdom of Solomon, Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, Psalm 30, and a portion of Mark’s 5th chapter. Four readings, themes that are woven together. Life and death, those who have much, those who have nothing, being healed, or maybe being saved. Complete opposites joined together with their faith. Faith in the one they can touch and see, Jesus. And faith in the God they cannot see.
Our first reading, the Wisdom of Solomon. A book we rarely hear, but even the name speaks of strength of character. How often these days do we refer to anyone as truly being wise? God granted Solomon wisdom. God gave each of us many gifts, including wisdom, but do we use them? Do we follow the moral compass he has granted us? And we hear that God delights in the living, not in anything destructive or poisonous. Yet we make choices that may be destructive to ourselves, to others, to our community. God created us as a community to help those less fortunate – our personal actions, our attitudes towards others – part of how we are judged. Our path with God endures, if we have the strength, the wisdom, the faith to follow Him.
Last weekend I was in New York city with 91 Girl Scouts. Two buses representing those who have, and those who have not. Those who have traveled around the world, and those who have never traveled out of Virginia. And there were two visible reminders that portrayed those with faith, and those who had the strength of character to literally give their life for others. The Statue of Liberty: for thousands of immigrants, a symbol of hope. A symbol of faith for a better life. Thousands who faced death in the depths of ships filled with disease, bugs, little food or water. Faith that leaving their entire family, they would find streets paved with gold. Only God knows the names of many who perished at sea, on Ellis Island, or once in America. Ironic that to visit the place where many had only the clothes on their back, we and our belongings were x-rayed. Turns out my bandage scissors in the first aid kit were not allowed. The day before at the Empire State Building they simply held them for me, and returned them to me once I finished my visit.
The second, a new symbol of faith, dedicated to others, and hope – the 9 11 memorial. Two square pools located where the twin towers stood. Filled with water that flows towards the middle. The middle a square void, where we cannot see the bottom. Perhaps the pit the writer of our psalm referred to. The heroes that when faced with an excruciating decision, gave themselves to help others.
Next, A psalm of thanksgiving, Psalm 30. The writer deeply believes in God. And I saw a bit of myself in him. Life is good, things are going fine, a bit of confidence knowing that other people have health issues to worry about, but not him, not me, not us. Normal blips in the road, but nothing big. Not that I thought I was above everything, simply not too concerned. And then a health crisis, for the writer of this psalm, bringing him to the brink of death. While he was faithful before, now we see a bit of bargaining. Um, God. You know I believe in you! And if something happens to me, you’ll lose one of your strongest believers. As long as I’m around, I’ll be telling others of my faith, too. How many times do we think about bargaining with God? I’ll read my Bible every day, and I’ll pray twice a day, and go to church every Sunday. And I won’t argue with Doug, and, and, and. God knows that our intentions are good at that moment. And he also knows chances are slim to none that we carry thru with those bargained for intentions. But God is beyond the bargaining. We cannot predict when things do indeed fall into the pit, and there is no hope. Likewise, we won’t know when someone will be saved. And we need the balance of good and bad to recognize God’s hand in our lives. When we are saved from the depths of despair, or ill health. And the last 36 hours have shown what we do in what our consumer culture might perceive as a crisis. If you’re in Staunton Saturday morning, you still have Farmer’s Market. Good food, good music, good company. If you’re in Staunton and 95% of the people don’t have power but the Mall does, there still won’t be people in the mall. And if you’re in Staunton and Walmart is open, it looks like the day before Christmas. People buying ice, coolers, batteries, fuel for camp stoves, flashlights. Perhaps, people giving thanks to God that they could buy ice and save the food in their freezer. Perhaps, folks working at Walmart giving thanks for another day’s wages to help pay the rent. Perhaps, we all need a perceived crisis to remind us what is important. A time to rest, to stop working, family time, no electronics. A community that rejoices when someone is healed, a community that prays when someone is ill, the joy of a child’s smile, God’s grace as we face hardships and good times, giving thanks forever.
And Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians. Hmm. Perfect lesson for stewardship Sunday. How did that get into here. The Corinthians, just like the writer of the psalm, they have a good life. And Paul has to remind them, Christ was rich, yet became poor for all of us, so how do we use those riches? Give of our riches to others -for the Corinthians, he wanted them to give to some of the poorer churches. For us, sometimes prayer is what we can offer, or a ride to a doctor’s appointment, visiting someone who is grieving. Not giving to end up depriving ourselves, nor to be greedy. What prompts our giving? Gratitude to God, a way to honor others, to help those in need? I used to be in banking, and had a customer who would overdraw her account. She listened to every word her pastor said, and kept giving more and more to the church. It was hard for me to explain that overdraft fees would decrease her funds, and limit even more her giving to the church. She wanted to give, beyond her capacity, and I wondered if her pastor even knew that. Do we look at our budget after the payments for internet, cable, the cell phone, eating out, vacation, gifts and say these are necessities, now I can look at what I can give away. Or do we look at our gross income and say God is good. I have been blessed with a wonderful life, I should share my blessings, not to compare against others, simply to know I have done what is right.
In an ironic twist, I thought about the Diocesan financial reports. It lists each parish in the diocese, their annual pledge and how much they have given. And all I could think of was how it proves how human we are, when consciously or unconsciously we might be comparing ourselves to other parishes.
Finally, the Gospel of Mark, a pair of stories on healing. Jairus, a leader of the synagogue – someone with power, a house, family and friends, obviously at least one child. Respected in his community, a man desperate to save his daughter. I think he would give anything to save her. And his faith led him to Jesus, to beg him to come and heal his 12 year old girl. Then suddenly, there appears a woman with no name, literally a woman with nothing. Her health issues cause her to be considered unclean. She has consulted doctors, spent everything she had. She lives on the outskirts of society, so she would have no family, no friends, probably no way to earn money, no community. All she had left after 12 years of being shunned was her faith. Faith that if she touched Jesus’ garment, she would be healed. Faith that led her thru a crowd she normally would not enter. When she touched his cloak, an amazing thing happened. She knew immediately that she was healed, and Jesus felt some of his power transfer to someone. That split second changed her life in two ways. For not only did he give her the power of health. He also gave her the power of a community, he called her “Daughter”. Not someone undeserving of his time and healing, but rather, someone who could reclaim her family and friends. Contact with people, not being shunned, and having total strangers cross the street to avoid her. For 12 years she had been searching for health, for some way to restore her life. And Jesus healed her, welcoming her to the family of God because of her faith.
In the same way, Jesus proceeded with Jairius to his house. And there they found everyone mourning the daughter. And even laughed at Jesus when he said she was not dead. So Jesus sent out those who had no faith, those who had laughed, and took the girl’s hand and healed her.
Healing two different females. Do we always know when we need healing? Can we step back and look at our life? Are we surrounded by those who laugh at us, instead of being filled with faith? Are we reading books, listening to music or watching TV filled with negative thoughts? Healing is not always physical, it may be a family that is strained, a community that is hurting, an addiction to chocolate, the internet or money. Perhaps we need to learn to balance work and family. And perhaps realizing that in the past, our prayers for healing, meant healing what we want and when we want it. Our idea of healing and God’s may not be the same. To open our hearts and minds to God and to listen to him. Life and death, having riches, being poor, being a non person, having authority. Faith, and hope. Knowing to give of our riches, when to ask to be healed. Filled with God’s love, walking in His path, lifted up by Him. Amen.
This sermon is based on Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15; 2:23-24, Psalm 30, 2 Corinthians 8:7-15, and Mark 5:21-43. An audio version of the sermon is available here.
In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Good morning. For those of you I have not met, I am Susan Peyton. I’m a member of Emmanuel, and taking classes with the ultimate goal of becoming a deacon. One of the requirements is to do an internship at a church other than your own. So my thanks to each of you for providing a church community that has welcomed me. Also, please remember that any mistakes are my own.
The Wisdom of Solomon, Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, Psalm 30, and a portion of Mark’s 5th chapter. Four readings, themes that are woven together. Life and death, those who have much, those who have nothing, being healed, or maybe being saved. Complete opposites joined together with their faith. Faith in the one they can touch and see, Jesus. And faith in the God they cannot see.
Our first reading, the Wisdom of Solomon. A book we rarely hear, but even the name speaks of strength of character. How often these days do we refer to anyone as truly being wise? God granted Solomon wisdom. God gave each of us many gifts, including wisdom, but do we use them? Do we follow the moral compass he has granted us? And we hear that God delights in the living, not in anything destructive or poisonous. Yet we make choices that may be destructive to ourselves, to others, to our community. God created us as a community to help those less fortunate – our personal actions, our attitudes towards others – part of how we are judged. Our path with God endures, if we have the strength, the wisdom, the faith to follow Him.
Last weekend I was in New York city with 91 Girl Scouts. Two buses representing those who have, and those who have not. Those who have traveled around the world, and those who have never traveled out of Virginia. And there were two visible reminders that portrayed those with faith, and those who had the strength of character to literally give their life for others. The Statue of Liberty: for thousands of immigrants, a symbol of hope. A symbol of faith for a better life. Thousands who faced death in the depths of ships filled with disease, bugs, little food or water. Faith that leaving their entire family, they would find streets paved with gold. Only God knows the names of many who perished at sea, on Ellis Island, or once in America. Ironic that to visit the place where many had only the clothes on their back, we and our belongings were x-rayed. Turns out my bandage scissors in the first aid kit were not allowed. The day before at the Empire State Building they simply held them for me, and returned them to me once I finished my visit.
The second, a new symbol of faith, dedicated to others, and hope – the 9 11 memorial. Two square pools located where the twin towers stood. Filled with water that flows towards the middle. The middle a square void, where we cannot see the bottom. Perhaps the pit the writer of our psalm referred to. The heroes that when faced with an excruciating decision, gave themselves to help others.
Next, A psalm of thanksgiving, Psalm 30. The writer deeply believes in God. And I saw a bit of myself in him. Life is good, things are going fine, a bit of confidence knowing that other people have health issues to worry about, but not him, not me, not us. Normal blips in the road, but nothing big. Not that I thought I was above everything, simply not too concerned. And then a health crisis, for the writer of this psalm, bringing him to the brink of death. While he was faithful before, now we see a bit of bargaining. Um, God. You know I believe in you! And if something happens to me, you’ll lose one of your strongest believers. As long as I’m around, I’ll be telling others of my faith, too. How many times do we think about bargaining with God? I’ll read my Bible every day, and I’ll pray twice a day, and go to church every Sunday. And I won’t argue with Doug, and, and, and. God knows that our intentions are good at that moment. And he also knows chances are slim to none that we carry thru with those bargained for intentions. But God is beyond the bargaining. We cannot predict when things do indeed fall into the pit, and there is no hope. Likewise, we won’t know when someone will be saved. And we need the balance of good and bad to recognize God’s hand in our lives. When we are saved from the depths of despair, or ill health. And the last 36 hours have shown what we do in what our consumer culture might perceive as a crisis. If you’re in Staunton Saturday morning, you still have Farmer’s Market. Good food, good music, good company. If you’re in Staunton and 95% of the people don’t have power but the Mall does, there still won’t be people in the mall. And if you’re in Staunton and Walmart is open, it looks like the day before Christmas. People buying ice, coolers, batteries, fuel for camp stoves, flashlights. Perhaps, people giving thanks to God that they could buy ice and save the food in their freezer. Perhaps, folks working at Walmart giving thanks for another day’s wages to help pay the rent. Perhaps, we all need a perceived crisis to remind us what is important. A time to rest, to stop working, family time, no electronics. A community that rejoices when someone is healed, a community that prays when someone is ill, the joy of a child’s smile, God’s grace as we face hardships and good times, giving thanks forever.
And Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians. Hmm. Perfect lesson for stewardship Sunday. How did that get into here. The Corinthians, just like the writer of the psalm, they have a good life. And Paul has to remind them, Christ was rich, yet became poor for all of us, so how do we use those riches? Give of our riches to others -for the Corinthians, he wanted them to give to some of the poorer churches. For us, sometimes prayer is what we can offer, or a ride to a doctor’s appointment, visiting someone who is grieving. Not giving to end up depriving ourselves, nor to be greedy. What prompts our giving? Gratitude to God, a way to honor others, to help those in need? I used to be in banking, and had a customer who would overdraw her account. She listened to every word her pastor said, and kept giving more and more to the church. It was hard for me to explain that overdraft fees would decrease her funds, and limit even more her giving to the church. She wanted to give, beyond her capacity, and I wondered if her pastor even knew that. Do we look at our budget after the payments for internet, cable, the cell phone, eating out, vacation, gifts and say these are necessities, now I can look at what I can give away. Or do we look at our gross income and say God is good. I have been blessed with a wonderful life, I should share my blessings, not to compare against others, simply to know I have done what is right.
In an ironic twist, I thought about the Diocesan financial reports. It lists each parish in the diocese, their annual pledge and how much they have given. And all I could think of was how it proves how human we are, when consciously or unconsciously we might be comparing ourselves to other parishes.
Finally, the Gospel of Mark, a pair of stories on healing. Jairus, a leader of the synagogue – someone with power, a house, family and friends, obviously at least one child. Respected in his community, a man desperate to save his daughter. I think he would give anything to save her. And his faith led him to Jesus, to beg him to come and heal his 12 year old girl. Then suddenly, there appears a woman with no name, literally a woman with nothing. Her health issues cause her to be considered unclean. She has consulted doctors, spent everything she had. She lives on the outskirts of society, so she would have no family, no friends, probably no way to earn money, no community. All she had left after 12 years of being shunned was her faith. Faith that if she touched Jesus’ garment, she would be healed. Faith that led her thru a crowd she normally would not enter. When she touched his cloak, an amazing thing happened. She knew immediately that she was healed, and Jesus felt some of his power transfer to someone. That split second changed her life in two ways. For not only did he give her the power of health. He also gave her the power of a community, he called her “Daughter”. Not someone undeserving of his time and healing, but rather, someone who could reclaim her family and friends. Contact with people, not being shunned, and having total strangers cross the street to avoid her. For 12 years she had been searching for health, for some way to restore her life. And Jesus healed her, welcoming her to the family of God because of her faith.
In the same way, Jesus proceeded with Jairius to his house. And there they found everyone mourning the daughter. And even laughed at Jesus when he said she was not dead. So Jesus sent out those who had no faith, those who had laughed, and took the girl’s hand and healed her.
Healing two different females. Do we always know when we need healing? Can we step back and look at our life? Are we surrounded by those who laugh at us, instead of being filled with faith? Are we reading books, listening to music or watching TV filled with negative thoughts? Healing is not always physical, it may be a family that is strained, a community that is hurting, an addiction to chocolate, the internet or money. Perhaps we need to learn to balance work and family. And perhaps realizing that in the past, our prayers for healing, meant healing what we want and when we want it. Our idea of healing and God’s may not be the same. To open our hearts and minds to God and to listen to him. Life and death, having riches, being poor, being a non person, having authority. Faith, and hope. Knowing to give of our riches, when to ask to be healed. Filled with God’s love, walking in His path, lifted up by Him. Amen.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Relating Chaos
by the Rev. Dr. Paul S. Nancarrow
This sermon is based on Mark 4:35-41 and Job 38:1-11. An audio version of this sermon may be found here.
Our gospel reading this morning tells the story of a miracle of Jesus — and one that New Testament scholars often classify as a “nature miracle”: not a healing, not an exorcism, not something we might be able to understand as psychological or psychosomatic in origin, but a demonstration of power over nature, power that is, quite precisely speaking, supernatural.
But as with all of Jesus’ miracles, the nature miracles are not just about power, they’re not just gratuitous thaumaturgy, they’re not intended just to shock and awe. Jesus’ miracles always have a point, they always have a meaning, they are always signs that point beyond this immediate earthly moment to reveal something divine. The point of Jesus’ miracles is always to reveal that Jesus does what God does, that Jesus is God doing immense, cosmic, Godly things on a human, earthly, intimate scale.
And that is true for the miracle of stilling the storm, too: this episode is intended to reveal to us that Jesus does what God does. And fortunately for us, our reading from Job this morning shows us precisely what it is that God does.
In his speech to Job, God tells about the origins of Creation, the first moments of the becoming of this world, the primordial acts that made all other acts possible. And among the first acts of Creation was God “shutting in the sea with doors,” giving it boundaries and bars, telling it how far it could come and no farther past the shore. Now, in almost all ancient Near Eastern mythologies, including the mythology behind the Bible, the sea is a symbol for chaos, for destruction, for the wild, reckless, disregarding energy that bursts out and overwhelms everything in its path, that breaks down and washes away and dissolves all relationships and all connections and all meaning. The chaos waters threaten to undo all that can be done. So in order to do anything in Creation, God must first restrain the waters, God must first give boundaries to the sea.
But notice what God is really doing here. God does not destroy the sea, God does not simply eliminate the chaos waters, God doesn’t merely impose order on chaos and make it cease to be chaos. God allows the wild, restless energy of the stormy sea to remain, but God does not allow it to remain by itself: God takes that energy that would overwhelm and dissolve all relationships and God sets it in relationship, God gives it a shore to define it, and clouds and darkness to clothe it, and earth-foundations it can energize but not overwhelm; and all the rest of Creation depends on this first relationship between the energy of the sea and the stability of the earth. God relates the unrelatable, and in doing so creates something new that never was before.
And that is the creative power of God at work in Jesus when Jesus does what God does and stills the storm. What God did in the first moments of Creation on a grand cosmological scale, Jesus does on Lake Galilee, in the weather, on his disciples’ scale. Jesus sets a boundary that the storm cannot pass, Jesus creates a relationship that the chaos waters cannot overwhelm and dissolve, Jesus takes the wild reckless energy of wind and wave and transforms it into the deep energy of peace and steady calm — and perhaps more importantly still, Jesus takes the wild chaotic energy of fear that threatened to overwhelm the disciples, and by relationship with himself transforms it into the deep energy of awe and wonder and worship and faith. In stilling the storm, Jesus does what God does: he relates the unrelatable, and in doing so creates something new.
And that is what faith in Jesus empowers us to do, too. When we follow Jesus, we do as Jesus does, and Jesus does as God does, and the creating grace of God is with us to face the storms of chaos, and by relating them to create something new.
On Friday morning Lee and I went to Temple House of Israel for the funeral of Don Chodrow. It was a deeply sad occasion: Don died too soon, and we lost someone who was an important part of this community, and a friend to many, and (among many, many other things) a good friend and supporter of music here at Trinity. During the funeral service the cantor sang a song. I don’t know a thing about the history or tradition of that song, or what the words meant, or even if they were words, or just evocative syllables for singing. But I knew that the song was sad, so sad, with a haunting melody in a minor key; and it was is if that song reached into our hearts and pulled out all the grief and sorrow and tears we all were carrying, as if it gave voice to all the sadness we would hide away; that song was a lament in the purest, simplest meaning of the word. And I thought to myself that we don’t have that sort of thing in our funerals: we don’t lament, we don’t take a moment to simply say “We are sad, and God knows we are sad, and we will sing our sadness to God.” There is something profoundly healing in that, and I think maybe our funerals could learn something from it. Because the other thing I thought about that song was that it was not only sad, it was not merely sad; it was also beautiful. Those haunting, minor-key notes tugged on my heart and lifted up my soul and gave courage to my spirit — the simple beauty of the song gave its own kind of joy, even when the theme of the song was something so sad. I think that song was a gift of the creating grace of God. I think that by God’s creative power that song faced into the stormy chaos of sadness and sorrow that threatened to overwhelm us, and it set that sadness in relationship with beauty, and through beauty with joy, and in doing so it created something new: it created a moment to experience, even in sadness — no, because of sadness, to experience yet more vividly the infinite preciousness of the goodness of life. In that song in a Jewish funeral on Friday, I learned something deeply moving, deeply important, about what my faith in the creating grace of God revealed in Jesus means to me.
And I think our faith in Jesus can mean that for all of us. Because the Good News of the Gospel is not that we will never have to face chaos-storms in our lives. The Good News of the Gospel is not that bad things will never happen to us good people. The Good News of the Gospel is not that God will rig the cosmic game so that we are always healthy and happy and prosperous and the best of the best of the best among people. No, the Good News is that the creating grace of God is with us, the Good News is that by faith in Jesus we can do as Jesus does, and Jesus does as God does — and that means that when storms and chaos and sadness and sorrow and loss and depression and grief and illness and confusion and doubt and fear rise up and burst forth and threaten to overwhelm us — and they will — when that happens, we can with Jesus face the chaos-storm, we can with Jesus say “Peace! Be still!”, we can with Jesus set that chaos in relationship with deep foundations of courage and compassion and wisdom and beauty and joy and trust and faith that can never be overwhelmed — and in that relationship we can create something new, we can create moments to experience the infinite preciousness of the goodness of God’s good gift of life.
May it be so with us. Amen.
This sermon is based on Mark 4:35-41 and Job 38:1-11. An audio version of this sermon may be found here.
Jesus rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. Jesus said to the disciples, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?"
Our gospel reading this morning tells the story of a miracle of Jesus — and one that New Testament scholars often classify as a “nature miracle”: not a healing, not an exorcism, not something we might be able to understand as psychological or psychosomatic in origin, but a demonstration of power over nature, power that is, quite precisely speaking, supernatural.
But as with all of Jesus’ miracles, the nature miracles are not just about power, they’re not just gratuitous thaumaturgy, they’re not intended just to shock and awe. Jesus’ miracles always have a point, they always have a meaning, they are always signs that point beyond this immediate earthly moment to reveal something divine. The point of Jesus’ miracles is always to reveal that Jesus does what God does, that Jesus is God doing immense, cosmic, Godly things on a human, earthly, intimate scale.
And that is true for the miracle of stilling the storm, too: this episode is intended to reveal to us that Jesus does what God does. And fortunately for us, our reading from Job this morning shows us precisely what it is that God does.
In his speech to Job, God tells about the origins of Creation, the first moments of the becoming of this world, the primordial acts that made all other acts possible. And among the first acts of Creation was God “shutting in the sea with doors,” giving it boundaries and bars, telling it how far it could come and no farther past the shore. Now, in almost all ancient Near Eastern mythologies, including the mythology behind the Bible, the sea is a symbol for chaos, for destruction, for the wild, reckless, disregarding energy that bursts out and overwhelms everything in its path, that breaks down and washes away and dissolves all relationships and all connections and all meaning. The chaos waters threaten to undo all that can be done. So in order to do anything in Creation, God must first restrain the waters, God must first give boundaries to the sea.
But notice what God is really doing here. God does not destroy the sea, God does not simply eliminate the chaos waters, God doesn’t merely impose order on chaos and make it cease to be chaos. God allows the wild, restless energy of the stormy sea to remain, but God does not allow it to remain by itself: God takes that energy that would overwhelm and dissolve all relationships and God sets it in relationship, God gives it a shore to define it, and clouds and darkness to clothe it, and earth-foundations it can energize but not overwhelm; and all the rest of Creation depends on this first relationship between the energy of the sea and the stability of the earth. God relates the unrelatable, and in doing so creates something new that never was before.
And that is the creative power of God at work in Jesus when Jesus does what God does and stills the storm. What God did in the first moments of Creation on a grand cosmological scale, Jesus does on Lake Galilee, in the weather, on his disciples’ scale. Jesus sets a boundary that the storm cannot pass, Jesus creates a relationship that the chaos waters cannot overwhelm and dissolve, Jesus takes the wild reckless energy of wind and wave and transforms it into the deep energy of peace and steady calm — and perhaps more importantly still, Jesus takes the wild chaotic energy of fear that threatened to overwhelm the disciples, and by relationship with himself transforms it into the deep energy of awe and wonder and worship and faith. In stilling the storm, Jesus does what God does: he relates the unrelatable, and in doing so creates something new.
And that is what faith in Jesus empowers us to do, too. When we follow Jesus, we do as Jesus does, and Jesus does as God does, and the creating grace of God is with us to face the storms of chaos, and by relating them to create something new.
On Friday morning Lee and I went to Temple House of Israel for the funeral of Don Chodrow. It was a deeply sad occasion: Don died too soon, and we lost someone who was an important part of this community, and a friend to many, and (among many, many other things) a good friend and supporter of music here at Trinity. During the funeral service the cantor sang a song. I don’t know a thing about the history or tradition of that song, or what the words meant, or even if they were words, or just evocative syllables for singing. But I knew that the song was sad, so sad, with a haunting melody in a minor key; and it was is if that song reached into our hearts and pulled out all the grief and sorrow and tears we all were carrying, as if it gave voice to all the sadness we would hide away; that song was a lament in the purest, simplest meaning of the word. And I thought to myself that we don’t have that sort of thing in our funerals: we don’t lament, we don’t take a moment to simply say “We are sad, and God knows we are sad, and we will sing our sadness to God.” There is something profoundly healing in that, and I think maybe our funerals could learn something from it. Because the other thing I thought about that song was that it was not only sad, it was not merely sad; it was also beautiful. Those haunting, minor-key notes tugged on my heart and lifted up my soul and gave courage to my spirit — the simple beauty of the song gave its own kind of joy, even when the theme of the song was something so sad. I think that song was a gift of the creating grace of God. I think that by God’s creative power that song faced into the stormy chaos of sadness and sorrow that threatened to overwhelm us, and it set that sadness in relationship with beauty, and through beauty with joy, and in doing so it created something new: it created a moment to experience, even in sadness — no, because of sadness, to experience yet more vividly the infinite preciousness of the goodness of life. In that song in a Jewish funeral on Friday, I learned something deeply moving, deeply important, about what my faith in the creating grace of God revealed in Jesus means to me.
And I think our faith in Jesus can mean that for all of us. Because the Good News of the Gospel is not that we will never have to face chaos-storms in our lives. The Good News of the Gospel is not that bad things will never happen to us good people. The Good News of the Gospel is not that God will rig the cosmic game so that we are always healthy and happy and prosperous and the best of the best of the best among people. No, the Good News is that the creating grace of God is with us, the Good News is that by faith in Jesus we can do as Jesus does, and Jesus does as God does — and that means that when storms and chaos and sadness and sorrow and loss and depression and grief and illness and confusion and doubt and fear rise up and burst forth and threaten to overwhelm us — and they will — when that happens, we can with Jesus face the chaos-storm, we can with Jesus say “Peace! Be still!”, we can with Jesus set that chaos in relationship with deep foundations of courage and compassion and wisdom and beauty and joy and trust and faith that can never be overwhelmed — and in that relationship we can create something new, we can create moments to experience the infinite preciousness of the goodness of God’s good gift of life.
May it be so with us. Amen.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Reading Scripture
3rd Sunday after Pentecost
Mark 4:33-34
17 June 2012
John D. Lane
Trinity Church, Staunton VA
An audio version of this sermon is available here.
With many such parables he spoke the word to them, as they were able to hear it; he did not speak to them except in parables, but he explained everything in private to his disciples.
“In real life, I assure you, there is no such thing as algebra.” So says author Fran Lebowitz.
Sometimes we have to be reminded that Jesus does not draw up algebraic equations on 1st century blackboards. His scientific facts are sometimes not quite right. He speaks in parables, not allegories. Many parables begin: “The Kingdom of God is like ....”
I took a pastoral counseling course, taught by a Jungian analyst. He emphasized that it was often very difficult to be certain about reality. For instance, a patient might think that she was being followed. Was this really so? Often there was no way of knowing. He suggested using the phrase “as though.” “It is as though someone is following me, and I feel frightened.” Not much different from Jesus’ parables: “The Kingdom of God is like ....”
The Bible is much more than literature, but to read and hope to understand it, we often have to approach it as literature. The Bible has characters–the most important of whom is God: Father, Son & Holy Spirit–plot, metaphors, similes–“the Kingdom of God is like”–irony, twists, suspense, surprises, blood and gore, mystery, physical settings, intrigue, relationships, etc.
In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus uses a slight variation in introducing the parable: “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.” “As if,” “as though,” “like,” so on, but not is, not equals, not algebra, not arithmetic, not 1 = 1, 2 = 2, not literalism.
Occasionally, I think, we can indeed take Jesus literally, such as when he tells the rich young man to sell all that he has and give the money to the poor. That’s the kind of statement we are, however, quite willing to take figuratively. But Saint Francis took it literally. As someone noted, Saint Francis is the most admired and least imitated of all the saints. I had a friend who for many years headed up stewardship at a large parish. Part of his shtick was to speak at each of the services on Loyalty Sunday. He himself was committed to the tithe, and he made an impassioned plea to the congregation. Afterwards, one of his friends came up to him, and said, “Purnell, you were really great this year. You almost convinced me.” Despite the fact that Jesus spoke about money more than anything else, we don’t take those passages seriously.
One commentator, Eugene Boring–what a name, think of this as a Boring quote–says: “In the preaching of Jesus, parables were not vivid decorations of a moralistic point but were disturbing stories that threatened the hearer's secure mythological world–the world of assumptions by which we habitually live, the unnoticed framework of our thinking within which we interpret other data.” [Eugene Boring, The New Interpreter's Bible (Matthew), p 299, quoted by Brian Stoffregen in Exegetical Notes]
“The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how. The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head. But when the grain is ripe, at once he goes in with his sickle, because the harvest has come.”
The first of today’s short botanical parables threatens one of our mythological assumptions, that we are in control of our own destiny. “Be good and prosper.” “Be bad and be punished.” But we know in our hearts that this is indeed myth, actually nonsense. Bad things do happen to good people. And the wicked can prosper. When I was newly ordained, I had a bishop tell me something and then say, “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.” I soon forgot whatever tale he told me, but 40 years later, I remember how ready he was to lie about it. He was not a great moral teacher.
The Kingdom of God, Jesus tells us, is not something we control. Seeds sprout and grow. We can try to influence this through weeding, applying fertilizer, and praying for rain, but there are no guarantees. God is the 900-pound gorilla: he does what he wants.
We can prepare for the Kingdom of God, but we can’t make it happen. Many fools have tried to predict the coming of the Kingdom, quoting the Bible but ignoring the words of Jesus: “You know not the day nor the hour.” There is no precision to understanding parables, but these are some of the thoughts that this story has teased out of me this morning.
“With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable will we use for it? It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”
There are four things about this parable which spring out at me:
(1) Jesus was a carpenter, not a farmer. He needs to be excused for saying the mustard seed is the smallest of all seeds; it isn’t. This is not a discrepancy that proves the Bible is all nonsense. Jesus is making a literary point. Poetic license, please. Get over it.
(2) Mustard may not be the greatest of all shrubs either; it only gets about 10 feet tall.
(3) What his audience knows, but Jesus doesn’t say, is that the mustard plant is an invasive weed. It grows easily and widely, like dandelions in our yards. The Kingdom of God is near you and everywhere, just like mustard or dandelions or morning glory or kudzu–whether you want it near you or not.
(4) Besides producing Grey Poupon, the mustard plant has other functions. It is good for God’s creatures, the birds. The Kingdom of God, though we don’t control it, is a good thing.
I am suggesting one way of looking at the Bible in the hope of understanding and learning from it. Look for repetition, consistency, a vision of God that is the sometimes the same in both Old and New Testaments–Hebrew Bible and Greek Bible, to be politically correct–a vision of God which develops as the stories unfold. But it is literature, not science. It has nuances. Prepare to be confused occasionally–or often. Expect to have your preconceptions challenged.
I had a very frightening professor in advanced preaching. He said that God would forgive an ineffective sermon, but would never forgive a sermon that was bad because the preacher had given little thought or time to preparing it. He had been dead several years before my Saturday nightmares ended. I would be getting up to preach my worst effort of the year, and Edmund Steimle would be in the third row. I would wake up in a cold sweat.
The parables are relevant to us, and I close with another Steimle point: A sermon should be 20% then, the time of Jesus, and 80% now, the time in which we live. I believe he meant that the reason we read, study, and preach the Bible is because it matters to us, now. It’s worth the effort.
So I end where I began: “In real life, I assure you, there is no such thing as algebra.”
Sunday, June 10, 2012
The Eternal: The Things that Matter Most
Sermon-
The Eternal: The Things that Matter Most June 10, 2012
2Corinthians
4:13-5:1 Trinity Church, Staunton
The Rev. Shelby Ochs Owen
An audio version of this sermon is available here.
Outer nature vs. inner nature. Temporary vs. eternal. What can be seen vs. what cannot be seen. Earthly tent vs. a building from God. In the passage from the second letter to the Corinthians, the apostle Paul uses contrasting images to teach his readers to search for what matters, at least what matters in the eyes of God.
In our culture, so often it is the external, and yet temporary, qualities of a given situation that seem to be emphasized- how someone or something looks, how much money something costs, how much money someone makes, the education or vocational level someone has achieved. It is rare when advertisers suggest that we look below the surface of a situation, rare when we are encouraged to pay attention to the eternal; rare to be taught to search for the things of God, the things that matter.
Part of today’s passage from Corinthians is often used at funerals---for good reason: “So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature in being renewed day by day. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of Glory beyond all measure; because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal…” What a wonderful reminder at the death of a loved one that the things that matter most are of an eternal nature! But truly, it need not be only in death that we tune into those things that are not seen.
You probably know that the Eucharist is one of two sacraments in the Episcopal Church-Baptism being the other. And what is a sacrament? Directly from our catechism, a sacrament is “an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace, given by Christ as sure and certain means by which we receive that grace.” It is a powerful way to help us to focus on, to remain in, to engage with the eternal love of God, and through the Eucharist we are united with Christ and to one another.
In Hymn 51 which we sang today at the 10:00a.m. service, the final verse states, “In the Lord’s service bread and wine are offered, that Christ may take them, bless them, break and give them to all his people his own life imparting, food everlasting.” So this sacrament, this visible sign of bread and wine, while it does indeed matter, connects us to the inward grace of Jesus’ body and blood, the life eternal. The table from which we partake of the Eucharist could be seen as one end of a longer table that extends from the here and now, the earthly, the temporary, to the other end- the heavenly table, the table of the greater life, the permanent, the eternal, the really real. We can see the Eucharist as the means through which our sins are forgiven, the strengthening of our life with Christ and one another and the nourishment in eternal life.
As we are reminded that we are united with Christ and with one another, we are given perspective on and strength for this earthly life. The writer Paul was fully acquainted with the difficulties of the earthly life; he was afflicted, persecuted, perplexed. Fully aware how fragile we are as human beings, Paul says, “Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day.” If this is true, then there is obviously more going on around us and within us than we even know about! Paul was all about recognizing the power of God working through us as believers and as limited human beings. In the frailty of our flesh we cannot always see the full reality of the situation at hand. In fact, I would say we almost never, except perhaps in a mystical experience, see the full reality.
Many years ago, before electric refrigerators replaced iceboxes, the manager of a local ice house lost his watch, but no one could find it. Finally the manger posted signs all over town offering a substantial reward to anyone who found his watch .
The next day a young boy rode up to the ice house on his bicycle and asked if he could look for the watch. The manager said, “Don’t bother me, boy” But the boy was insistent. Finally the manager told him, “Look boy, we can’t have you underfoot while we’re moving these big blocks of ice. You can come back on Thursday afternoon when everyone is gone.” Meanwhile, the search continued, but the watch failed to materialize.
On Thursday afternoon the young boy came back to look for the watch. The manager lead him into the dark, cold room and ten minutes later the boy returned with the watch to claim his reward. The manager was amazed. He asked, “How did you find the watch? Nobody else could find it and we’ve gone over every inch of this place. How did you find it?” The boy replied, “It was easy. All I did was listen for the tick.” (The Portable Pep Talk, by Alexander Lockhart, p.167)
Tuning into the eternal is kind of like listening to the tick, the heart beat of God. When we cannot see what God is up to in our lives, when God doesn’t seem visible, perhaps we can listen and see with our hearts. The sacrament of the Eucharist reminds us of the reality of the invisible, the very realness of the presence of God, the actuality of divine love.
We as very human, human beings will experience difficulties. Some of us already have- deep disappointments that sometimes have us questioning the goodness of God. Paul related his own suffering as totally tied into Christ’s own suffering and death, and he also recognized just as we have died with Christ so will we be resurrected with him. There lay his hope! While we have these slight (even though they may not seem so slight!) momentary afflictions, we will experience a glory beyond all measure. There lies our hope as well. That no matter what we suffer, what difficulties we experience in this world our inner person is renewed every single day. To be renewed is to let the Holy Spirit take hold of us. If we can simply relax into God, surrender our own will to his goodness, we will find the fruit that the Spirit wants for us will reside in us. That fruit is love, joy, peace, kindness, patience, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
If we can confidently expect to be raised up with Christ, to be resurrected with him, we have reason to hope. So let us remember that the external things, while they tell us something, they do not tell us the whole story. There is more to God’s story and ours than meets the eye.
Master Eckhart (13thc. theologian)
A man
born blind can
easily
deny the
magnificence of a vast landscape.
He can easily
deny all the wonders that he cannot touch,
smell, taste, or
hear.
But one day the
wind will show you its kindness
and remove the
tiny patches that
covered our eyes,
and we will see
God more clearly
than we have ever
seen
ourselves.
So search for the things that matter, the things unseen, yet permanent and eternal. Do not lose heart. Tune yourself into the heartbeat of God. Relax in the eternal love of God until the day God removes those tiny patches that cover our eyes.
Amen.
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