growing into faith

All Saints Episcopal Church

Proper 10, Year C, Track 2 (readings here)

July 14, 2013

May the words I speak and the words you hear be God’s alone. Amen. 

At first glance, it appears that the community of the Colossians is too good to be true. The Colossians, “once estranged and hostile in mind” (Col 1:21), have done a 180 and have been completely transformed, all because they have heard the gospel. We don’t know to what degree they were bad before, but we do know that they were “doing evil deeds” (v. 21). And now, all of a sudden, they are a model faith community. When faced with an idyllic example like this, it can be intimidating and it can even turn us off: “There’s no way we could ever be like that community. We’re not perfect. We might as well stop while we’re behind.” 

But while the Colossians are good Christians, it doesn’t mean that they are perfect. A closer look reveals that the transition is not necessarily as smooth or quick as we might presume. The gospel has been “bearing fruit among” the community (v. 6). Their transformation has not happened overnight! They have been steadily growing in their “knowledge of God” (v. 10), and to assist them, Paul and his companions ceaselessly pray for this growth to continue. The Colossians don’t master being Christian after hearing the Gospel once; they are constantly discovering what being a Christian means, constantly discovering how to apply the words to their lives. 

The passage tells us that, among other things, a life of faith takes strength, reminds us to be thankful, and urges us to “endure everything with patience” (v. 11). I don’t know about you, but more often than not I find it difficult to be strong, I regularly forget to be thankful, and many times I have little to no patience. I think that last one is probably the most difficult for me. In an age when so many things are instantly accessible, when questions can be answered within minutes, if not seconds, I have become increasingly more impatient. I want to know now. I do so many things in the name of saving time, but then I often end up wasting time on the internet. And then there’s driving. I may be a small, soft-spoken person, but when I get behind the wheel I get angry--irrationally so. Let’s just say I’m not very forgiving and don’t always have the most charitable thoughts toward other drivers. 

Being a Christian is hard work! Our baptismal covenant acknowledges this. One of the questions reads, “Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?” (BCP 304). It doesn’t say, “if you happen to accidentally sin”, it says “whenever you...sin” (ibid; emphasis my own). Face it: we are going to sin. We’re human; it’s inevitable. Now, that doesn’t mean we have free rein to do whatever we want. We should be continuously striving to resist evil and the things that separate us from God. But just because we are sinners, it doesn’t mean that God can’t use us. After all, some of the most important leaders in the Bible did some pretty awful things (Moses was a murderer, David was an adulterer who had his mistress’ husband killed, and Paul was on a mission to kill all the Christians before being converted to Christianity himself). But these leaders acknowledged their sins and experienced the grace of God’s forgiveness. 

Throughout the Bible there is a cycle of faith, sin, redemption, and restoration, and this is reflected in our liturgy, in our rituals of faith. In our service we listen to the words of Scripture, we reaffirm our faith in the creed, we remember our sins and receive forgiveness, and receive nourishment for the spiritual journey ahead. When we are baptized, it does not mean that we will be magically transformed into perfect Christians. It does not guarantee that our life will be easier or that all our problems will disappear. But it does mean that we will become members of a larger family, the Body of Christ, a family that is broken like we are, but that works together to support each other in faith and to help each other follow the way of Christ. 

I experienced the power of the Body of Christ first-hand. When I was a sophomore in high school, my family went through a particularly difficult experience. Our church was right there, supporting us, calling us, and loving us. There was no judgment, no pointing fingers; just lots of cards and hugs. In that period of darkness we were surrounded by love and prayer so strong it was almost palpable. Time eventually brought healing, but it was the love of Christ demonstrated by our Christian community that really made the difference.  

The Gospel reading for today reiterates how to be the Body of Christ. In the story of the Good Samaritan, we learn that when you truly love “your neighbor as yourself” you are promising to “seek and serve Christ in all persons”, even those outside your circle of friends, outside your ethnicity, or even outside your faith (Luke 10:27; BCP 305). We are to “strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being” (BCP 305). This is what we promise when we are baptized. 

But being part of the Body of Christ doesn’t just mean that we are a social club that gets together weekly to talk about our problems and make each other feel good. Being the Body of Christ also means that we “proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ” (BCP 305). When we are baptized, we enter into a relationship with Jesus Christ, and living this experience of God’s grace, forgiveness, and promise of everlasting life should give us so much hope that we can’t keep it contained! I’m not saying that we should necessarily go door to door trying to convert everyone, but we should not be ashamed of our faith, either. We don’t need to bring it up in every conversation we have, but we also shouldn’t shy away from it (I’m saying this to myself as much as to all of you). 

Last night we welcomed Max and Sadie into the Christian life. We promised to “do all in [our] power to support these persons in their life in Christ” (BCP 303). We will teach them the stories of Jesus and the rituals of our faith. We will listen as they discover and try to articulate what they believe. We will do our best to answer their questions. And above all, we will pray for them. This is what we promise to do for every one of our brothers and sisters in Christ, whether or not we are present at their baptism.   

If all of this seems like an overwhelming burden, know that we are not alone. When we renew our baptismal covenant, don’t forget that we (or our Godparents, on our behalf), promise to do all of these things “with God’s help” (BCP 304-305). God will be with us as we attempt to live out a life of faith. God will be with us as we struggle with difficult questions (and difficult people). God will be with us when we mourn and when we celebrate. 

We live in the hope that God has “rescued us from the power of darkness”, granted us “redemption, the forgiveness of sins”, and “enabled [us] to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light” (vv. 13, 14, 12). With Good News such as this, we, like the Colossians, can be transformed. It doesn’t mean that we will be perfect Christians; we will mess up, time and time again. But as we “grow in the knowledge of God”, we will “bear fruit” (v. 10). We already are--in our service to the hungry and the children of Miller Park, in our offerings of Christian education and Vacation Bible School, and in our time of worship together. We welcome the baptized into a community where the love of Christ shines through. May we help strengthen them, teach them patient endurance, and give them many reasons to be thankful. Thanks be to God!

called to compassion

Year C, Proper 5 (Track 2)

June 9, 2013

“When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, ‘Do not weep.’ ” (Luke 7:13). May the words I speak and the words you hear be God’s alone. Amen.

In the readings for today, we are presented with two stories of widows. In both of these occasions, women who have already experienced the loss of their husbands are faced with a new loss: that of their sons. While their grief is certainly justified, I think it is important to realize that their grief goes beyond simply losing people they loved. As you can imagine, life is difficult for women in those times. They have very little rights--did you notice that neither of them even have a name?--and are completely reliant upon the men in their lives to provide for them. When their husbands and then their sons pass away, it is essentially a death sentence for the women as well. They will no longer be able to move about in society as they once did. Instead of relying on their family, they will have to rely upon the generosity of strangers. Fortunately for these two particular widows, they run into Elijah and Jesus.

The prophet Elijah is on the run from Israelite King Ahab and his Canaanite wife, Jezebel. Jezebel has convinced King Ahab to allow worship of the Canaanite god, Baal. In response to Ahab’s religious infidelity, Elijah informs him that the Lord will bring a drought upon the land to prove God’s dominance over Baal. The two-year drought has just begun, and Elijah is hiding in the wilderness. Just prior to the reading for today, God sends ravens to bring Elijah food. Then God sends him to the home of a widow who is not just a stranger, but a woman who lives in a town at the center of Baal worship. Imagine what this encounter might have looked like: Elijah has been in the wilderness for quite some time. There’s a drought going on, so there are not too many opportunities to bathe and nowhere to get a haircut or beard trim. Think wild man. Think wild like John the Baptist wild. The woman he meets is not in such great shape, either. As Elijah approaches her, she is collecting firewood to make a loaf of bread--her final meal with her son before they die of starvation. The prophet from the wilderness asks the starving widow for a portion of her last meal, and in response to her protest, he assures her that the Lord will provide her with more food if she complies. She obeys and is rewarded with a way to feed her family during the drought. 

What happens next catches everyone off guard. Following the widow’s act of faith and hospitality, her son becomes ill, so ill that “there [i]s no breath left in him” (I Kings 17:17). The widow, holding her son, confronts Elijah, accusing him of causing her son’s death as punishment for her past sins. Rather than agree with her or pat her hand and say, “I guess he’s in a better place” or “God needed him in heaven,” he gently takes the boy in his arms, lays him on his bed, and “crie[s] out to God” (1 Kings 19-20). He protests the injustice of the situation and prays for God to restore the boy back to life. God listens to his voice and the child wakes up (v. 22). He then brings the child downstairs and “g[ives] him to his mother” (1 Kings 23). The story of Elijah and the widow doesn’t name it, but Elijah is reacting with compassion to the widow’s plight. 

Jesus also demonstrates compassion. As we heard last week, he has just healed the slave of a centurion--a leader of Roman soldiers who is uncharacteristically kind and generous to the Jewish people. After the healing, Jesus walks about 23 miles to the city of Nain. As he approaches the city gate, he sees a large procession. Cemeteries in this time are located outside of the city; the crowd is going to bury the only son of a local widow. Jesus sees the mother weeping for her son and “ha[s] compassion for her” (Luke 13). He touches the bier they are carrying the young man on and tells him to rise. He wakes up and begins talking, and, like Elijah, Jesus “g[ives] him to his mother” (vv. 15). At this demonstration of power, the crowd is stunned and becomes fearful. They are familiar with the story of the prophet Elijah and the widow of Zarephath. There has not been a prophet this great since his time, and so they glorify God for the miraculous healing. Faith is revived in the people because of Jesus’ act of compassion. 

Compassion is more than just a feeling of empathy. The translation of the root word is a movement of the inward parts (Merriam-Webster online dictionary). Historically, people believed their affections were located in their bellies, so if your inward parts were moving, it meant it wasn’t a simple tummy rumble going on--it meant that whatever was happening was completely gut-wrenching. If something affected you this deeply, you were compelled to respond. Compassion implies action. 

The word compassion is found 12 times in the New Testament, and it only occurs in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Every time compassion is mentioned, it is either felt by Jesus, told in a story by Jesus, or asked of Jesus. Compassion is found three times in the Gospel of Luke: in today’s encounter with the widow, and in the well-known and beloved stories of the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son. The Samaritan has compassion on the injured man by the side of the road and is moved to take care of him. The father has compassion on his prodigal son and is moved to run toward him and welcome him home. And Jesus has compassion on the widow and is moved to resurrect her only son. Faced with a gut-wrenching situation, all three are compelled to act.

A more recent example of a person who modeled compassion is one of my heroes, Archbishop and martyr Oscar Romero. At the beginning of a brutal civil war in El Salvador in the 70s, the humble Roman Catholic priest was appointed archbishop, primarily because the leaders in Rome believed he would follow orders and stay out of politics. But Romero was no pushover. He began to see how much his people were suffering. And they were suffering--during his visits to churches in the archdiocese, he made a point of visiting the slums, where he saw his people living in squalor. On one of these visits, Romero was proudly presented with an apple...that was partially eaten. He thanked the person and then turned to the priest beside him in confusion, asking why he had been given a half-eaten apple. The priest replied that it was all the man had to give. If that doesn’t cause a visceral reaction--if that doesn’t make your insides squirm--I don’t know what will. 

The people were suffering in other ways as well: the government was assassinating or disappearing dissenters, including several priests who had been vocal in their opposition. When his close friend and priest Father Grande was assassinated, Romero “suspended masses” in the churches in the capital the next Sunday, “demand[ing] the punishment of the responsible parties” (United Nations’ report on Romero). His friend’s death was a punch in the gut and compelled him to action. Moved with compassion, the soft-spoken man began to use his authority and position of power to speak out against the violence of the government. He broadcast his sermons and speeches challenging the government on the radio. He halted the reconstruction of the cathedral and gave the money to the poor. Because of his activism, Romero made enemies within the Church and especially in the government. One Sunday, 3 years after his appointment, he was murdered by members of a Salvadoran death squad as he celebrated the mass. The “Voice of the Voiceless” had been silenced, but he lives on in the memory of the people who evoked his compassion, the people he loved. 

So where does this leave us today? We do not have the ability to raise people from the dead, like Elijah and Jesus. We do not have the influence or position of authority that Romero had. But we do have eyes that see what’s going on. We have ears to hear when there is discord. And we have the ability to speak out, to educate, to challenge, and to question. We are not voiceless, but there are so many people out there who are. This next week, pay attention to when things provoke a visceral reaction in you. It may be that God is calling you to compassion. As the collect for today says, may we not only think things that are right, but be inspired and guided to actually do them.

faith and hope in unexpected places

All Saints Episcopal Church

Year C, Proper 4

June 1-2, 2013

You can find the readings for the day here (I used Track 2). You can listen to my sermon here.

“and turning to the crowd that followed him, he said, ‘I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith’” (Luke 7:9). Amen.

Last weekend I had the privilege of journeying with two other folks from All Saints to participate in a young adult gathering. Now, I’m going to be honest and admit that I was interested in going primarily because the meeting was hosted by six brothers from the Taizé community. Having been in love with the music of Taizé since my early teens, and having had the opportunity to spend some time in their community last year, I was looking forward to worshiping in that style for a few days. But this was not really what the weekend was about. The experience was one of many gatherings that the brothers call “the pilgrimage of trust on earth.” This particular one took place in the badlands of South Dakota, on a section of the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation called Red Shirt Table. The theme? Reconciliation. 

The Oglala Lakota who extended the invitation for the gathering spoke of not forgetting past wrongs, but attempting to put the past behind them. And what a past it is! Repeated mistreatment by the government, who forced them to move to a place considered uninhabitable. And when gold was found on part of the reservation, even that land was taken away. This history has led to a troubled present. The Lakota on Pine Ridge face a stark reality: they live in the 2nd poorest county in America.* 1 in 4 children are born with fetal alcohol syndrome. Almost half of all the people on the reservation live below the poverty line. And unemployment is at 80%. Eighty percent! As one of the elders said, “If that were the statistic for the whole country, everybody would be rioting.” 

As we traveled along the reservation, we noticed the land was dotted with trailers. Because there are very few jobs and the land is not good for farming, over time they have had to rely on the government--the same government that got them into this situation--for food and health care. This naturally fosters helplessness, a seemingly never-ending cycle of dependency. Alcoholism, diabetes, obesity, and suicide rates are through the roof. The only place in the western hemisphere with a lower life expectancy than Pine Ridge is Haiti.  

But this is not the whole story. What we experienced last weekend was a people who acknowledged their pain and brokenness, but gracefully looked ahead toward a better future. They opened their hearts and their land to us as an offer of reconciliation, inviting almost 600 of us to make our home among them for the weekend. They donated two buffalo to feed us, preparing them in the traditional way of cooking them in the ground. They shared stories that had been passed down from generation to generation. They taught us a traditional dance called the snake dance, where everyone holds hands and coils into a circle, then out, and then back into a complete circle. This dance is performed every new year to symbolize letting go of the things that happened in the past and embracing the future. As one leader said, “Putting the past behind us is the only way we’ll be able to move forward.” 

Sometimes hope and faith are found in the most unlikely of places. This is what Jesus experiences in today’s Gospel reading from Luke. Jesus has just begun his ministry at the ripe old age of 30 (Luke 3:23). He’s been teaching and healing and exorcising to mixed reviews. Many have begun to follow him, but the Jewish leaders are skeptical and the people in his hometown are not so fond of him. In fact, when he tells the people of his hometown that their ancestry and faith does not make them any more special in God’s eyes than the Gentiles, they try to throw him off a cliff! (4:24-30). He escapes and continues his ministry elsewhere. Fast forward to today’s passage: Jesus enters the town of Capernaum and is approached by some Jewish elders. They speak on behalf of a local centurion, who has a slave that is very ill. The elders call the centurion, an officer of Rome, “worthy,” and describe him as a man who loves the Jewish people and even built them a synagogue. Jesus, intrigued, makes his way to the centurion’s house. Before he gets there, however, the centurion sends some of his friends to meet him. You see, according to Jewish law, if Jesus enters the centurion’s house, he will be made ritually unclean. The centurion not only cares for the people under his command, he understands and respects their customs! Having only heard of Jesus by word of mouth, the centurion is confident in Jesus’ ability to heal his slave, even from a distance. He intuitively understands that Jesus is the Lord (7:6). In response to this, Jesus heals the slave, exclaiming, “...not even in Israel have I found such faith” (7:9-10). Jesus lets us know that faith can be found in unexpected places. 

When the 600 pilgrims made their way to the gathering this past weekend, many of us thought we were going to raise the spirits of a downtrodden, dispirited people. But we came to the realization that spreading hope and sharing faith was not a one-way street; we found that we left with a sense of hope and a stronger faith ourselves. As one college senior from Minnesota put it, “From the outside, a lot of us come in with hearing stories about the reservation and of this land and that there are people who lacked hope and are in need of a reason to hope and to have faith. And what I know I have experienced and several people in my group have experienced is [that] it’s the exact opposite. There is no lack of hope in this land; there is no lack of faith. I think that all of us leave here with a lot of hope that this community and this land has provided us.”** 

We experienced hope, faith, and reconciliation in the invitation to live with the Oglala Lakota and learn about their traditions. We experienced hope, faith, and reconciliation as we heard prayers, listened to Bible passages, and sang traditional Christian and Taizé songs in the Lakota language. We experienced hope, faith, and reconciliation when we stood in a circle holding hands, surrounding the graveyard at Wounded Knee with silent yet potent prayer. Another pilgrim informed me that this gathering was the 3rd major meeting between “white folks” and native Lakota, the first being the 1890 Massacre at Wounded Knee and the second the 1973 siege at Wounded Knee. It was not only a historical moment, but a sign of healing and hope for the future. 

In this week’s Gospel lesson, Jesus is calling us to look around us for signs of hope, healing, and faith. Reflect on your own past. Where in your life have you experienced moments of healing? It may be that in the darkest, most barren, and unlikely of times, we have most deeply experienced the grace and love of Christ. Signs of hope, healing, and faith are all around us. You may find them at the farmer’s market or at the gas station or maybe even in the person in the pew across the aisle from you. This week as you go about your daily life, keep your eyes peeled; faith and hope may be found where you least expect it.

The sign that greeted us.

tents holding roughly 600 pilgrims. 

the brothers from Taizé slept in the tepees! 

 

tent holding me and Laura

 view of the badlands. we went on a 4 hour hike out there!

view from where we worshiped. 

you can see the cross from Taizé and 4 flags representing the four 

winds, an intersection of Christian and Lakota traditions

the weary pilgrims after 3 days of not showering, about to head on the road back home.

*Statistics about the Pine Ridge Reservation are found here.

**Quotes from the event are found here.

stone soup sermon

preached in the village of Luwala Juk Bil in S. Sudan on January 27, 2013

preached at All Saints Episcopal Church on May 8, 2013

1 Cor. 12:4-11

Weh cha moth ne rin ke yechu kritho benydida. Amen.

(I speak to you in the holy name of the Lord Jesus Christ.) 

Once upon a time there was a sad little village. It was sad because the villagers kept to themselves. No one talked to anyone outside their family, because nobody trusted anyone they were not related to. One family had the most delicious potatoes in the world, but they were afraid people would steal them, so they hid their potatoes from their neighbors. Another family had the fattest, healthiest goats in the world, but they hid their goats from their neighbors because they were afraid they would steal them. A third family had the best spices in the world, but they hid them from their neighbors because they were afraid they would steal them. The other families in the village hid their things as well. When they passed each other on the street, they would cross over to the other side of the road so that they wouldn’t have to talk to one another. It was a very sad village.

But one day a stranger came to town. He carried nothing but a stone, a spoon, and a large pot. He walked right into the middle of the village, put the pot down, collected firewood, and started a fire. He put some water from the village well into the pot and began to boil it on the fire.

The villagers were very curious; they didn’t get many visitors, and certainly not ones who behaved so strangely. One by one the villagers came outside to see what the stranger was doing, until the whole village was there. Finally, a little girl got up the courage to ask the stranger what he was doing. He said, “I’m making stone soup.” “Stone soup?” the girl replied. “That’s silly; you can’t make soup from stones—everyone knows that!”

The stranger held up his stone and said, “This is no ordinary stone. It’s a magic stone! When I put it into a pot of boiling water, it makes the best soup in the world.” When he finished speaking, he carefully dropped the stone into the boiling water. The villagers watched as he stirred the pot a few times and tasted the soup. “How does it taste?” someone asked. “It’s good,” the stranger replied. “One of the best I’ve made, but it would taste even better with some potatoes. If only I had some.”

The villagers were very curious, so finally one of the families sent their child to go get some of their potatoes. The stranger added them to the soup, stirred it, tasted it, and said, “Oh my, that’s good. But what it could really use is some meat. If only I had some.” The family with the goats went back to their home, killed a goat, and brought the meat to the stranger. He put the goat meat in the pot, stirred it, tasted it, and said, “This has got to be the best soup I’ve ever made. But it would be even better with some spices. If only I had some.” The family with the spices got them and brought them back. One by one, the villagers brought back things that they’d kept hidden from their neighbors: vegetables, salt, meat, and spices. All of them were added to the soup. As they watched the stranger stirring and tasting, the villagers began to talk with one another, wondering where the stranger came from and whether the stone was really magic or not. It was the first time they’d talked with one another in years.

When the stranger stirred and tasted and finally decided the soup was ready, he asked everyone in town to bring bowls and spoons so they could have some. So everyone in the village tried the soup and agreed that it was the best in the world. They talked and laughed with their neighbors, and realized that life was better when they shared it with one another.

So why did I tell you this story? When I was little I read the story of Stone Soup. Even though it was a simple folk tale, the story had a powerful message. It has stuck with me all these years, and when I read the passage from 1 Corinthians, I was reminded of it.

You see, all of us gathered here have something to bring to the pot. We each have special gifts: for some it’s teaching, for some preaching, for others it’s singing or praying or working with youth or organizing or evangelizing. But if we keep our gifts to ourselves, what good are they? Without lay people, there would be no congregation of believers. Without priests, deacons, lay leaders, and bishops, there would be no one to teach the congregation about Jesus Christ. Both ordained and lay people need each other in order to have a church.

As you may have guessed, the stone in the story about the soup was not really a magic stone. The stranger taught the village that their lives were richer, more delicious, when they shared what they had with each other. The same goes for us: when we hide our gifts, they become useless. But when we come together to worship, bringing the gifts that were given to us by the Holy Spirit, just imagine what we can accomplish together!

May we work together, using our gifts to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ with a world hungry for some good news.

Nhialic abi wek thiei. (God be with you.)

Dong ke ne door. (Go in peace.)

Amen. 

church members in Luwala Juk Bil, South Sudan

live together in unity

May 11-12, 2013

7^th Sunday of Easter, Year C

Today's readings. 

“Oh, how good and pleasant it is, when brethren live together in unity!" (Psalm 133).  Amen.

Last week Mother Liz talked about the New Jerusalem appearing in the clouds, a vision of heaven coming down to earth, a vision found in the book of Revelation. 

Thematically, this week we find ourselves caught between the Feast of the Ascension (when Jesus went up to heaven after his Resurrection) and Pentecost (when the Holy Spirit visited the Apostles). It is the last Sunday in Easter, but our Gospel passage brings us back to just before Jesus’ arrest. Here we find ourselves at a precipice. 

Today’s Gospel reading from John comes at the end of what is often called Jesus’ Farewell Discourse. He is teaching his disciples one last time, and it seems as if he is trying to squeeze in as much wisdom as possible before he goes. In the section we heard today, Jesus is “pray[ing] for his disciples” (v. 20). He urges the disciples to live together in unity, not only with God and with Jesus, but with each other. The disciples are charged with spreading the Good News of God in Christ. If they are going to be successful, then they need to swallow their pride, overcome their differences, and work together. Otherwise, all anyone will see is a bumbling, bickering motley collection of Jesus’ closest followers; they will distract from the message of peace and love they are trying to convey. 

Before we get too comfortable, a closer look at the passage reveals that we’re not off the hook. Jesus even includes us in this message: “I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one” (vv. 20-21)! We are called to live in unity as well. 

So what does this unity look like? Humans are predisposed to putting things into categories in order to process information better. There’s a sense of comfort in identifying as American, mid-western, Christian, and specifically Episcopalian. We can feel a sense of unity in situations where we feel we belong, when we are surrounded by people we identify with and understand, and who similarly understand us. But, as the Rev. Canon Anthony Jewiss said, “Unity does not mean sameness. It means similarity of purpose, of intention, of allegiance and of behavior towards one another. It means accepting. For those who believe, it means gathering under the canopy of creation and being part of a great singleness of purpose” (quote found here). 

Last weekend at the Tween Retreat, the 5th and 6th graders explored what it means to be the Body of Christ. During the Bible Study, we discussed how believing we are all part of the Body of Christ influences the way we treat people, both those we like as well as those we do not like. In reflecting on how we treat people we don’t like, one of the youth said, “It’s like that song from Pocahontas: ‘You think the only people who are people are the people who look and think like you, but if you walk the footsteps of a stranger you’ll learn things you never knew you never knew’” (“Colors of the Wind” from Disney’s film Pocahontas). Clearly the deeper meaning behind Disney songs is not lost on younger generations. And this youth was right. Christians don’t have the luxury of choosing who to be in unity with. Jesus calls us to be in unity with all people, even people with different thoughts, beliefs, or political leanings. Unity can be a glorious and beautiful thing, but if everyone involved in the unity thinks and looks and believes the same, then unity can become dangerous. It can cause us to look at people not part of the group as different, less than. Think of the fighting between Roman Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland. Of the ethnic violence and genocide in Rwanda, Darfur, Bosnia, and lately, Myanmar. Or, in our own neck of the woods, fighting between gangs. Unity that shuts out people who are different is not the kind of unity Jesus is talking about.

A famous example of unity in the midst of differences came in the winter of 1914 (history.com). On a muddy battlefield in France on Christmas Eve, German and British troops were exchanging fire. At midnight some of the Germans stopped shooting and began to sing Christmas carols. The Allies, hearing the music, put down their weapons and joined in the singing. Incredibly, by the morning, both sides had come out of their trenches to celebrate together. They held a soccer match and even exchanged gifts! Although the experience was fleeting (they started fighting again the next day), it provided a glimpse of the kingdom of God. They certainly had differences, but for a short while they recognized each other’s humanity. 

Another way unity can be dangerous is when we think that only people who deserve it can be included. Jesus was constantly hanging out with the outcasts, the people others rejected because of their profession, social class, gender, or diagnosis. He was famous for dining with outcasts and sinners, after all (Mark 2:16; Matthew 9:10-12)!

An example of living in unity and demonstrating Christian love happened more recently. In the wake of the Boston bombings, the Tsarnaev family was looking for a place in Boston to bury their son Tamerlan, who we know as Bombing Suspect 1. None of the cemeteries were willing to let him be buried on their premises. After three weeks of searching, however, a complete stranger came forward and offered his cemetery plot to the Tsarnaev family. According to news reports, the stranger gave this reason for his offer: “This person, I don’t care what a pariah he is, everybody deserves a burial, so I’m willing to make this offer. I also think it would be a nice thing to do in memory of my mother, who did teach me to love thine enemy” (New Haven Register, May 6, 2013). Wow. Now this is more of what Jesus was talking about when he spoke of unity!

Today’s Gospel and the examples just mentioned provide us with an opportunity for reflection. Where in our own lives are we failing to live in unity? Where are we looking down on others? Where are we excluding rather than including? How can we demonstrate the type of unity Jesus is praying for in school, at work, at home, and at church? It’s not an easy way of life (after all, the glory of Jesus was most fully realized in his death and then resurrection). Unity is often countercultural. In an era of extreme political polarization, and in the face of a heated upcoming election, unity can even seem impossible. 

But you and I, we know better. We know that unity is possible. In fact, it happens every week! Each week we have the opportunity to put aside our differences and join together in Communion. We listen to words telling us the story of Christ, who loved us so much that he gave his life for us. “This is my body, broken for you. This is my blood, shed for you.” We remember that we are fractured like Christ, but also like Christ, this brokenness doesn’t last forever; the Body and Blood are a foretaste of the heavenly banquet. We approach the altar knowing that despite our differences and what we’ve done or left undone in the past, God loves us equally and unconditionally. 

Out of his love for us, Jesus says that he will be with us. He ends the prayer for his disciples and us with a promise of love: “the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them” (v. 26). In that spirit of love, I leave you with a poem by Edwin Markham, entitled “Outwitted”: 

                 He drew a circle that shut me out--

                 Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout. 

                 But love and I had the wit to win. 

                 We drew a circle and took him in!

we didn't start the fire

Easter Vigil, Year C
March 30, 2013

“Breathe on me, Breath of God, till I am wholly thine, till all this earthly part of me glows with thy fire divine.”* Amen. 

It begins with light. 

Out of the formless void, the churning chaos of darkness that covers the earth, God brings order with the command: “Let there be light.” The reflection of light on the last lingering raindrops creates a colorful symbol of God’s vow to never destroy the earth again by way of flood. Abraham gazes intently at the light from the flickering flames consuming a ram in place of his beloved son, God’s blessing still ringing in his ears. God calls Moses to action from the flames of a burning bush, and later God’s presence in a pillar of fire lights the way for the Israelite refugees as they make their escape from Egypt.  

“We didn't start the fire.

It was always burning

Since the world's been turning.”**

It begins with light. 

A room lightened by a surprise appearance, where a young woman learns of the incredible child she has been chosen to bear. A path lit by a beacon of light so that lowly sheep herders and foreign sages can find this child. The child himself, who shines as the “light of all people” in the midst of a time of darkness (John 1:4). Who baptizes people with the Holy Spirit and with fire. Whose teaching and way of life ignites a movement. 

“We didn't start the fire.

No, we didn't light it,

But we tried to fight it.”

It began with darkness. 

Whispers in the night from leaders who felt threatened by Jesus’ teachings and claims. A rogue disciple left the dinner table to plot betrayal. The total darkness of the garden punctuated by torches of an angry mob. A sky suddenly blackened as the last breath leaves the crucified king. The last rays of sunlight extinguished as a stone was rolled into place in front of the tomb. 

“We didn't start the fire.”

It begins with light.

In the early morning hours, just as the sun begins to make its presence known, a group of women slowly make their way to the tomb with heavy hearts. The stone is rolled away, allowing sunlight  to filter into the empty tomb, where a dazzling presence reveals that the Lord is risen. Days later Jesus prepares a breakfast of fish and bread roasting over a charcoal fire, revealing himself to his disciples for the third time.   

“We didn't start the fire.

But when we are gone

will it still burn on?”

It begins with light. 

Tongues of fire appear above the disciples, filled with the Holy Spirit. They proclaim the Good News of God in Jesus Christ, setting hearts ablaze. Centuries later, missionaries are sent by the founder of the Jesuits, Ignatius of Loyola, with instructions to “go forth and set the world on fire.” And so throughout the ages, people from all walks of life, from royalty to martyrs to ordinary people, light up the world by making God’s all-encompassing love known through both words and actions. 

“We didn't start the fire.”

Our service begins with light. 

From the flames of a new fire we light the Paschal Candle, a symbol of Christ’s sacrificial and radical love for the world. We hear stories of God’s saving work throughout history, stories of light in the darkness. These are our stories, for at our baptism we are adopted into God’s family, united with Christ in both his death and resurrection. And tonight, we welcome Milo and Ruby into our Christian family. We join them in renewing our own baptismal vows, remembering our commitment to be bearers of Christ’s light to the world. We give thanks by breaking bread together, that precious meal that nourishes us as we journey into the darkness. Finally we go out, carrying the Light of Christ within us, for this is what it means to be an Easter people. 

“We didn't start the fire.

But when we are gone [it will] still burn on.”

"The Empty Tomb" by Rik Berry

found here

*Breathe On Me Breath of God: words by Edwin Hatch, melody (Trentham) by Robert Jackson
**We Didn't Start the Fire by Billy Joel

a story of foot washing

My explanation of foot washing for the Maundy Thursday service (March 28, 2013). 

A Story of Foot Washing

It was a custom in Jesus’ time that hosts would provide water for their guests to wash their feet. The roads were dusty and many people wore sandals, so offering water to help make their guests comfortable was a way to show them hospitality.

There are examples throughout the Bible of foot washing. When 3 strangers visit Abraham, he calls for water to be brought for them to wash their feet (Genesis 18:4). Abraham’s nephew, Lot, does the same when 2 angels arrive in his town (19:2). Rebekkah’s brother, Laban, provides this for Abraham’s servant (24:32), and Joseph does this for his brothers when they visit him in Egypt (43:24).

In the New Testament there are two main examples of foot washing. Two Sundays ago we heard the story of Jesus at dinner with his friends and disciples (John 12:1-8). There, in an act of gratitude and love, his friend Mary poured oil on his feet and dried them with her hair.

Now we find Jesus and the disciples gathered at a meal once again, but this time Jesus does the washing (John 13:1-17, 31b-35). This may not seem like a big deal to us today, but back then, it was alarming! You see, when hosts provided water, guests would either wash their own feet or the host would bring out a slave to do the washing. So the thought of Jesus, the Son of God, washing his disciples’ feet was absurd!

Think about if your teacher or principal offered to wash your feet. Or your boss. Or even the president. You’d feel pretty awkward, right?

Well, that’s how Simon Peter, one of Jesus’ disciples, felt. “You’re never touching my feet,” he said. He probably felt embarrassed to see Jesus, his teacher and friend, as well as the Messiah, in this lowly position. He didn’t want to be a part of it. Maybe he was also embarrassed to let someone he cared about so much touch his feet. “My feet are smelly and dirty—why would I let the man I believe is God’s Son come anywhere near them?” [This might remind you of John the Baptist saying he was unworthy to even untie the thong of Jesus’ sandals (John 1:27)].

But Jesus replied that this is what he was all about. Jesus ministered to the poor, to the marginalized. He treated everyone as if they were worthy of God’s love, regardless of their background or their faults. “I’m doing this not because I think I’m less than or because you need it. I’m doing this because I want to show you how much I love you. If you don’t let me wash your feet, Simon, you are missing out on what I am all about.”

At this point Simon, always the enthusiast, goes a little overboard and asks Jesus to wash his hands and his head. I imagine Jesus chuckles and says, “You don’t need a bath, Simon; this is just a symbolic washing.” When Jesus is done washing everyone’s feet, he tells them to continue his example, to serve and love one another, just as Jesus did.

And so we’ve kept up the tradition of foot washing throughout the ages. In fact, today Pope Francis went to a Juvenile Detention Center and washed the feet of 12 youth, male and female, from Catholic and Orthodox and Muslim backgrounds. After drying their feet he even kissed them.

This evening we, too, have an opportunity to wash each other’s feet (or hands, if you’d prefer). It may feel weird or scary to be so vulnerable with each other. But remember that God loves us exactly as we are, whether our feet are smelly or perfectly pedicured.

So now I invite you to come forward as you feel moved, while we sing together a song from Ghana found in our Episcopal hymnal, Jesu, Jesu.