Sunday, September 24, 2023

Proper 20

Jonah 3: 10 – 4:11, Psalm 145: 1 - 8; Philippians 1: 21-30; Matthew 20: 1-16

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

Years ago, I attended a conference for Episcopal Clergy called CREDO (Latin for “I believe”).  At the conference I suggested they start a conference for spouses of episcopal clergy and they could call it “SPEEDO” (Spouses of episcopal…)  Like you all they didn’t think it a good idea, either.  In one of our worship services during the conference, I recall listening to a sermon in which the preacher told all the clergy gathered these words: “the world does not owe you anything.”   While I believe those words are true, they’re not exactly uplifting, are they? 

In Matthew’s Gospel this morning, we encounter a parable about fairness and about grace.  In the parable, a vineyard owner goes to the marketplace to hire day laborers to work in it.  In exchange for their work, the laborers will each receive a “fair daily wage,” which probably equated to one Roman denarius - barely enough to feed ones family.   

The owner hires some workers in the morning to go out into the vineyard and pick grapes, tend the vines, and so forth.  About noon the owner decides to hire more people from the same marketplace, and they work in the vineyard for a few hours during the afternoon.  He does this a third time at three o’clock, and then finally one last time, he goes back into the marketplace at 5 o’clock, just when almost all the work is done for the day, and he hires a few more laborers to work.

At the end of the workday, the day laborers stand in line to receive their denarius, starting with those who were just hired at 5 o’clock.  “Wow!” they think, “we only worked thirty minutes and got paid a full day’s wage!  Not bad!”  The people who were hired at three PM are next in line thinking to themselves “well if the people who only worked thirty minutes got a full day’s wage, certainly we will get at least twice that amount.”  The landowner pays the three o’clock workers exactly what he paid those who started at five.  This goes on until the people at the very end of the line, the ones who started the earliest and who worked all day long under the hot sun, who gave up time with their families, receive their wage: one denarius.  “Really?  How is that fair?” they think.  The landowner says to them, “I haven’t been unfair.  We agreed on your wage, didn’t we?  So take it and go.  I decided to give to the one who was last the same as you.  Can’t I do what I want with my own money? Or are you going to get stingy because I am generous?”  Life isn’t fair.  Anthony Hopkins, the famous British actor, who is an alcoholic in recovery and been sober for decades once famously said “Life isn’t fair.  It it was fair, I would be in prison, rather than staring in films.” 

The parable is about more than fairness, however. The parable is also a story of God’s grace.  Understood this way, the landowner in the parable is God or Jesus, the day laborers are each of us, and the payment at the end of the day is God’s mercy.  The early morning laborers who work all day are those who have been faithful Christians their whole life, putting the needs of others above themselves, and the late afternoon workers are those of us who slide into their Christian faith at the very last minute.  It doesn’t matter when we accept Christ – early or late – we all receive the same grace and mercy from Jesus.  Grace is for people who need it – that’s every single one of us.  Because life is not fair, and never will be, and yes - the world owes us nothing.  All we have, everything we own, is only through God’s grace.  Thank God for that abundance.  AMEN. 

Sunday, September 17, 2023

Proper 19 (Year A)

Exodus 14:19-31; Psalm 114; Romans 14:1-12; Matthew 18:21-35

The Rev. Clint Brown

I am going to begin today by quoting Nietzsche. Now you might think it a bit of a stretch that Nietzsche could have anything useful to contribute to a Christian sermon – the philosopher who declared God “dead,” who dismissed Christianity as backward, even harmful, who was the darling of the Nazis – but the quote is helpful, and I hope to show why. In the early pages of Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche writes, “One must be a sea to be able to receive a polluted stream without becoming unclean.”[1] I’ve often thought of this quote in my personal interactions. Now I don’t mean to suggest that I think people are pollution, although Nietzsche seemed to think so. Rather, I have found this quote helpful for keeping things in perspective. In a difficult moment or disagreement my thoughts will go something like this: that what is most important at this moment in this situation is not the satisfaction of telling this person off or having my way, but that, for this relationship to have a future, to have a tomorrow, I’m going to have to bite my tongue and not say something I’ll regret. One of us is going to have to be bigger and stand for something more than just having it our way. And I feel that this same spirit – this largeness of spirit – is at the heart of forgiveness, too, the subject we have to talk about today, for forgiveness can be extraordinarily difficult sometimes, requiring vast emotional and spiritual resources – a “sea” as Nietzsche says.

Just prior to our reading today, the disciples have come to Jesus asking, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” (Matt. 18:1). They want to know the pecking order and where they will rank. In their minds, it was now only a matter of time before Jesus was going to be through with being Mr. Nice Guy and declares his real self, the Messiah who will vanquish Israel’s foes. In a dramatic reveal, he was going to throw off his lowly, humble peasant’s cloak in exchange for a royal robe, like a fairy tale prince who hides his true identity until the very end. In the new political order, the disciples were going to finally be vindicated for choosing to place their bets on this man, unusual though his methods were, and they wanted to know what it had gotten them. But instead of looking ahead to victory and dispensing rewards to all his loyal lieutenants like another Alexander, Jesus turns the question around completely. Greatness is not measured by externals, he says. Greatness can only ever be a matter of character. To be a great person, it’s not about standing out from the crowd or having your way, it’s about contributing to the greater good, often to the hurt of the ego. To be truly great, one has to know that the individual is nothing without the many.   

It's at this point that Peter jumps in. “How many times?” he asks. How many times must one overlook an offense and forgive someone in the new Christian community? The rabbis had traditionally said three times, but what does Jesus say? Having walked many a mile with Jesus and observed his confrontations with the scribes and Pharisees, he fully expects that Jesus will require an even higher standard. Shall it be seven times, more than twice the traditional mandate? But Jesus shakes his head. No, Peter, not seven times, but so many times that the number is inconceivable. Peter is speechless and so are we. It would seem that Jesus does expect of us a spirit as vast as the sea itself.

The parable Jesus tells makes the point. It’s very simple, really. There is no score to keep. There are no calculations to make. We forgive because we have been forgiven; we are merciful because we have been shown mercy. To set any condition whatsoever on how much or how often would only demonstrate that we don’t truly accept or comprehend the mercy that has been shown towards us. And this is where we need to make a crucial distinction. This is not the way we normally experience life in the world. In the church, we have to be clear what kind of people we are. We are not like other people. We do not hold onto sleights. We do not seek revenge. We pray for our enemies. We always hold out hope for redemption. We are those who stand for the ridiculous, nonsensical, utterly courageous claim that “we are saved not by getting it right, but by the love that redeems us while we are getting it wrong.”[2] We are the ones who follow a God bloodied on a cross.  

If being able to forgive in this way sometimes cuts against our notions of what’s fair and right, perhaps that just goes to prove that this is not something we can do on our own. The ability to forgive in the way Jesus demands asks too much, and that’s why we can only succeed with God’s help. Supernatural forgiveness must be by supernatural means. To make the church work we are going to have to take some blows. To be agents of reconciliation in the world, we must be willing to demonstrate the kind of mercy that surprises and subverts. And so I would like to end the way I began by talking about largeness of spirit, and I know no better example of how the Christian way of being in the world has the power to change the world than in a prayer pinned inside the clothes of a dead child discovered at Ravensbruck concentration camp where 92,000 women and children died:

Oh Lord, remember not only the men and women of good-will, but also those of ill-will. But do not remember all the suffering they have inflicted on us; remember the fruits we have bought thanks to this suffering – our comradeship, our loyalty, our humility, our courage, our generosity, the greatness of heart which has grown out of all this. And when they come to the judgment, let all the fruits that we have borne be their forgiveness.[3]

[1] Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, trans. Walter Kaufmann (New York: The Modern Library, 1995), 13.

[2] The quote is by Richard Holloway, formerly Bishop of Edinburgh and Primus of the Scottish Episcopal Church.

[3] Quoted in Michel de Verteuil, Lectio Divina with the Sunday Gospels: The Year of Matthew – Year A (Dublin: The Columba Press, 2005), 225.

Sunday, September 10, 2023

Proper 18

Romans 13:8-14, Matthew 18:15-20

The Rev. Cn. Joann Saylors

I had some time off recently, and in my efforts to be completely unproductive, I found myself becoming hooked on the show Alone. I’m late to the party; it started back in 2015, so two seasons in, there are still lots of episodes waiting for me. If you haven’t seen it, the premise is that 10 people are dropped off individually in some wilderness with minimal supplies, and they stay as long as they can. Months of foraging and shelter building and avoiding predators. The last one to bail out wins $500,000, so there is incentive to continue through starvation, fatigue, bad weather, injury, and disappointment, rather than tapping out and going back to civilization. Early on the greatest challenges are physical. But as the weeks go by, the difficulty is more emotional. The contestants begin to reexamine their pasts, their mistakes, their relationships. They give thanks for the people who encouraged them. Participants end their time for a variety of reasons, but very often it is because they miss those other people. They get lonely. It’s really hard to be all by yourself for weeks on end.

Human beings are made for relationship. And Christians are meant to be in relationship in particular ways. We are supposed to be morning people. Sorry, night owls, I’m not just saying that because I am one; it’s right there in the letter to the Romans. In a commentary on the passage, Dr. Susan Eastman of Duke Divinity School says,

“Paul tells us that as Christians we are all 'morning people.' The time is just before dawn, the sky is brightening, the alarm is ringing, day is at hand. It is time to rouse our minds from slumber, to be alert to what God is doing in the world, and to live in accordance with God's coming salvation.”

That is such good news. For all of us. Paul is naming a situation that applies today as well. It is still dark, still night. In these times of earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, droughts, and fires, nearby and around the world, we have all faced moments of darkness. And for many those moments have lasted a very long time.

But the sun is rising; there is light dawning in the hope of salvation, which is unfolding around us all the time. I’m not just talking about the end times, when that work of salvation is completed, but now, when we are participating in it. The world is brightening through the relationships we build.

When we connect with one another, a light shines through the darkness. When we live together in ways that reflect the reign of God, the sun is peeking over the horizon. When we reach out, as transformed people, to repair the cracks in a broken world, the clear light of day pushes back the night.

There are times when the darkness feels like it’s winning, in the sadness and fear of those who feel they have been left behind in society. Or the disappointment and worry of those who see many intractable problems and few resources to solve them. Or the despair of someone who has lost a loved one far too soon. Just living in a world with so much anger and fear is draining. These are dark times, times which overwhelm us if we let them.

There are many who believe God wills terrible events, whether to teach us or to punish us. But that is not how we Anglicans believe God works, not the God of light. The Son of God took on human flesh and suffered as a human. And the risen Lord walks with us in our own suffering. We never have to be alone. Jesus tells us in our Gospel passage today, where two or three are gathered together in his name, he is with us. We become his hands and feet in the world and, when we are willing, his voice. As Jesus followers, it is our job to be with other people. Humans were not meant to be alone.Our work is not to dwell by ourselves in the darkness, but to be with others in the light. To point to where the sun is beginning to rise. To help others see God at work in so many ways, large and small, all around us. To name what is of God, and what is not.

As Church, our work is to foster reconciling, Christian communities that speak to the hopes and hurts of people in our community, to get to know our neighbors, and to share and discover Jesus Christ in the process. Helping, for us, begins with a focus on people and relationships more than simply on giving them stuff. Stuff matters – don’t get me wrong – but donating money or food or diapers isn’t the same as listening to and praying with people. Relationships are what strengthen the community and they can continue to grow even after immediate needs are met.

Of course, connecting with other people is messy work. It’s a lot harder to be people of relationship than people of transactions. We can take on the work of being light to the world with the best of intentions, but we are not perfect. The Kingdom has not come to its fullness. There will always be times in our lives together when tempers are frayed, when we’re too tired or hangry to be compassionate, when stress causes us to behave badly, when we sin against each other. Reconciliation to one another and to God takes real effort.

I know we’re called to be messengers of peace and love, but quite honestly some days I’d rather work alone to check items off my to-do list than deal with one more person. But that’s not how transformation happens. A life based only on productivity doesn’t change people the way a life based on listening, learning, and loving does. Transformation requires intentional engagement with people who are different, people we don’t understand, people we might not like very much. It’s easy to dismiss someone’s way of thinking, or even their way of life, when we don’t understand it and don’t choose to learn. Easier to draw a line that separates us from them than to make a circle that includes both us and them.

That was as true in first century Palestine as it is today. This morning we hear both Paul and Jesus describe how to live together in all of the relationships of our lives. They are both interested in building communities that bring healing to our world. Paul teaches us that love is the foundation for a faithful community, and we are to love our neighbors as ourselves. He reminds us that if we keep turning back to love, keep asking ourselves if we are loving others the way we want to be loved, we bear the light of Christ into the world. If we are truly loving as God loves, there’s no room for drunkenness or licentiousness, but more importantly, there’s also no room for quarreling and jealousy, no place for self-centeredness or rejection. Paul is challenging the early churches us to love God’s way, and the reality of scripture is that he’s challenging us as well.

Now, I don’t know about you, but while I’ve given up the reveling and debauchery of my youth, I have not managed to completely strip jealousy, arrogance, rudeness, selfishness and irritation from my life. It is not unknown for me to get crossways with people I love dearly or to unfairly judge others. We are human and we are sometimes cruel to each other. And so Jesus teaches us another important component of love: forgiveness. Since we are all broken creatures, healing the world can’t happen without forgiveness. We have to stay in conversation with each other. We have to give each other grace. We have to commit to listening more than speaking, to praying, and to practicing reconciliation. Listening, learning, and loving as a way of life.

Sometimes the deepest darkness is in our relationships with other people, not the circumstances that befall us. As a healthy church we can live and model a different way. Our work is to serve our neighbors – to address their needs as we can. Sometimes it is simply being with people, Doing the work of bringing hope instead of judgment and love instead of fear. Healing out of our own brokenness. That’s a big job, and way more than any one of us could do. But if we work together faithfully, we can do it, with God’s help. We don’t have to be alone.

AMEN.

Sunday, September 3, 2023

Proper 17

Exodus 3: 1-15; Psalm 105: 1-6, 23-26, 45c; Romans 12: 9-21; Matthew 16: 21-28

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

While in seminary, I spent a summer as a hospital chaplain at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland.  My summer assignment was the level one trauma center and emergency room.  That meant I was called into all kinds of circumstances, ranging from an emergency baptism of a premature infant before the ventilator was to be removed to praying with a city worker had recently lost his leg in a truck accident. 

There was nothing in seminary – no book or class – that prepared me for walking into a room to provide pastoral care to parents who had just lost their child or offering hope to man with an inoperable malignant tumor on his brain.  So, with not a lot of preparation, I jumped into the deep pastoral waters of that hospital.  Over the summer, as I visited and prayed with patient after patient, I found myself learning more about God in a trauma center than I did in theology class. 

This experience of having to act – to figure out what to do in situations we are not prepared for is what makes us all human.  We improvise.  We do our best.  As I read the Gospel for today, I believe the disciples were going through this very experience.  Until today’s reading, the disciples seemed to enjoy following Jesus around, watching him perform miracles – healing the sick, turning water to wine, raising the dead to life.  As much as the disciples saw this, I am not sure that they really understood what they were being asked to do. 

That changes today, where Jesus tells the disciples very clearly that because of who he was, his fate would lead him to Jerusalem where he would suffer before the political and religious authorities, where people would spit in his face, and where he would be crucified.  All of this must have come as a tremendous surprise for Peter.  What Jesus was talking about was the complete opposite of what Peter was hoping for.  Like some people at the time, Peter was expecting Jesus to be a king like David or Solomon – a military leader who would bring the Jewish people out from underneath the oppression of the Roman Empire. 

Peter wanted Rome out of Israel, and he believed that God’s messiah would do that, not turn himself over to the Romans to be crucified.  Peter replies to Jesus, saying, “God forbid this Lord!  This must never happen to you!”  And Jesus replies quickly, perhaps even coldly with his rebuke “Get behind me Satan” (that’s also the name of great album by the White Stripes – I digress). 

Recognizing that the disciples aren’t really understanding what Jesus (or their) purpose was, he says that they need to understand three things: (1) they are called to deny themselves, (2) they must take up their cross, and (3) they are to follow him.  Now it’s getting real for them.  There is nothing they could read or learn to prepare themselves to do what Jesus is asking them.  They were likely completely shocked and confused. 

The three-fold path Jesus explained to his disciples is the same path for us as well.  None of us are exempt from the same call put toward the disciples:

(1)   Jesus tells us to deny ourselves.  In the eating hall of a Buddhist monastery, a beautiful stuffed parrot hung from the ceiling.  From its golden beak dangled a card which read, “We are in training to be nobody special.”    Try repeating that phrase to yourself throughout today, and as you do, notice how repeating it redirects you from a certain seductive struggle into a more stable focus.  Forget what others think of you, forget the future goal of achievement; arrive instead into this present moment enjoying the freedom of being nobody special.  Deny yourself. 

(2)   When we are told to take up our cross that means we must confront the things in our life we would prefer went away.  We all practice some form of denial in our lives, and if you are like me you might have a psychological closet full of problems you prefer to keep behind a closed door hoping that God will be like the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus and wave the magic wand and they will all go away.  God doesn’t have a magic wand.  God does have a cross, and we are compelled to carry our problems, and bring them there.  The spiritual life unquestionably involves pain and sacrifice.  The word sacrifice means “to make sacred.”  When we take up our cross, we are taking up our problems, and making our problems sacred.  When we do that, a door opens, and God begins to live in that sacred space we have created, and God builds a comfortable residence in the midst of our problems.  Have you invited God into your problems?

(3)   We follow Jesus.  We hear this all the time “follow Jesus,” but I don’t we really understand what that means.  There is no course to take for following Jesus.  You just do it by praying in the morning and in the evening, by reading the Bible.  I promise you, over time, if you follow Jesus with all your heart, you will experience a peace which passes all understanding.  The sought after peace of God is more valuable than anything else in the world.  We cannot buy this peace as it is not for sale.  The only way to find it is by denying yourself, taking up your cross, and following Jesus.  It is a lifetime journey, and it begins with a single step.  If you have not started, I pray that you take your step today.  You are ready.  AMEN.

Sunday, August 27, 2023

Proper 16

Exodus 1:8-2:10; Psalm 124; Romans 12:1-8; Matthew 16:13-20

The Rev. Clint Brown

“Upon you…while still living among us, we already bestow divine honors…and confess that nobody like you will arise hereafter or has arisen before now.”[1] Though not expressing the idea in quite as dramatic a fashion as Peter’s confession, these words make the same point …how in the annals of history, there once came a moment when it had to be admitted that a man of flesh and blood was something more, much more…which would be fine except that these words were not spoken about Christ. These are the words of the poet Horace, spoken not to recognize the Word made flesh but to honor the Roman Emperor Augustus. It was Caesar Augustus, during whose reign Jesus was born, whom the peoples of the earth, near and far, understood to be worthy of divine honors while still alive, and this, from the beginning, set up a fundamental tension with the claims of Christianity: if Caesar was king, then Christ could not be, and vice versa.

To understand the Gospel we must understand that this is the tension in which Christianity operates – the tension between the claims of two kings: the man-become-God and the God-become-man. Who is the real king and who the imposter? Who is the real divinity commanding our loyalty? It is easy to overlook the fact that before it mentions angels, or mangers, or shepherds, the Christmas story mentions Augustus and Quirinius. The context for the birth of Christ is empire, and the omnipresence of that empire lurking in the background is as much a part of Jesus’ story as his miracles or parables. It is the long arm of empire that can force an entire population – among whom were a small-town carpenter and his pregnant wife – to displace itself and return to their ancestral cities to be registered. The census-taking was admittedly a means to more effective administration, but mostly it was about power – the ability to reach down and exert control over every aspect of the lives of a subjugated people – and so “empire,” as I say, is the context for Christ’s life, shaping his life even before it had begun, and it is in the confrontation between the divine Augustus and the divine Jesus that we must consider Peter’s confession.

Which, as it happens, occurs not just anywhere but in a place called “Caesarea Philippi,” a city named for the emperor. How that came to be is worth a brief aside. For most of antiquity, the city had been best known as a shrine of the nature god Pan, and when Caesar Augustus gifted it to Herod the Great as a token of his esteem, he did so under the name Panion = “place dedicated to Pan.” Years later, Herod’s son Philip assumed the role of tetrarch of the region and ordered the city rebuilt and expanded as a way to enhance his image. And to emphasize his loyalty to the emperor he renamed it, this time after the emperor and himself: Caesarea Philippi. It was hardly a subtle gesture. When one’s own power rests in the hands of someone else, it pays to curry the favor of the real power, and, in first century Palestine, the real power lay with Caesar. If the question is asked, “What’s in a name?” then in this name Philip was both courting power and binding his own fate intimately with that power. So when, walking alongside the walls of Caesarea Philippi, Peter confesses that Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (v. 16), you can see now how context is everything. In the very shadow of a monument to imperialism and all that it stands for, Peter is claiming that despite all the evidence to the contrary, Caesar is not actually king, Jesus Christ is.

Now for Christians, of course, our difficulties with the Roman Empire have long since faded into the past. There is no longer a flesh and blood emperor vying for our loyalty. In one of the supreme ironies of history, the empire that had apparently defeated and neutralized the threat of a rival king by crucifying him was itself converted when Constantine declared Christianity the state religion less than 300 years later. But make no mistake, we do live with empire and empire still calls for our allegiance. Empire may no longer be embodied in the measured shuffle of marching legionnaires, but it is alive and well in the values we espouse and in the manner in which we allow the world to operate. It is manifested in the dehumanizing ways we treat one another, in our privileging of self-interest, and how we build great towering edifices not to peace and justice but to greed and domination and idols of our own making. Caesar is no longer king, but the business of making man-into-god goes on. Empire is what the world looks like when the worst human impulses motivate us rather than the law of Christ. Empire is the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God; the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God; the sinful desires that draw us from the love of God.[2] All that we renounce in our baptism is what Jesus Christ came to confront, and this fact demands a decision. It demands a taking of sides. It demands coming out for one or the other. And so, the question for you today is, Will you crown the king of empire or will you crown the King of kings?

[1] Quoted in Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The First Christmas: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’s Birth (New York: HarperCollins, 2007), 63-64.

[2] BCP, 302.

Sunday, August 20, 2023

Proper 15

Genesis 45: 1-15; Psalm 133; Romans 11: 1-2a, 29-32; Matthew 15: 10-28

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

On Thursday, January 15, 2009, US Airways flight 1549 took off from La Guardia Airport enroute to Charlotte.  Moments after takeoff, the Airbus A320 plane struck a flock of geese, and all engine power was lost.  Not only were all 155 people on board the plane immediately in danger, but thousands more people in New York City unknowingly were at risk had the plane crashed into New York City’s urban landscape.

Recognizing that they did not have enough engine power to make it back to La Guardia, pilots Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger and Jefrey Skiles made a split-second decision to “ditch” or land the plane into the Hudson River.  The time from the bird strike to the ditching in the river was less than four minutes.  All 155 people on board survived, and the incident quickly became known as the “miracle on the Hudson.”  I find it serendipitous that the flight number – 1549 – was also the year the first Book of Common Prayer in our church was published.  The Mayor of New York City gave the pilot, who had saved them, the keys to the city.  Keys like this are usually given in recognition of great service to the city, and they represent access and authority.

While none of us will likely achieve the heroic notoriety of somebody the pilot of that airplane, we are nonetheless given keys to God’s kingdom.  The keys to the kingdom, given to us, by Jesus, also instill within each of us honor, responsibility, and spiritual authority.  All of us have received the keys to the kingdom.  Yet many of us seem to have lost them.  I lose my car keys all the time, and I have a tile on them that helps me relocate them.  I also misplace my keys to the kingdom.  This happens when I choose productivity over prayer, or superficial conversation over honest sharing. 

In the story from Genesis this morning, I see an example of what it looks like to really live a life in which you have been given the keys to the kingdom.  In the reading from Genesis, we meet Joseph.  Recall from last week’s reading that Joseph was the favorite son of his father Jacob.  Jacob’s preferential treatment of Jospeh angered his brothers, and they left Joseph in a pit to fend for himself.

Today’s reading picks up the story several chapters later, and we find that Joseph who was once left nearly dead by his brothers, has come into very good fortune, and is a high ranking official under Pharaoh in Egypt.  We see that the tables have been turned for Joseph and his brothers.  A famine has swept across Israel, and Joseph’s brothers have travelled to Egypt to appeal for assistance.  They do not know the person they are talking to is their long-lost brother until today’s reading. 

It is obvious to me that Joseph has held onto his keys to the kingdom, as we see him use them to unlock doors.  The door Joseph unlocks is the door of his heart, and when he identifies himself to his brothers, he weeps over them and is deeply emotional.  I love this part of the story because Joseph’s emotion, his weeping over his brothers, speaks to me deeply.

When I was in Colorado – two times – when I got to the top of a mountain after a long hike, I wept.  I cried, partly because the altitude was so high, but also, I wept because that was all I could offer in response to the limitless horizon I saw all around me.  We shouldn’t fear showing our emotions.  Jesus wept and showed compassion all the time. 

Jospeh totally forgave his brothers, and because he had not lost his keys to the kingdom, he understood that despite all the hardship he had been through, God used him to save lives.  Captain Sullenberger saved the lives of 155 people on flight 1549, a heroic achievement.  Joseph saved the lives of his brothers, and the people of Israel, also remarkable.  Jesus saved all of us, the most incredible accomplishment the world has ever known, and for this remarkable act, was given keys not to a city, but to the entire kingdom of God.  And what did Jesus do with these keys which he received after accomplishing the greatest saving act the world has ever known?  He gave them away.  He gave them to all of us.  He gave them to you. 

Are you using the keys to kingdom Christ gave you?  Or have you put them in your spiritual junk drawer where they do nothing but collect dust?  Joseph forgave his brothers.  Jesus forgave the sins of the entire world.  Who are you called to forgive today?  AMEN.  

Sunday, August 13, 2023

The Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 37: 1-4, 12-28; Psalm 105: 1-6, 16-22, 45b; Romans 10: 5-15; Matthew 14: 22-33

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

Water is a paradox.  We cannot live without it, but too much of it is harmful for all of us.  Estimates of flood-related damage in Norway just last week came in at over 100 million dollars.[1]  The week before last, flooding in the Hebei (huh-bay) province of China displaced over one million people from their homes.[2]  Water, necessary for life, can be dangerous, chaotic, and wildly unpredictable.

The authors of the Bible understood this, and in many places in the Bible, water was used symbolically to represent the impulsive forces of chaos and death.  In the reading from Matthew’s Gospel we hear a story which expands this idea of the watery chaos, and the fear it may have provoked in people. 

 After feeding the five thousand, Jesus sends the disciples in a boat to cross the Sea of Galilee, while he withdrew to the top of a mountain to pray.  While the disciples are in the boat, winds pick up and waves form and start beating against the boat, and the disciples are afraid.  They see Jesus walking toward them above the chaotic waters, and Jesus is not afraid.  One of the disciples, Peter, unsure if it is actually Jesus, says “Lord if it is really you, command me to step out of the boat and walk to you on the water.”  Jesus says, “Peter, it’s really me.  Step out.”  And Peter does, and what happens?  He begins to sink.  Jesus reaches his hand out to save him, to pull him from the drowning water.  Jesus and Peter get into the boat, and the wind, and the waves stop. 

Many ways to understand this story – I will offer two interpretations.  The first interpretation of the story is to see the boat which carried the disciples as the church.  Not a far stretch by the way, considering that the part of the church where the congregation sits is called what?  It is called the nave, which comes from the Latin word navis, which means “boat” or “ship.”  It is where the word “Navy” derives from.  If you look above us at the architecture of the roof, it purposefully is intended to represent a boat or ship.

In the Gospel story today, the ship carrying the disciples, is battered by the chaos of the sea.  The disciples are afraid.  Like the boat, the church is battered by many things – Covid, poor leadership, arrogance, and entitlement by its clergy, disaffected parishioners, the list goes on and on.  The Gospel offers a stark, yet necessary lesson for the church:  the reason the disciples were afraid was because Jesus was not in the boat with them.  When the church forgets Jesus, it will fret, it will become nervous, self-centered, narcistic, entitled, and only worried about its own survival.  And the church that does not have Jesus in the boat, will not, and should not, survive. 

The second interpretation I offer is this: like Peter, Jesus calls us to step out into the watery chaos.  Like it or not, pain us the admission price we all must pay for a life of deeper spiritual connection with God. 

To grow spiritually, we must become powerless, so that we learn that God is truly powerful.  Like Peter, we are called to step out of the boat that protects us from the chaos of life, and to sink into it.  Only by first sinking do we find the outstretched arm of Christ to pull us out. 

I close with words spoken by St. Augustine, many years ago, who said this: “Do you wish to rise?  Begin by descending.  You plan a tower that will pierce the clouds?  Lay first the foundation of humility.”  AMEN. 

Sunday, August 6, 2023

The Transfiguration of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Exodus 34:29-35; Psalm 99; 2 Peter 1:13-21; Luke 9:28-36

The Rev. Jeff Bohanski

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer. 

A lot has been said about the story of Jesus’ transfiguration.  Here are some fun facts about these readings. This story comes up twice each year in the lectionary. The first time we hear it is the last Sunday of Epiphany, the Sunday before Ash Wednesday. It is interesting to note that the last Sunday of Epiphany is about halfway between Christmas and Easter.  The second time we hear it is today, August 6th. The Feast of the Transfiguration. Again, it is interesting that we find ourselves about halfway through Ordinary Time. This tells me that the creators of our current lectionary felt this story to be quite valuable.  This leads me to think, perhaps we should pay attention to it and integrate it into our own personal theology and spirituality.

It is also important to note that all three synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) include this story.  It is also important to note that the author of the Second Letter of Peter that we just heard mentioned it outright. It seems to me that the members of the early church certainly found this story to be very important.  A lot of our understanding of who Jesus was and is comes from this story.   

Concerning the part where Jesus speaks to Moses and Elijah about his departure, biblical commentator N.T. Wright writes an interesting piece that I think is important and some here today may find it noteworthy.  N.T writes:

“In his death Jesus will enact an event just like the great Exodus from Egypt, only more so.  In the first Exodus, Moses led the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt and home to the promised land.  In the new Exodus, Jesus will lead all God’s people out of slavery of sin and death, and home to their promised inheritance — the new creation in which the whole world will be redeemed.”

This summer I have been doing what I like to call hiking, some would call it walking. I’ve been putting in between 4 and 6 miles a day.  I’ve walked many miles to and around Memorial Park.  Some miles have been hiked/walked along The Buffalo Bayou.  I’ve even done some hiking/walking in Galveston, and on a hill near Giddings, TX.  Because of this current heat streak, we find ourselves in, I’ve walked many, many miles on our treadmill listening to books and watching scenic YouTube video tours from all parts of the world and in a few different seasons. This last week, the winter mountain videos have been especially appealing.

So, this August, when I hear the story of Jesus’ transfiguration, it strikes me as a hiking story.  Wouldn’t it be great to take a hike with Jesus!  In my mind’s eye I can see Peter, John, and James packing their gear and Jesus reminding them to pack nothing, just like the time he sent them out in His name. Remember, God will provide the rest.  I can see Jesus smiling to himself because he knows what is about to happen to these three unsuspecting apostles.

I can see Peter stumbling up that mountain like I stumbled up my hill near Giddings. I imagine a smiling, caring Jesus reaching out his hand to help Peter and the others negotiate the rocks like I negotiated the rocks on my hill. I can imagine the look of amazement and awe the three apostles gave Jesus as they headed down the mountain after hearing those all-important words from the cloud, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

I wonder what the world, or just each of us, would be like if we would actually listen to the words of Jesus.  Can you imagine the stress we would miss if we would listen to and incorporate the words of Jesus when he said, “Friend, your sins are forgiven.” (Luke 5:20b) Or “Do not fear.” (Luke 8:50a) or even “Peace be with you.” (Luke 24:36)

In my world, school is about to start.  I’ve already begun receiving emails and texts about the return of teachers on the 14th.  Last week an email had been sent out informing teachers that our school will be open next week if we “want” to come in and get started on our rooms. Not a day goes by that I don’t hear something in the news or on my Google feed about the state takeover of the district and the upset it’s causing.  My stomach has already begun to turn as I feel the stress of the start of a school year that looks to be quite unpredictable. 

Friends, I have come to accept that this may be a very tumultuous year. The last few certainly have had their unique challenges. I suspect many of us here today may also have many stressful things happening.  Perhaps it’s the stress of taking care of an aging parent, or you are the aging parent.  Perhaps you are dealing with health issues, or you are taking care of someone with health issues. Perhaps it’s the stress of taking care of school aged children or perhaps you are a school aged person dealing with your parents. 

This week I’ve decided to listen to my own sermon and strive to incorporate those words of the cloud into my life.  “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” I invite everyone here today (and online) to join me in this. 

Together as a community of faith, lets confess when we have done wrong to ourselves or to others and trust in Jesus’ words, “friend, your sins are forgiven.”  Let’s let go of the guilt.  Together, let’s strive to put faith in Jesus’ love, strength, and compassion above all our fears. He will be with us. Let’s have Jesus do the judging, not us. And together, let’s strive to live in the peace of Christ that the Father and the Spirit intends for us.  Amen.

Sunday, July 30, 2023

The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 29:15-28; Psalm 105:1-11, 45b; Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

The Rev. Clint Brown

For the next few minutes, I’d like to talk about prayer. What is prayer and what’s it for? And I suppose the best way to begin is to ask what comes to your mind when I say the word “prayer”? What associations does it conjure? What images? Are you alone in a room by yourself or in a communal setting? Is your prayer formal, repeated from a book, or more spontaneous, spoken from the heart? Or some combination of the two? Do you have a prayer list in front of you? Do you have a set time and place for prayer? Is there a particular person you try to emulate or a particular way of praying that you feel drawn to?

What I think of when I think of “prayer” is someone older, much more holy and spiritual than me, kneeling at the side of their bed late at night silhouetted against the low light of a bedside lamp. They are very still and their eyes are closed. They give the impression of being quiet but earnest. Their hands are clasped in the traditional pose of prayer, and they are speaking aloud, though not loudly, as if they were addressing God on a throne directly in front of them. They start their prayer with adoration and thanksgiving. They have long since learned that having no agenda other than the praise of God is an important but neglected aspect of prayer. They remember to speak by name all those they have promised to pray for. They remember also those who are in need who haven’t asked for their prayers: the poor, the refugee, the widow, the orphan. They remember to pray for government officials. They pray for the church and its ministers. They pray for people in foreign lands. They remember the dying and the dead. Finally, they pray for their own need for spiritual refreshment and renewal, and, especially, they confess their sins and failings and plea for forgiveness and amendment of life.

That is what I think of. Whatever you think of when you hear the word “prayer” – no matter how similar or different from me – I’m confident, however, that it probably isn’t this: “The Spirit helps [me] in [my] weakness, for [I] do not know how to pray as [I] ought…[but] the Spirit intercedes for [me] according to the will of God” (Romans 8:26-27). When I hear this, my first reaction is to be pleasantly surprised. For such an important activity as prayer, the pressure seems to be taken completely off. There is a world of difference between the wordiness and me-forwardness of my usual thinking about prayer and the almost passive, hands-off, Spirit-forward way described here by Paul. And when we survey the best writing about prayer through the centuries, we find there, almost without exception, the same “less is more” emphasis. It turns out that prayer is not supposed to be busy at all. It is not supposed to be a chore. It is supposed to be God and us alone together, opening space for conversation. And, from our side, that generally means mostly silence and expectation and stillness.

If you’re thinking to yourself that this sounds suspiciously like meditation rather than prayer you are right, but there are some key differences – and that is the most important idea I want you to take away today. To the extent that meditation is silent, expectant, and still it is a helpful comparison. But in contrast to meditation, the goal of prayer is completely different. Prayer is not usually about losing yourself but bringing your full self. Except for the very real possibility of “mystical experiences,” what prayer should be for the majority of us the majority of the time is quiet but not passive; contemplative but not empty. The key that unlocks the door of true prayer is to see it as focused upon God with every expectation that you will hear God speaking back. That can only happen if we minimize the chatter and that is the only reason why so many of the techniques of meditation can be recommended for prayer.

So here are a few suggestions for how you can make your prayer something like that of an Indian yogi but not really: 

1. Prayer is you and God alone together. That means negotiating with your life and the people in it a quiet space and a quiet time every day where you can be alone with God. Whatever that means to you, do that.

2. Start small. An hour may seem too daunting, but what about a mere ten minutes? Or five? Whatever time you can carve out, do know that it often means using the time you already have better, like commuting in silence instead of talking on the phone. And, if we’re honest with ourselves, there is almost limitless time available if we cut into our distracting and less enriching drains on time, like video streaming or scrolling through social media.

3. Don’t try to not think, just try to focus on God. If you come to God early in the day, run a movie of what you anticipate your day to look like. Offer to God the people and the situations you will face and ask for direction. If there are difficult decisions to make, offer them to God. If you come to God at the end of the day, replay the day: its successes and failures. Allow God the chance to weigh in and yourself the opportunity to be vulnerable.

4. Be prepared to try something in the way of a renewed prayer life and then fail miserably at it. Don’t give up. Persevere. Continue to experiment until you find what works for your life. Eventually you will come to require your prayer time and miss it when you don’t.

5. Finally, whatever you do, determine in your prayer to do what the reading suggests: talk less and listen more. Try silence. Try opening a space. This is going to be the hardest for those of you goal-oriented types. You do not always have to have a list prepared or things to say. Trust that the Spirit “who intercedes for the saints according to the will of God” (v. 27) is praying for precisely what needs to be prayed for in precisely the right way. Accept this promise as the gracious thing it is, meant to take the pressure off of you. What you will hear in the quietness and stillness is the Spirit recalling to your mind those people and things you need reminding of, and you will hear also instruction about how to handle them.

This is not all that should be or could be said about prayer, but it is enough to suggest a way forward.

Sunday, July 23, 2023

The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

The Rev. Francene Young

In a sermon by King Duncan, the principal writer of Dynamic Preaching magazine, he shares his Murphy’s First Law of Gardening: It goes like this “When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.

And, of course, there is a corollary to that law: To distinguish flowers from weeds, simply pull up everything. What grows back is weeds.(1)

Last week the gospel lesson from Matthew was about the Sower, the seed and the different types of soil upon which the seeds fall and how the seed grows or not, based upon the type of soil it lands on. We learned that different kinds of soil produce differing levels of results.

He tells the people on the shore as he told stories in parables. Listen! A Sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up.

Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away.

Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them.

Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.

l left the service last week feeling relieved that 25% of the seed sown by our generous creator is likely to fall on GOOD SOIL AND MULTIPLY BY LEAPS AND BOUNDS. Amen, Hallelujah! Let Sow’s, Let God do the rest!

But wait…the parables continue and today we read the someone has come in and planted weeds among the seeds in the good soil! What? Weeds in the good soil among the good seed? What? Jesus throws us a curve ball!

Today we are confronted with the question: what do you do with the weeds?

Going back to our garden, we know, those who have ever tried to plant a flower garden, or a vegetable garden or even a plain ordinary lawn, the weeds are going to come.

So listen to Jesus’ parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.

“The owner’s servants came to him and said, ‘Sir, didn’t you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?’

“‘An enemy did this,’ he replied. “The servants asked him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’ ‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.’”

If you take this literally, this is a scary parable. The weeds are going to be thrown on a fire and burned.

But Jesus isn’t actually giving us a guide to growing good wheat, of course. He’s talking about our human behavior.

We’re told that the weeds in Jesus’ parable were a poisonous variety called “bearded darnel.” In the early stages of growth this bearded darnel so closely resembles wheat that it is not possible to distinguish one from the other. Later when it is possible to distinguish between them, the roots of the wheat and weeds are so intertwined that one could not be pulled without also tearing up the other. To rip up the weeds would also be to destroy the growth of the wheat. It is said that even Roman law prohibited the sowing of darnel among wheat of the enemy.

So the landowner was being wise when he said, “No . . . let both grow together until the harvest.” The harvesters were not allowed to try to separate the weeds from the wheat until the final harvest.

Then I wonder, what is the field or where is the field where the weeds are planted become intermingled with the wheat?

Many commentors focus on the church as the field intermixed with wheat and weed. They reflect on the conflicts within almost every church. At times, I found myself saying “When 2 or 3 are Gathered, OH MY GOD! ”

But I prefer to focus on you and me; the individuals that make up the church and our individual fields of good soil into which some weeds have sprouted.

In an article by TALITHA J. ARNOLD in Feasting on the Word, she states

“Sometimes our own lives resemble the farmer’s infested field, with weeds and wheat intertwined in our souls, hearts, and minds. The apostle Paul certainly knows it: “I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Rom. 7:15).

Members of AA or Alanon acknowledge this. The First Step confesses, “We are powerless over alcohol and our lives have become unmanageable.” The Fourth Step is to “Make fearless moral inventory of ourselves,” sorting out the wheat from the weeds within. (2)

Our personal experience of the enemy’s sowing may be more subtle, as in the countless distractions we let derail us from the Word and work of God. For me those looks like endless E-mails, phone calls, and meetings can make it look as if I am working on the realm of God, but in many cases they are simply symptoms of my own divided soul. It is the struggle between knowing and doing what I ought to do; but doing something else that I ought not or that simply distracts me.

At the same time, in this parable Jesus clearly cautions against a rush to judgment. We cannot always tell initially what is a good plant and what a weed. They are two closely intertwined.

What is dangerous for us, is spending time and energy trying to figure out what other people are going to reap.

Some people, I’m sorry to say, delight in separating people into acceptable or unacceptable, worthy or unworthy, good or bad, wheat or weeds.

Now what does that mean for us? A constant theme in Jesus’ teaching is that his followers were not to pass judgment on others. But wait for the harvest. One of my weeds, is that I do not have God’s patience. Do you?

Before my grandmother died at the age of 102, we had weekly calls. She lived in a long-term facility. Needless to say she was full of wisdom and advice. Now my grandmother was no saint. That is not a judgment. It is a fact that she admitted.

During one of my last calls with her, I asked how she was doing and how she was spending her time. She said and I quote

” I spend half of my time, to myself, reflecting on my life and minding my own business and asking for God’s forgiveness. I spend the other half of the time, staying out of other people’s business. Judge lest ye be judged.”

Writer Kent Crockett tells about a married couple who pulled into a full service gas station to refuel their car. As the tank was being filled, the station attendant washed the windshield. So you know this must have been sometime ago. Anyway, when the attendant finished, the husband stuck his head out the window and said, “It’s still dirty. Wash it again.”

“Yes, sir,” the attendant replied. After he cleaned it a second time, the husband said, “Don’t you know how to wash a windshield? It’s still filthy. Now do it again!”

The attendant scrubbed the windshield a third time, carefully looking for any messy spots he might have missed. By now the husband was fuming. “I can’t believe you are so incompetent that you can’t even do a simple job like cleaning a windshield! I’m going to report you to your boss!”

Just then, his wife reached over and removed her husband’s glasses. She wiped them clean with a tissue, then put them back on his face. And it was amazing how clean the windshield was! (3)

We forget that when we judge others, we are looking through our own smudged lens. Sometimes we criticize others unfairly. We don’t know all their circumstances, or their motives. Only God, who is aware of all the facts and is able to judge people rightly.

I will close with a reframing of my grandmother’s comments during our call.

“I spend half of my time tending to my own wheat and weeds and the other half not passing judgment as you tend to yours.”

In the meantime, we are to focus on what God has called us to do which is to care for all his people and to witness to his amazing grace of as shown in Jesus Christ. AMEN!

1. Alexander Humez, Nicholas Humez and Joseph Maguire, Zero to Lazy Eight (Simon & Schuster), Reader’s Digest, Dec. 1994, p. 154. 2. Philip Yancey in What’s So Amazing About Grace? Leadership, Vol. 19, no. 3. Cited by Rev. Adrian Dieleman. http://www.trinitycrc.org/sermons/1tim2v05-06.html. 3. http://www.kentcrockett.blogspot.com/.

Sunday, July 16, 2023

The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 25:19-34; Psalm 119:105-112; Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

The Rev. Clint Brown

Tradition calls it the Parable of the Sower and tradition has provided us with a traditional interpretation, but why settle for one way of reading the story when you can have three? – which is what I’m going to do for you today. As I see it, there are at least three different ways of interpreting this parable and I’d like to acquaint you with each of these alternatives. It’s my hope that you will not leave here today without the benefit of some food for thought – some new way “in” to a familiar favorite.

1. The Parable of the Sower

The first of these puts the entire focus on the person planting the seeds, the Sower, rather than on us, as in the traditional interpretation, and so this reading is the one most properly called The Parable of the Sower. To understand it, one must be acquainted with the idea of “broadcast farming.” In the old days they did not furrow the ground into neat rows the way that we do today but, instead, slung or broadcast the seed out in all directions. Sometimes this happened before the plowing, sometimes after, but, in whatever order, the seed was distributed indiscriminately and it was all but certain that some would fall in places where it could not grow. Incidentally, this is why the term “broadcast” was adopted in the early days of radio. The signal, emanating from a source, was simply sent out indiscriminately and could be picked up by anybody in any direction with a receiver. Yet this kind of uncertainty did not deter the farmer. No farmer in his right mind would sacrifice the certainty of some harvest, so the inevitable loss of some seed had to be accepted. In this interpretation, Jesus would have us see, first and foremost, not the waste of seed but the extravagance of this act by the Sower, who is God, broadcasting indiscriminately, not knowing for sure on what kind of soil the seed will land, and yet scattering it abundantly nonetheless. In this reading, the birds, the thorns, the rocky ground, these are not allegory, only types of obstacles familiar to every farmer in every time and place, and the lesson is that it is like that for us, as well. We are not to be paralyzed into inaction just because of the inevitable setback. We also are to sow extravagantly into the lives of everyone we meet, for who knows where our efforts may find a place to take root? Ask any teacher, as I was for 11 years, if they do not wonder what impression they are making or in whose life they are making a difference? Time and time again we find that the most surprising and wonderful human beings often grow out of the most awkward, incorrigible, and undisciplined little sprouts. Maybe you were once one of those students whom your teacher didn’t quite know what to do with? But you turned out all right in the end. Since none of us can know the ultimate results of our labor, all we can do is plant, water, and tend the little bit of ground we have been given to the best of our abilities. Knowing as we do that good often enough comes from the most unexpected places, should we not also sow as extravagantly as our Lord? That is the Parable of the Sower.

2. The Parable of the Four Soils

But a second possible interpretation is probably the one with which we are most familiar, which we will rename The Parable of the Four Soils to more accurately reflect its focus. The focus here is no longer on the Sower, but, as I said before, on us. It asks of us, What kind of disciple will you be? The seed that is sown is God’s Word, and we are represented as varying classes of “germinated disciples” who have begun to grow. We are told that the life of any would-be disciple of Christ is fraught. There are obstacles that come from outside of us that try to steal the good Word that has taken root, and also troubles within us that can suppress and smother it. There are anxious cares, the lure of wealth, various addictions, pride. The lesson we are meant to draw is that the work of discipleship is not passive. It is not only a matter of accepting the Gospel, but also of holding onto it in spite of hardship and persecution and temptation. Against all these assaults and dangers, the disciple of Christ must be prepared to make a defense. So then, says the Parable of the Four Soils, judge for yourself the state of your discipleship and with what kind of ground you receiving the word of Christ.  

3. The Parable of the Miraculous Yields

Finally, there is what we might call The Parable of the Miraculous Yields, for despite how much we may worry ourselves about what we are doing, in my opinion the emphasis of the story should not finally be on us at all… but on God. The point is this: in God’s Kingdom, the efforts of the Sower – who, you will remember, is God broadcasting away – produces a harvest that is massive – so much greater than any ordinary Middle Eastern farmer had a right to expect. We read of superabundant yields of a hundredfold, sixtyfold, and thirtyfold. In fact, for an average farmer in the time of Jesus, sevenfold could be counted a very good year while tenfold was true abundance. Here the minimum yield is thirtyfold, three times the best that anyone could hope for. And, well, sixty- and a hundredfold? Those kinds of numbers were nothing short of miraculous. The Word of God, you see, will not return empty but will accomplish that for which God has purposed (Isaiah 55:10-11). So while the theologians can go on debating the relative contributions of human agency and “works righteousness” in the process of our being saved, on this matter this particular interpretation forces us to concede that these matters must take a back seat to grace. Faith is and ever will be a gift of God and fruitful discipleship is the work of God in us. It is a nice exercise in displacement, removing ourselves from the center of the picture where we so much like to be, and putting God there. Here is a clarion call to recognize that the focus of our discipleship should not finally be inward, wasting precious energy on ourselves, but directed outward to address the needs of a suffering humanity. God is already at work sowing extravagantly into the world; our task is simply to join in that grace-filled work.

So, there you have it, three parables for the price of one: (1) the Parable of the Sower who sows extravagantly into everyone; (2) the Parable of the Four Soils which asks with what kind of heart you are receiving God’s Word; and, finally, (3) the Parable of the Miraculous Yields which displaces us from the center of the picture and returns God there, asking of us only to serve faithfully the Lord of the Harvest. Which of these, I wonder, did you most need to hear today?

Sunday, July 9, 2023

The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67; Psalm 45:11-18; Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

The Rev. Clint Brown

Today I would like to talk about the Gospel reading and its imagery; in particular, two of its images: the somewhat puzzling, even random story about the children playing in the market and, second, Jesus’s imaginative use of the old metaphor of the rabbis – the draft animals’ yoke. At first there would not seem to be any connection between the two, but it will be my purpose to try and discover one and what that might mean for us today.

After an encounter with some messengers sent by John the Baptist, who now sits in prison, the scene opens with Jesus addressing a crowd of curious onlookers. He takes advantage of their curiosity to explain to them the importance of John. John, he says, was a true prophet, like the prophets of old – bold, zealous, absolutely committed to his mission – and, especially in his rough dress and manner of life, representative of a philosophy of life altogether different from that of the self-righteous, self-important, self-serving leaders occupying the corridors of power. And, just like the prophets of old, he has been misunderstood, not only by them, which was to be expected, but even more tragically by the crowds. The situation, he says, strikes him as no different from a group of children at play who pout when they don’t get what they want. We played our flutes, didn’t we, why do you not dance? We wailed our hearts out, why do you not accompany us with a song? John the Baptist had come neither eating nor drinking but with a stern demand for repentance, but most people had thought that too extreme, if not dangerous. And Jesus came eating with tax collectors and sinners and entering into joyous fellowship with others and the Pharisees had thought that an affront to the Law. Why if John’s disciples fasted, did not yours (9:14-17)? A true prophet would know to keep Sabbath and not heal. And now we see Jesus’s point. No matter in what guise God had reached out to this generation, they were obstinately set against it. Neither John with his strictness nor Jesus with his easy manner had danced to their tune or sung their songs. So who could blame Jesus for being just a little frustrated and left to wonder just what could satisfy these people? And, in the final analysis, the answer was that nothing could – nothing could satisfy them because they weren’t looking for correction or further alternatives. They already had the answers they wanted. Jesus rightly perceived what so many of his generation were blind to, that they were destined to topple over under the sheer weight of their indifference and conceit. This is the first image.

The second image Jesus gives is that of a yoke. Now for those of you who are imagining an egg or don’t know precisely what I’m talking about, I will tell you. A yoke is an appliance of animal husbandry. It is the wooden frame placed upon the necks of two draft animals that allows them to pull a heavy load, like a plow or a wagon, in tandem. By yoking the animals together, it maximizes the effect and you get more out of their effort than if they were harnessed separately. Over time it is understandable why this should have become a standard metaphor to illustrate obedience and subordination, and the rabbis spoke of the yoke of the Torah or the yoke of the commandments. Each of these were understood to restrain you and set limits upon your freedom – much like a yoke.

But here Jesus does something quite remarkable. He goes beyond this standard application and introduces paradox. My yoke is “easy;” my burden is “light” (v. 30). Now you may well ask, What yoke is comfortable? What burden is light? A yoke introduces restriction and constraint and this is obnoxious to us, yes, but does it not also enable? Is it not simultaneously a burden and a possibility? And then Jesus goes one step further. No Jewish teacher had ever told a disciple, Take up my yoke, and yet here is Jesus audaciously saying precisely that. He is claiming that he is Torah. He is Revelation. He is the totality of what God wishes to make known of God’s nature, God’s purpose, and what God would have us to do. And if we would take his yoke, we would make the easiest, most satisfying progress in life. This is the second image.

There is a Zen story that tells of two monks walking down a muddy road. They come across a young girl unable to cross a large puddle without ruining her clothes. The first monk offers to carry her across despite the fact that monks are never supposed to have anything to do with women. His companion observes this and is astonished but says nothing about it right away. But finally, at the end of the day, he cannot hold his tongue any longer and prepares to admonish his companion, I want to talk to you about that girl, to which the first monk replies, Dear brother, are you still carrying that girl? I put her down hours ago.

The things we ruminate on, the things we insist on carrying in our minds and hearts, the things we refuse to put down…are really the things that poison us and erode our souls. We dull our senses with television and wonder why we cannot see the beauty that is around us. We hold on to things outside of us instead of concentrating on what is within [and this] keeps us noisy and agitated. We run from experience to experience like children in a candy store and wonder how serenity has eluded us…. Dwelling on inessentials and, worse, filling the minds of others with them distract from the great theme of our lives. We must learn to distinguish between what is real and what is not.[1]

Jesus rightly perceived what so many of, then as now, are blind to, and that is that we are destined to topple over under the sheer weight of our burdens. And that is why Jesus says, if we would make the easiest, most satisfying progress in life, the secret is simple – to be yoked to him. Accepting Christ’s yoke means unburdening ourselves or our false assumptions and misconceptions and accepting his truth. A “Christian,” after all, literally means a “Christ-follower.” You’ve heard of the Great Commission? Here is the Great Invitation. “Come to me,” says Jesus, “and unburden yourself of all your distractions – all your cleverness – all the pain and disappointment of a life lived out of your own resources – and learn my ways. For they are altogether more simple – more satisfying – more true – and you will find rest for your souls.”

Amen.

[1] Joan Chittister, OSB, The Rule of Benedict: A Spirituality for the 21st Century (New York: Crossroad, 1992, 2010), 289.

Sunday, July 2, 2023

The Fifth Sunday after Pentacost

Genesis 22: 1-14; Psalm 13; Romans 6:12 -23; Matthew 10: 40-42; Romans 6: 12

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

I begin with a confession, and this is it: this sermon was not easy to write - nor is it easy to preach – because of its theme.  The theme of this sermon is Romans 6:12 which reads “Therefore do not let sin exercise dominion in your mortal bodies, to make you obey their passion.” 

 This is why I don’t want to preach – I am talking about sin, and how it affects us daily.  Yucky topic, but we are going to talk about it openly.  The Greek word for sin is hamartia – a term used for archery.  Hamartia – sin – means to miss the mark, as an arrow flung from a bow misses its target.  Sin occurs when we miss our target, where we veer wildly off course from God’s clear purpose for us.  It is when we put our minds on auto pilot and allow our bodies and desire for pleasure to drive our behavior.

Freud called this the “pleasure principle” – that human behavior is largely motivated not by what we should do or what is right, but rather our behavior is governed by what will bring us the most pleasure.  The author of Romans is saying that if we allow pleasure, or sin dominion in our mortal bodies, we are way off target. 

What does this look like in our lives?  I will give two examples from mine.  Example #1 that I am off target and am driven purely by pleasure seeking motives and allowing sin dominion in my mortal body occurs the moment my car enters the Whataburger drive through line.  If my car is in that drive through line, I am very likely craving salt, I am craving high fat food, and I want that high that comes from fast food – especially something sweet like a chocolate milkshake.  (Although Chick Fil A has the best drive through milkshakes – trust me I speak from experience).  There is nothing wrong with Whataburger, or Chick Fil A.  But if I allow Whataburger dominion over my life, if I were to eat it daily, I will eventually have significant health problems and you all will need to build a larger pulpit. 

Whataburger is a playful example, but here is an example of greater consequence.  Example #2 of me going way off target actually occurred when I came to this church nine years ago.  At that time, I had very little idea how to be a Rector, even though I had been a priest for nine years already.  I had never been a Rector before.  When I got here, I was not prepared for contentious committee meetings, disagreement, and the pressure of making decisions whose outcome would upset people.  I was a people pleaser, and when not everyone liked me, I did not have a healthy way to process that.

 As a result of church – related stress and pressure, I developed a problematic coping strategy that involved an overuse of alcohol.  Rather than talking through my feelings and confronting my stress issues face to face (which is what most healthy people would do) I instead numbed myself.  At first this was not problematic; it wasn’t a big deal.  I did not notice any health -related issues emerge from this behavior.  But over time, as my dependence upon the substance grew, so did my problems.  And this was my core problem: I purposefully allowed alcohol (instead of God) to dominate my mortal body.  It got to the point where the first thing I thought of in the morning upon awakening was not God, but when I could have my first drink.

Today, my life is very different.  Alcohol is no longer part of my life.  I am committed to a program of recovery.  The only time I am close to alcohol on a consistent basis is when I am at the altar, holding a chalice of communion wine which I choose not to drink from.  I daily ask God to have dominion over my mortal body.  My life is not perfect, and I still have a lot of spiritual work to do.  But it is much better than it was when I first came to St. Andrew’s.    

Does sin have dominion over your body?  Does sin have dominion over your soul?  These are not easy questions for us to answer.  And most of us would prefer to ignore them entirely.  Jesus, the great healer of our souls, gives us strength and courage to face whatever it is that has dominion over our lives, but we must be disciplined in asking him for it.  We must abandon the fantasy that God will deliver instant results without us having to do any real work.  God is not a fast-food drive through.  We must put in the work, daily, and it is hard.  But God will work beside us, always.  AMEN.   

Sunday, June 25, 2023

The Fourth Sunday after Pentacost

Matthew 10:24-39

The Rev. Canon Joann Saylors

The opposite of fear is faith. You may have heard that before. And yet, my faithful sisters and brothers, we fear. An image I read recently stuck with me, probably because it was so close to my reality this week: “Fear hangs on us like humidity on a summer night. It coats us front and back, and attracts all kind of grime, so that even when it’s dries it’s still sticky.”[i]

There are plenty of things to be afraid of: The Chapman University Survey of American Fears (CSAF), in an ongoing research project, listed the following top 10 fears of participants in their 2022 survey: In order, corrupt government officials, people I love becoming seriously ill, Russia using nuclear weapons, people I love dying, the U.S. becoming involved in another world war, pollution of drinking water, not having enough money for the future, economic/financial collapse, pollution of oceans, rivers, and lakes, and biological warfare. [ii]

The first one, government corruption, has been at the top of the list since 2015, although the 62.1% of people who were “Afraid” or “Very Afraid” in 2022 was a big drop from 2021’s 79.6%.[iii] I don’t have high hopes for 2023.

Maybe your greatest fear was on that list; maybe not. Maybe you are afraid of dying – interestingly, of those surveyed, only 29% named fear of dying themselves, while 58.1% were afraid of a loved one dying.[iv]

I don’t know whether this wasn’t one of the choices, or if people didn’t want to admit it, but how many of us are scared to death of people finding out what we try to hide? How much energy do we spend trying to keep our realities hidden, that our marriage is in trouble, we’re broke, our house is a mess, our children are struggling, we have health problems? How much time do we spend trying to protect our image: that we’re competent, talented, and successful, completely free from inner thoughts of critique and failure?

It’s the fear that we’ll be “found out.” That the mask will fall off. That it will get out that we don’t have our act together. That others will know that we have problems in our lives. Serious enough to distract us and keep us up at night. Or lead us to alcohol or other addictions to mask the pain.

But Jesus says, ““Have no fear,” “Do not fear,” and “Do not be afraid.”

Don’t fear the teacher. Or the boss. Or the next-door neighbor. The TikTok influencer with the carefully curated persona. Your surprisingly successful high school classmate who has their own hedge fund. The person who critiques your work…your art…your sermon. Do not fear them. You don’t need to fear, because God has counted your every hair, your every wrinkle, your every cell. And you are loved. The messed up, barely hanging together but putting up a front, maybe even hiding from yourself people that we are. God loves us. Unreservedly. No matter what we do or say or think. God loves us. What is there to fear, with that to fall back on?

Now I’m not saying that’s easy. Our brains are biologically wired to fear danger and death. Our culture has psychologically wired us to need to be “successful,” with a very helpful, albeit impossible, definition what that success is supposed to look like.

But we can resist that. The Rule of Saint Benedict contains any number of spiritual truths, including “Keep death daily before your eyes.” In other words, intentionally recall our mortality every day. Remember every day that one day, maybe today, we’re going to die. Recognize that, because for Christians death is nothing to fear. It’s not an end, but a new beginning. That should change our perspective.

So it doesn’t ultimately matter if we didn’t get into our first choice college, or the new design didn’t work out, or the shoes really don’t go with the outfit, or our front hall closet could be a SuperFund site, or if a friendship has fallen apart, or if we’re considering filing for bankruptcy, or if we can’t get past a second interview, or if we’re found out.

It’s ok. We’re ok. Even those who lose their whole lives will be ok, along with their every hair.

Brené Brown, one of my heroes, interviewed Dr. Pippa Grange, author of the bestselling book Fear Less, on her podcast. Brené summarizes one of her best takeaways from the book on her blog:

[Grange] describes “winning shallow” as a win that comes when we’re “winning to avoid not being good enough, winning to beat the other guy, winning to be seen as good enough.” It’s winning born of comparison and scarcity and self-doubt—and it’s not tied to our worth. “Winning deep,” on the other hand, is “where you actually can feel the richness of your journey, you are attached to the joy and the struggle, you are attached to the mess, and it is generally done for reasons outside of yourself and the fulfillment of our egoic needs. It is done more from a soul level—it’s done because we can and because there’s a wild desire in it.”[v]

If we let go of our fear, one bit at a time, if we “win deep,” how might our lives change? Wouldn’t it be great to find out?

AMEN.

[i] http://www.rickmorley.com/archives/3071, accessed June 24, 2023.

[ii] https://blogs.chapman.edu/wilkinson/2022/10/14/the-top-10-fears-in-america-2022/, accessed June 24, 2023:

Top 10 Fears of 2022

% of Very Afraid or Afraid

1. Corrupt government officials 62.1

2. People I love becoming seriously ill 60.2

3. Russia using nuclear weapons 59.6

4. People I love dying 58.1

5. The U.S. becoming involved in another world war 56.0

6. Pollution of drinking water 54.5

7. Not having enough money for the future 53.7

8. Economic/financial collapse 53.7

9. Pollution of oceans, rivers, and lakes 52.5

10. Biological warfare 51.5

[iii] Ibid.

[iv] Ibid.

[v] https://brenebrown.com/articles/2021/07/22/what-ive-learned-from-the-work-of-dr-pippa-grange/, accessed June 24, 2023.

Sunday, June 18, 2023

The Third Sunday after Pentacost

Genesis 18: 1-15, 21: 1-7; Psalm 116: 1, 10-17; Romans 5: 1-8; Matthew 9:35-10:23

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

Nothing is too difficult for God. That’s my sermon.  That’s it.  Everything I else I intend to say is just icing on the cake to that one irrefutable point: nothing to too difficult for God. Nothing is. There is no problem in your life at this very moment that is too big for God to handle.

Scripture today illustrates this point for us in greater detail in the story of Abraham and Sarah we encounter in the reading from Genesis. In this reading, the Lord appears to Abraham and Sarah in the guise of three visitors, three men. “Who were these visitors?” you may be wondering. Is God one among the three visitors or is God somehow symbolized in all three of them tighter?

Did the visitors represent the Trinity – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit? The Bible does not offer an answer to that question, nor do I. The point is that God, speaking through these visitors tells Abraham and his wife Sarah that when they return in one year’s time, Sarah will give birth to a son.

This message – that Abraham and Sarah would have a son was confirmed by God time and time again (in 15:4, 17:16, and in 18:10).  Again, in Scripture this is the third time Abraham and Sarah are told this news. Like with Abraham and Sarah, you can expect God to speak to you about major matters in your life again and again.

Sarah’s response to the visitor’s claim that she would deliver a baby at an older age was what? Laughter. The Hebrew word for laughter is “sahaq.” Sarah laughs at this news that she is to become a mother, because she is well beyond the biological age to deliver a child. And God responds with this question: “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?” From this story derives the name of Abraham and Sarah’s child Yitzhak (related to sahaq, the word for laughter). In English, Isaac.

We are all living hard, challenging lives. Lives that are fraught with bewilderment and uncertainty. Perhaps like Sarah, we might find ourselves laughing at the idea that God is in control and that nothing is too difficult for God to accomplish. I have, many times. All of us certainly have felt times that seemed too difficult for God, where God would not heal or provide.

If we honestly feel that our problems are too big for God to manage, we are mistaken. More than likely we are trying to resolve the situation ourselves, an effort which most of the time ends in frustration. If we refuse to turn our problems over to God, then – yes – they will be too difficult for God because we have not invited God to be part of the solution.

When we surrender our most vexing and frustrating problems to God, God will oversee them for us. This is what God seems to love to do – to help us. But God can’t and God won’t unless we allow God into our heart.  Abraham and Sarah were willing to do just that.

Truly, nothing is too difficult for God IF we surrender. We must open our hearts. If our heart stays hardened by our own choosing that’s on us.  God is gracious, but not intrusive. If we want God to be part of the solution, we must first send out the invitation. AMEN. 

Sunday, June 11, 2023

The Second Sunday of Pentacost

Genesis 12:1-9; Psalm 33:1-12; Romans 4:13-25; Matthew 9:18-26

The Rev. Jeff Bohanski

In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

This morning, I ask you, where are you? Where does God find you today? Who do you know who is not here who needs to hear this message?  Perhaps you could share the Good News.

In the Genesis reading we heard this morning, I noticed Abram, Sarai, and Lot were in Haran when God came calling.  In Matthew’s Gospel, Matthew was sitting at the tax booth when Jesus came calling. God came to Abram, Sarai, Lot, and Matthew where they were as they were, in their own worlds.

I’m wondering, where does God find you this morning? What booth are you sitting at?

Yesterday I was at Camp Allen.  I was there attending the annual retreat for FIND. FIND is a three-year school for spiritual direction and formation sponsored by the Episcopal Diocese of Texas. In the program people are trained to spiritual directors or leaders in spiritual formation, which is the growing of groups of people in their spiritual life through programs and or classes of a graduate’s own design.  Our classes have been held once a month in Bryan, TX since last September.  This weekend’s retreat was the final class of the year, and it was also the graduation celebration for the senior class of 2023. 

So, today Jesus comes to me as I am, tired, happy, joyous, and I feel spent.

Where are you this morning? Where does Jesus find you? Perhaps you are happy, sad, healthy or in the hospital.  Perhaps you feel too old, too young, hurt, or strong. Like Abram and Sarai, God is willing to come to you where you are as you are.  Perhaps you are happy with, or struggling with the fact you are lesbian, gay bisexual, transexual, asexual or non-binary. Perhaps you think you don’t measure up.  Or perhaps you have come to believe old messages once planted in your head by hurt people that said you were stupid, fat, or ugly. In all these places, God comes to you to, like God came to Matthew in his world, where you are as you are today.

At this point you are probably wondering where the Good News is in this sermon today.  The Good News is God, the creator of the universe comes to redeem you and to empower us with the knowledge that you and I are not alone in our struggles. Jesus is with us.  I am not alone in my exhaustion.  God is with me. God knows our struggles firsthand because Jesus has been loved and hated.  He has been accepted and excluded.  He wept at a friend’s death, and he celebrated at a wedding; he was also spat upon. God knows us where we are, as we are.  There is no use in hiding from God. 

Today our church hangings have changed back to green.  Clint and I are wearing green stoles again.  Everything will be green until November 19th.  It is “Ordinary Time.” But God is in the ordinary. Jesus is in the living of ordinary life.

This is also the season many of us have the luxury of taking vacations. Victor and I will go up to Wisconsin next week.  This summer as we vacation, I invite us all to look for and notice God in the ordinary.  Look for and feel Jesus in our struggles, our hopes, and in our celebrations.  Feel God’s presence in our pain, our suffering, our happiness, and our joy of plain life.  Look for Jesus in our loved ones and our not so loved ones.  Look for Jesus in all the people we encounter in the ordinary. Know that we are never alone.  And above all, never underestimate the importance of your call to be loved by God, the creator of heaven and earth, your creator.  Let God enter your world this ordinary time. Amen

Sunday, June 4, 2023

The First Sunday after Pentecost: Trinity Sunday (Year A)

Genesis 1:1-2:4a; Psalm 8 or Canticle 2 or 13; 2 Corinthians 13:11-13; Matthew 28:16-20

The Rev. Clint Brown

In late April of 1810, a beautiful Viennese noblewoman, Therese Malfatti, opened a letter addressed to her and watched as a piece of music fluttered out of the envelope and onto the floor. She leaned [over] to pick it up and saw that it was labeled simply: “for Therese.” The scrawled handwriting on the manuscript was immediately [recognizable]; it [was that of her] suitor, Ludwig van Beethoven. A few months shy of his fortieth birthday and increasingly desperate to marry, Beethoven had fallen in love with Therese earlier that spring and had proposed. The marriage never took place for reasons [that are] unclear, although it seems that Therese was willing, but her family was not. This little story is worth repeating, because when the music was found many years later among Therese’s effects, its dedication was mistakenly read as “Für Elise,” and the piece has been known by that title [ever since]. This, perhaps one of Beethoven’s best-known pieces, was thus no trifle for its composer but a musical love note; or [perhaps] more likely, a musical farewell to a [love that could never be].[1]

Sometime this week, I encourage you to do yourself the favor of putting on a recording of this famous piece and listening to it again with fresh ears, knowing what it meant to its composer and his doomed love affair. Imagine the impression it must have made on Therese Malfatti the first time she sat down to play it at her piano. I guarantee you will not hear its emotionally charged three minutes the same way ever again. 

Both the piece and the story capture well an essential quality about the music of Beethoven, and that is its very transparent autobiography. Music had not always been so personal. Before Beethoven, music had been intended more or less for entertainment; or, if it was “serious” music, reserved for the exclusive use of the church. But with Beethoven we see a seismic shift. Music was liberated. It could be serious about humanity as well as about God, and Beethoven was almost single-handedly responsible for this new and romantic view of music as personal testament. What Napoleon’s guns were doing to old Europe, Beethoven’s towering genius and Promethean sense of destiny was doing to music. Now music was free not only to plumb emotional depths hitherto unknown but to wax philosophical and poetic. And while no artistic effort has or can ever be completely devoid of some mark of its creator, never before had music been quite such a vehicle for personal expression.

On this Trinity Sunday, our readings celebrate the Triune God with an emphasis on creation – God as Creator. God’s creative acts are God’s means of personal expression. The Priestly writer who composed the first chapter of Genesis sometime in the early sixth century before Christ, was straining every category and means to capture the awesomeness of God’s creative activity. Compared to the gods of the peoples surrounding the ancient Hebrews, here was a portrait of how Yahweh, the one true God, had created from nothing and formed humankind in God’s own image. For his God, things were both grand and personal. And when, centuries later, Jesus spoke of the God of Israel as his Father, and commanded his small band of disciples to baptize in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, he was making plain that God, now revealed as Triune, was not and never had been done with creating. God was and still is at work in the world, bringing something new into being every time a person accepts baptism. God’s personal expressivity continues to be on full display in both the very big and the very small, not only in the realm of nature but equally so in us. 

It is this thought of God’s continuing work in us that I most want to leave you with today. You are an expression of God’s creativity. I believe that we don’t stop nearly often enough to consider the significance of this extraordinary fact, the fact of our having an existence at all. God has, as it were, given each of us a canvas upon which to paint a life, and our manner of life, our posture towards its possibilities and its challenges, our choices, these are our paints and brushes. There will be times when we will attempt to do things far in advance of our technique and our efforts will appear amateurish; times when our picture will look alright, but we could have risked more, attempting bolder strokes or brighter colors; or when we will get halfway through a portrait and realize we need to start over again because what we are painting is not truthful, not true to ourselves and our values; there will be days, weeks, or even months and years when our canvases will be clouded over by setbacks and disillusionments and darkness blankets what was once a sunny landscape; there will be times of dryness when we completely lack the inspiration to try and sit staring at a blank canvas (in those times we might do well to ask ourselves if it is paralysis because of fear, or, worse, the realization that we don’t have anything worth saying?); but, then again, there will be those times when we get things right and everything comes together, when we will feel at the full height of our powers and produce a masterpiece. Here is the crucial thing. To know yourself to be a child of God is to know that your life has significance, that it is always worth the effort of pressing on and making the most of it. Going through the motions, just getting by, is not enough, and neither is living irresponsibly and wastefully. This life is an extraordinary gift and far too precious to reject the call to be the best that you can be.

Whether you find yourself in a high place or a low place this morning – whether you believe your life is heading down the right track or not, know this – you are the unique expression of a personal God. God has created you in order to be revealed in you.

[1] Robert Harris, What to Listen for in Beethoven: The Essential Introduction to the World’s Foremost Composer and the Hidden Pleasures of Classical Music (Toronto: Macfarlane Walter & Ross, 1996), 17.

Sunday, March 28, 2023

Pentecost

Acts 2:1-21; Psalm 104:25-35, 37; 1 Corinthians 12:3b-13; John 20:19-23

The Rev. Jeff Bohanski

Pray with me, A Collect for Guidance

Heavenly Father, in you we live and move and have our being: We humbly pray you so to guide and govern us by your Holy Spirit, that in all the cares and occupations of our life we may not forget you but may remember that we are ever walking in your sight; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. Book of Common Prayer, page 100

Every family has its quirky inside the family vocabulary.  In my husband’s side of the family, it’s the use of the word “Coke.”  At any one of our family parties, someone will ask you “What kind of Coke do you want?” When asked that question, one needs to know you are being asked what kind of soda you would like. An appropriate response to the question would be, I would like, a Sprite, or a Dr. Pepper, or a Diet Coke, or even a Pepsi or an iced tea.  Over the years, our family has changed the definition of Coke to mean soda.

We Christians have done something similar to the word “Pentecost.”  We presume, perhaps in our arrogance, that we created that word.  For most of my life I assumed that Pentecost was just the celebration of the day The Holy Spirit descended of the people gathered in a public space. It was more or less the Church’s birthday.  For the community of the author of Acts Pentecost meant something different.

To a reader of Acts, Pentecost was a festival tied quiet closely to Passover.  Passover was the celebration of the remembrance of the events of Moses leading the people out of Egypt.  It was, or is, the powerful story of God’s redeeming God’s people from Egypt. 

The festival of Pentecost occurred fifty days later. It was an agricultural festival where the first sheaves of wheat were brought to give thanks for the harvest that was beginning to be brought in.  Prayers were also offered for bringing in the rest of the crop safely.  Pentecost was also a celebration of the remembrance of the time when Moses and the people arrived at Mount Sinai, fifty days after Passover, the leaving of Egypt.  It was the remembrance of when Moses went up the mountain and came down with the commandments for how God’s redeemed were to live according to God’s way, God’s purpose.

This is what was in the minds of those gathered in one place that one day of Pentecost when God decided to act again in a new way.  Luke writes, “There came from heaven a sound like a rush of violent wind. Tongues as of fire appeared among them, and a tongue resisted on each of them.  All were filled with the Holy Spirit.”  Biblical commentator, N.T. Write suggests that Luke uses the words, all were filled with the Holy Spirit, to indicate all followers of Jesus were united. Now these united people from all over are being empowered by the Holy Spirt to carry out Jesus’ commandment to spread the Good News. The Spirit enabled Jesus’ followers then, and still does today, to share the Good News of Jesus that God loves you.  God wants to give you the ability through the Holy Spirit to love others as God has loved you and to share that Good News with everyone.

For some of us this sharing The Good News, this evangelism, may be by standing in a pulpit or on a street corner announcing to people God’s abundant love through Jesus.  For most of us, I suspect, it’s by showing kindness.  Kindness to people we meet at the store, perhaps by helping someone reach for something on a higher shelf.  Or perhaps it’s being patient.  Patient with the person driving the car in front of you who is trying to merge in and get ahead of you.  One could show kindness and graciousness by not honking one’s horn at them. Maybe it’s by loving your neighbor by not returning a snide comment with another snide comment.  By letting their comment to simply pass unanswered.  Maybe it’s by sharing God’s love by volunteering at Lord of the Streets.

For my own enrichment, each week I listen to the podcast, Working Preacher’s Sermon Brainwave.  Each episode is a discussion lead by a Methodist Minister, a Presbyterian minister, and a Lutheran minister about the weekly readings for the coming Sunday.  These readings come from the lectionary shared by Episcopalians, Roman Catholics, Lutherans, Methodists, and Presbyterians.  The episode I heard this week was about today’s readings.  In it, one of the ministers said, “Unity is not uniformity.”  I took this to mean that all Christians can be united in Christ’s love that is empowered by the Holy Spirit, but it can look differently in different cultures or communities or in different parts of a community.  Living in, being governed by the Holy Spirit means there is no reason for fighting between denominations about particulars of theology because we all share in the love of Christ. Listening and dialogue is important, but fighting is not. I’ve read articles about how Christianity is losing followers across the country.  Perhaps if we remember how the Christians in Acts who were from all over were united in Christ’s love and lived empowered by the Holy Spirit, we can reverse this trend. 

This notion that we Christians are to be united in Christ’s love and empowered by the Holy Spirit gives me hope that perhaps there is room for both high church people and low church people in the Church of Jesus.  Perhaps a church can be home to both organ loving people, praise band loving people, and no music at all loving people.  I have hope that even a democrat and a republican, a Yankee and a Southerner can find common ground in a church based on the love of Christ that is empowered by the Holy Spirit.  I know anything is possible when we ask for help of the Holy Spirit.  Come Holy Spirit, empower us to do your will, to love and serve one another.  Amen

Sunday, May 21, 2023

The Seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 1:6-14; Psalm 68:1-10, 33-36; 1 Peter 4:12-14; 5:6-11; John 17:1-11

The Rev. Clint Brown

On Thursday last, this church marked the Feast of the Ascension with a special service of evensong. It was our way of saying that this day, which usually falls in the middle of the workweek and tends to fly under the radar, is important. It is, after all, designated by the Prayer Book as one of the seven “principal feasts” of this Church (BCP 15). We refer to the ascension every time we say the Creed – any of the creeds – and declare that, “He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father.” The ascension sits right there alongside the big three – the incarnation, the crucifixion, and the resurrection – in our confessional life. It is, in short, a pillar of our faith hiding in plain sight, absolutely equal in significance to all the others, and the scant attention we pay to it is in no way commensurate with its importance.

The death, resurrection, [and] ascension…of our Lord…so belong together that each event is indispensable for the story of our redemption. In fact, no one aspect of the mission of Christ can be stated properly without reference to the others. [Christ’s life is what gives significance to his death.] If Christ died, but did not rise again, our faith is vain. If he rose but did not ascend, he is not gone to God the Father Almighty, he is [somewhere out there still wandering] in our world….. If he is not [now] on the right hand of God the Father, he does not reign, and we have no King.[1] 

Pull one thread and the whole garment comes undone. What the ascension is is the essential link between the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith. 

The ascension of Christ as a physical event observed by witnesses is referred to only three times in the New Testament, and, of the three, it is noteworthy that two are by the same author, Luke, who penned both the Gospel that bears his name and the book of Acts. The third, an addition to the last chapter of Mark, almost certainly dates to the 2nd century and owes its existence to the influence of Luke. On the whole, the NT seems much more concerned with Jesus’s present exalted status in heaven than with the question of how he got there, but it is certainly intriguing to consider. It is a fact that, as any wag will tell you, if Jesus lifted off of the Mount of Olives on a spring morning around the year 33, even traveling at the speed of light, he would still not have made it out of the galaxy.[2] The thought amuses me. I’m sure you’re like me – it makes you stop and think. Thought-provoking questions like this help ground scripture in reality, and I do think there is a response. It is my personal belief that God does not override the laws of physics to accomplish the divine purposes and that whatever seems inexplicable has an explanation. There are simply things we just don’t know about yet. So, wherever and whatever heaven is, I’m convinced that Jesus got there and that he’s there now, not hurtling past quasars and asteroid belts somewhere en route.  

Anyway, where the ascension really matters is not the “How?” but the “Where?”. “Where Jesus is” is at the right hand of God (Psalm 110:1), in a position of authority in the closest proximity to God. He is present to God in both his humanity and his divinity. And why that matters is this:

It is because the Son has ascended that he is able to act [in his threefold office as] King, Priest, and Prophet; to be with us in the preaching of the Word and in the Sacrament; to be with us when two or three are gathered together. His Ascension and his ubiquity, his life to God and his life to us; his presence to help us in our temptation, to convict us of sin and to offer us forgiveness; to protect, to comfort, to encourage us; to illumine, to free and empower us – to give us all the blessings of the children of God, everywhere, every time, in all states and conditions – all this is the consequence of his Ascension. He is with us because he is with God, and works with the omnipotence of God and his Spirit. When he ascended, he sent the Spirit, and with the Spirit, by the Spirit, he is God with us forever.[3]

The closest parallel I can think of to make this point comes in a scene from Star Wars. Old Obi-Wan Kenobi is in a duel to the death with Darth Vader, and it appears that it is only a matter a time before he will have to succumb; but, far from regretting his demise, he welcomes it. He says: “Strike me down, and I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.” If you have ever wondered why Christ had to go away, why he couldn’t just hang out with us and stick around, this is the answer, so that he could be released, no longer localized, no longer bound to a specific place and time; that he could be with all of us, throughout the whole world, always and forever. The ascension is the essential link between the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith. It is indispensable. Christ had to go away so that he could be near to us all. And because he has gone away, we know that he will come back, and as the Church has proclaimed since the day the disciples stood on the mountain gawking at the sky to this, we say, “Come, Lord Jesus.”

[1] J. Haroutunian, “The Doctrine of the Ascension: A Study of the New Testament Teaching,” Interpretation, 10 no. 3 (Jul 1956): 270.

[2] The Milky Way Galaxy is no less than 26,000 light years across.

[3]Haroutunian, “Doctrine,” 280.

Sunday, May 14, 2023

The Sixth Sunday of Easter

Acts 17: 22-31; Psalm 66: 7-18; 1 Peter 3: 13-22; John 14: 15-21

The Rev. James M.L. Grace

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

Roman Catholic Cardinal Jozsef Mindszenty once said these words: “The most important person on the earth is a mother.  She cannot claim the honor of having built Notre Dame Cathedral.  She need not.  She has built something more magnificent than any cathedral – a dwelling for an immortal soul.  What on God’s good earth is more glorious than this: to be a mother.”  To all mothers, and to all born of a mother - Happy Mother’s Day. 

 In honor of today, I want to share – briefly –, but about my maternal grandmother.  Like my mother, my maternal grandmother was named Jean, but we all called her “Bobo.”  Bobo was married to the man I named for – James McKay Lykes, but we all called him “Buddy.” 

Bobo loved to have her feet rubbed, and we would rub her stockinged feet as she lay on the couch, wearing dresses that she had created and hemmed herself.  She was fiercely loving to her grandchildren, but she did have rules.  One of the rules of her home was – I think – that no food was allowed on her living room Afghan rug.  If you walked into her living room, carrying a plate of food she would visibly tense up, and watch you like a hawk to make sure nothing was spilled on this Afghan rug she so loved.   

Today that same rug is in our house, and we do not retain any of the same rules Bobo did around this rug.  We also have animals (two dogs) living in our home.  Last week, after returning home Saturday afternoon, we noticed an unpleasant odor in our home.  My wife followed the smell to its source, and discovered the our yellow lab had released diarrhea all over the rug.  This event, had it occurred in Bobo’s house, would have sent her into cardiac arrest, I am certain! 

But that’s why they make rug doctors, and after scrubbing the rug multiple times, I am pleased to say the rug is clean now, and no evidence of Parish’s activity upon it remains.  What a great story for mother’s day, right?  Here is why I share it. 

I have recently become aware that I have been carrying heavy psychological baggage – and I have been carrying it for a long time, longer than I care to admit.  This baggage takes the form of a resentment I have towards my stepmother.  The details of it are insignificant – but what is important is that this resentment ultimately is unproductive, it blocks a deeper connection with God, it inhibits my spiritual growth.  If I were to visualize it, the resentment looks exactly like what my dog put on the rug in our home.  It’s not pretty, and its smell repels people away.  That’s what all resentments do. 

In spite of its ugliness, I have held onto this resentment so long it has become comfortable to me.  I no longer notice it’s foul odor or mess.  I’ve stepped into it many times, and tracked its residue all over my life.  I don’t believe this is how God wishes us to live.  There is a better way to live.  How to be free of it?  I do what others have taught me to do.  I pray for this person by, name – daily – and I ask that God would pour his blessing upon her, that God would show her the same mercy, patience, grace, and love I believe God shares with me.

I cannot minimize the power and impact of praying this way.  To pray God’s blessing upon those whom, for whatever reason, you feel have treated you unjustly, is liberating, and humbling.  With God’s help, I am detaching myself from expectations of how things will be.  I am choosing to allow God to be in charge.  As a result, this ugly, foul resentment is going away, and in the place it once occupied, I am discovering a beautiful array of flowers.  That is the power of God’s healing – a reminder that it is never too late to start living.  Happy Mother’s Day.  AMEN.