Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on July 21, 2019
Preaching text: Luke 10:38-42

I’m going to take a moment to offer my confession. I really don’t like what Jesus does in this text: Telling the hard-working Martha she’s chosen the poorer option. I’ve got a lot of reasons for it. One, as Pastor, I depend on the dedicated work of all the Marthas in this congregation. Without you, I could not do my job or, at least, I could not do it nearly as well. Two, as I’m sure you’ve all noticed by now, I’m a social justice preacher. Most every week, I get up here into the pulpit and I urge y’all to DO SOMETHING about this world we live in. I urge you to get out there and love your neighbors in real and concrete ways. I urge you to very literally “go in peace and serve the Lord” by making changes both subtle and gross in the world we live in. I urge you to make life better not just for yourselves, but for others. I find an urgency to this work with evil on the rise in our hearts and in our society. And here’s Jesus saying, “No, it is better to simply sit and listen.” Or to put it another way, “Don’t just do something, stand there.”

It feels to me like he’s belittling what you do for your church, for your pastor, and for your neighbors. What he says here strikes me as incongruent with most of his other teachings, which are frequently about going forth to preach the good news, heal the sick, take care of people in need, and all the stuff that makes for a good social justice gospel. In other words, doing stuff.

But Jesus is not incongruent. He is not inconsistent. When he does something, he does it with deliberate intent and it always aligns somehow with who he is and what else he’s taught. So that must be true here, but how?

To answer that, maybe we have to look at this story in the context of the world in which it is told. Martha is doing the right thing according to the standards of her society and times. Middle Eastern cultures, and desert people in general, place a very high value on hospitality. We see that in our first lesson when Abraham goes out of his way to welcome these strangers into his tent. To not roll out the red carpet and go all out for guests in one’s home would be serious faux pas. Shameful and Martha is determined to not let that happen.

But here’s the thing. Why is that hospitality so important to those people? Because without it, people would not survive in the hostile climate of a desert wilderness. That’s the reason the tradition came about. But is that the reason Martha is doing this? Or has it become rote tradition with no meaning to her other than “it’s the way we’ve always done it?”

Falling into the trap of doing things by rote is something we religious folk do all the time. We’re all familiar with that phrase about things being “the way we’ve always done it,” either because we or someone we know has uttered it in all seriousness or in mocking jest of the times we found ourselves in that trap or dangerously close to it.

But how do we avoid the trap? Well, that’s what Mary’s doing. Sitting at Jesus’ feet and listening to his teaching. Hearing again the why of being a follower of Christ. Why do we do the things that we do? What purpose do they serve, or perhaps better, whom do they serve? Is it rote tradition or is the one who lived, died, and rose again for our sake and for the sake of the world?

The stuff I talk about all the time regarding changing the world and our society, that too can fall into the trap of rote tradition. The government can feed people. Corporations can offer medicine to the sick. (And there’s certainly a debate to be had about whether they’re the appropriate vehicles for such aid.) But why does the Church do these things? Why should the Church do these things?

Why do the things that you do around this building? What purpose do they serve? What reason are they done? Is it because no one else does it? Because Grandma passed down the task to you from of old? Or is it because of Jesus?

I think this story from Luke’s Gospel cautions us to not be too quick to answer those questions. Because as the history of religion has shown, it’s very easy to confuse rote tradition with holy writ. The Pharisees are a prime example. Most of them were not bad people. They were not evil. But they did follow the traditions of their forebears without asking why. And for that reason, they often missed the point of what Jesus was trying to show them. They had made an idol of tradition and forgot the God behind the tradition in the first place. A mistake we too often make.

Again, to avoid this, we too must make the choice of Mary from time to time. Dive into the teaching of Jesus. Why is social justice important? Because there are around 2000 verses in the Scriptures and in Jesus’ own words that speak to it. (Far more than the paltry 100 or so that speak to the sexual ethics most Christians seem to get so bent out of shape over.) But we wouldn’t know that if we didn’t READ THE BOOK. We wouldn’t know that if we didn’t listen to Jesus.

Why love our neighbors? Why do acts of service and charity for them? It’s in the book. It’s what Jesus teaches. Why do we do the tasks here in the church? Could that be one way we love our neighbors here within these walls? Certainly. But to understand that’s why we do it, we have to read the book and here what Jesus says to us. We have to choose the part of Mary before we can become Martha.

I think now there’s a very good reason this story is included in the Scriptures. So many Christians have gotten caught up in things that really don’t matter to God, but we think they do. And the reason that’s happened is because we haven’t taken the time to listen to the teachings of Jesus and of the rest of Scripture. We jump to conclusions, usually based on the traditions of the Church or practices of other Christian, and simply assume that must be what Jesus wants. But the only way to know for sure is to be Mary, sit at the feet of Jesus and listen. Listen to what he tells us. And only then shall we really go and do as he commands. Amen.

Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on July 14, 2019
Preaching text: Luke 10:25-37

When I saw the Gospel lesson for this Sunday, I had a bright idea. What would it be like if I rewrote the story for a modern audience, making the Levite and the priest a CEO and a politician, and making the Samaritan an illegal immigrant? Then I remembered. That’s what I did the last time this famous parable came around in the lectionary rotation. I still have the manuscript. (Pastor's Note: Turns out I was wrong about this...sort of. I do have the manuscript, dated January 2017, but it doesn't appear that I ever preached this.)

It’s hard for our modern ears to truly hear just how radical Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan really is. To us, the phrase “Samaritan” and all that it connotes is completely and radically different than it would have meant to the people of the 1st century. We name hospitals and social service organizations for the Samaritan. It’s meaning to us is overwhelmingly positive. It means a person of kindness and self-sacrifice, entirely because of this story. And that’s nothing like what the first hearers of this story would have thought.

It’s hard to overstate how little the typical 1st century Palestinian Jew would have thought of their northern neighbors. The Samaritans came about after the Assyrian Empire overran the northern kingdom of Israel during the reign of King Pekah around 740 BC. The Assyrians took the Israelites prisoner, enslaved them, and essentially bred them out of existence. The offspring of those unions eventually became the Samaritans.

Cut off as they were from the temple in Jerusalem, they adapted their beliefs to their circumstances, regarding several notable mountain peaks in Samaria as the center of Yahweh worship. Fast forward a few hundred years and they quickly emerge as the hated neighbor to the Jews. They were a symbol of defeat, they were not pureblooded, they worshiped differently. They were, in a nutshell, EVERYTHING the Jews feared would happen to them and they didn’t like being reminded of it. So they treated the Samaritans with utter contempt.

And then Jesus tells a story of a righteous, kind, and giving Samaritan. It’s probably a miracle they didn’t crucify him that very day.

Retelling the Good Samaritan to make an illegal immigrant the Samaritan is a pretty accurate way to depict the story to modern audiences. Because, behind a lot of the anti-immigrant rhetoric of today is fear. And it’s the same fear that drove Jewish hatred of the Samaritans, the fear of being replaced, of having their lands and society changed, of being defeated. They’re coming. They’re coming to take our jobs. They’re coming to vote their people into office. They’re coming to take our tax dollars away from things we want them spent on. They’re coming to marry our children and breed us white folk out of existence. And we have to stop them. We have to make the laws tougher. We have to secure our borders. That’s the rhetoric you hear. It would not have sounded alien to those of the 1st century.

And then Jesus tells us a story of a righteous, kind, and giving Samaritan. He does this, of course, because he knows the truth of the human experience. The truth that one’s bloodline or birthright is not what defines what is in their heart. We are not good or evil because of our skin color or national origin. We are good or evil because of our deeds and our attitudes. And if we let fear define our deeds and attitudes, the likelihood that we will slide from good to evil increases dramatically.

Jesus tells this story in the context of being asked what it means to love our neighbor as ourselves. And I know most of you who’ve listened to me preach for these years have long since realized this topic is a big deal to me. That’s because I believe every single person in this room wants to be good, sees themselves as a good person, and would like to live their life in that way. But I know also what you’re told out there, by our leaders and our media. In ways both subtle and gross, we are being taught to hate and fear those who are different. I get you for roughly one hour a week and I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste that by not reminding you of what a lie what they tell you really is.

I’m angry that they lie to you. I’m angry that some of you have begun to believe those lies. They make it easy, giving you outs where you can justify the hate and fear to yourself. It’s not all immigrants, just the illegal ones. It’s not all black people, just the criminals. It’s not all Muslims, just the terrorists. It’s not all gays, just the ones who molest kids. But then they keep pushing and pushing until the line between the acceptable and unacceptable begins to blur and eventually ceases to exist entirely. Then all have become unacceptable.

That’s why Jesus tells this story. You have heard it said that Samaritans are evil, worthless, horrible half-bred monsters. Let me tell you the real story. Let me tell you who they really are. Let me show you how you’re wrong about them. How they’re not what you think. He’s pushing back against the popular narrative of who these people are and, in doing so, teaching us what it really means to love our neighbor as ourselves. He’s reminding us that our neighbors include THEM.

The distinctions we make in our society between us and them are entirely arbitrary. They really are. We decided, at some point in our past, to define our tribal boundaries in such a way to exclude people of different race, language, sexuality, religion, etc. That was our choice, or more accurately, the choice of our ancestors. But it’s still our choice. We can look at one another today right now and admit what nonsense this all is. Because it’s nonsense to God. God doesn’t look at us like that. To him, we’re just human. Equally flawed and beloved at the same time. A precious people in need of rescue from sin and death, and thus came Jesus to deal with those very problems. Jesus did not go to the cross for white folks or Americans or English speakers. He went to the cross for all folks, all nations, all languages, all skin colors, all expressions of gender and sex, all people.

So the question comes down for each one of us. Which voice are we listening to? The voice of the world that eggs us on to hate and fear our neighbor? Or the voice of Christ that reminds us to see the good in all and love even those who are most different from us? As live through this Christian life, we called to answer that question every day. As I said, we all desire to be good people. Jesus shows and tells us how: Love your neighbor as yourself. Amen.

Sermon for the Fourth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached on July 7, 2019 at Canadochly and Grace
Preaching text: 2 Kings 5:1-14

So, how was everyone’s Fourth of July? Good times had by all, I hope. I’ve been hosting my parents all week long. They typically come up here to the USA’s “first capital” each year because this is a family festival as well as a national one; several family birthdays are celebrated in the first week of July, including my stepdaughter Emily who turned 16 yesterday.

Part of our celebration includes a memorial service each year at First Presby Downtown. Interred in their courtyard one Col. James Smith, a signer of the Declaration of Independence. The local DAR chapter has a little ceremony to remember his life and contribution to our nation and given my wife’s family is heavily into DAR, it’s become family tradition to attend (and recent changes to my family haven’t changed that.)

During the ceremony, the Declaration is read in its entirety. And while most of us are familiar with the more famous portions of the text, typically the first paragraph or so, there are some lines later in the document that give pause to my 21st century ears. Particularly the ones where our Founding Fathers accuse the crown of inciting the “savages” against the colonies.

Thanks to my great great great grandmother, who was Cherokee, I have a smidgen of Native American blood in me, so I am aware that at least some of those so-called savages are my ancestors. It’s mildly disturbing to hear part of my personal heritage so vilified by our nation’s founding document.

Human beings are fundamentally tribal creatures and there’s nothing wrong in celebrating the history, heritage, and accomplishments of ones own tribe, however you may define it. Where we get into trouble is when we grow arrogant in our tribal identity and become convinced that we are superior to another because of our nation, skin color, language, or something else like that. This has become an increasing problem for many Americans as our society grows more and more divided along racial, gender, and political lines.

Our first lesson today is one of many texts from the Bible that refutes and even outright mocks that sort of arrogance. Naaman is a great general from Aram, modern day Syria. He’s had many great victories but he’s got a hefty problem: a bad case of leprosy. One of his slaves suggests he go see Elisha in Israel to be cured and so off he goes.

As was proper protocol, Naaman goes first to the court of the king, as any foreign emissary should to declare his intentions are peaceful. The king does not take well to Naaman’s reason for coming convinced as he is that Aram is looking for an excuse to attack. That part of the story should give us a clue to the humorous tone that’s to follow.

After the diplomatic stuff is sorted out, Naaman arrives at Elisha’s home. The prophet, apparently busy with other tasks, sends a servant with simple instructions, go bathe in the Jordan 7 times.

Naaman is furious. Doesn’t he know who I am? Doesn't he know where I’m from? Doesn't he know that the rivers of Aram are much more beautiful and clean than that stinking mud pit known as the Jordan River?

Do you hear the arrogance? The stuffed up sense of self superiority? This man, who comes all this way for a cure to his leprosy, now sticks his nose up in the air in disgust when a solution is offered him. It’s beneath someone of his stature, his origins, to debase himself so.

What an idiot.

One of his slaves, who appears to have some sense, finally convinces our stuffed-shirt general with the most elementary of arguments: This is easy. Just do it. So Naaman does and, lol and behold, he’s cured and begins to praise God.

Naaman learned to not let his prejudices and ego get in the way of God’s willingness to shower even one such as him with grace upon grace. Remember here that Naaman is not only a foreigner and a Gentile, but also an enemy. Aram is a vassal state of the Assyrian Empire, who is soon to consume the Northern Kingdom of Israel in an apocalyptic war. Despite that, God still shows Naaman favor.

Jesus would later use this very tale to call out the prejudices and arrogance of the Jews of Nazareth, reminding them that God’s love and grace are, in fact, universal and not confined to one group or another, no matter how self-important they might think themselves. They predictably got a mite upset with him.

Well, at this risk of the same reaction, I now wish to remind us of the same truth. God smiles upon those at our borders, desperately seeking a better life for themselves and their families. He loves our neighbors in our cities who speak differently, look different, love differently, or even worship differently than us. We, however, are constantly told by our culture, our leaders, our media, and our own sinful impulses to hate and fear them. And one of the lies that is used to justify that bigotry is “We are better than they.”

Because we’re Americans. Because we’re white. Because we’re Christian. Because we’re straight. Because we have money or a job or we speak English or whatever. God doesn’t care about any of that.

None of us chose where we were born. We did not choose our race, sex, or nationality. God did. That we were born with in a place of privilege in this world was a gift, one we were meant to use as Elisha did: to help those in need. Instead, we have twisted it into something barbaric and monstrous.

The Declaration calls some of my forebears “savages.” But what are we when give in to our worst impulses and hate God’s precious children if not savages? Time and again, our Scriptures show us stories like these, stories that tell us God’s love and favor is not limited to us alone. Naaman discovered his arrogance was misplaced and gained him nothing that he did not already have. What about us? When we fall to our own delusions of superiority, we make the same mistakes. We don’t have to earn God’s favor. We already have it and if that favor places us in a position of privilege in our world, that’s an opportunity not for ourselves but to make the world better for others.

Consider again our story. Elisha could have looked down on this enemy of his people but he knew the truth of God’s grace and instead healed Naaman’s leprosy. That’s how it’s done. That’s our model, one of many throughout Scripture. All telling us the same thing. Love your neighbor as yourself. Because God loves them as he does you.

In the end, we really are the same. All equally precious in God’s eyes. All equally loved. All worth the effort to send Jesus to live, die, and rise again for us. We cannot forget that in the face of all the hateful garbage spews into our minds all the time. God loves us. All of us. Amen.

Sermon for the Third Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on June 30, 2019
Preaching text: Galatians 5:13-25, Luke 9:51-62

I had to laugh when I read this week’s gospel lesson. You my recall last Sunday, I mentioned the difficulty of being patient in the face of a declining institutional church. Fewer members, lower attendance, more troubled finances are never fun things to face and those of us who are loyal to our worshiping communities really want to see things change RIGHT NOW. But, I insisted that Jesus’ way was the better way and it’s the way of planting seeds and giving them time and space to grow into true faith. Jesus’ way is a patient way.

Until it isn’t.

Today’s lesson, by contrast to last week, is all about how impatient Jesus has become. He’s extremely short, frustrated, and in some cases rude to the people he encounters in today’s lesson. He’s in a terrible rush and can’t be bothered by people’s pettiness and excuses. If I could subtitle this story, it would be something like “Ain’t Got Time For That.”

Lord, do you want us to call down fire and brimstone upon those unwelcoming villagers. No, ain’t got time for that. I will follow, but let me bury my father first. Ain’t got time for that. I will follow, but let me say farewell to my family. Ain’t got time for that.

This text takes place in the “set his face like flint” towards Jerusalem phase of Jesus’ ministry, and that’s important to keep in mind. The bulk of his teaching, the bulk of his miracles are now behind him and there’s one major task left. To go to the cross and save the world. And Jesus is impatient to get to it.

It’s important to keep in mind that although I’m jokingly comparing last week’s lesson with today’s, they really are about two different things. Last week, we saw that evangelism takes time and patience. This week, the focus is on saving the world and saving lives and there is urgency here. A need to get this done NOW.

One might say that evangelism is that as well. We need to save people’s souls now. But I think that’s fails to give the Holy Spirit its due. We’re putting it all on us and we’re heading down the road that I criticized last week, where our mantra becomes “Convert or go to hell.” We don’t save souls. God does. It’s helpful to have that reminder from time to time.

But there is still a lesson to be taken from Jesus’ impatience. There are things in this world that require urgency. Lives that do need saved right now. Things about our world that need to be changed right now. Things where there is an urgency or more people are going to die.

Now I know I can get myself in trouble when I talk about real world issues; when I talk about things that might be seen as political. So let me speak here at the onset here that I’m not interested in blaming one side or the other, because all that does is make people dig in and get defensive when their “side” is on the hotseat. And when people get defensive, the problems don’t get solved. In truth, I don’t care about blame. I don’t care about who’s at fault.

Pointing fingers doesn’t fix anything. Instead, I care about what’s right. I care about what God thinks about these things. Our God is a god of life and love. So what do you think he would call us to do about the following things?

There’s plenty of room for debate about how to deal with the problems in our immigration system. But tearing apart families? Putting children in cages with no soap or medicine or even beds? That isn’t solving anything. That isn’t helping. But what it is doing is putting people in danger. Kids are dying. Five kids have died in government custody in the past 18 months. And this is a common pattern for years, even before the current President took office. What are we Christians going to do about saving those lives?

Plenty of room for debate about guns and gun laws. But we don’t debate it. We do everything we can to silence debate. And the killing continues. Some say it’s a mental health issue. Nothing’s ever done about that either. Our silence isn’t solving anything. Every year, on average around 35,000 people are killed by firearms, around 1500 of them children. Again, this is not a new thing. It’s been around for decades. What are we Christians going to do about saving those lives?

I know many of you are passionately pro-life. Aren’t these issues of life too? Jesus raced to that cross for their sake as well as ours. What are we going to do about it?

Again, I’m not interested in blaming or pointing the finger at one side or the other and saying this is all your doing. First off, because it’s not the fault of just one side or the the other. Truth be told, we are all to blame in some way, by action or inaction. Secondly, and more importantly, lives are at stake here. We ain’t got time for all that blaming. People are dying. So what are we going to do about these things?

Our savior didn’t have time for anything else once he set his heart and mind on that cross. On going to the place where he would bring death and sin to heel. He knew there was no time to waste. Lives were at stake. He’d been on Earth for a long time by that point. He’d seen suffering. He’d seen pain. He’d seen torment. And his heart had reached its limit. With every calamity. With every life of struggle. Every disease. Every person cast out because they were different. Each of these broke his heart and he finally had enough. “NO MORE.” he seems to say as he marches dutifully, willingly to the cross to put it all right.

What about us? We see the same suffering. We see the same struggles. Do our hearts not break at the sight of this? Yes, I know, sometimes they aren’t “our people.” But they are PEOPLE. They are human beings who are suffering and in pain. They are human beings in danger and threat of death. They are people for whom Christ died and rose again, just as he did us. We are called to love our neighbors. We are called to aid those in need. We are called to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. Welcome the stranger, tend to the sick. These things are not in debate among us; we’ve seen Jesus do them and we know he called us to do likewise.

So what’s it going to be? All too often we of the church have decided it’s up to others to solve the world’s problems. We ain’t got time for that anymore. Jesus has passed the torch to us, said what he did here on Earth is what we are to do. There is a whole big world out there full of people who need us to show what it really means to be Christian. To show kindness, to offer aid, to call for justice, and bring mercy. Jesus loved everyone and wanted all lives to be better. He’s called us into the same mission. So what are we going to do? Amen.

Sermon for the Second Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on June 23, 2019
Preaching text:

I know I’ve mentioned the Ray Boltz song, “Thank you,” on more than one occasion as a sermon illustration. The song, released way back in 1988, tells the story of a person who dies and goes to heaven and as he’s walking through the here-after, he encounters a number of people he influenced in his life. You taught my Sunday School class and that helped bring me to faith. You supported a missionary that ministered to me. Time and again, the subject of the song encounters those in whose life he (or she) made a difference.

I bring this up because it highlights something I’ve been preaching on for a while. The acts of kindness and charity we carry out in Christ’s name make a difference and when we make a difference in the lives of others, that is something that is never forgotten. Sometimes, the simplest things can have the largest of impacts in ways we never expect. Faith in Christ is born out of these simple acts, a seed planted that can grow into something magnificent if given time.

I know in our declining world it is hard for us to be patient to let the seeds we plant come to their fruition. We measure success and failure by instant results, because that’s how the world works. The Church however does NOT work that way, nor should it. We take a slow road approach, which can be frustrating for those of us worried about empty pews and empty coffers. Today’s Gospel lesson however is a prime example of why the slow approach is better.

Jesus is sailing across the Sea of Galilee, going from the west side to the east. Now this is a bit of an odd choice for him because the eastern side of the lake is predominantly Gentile territory. Perhaps he’s trying to escape the crowds that have been following him everywhere while in Jewish country. Even the Messiah could use a vacation every now and then.

Jesus and the disciples come ashore and are immediately set upon by one of the locals, a wild man known for being savagely possessed by many demons. Terrified by Jesus’ divine power, this man’s demons beg to not be sent back to hell and identify themselves by the good-enough- for-a-modern-day-horror-movie name of “Legion.”

Jesus bargains with the demons and they all agree that rather than go back to hell, the demons will go possess some nearby pigs (A big clue we’re among Gentiles here.) The demons do so, but the pigs don’t take to the demons well and they rush off in a panic and drown themselves.

This understandably upsets the local swineherds, who probably watched a good chunk of their livelihood just off itself thanks to Jesus. They approach him in fear and anger and demand he leave their country. Rather than stir up any further trouble, Jesus agrees to go back across the lake.

As Jesus is getting in the boat, the former demoniac pleads with Jesus to go with him. Surprisingly, Jesus refuses his request, but tells him to go back to his own people and tell all that has happened to him. With this the story ends.

Or does it?

If that was all there was, this would be a cool miracle story with quite a bit of dramatic flair. But the last verse of our Gospel lesson today isn’t actually where the story ends. Jesus does leave and does go back to the Jewish territories. He continues his ministry there, teaching and performing miracles as he’s wont to do.

The Evangelist Mark however tells us that after some time, Jesus returned again to the Genesaret. He came across the sea again and this time, he was welcomed by a great crowd of people who had brought to him the sick, the lame, the demon possessed; all so Jesus could touch them and heal them of their infirmities. This huge crowd come to welcome him and beg him for his help out of a city that just a few months earlier had told Jesus to take a hike. What made the difference?

The former demoniac.

This terrifying man, filled with rage and superhuman strength, a blasphemer much like those described in our first lesson was now healed of all of that. He’d returned a changed man, good, decent, and honest and what made the difference was the kindness of Jesus Christ. And now because of that kindness, this man took what Jesus had told him to do and ran with it, telling everyone what made the difference in his life. And that word spread. So that when this man (presumably) sees Jesus coming across the sea, he runs and tells everyone and they all flock to the docks to greet the Jewish Messiah who healed their friend, bringing even more people for Jesus to help.

My friends, this is true evangelism. This is how it works. I know all of us have had our heads filled with images of people knocking on doors to figuratively beat people over the head with Scripture, saying things like “be saved or go to hell.” And we’ve all come to think that’s how it’s supposed to be done. But none of us want to do that, because none of us also want to have it done to us. While I admire their dedication and fervor, who of us here is ever eager to see the Mormon missionaries coming up their street? Or the Jehovah’s Witnesses?

But the stuff that they do and the stuff we’ve been so often encouraged to do by the slow creep of American Evangelicalism is not how Jesus himself does it. Jesus embodies the message he brings. He tells people to love one another and then he does it, by healing and kindness and respect and honor. He welcomes the outcast and rejected. He sets free people in bondage to disease and affliction. He gives people a new lease on life. He makes a difference in their lives.

While we may not be able to miraculously cast out demons into pigs or cleanse lepers of their affliction, we can embody the faith we practice as Jesus did. We can talk about loving one another and then go do it to our neighbors, our friends, our family, even our enemies and rivals. We can make kindness and compassion our ruling principles. And in doing do, we can make a difference in the lives of others. A difference they will never forget.

I can tell you from personal experience how true that really is. Pastors all have a call story, a tale of how they knew they were destined to seek ordained ministry. Mine is centered on people. A friend who needed compassion when I was the only one who could offer it. A campus pastor who showed me that faith was more than trying to please an unrelenting set of rules and regulations. An interim pastor who gave me every chance he could to enter the pulpit and hone my skills before I’d even put in an application for seminary. These people made a difference in my life and I have never forgotten any of what they did, nor will I. I owe them such a debt as do any who are touched in turn by the work I do and the work you do because of what I say up here. And so forth and so on. Do you see? This is how it spreads. This is how we change the world. One kindness at a time. Amen.

Sermon for Trinity Sunday 2019

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on June 16, 2019
(Adapted from a sermon preached at St. John's, Davis on June 19, 2011)
Preaching text: None

Trinity Sunday. (sigh). Easily one of the most difficult Sundays in the church year to preach. The only festival day of the church that is dedicated to a teaching of the church rather than to an event in the life of Jesus or one of his apostles. And what a teaching it is, the divine mystery of the Trinity. Mystery is a good word here, because we are discussing something that neither easy to understand or believe. It’s is probably the quintessential example of a theology question where the correct answer is “I don’t know.”

Because we don’t. No one fully grasps the Trinity. No one fully understands it. I’ve told this joke before, but there is a saying that if you can explain the Trinity, you’re probably a heretic.

And yet, we believe in it, despite our inability to fully comprehend or explain it. But asking how it works is really the wrong question. Because the Trinity is not about how. The Trinity is about who. Who is God?

Who is God? God is the Father. God is the Son. God is the Holy Spirit. The fog of the mystery begins to clear somewhat. This makes some sense to us. We know what a father is. We know what a son is. We know what a spirit is…mostly.

Now the traditionalist in me likes this old formula, but even I have to admit there is an extra layer of interpretation that has to go on for us to fully understand it. That is one advantage of the more modern ways of talking about the Trinity. For instance, the popular “Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier” formula. Who is God? God is my creator. God is my redeemer. God is my sanctifier. The advantage to this formula is that the relational nature of the Trinity changes from being about their relationship with one another to being about their relationship with you.

Of course, that’s in the traditional formula too. God is my father. Jesus is his son, therefore he is my brother. The spirit is, well, the spirit, the spirit of God both within and beside me. But now we begin to see what is at the heart of what the Trinity is really about. It’s all about relationship.

Who is God? If we were to ask him directly, his answer would likely be to throw the question back at us. Who am I to you? What do you need me to be? Your Father? Your brother? Your savior? Then that is who I am.

One of the most curious and most wonderful passages in the Scriptures is the passage from Exodus where Moses pins God down to ask his name. Moses, although a Hebrew, had grown up with the Egyptian mythos. Those gods had names, much as people do: Osirus, Horus, Bast, Set, Anubis, etc. But now he is being introduced to the god of his fathers, of his people, and Moses is expecting that the same rules apply. They don’t. God’s answer is to say a variation on the Hebrew 1st person singular of verb “to be”, Yahweh. I am.

Ok. It seems inadequate, and yet there is a world of possibility there. I am what? I am God. I am your father. I am the way, and the truth, and the life. I am the Good Shepherd. I am your brother. I am your creator. I am the one who brings light out of darkness. I am the one who loves you.

I am the one who has saved you. I am the one who is with you always even to the end of the age. I am all these things and so much more. What do you need me to be, and that I am.

Do you hear the wondrous grace within that? The deity, the god, the creator of all that is makes it about us and our relationship with him. That’s what matters to him.

What do we need him to be? Do we need a nurturing parent, on whose shoulder we can weep out all the woes of our lives? Do we need to be awed by his power, seeing his might in the vastness of a galaxy or the complexity of a single atom? Do we need someone to rescue us from the threat of death? Do we need someone to forgive us those wrongs we can’t even forgive ourselves? Do we one to remind us of our relationship with our fellow human beings, to see ourselves as part of one vast family? Do we need someone to challenge us to better ourselves in service to others? God is all these things.

The Trinity is a gift. God even gives us his very identity. He is who we need him to be. We need a Father, a parent, a creator, for without that we would never be. We need a Son, a brother, a savior, one who delivers us from the power of death, for without that we would be lost. We need a spirit, a guide, a follower, one always eager to remind us of how much God loves us. God is what we need in every hour of every day of our lives. Without him, we are nothing.

Who is God? We can all answer that question, and yet our answer is incomplete. Our answer may change as the circumstances of our lives change. But no matter what God is there, in some way, in some form, granting us his love and grace unbounded. Who is God? The Trinity reminds us that there is no single answer to that question. He is Father. He is Son. He is Holy Spirit. And he is all these things so that we may know him and know what he’s done and is continues to do for us. Amen.

Sermon for Pentecost 2019

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on June 9, 2019
Preaching text: Acts 2

“Suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak...”

What a powerful moment that must have been. The Spirit came down upon an unsuspecting world and it caught it completely flat footed. Even the disciples, who had been instructed by Jesus to wait in Jerusalem for the Holy Spirit, did not know what that would look like until it happened. It caught them just as much by surprise as it did the Jews who had come to Jerusalem for the festival. No one, not even the believers, saw this coming.

Our God is a god of surprises.

I’ve preached on that so many times I’ve lost count, particularly at my first congregation in WV. Our God is a god of surprises. He likes to do the unexpected. Jesus himself is perhaps the greatest example of this. People expected a king like David, a warrior, a man of strength and power. They got a carpenter, a rabbi humble of birth and attitude, who rather than storm the castle and defeat the enemies of God’s people, submitted himself to death and then rose again to bring sin and death, the greatest enemies of humanity, to heel.

As strange as it may sound, we should come to expect the unexpected from our God.

Why am I reminiscing on these truths? Because I find myself envious of the people of Jerusalem on that first Pentecost. Maybe that’s because I’m tired. Synod Assembly takes it out of all of us who attend. “Making the sausage,” to use the old idiom, is hard work and doing the business of the Church institutionally is wearying. I hunger to witness God working in powerful and dramatic ways, not in the drudgery of Robert’s Rules, voting, resolutions, bylaws, and so forth. I want God to shake things up. I am impatient for the kingdom of God made manifest in the world. I eagerly wish to see a world where all are valued, all are precious, all know how they are loved. I want the things I preach about to come to pass in powerful ways. Let this world be remade and God’s kingdom reign.

But, our God is a god of surprises. And just as Pentecost came unexpectedly upon the world, perhaps too God is at work in ways right now in ways that I do not expect. In ways I do not see. In things that astound and astonish all of us, perhaps by being so ordinary and everyday we don’t even notice them.

I had a conversation at Assembly with the folks from Reconciling Works. That’s the ELCA group that’s promoting greater inclusion of LGBT folk in our congregations and communities. I make no secret that I am an ally of their cause and purpose, but as the conversation progressed, I came to tell the story of my internship congregations. In 1998, two years before me, they had a gay intern and felt terribly betrayed by this intern because of who he was. In 2001, the year after I was there, they were to be assigned another LGBT intern and I got to witness the hatred and fear of the congregation of “those people” first hand. It was ugly. It was not Christian. Suffice to say, that intern never showed up.

Two years ago, however, those same two congregations who were so vehement in their disdain and hatred of the sexual other declared themselves openly as “Reconciling in Christ” congregations. That is to say they are open and eager to welcome anyone regardless of their sexual persuasion or identity. What a difference those 16 years made. God was at work in quiet, subtle, and unexpected ways.

At another point during Assembly, I got ambushed by a fellow pastor. She looked at me with wild excited eyes when she realized who I was. “You’re the one at Grace and Canadochly. I need to talk to you.” Suffice to say, I was a little nervous about this. What had I done?

I had lunch with her at Assembly yesterday. She outlined her plan, a new ministry project that she’s looking for congregations to participate in. A project both Grace and Canadochly would be perfect for. I became excited. Something we can perhaps offer to the wider church, something that might invigorate some things here. Provide us options. A new way to look at ministry. While I can’t say everything about the plan here, it is something we need and can use. Again, God at work in a way I wasn’t expecting. I certainly didn’t expect anything like that to happen.

Last evening, I came back directly from Assembly to Canadochly. We were hosting the second meeting of what has come to be known as TAGS, the Analog Gaming Society, a new club that my friends and I are putting together to promote gaming. This is a group eager to help create community and fellowship between people around games. It’s not explicitly a church group (nor would it be), but as we concluded our meeting several of those who attended came up to me to share some of their personal faith journeys. People I’d known for a while in a very different context than this were talking about faith. What moved them to do that but the Holy Spirit? Relationships are forming. Fellowship was coming to be. God was being surprising yet again.

We say, somewhat flippantly, that God works in mysterious ways and that’s true. Sometimes, so mysteriously that we often fail to see it. But sometimes in the least likely places, God reveals himself. Hey, look here. Look at what’s happening here. Pentecost didn’t end on that day so long ago. The Spirit is still moving, perhaps not quite so dramatically, but still moving. Still changing lives. Still making a difference. Still changing the world. Still bringing the kingdom. It’s in your life and mine. All around us all the time, if only we have eyes to see the fire and ears to hear the mighty wind. It’s still there and the world is becoming new because of it. Amen.