getting down on our level

Proper 21, Year A, 2014

St. Thomas’, Whitemarsh

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

One of my favorite things about working at St. Thomas is that I get to spend time every weekday morning greeting teachers, parents, and their children at the Nursery School. To be honest, as the weeks have gone by, I’ve done less greeting and more playing. Children are born with incredible imaginations; their worlds are full of new experiences, and playing is how they make sense of what’s happening around them. Now, I’m no expert on children, but I’ve done my fair share of babysitting and even worked at a preschool when I was in college. What I have learned is that in order to successfully engage with them, you have to get down on their level, both literally and figuratively. Even someone my height can appear a giant to a 3 year-old, so it’s important for me to either bend to their height, sit on the floor, or sit at their little table, in order to look at them eye-to-eye. This helps them feel more like equals, like their viewpoint matters to adults. In addition to physically meeting them where they are, it’s good to meet them where they are developmentally, as well. It wouldn’t make sense for me to discuss with them the disagreements between Keynesian economics and proponents of the Laffer Curve. Or describe to them the theories of atonement, theosis, and sanctification. Or enumerate the nuances of third-wave feminism as compared to first and second wave feminism. The idea of introducing those things to children is obviously ridiculous. So instead, I spend a lot of time talking with them about colors and numbers and Thomas the Tank Engine. These are things that are familiar to them and discussions in which they can contribute; these are the kinds of things nursery school children can grasp. 

In the early days of creation, God walks in the Garden of Eden to talk with Adam and Eve (Genesis 3:8). As the ages pass, people no longer have such an intimate relationship with their Creator. After Moses, with God’s direction, leads the Israelites out of Egypt and into the wilderness, they turn around and beg Moses to speak to and represent them to God, because they are afraid of speaking to God themselves (Exodus 20:19). Each successive generation grows further and further away from God, and they begin to forget the many things God has done for them. At times, the people even turn to other gods for comfort and assistance, breaking their promise to worship God alone. The relationship between God and the chosen people comes to its lowest point during the years of Exile; God has never seemed further away. 

God, ever faithful to the wandering, confused, and fickle people of Earth, longs to repair this broken relationship. In order to get reacquainted with them, however, Paul tells us that God empties God’s self and comes to Earth as one of us (Philippians 2:7). God wants to be more accessible, and so God literally comes down to us on our level. God is born to a human family with human parents. Jesus learns how to crawl, then walk, then talk, then read and write. In the person of Jesus, God walks our dusty roads and worships with people in the temple. In the person of Jesus, God experiences life’s ups and downs, feels joy, pain, loss, confusion, and sadness. In the person of Jesus, God demonstrates God’s faithfulness by laying down his life for the people he loves so desperately. 

How do we respond to this incredible and undeserved show of love? What can we possibly do or say that could demonstrate our desire to be faithful in return? 

Paul suggests we can begin by emptying ourselves of our selfish desires in order to make room for God: “Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:4). God, though Jesus, humbled himself and spent his life serving others; we are called to humble ourselves and spend time in service to others. Jesus welcomed the marginalized; we are called to treat everyone we meet with dignity and respect, for they are a beloved child of God. Jesus spent time in prayer and worship; we are called to deepen our faith through communal as well as personal prayer. 

If this seems like an impossible task, Paul reminds us that we are not alone; God is ever-present in our lives: “it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure” (v. 13). Psalm 25 reiterates this: “[the LORD] guides the humble in doing right * and teaches his way to the lowly” (Psalm 25:8). The same God who created everything that is, who freed the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, who emptied God’s self of all power and knowledge and came to us on our level, that same God remains with us today. 

God, in Jesus, came to us when we could no longer relate to God and showed us how to repair our broken relationship. If we follow God’s model and empty ourselves of the things that separate us from others and from God, we leave space for God to work through us. God has poured God’s self out for us; may we also do the same for God. 

drawing circles

Proper 15, Year A, August 17, 2014

St. Thomas, Whitemarsh

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

Good morning/evening! My name is Lara Stroud, and as you might have guessed, I am Fr. Daniel’s shorter half. I am blessed and excited to worship with and become a part of the St. Thomas community. I had a blast going tubing with the newcomers a few weeks ago (despite the sunburn), I’ve started playing pick-up soccer once again (which helped me realize how out of shape I am!), and I absolutely love living in Chestnut Hill. But enough about me. 

The Gospel of Matthew was written approximately 40 or 50 years—that’s more than 2 generations—after the death of Jesus. Because almost half of the Gospel covers Jesus’ teachings, Matthew’s Gospel was used by the first Christians to help teach people new to the faith about what it meant to be a follower of Jesus.

At this point in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus has spent a good chunk of time teaching the disciples and crowds while on top of a mountain (Sermon on the Mount, Matthew 5-7). He has performed exorcisms and healed many sick people (4:23-24). He has even calmed a storm and walked on water (8:23-27; 14:22-27). Crowds continue to follow him wherever he goes, their anguish and persistence portrayed in vivid, almost violent imagery: On several occasions Jesus climbs into a boat so that the crowd does not suffocate him (13:2; 14:13, 22). The crowd is constantly bringing their sick to him and some people are so desperate that they even reach out to grab at the fringe of his cloak to capture some of his healing power (14:35-36).

Jesus can’t get a break. Every time he tries to go somewhere to pray and rest, the crowd follows closely behind, even when he travels by boat. Finally, Jesus decides to take his disciples on a retreat far enough away where people won’t have heard of him. I imagine that as he gets closer and closer to the ocean and farther and farther away from the crowd, he begins to breathe easier: finally, some peace and quiet at the beach! But it doesn’t take long for the newfound sense of tranquility to be shattered. News of his arrival spreads quickly and a desperate woman, an outsider--a Gentile—meets him on the road, shouting and begging Jesus to heal her daughter. 

This is the last straw. 

What follows is not Jesus’ finest moment. His first action is to ignore the woman completely. When this doesn’t work and his disciples urge him to send her away, his response to the woman comes off as rude, even unfeeling. He makes it clear that the woman and her people are not his priority, and when she kneels before him saying, “Lord, help me,” Jesus calls her a dog (15:24-26). This is not the Jesus we learned about in Sunday School! Have the old prejudices between Jews and Gentiles been so ingrained into him that he cannot see beyond them? Or is he simply tired and frustrated that his work is never-ending? I’m not sure, but it appears we are witnessing a very human moment for Jesus.  

The Canaanite woman lets his slur slide right off her shoulders and counters, “Look, I may not share your customs or be part of God’s chosen people, but I am still a person, created by God, and should be treated as such.” 

Woah. That takes some guts. But she has a point, and Jesus recognizes the truth in her response: there is no limit to God’s love. God is not going to run out of love; there is enough love to go around. Also, God’s love has no borders; it spreads beyond the chosen people to include all of the children of God. In response to the woman’s courageous words, Jesus heals her daughter. 

The fact that a Gentile woman demonstrates courage and faith is atypical for Matthew's Gospel. This particular Gospel is very inwardly focused; when Jesus sends out his disciples, he commands them, “Go nowhere among the Gentiles, and enter no town of the Samaritans, but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel” (10:5-6). Yet, in the same Gospel it is Gentiles who are praised for demonstrating great faith. In response to a Roman centurion’s discourse and request for the healing of his servant, Jesus says, “…in no one in Israel have I found such faith” (8:10). A Roman centurion—a leader of the troops occupying and oppressing Israel—is lauded for his faith. And in today’s reading, we have a woman from Canaan, Israel’s ancient enemy, whose faithful words lead Jesus to rethink his mission on earth.  

Once he is rested, Jesus returns to Galilee and gets right back to healing people. Each time Jesus heals someone, the result is not merely physical; the person is reintegrated with their community. The blind can see, the lame can walk, the deaf can hear, and the mute can talk. No longer do they have to live on the fringes, relying on the generosity of others; they become accepted members of society! The community is once again made whole. This is what Communion is all about.

At one point in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus’ mother and brothers come and try to talk to their radical son/brother, perhaps to warn and/or protect him (12:46-50). But he tells the people around him that our relationship to God is more important than our relationship to our family. Our first identity as human beings is as children of God, and everything after that is not as important: family, class, gender, race, orientation, age, ability. 

In today’s highly charged climate, with the ebola outbreak in West Africa and violence in Syria, Iraq, Gaza, Ukraine, and even in our own country in St. Louis, it’s easy to get sucked into an “us vs. them” mentality. Some will try to convince us that we have to pick sides, that our differences matter more than being made in the image of God. We are moved to tears by the death of Robin Williams, and rightly so, but do we also mourn the deaths of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, and John Crawford in Ohio? We get angry about the killing of Palestinian children in Gaza and Christians in Iraq, and rightly so, but what about the innocent lives lost in Syria and South Sudan, what about the kidnapping of the Nigerian school girls, what about the thousands of children crossing the border into our country?  

This “us vs. them” mentality fractures our common life together. We draw circles around ourselves to shut out the people we disagree with, placing them on the margins. Each group sees the other as dogs, as unworthy of attention. But in the kingdom of God, none of these distinctions are made; God brings all of us in by drawing a larger circle around the circles we make. We draw circles of exclusion, but God draws ever-widening circles of inclusion.  

Edwin Markham describes this best in his poem called “Outwitted.”

“He drew a circle that shut me out— 

Heretic, a rebel, a thing to flout.

But Love and I had the wit to win:

We drew a circle and took him in!”

Jesus is changed by his experience with the Canaanite woman. At the very end of Matthew’s Gospel, when the resurrected Jesus once again gives his disciples a commission, this time he tells them to “Go…and make disciples of all nations” (28:19). The Good News is for everyone to hear. 

For those familiar with Rite I in the Book of Common Prayer, the story of the Canaanite woman might call to mind the Prayer of Humble Access. The prayer’s words remind us that, “[w]e are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs underneath thy Table” (BCP 337). None of us are worthy of God’s love. We come to the altar recognizing that all of us are desperately in need of God’s grace. The Good News that Jesus brings us is that God’s arms of love are big enough to hold all of us within God’s saving embrace.

image found here

image found here

come to me, all you that are weary

Proper 9, Year A, 2014

St. George’s

"Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30). 

As many of you know, my husband and I recently returned from our honeymoon. One of the places we visited was Oxford, England. Daniel studied abroad there in college, and was excited to show me all of his favorite spots. We walked the famous streets, visited the various college campuses, and worshiped in 800 year-old churches, but what Daniel was most eager to show me was Hussain’s food truck. It only appeared at night, after most of the restaurants had closed, and was a popular late-night treat, especially for college students (I won’t say how often Daniel went while he was in school, but I will say that Hussain knew him on a first-name basis). 

Now Daniel had been talking about Hussain’s famous chips & cheese (fries covered in finely grated cheese, brown sauce, and Hussain’s special sauce) he’d been talking about them since we got to England, so we were delighted to see him parked in town one of the nights we were there. As we approached the truck, a student was saying goodbye to Hussain. It was her last night in Oxford, and she wanted to come visit Hussain one last time before she flew back home. He showed her how to make his famous chips & cheese, asked his employee to take a picture of the two of them, and hugged her goodbye. 

When it was our turn, Daniel ordered a special burger and 2 chips & cheese. While we were waiting for the food to be ready, Daniel told Hussain that he used to come there a lot when he had been in school, and he wanted to bring his wife to the food truck so she could taste the chips herself. Hussain congratulated us on our marriage and then proceeded to tell us about his life. He has been married for 26 years, and he and his wife have 6 kids. He studied computer engineering in college. He had then worked as a computer scientist for awhile, a job that paid really well. But Hussain wasn’t happy. He hated sitting inside at a desk all day, staring at a computer screen; he wanted to be able to move around freely, to talk with people face-to-face. So he quit his job with the great salary and started his food truck. He now smiles and jokes every day as he interacts with customers. Joy radiates from him and spreads to others; there is no question that Hussain is living into his calling. 

"Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30).

I grew up listening to this passage in the context of the evening service of Compline. I loved the romantic imagery of the weary traveler laying a troublesome burden at the foot of the cross, and then finally experiencing the relief and rest he or she so desperately desired. 

But as I grew older, this passage began to frustrate me. I couldn’t figure out how exactly I should lay down my burdens. And it sure didn’t feel like Jesus’ yolk was easy or his burden light; being a Christian is hard work! Paul says as much in his letter to the Romans, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Romans 7:15). 

At our core, we desire to be good and to follow God’s call. But we continually let our selfish desires get in the way. The things that we want are not necessarily things that lead us to Christ. Sometimes we have to give up things we want for the sake of being faithful, of following God’s call. 

I think this is why Hussain’s story is so compelling. The Declaration of Independence states that we have the right to “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.” The problem is, we often equate happiness with possessing wealth. Our society encourages us to get a job that will make us lots of money so we can buy things which will make us happy. Money and things can make us happy for a time, but they are a shallow kind of happiness. The latest toys and gadgets are fun—believe me, I want them, too—but I think that kids would ultimately rather spend quality time with their parents. 

I believe that God is calling us to a life of developing meaningful relationships with God and our neighbor. God’s currency is love, and the only way to increase it is, paradoxically, to give it away. To love God means to put God first, to make God the priority in our lives. This is not a one-time commitment, but something we have to consciously do every day. 

It’s similar with loving our neighbor. God is not asking us to constantly put others’ needs in front of our own; that not only leads to burnout but ignores the fact that God wants us to be fulfilled, as well. But God is calling us to recognize that our happiness is tied in with the happiness of others. We cannot be completely happy when we know that other children of God suffering. 

When Jesus is saying that our burden will be light, he is not telling us that the work of loving others will be easy. It can often be difficult, thankless work. But at the same time, how many of us, when we volunteer or do some kind of service work, feel that we get much more out of it than what we put in? That the work, though challenging, doesn’t feel much like work at all? We get more out of love than what we put in, and that’s why the burden is light. 

"Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30).

At its most basic level, Jesus’ message is simple: love God, love neighbor. All other things boil down to these two commandments. And when we feel overwhelmed, and like our burdens are too much to bear, know that we do not walk this road alone. Jesus is plowing along right beside us, sharing the yoke, helping to carry our burden. 

image found here

Here is a beautiful song by my friend Ginny Wilder called Lay Your Baggage Down. It fit perfectly with today's reading. 

liminal space

Easter 7, Year A, 2014

All Saints’ Church

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

The disciples have had quite a wild ride the past few weeks. First, the triumphal march into Jerusalem, followed by Jesus’ arrest and execution. Then, Jesus is raised and reappears, much to the disciples’ joy and confusion. Jesus has been among them for forty days. Ring any bells? Forty days in the desert at the beginning of his ministry, and then forty days among the disciples at the end of his ministry. Jesus has taught his closest followers as much as he can, and it is time for him to leave. 

"When the apostles had come together, they asked Jesus, 'Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?' "(Acts 1:1). It cracks me up that even at the end, their last question to Jesus shows that the disciples still don’t get it!! “Guys, don’t worry about the future or when things are gonna happen. I’m leaving, but not for good. I’ll be back, but in the meantime, the Holy Spirit is gonna come down and give you the strength you need to continue where I left off. It’s up to you to tell my story to everyone.” 

Then, in one of the most epic leave-takings in all of history, Jesus is lifted up and whisked away on a cloud. Remember the pillar of cloud protecting the Israelites in the wilderness, or the cloud that came and covered Jesus’ face on the mountain top, making his face glow? I imagine this is event is somewhat similar.

The disciples stare up at the sky until they can’t see Jesus anymore. And then they keep on staring, long after he’s gone. At this point, two “men in white robes” (a.k.a. angels) tell the disciples to snap out of it and get to work (v. 10): “Don’t just stand there all slack-jawed and wide-eyed! Relax; Jesus is gonna come back. Now get to it!”

The disciples have found themselves in in-between times, or as some people like to call it, the liminal space. The promise of the Holy Spirit’s power is in their future, but it has not yet arrived. What do the disciples do in the meantime? First they go back to the upper room, their home base. Then, joined by women and Jesus’ mother and brothers, they pray “constantly” (v. 14). 

We face these liminal spaces in our own lives. How many of us have felt lost or confused during in-between times? In the process of transition, it can be disorienting; we are no longer fully in our current place but haven’t quite reached the new place either. It’s the same already/not yet that is repeated throughout history. God has defeated the forces of evil for good, but we are still feeling the effects of evil now. Jesus came to earth already, but he has not yet returned. The kingdom of God has already come, but it has not yet been fully realized. 

In the face of these contradictory realities, we are given a choice: we can gaze longingly at the sky like the disciples, clinging desperately to the past and the way things have been, or we can turn our faces toward Jerusalem, bravely taking the first tentative steps of the journey ahead. 

The disciples show us that prayer is an entry point for the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is the giver of life, the one who provides the prophets with their compelling words. Next week we’ll hear how the Holy Spirit empowers the disciples to spread the Gospel “to the ends of the earth” (v. 8).   

The disciples may have to wait, but the Holy Spirit is already among us. At our baptism, we are  baptized into “new life in the Holy Spirit” (BCP 858). We invoke the Holy Spirit during confirmations and ordinations. And it is the Holy Spirit that helps us to discern where God is calling us. 

What the disciples are teaching us in Acts is how to make the most of the time that we’re given. If you think about it, our whole lives are one big liminal space. One author puts it best with this subtitle: “I live in that awkward stage between Birth and Death” (Full Bloom by Mark T. Green). We are given a finite amount of time on this earth, and it’s up to us to make the most of the time we have. It may sound daunting, but remember that we are not alone. Besides each other, we have the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Now that doesn’t mean that we will all of a sudden become clairvoyant, knowing all the right answers and predicting the world’s end—we, like Harold Camping (see song about him below), are not privy to that knowledge. But it does mean that God will be with us as we make our way through life. When we are reunited with estranged loved ones, God celebrates with us. When we say our final goodbyes to a dear friend, God mourns with us. The God who loved us so completely that he took on our sin and died for us, conquering death once and for all, did not abandon his disciples. God will not abandon us now. 

image found here

Audio of Nickel Creek's song "21st of May" (about Harold Camping) found here

"21st Of May"

It's time to bid this whole world goodbye.
Oh, glory, time to fly away.
We'll meet our savior in the sky.
Hallelujah, the 21st of May.

Sinner, heed these words of mine
'Bout the coming Judgment Day.
Yes, the end is drawing nigh.
Hallelujah, the 21st of May.

They laughed while Noah built his boat,
Then cried when came the rain.
They mock me now, but I will float
On the 21st of May.

Well, I've never been so sure
And I've never led no one astray.
'Cept in the fall of '94.
But Hallelujah, the 21st of May.

They laughed while Noah built his boat,
Then cried when came the rain.
They mock me now, but I will float
On the 21st of May.
They mock me now, but I will float
On the 21st of May.

Hallelujah, the 21st of May.

not alone

Easter 6, Year A, 2014

St. George’s Chapel

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

“If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (John 14:15). When I first read that sentence while preparing for my sermon, I must admit that I took a big gulp. I made a mental list of all the things I had done and left undone this week, remembered the times when I could have been more compassionate or worked harder or listened better. How I should have prayed more and eaten better and exercised and gotten more sleep. 

In the Gospel according to John, Jesus is much more demanding than in other gospels. If you’re a perfectionist like I am, that responsibility can be intimidating. We have this idea that we have to be perfect before we can be considered a leader or a professional or sometimes even before we can be a “good” Christian. But placed against a model of perfection we always fall short. A lot of the time I am so far away from this ideal that it is embarrassing, and I get discouraged. 

Sometimes you have to go away somewhere to put things back into focus. Two weeks ago I left for a CREDO conference—you may remember that Fr. Chris helped lead some of these conferences. I journeyed down to Fairhope, Alabama with 24 other recently ordained clergy. We had 8 leaders who helped mentor us in financial, vocational, leadership, physical, psychological, and spiritual aspects. Our days were filled with prayer, plenary sessions, delicious food, and honest conversations about our lives and calling as ordained leaders in the Church. More than anything, I loved being with others who were in similar situations and remembering that I was not alone in this calling. 

At the end of the conference each one of us wrote down our Rule of Life, a way of structuring our lives to intentionally put God at the center. One of the suggestions for crafting the Rule of Life was to look at our lives in three sections: our relationships with God, with our families, and with others. In each section, we examined what our needs were and then developed practices to address those needs. But instead of just being like another set of New Year’s resolutions, we were told to write down who was going to help hold us accountable for doing these practices. Almost 100% of the time, we cannot achieve things completely on our own. We have been shaped—in ways both good and bad—shaped by the experiences we have had and the people we have met. We cannot achieve things truly on our own, but rely on the support of others: family, friends, leaders, and mentors.

We hold each other accountable here at St. George’s, too. Now, that doesn’t mean we have free reign to criticize every single thing that someone does, but we instead try our best to gently encourage each other along the way. Being a Christian is hard work! We are to love each other—even, and perhaps especially, the people who get on our nerves. We are to love the world, acknowledging the beauty despite examples of hatred and violence. We are to love God, even when things go wrong and we feel like God either can’t hear or just isn’t listening to us. These aren’t easy tasks we are called to, but in today’s Gospel Jesus promises that after he dies we will not be left alone: "I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you” (v. 18). We have an Advocate in addition to Jesus in the form of the Holy Spirit, who regularly speaks through others.  

Every day is a new opportunity to reorient ourselves to God. Every day is a new opportunity to support each other on our journeys. To encourage you on your journey, I leave you with a prayer written by Thomas Merton, Catholic monk and mystic. Merton reminds us that it not about doing things perfectly that matters, but about attempting to do them in the first place" 

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone” (Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude). Amen.

image found here

goodness and mercy shall chase me

Easter 4, Year A, 2014

St. George’s Chapel

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; * for you are with me…” (Psalm 23:4). Amen.

Psalm 23 is the most recognizable psalm—and I would venture to say piece of scripture—in the Bible. People have found comfort in these words for centuries, which is why I think the psalm is so often used with patients in hospitals and at funerals (but it might also be because it’s short and easy to memorize). 

The Psaltery is a collection of musical poetry written over a span of 600 years, from the time of King Solomon around 950 B.C. to the years following the Exile in 350 B.C. Martin Luther called the Psalms a “little Bible” because they contain theology, history, drama…a little bit of everything! The psalms come in five forms, the most common of which is the lament. Some of the psalms are attributed to King David, but most of them, like Psalm 23, were written during the time of Exile. 

The Israelites were conquered by the Babylonians around 600 B.C. Most of them were sent away from their home in Jerusalem to Babylon, where they were forced to assimilate into Babylonian culture. Kept in exile away from their homeland for about 60 years, it was difficult for the Israelites to maintain their faith and their cultural identity as God’s chosen people. Many of them felt that the Exile was God’s way of punishing them for the sins they had committed. 

While most of the psalms, especially ones from the time of Exile, are laments, mourning loss, feeling betrayed and hurt, and wondering where the heck God is in all of it, today’s psalm is different. Psalm 23 is a psalm of trust. The author is saying that even though our life may take us through places of pain and suffering, that we do not journey on this path alone; “I shall fear no evil; for you are with me” the psalmist asserts (v. 4). God is with us, guiding us “along right pathways” (v. 3). When we become weary of our suffering, God “leads [us] beside still waters” and “revives [our] soul[s],” keeping us nourished for the journey (v. 2, 3).

And when the day comes for us to walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we will finally realize that death is just that; a shadow. Death only has the appearance of a place; it is not our final destination. God will lead us through that valley and to a great banquet hall, where we will be treated like royalty.

There’s a story I once heard about a man who dreams that he dies and finds himself in a long hallway. He comes to a door marked hell and is about to pass it by when he hears noises behind it. Unable to stop his curiosity, he opens the door and peeks in. Inside the room is a long table filled with the most scrumptious food: fresh fruit and vegetables, dishes just out of the oven with steam rising from them, all the best desserts…the smell is tantalizing and his stomach begins to rumble. He begins to wonder why exactly the door is marked hell but then he notices that there are people sitting around the table, and all of them are starving. The food is right in front of them, just waiting to be eaten, but they can’t eat because they have long spoons connected to their arms; they are unable to feed themselves because they can’t bring the spoons up to their mouths. 

Disturbed, the man closes the door and continues to walk down the hallway. He approaches another door and sees that it is marked heaven. Excited about what lies beyond the door, he opens it. The man is surprised to find that the room looks exactly like the other one. A scrumptious feast spread on a long table, with people all around. The people in this room also have long spoons connected to their arms, but this time none of them are starving. What is the difference?

In the room marked hell, everyone is thinking only of themselves, trying futilely to bring food into their own mouths. But in the room marked heaven, the people realize that they can use the long spoons to feed each other, which means that everyone gets as much as they need. 

You might be wondering why I decided to bring up this story. Did you notice in the psalm that God spreads a table before the psalmist “in the presence of those who trouble [him]” (v. 5)? I used to always think that this passage meant that all the people who had ever hurt the psalmist in one way or another would be standing on the floor below, watching the psalmist gorge himself on all that delicious food. “'My cup is running over' but you don’t even have a cup, nah nah nah nah nah nah” (v. 5). 

A few years ago I was reading Psalm 23 slowly as part of a retreat exercise, and I realized that the people who troubled the psalmist aren’t standing in front of the table, they are seated at it! There is a place for everyone at the table, including the people who have hurt us, who we would consider to be our enemies. There is a place for them to sit—I can’t attest to whether or not there will be long spoons, but we will have the opportunity to feed them and be fed by their presence. The amazing thing about the kingdom of heaven is that all of our troubles—all of our fights and conflicts and pain and suffering—will be over. We will come to know the fullness of God’s love. 

We are all one in God’s eyes, each one of us a beloved child of God, loved despite our faults and doubts. In the final verse, the psalmist writes, “Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, * and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever” (v. 6). “Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me” (v. 6). The word we translate as follow here doesn’t mean follow in the sense of tagging along behind like a puppy or a little sister. It means to chase, to pursue, like police pursue criminals or like our enemies chase after us. God is actively seeking each one of us out, pursuing us, desperately attempting to make us aware of God’s goodness and mercy.  

As we leave here today to go out into the amazing, beautiful, and sometimes terrifying world, remember that God is seeking us out. We do not walk this path alone; God is right there with us. And when our day comes, we know that we will “dwell in the house of the Lord forever” (v. 6). Alleluia!

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recognition

Easter 3, Year A, 2014

St. George’s Chapel

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

The story of Jesus on the road to Emmaus is much beloved and almost as famous as the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan, all three stories which are only found in the Gospel according to Luke. Two followers of Jesus, still in shock over his gruesome death just two days before, are walking along a road when Jesus meets them. They don’t recognize him. Why does no one ever recognize Jesus right away? Does he look different? Has he changed so drastically that he no longer looks the way he once did? Or is it just that no one is expecting him to be around anymore, so they don’t look at him the same way? Whatever the reason, they do not recognize Christ.

We, too, fail to recognize Christ in our midst. Events this week have reaffirmed that racism is alive and well in our country. But this should not come as a surprise to us. As one sports commentator explained in the case of former Clippers owner Donald Sterling, it is almost laughable that the racist comments he made to his girlfriend has triggered such a reaction. While I don’t think that his punishment is undeserved, I’m left wondering, “Why now?” Where was the outrage years ago when he was denying African Americans and Hispanics housing and evicting those already in his buildings? If it took us this long to get angry, then we have failed to see Christ in our midst. 

Some of you may have seen the video I posted on the parish Facebook page. The New York Rescue Mission is dedicated to helping the homeless of New York. In their video, they dress people as if they are homeless and then place them in the path of family members and loved ones. They record the unsuspecting family members and loved ones walking down the street to see what their reaction might be. Not one of them recognizes the fake homeless people; they all walk past after a mere glance in their direction. The family members are then shown the video tape and are told about the experiment. The shock of recognition on their faces is enough for us to see that they have been deeply moved, some even to tears. If you saw one of your loved ones on the street, how would you react? Would you even notice, or would you walk past them, thinking it’s not your problem? 

The disciples on the road to Emmaus are shocked that the man they meet has not heard the news about Jesus, but the man surprises them by interpreting things about Jesus throughout scripture. After the three of them get to a village, Jesus makes as if he’s going ahead, but the disciples invite him to stay with them. They sit down to supper and Jesus gives thanks, breaks the bread, and hands it to them. They are shocked when they recognize Jesus, who immediately disappears. What is it that makes them finally figure out that it’s him? Perhaps when he lifts his hands in thanksgiving, they see the marks of the nails in his hands, and that triggers their memories. 

What the Gospel account is trying to tell us is that we need to see the face of Christ in everyone we meet. The person living on the street as well as your millionaire neighbor. The person behind the register at McDonald’s as well as the person who cuts you off in traffic. The people living on food stamps as well as the hungry in other countries. As long as poverty, hunger, homelessness, violence, and discrimination still exist, we are not recognizing Christ within each other. 

So how do we change the cycle? I think we begin by changing the way we interact with one another. If we take the time to get to know people, really know them, to the point where we can see their scars, then we can recognize the Christ within them. Everyone has scars, and we don’t always have access to them, but even knowing that everyone is walking around with scars helps us to recognize their humanity.  

When I got to seminary I realized that most, if not all, of my classmates had experienced pain and suffering in one form or another at some point in their lives. In church they found a community that supported them and welcomed them with open arms, and the love they found there helped them to begin the process of healing. 

Now I’m not completely naïve; I know that every community comes with its difficulties, and St. George’s is no exception. But even if we disagree on who to vote for, or which causes to support, or the best way to handle a problem, at the end of the day, we are all invited to the table. Remember the saying, “you are what you eat”? The same goes for Communion. When we come to the altar rail and receive the body and blood of Christ, we ourselves become the Body of Christ. And this spiritual food nourishes us for what lies beyond these doors. 

As you leave here today, take a look around you at the people you meet; both the people you know and those you don’t know, the ones you like and the ones who are harder to like. Try to see Christ within them. We are all on this journey together; be gentle with one another. Get to know your fellow travelers and recognize that Christ dwells in each and every one of them, and also in you. 

"Supper at Emmaus" by He Qi

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