Sermon for the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on July 22, 2018
Preaching texts: Jeremiah 23:1-6, Ephesians 2:11-22, Mark 6:53-56

It’s no secret how divided human society is. We cut ourselves off one from another, often out of fear or envy. We are afraid they desire what we have or we desire what they have, and so resentment builds. We declare others enemies, threats, and often use what power and resources we have to keep them contained, distant, and perhaps even destroyed.

And while many today lament that nativism, bigotry, and other forms of human divisiveness are on the rise in many societies, including our own, this is hardly a new phenomena. Fifty years ago, it was Western democracy vs. Soviet Communism. Or black vs. white in the civil rights movement. Seventy years ago, it was freedom vs. fascism. Nazi Germany vs. the world. One hundred years ago, it was democracy vs. imperial monarchy. Or perhaps imperial monarchy vs. itself. Or revolutionaries vs. the monarchy. Or Germany vs. Britain and Russia and France. And so and so forth. That’s just the past 100 years and the major historical events of that timeframe: The World Wars, the Cold War, and the social changes within our own nation, events some of us remember and lived through. Creep further back in time and example after example continue to rise up of the jealousy and hostility of humankind towards itself. It doesn’t seem to end.

Contrast that with the vision of God’s kingdom given us in these three lessons today. God as a shepherd gathering his people from all the lands of the Earth. Paul speaking of the Church uniting Jew and Gentile together under the cross of Jesus Christ. And Jesus himself journeying across the sea into previously hostile pagan land (ref. Mark 5:14-20 to see how his last visit went.), only to receive as warm a welcome as he ever has.

If I were to go back over my cadre of sermon manuscripts, all those I’ve preached here at Grace and Canadochly, or those at St. John’s in Davis, or those during seminary, or even those from when I was a lay preacher filling in for vacationing pastors, I am certain that this vision of the world that we see in these texts would dominate as my most popular topic. I’m not all that surprised by that. I know where my bias comes from; I know what it’s like to be on the other side of that dividing line and it isn’t fun.

I spoke a few weeks ago about how my chronic illnesses often put me there. I’ve spoken in the past about how being the bullied child often put me there. As someone who struggles with an ADHD mind and all its million distractions, I find that can put me there. As someone with an often awkward personality, with oddball interests and difficulty relating to “ordinary folk”, that can put me there (and perhaps, more distressing, can inadvertently make others feel they are there.)

Now, I’m not going to say I know what it’s like to be black or gay or a woman or an immigrant in our society, because their experiences are only like mine as they are taken to the Nth degree by the hostility we often display towards such people. I have it a lot easier than they do. But knowing how I feel when I’m across that dividing line, I can say this. No one should feel like this. No one should feel unwelcome or ashamed of who and what they are. No one should feel afraid because they are different from how society defines the norm. No one.

I made brief mention of A Wrinkle in Time last week and I find myself coming back to it again this week. The lead character, Meg Murry, is one of those awkward kids like I was, doesn’t fit in, bullied, etc. But as she’s galavanting across the universe, the angelic Mrs. characters who are guiding her and her friends note how much difficulty Meg has in “tessering” from planet to planet. “It’s like you don’t want to come out the other side.” They exclaim. Meg replies “It’s because I don’t want to be me.”

For most of my childhood, I said the same thing. Heck, there are times as a middle aged adult when I feel that way. What an awful thing. To be someone fearfully and wonderfully made by our Almighty Father and yet ashamed of who they are. But that’s what the evil of this world wants people to feel. And the lines we draw between ourselves and others are the means by which it happens.

You are mighty. You are beautiful. You are wondrous. You are precious. You are a child of God and you are exactly as he made you to be. That doesn’t mean you aren’t flawed, because life works to break us down. That doesn’t mean that sin hasn’t scarred or damaged you. Those things are true too, but even with them, God loves the you that you are and he loves you enough to send his son into this world to die for you.

And now envision your worst enemy or the one you fear the most. They too are mighty. They too are beautiful. They too are wondrous. They too are precious. They are a child of God and they are exactly as he made them to be. That doesn’t mean they aren’t flawed, because life has battered and beaten them too. That doesn’t mean that sin hasn’t scarred them, and perhaps that’s why you fear and hate them. But God does not. God loves the them that they are and he loves them enough to send Jesus for them too.

At the ELCA National Youth Gathering last month, Nadia Bolz-Weber got up and preached. She talked about God’s grace being a “double-edged sword,” it’s “a place where grace and mercy are true for me (us)...but are also true for those I can’t stand.” “The salvation of my enemy is so completely wrapped up in my own salvation. This is why grace isn’t the central message of most Christian churches. Because Jesus Christ lifted up and draws ALL people to himself.”

That’s the kingdom of God. That’s God’s dream for his world and his people. All of us together, recognizing how truly valuable we are to the one who made us and all things. You, and your neighbor, and your worst enemy, and the other that you fear, all precious and wondrous and beloved. We are all in this together. You and me, our friends, our family, our enemies, those we hate and those who hate us. They too belong because God LOVES them as he loves you. Christ DIED for them as he did for you. Christ ROSE AGAIN for them as he did for you.

It’s God’s dream that all his precious people come together as one. A blessed cacophony of languages, ideas, experiences, cultures, physical differences, each of us unique and yet one family under our Almighty Father. To divide ourselves from one another is anathema to God and it is our calling and duty as Christians to oppose and reject such divisions.

This isn’t easy. To love the alien, the stranger, the enemy, the fearsome, the threatening. But being a Christian isn’t supposed to be easy. We follow a savior who went to the other side of the lake, who brought Jew and Gentile together, and went to die on a cross for the sake of ALL people, all in order to model for us God’s dream of a different world. Can you help him create that world? Can you love your enemy and bless those who hate you? Can you embrace the one you fear, the one you resent? Or the one that hates and fears you? Christ did and he calls us to do likewise. Amen.

Sermon for the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Canadochly and Grace on July 15, 2018
Preaching text: Mark 6:14-29

One of my favorite films of all time is Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World. It was a surprise for me to like this movie so much. I realized I loved it when I had it on in the background about once a week while I’d be home doing various other tasks. It’s an adventure movie, set on the high seas in the Age of Sail.

One scene was brought to my thoughts this week because of our Gospel lesson today. The Captain and his best friend, the ship’s doctor, are having a very heated debate in the captain’s quarters over the flogging of an insubordinate sailor. The exchange goes like this.

“Men must be governed.” That is, of course, the core of human civilization. The opposite is barbarism and (as the captain puts it) anarchy. But he also concedes that government is often quite flawed. And, of course, that’s exactly what we see in our Gospel lesson today: the poor government of King Herod that leaves an innocent man dead.

Government requires one thing in order to function and that is power. The power to enforce laws and keep order. That is why it exists. Sadly, as history has taught us, that power is also often exercised capriciously, unjustly, and cruelly. But what I find perhaps most disturbing about the story of the death of John the Baptizer is that it is not a tale of the abuse of power but rather one of the failure to understand power.

Mark tells us clearly that John dies because King Herod is too embarrassed to withdraw his pledge to his daughter. Think about that for a second. He is the king. He has functionally absolute power under Roman law to execute his rule however he sees fit. What’s truly to stop him from saying to his guests, to his daughter, and to his wife, “Nope. That’s the one thing I won’t do. I won’t kill John the Baptist.”

You see Herod really doesn’t want to kill him. Mark tells us that Herod respected, feared, and even listened to John. But this powerful king has caved once before to the whims of his vindictive wife by imprisoning John and now here again by killing him. Is the king or is he not? Herod himself doesn’t seem to know. He doesn’t understand his own power. That's what makes him weak.

Contrast that to his wife who knows exactly what she can do with the power SHE has.  She plays Herod like a fiddle, manipulates him and gets precisely what she wants. In between the two of them is the daughter, the dancer, the machine by which the wife twists the king around her finger.

So what does all this mean to us? Despite this story being set in an absolute monarchy government of ancient times, there is a lot here for us who live under a modern constitutional democratic republic. To understand that, I want to do a little mental exercise. One trick you can do with Jesus’ parables is ask yourself “Who am I in this story?” and one’s interpretation of that parable often changes and expands by moving from character to character. While this story before us today is not a parable, I think it benefits from that same exercise.

Most of us, I think would like to feel we’re John the Baptist, the martyr, the holy man. But what if we’re not? What if we’re Herod, unaware of our true power? What if we’re the wife, using the power we have to gain what we desire, no matter who it hurts? What if we’re the daughter, naive and unaware that everything hinges on us?

I believe that we are all three as citizens of this great nation. All too often we are ignorant of our true power as a part of our government by the people, for the people, of the people. All too often, when we do exercise power, it is to our own selfish benefit instead of to the aid of our neighbor. And all too often we surrender our power and let others tell us what to do, not realizing that we can stop evil dead in its tracks.

As Christians, we are called to spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We are called to make real to people the life, death, and resurrection of our Lord, one who came to save the world and all the people therein. We do that by healing the sick, caring for the poor and forgotten, by embracing the outcast and outsider; by showing people in very real and concrete ways that God loves them.

One of the most potent places you can do that is in the voting booth. We have an immense gift in the form by which we are governed in this land. Now, I am NOT going to tell you who to vote for. I have my biases, and they’re no secret to anyone, but everyone here does. I am going to tell you why you should vote. Because you, my friends, are powerful. You have been given that power to decide how our government will run. You have given that power to determine what sort of people will represent us. You have been given that power to even become one of those people yourselves if you so wish.

On top of that, you are a Christian, a follower of Jesus Christ and called by him to spread the Gospel and do justice, compassion, and kindness in the world. We are both citizen and disciple and you cannot and should not separate one from the other.

It is quite clear what will happen if we do. Evil will thrive and remake the world as it will. I saw a vision of that from another film; from the new Wrinkle in Time that came out back in March. In the Madeline L'Engle book and in the film, there is a scene where the child heroes have come to the planet of evil, to Camazotz, and the first thing they encounter is a nice suburban neighborhood. But then they notice the houses are all the same. The yards are all the same. The children playing out front are all the same. They bounce their balls all at exactly the same time.

The neighborhood scene can be seen at timestamp 0:43.

When L'Engle wrote the book, the threat was the enforced conformity of Soviet Communism. Now this bland boring sameness is threatened upon us by the nativism and bigotry of America. Ironic, perhaps, that we swing from one extreme of the political spectrum to the other, but the end result is the same. Bland boring dull conformity, no diversity, no variance, everything safe and same, but a far cry from the world God created.

Do not be ignorant of your power like Herod. Do not use your power for the wrong reasons like his wife. And do not surrender your power by allowing others to use it in your stead as the daughter does.

Every one of us here wants a just land, a land of peace and prosperity. We want this land to reflect our Christian values and norms. Now, we may not always agree on how to get there. But I’d like to believe that no matter who we vote for or what party we support that our ultimate goal is the same. And even in these contentious and divided times, I don’t want to surrender that belief, although the temptation to do so is often quite strong. Cynicism and apathy are fertile ground for the Herods and Herodiases of our day to thrive. And the world they will create and are creating is far cry from what God envisions.

“Men must be governed.” But what sort of government do we want? One that caves to our vices and selfishness or a land of justice and equity in line with our faith and beliefs, a line where the things Jesus taught and did matter? What would Jesus have you do with the power you are given? I leave the answer to you. Amen.

Sermon for the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on July 8, 2018
Preaching text: Mark 6:1-13

Let me tell you about Charlotte. Charlotte is a teenage girl, a former member of the church I served in Davis, WV. I first met her when she was about 5 or 6 years old when I had the sad duty of burying her father who died in an ATV accident. Charlotte’s mom, Karen, became good friends with my wife, Sarah, and Charlotte herself struck up a friendship with my daughter Emily. She was a big part of getting Emily into Scottish Highland dancing for a time. I’ve kept in touch with Karen and Charlotte through Facebook and Charlotte has recently graduated from high school. Her reward for this accomplishment was a trip to New Zealand.

Karen and Charlotte are nerds like me and so, of course, while she is there, Charlotte had to visit the sets where the Lord of the Rings movies were filmed. Suffice to say, I get a little envious when I watch her doing a Highland dance outside of Bag End. I want to go. I want to see that.

We’ve been hearing a lot from Thailand lately. Many of us have been watching and listening to the news of the boys soccer team there who got trapped by flooding in a deep cave. The boys are alive, but still trapped. Divers can get food and provisions in to them, but with all the rain, it’s going to be a while before they can get out. I have a good friend, Rich, who is a teacher in Thailand. I’ve heard it's a beautiful country, filled with wonderful and beautiful people. I want to go. I want to see that.

I’ve been very lucky. Dennis (a member at Canadochly) was teasing me the other day when he observed there are a lot of places I know about and have been to. While I have not been to overseas locales like these two previous examples, I have been a lot of places here in the United States. Nearly every state east of the Mississippi I have visited at least once and a small handful of those west. I am well traveled, as they say, an opportunity that does happen for everyone. I’ve met more than a few folks who’ve never gone beyond the borders of their own state, sometimes even their own county. For these, the world is a VERY big place.

I talk a lot as a pastor about the mission Christ has given us to join him in saving that world. He, of course, came into it, was born of Mary, grew up, led a religious movement with disciples and followers, got arrested, executed, and then rose again from the dead. We all know this story, the story of how he gave his very life for our sake and for the sake of everyone. Before he departed this earth, he gave his followers their marching orders: Go proclaim the good news and make disciples of the whole world.

For many of us in the Church, that great commission is terrifying. To go into that big world to spread the Gospel and to make converts. For those of us who are not “well traveled,” that’s an intimidating prospect.

Which only adds to the other intimidating prospects in regards to evangelism. Talking about religion is taboo. Talking to people about our own beliefs demands an intimate disclosure many of us are not willing to make. Getting something wrong or being confronted with a question we can’t answer is embarrassing. All rationale, legitimate, and reasonable reasons why most of us don’t do it.

As hard as it is to say, the Scriptures don’t always help in this regard. We hear the gradious stories of apostles Peter and Paul and the journeys that they took across the width and breadth of the Roman Empire (the “whole world” of their time) to make new disciples. Church tradition tells us that Thomas went to India, Andrew to Scotland, and a whole slew of folks scattering to the four winds to convert often hostile pagans to the faith of Christ. More than a few of those expeditions did not end well.

But there are stories in Scripture that I think are encouraging in this regard, that calm our anxieties, and give an answer to our many objections and today’s Gospel is one of them. Jesus sends the disciples out two by two into the various villages across Galilee. Galilee is not much bigger than York county, so we’re not talking a vast area here. It’s small, contained, manageable.

He also tells them what to do. He does not ask them to get into theological debate. He does not demand nor expect instant conversion. What he tells the disciples to offer instead is compassion, care, concern, love. Heal the sick. Cast out demons. Do what you can to help people in need. Do it in my name. Do it because of me.

What if, rather than trying to evangelize the whole world, we focus on OUR world, that is to say our portion of the wider world? Our neighborhood, our social circles, the people we encounter in public places, our friends, our family, what if we focused on them? And rather than regale them with our knowledge of Scripture, potent rhetoric, and persuasive charisma, we were simply kind, compassionate, and giving? What if we tend to the needs of those around us, giving of our selves to help people manage their way through life? That seems a lot more reasonable, a lot doable, and a lot less scary.

That essentially what Jesus asked of the disciples going out two by two. Do what you can to make life better for people and when they ask you why, say it was because of Jesus. Say it was because Jesus cares and so do you. That is evangelism. That is spreading the Gospel. That is the fertile ground in which the seed of the Spirit can grow.

When Jesus was here on Earth, people were drawn to him for a whole slew of reasons. Some liked that he stood up to the authorities of the time. Others found his theological arguments persuasive. But most followed because Jesus had done something for them, a miracle, a healing, an overwhelming expression of compassion that showed them how much they mattered. As we continue to weave our way through a world where people are bombarded with the message of how little they matter, there are few more powerful truths we can offer to them. We can show them they matter by our kindness, compassion, and care for their lives. This is evangelism. This is how it's really done. And this is something we can do. And we don’t have to travel the world to do it. Those who need the word we offer are right here in front of us. Amen.

Sermon for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost

Preached at Grace and Canadochly on July 1, 2018
Preaching text: Mark 5:21-43

I don’t believe it is a secret to anyone that our nation, however much we laud its ideal of equality, is not all that equal in practice. There are various groups in society that do have it much easier than others. We may make excuses or rationalizations for these inequities or perhaps claim ourselves as someone who has avoided collecting their benefits or penalties, but it’s hard to argue this innate unfairness in our society does not exist.

Look at me. I am a middle-aged white straight male Christian, which means, in a very real sense, that I am on top-of-the-world. I have every benefit, every privilege, every advantage our society affords. It does not mean my life has been easy. It does not mean I have lived without any sort of trouble or problem. It does not mean I have not had to work some to get where I am in life. What it does mean however is that there are difficulties I have never had to face, problems I have never dealt with, and work I’ve never had to do because I am not black or Latino, I am not gay, I am not a woman, and I am not a Jew, Muslim, Hindu, or atheist. I’ve avoided those difficulties. Dodged a bullet (sometimes a literal one) that I am often not even aware gets fired at people who are those things.

All that said, however, there is one area in which I have felt society’s scorn, apathy, and refusal to understand. Many of you have been witness to this part of my life, as I do not hide it. I am not a healthy man. I am overweight, I struggle with depression and anxiety, and worse of all, I am diagnosed with the chronic illness Ulcerative Colitis, a disease whose symptoms are far too disgusting to list in a forum such as this. More than one of these illnesses can kill me, and they very nearly have more than once.

But as strange as it may seem, that’s not really the worst of it. Illness, particularly severe or chronic ones, carry with them a social component as well. I lose count very quickly of the number of times I’ve had to decline invitations from friends, turn down opportunity to attend fun activities, and sit out family gatherings. I know friends and family who have lost patience with these. “You don’t look sick” is sometimes the worst thing I can hear, because it immediately reveals that whoever’s saying it has an expectation that I am not able to meet.

Nor am I alone in this. Sickness takes its toll on all of us. Those who struggle with cancer or other long-term illnesses (and also those who care for the same) often find their friends growing similarly impatient with cancelled outings, dropped appointment, and everything else that illness forces on us and they invariably drop off and vanish when we need them most. It can be very alone in the midst of our struggle.

Add on top of that the abominable way our government and corporations treat healthcare. I mentioned a couple Sundays ago about how our society often bellows loud and clear how “no lives matter.” There are few more potent examples of this than when someone is denied life-saving or life-prolonging care by an insurance company more interested in its bottom line than your life. Obamacare was supposed to fix a lot of that, but we also know what our representatives, many of them beholden to those same insurance companies, think of that law.

So why am I talking about all this? It’s because I’ve gained a whole new perspective on this story from the Gospel of Mark and what Jesus does here.

On the surface, it looks like any other miracle story. A person in desperate need comes to Jesus, “my daughter, please help my daughter.” Being the person he is, Jesus sets out immediately, but he is intercepted along the way by someone else in desperate need. But rather than actually stop Jesus and ask for his help, this woman with the hemorrhages simply moves up next to him and brushes against his clothes. She does this because she believes that all she need do to be healed is touch Jesus.

What happens next, I think, is absolutely remarkable. Jesus is aware that a miracle has happened; his power has been used for good. Now he’s in a hurry. This leader of the synagogue has pressed upon him the urgency of his case. But Jesus stops and calls out to the crowd, asking who had touched him. The disciples and others think this is a nonsense question, since he’s surrounded by people, but the woman knows what she’s done. Thinking she is in some serious trouble, she comes forward trembling and confesses.

Jesus then announces to all the surrounding crowd what has happened and he commends the woman for her faith. I believe there are two reasons he does this. Not only to hold her up as an example for others to follow, but also to make complete her healing.

This woman is not a privileged person in her society and ancient Jewish purity laws are very touchy about blood. It would be bad enough to be a woman with a normal functioning menstrual cycle, but hers is not normal and it is easy to presume she has been outcast from others for many years because of her affliction. She bleeds. She is impure. She does not belong. By declaring her healed, as openly and widely as possible, Jesus is telling the crowd “Welcome her home.”

The story continues with Jesus then going on to cure the sick child, not even allowing her likely death to stop his work. But having dealt with the loneliness that comes from a struggle with a long-term illness and having been a pastor to many others who have struggled with both illness and isolation, I’m increasingly come to believe that the healing of the leader’s daughter is an afterthought to this story. The real and more important miracle is the one with the hemorrhaging woman. Welcome her home.

When I spoke that time about “no lives matter,” I did so in the shadow of two very public suicides: fashion designer Kate Spade and celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain. Depression is a very real disease, no less impactful on the lives of those who struggle with it than cancer or AIDS or diabetes. What can we do for the sick in our midst? Jesus gives us an example to follow. Time and again, when he heals someone, he doesn’t just remove the physical problem. He also brings them home, back into the society that they have been alienated from. He sends lepers immediately to the priests to receive official sanction. He sends the Gerasene demoniac into the very towns he had once so terrified. And he tells the crowd that this woman is healed.

In these modern times, we have physicians, nurses, and hospitals. However flawed our healthcare system often is, it can do wonders for people. But there is always more to illness than just the symptoms. Healing the sick is more than that, it’s also welcoming them home. It’s holding them in our arms and telling and showing them that we love them. It’s one small way we can show people that they do matter. When the system fails or proves inadequate, the disciples of Jesus can be there. It’s what Jesus would do. It’s what he did do. Amen.