Sermon, Proper 18 Year C and Syria

Author’s Note:  Each week I usually look over the text and consider a couple questions that help me think over the following week.  This is not meant to be exegetical or comprehensive – there are plenty of stronger sites for such research. 

Syria is on my mind.   Although I’m someone who wants to think that the involved institutions have the best interests of the country and world, I wouldn’t know what the answer is.  Many of the arguments either for or against are unconvincing.  Words like “credibility” and “confidence,” for example, are less important than a completed task.  For most people, feelings about the president seem to be prior to clear thinking or collaborating on finding a suitable solution.

Furthermore, I’m struck by the utter lack of creativity by the mindset that insists that the only proper reaction, ever, is a military response.  It was the view of the previous administration; it’s apparent it is the view of whoever holds the reins of power.  

It’s easy to be misdirected.  What is revealed leads us away from what is concealed. Platitudes and conviction overwhelm logic, and humility and fear disappear in a wisp of bluster and braggadacio.   It’s hard to sell a war through humility, but I wish there were more people who could just say, “I don’t know” and admit that there are no good answers.

In the reading this week, Jeremiah speaks out of a country that’s been dismantled, dispersed.  The middle east even then was complicated.  How would he seek to bring the people together out of exile?  The Assyrians sought to conquer and scatter, while Jeremiah pleads to remember.  And then, like now, the challenge for us is to remember, to gather up the broken pieces around us, and with the grace of God always be ready to rebuild.  Our community, our church, our world.

In the gospel, Luke this week has Jesus admonishing:  “you cannot follow me unless you sell all your possessions.”   Jesus reminds us that the economic must be subservient to the human; it represents kinds of social relationships.  To sell possessions means always allowing ourselves to circulate.  This circulation allows for a dynamism for us, one that allows us to better handle the cycle of disappointment and success that marks the human experience.  We cannot get out of it; we can only see it clearly.   Those who hoard and accumulate will find themselves even more afraid of losing status; unable to handle everyday disappointments. Perhaps this may explain how the wealthier we get, the less resilient we become. 

The gospel this week also makes me wonder about how little we actually plan well.  The evidence is that we don’t always know what actually makes us happy; we are poor judges of risk.  Planning well is expensive, hard work, and requires patience.  We tend to underestimate the resources it takes to make an institution viable.   Instinctively, we often complete things on the cheap, hoping our band aid solutions will last for the long term: perpetually afraid of disappointment, we diminish the possibility of glory.

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Sermon Notes, Proper 17 Year C

Author’s Note:  Each week I usually look over the text and consider a couple questions that help me think over the following week.  This is not meant to be exegetical or comprehensive – there are plenty of stronger sites for such research.  This week’s readings can be found here.

Jeremiah 2:11 Has a nation changed its gods, even though they are no gods? But my people have changed their glory for something that does not profit.

What is beneficial about a Chrstian pattern of life, if anything?  Jeremiah seems to indicate that the faith of Israel is simply ineffective – the other Gods do not work.   Worshiping other Gods is inefficacious, like using a cracked pot to carry water.  In this sense faith is practical.  This should assuage the scientist and even the agnostic.  What we do works, even if the reasons seem obscure or imprecise.

Usually people worship other Gods because they seem effective.  So what are those Gods, and what do they bring?  How are they mistaken?

Hebrews13:1 Let mutual love continue. 13:2 Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. 14:14 And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

Sometimes I think that we could learn a lot about how church life should be from going to three *** restaurants (like this one I went to, when I got my doctorate).  Jesus refers to himself as the server – as if he’s the waiter who ensures that the wedding feast moves without a hitch.  To some extent He is invisible, making the plans.

Do our congregations do the work of hospitality?  It’s not easy.  Hospitality forces us to get out of ourselves and attend to the visitor.   Being an effective server also requires technique, skill and discipline – there are many ways to render a visitor invisible or uncomfortable.   Our “discipleship” is not just about formed thoughts but about the work of providing a space for others to experience the Sabbath.   We underestimate the preparation that requires.  Perhaps we should study church plans the way restauranteurs plan restaurants.

The Gospel inspires me to wonder what do we value?  When do we insist on taking credit?  What does it mean to be recognized?  Why would we be recognized?   To be seen is a deeply human need; and when we are not the humiliation can be too much.  But perhaps a deeper trust diminishes that need enough so that we can still be effective agents in the world though the only person who knows us is the one who made us.

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Sermon Notes for Proper 16 Year C

  • First reading and Psalm
    • Jeremiah 1:4-10
    • Psalm 71:1-6
  • Alternate First reading and Psalm
    • Isaiah 58:9b-14
    • Psalm 103:1-8
  • Second reading
    • Hebrews 12:18-29
  • Gospel
    • Luke 13:10-17

The passage from Jeremiah is intriguing.   I can’t quite imagine that a boy would, or should, have confidence to speak God’s word.  He is certainly challenging the powers, reminding us that all organization is reorganization. We have to build anew: is this a question for the church?

Perhaps building an infrastructure takes years, so we often begin as children and must learn along the way.

I wonder if being a child is akin to being in a state of emotional “flow:” constantly learning and challenging, the slow building of mastery over a particular task.  In this case: learning how to speak.  But there many places we must simply do the work in order to learn, making mistakes along the way.  I wonder if our current society allows kids to just make mistakes enough.

Isaiah reminds me of Heschel’s statement that the Sabbath is God’s Cathedral.  In some way, the Sabbath restores a human economy, when we are not counting the goods we have, but simply enjoying them.

The gospel raises a few questions:  what does it mean to be set free from the bondage of Satan?  What are the steps to be free from envy or pride?  How do we pray this?  Is Satan here the same as sin?  It does not imply that the woman is a bad person; rather, she is burdened.

So to be free – can it mean free from self-delusion?  Do we become newly confident?  Or is that also an error.   Or does it mean being able to clearly see our mistakes, and to humanize our flaws and strengths, without thinking they’re judged by God.  I’ll be thinking about  what does it mean to be crippled

Sometimes I wonder about the ways we create our own obstacles.  We say mantras to ourselves that we inherit from other people.  We believe everything the media says.  We’re told we can’t sing; that we’re not worthy; that only through hard work on the Sabbath do we deserve to live.

But the touch of Jesus is simply this:  there is nothing you can do to deserve life; there is nothing you can do to deserve what you have.  By simply being a live you may shine in God’s glory.  Echoing Jeremiah, you have been made.  That’s all.  That’s enough.

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Sermon Notes Proper 14 Year C

So it’s Monday, which means prepping for the coming Sunday.  Here’s what I’m beginning to think about.

Isaiah 1:1, 10-20.  I’ve got to choose between Isaiah and Genesis.

First, I cringe at the sentence, “incense is an abomination to me.”  Fortunately, we still have the Book of Revelation to trump that.

So Isaiah makes me consider that “learning to do good” is what is pleasing to God.  The “Learning” is interesting to me more than the task.  Admittedly, I think a risk here is to be vague without being concrete about what oppression, defense, and “ceasing to do evil” means.  Are Christians oppressed?  If so, how?  Is oppression about being shut out of economic networks?  It is not knowing how to plan for the future?  Most of the time, when my colleagues talk about “oppression” I sympathize, but then I’m not sure what it means.  Getting threatened – sure.  Just feeling bad about yourself?  Not convinced.

When God says, “Let’s argue it out” I wonder about how we talk to God.  What if argument is not about a war of words, but a way of learning how to think through the necessary tasks of doing good and seeking justice.  It mitigates the perfectionist, puritanical impulses of the utopian, making justice about a process of working through the problems.  Also “argument” prefigures the divine “logos” as logos, in Greek, can mean argument.  Jesus is the divine argument.

And then:  there is obedience.  I love preaching about obedience because it’s truly countercultural.  How is obedience different than being oppressed?  Sometimes it’s just easier and more liberating to just do the work you are told to do.  Can you imagine every musician in an orchestra demanding their own voice when rehearsing a symphony?    As the abbot of my order remarked to me:  Obey me in all the small stuff; argue the big stuff.  It makes life a lot simpler.

In Genesis (15: 1-6),  Abram seems a little disappointed in God.  Someone else will inherit his wealth because he has no children.   I think about how “inheritance” works – and what we do inherit from our families – cultures, traditions, wealth.  Those who inherit little are at a disadvantage in the US.  “What do you inherit” and “what will you pass down to your children?” are questions I might ask myself this week.

The passage in Hebrews references Abraham.  I’m struck by the kinds of characters God chooses:  it seems random, and not based on merit.  Rather, he’s the one who is chosen for absolutely no reason, except by faith.  But even that faith is the kind of argumentative sort.  Abraham is not exactly “obedient” but petulant and resentful.

What makes a “home,” a home and where do we find our home? What identifies the heavenly city, and can we find it here – even in NYC, or in the cities where we make our lives.  Perhaps in the school, our libraries, our Saloons, churches, are they places where we have already experienced the kingdom?  How so?

The gospel this week invites reflection about the apocalypse; or what would you do if you knew you were going to die tomorrow?  A month?  A year?  What if you knew that a planet was going to hit Earth (say,  like the movie Melancholia).   I’m also interested in exploring why Jesus says “sell all your possessions and give alms” and why I’m decidedly not going to do that.  Is it because the selling possessions and the end of the world are tightly linked?

I might explore the difference between a human economy and a commercial economy.  A human economy, as I would define it, is one where exchanges are not counted because trust between the different participants is assumed.  A commercial economy, by nature, requires a calculation of goods that are exchanged between strangers.  In both cases, the question is:  why do we trust our families?  Or our coworkers; or our commercial institutions?  What happens when they fail?

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Sermon Notes, Proper 13 year C

Just a couple thoughts about preaching this Sunday.

I was wondering about the relationship of the brothers. Is there a way to talk about rivalry and resentment here? Jesus response about greed invites my thinking about Gordon Gekko in the movie Wall Street where he tell students that “greed is good.” How do we express an alternate ethic, and why – when and if greed gives us all sorts of pretty things?

I was thinking about how the purpose of money is, in part, to circulate, to share. This is in contrast with hoarding. The rich man hoards – invests – in food he will not eat to day but in some unspecified date in the future. Instead, Jesus says “eat now.” Bring tomorrow today. It reminds me how I often think that tomorrow is the best day to start a diet, rather than now.

The body needs blood to circulate; the economy needs money to circulate. So what is it that we hoard? What kind of hoarding stultifies our lives? Is it about sentimentality? Is it a critique of attachment? Or is it a warning that we are always idol making creatures, to easily collecting burdens we don’t need to have. Perhaps the message is “keep moving.” Or die.

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Palm Sunday Evensong Reflection

“Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called and about which you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses.”  1 Tim 6:12

Palm Sunday, 2013 Evensong

Everyone loves a parade.

Earlier today we began our service parading.  We processed outside, following a bagpiper and carrying palms and singing “All Glory, Laud and Honor.”  It’s movement for the entire congregation from the hall, outside on the sidewalk, and into the sanctuary. 

There is a hint of ridiculousness about it.  I’m in costume, and we’re waving palms,  Following a fellow in a kilt, a festive Gaelic anthem with his pipes.  I think he was Jewish.  Leading us to the doors of the church. 

It’s an expansion of what we do every Sunday, a miniature of the church’s intention.  On most Sundays, the choir and a few ministers, for the sake of efficiency, process on behalf of the entire congregation. The procession itself can be a miniature of our collective walk on earth.  Today we recollect this moment of expectation, hope and celebration.

Most of us love parades, and this one’s a spectacle.  We follow Jesus on a Donkey.  A Donkey.  An ass.  We might not be that organized – it’s spontaneous and festive; they didn’t receive a license from the police department.  Some of the participants are not in line.  Others might be laughing and shouting.  Still others holding back.  Perhaps we are all following him because we are fools; fools for Christ as Paul says.

Many traditions use the metaphor that describes life as a journey. I suspect the intensity of that metaphor reflects our culture’s individualism – we’re out there alone in uncharted territory with only our Good Friend Jesus holding us by the hand, leading us into the sunset of our days until the apocalypse or the end times.  But that view diminishes the way we live together, which is a more chaotic, and less private than we think.  We tend to go where others go, and we follow them, and lead others, and perhaps we don’t give that all that much thought when we’re always thinking of ourselves as individuals.

Many of us have been talking about “leadership” in the church, and it’s true that there’s a lot to be done, and a lot that could have been done if we knew what leadership was supposed to be.  For some it’s charisma; for others it’s taking responsibility; and for others it’s merely having a follower.  But one of the other ideas floating around is called “active followership.”  We’ve got a lot of people who want to lead and need to learn.  But then there are many of us who are just in the parade.  Some of us don’t even know how we got here, but we’re having a good time and going in the same direction.

The letter of Timothy says “fight the good fight.”  This alludes to one aspect of following.  Good followership might mean working, struggling and fighting – engaging – with other people, even your leader.  It means being the sort of follower who knows how to take the initiative and when to be wrong.  It may mean allowing the leader to do the public work a leader does, for almost all the visible work a strong leader accomplishes only happens when there are lots of people supporting the same vision. 

I sometimes say, “my bishop right or wrong.”  Surely some times I’ll find that a difficult place to be.  But I will submit as I’m convinced he’s got the interest of the church, of the world at large, and not merely his own, in mind.  Certainly we will have our differences, but this practice is partially to admit – and I know this will be hard to believe or hear  – I have, sometimes, been wrong.  But the nature of followership, healthy followership, allows me to admit this possibility, and to offer the person I follow the responsibility of making decisions.  

Certainly being a “follower” of Christ is not easy, especially as he’s always asking us who we think he is; but perhaps what makes it bearable is that we – this community here – we are in this ridiculous parade together.

But let’s take care.  Where is Jesus going, anyway?  In the reading, Jesus overturns the tables in the temple.  Today we’re headed – to the temple.  It would be completely reasonable for you to end right there and say you didn’t want to be a part of the parade any more.  Perhaps it might be the reason we sometimes fight with one another:  for the confrontation at the end of the line, the invitation to transformation, are going to be hard places to endure.  But the good fight, one that is shaped by our Lord’s desire to reveal ourselves to ourselves, is how we will be able to stay in the parade and see the work of a changed world that is promised.

It is not all grimness, though the work is hard.  It is not all sourness, though we can be resentful, impetuous and petulant.  But we are led forward, led in a parade, shouting praises.  Sometimes our solemnity and our serious is more like a circus, but we have confidence in our direction.  It might be all we have, now at this time, moments of levity before our Lord is nailed to the cross.  At least we know now what happens after.  We’re graced like that, on the other side of the resurrection; an Easter world.

And everybody loves a parade. 

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On Succession and Civil War (Based on Proper 14, year B)

Sometimes leaders stay on too long.

They get tired.  They lose their sense of mission.  They remain because they’ve grown used to power and can’t imagine not having authority.  Some leave gracefully, like Julius Nyerere in Tanzania; others hold on like Mubarak in Egypt.

Most stay too long.

Institutions get nervous during times of transition.  It’s one reason monarchies develop – business can continue smoothly. Even non-monarchies like Syria, North Korea, India and the US each have their peculiar political dynasties.  And the problem of succession is not merely experienced by nations, but by corporations, churches and other bodies that get work done.

There are good reasons to be anxious.  If succession doesn’t happen well, we run the risk of civil war.  In the midst of such trouble, it’s easy to forget the basic rules that keep the nation peaceful.   We look to the rule book to ensure peace.  In our political life, for example, we can disagree, but everyone has a right to vote (well, perhaps not these days).

In the reading last Sunday, David had ruled for nearly forty years; he’d been running the kingdom from the office, and although he remained enthusiastic and confident in his abilities, his soldiers were unimpressed.  David’s son Absalom wanted his own turn. He’d gathered support and was undermining his father.

Perhaps Absalom thought the throne should have been his; perhaps he thought his father was too disinterested, too old to rule effectively.  He knew he could do better.

But Absalom’s thick, long hair was caught in a tree, and as he hung, Joab, David’s advisor, disobeyed the command to keep Absalom alive.

Joab believed, perhaps, Absalom would not truly submit; that there would always be the risk of Absalom’s treason.  Perhaps Joab was jealous of Absalom.  Joab had worked for David’s favor; while Absalom held David in contempt but David still adored him.

The story does not have a clear moral – it lifts up for us to see how family love and political necessity create chaos.  We do not know if Absalom would have been a good king or not.  We only know that David also had a deep love that was stronger than his son’s betrayal.

In the day’s gospel, alluding to Torah, Jesus tells us he is the bread of life.  In the wilderness, generations had passed; the older generation that remembered Egypt as a secure home was being replaced by a new generation looking forward.   Remember there was conflict along the way; in part because of the differences in generations succeeding each other; and the temptation of ineffective Gods along the way.  But they were fed, and would come to the new abundant land.

The way we think of the bread of life is one way the church asks us to look at the threat of chaos and civil war.  Jesus is the son of the Father; who takes on a role as the obedient son – who survived his own death.  We eat the bread to represent ritually that even though we are individuals, who may be stubborn, proud and envious, we nonetheless share in this one participatory act of mutual honor and submission.  We trust that we need not be defined by our urge to kill each other; that we need not always fear being the loser in our daily work.

For around the table, as we eat the bread, scripture says there is enough for all.   The raised Jesus is meant  to free us from the  worry raised by the disappearance of strong leadership.  Instead, the reminder: when we learn we have enough, there will be enough for all.

It may be too much to hope for a world where we can all acknowledge our limits; that we can be free while accepting our common inheritance; and that liberation requires responsibility. But we elevate the bread and wine of life, if only to show the contrast, that we still have a choice:  Life or death; together we will survive.  Alone we will not.

Not as a nation.  Not as a world.

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9/11 the Tenth Anniversary sermon

I was in the office.  I’d only been at St. Barts for a few months.   I’d gotten to work early because I needed to finish some paperwork before driving to Rochester.  Doreen, a parishioner, was volunteering, taking calls and organizing the mail.   I was listening to the radio when it seemed to turn off suddenly.  At least I think it did.   It came back on with the announcement that the towers were struck.
I made some phone calls to my friends who were working there.  One person watched from his office not too far from the towers.  I called a parishioner in White Plains who had once worked there himself.   But my memory remains foggy, and only the emotional impression remains.

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Faith and Doubt

A parishioner once took me aside and asked, “I just don’t believe in all of this stuff.  I look around at all the people here and wonder, ‘does everyone else believe this?’ and I’m amazed. Am I the only person who thinks like this?”

Of course, he isn’t.  Plenty of people in the pews have their own doubts and questions.  They cross their fingers at the appropriate time of the Nicene creed; some sing because they can’t bear to say it.  We compartmentalize, dividing our heads from our hearts.   An Episcopalian who hasn’t questioned the church, God and organized religion wasn’t raised in the tradition very well.

The parishioner had good reasons to be skeptical. He’d had a hard life and, like lots of faithful people, struggled with the basic question of suffering and God’s goodness.

The apostle Thomas had doubts.  He hadn’t been there the day before when he’d seen what the others had seen. He may have thought most of his friends were a bit dim and too credulous.  Why should he take them at their word? They’ve said they’ve seen a body!  That’s ridiculous.

I imagine that Thomas as a due diligence officer, a regulator, or an auditor. He knew that there are people who take short cuts, eager to make a quick buck, the swindlers who take advantage of our gullibility and propensity to see what we want. He’s the guy who wants to know how a magician did the trick, and demands that it be done twice so he can figure it out.

So then Jesus reappears to the disciples.  He breaks bread and offers peace.  He shows the wounds.  But Thomas still isn’t operating on faith at this time:  no – the body was right there.   Asking for faith is easy when you’ve got evidence.

But perhaps, seeing the body was the secondary part of the faith.  The real leap of faith was to accept the offer of forgiveness.  Forgiveness for betraying Christ; forgiveness to the persecutors for their persecution; the forgiveness that breaks a cycle of  violence.   The momentary reconciliation that offers the possibility of more life.

This forgiveness means we assume the best in others; we offer them breathings space, charity and discretion; breathing space offers freedom; and freedom unlocks our own potential.   It may be a mistaken, foolish, and risky act, to have faith in another person.
Of course, we need not ask this of our political leaders, of our inspectors, of those who have to make snap judgments in a broken world.  They need to be right more than wrong.  They can’t afford these moments of grace.  They have to calculate the costs.

But perhaps faith is another way of saying, we’re allowed to be wrong in who and what we trust.  Though we may be battered, bruised and hurt by the vicissitudes of chance, the power says that with this faith we still stand up again, although that same love may put our familiar lives at risk.

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Sermon Notes Proper 28c

Isaiah 65:17-25  “The former things shall not be remembered or come to mind”  and offers a vivid description of what was normal:  precarity; death; calamity.    God will create “But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight.”

It’s an opportunity to discuss memory – how it prefigures and affects how we live into the future, our hopes and desires.  Can we ever see things anew?  I may spend time reflecting on precarity itself.  God looks forward to a time without sorrow; and this means a mitigation of the everyday calamities in biblical culture.   One paradox is when we are so distant from precarity, we forget God.

Thessalonians is an exhortation within Christian community.  How might Christians work with one another?  Some Christians are lazy.  The exemplars live by example, seeing to do well through encouraging imitation – rather than, perhaps, by diktat.    I’m instinctively wary of the rigor of the command, but perhaps Paul reminds us of our obligation to each other.   They seek avoid idleness but to work so that they might not be a burden.  That said, what of people who are truly burdens?   Within a community we share the work; but we still serve others who are destitute.  We are still called to serve the poor; but we have high expectations of ourselves

“All will be thrown down.”  Jesus gets apocalyptic here.  He denies those who claim the world will end, and yet also giving instructions about what to do.  Luke clearly thought Jesus understood that the end of the world was impending.   This may be an opportunity to talk about transformation, and that we have nothing to fear.

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