Sunday, July 20, 2025

Proper 11  

Genesis 18: 1-10a; Psalm 15; Colossians 1:15-28, Luke 10: 38-42

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN

I am going to break the fourth wall or pull back the curtain and invite you into the space between my ears –  my mind specifically  when I am confronted with a problem.  We are going to look under the hood of Jimmy’s brain today.  Let me specify the kind of problem I am talking about – this would be a big personal problem, not a St. Andrew’s problem, a Jimmy problem – a problem that is like the Gordian knot – there is no easy solution. 

Are you ready for the journey?  Buckle up – inside my head can be kind of a weird place.  Here is what happens in my mind when I am trying to navigate a huge problem. 

First, my ego is triggered.  My ego demands a solution, and it will work around the clock, wearing itself (and me) out, trying to find one.  My ego is that proverbial hammer trying to hammer the square peg into the round hole.  No matter how hard my ego hammers away at the square peg, it does not move a centimeter into the round hole.

Second, I utilize sublimation which means that I translate my impulse for resolution into socially acceptable actions.  Basically, what that means is that I use work to distract myself from the big problem.   This is a fear-based reaction, of course, because my mind is afraid of the big problem where no easy solution is evident. 

Finally, my mind engages in perfectionism - an old favorite coping strategy for when I am under duress. Perfectionism is a well-worn neural pathway in my mind, more like a a freeway than pathway, because of how much traffic traverses on it.  “Perhaps if I am perfect enough, the answer to the real big problem will materialize.”

These three actions my brain employs are simple cognitive distortions that perhaps served me well as a child and young adult, but no longer serve me as an adult.  My brain does not know that yet, and so, under duress, my brain still becomes Martha.  It becomes distracted by many things, it defaults to completing tasks not because things need to be done but because I am in desperate need to feel in control of something.  None of my brain’s Martha-like problem solving tendencies are effective.  None of them work.  The Persian poet Hafiz once wrote, “Now that all your worry and fretting proved such an unlucrative business, why not find a better job?”

While I have squandered many hours following the mental pattern just identified, I am learning a new way – let’s call it the way of Mary.  Jesus says that “there is need of only one thing.  Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”  Well, what is the one thing?

The one thing is to just be.

Several weeks ago I attended a men’s retreat in Minnesota and we began our days with a thirty-minute silent meditation.  One day, the meditation leader gave us instructions about breathing.  When we took in a breath, we were to breathe in whatever was personally discomforting for each of us.  We were instructed to literally breathe in grief and pain.  To breathe in whatever that unsolvable problem was for each of us.

When we released our breath, we were instructed to breathe out , but to hold onto the pain, the discomfort, the problems in our lungs and in our hearts.  And when we breathed again, we were told to breathe in more pain, breathe more grief, breathe in more discomfort, and hold it.  Do you have any idea what a blessing it is to do that for thirty minutes?  To get that close to everything that is upsetting you and to hold it inside and just feel it?   

In those thirty minutes I went on a spiritual journey with my discomfort and it brought me to God.  I learned to be less Martha, and more Mary.  I learned, again, that the best thing for me to do when confronted with a really big problem, whether that is in my personal life or at St. Andrew’s – is to do the one thing: just be.

One of my favorite quotes is “don’t just do something.  Sit there.”  Brilliant.  That is what Mary understood, and what Martha, sadly, missed.   

It is easy to stand here in a pulpit and say all we need to do is do nothing.  I know that is not practical for any of us.  But – I would challenge every one of us to self-inventory our busyness and our daily tasks.  How much of what we do every day is driven by fear versus faith?  How much of our busyness is about our need to look important, our need to be in control, or our need to pretend we are God?  To what extent have we all made idols out of our distractions?

There is need of only one thing.  Choose the better part.  It will never be taken from you.  AMEN.

Sunday, June 1, 2025

The Seventh Sunday of Easter

The Rev. Liz Parker

Last Thursday, in case you missed it, was the Feast of the Ascension.  My husband used to catch people out by saying, “Ascension Day falls on a Thursday this year.”  In fact, Ascension Day falls on a Thursday every year because, according to the Book of Acts, Jesus ascended into heaven 40 days after his resurrection on Easter.

The doctrine of the Ascension is based on the story in Acts of the risen Christ leaving this earth and passing into heaven. 

            But the story is a little sketchy about just how it happens.

The whole description takes up only part of a single verse:

            [Jesus] was lifted up,

            And a cloud took him out of their sight.

The remarkable thing about the doctrine of the Ascension is that it’s a doctrine of the absence of Christ.

So, is it any wonder that the Ascension is the most forgotten feast day in the Church Year?  After all, who wants to celebrate absence?

As we try to wrestle with this story and this doctrine, the first thing we need to get straight is this notion of heaven.  Obviously, heaven is not up in the sky. 

It’s not somewhere in the stratosphere or even in outer space. 

In fact, heaven is not at any location on our space-time continuum….

…because the word heaven is a metaphor for a completely different dimension altogether, a spiritual dimension, which interpenetrates and interlocks the other dimensions we live in - something like Narnia, in the CS Lewis books, where the other dimension is reached not by going up, but by going through – a wardrobe, in fact.  But that is fantasy.

The early Christians knew the word heaven was a metaphor.  According to Bishop N. T. Wright, they didn’t believe in a three-decker universe, with heaven up in the sky and hell down below. He writes,

“When they spoke of ‘up and down,’ they were using metaphors that were so obvious they didn’t need spelling out.”[1]

So, when we say that, 40 days after he was raised from the dead, Jesus ascended from earth to heaven, we’re saying that in his risen body he passed from our earthly dimension into the spiritual dimension.  He returned to the Father.

That’s pretty amazing, if you think about it—that when Jesus ascended  he took our human embodiedness into God.   Hmmm.

Now we all agree that in the Incarnation, the Son of God, who has always been divine, became human.  But don’t think, as I once did, that at Easter,

Jesus stopped being human and went back to only being divine.

Not So!  In the incarnation, the divine became human.  And in the Ascension, the human was taken into the divine.

If we had more time, we could take this a lot of directions:

            --Like, what does the Ascension say about the dignity of human nature,

and the dignity of the human body?

But I don’t want to go there now.  Right now, I want us to face the hard fact

that Jesus ascended, as the Bible and the Creeds teach.

His embodied humanity has passed into another dimension. 

On one hand, this is hard.  His absence is a cause for heartbreak.

On the other hand, it explains a lot.

It explains why the world is still a mess and why we are broken-hearted.

Jesus is Lord.  He is King of all the earth, but not in his fullness.

That fullness has not yet come—which is obvious, if you listen to the news.

The doctrine assures us that this tragic world we live in--is not all there is;

and the way things are now--is not the way things will always be, on this earth.

In fact, we find in both scripture and the creed, that the Ascension is the set-up for its sister doctrine—the second coming of Christ, the Parousia.

Take the Creed:  he ascended into heaven

And is seated at the right hand of the Father.

He will come again in glory, to judge the living and the dead,

And his kingdom will have no end.

The Ascension leads straight into the Second Coming, our reason to hope that the messy world we live in will one day be mended and set straight.

But even this is not the whole truth of the Ascension.

--Yes, Jesus takes his humanity into God.

--And, yes, as a result, he is, in an important sense, absent from this world.

But, in another equally important sense, he is present in a new way,

present as the Holy Spirit.

The de-scent of the HS at Pentecost is the flipside of Jesus’ a-scent into heaven.

As Jesus said, It is to your advantage that I go away,

For if I do not go away, the Advocate will not come to you;

But if I go, I will send him to you.

Pentecost is the flip-side of the Ascension.

Jesus went “up” (speaking metaphorically) so that the HS might come “down.”

You can hear that joining of Ascension and Pentecost in today’s Collect as well:

O God…you have exalted your only Son Jesus Christ

With great triumph to your kingdom in heaven:

Do not leave us comfortless,

But send us your Holy Spirit to strengthen us….

Next week, at the Feast of Pentecost, we’ll celebrate this remarkable truth that Jesus passed from being present beside us, so that he might be present within us.   Alleluia!

[1] N. T. Wright, Surprised by Hope, p. 115.

Sunday, May 25, 2025

The Sixth Sunday of Easter

Acts 16: 9-15; Psalm 67;  Revelation 22:10, 22: -22:5; John 5: 1-9 

The Rev. James M. L. Grace  

In the Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN. 

The story begins almost three thousand years ago, and takes place in the city of Jerusalem around 800 BCE.  About eight hundred years before the birth of Christ, builders constructed a dam across the Beth Zeta valley, which turned it into a reservoir to contain rain water.   About 600 years later, in 200 CE, a second pool was added onto the southern side of the dam.   

For centuries these two pools existed outside the city walls of Jerusalem until Herod Agrippa expanded the city walls, bringing the two pools into the city.  As centuries passed, the Romans built temples beside these pools to Asclepius, their god of healing, because of the perceived healing properties of the pool.  As history passed, crusaders built a Christian church on the site of the Roman pagan temple.  Several hundred years later another church was built upon the ruins of that first church.  This church  –  which still stands today – was built around 1130 CE and was named for St. Anne, the mother of Mary, the mother of Jesus.   

About one hundred and fifty years ago, as archeologists were excavating around the church of St. Anne, they discovered ruins of the old crusader church, and more importantly, they discovered the pool once built there millennia ago.  In the gospel of John today, the author describes the pool as having five porticos, or covered colonnades.  Within these colonnades people in need of healing would wait before wading into the pool, where they hoped they would be healed.  The portico, or colonnade, was much like the doctor’s waiting room, minus the fake plants and old magazines. 

Today you can visit the pool of Bethesda in the Muslim Quarter of the old city of Jerusalem.  Jesus visited there, too, the gospel says.  On the day of rest – shabbat, Jesus went to the pool of Bethesda, and there encountered a man who had been unable to walk for thirty-eight years.   Jesus knew the man had been there a long time, and he asked the man in that portico “Do you want to be made well?”   

The man doesn’t say “yes” to the question but rather tells Jesus he has no way of getting into the water to be healed because others go into the water first.   It’s brilliant what Jesus does here.  He doesn’t pick the man up and lower him into the water to be healed, because Jesus knows the water isn’t going to make him walk again.  Instead, Jesus heals him there – immediately.  “Stand up, take up your mat, and walk,” Jesus says.  And the man does that.  It’s important to note here that Jesus heals a man on a day he shouldn’t - a sabbath, a day of rest.  Jesus’ propensity to heal on the sabbath is one of the reoccuring things he does that later gets him into trouble with religious authorities.  

Imagine, for a moment, that you are the man in the portico.  You are laying there on your mat, with hurting and injured people all around you.  What is it that brought you to the portico that day?  What is the injury, illness, or trauma you are hoping is healed?  Now imagine Jesus before you, looking into your eyes and asking you, “do you want to be made well?”  Do you?  Some of us would probably say “yes” to being healed.  Others of us may say “no,” because healing may seem a bridge too far for us.  Rather than be healed, some of us may prefer to remain in our sickness, because at least in our sickness, no matter how painful it is, we at least know it.   It’s familiar and comfortable.  Yes it’s painful, but it is my pain.  Healing is something new – maybe a little scary, because it is unknown.  Healing requires faith and it requires trust.  Imagine yourself back in that portico, with whatever ailment has brought you there, and Jesus again asks “do you want to be made well?”   Do you?  AMEN. 

Sunday, April 27, 2025

2 Easter    

Acts 5: 27-32; Psalm 118: 14-29 or Psalm 150; Revelation 1: 4-8; John 20: 19-31

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

Not even a week has passed since the day of resurrection, and already, people do not believe that it really happened!  Of course you might be thinking of Thomas, the one who didn’t believe his fellow disciples when they told him they saw the resurrected Jesus.  But I’m not talking about Thomas – I’m talking about all the disciples, none of whom believed Mary Magdalene and Joanna and Mary the mother of James and the other women with them who told the disciples what they had just seen at the tomb where Joseph of Arimathea had placed Jesus’ body – namely that the stone was unrolled and the body was gone!  The Gospel of St. Luke says that the story these women told the disciples of Jesus “seemed like and idle tale, and they did not believe.”

All the disciples!  Not just Thomas, who insisted on seeing the mark of the nails in Jesus’ hands.  It’s too bad that among all the disciples, all of whom wrestled with doubting Jesus’ resurrection, Thomas is known as the “doubter” as if he were the only one. 

Jennifer Michael Hecht, a historian of science and poet, authored a book entitled The History of Doubt.  In this book, Hecht explores the history of doubt starting with Greek philosophers in the 4th and 3rd centuries BCE all the way up to modern times.  What is revelatory about her book is that doubt as we understand it is not just a modern invention.  Doubt has been with us a very long time, and doubt has made positive contributions to religion over time. 

Even Jesus, I believe, doubted in his final moment of anguish on the cross, where he quotes the first verse of Psalm 22: “my God,  my God why have you forsaken me?”  Psalm 22 is a written expression of anguish, despair, and doubt.  But in the same psalm, the author writes “since my mother gave birth to me, you have been my God.”   Meaning – you are my God, and I have enough room to doubt or question your existence because of whatever circumstance I am facing. 

What I am trying to say is that doubt is not the opposite of faith. The opposite of faith is certainty.  Certainty is not what Jesus is calling us toward.  Far from being a hindrance to faith, I believe that it is doubt which makes faith sweet.

Socrates, the great skeptic, once said that he knew more than anyone else did because he knew that he didn’t know anything.  Smart man.  Awareness of how little we know, I believe, is the starting (and perhaps finishing) place of faith. 

Arguably, one of the greatest examples of faith in the Bible is the story of Job.  Job lost everything – his children, his friends, his possessions – he even lost his argument against God.   Yet Job found strength to begin again.  His faith was refined through his rebellion against God.  Doubt is not your enemy.  Doubt is your friend.  You could not ever have faith without it.  AMEN.   

Easter Sunday, April 20, 2025

Easter Day

Isaiah 25: 6-9; Psalm 118: 1-2, 14-24; 1 Corinthians 15: 1-11; John 20: 1 - 18

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

I want to begin this morning’s Easter sermon with an apology - and the apology is that I am beginning this sermon in a super obvious and formulaic way.  The beginning of this sermon will be (as you all obviously already know) a brief exploration of seventh- century Canaanite religion.  I know, disappointing right?  Just once wouldn’t it be great for an Easter sermon to begin in a nonconventional way – like with a story about the Easter bunny, or eggs, Peeps. 

Apology given, here is what I would like to share about seventh-century Canaanite religious belief.  Six hundred years before the birth of Christ, there were people living in modern day Israel who believed in Yahweh, the God of Israel.  At the same time, there were people who believed in Canaanite gods such as Ba’al or Mot.  To add another layer of complexity, there were people who believed in all of them together.

In the late 1920s, archeologists discovered hundreds of clay tablets with cuneiform writing inscribed upon them in modern day Syria.  It is from these tablets that scholars have learned much about the religious beliefs of the Canaanite people.  From these tablets, scholars learned of a reoccurring, seasonal story, involving the Canaanite god Mot.  Mot was the Canaanite personification of death, and he was known for swallowing people (including some gods whole), like my dog will swallow a piece of steak whole. That is Mot. 

So prevalent was this belief that the writer of Isaiah references it in our reading for today.  The portion of Isaiah we read today dates from the seventh-century BCE (approximately seven hundred years before the birth of Christ).  An attentive read over these verses reveals an intentional dig at Canaanite religious belief.  We see it in verse 8, where the author says “[The Lord] will swallow up death forever.”  Nowhere else in the entire Hebrew Bible do we read anything which comes close to what we encounter in Isaiah.

In saying that the Lord swallows up death forever, the author of Isaiah is essentially saying that the notion of God’s swallowing up death is a reversal of the Canaanite religious motif in which Mot (Death) swallows up everything.  The result of God’s decisive action is shared with us in the very next verse: “the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all the faces.”   Notice that the author does not say “the Lord God will wipe away the tears from some faces.”  In swallowing up death forever, God is also taking away all grief, pain, and sorrow.  That is God’s powerful promise in Isaiah today. 

So powerful was this chapter of Isaiah’s writing that it inspired the Apostle Paul to continue this same theme in 1 Corinthians 15:54 where he triumphantly shouts “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”  These same verses from Isaiah also inspired John, the author of Revelation to write in 21:4, “[God] will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

Whatever has brought you here today – whether you chose to be here, or you were shamed into coming here, or you are here just out of obligation.  Whatever the reason is does not matter.   What matters is that you are here.  What matters is that every tear you have ever cried, for whatever reason you have shed them, every tear will be wiped away by the devoted hand of a loving God. 

Yes we will still cry.  Yes we will still feel pain.  Yes we will still suffer, and yes – we too will one day die.  Big deal.  God has already taken care of it – for every single one of us.  The promise God has made in Isaiah is unconditional.  Alleluia.  The Lord is Risen.  The Lord is Risen indeed, Alleluia!  AMEN.  

Good Friday, April 18, 2025

Good Friday

Isaiah 52:13-53:12; Psalm 22; Hebrews 10: 16-25; John 18:1 – 19:42

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

Last Sunday, during the early hours of Palm Sunday, Israeli missiles struck that Al Ahli Hospital in Gaza.  Al Ahli Hospital is a ministry of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem (the recipient of today’s Good Friday offering).  The hospital is Gaza’s oldest hospital, and the only one that provides care to all in need, regardless of religion, political affiliation, or even the ability to pay.  However we understand the causes of violence in the Holy Land, the imperative to support the Episcopal Church’s efforts in alleviating the devastating humanitarian crisis in Gaza should be obvious to all of us. 

The missile attack completely destroyed the hospital’s two-story Genetic Laboratory and severely damaged the Pharmacy, Emergency Department, and nearby buildings, including St. Philip’s Church. Staff and patients were given only twenty minutes to evacuate. While there were no casualties from the blasts, one child—already suffering from a head injury—tragically died during the evacuation.

This marks the fifth attack on Ahli Hospital since war began in 2023.  This is not a sermon about taking a side in the Israeli/Gaza conflict, nor is the intent of this sermon to justify the actions of either side.  An Augustinian theory of just war would likely find offenses on either sides.

So what is this sermon about, then?

I do not really know.  I guess this is a sermon which simply acknowledges the pain of our human brokenness and God’s remedy for it, which is crucifixion and death.  Not crucifixion and death for Jesus alone, but suffering, crucifixion, and death for us as well.  I use “crucifixion” here metaphorically, of course.  God’s answer to our brokenness is not physical torture, but it is about dying. 

Franciscan priest and author Richard Rohr says of the crucifixion: “[in] the cross we [see] Jesus’ voluntary acceptance of undeserved suffering as an act of total solidarity with the pain of the world.  Jesus embraced suffering, not as a punishment, but because he wanted to understand our pain – the pain of the world.”    The cross represents Jesus’ full and complete solidarity with the brokenness of the world, the inevitability of death, and pain that you and I feel.  There is no pain Jesus has not felt, there is no sin that Christ has not forgiven, there is no death Christ has not touched.

Here is the unapologetic, gut-wrenching, heart-rending truth: to have a true and meaningful life, we have to die many necessary deaths.  We must go through many crucifixions. There is no other way.   It is only through these necessary deaths that our souls grow deeper.  Saints like John of the Cross or Teresa of Avila called these necessary deaths the dark nights of the soul.  They are often seasons of doubt, confusion, pain, or depression, anguish, intense feelings of vulnerability.  They are extremely uncomfortable, and they are unavoidable. 

Sadly, our society lacks even the most basic spiritual skills to deal with the kind of pain Jesus faced at the cross and the kind of necessary dying we must do ourselves.  The best mechanism our culture has to offer for spiritual pain is distraction.  We distract ourselves with 24-hour news, with politics, and with our own self-manufactured misery. The devil is going to try to make you sin, but if he cannot do that, he will happily settle for just keeping you distracted. 

Following Jesus to the cross means letting go of your distraction.  It means letting go of the regrets from your past and letting go of your fears of the future.  Jesus’ way is to embrace reality at all costs. 

That is the reason for so many empty pews on Good Friday – reality kind of sucks.  It is painful and hard.  Few of us are courageous enough to face the stark reality – Christ’s reality – which is that there are parts within each of us that need to die, so that we can truly live.  AMEN

Sunday, April 6, 2025

The Fifth Sunday of Lent

Isaiah 43:6-21; Psalm 126; Philippians 3: 4b-14; John 12: 18

The Rev. James M. L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and holy Spirit.  Amen. 

So I want to talk about the epistle reading today – Paul’s letter to the Philippians.  A few important contextual comments about it first.  It seems that Paul wrote this letter to an emerging Christian community in the Roman city of Phillipi, named after Phillip II, the father of Alexander the Great.  Phillipi is on the coast in modern-day Greece, and you can visit the Roman ruins of the site today.  While addressed to Phillipi, it appears that Paul wrote this letter while he was incarcerated in a Roman prison.  He was arrested for supporting a Jewish insurrectionist in the eyes of the Roman government – his name was Jesus of Nazareth. 

In his letter to the Philippians, Paul lists all his qualifications – his resume or pedigree – everything that qualifies him to be an apostle.  He writes, and I here quote directly from Philippians, “If anyone has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more, circumcised on the eighth day (that was the day to be circumcised according to Leviticus 12:3) a member of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin (very important tribe which included Jerusalem within its perimeter), a Hebrew born of Hebrews as to the law, a Pharisee (the Pharisees were a Jewish group that flourished in Jerusalem). 

In verse 8 Paul uses the Greek word “skubalon” to describe all these accomplishments of his.  Skubalon is a Greek word which we would loosely translate as garbage or excrement.  So what exactly is Paul saying here?  Paul is saying that his pedigree – the things which used to be so important to him – being from the right tribe, being a Pharisee, being circumcised on the eighthth day, etc. – those things no longer matter to Paul.  They went from being really important to becoming skubalon – garbage.  The only explanation for Paul’s change of view is a spiritual awakening, which Paul had when he met Jesus.  It was this spiritual awakening which gave Paul the ability to see all the stuff Paul thought was so important  -status, prestige, respect – for what it really was – skubalon.  When he is writing the letter to the Philippians in a prison cell, Paul considers his current lot as a prisoner who knows Jesus to be a promotion from his former life.   

Decades ago I was a fan of the heavy metal band  “Iced Earth” – shocking, I know.  Iced Earth was like a lower tier Iron Maiden – Iced Earth had the melodies but neither the budget nor popularity of say, Judas Priest.  The guitarist and lyricist in Iced Earth is a man named Jon Schaeffer.  An avid reader, Schaeffer’s lyrics for Iced Earth songs were full of biblically inspired imagery with heavy focus on themes of hell, judgment, guilt, and redemption.  Schaeffer is also a history buff, and his love of American history is apparent in Iced Earth’s thirty-minute song (yes – thirty minute song) on the battle of Gettysburg. 

A student of American history, Schaeffer became a part of American history when he was arrested for storming an entrance into the Capital building on January 6, 2021 during the now infamous “Stop the Steal rally.”   Schaffer fully cooperated with the authorities, and he served approximately four years in prison, some of it in solitary.  When he entered prison in 2021, Schaffer was very anti-religious. 

But prison can be a wonderful place for God to work.  Schaffer was not allowed to read any books in prison – save one.  A Bible.  He began reading it.  Likewise, Schaffer found the Christian faith practiced by other men in his cell block to be inspiring.  After his sentence was complete, Jon Schaffer joined a non-denominational church and was later baptized.  In the first interview he has had since his arrest (an interview released last week), Schaffer says “Jesus Christ is real, and it is powerful.  It is the heaviest story ever told.  It is the heaviest thing you could wrap your head around – his life, his death, his resurrection.  There is nothing heavier, nothing.”

Schaeffer is no saint.  And while I am still an Iced Earth fan today, and I love Jon for the spiritual awakening he is having, Jon and I’s politics and our theology are probably as opposite of one another as they could possibly be.  However, Jon, like Paul, is an example of a human being who made a lot of mistakes (insurrection, agitation, and murder – here I’m just speaking of Paul).   Both Jon and Paul were broken by the mistakes they made.  Yet God used their personal failures as an open window to meet them.  When Paul and Jon met Jesus, they could see that their pedigrees (Paul - a Pharisee in the tribe of Benjamin, Jon - a church hating heavy metal guitarist) their pedigrees were skubalon (garbage).   

Now a prison sentence is not a prerequisite to having your life changed by Jesus.   You need not be incarcerated to have perspective on your own skubalon.  You can have a spiritual awakening outside of a prison cell.  The question is – will you?   AMEN.

Sunday, March 23, 2025

The Third Sunday of Lent

Exodus 3:1-15 Psalm 63: 1-8; 1 Corinthians 10: 1-13; Luke 13: 1-9

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

It was holy ground; a deeply spiritual place, a thin place where heaven and earth seemed to intersect.  It was in the Sinai desert, a place Moses ended up after fleeing Egypt.  He fled Egypt because he was a felon, a murderer, having recently killed an Egyptian official.  It is on this holy ground where we meet Moses today, at the base of a bush which seems to burn without consuming itself, and from which God speaks.

Moses is told to remove his shoes, because he is standing on holy ground.  The ground is holy because it is a place of theophany – a place where Moses meets God.  Moses is having the quintessential “burning bush” moment – a moment where his life will forever change.   I often hear from people how they wish God would speak to them in such obvious ways.  I believe God does, and have experienced it myself.

Twenty-seven years ago I had an experience I still don’t understand, and cannot adequately explain.  I was working in downtown Houston, having recently graduated from college.  One afternoon, I was walking through the tunnel system which connects all the office buildings together, and all of a sudden I was overcome with an overwhelming feeling that the job where I was working was not where I was supposed to be.  A wave of emotion spilled over me, and I believe I heard God’s voice – somehow – redirecting me from work downtown to vocation as a priest.  It still doesn’t make sense to me today, but it was an obvious spiritual experience – one that I heeded, and here I am today as a result.

But that’s not the only one – there have been so many others.  The point is that we are spiritual beings having a human experience.  We are hardwired for the spiritual experience.  Sadly, and with a bit of irony, churches can be the last place where anybody has a spiritual experience.  For every conversation I have had with a person who says “I had an amazing spiritual experience at church and feel drawn closer to God”  I have at least twenty conversations with people who tell me they have no interest in returning to church because they found churches to be places of hypocrisy, condescension, arrogance, and intimidation.  What’s spiritual about any of that?

This is not a sermon about how or why churches can be bereft of the spiritual experience.    It is rather, a sermon, to remind us that we cannot expect a weekly recitation of a Sunday liturgy to rocket us into the next spiritual dimension.  It’s simply not enough.  Being here  today – is not enough. 

While many of us know that, how many of us actually believe it?   And look, I’m the pot calling the kettle black here.  I’ve been a priest for almost twenty years and I still have days when I am working next door at St. Andrew’s House, and the thought still comes to my mind, “Jimmy you’ve got too much to do – a sermon to write, a class to prepare, meetings with parishioners and staff, hospital visits – you don’t have time to pray, read scripture, or meditate.”  Do you know how easy it is for me to believe the garbage in my own head?   Sometimes the space between my ears can be a dangerous place to be. 

That’s why I love today’s collect: “God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves.  Keep us outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul.”   We can’t create a spiritual experience for ourselves.  We are powerless to do that.  But if we humble ourselves, humble ourselves to the point of becoming really uncomfortable, we will discover there are spiritual experiences all around us.  AMEN.

Wednesday, March 5, 2025

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2: 1-2, 12-17; Psalm 103; 2 Corinthians 5:20b- 6:10; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. AMEN.

John Kennedy Toole was drafted into the United States Army in 1961 at the age of 23.  While serving in the army he advanced in rank, while simultaneously working on a novel.  In 1963, Toole received a hardship discharge as his parents were struggling financially.  He returned home, and continued working on his novel entitled A Confederacy of Dunces.  Once complete, Toole sought out a publisher for his novel, and was turned down again and again.   No company was interested in publishing John Kennedy Toole’s book. 

Devasted and heart-broken with this sad news, John Kennedy Toole parked his car outside Biloxi, Mississippi.  He ran a garden hose from the exhaust pipe through the window of his car, and he died on March 26, 1969.  He was 31. 

After Toole’s death, his mother discovered A Confederacy of Dunces, and she advocated for the book tirelessly until it was finally published eleven years later in 1980.  A Confederacy of Dunces, once published, achieved significant success, selling upwards of 1.5 million copies.

Toole’s novel went on to win the Pulitzer Prize in 1981, cementing A Confederacy of Dunces as a literary classic.  Think about that.  What changed between 1969 and 1980?  Nothing.  The book was the same in 1969 as it was in 1980.  From this tragic example we can see how arbitrary breaks are in life.  A Confederacy of Dunces is a classic, but the timing of its recognition is tragic. 

Here we are on Ash Wednesday, a time where the arbitrariness of human existence is seemingly so obvious to us.  Here we are today acknowledging our mortality, the fleeting passage of time, and the reality that nothing is permanent. 

At St. Andrew’s we are in a time of great transition.  We have staff members who are leaving, we have new staff members joining us, we are going to begin our construction in just a few short weeks.  So much is changing here.  As it should.  As it needs to.

I have spoken with parishioners who are a bit rattled and unsettled from the email I sent out yesterday, who lament that all this change is going on.  And I understand that.  I do not like change that much, either. 

But I have all faith that God is fully present in it.  One of my favorite acronyms for the word “God” is this: Grow (G) Or (O) Die (D).  G.O.D.   Grow Or Die.  Those are our options.  I choose to grow, because that is where God is.

The Apostle Paul writes in our reading from 2 Corinthians today “now is the acceptable time, now is the day of salvation!”  Meaning that today is a great day to do great things.  Today is a great day to grow, to let ourselves be uncomfortable, perplexed, and to trust God with our anxiety and our fear because those are the markers (perplexed, anxious, afraid) that we are in fact growing, and not calcifying. 

Now is the acceptable time.  John Kennedy Toole’s story did not end in Biloxi, Mississippi on March 26, 1969.  It did not end that day because his mother did not recoil in grief, anger, and resentment.  Instead she chose growth by advocating for her son’ work.  That was the acceptable time.   That was the day of salvation. 

With all the chaos and distraction in the world – what will you choose – stagnation or change.  God is in change – always.  AMEN.

Sunday, February 9, 2025

Epiphany 5 (Year C) – 8:30 am only

Isaiah 6:1-8, [9-13]; Psalm 138; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

The Rev. Clint Brown

We can all name events in our lives that, when we look back at them, had a significance far beyond what we could have imagined at the time. Perhaps it was meeting your spouse at the party you had only planned to pop into for a few minutes; or you were standing around and a friend of a friend off-handedly mentioned an opening at their company to which you applied; or you were unexpectedly tapped to take the lead on something that was way outside your comfort zone; or perhaps the most important event in your life was a non-event, the opportunity that didn’t materialize for one reason or another and that, looking back, you realize would have been all wrong for you. What all these brushings up with destiny share is that they were not the product of any well-thought-out plan on your part; instead, they just kind of happened to you. And yet, despite that, they had the effect of changing the whole course of your life. For me it was the second day of 6th grade. On that day I was sitting in orchestra class, feeling very awkward and shy (as one does on the second day of sixth grade), and that was the day we were to pick what instrument we wanted to play. I had signed up for orchestra not because I had any special connection or affinity for classical music – certainly, no one was listening to classical music in my house – but because I had this vague notion of wanting to be cultivated and refined and because Sherlock Holmes played the violin and he was the smartest guy I knew. So when it came time to say what I wanted to play, I said I wanted to play violin. The problem was that, physically, I wasn’t all that suited to play the violin. My arms were a little too long and my hands were a little too big, and so the teacher asked if I wouldn’t consider playing the viola instead. Of course, I said okay, despite the fact that I had only just heard of the instrument for the first time that day. But that one decision has made all the difference. That is how I came to play viola and get a full scholarship and enjoy a career as a freelance musician and school teacher and eventually become music director at an Episcopal church, which all led to me becoming a priest – all because I said yes to playing viola. That decision turned out to be one of those moments I was speaking of, a turning point in my life, a crossroads moment that changed everything that came after it.

Which is precisely the same situation that Simon Peter, James, and John find themselves in today. They are old acquaintances, probably buddies since childhood, who have turned their friendship into a commercial partnership. On this particular day they are minding their own business, doing their best to make ends meet, when they have a fateful encounter with Jesus. Jesus has come to town as something of a local celebrity and has drawn a huge crowd of curiosity seekers and admirers. Jesus is pressed for space so he opts to stand in a boat where all can see and hear him, and of all the boats that Jesus could have gotten into that day to address the crowds, it so happened that the nearest one belonged to Simon. Jesus asks Simon if he wouldn’t mind letting him use his boat for a while and the rest is history. A chance encounter has turned into a life transforming event. Nothing will ever be the same. We can call this “life interrupted.”

Actually, life interrupted is a common theme in the Bible. The great figures of the Bible are all called while in the middle of the ordinary business of life: Moses and David while tending sheep (Exodus 3; 1 Samuel 16), Gideon while beating wheat (Judges 6), Elisha while plowing a field (1 Kings 19). Isaiah has his spectacular vision of God while taking his regular turn of service in the temple (Isaiah 6) and the Apostle Paul literally has the sense knocked into him when he is thrown from his horse while on the road to Damascus (Acts 9). God showed up while each of them were doing their own thing, not expecting anything unusual to happen.

It turns out that life interrupted is the essence of the Gospel. After all, the very life of this world has been interrupted by the incarnation of Jesus Christ. The implications of this event are so profound and its demand to be recognized by us so great that we have a special word for it – we call it an “epiphany.” And we even name a whole season for it. What makes it all so incredible is the fact that the birth of Jesus was actually a minor event in the broad scheme of things, hardly attracting any attention at all when it happened, and yet this life and death played out in a remote corner of the Roman Empire far from the corridors of power, relative to all the others that have ever happened, is the crossroads event of history. After this, nothing would ever be the same. And now, God wants to break in and interrupt your life, to claim his rightful place as your Lord. Here you are minding your own business – mending your nets, stowing your tackle, looking forward to getting out of your boots and getting a hot meal in you – and Jesus comes along and asks to use your boat. That’s how it’s always been. Jesus comes along interrupting and disrupting your whole life, and now nothing will ever be the same.

Sunday, February 2, 2025

The Presentation of Our Lord

Malachi 3: 1-4; Psalm 84; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2: 22-40

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

                What an abundance of riches we have in today’s readings!  We have all the heavy hitters today – it is like today is the AFC/NFC championship games of the Bible.  It’s huge!  Who’s gonna win the epic matchup between Malachi and today’s Psalm?   What is the  over/under on today’s matchup between Hebrews and the Gospel of Luke?  Who will get the Gatorade bath today?  Will it be Clint, Jeff, or John?  Who knows.  Anything can happen on any given Sunday, right?

                Regrettably, even with such an impressive spread of amazing scripture from which to choose, I am not going to talk about any of it.  “Oh he’s going to be talking politics, I knew it” Anybody thinking that?   We are going someplace completely different today – to the book of Exodus– the second book of the Bible. Exodus tells the story  of what?  Moses leading his people out of slavery in Egypt and forging a new identity and relationship with God out in the desert at the base of Mt. Sinai.

                Why Exodus, why now?  Here is the reason.  In Exodus, chapter 13, we meet the Hebrew people after the dramatic parting of the red sea and their freedom from bondage.  The Hebrews are nomadic at this time, and they have journeyed east out of Egypt toward Canaan.  On their journey they stop and camp at a place called Succoth, near the Sinai peninsula. 

                At Succoth, God speaks to Moses.  And this is what God says – you can read it in Exodus chapter 13 verses 1 and 2 of your Bible.  God says “Consecrate to me all the firstborn; whatever is the first to open the womb among the Israelites, of human and animals, is mine.”  Why is God saying this, and what does it mean?  After liberating the Hebrews, God is instructing them about sacrifice.  The Hebrews in the desert are going to grow into God’s people now that they are free.  And this is the really, really crucial point: the Hebrews were liberated from bondage – why?   Because slavery is wrong?  Ok, that is true, but that’s not why God liberated the Hebrews.  Exodus is noticeably clear that the Hebrews were liberated not just so that they could be free – they were liberated so that they could worship God freely.  Exodus is so focused on worship of God that the whole second half of the book (about 20 chapters) is focused on how the Hebrews are to worship God.   We learn in Exodus that central to the worship of God is sacrifice.

                And for good reason.  None of us grow at all unless we are willing to sacrifice something. Sacrifice is central to our worship with the Eucharist.  When we pass a collection plate, that is a time of purposeful sacrifice.

In Exodus 13,  God commands the Hebrews to consecrate not the third or fourth child, but the first child – the child who is in line to receive the greatest inheritance from their parents.  The first child is to be consecrated for perpetual service of God

                Mary and Joseph are following that exact commandment from Exodus 13:1-2, when they bring their firstborn son, Jesus, to the temple to be presented.  From the very beginning of his life, Jesus is consecrated – set apart for service to  God.  What Mary and Joseph did was observe the Torah, and consecrate their firstborn son, Jesus.    

                Did you all know that we are to do the same?  We like Mary, Joseph, and Moses, are all called to sacrifice.  Life has no meaning without it.  The sacrifice God asks from us is our firstborn.  Not meaning firstborn children, but God wants absolute priority in our life.  How do we offer God the best, the first of what we have, rather than just offering our leftovers to God?

                Here is how I do it - here is how I make sacrifice to God on a daily basis.   Each morning, I get on my knees and I say this prayer “God, I offer myself to you, to build and do with me as you will.  Relieve me of the bondage of self that I may better do your will.  Take away my difficulties that my victory over them may bear witness to those I would show of your power, your love and your way of life.  May I do your will always. AMEN.”  Saying that prayer helps me to consecrate my day – to make a sacrifice first thing in the morning – so that I can offer my next 24 hours to the service of God.

                Whatever happens in the day to follow, I attribute to the will of God.  So here is the question for all of us, me included.  Have we set apart this day, have we invited God to consecrate it, have we asked that God’s will be done in all that we do?   Have we given this day to God?  If you have not, it is never too late to start.  You can do so at this very moment.  AMEN.

Sunday, January 26, 2025

Epiphany 3 (Year C)

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10; Psalm 19; 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a; Luke 4:14-21

The Rev. Clint Brown

Theme: The kind of world we want to live in

It’s been 55 years since the extraordinary achievement that was the first moon landing. On July 20, 1969, astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, two lonely representatives of the planet earth, separated from the rest of us by 239,000 miles, set foot on our nearest celestial companion. Some of you will be able to recall where you were and what you were doing when it happened, but all of us can appreciate how symbolic it was. We humans had willed ourselves out and away from our home planet, venturing into the hostile and forbidding environment of space, and we had succeeded, and we had done so because countless individuals and an indomitable spirit had chosen to do so. The lesson is that there is nothing superhuman required if we want to accomplish great things, it’s just a matter of having uncommon proportions of what is common to all of us: determination, resilience, adaptability, courage, teamwork, problem solving, imagination, and a good bit of daring. And then focus. A goal towards which to direct all that energy and talent. And for manned space flight, that came in the form of an extraordinary challenge laid down by President John F. Kennedy on May 25, 1961, in front of a joint session of Congress: to land a man on the moon and bring him safely back to earth…before the end of the decade.

Over the next several years, through the Mercury and Gemini flights, the various systems, techniques, hardware, and software were tested, refined, checked and double-checked. The astronauts and flight controllers were put through their paces. Setbacks became lessons learned. There was a goal to reach, and we had to reach it. It was a matter of national prestige; it held the promise of new knowledge and understanding; it became a matter of honoring an assassinated President; and it was, above all, a way to prove what we were capable of as a species. “If we can put a man on the moon,” it is often said, “why can’t we do x, y, or z?” There is both optimism and pessimism in the question. On the one hand, look at what we can achieve when we have a mind to – even when it seems improbable. On the other hand, it begs the question, why do our more down-to-earth problems, those that are, literally, right here on earth, continue to frustrate and elude us?

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me.” In this short passage, Jesus identifies himself as the long-anticipated Messiah. He makes himself very clear and explicit. He is Israel’s king. He is the anointed one of God spoken of by the prophets. But for his first hearers, the real issue would become what he was not: not a military commander, not a nationalistic crusader, not a restorer of Israel’s national pride. He was not what they were looking for. He made his entire focus the poor, the captive, the blind, the oppressed during that brief span of 30-35 years he had to walk the earth. The revolution that sets the world free, says Jesus, is the one that happens within us, that restores to us and to everyone around us our God-given dignity; otherwise, we may find the world changing plenty around us and yet not really changing at all because we have brought our same old selves along with it. How have we, the followers of Jesus, done on our watch? How have we done in comparison with him during the two thousand years we have had at our disposal and with ever-expanding resources of knowledge and reach? The obvious answer is not as great. While we may have made some progress in some areas and can count a lot of successes, we can still do much, much better. If we can put a man on the moon, why is it that we seem incapable of making this world more like the one Jesus had in mind? 

As I have pondered this question this week, I have kept coming round to what, I suppose, might be called the “real” question. It comes down to intentions. What is the kind of world we want to live in? Because if putting a man on the moon is our object lesson in what we can accomplish when we set ourselves a goal, then we have to ask ourselves, what, in this instance, do we have a mind to do, or, rather more devastatingly, what do we not have a mind to do? What is the kind of world we want to live in? And the answer that keeps coming back to me is that, almost as a rule, the world we want to live in and whatever it is we tend to strive for, God is almost invariably on the opposite side. We get it wrong because we have our objectives wrong.

Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when people hate you…for that is how their ancestors treated the prophets. But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets. (Luke 6:20-26)

Now you may be asking yourself, if Jesus is really being serious here, why is God so against success? Doesn’t God want us to be happy and prosperous? Isn’t that only fair and just? Why is God so hard on us for just doing our best and reaping the rewards that come of it. I hear what Jesus is saying – be nice, be generous, be humble, don’t be so concerned about yourself that you forget to see and help other people – but how can I be responsible for everybody? Doesn’t it all seem too idealistic? Well, all I can say to you is what I have been saying to myself all week: if this were the right way to think about it and if the way we typically do things was so great, why are we not living in a world much closer to God’s dream for it?  

Abraham Lincoln was once heard to say, “My concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God's side, for God is always right.” The reason that we can’t get things right is that we have forgotten about God. The proof? If we really loved God, we would be living in a far different world. And it would be a world completely opposite to ours. We would not be so overtaken with division and anger and greed and want and hopelessness because we would love each other too much to tolerate that anyone who was within our reach could be touched by anything except our understanding and compassion and our desire for only what was best for them. “God does not have to choose sides,” said someone commenting on Lincoln’s quote, “We do. The question is: Are we on God’s side? We are invited to come alongside God, not the other way around. It’s as simple and complicated as that.”

Sunday, January 19, 2025

2 Epiphany

Isaiah 62:1-5; Psalm 36:5-10; 1 Corinthians 12: 1-11; John 2:1-11

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

 It is rather ominous, that opening scene of James Cameron’s 1992 film Terminator 2: Judgement Day.  The introductory film credits roll as the city of Los Angeles burns in the background, the result of military artificial intelligence becoming sentient and destroying major cities in a nuclear holocaust.  In the opening scenes, we see everything burning – buildings, homes, playgrounds.  Over thirty years after the film’s release we again are seeing images of Los Angeles burning.  These images of Los Angeles (both from the film and in real life) are unsettling and frightening.  At the same time, there is nothing really new about them.

Scenes of fiery destruction and the resulting devastation have been the focus of stories, history, and art for millennia.  The Bible is riddled with such stories, beginning in the first book of the Bible, Genesis, where not one, but two cities (Sodom and Gomorrah) are incinerated.  Elsewhere in the Bible, in the book of 2 Kings, we learn of the prophet Elijah’s ability to call down fire from heaven to incinerate his enemies, something he does twice.  (you can read about that in 2 Kings 2). 

Today, we have another story of fiery destruction in today’s reading from Isaiah.  Isaiah is a long book in the Old Testament containing sixty-six chapters.  Today’s reading is toward the end of Isaiah (chapter 62) and it is important to understand some context about the book for two primary reasons.  The first is that Isaiah was not all written during the same time period.  The earliest parts of the book were written around 740 BCE and the latest parts around 520-525 BCE.  That means the book of Isaiah was written over a period of over two hundred years.  Which brings me to my second point regarding context – Isaiah was not written by one author (obviously) but by several.

Scholars today divide Isaiah into three sections: First Isaiah (written around 740 BCE – chapters 1-39), Second Isaiah (written between 597 – 539 BCE, chapters 40-55), and Third Isaiah (written around 520 BCE, chapters 56-66).  Our reading today comes from this third section of Isaiah and is addressed to a people who have lived through fire and devastation and must once again rebuild.  These are people who have resettled back into the land of Judah, an area which surrounds the great city of Jerusalem – or at least what remained of it.

About sixty years prior to their resettlement in Judah, the city of Jerusalem burned to the ground and was destroyed by the Babylonians under Nebuchadnezzar II.  King Nebuchadnezzar II burned Jerusalem to the ground and destroyed its temple because Judah’s king at the time, Zedekiah, sought out an alliance with Egypt rather than Babylon – a choice which brought disastrous consequences to Jerusalem.  (You can read more about this in 2 Kings 25).

After the city’s destruction, Jerusalem’s people were forced into exile in Babylon, where they remained for almost fifty years.  When Persia, under the rule of Cyrus the Great, conquered the Babylonians, he permitted the exiles from Jerusalem to return to their homeland.  And that is where we meet the people of Judah, now returned to their homeland, today in Isaiah.  When the people look around at what remained of Jerusalem and see only rubble and rock, the prophet Isaiah speaks the word of God to them, saying  “you shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord . . . you shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate.

In other words, when the people of God return to what seems a destroyed and forsaken land, Isaiah proclaims to them that the city of Jerusalem would be rebuilt and that it would be a place of refuge, a place where “people take refuge under the shadow of God’s wings” as the author of today’s psalm writes.

The point is this – out of devastation, God will always forge refuge and peace.  It is not always easy to see, nor does God do this work on our timeline.  That is Isaiah’s message for us today.   

Tomorrow is both Martin Luther King, Jr. Day as well as Inauguration Day.  As we recognize this nation’s most well-known civil rights leader and as a new presidential administration begins its term, we would do well to remind ourselves that whatever humans destroy or deconstruct – whether buildings, relationships, trust, or accountability – God can always reconstruct.  In God’s time, nothing ever breaks.  In God’s economy, destruction is merely an illusion – it is not even real.  What is most real to God is refuge.   AMEN.

Sunday, January 5, 2025

2 Christmas

Jeremiah 31: 7-14; Psalm 84; Ephesians 1: 3-6, 15-19a; Matthew 2: 1-12

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

This morning’s sermon is going to be focused on the epistle, which is our second reading.  This morning’s epistle is from Ephesians.  Epistle is simply a fancy Latin word for “letter,” and that is what we read earlier today – an excerpt from a letter to the Ephesians.  “Ephesians” is a reference to the ancient Roman city of Ephesus. 

Ephesus is located on the Western coast of Turkey, and if you were to visit it today, you would see an incredible archeological site consisting of ancient Roman roads, buildings, and an amphitheater carved into a hillside. It was at this amphitheater - which today you can visit -that a great riot took place against the ministry of the Apostle Paul.

Ephesus was the location of one of the seven great wonders of the ancient world: the temple of Artemis.  Artemis was a goddess of the hunt, and in Ephesus, silversmiths made their livelihood selling silver shrines of Artemis.  Paul’s ministry in Ephesus inhibited the silversmith’s profits from selling their silver shrines, because Paul had drawn away a considerable number of their customers because he said that gods made by human hands were not really gods after all.

The silversmiths rioted in the amphitheater at Ephesus, chanting “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!” against those ministering with the Apostle Paul.  You can read all about this encounter in your Bible in the book of Acts, chapter 19.

That is a little bit of history about the Apostle Paul and the ancient city of Ephesus, but I am afraid to say, however, that all of what I just said was rather…redundant.  It was redundant because the letter to the Ephesians is likely not a real letter, nor was it written by the Apostle Paul, and neither was it addressed to people in Ephesus.  Bummer, right?

Let me work backwards here:  I will start with who Ephesians was written to, then who its author perhaps was, and finally address what these words are saying to us today.   If Ephesians was not written to people living in Ephesus – Ephesians – who was it written to?  If you open your Bible and look at chapter 1, verse 1, of Ephesians, you will find these words: “Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, to the saints who are in Ephesus and faithful in Jesus Christ.”  It seems clear that Ephesians was both written by Paul and directed to the Ephesians.  Why am I arguing those two points?  For several reasons: 1) the earliest copies of “Ephesians” never mention Ephesians by name. Instead the, the earliest copies of Ephesians say “To the saints who are faithful in Christ Jesus.”  The title “to the Ephesians” was added sometime in the second century, while the earliest versions of the letter date from the first century. 

Who wrote it?  Again not Paul, most likely.  Why not?  Scholars who have studied the epistles of the New Testament recognize that Ephesians differs from other Paul’s other confirmed letters in form, style, and grammar.  In short we would say that the author of Ephesians is pseudonymous, which is a fancy way of saying “we have no idea.”

The verses we read today begin with an ancient Jewish prayer “Blessed be the God,” which identifies the author of the letter as well within the Jewish tradition.  That is important because of what we encounter in later verses today.  The verses in this letter introduce the theme of the whole letter, which is the place of the church in God’s plan.  This is important, historically, because it shows a realization amongst early church communities that they were no longer thinking of themselves as distinct congregations meeting in homes or gathering halls, but were now part of a common whole – the body of Christ, which we really see in chapters 2 and 4 of Ephesians. 

The author of Ephesians sees the church as a place of reunion and reconciliation between two groups of people: Jews and non-Jews (commonly called Gentiles).  We see this clearly in chapter 2, verse 14 of Ephesians, where the author writes, and I quote, “For [Jesus] is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us.”  In essence the author of Ephesians is saying that Christ’s physical body on the cross is the means of reconciliation between Gentiles and Jews and between both groups and God.

If the church is nothing else, it is, and must be, a place for union and reunification.  It is, and must be, the place where Democrats and Republicans, atheists and evangelicals, drunks and teetotalers, conservatives and liberals come together.  The church houses a congregation who are a group of people who under other circumstances would not likely gather together.  People who may disagree with one another, but who can nevertheless be unified through Christ to one another.  A church should be larger than anything which seeks to divide it. 

But it is not enough for us to play nice with each other in church – even if we disagree theologically or politically with one another.  Our work is to take the unity in Christ we experience in this place, and bring it into our homes and workplace.  Can you go home today and not yell at your spouse, your kids, or your dog?  Can you go to work tomorrow and be kind to the person who tests your patience the most?  That is the place to start practicing unity – showing up as the same person you are today – here in church – as you will show up tomorrow in your home and to your employer. 

Not much remains of the grand Temple of Artemis today – one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.  Just one column, artificially pieced together from broken column parts and placed to mark the temple’s former footprint.  It fell because of greed, because people wanted the treasures within it, and because people plundered its marble to fashion buildings of their own.  It fell because of disunity.  Nothing stands while disunity prevails.  AMEN. 

Sunday, December 22, 2024

4 Advent

Micah 5: 2-5a; Canticle 15; Hebrews 10: 5-10; Luke 1:39-1:45

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

If you were to open a Bible and read the beginning of 1 Samuel (quick question – how many of you all think 1 Samuel is in the New Testament?  How about the Old Testament?).  If you read the beginning of 1 Samuel which is in the (Old) Testament, you would find in chapters one and two of that book a story about a woman named Hannah.

Hannah’s story follows a common literary motif in Old Testament literature, which is the motif of a woman who is initially unable to conceive a child, but through prayer and surrender to God, becomes pregnant.  This same motif applies to the Biblical matriarchs like Sarah, Rebekah, and Rachel – all of whom you can read about in the book of (Genesis).   Didn’t any of you all go to Sunday School?   

Hannah was married to a man named Elkanah and the Lord had “closed her womb” as it is written in 1 Samuel 1:6.  After praying for a child, Hannah conceived, and gave birth to her son, Samuel.  After Samuel was weaned, Hannah brought him to the house of the Lord at Shiloh.  Shiloh was about twenty miles north-northeast of Jerusalem and was central to Israelite worship at the time. 

Hannah left Samuel in Shiloh in the Lord’s service.  This was not child abandonment, but rather Hannah’s faithful practice of dedicating her first born child to God’s service.  Samuel grew up there as a servant of the Lord, and became the last judge over Israel.  It was Samuel who anointed Saul as the first king over Israel.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

Hannah brought Samuel to Shiloh because she promised that if God permitted her to bear a child, she would dedicate him to God’s service.  And that is what happened.  When she brought Samuel to Shiloh, the Bible says she offered a song, which is recounted in 1 Samuel 2 – called the Song of Hannah. 

It is a song of thanksgiving for a divinely initiated change of fortune.  In this song, Hannah sings these words “The Lord makes poor and makes rich; he brings low, he also exalts.”  Those words may sound familiar, as they mirror another song we hear today, the song of Mary, or Magnificat, where Mary jubilantly decrees that the Lord has “brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.” 

If you were to read the song of Hannah along with today’s reading from the Gospel of Luke – the song of Mary, you would likely find that both songs hold much in common. I hope that it is interesting, or at least helpful to establish some context for all of us as we hear Mary’s song today.  Like all songs, Mary’s appears to draw inspiration from Hannah’s song, a song which predates Mary’s by some 600 – 900 years. 

I know you all are thinking two things right now: (1) what does all this have to do with the fourth Sunday of Advent, and (2) when is this sermon over?  The sermon will be over soon.  And Hannah has everything to do with Advent 4.  We are three days away from Christmas, the day in which we celebrate another rather unusual birth.  The point of Mary’s song is that the world will be fundamentally different as the result of the child to be born in Bethlehem. 

I know – your eyes might start to roll when you hear a priest say that (you may be thinking “that is what Jimmy says every year – Christmas means everything is different blah blah blah but the problem is that nothing is different.  Things are not different; they have just gotten worse.  By the way, what was it I forgot to pick up at the grocery store last night?”)  Okay, I will get out of your head now. 

Here is what I mean: Mary’s song points us toward the reality of Jesus’ birth as an act of God intruding into our world.  And when God intrudes into our world, everything changes.  But we are so good at building solid defenses against such acts by God.  We put up our spiritual, emotional, psychological barricades to prevent God from intruding into our lives because we do not want anything to change.  Even if we are miserable.  At least if we are miserable, the misery is familiar to us.  We would rather stew in our own self-manufactured misery than have to do something much harder – like change.

God intrudes into our world to change us, because we are unable to change ourselves.  That is what Mary’s (and Hannah’s) songs are about – the joy we fall into when we let God change us.  The joy we step into when we get smart enough to sit in the back seat and let God into the driver's seat.  The joy we feel when we let everything change.  AMEN.

Sunday, December 8, 2024

Advent 2 (Year C)

Baruch 5:1-9; Canticle 16 The Song of Zechariah; Philippians 1:3-11; Luke 3:1-6

The Rev. Clint Brown

[John the Baptist] was a good man and had exhorted the Jews to lead righteous lives, to practice justice toward their fellows and piety toward God, and so doing join in baptism.

 So says Josephus, the first century Jewish historian, who was a contemporary of Jesus, Paul, and the early Christian movement, and who often serves as an important nonbiblical witness to many of the things reported in the Gospels, including Jesus. But this terse sketch is misleading and doesn’t do justice at all to the outsized personality with which we have to deal today. Josephus may serve to corroborate the Biblical account, and we are glad of that, but what he leaves out, of course, are all the juicy interesting bits: the manner and circumstances of John’s birth and that he ate bugs and wore camel’s hair and that he was, to put it mildly, a pretty eccentric fellow. John the Baptist cuts a very strange figure, indeed, as he crosses the stage at this time of year, and we have need to reckon with this odd, unsettling companion to tidings of comfort and joy and cozy nativity scenes.

For all the reverence we pay him, we might start out by realizing that John the Baptist is not the type of person you would want to invite to your Christmas party. To begin with, he was an ascetic who imposed on himself a severe self-discipline, so you’d be hard-pressed to expect him to bring much (if anything) to your party. And whatever he did bring, you would probably not want to eat it. And he likely wouldn’t show up, anyway, because he clearly was not a fan of big urban areas and places with a lot of people, preferring to keep to the countryside and, particularly, the wild desert region around the Jordan. And, in terms of personality, it is fair to say that he was prickly and provocative. As a preacher, we know that he drew enormous crowds because of his unique brand of “fire and brimstone,” but whether that was because they agreed with his message or were just there for the show is an open question. (It’s likely to have been a mixture of both.) But one thing is for sure. John the Baptist was (and is) an interesting and irresistible character and there are important reasons for us to pay attention to him.

On the scant evidence available, scholars hypothesize that John was probably a priest, descended from a family of radicalized rural priests who had been pushed out of the power center at Jerusalem. As such, they were highly critical of the Jerusalem priesthood who, as far as they were concerned, were sell-outs and more preoccupied with the forms of ritual than its spirit. They would have nursed a grave concern to see Israel purified and returned to its roots. And as an outsider, reared by outsiders in this atmosphere of suspicion and grievance, it is natural for us to suppose that the young John would have grown into manhood with something of a chip on his shoulder, and this may account for his abrasiveness and zeal for reform. But be that as it may, what is most important for our story is that John is an outsider with an outsider’s way of looking at things. What his contemporaries were blind to, either because of their comfort or because of their distractedness, John was able to see clearly. And what John wanted most was to break through his contemporaries’ apathy and indifference with the shattering news that the God of Israel was not done working. The time of God’s visitation was at hand. And while everyone was busy looking one way, salvation was coming from the other, and John understood perfectly that his role was to point to that very special something that was just over the horizon.

Once we get past our initial shock about him, we can appreciate that John’s role is vital – no one else can do it – because he helps us to do two things at once: to look back and to look forward. Looking back, John reminds us, as he did his contemporaries, of the great prophetic heritage of Israel and that we, like them, are situated in the midst of a much larger story. The coming of the Christ is not a surprise, it is something announced and foretold. It is something expected and part of a grand plan. We are to recognize in the mighty acts that will soon unfold that God has a plan for history, indeed is the Lord of History, and, for those who are seeing in front of them something less than ideal – like the occupation of their homeland by Rome’s legions, say, or, for us, the continuing specter of injustice – this is an intervention worth celebrating.

And in terms of looking ahead, what John is saying is that the knowledge of God’s imminent intervention requires a response. How ought we to meet Christ as our king? And for this John gives us one word: “repent.” Admit that you are in need of rescue. Own the fact that you can’t save yourself. Give in and let go. The coming of Jesus should matter to you, and John wants to make sure you know why. I’m reminded of an observation made by C. S. Lewis. To achieve progress does not always mean moving forward. Sometimes, he said, what “progress” looks like is turning around once you’ve realized your mistake and backtracking to the crossroads where you made the wrong turn. Only then can you truly say you are moving in the right direction. That is where we are on the Second Sunday of Advent. We have a choice to make. Either we choose to barrel on as if there’s absolutely nothing happening that ought to concern us, or we stop and consider that what is coming into the world is going to change it and us forever and we have some serious preparation to do. Clearly to continue, obstinately, in the former way would amount to nothing less than pride and a kind of foolishness and, ultimately, insanity. So it turns out that the crazy guy wasn’t so crazy after all. Only a crazy person would knowingly continue walking on a road that they knew would lead them off a cliff, which means you’d be crazy not to listen to John the Baptist.

Sunday, December 1, 2024

1 Advent

Jeremiah 33: 14-16; Psalm 25: 1-9; 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13; Luke 21: 25-36

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN. 

            In my twenty years as a priest, I have preached many sermons, and I keep paper copies of most of them.  When I perused my file for the first Sunday in Advent to see what I preached on the last time we had these readings three years ago, my sermon on the first Sunday in Advent 2021 was on Psalm 25.  Since I know you all remember everything from that sermon three years ago, I did not want to be redundant and preach on the same reading this time.  So, instead, I want to talk about our reading from 1 Thessalonians. 

            First some history.  There was an ancient equivalent of I-10, the interstate freeway that runs east to west across the United States.  I-10’s ancient forerunner was called the Via Egnatia, named after the Macedonian proconsul Gnaeus Egnatius.  Like I-10, the Via Egnatia ran east west across the Balkan peninsula from Byzantium (modern day Constantinople in Turkey to the city of Apollonia on western coast of Greece on the Adriatic Sea.  Regrettably, there were no Buc-ees along the Via Egnatia, but it was an important highway that linked many cities and insured the commercial prosperity of the cities on its path, including the city of Thessalonica.  Thessalonica was the capital city of the Roman province of Macedonia, and was dedicated to following the Roman imperial cult, which was simply the practice of worshiping the Emperor as God.   The emperor at this time was a man named Claudius.

Paul arrived in Thessalonica following a bad experience in nearby Philippi (another city that is on the Via Egnatia).  Once in Thessalonica, he did what Paul does, which was to establish a church there.  Following the establishment of this church in which those attending proclaimed Jesus as Lord and God rather than the Emperor, uproar and civil discord broke out in Thessalonica.  You can read all about this in your Bibles in chapter 17 of the book of Acts. 

            Paul was forced to leave Thessalonica because of the controversy his church introduced there, which was simply elevating Christ over Claudius as the true Emperor and true king.  Paul went south to Athens, and after some time passed, he sent his co-worker Timothy back to Thessalonica to see how things were going with the church he established there.  While Timothy goes to Thessalonica, Paul goes to Corinth, and waits for Timothy there.  Timothy returns to Corinth with good news about the church in Thessalonica, but also reports that that people in that church are a bit anxious that Paul has not returned to visit them. 

            This is the context for Paul’s writing his letter to the church in Thessalonica – a letter which is called “1 Thessalonians” in your Bible.  We hear a small part of this letter today from its third chapter.  In these verses, Paul writes that he has heard Timothy’s encouraging report of the status of the church.  Our reading today is part of Paul’s response where he is writing to encourage this church as it professes love and worship of God in a city known for its loyalty to the imperial cult of emperor worship.

            Even in the beginning of church life, churches needed an encouraging word.  Not much has changed in two thousand years.  We still need to be encouraged.  I am reminded of words a Presbyterian minister and author, Frederick Buechner once said about preaching.  He said that a good sermon should comfort the afflicted.  But it should also afflict the comfortable.  We are beginning a new year of church today.  We are in Advent, which is a season that invites us into both comfort and affliction.  Marie Curie, the Nobel Laureate award winner in Physics and in Chemistry, once said, and I quote, “I was taught that the way of progress was neither swift nor easy.”  For anyone who has ever tried to lose weight, learn a new language or musical instrument, Curie’s words should resonate. 

            Progress for most of us is often slow.  So be encouraged this Advent.  Things did not move quickly during Paul’s lifetime, either.  We have so much to be grateful for, so much to be encouraged by, and so much to be patient for.  AMEN.  

Sunday, November 24, 2024

Feast of Saint Andrew the Apostle (transferred)

 Deuteronomy 30:11-14; Psalm 19:1-6; Romans 8b-18; Matthew 4:18-22

 The Rev. Clint Brown

In honor of St. Andrew, the first one called, I have decided to preach today on what I am calling the logic of mission, for, as Christians, I think we all know and understand that evangelism is an expected part of the job. It’s not enough that we care about our own ticket to heaven. Knowing what Christianity stands for, we want to be giving it away. So, this morning, let me take a few moments to demystify what is, let’s be honest, not an Episcopalian strong suit and talk a bit about mission. There is, as I see it, a rather simple logic to mission, of which there are four logical moves.

The first is to ask ourselves, in an honest way, “Do I truly believe this?” And, if the answer is yes, then it follows that some things about your life must change. If we’re sold on the gospel, if we believe that it matters, then we should act like it. We should talk different. We should move through the world different. We should think different. And our model in this is Jesus Christ. To the best of our ability, a Christian’s goal is simply to be trying to be more and more like Jesus. And the way all this ties back into mission is that to live this way intently and sincerely should – indeed, it cannot help but – be attractive to anyone sitting on the outside looking in. This, it seems to me, is the logic of mission: belief – belief that prompts change – a change that is modelled on Jesus Christ – and, finally, a change that is so recognizably Christ-like that it can’t help but be irresistible. In my view, any evangelistic effort or program or intention that does not come from a place of lived authenticity – that does not put the onus on us to live compelling and persuasive lives – slides all too easily into gimmickry and a corporate model approach to mission which I find repugnant to the spirit of the gospel.

So having made this sketch of the logic of mission, let’s take each of these moves now in turn and provide some detail. Going back to the first move, the first thing that we must settle is belief. Do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and, if so, what difference does that make? On any given Sunday, even as I look out at all of you today, I know there is a potentially vast range of postures and attitudes toward Jesus represented here: from the skeptical, guarded, and perhaps even hostile; to the middle-of-the-road, apathetic, mechanical, and perfunctory; to the fervent, expectant, and devoted. The fact is that when we open the doors of St. Andrew’s it is to all kinds of seekers and seeking. Our job is to facilitate an encounter, and our work here is meant to have relevance. It is supposed to change lives. And if the gospel is at all convincing, and I believe it is, then it will not let us go or leave us unchanged.

To be confronted with the reality of Jesus is, you see, meant to be calamitous. We are supposed to feel a bit like the ground has shifted from under our feet. We are meant to feel shaken, curious, unsettled, and convicted by the example of Jesus Christ, a life lived in such perfect and resolute obedience to God. And also moved by the entire recorded experience of God’s people handed down to us in the Bible. The message proclaimed from this pulpit and this altar every Sunday is all meant to point to one thing – the crucified and risen Son of God – and then to call us to follow, just like Andrew.

Jesus is especially to be found here – at church. The church is both a hospital and a school. It is the place to be healed and equipped. Here is where every hungry seeker is provided with food for the journey. And it matters a great deal to me, as I’m sure it does to you, that at St. Andrew’s no one is denied a seat at the table. But understand that whatever you do here is only completed by what you do out there. On the six other days of the week, do you make the Golden Rule your mantra? Do you make prayer and reading your Bible a habit? Do you seek out opportunities to give and to serve? Are you careful and honest in your self-examination and confession of sin? All of these are the marks of a mature Christian faith. All of these make your faith attractive to others.

I trust, by now, that you see my main point. When it comes to flagging attendance and a general disapproval of the church by the culture at large, we Christians need to accept more of the responsibility. The narrative is not just of a culture moving on in an increasingly secular direction and grown hostile to the gospel. It is also that we have failed to be convincing. As you have often heard me lament from this pulpit, the reason more people don’t want to come to church is that they have been disappointed by too many Christians. And so I say that there can be no effective witness for Jesus, in these difficult times, without Christians taking very seriously their responsibility to live radically altered lives following the example of Christ – deeply committed to love, deeply serious about service, deeply compassionate, deeply hopeful.

Whatever that looks like for you, I’m going to leave for you to answer for yourself, but I do challenge you to consider this: If you were hauled into court, and you were accused of being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you? The Hasidim tell the story of a disciple who said to his teacher, “Teacher, I have gone completely through the Torah. What must I do now?” And the teacher said, “Oh, my friend, the question is not, Have you gone through the Torah? The question is, Has the Torah gone through you?” I would like to think that I could plead guilty.

Sunday, November 17, 2024

Proper 28

The Rev. David Nelson

How do we put our trust in God? This is the question in today’s scripture, and this is question we continue to ask today.

Today’s gospel gives us a clue. There was an enormous complex in Jerusalem known as the Second Temple. It was an ancient marvel, perhaps somewhat like a person 2,000 years ago seeing NRG stadium. Many believed that the Temple was the dwelling place of God. The Temple symbolized God’s strength and protection. Psalm 18 declares, “The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; My God, my strength, in whom I will trust.” The disciples of Jesus are impressed with the Temple. But could they put their trust in this building?

Jesus was not impressed. This was surprising since Jesus was a devout Jew. This might be somewhat like an Episcopal Bishop today being unimpressed with the amazing National Cathedral. The suggestion that this grand Temple would become a pile of rubble must have been confusing.

Jesus was rarely impressed with the large displays of power. He preferred the little things: the mustard seed, the cup of water to the thirsty, or two small coins offered by a poor widow. The disciples were trusting in the power of the Temple, but Jesus knew better. He bluntly told them that it will be destroyed. This would indeed happen about 40 years later when the Romans crushed a Jewish revolt and destroyed the Temple. The destruction of the Temple put Judaism in a crisis. Where do we put our trust if the dwelling place of God was destroyed? Where is God our rock, when the rocks of the Temple have crumbled to the ground?

While there were many different responses in Judaism, I want to highlight two. First, the religious leaders known as the Pharisees, pointed toward to the Torah. The Torah contains the first five books of the Old Testament, and also refers to a way of life. It is important for Christians to understand that following Torah is about a relationship with God. The Pharisees trusted in the Torah, as did many others.

The followers of Jesus were Jewish. They followed the same Torah and trusted in God. This leads to a second path forward, captured in a famous passage from John’s gospel.

Here’s the context. The disciples of Jesus were afraid of going through hostile territory. Jesus assures them that they can trust him. He says in John 14:6, “I am the way, the truth, and the life, there is no other way to the Father except through me.” While many debates have ensued about religion based on these words, Jesus was not talking about religion at all. What 99% of people who quote this passage don’t realize is that Jesus is actually referencing Old Testament Scripture.

Let me explain. Jesus says, I am the way, the truth, and the life.

He didn’t just make up those three concepts. He was referencing the Scriptures, specifically the Psalms. The Psalms refer to God’s way frequently. Psalm 119 alone uses the word “way” 17 times. The Law or the Torah was called the Way. Jesus is telling these Jewish believers to follow his way, which like the Torah, is trustworthy.      

Next, Jesus said, “I am the truth...” Once again, Psalm 119 declares, “Your law is truth.” Again, the law or Torah is the way and the truth. The disciples knew they could trust Scripture. Now Jesus was saying that he is the living reality of truth.

Finally, “I am the life.” Once again, this has a scripture background. Psalm 119 includes this verse, “I hold my life in my hand continually, but I do not forget your law.” The psalms often poetically wax about how God’s law leading to life.

The psalms are clear. The Torah is the way, the truth, and the life. The disciples already believed these Psalms which proclaim the Torah as the way, the truth, and the life. Jesus wants more. Now they must put their trust into something greater—or more accurately—someone greater, Jesus. Jesus will guide them in the way, Jesus will give them the truth, and Jesus will show them life abundantly. They can trust in Jesus, and so can we.  

Where do we put our trust? We live in times where it’s hard to answer that question. Our modern world is confusing and difficult to navigate. Many can feel anxious and afraid of what will come next in our 24/7 news cycle where most of the news is bad news, while good news feels in short supply. I have never met a person who followed the news constantly and then concluded, “I trust it’s all going work out.” Jesus doesn’t promise the disciples that the world is safe. Jesus faced corrupt politicians in the Herod family and Pilate. He knew the Temple would be destroyed, and that he would pay the ultimate price for living as the way, the truth, and the life.

We will face struggles in every time and place. Jesus taught the disciples not to put their trust in temporary power, like Temples, or even earthly success. Let us put our trust into something deeper, more specifically someone deeper. Jesus brings us to the way, the truth, and the life. May we put our trust in Jesus, who can lead us in the right way, provide us with truth, and guide us more deeply into abundant life.  Amen.  

Sunday, November 10, 2024

Pentecost – Proper 27

1 Kings 17: 8-16; Psalm 146; Hebrews 9: 24-28; Mark 12: 38-44

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  AMEN.

So, I have bad news and I have good news.  Which do you want to hear first?  The bad news is that in this sermon I am going to talk about the election.  The good news is that I am also going to talk about stewardship!

Here is what I want to say about last week’s election, and I am going to be brief.  There are people in our congregation who are celebrating that Trump was elected president.  There are also people in our congregation who are really hurting because Trump was elected president.  And we are one community. 

And as one community, we care for each other, we love each other, we hold each other accountable, just as we hold our elected officials accountable.  In his letter to the Romans, the Apostle Paul writes these words in chapter 12, verse 15: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another.” As I said in my article in last week’s email (which I know everyone here reads) compassion is the only way all of us move forward to a brighter future for ourselves and for our children, and we do that together.

Moving on from the election to everyone’s favorite topic – stewardship. Here again I will be brief.  Today we wrap up our six-week stewardship campaign through the act of blessing our pledges at the altar before the Eucharist.  As of this Friday, 108 pledges totaling $767,000 have been returned.  Nine of those pledges are from people who decreased their pledge from last year, twenty of those are pledges that remained the same as last year, nine of those are new pledges, and seventy are increased pledges.  Awesome!  We’re seventy-nine percent toward our pledge goal of $950,000.

If you haven’t yet returned your pledge to St. Andrew’s, you have a pledge card conveniently placed into your service order.  Fill that card out today, place it in the envelope, and drop it into the collection plate when it passes you by later on in the service.  Your pledge to St. Andrew’s is vital.  Every year our operating budget starts at zero, and it is only through the generosity of your pledge that our ministry here is possible.  St. Andrew’s is not subsidized by the Diocese of Texas.  We count on your pledge to sustain all the ministry of this parish.

Ok.  Now here is my sermon.  Today we have a reading from the Gospel of Mark in which we hear about the widow who gave two small copper coins and placed them into the charity box at the Temple.  An important, but sometimes overlooked, point of this story is that this woman was uniquely vulnerable as a widow.  In a heavily patriarchal society, to be a widow meant that you were essentially powerless. 

Jesus notices the widow and contrasts this poor, widowed, vulnerable woman with the scribes who walk around in long robes, (like I’m wearing), and who have the best seat in the temple, (like I do).  Jesus is very clear to put forward the widow as the example we all should follow, meaning that the path toward God is through vulnerability, sacrifice, and surrender – rather than self-aggrandizement. 

Here is my last point, and this is what I really hope you take away from this sermon.  Jesus identifies with the widow, not the scribes.  Why?  I think it is because the widow had something the scribes completely seemed to lack – faith.  Faith that even if she gave up two copper coins, God would provide for her, God would take care of her.  Think about that for a moment.

As God cared for the widow (I believe) so God will care for you.  But in order for God to care for you, it seems that you (and I) first need to have the hope, the faith, and the trust to allow God to do so.

With all the material possessions that you have, are you able to place your life into God’s hands the way a poor widow did two thousand years ago?   If not, then perhaps it’s time to remove your long robe, come down from your seat at the banquet, and learn – maybe for the first time – how trustworthy God is with your life.  AMEN.