The Rev. Mama

Sermon from January 15, 2012

2012-01-25T09:14:00.000-08:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Epiphany 2/B

1 Samuel 3:1-10

Psalm 139:1-17

1 Corinthians 6:12-20

John 1:43-51

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

Vocatus atque non vocatus, Deus aderit

Bidden or unbidden, God is present

This quote, found among the Latin jottings of Renaissance scholar Erasmus, was popularized in its English translation by psychologist Carl Jung who had it inscribe both over the front door of his home, and later on his tombstone.

And it serves as thread that weaves our scripture passages from 1 Samuel , the Psalms and the Gospel into something more than any of them are by themselves, teaching us about listening – knowing – encountering God.

Bidden or unbidden, God is present

The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.

The same could be said of our times, but this observation sets the stage for the beginning of a shift of power for the people of Israel, one which will ultimately lead to the line of kings – for it will be Samuel who anoints first Saul and then in time David.

But today we are at the ironical and amusing, yet powerful, beginning of one of the great stories of the Bible, when the boy Samuel first encounters the Lord.

Now, the irony comes from the fact that God’s voice is apparently so unexpected in the Temple of all places, and the amusement comes from the play on words that is only evident in Hebrew:

Now Lord called, “Sam-u-el, Sam-u-el,” which means “God has heard.”

And Samuel responds, “Here I am!” and runs to the priest named Eli, whose name means “my God.”

And so three times we see this happen: God calls out “God has heard!” and Samuel runs to “my God,” rather than recognizing his true God that is speaking to him.

It is only after God speaks repeatedly that Eli’s wisdom awakens and he realizes what is happening. And so he instructs the boy that when God calls him again he should answer, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

And that is what Samuel does. Because God did call to him again.

In the stillness of the night, with darkness encroaching though the lamp of God has not yet gone out, God was finally heard.

We don’t always recognize it, we often don’t hear, let alone listen – but God is always present and always ready for conversation, calling us into a new thing.

Bidden or unbidden…

O God, you have searched me out and known me; you know my sitting down and my rising up; you discern my thoughts from afar.

No matter the translation – NRSV, Book of Common Prayer, The Runaway Bunny, or the St. Helena Psalter that we read/sang from today – the intensity and intimacy of this scripture passage is awesome.

More than one writer has called Psalm 139 a creation psalm. Not one about the vast mysteries of the heavens and earth, or even the marvelous workings of nature around us. No, this creation is God’s own ongoing work in bringing us to fullness of life, the unwrapping of the mystery of each of us as unique individuals, [1] as children of God.

To me, this psalm feels like a warm embrace, bringing comfort and giving strength. The words express an intimate knowledge and involvement of God in our lives.

Here, names are not even necessary. Almost every verse contain pronouns referring to both the psalmist (I/me/my) and to God (you/your). They are intertwined in such a way that God is the very context of the psalmist’s life, and indeed ours as well.[2]

And yet there is an edge to it that is nearly overwhelming – we are fully known, there is not a word on our lips that God does not know; God is always present, pressing upon us from behind and before – there is nowhere we can go to escape God.

As the psalmist writes in the middles verses 6-11 (omitted) –

Where can I go then from your Spirit; where can I flee from your presence?

If I climb up to heaven, you are there; if I make the grave my bed, you are there also.

If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

Even there your hand will lead me, and you right hand hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely the darkness will cover me, and the light around me turn to night,”

Darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day; darkness and light to you are both alike.

Yes, psalm 139 speaks of the One who created us, who knows us fully and loves us unceasingly, but it also reminds us of the easy to overlook a powerful truth – that God is always with us in all that we do and wherever we go.

Bidden or unbidden…

Follow me. Come and see.

We walked through Advent together, celebrating a season of anticipation and preparation. We rejoiced through Christmas together, celebrating the mystery of the incarnation – the birth of ‘God with us.’ We welcomed the magi once again at Epiphany, celebrating also the gift of the water of baptism.

And now we have this green season of Ordinary days before the start of Lent to explore the manifestation of Jesus – stories that began with his baptism last week and lead us into a deeper knowledge of who he was and how he was among us.

And so today we hear from the Gospel of John about Jesus calling disciples. This calling began in verse 35 with the calling of Andrew and Simon Peter, and now continues with the story of Philip and Nathanael.

As far as action goes there isn’t a lot here. Jesus found Philip and said to him “Follow me.” And that was somehow enough. It was enough for him to go to his friend Nathanael, tell him about Jesus and say, “Come and see.”

Now Nathanael was skeptical, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” But when he saw Jesus, and Jesus ‘knew’ him upon sight, Nathanael too believed and proclaimed Jesus the Son of God, the King of Israel.

What led these men to make such a radical decision to ‘come and see’ and ‘follow’? We read of no miracle or sign that Jesus performed, nor any teaching. In this account it seems to be enough that they encountered Jesus, even if they weren’t expecting it.

When have you encountered Christ? Where? Is it a story you can tell, or a stirring in your heart? How has your life changed in the least expected of ways?

Bidden or unbidden…

Each of these stories about listening-knowing-encountering God teaches us fundamental things:

Even when confronted by the divine, it is possible for us to be oblivious to God’s presence in our lives.[3]

We may ‘know’ that God is always present, but sometimes it takes a few times before we catch on and pay attention.

We are sometimes skeptical of the message because of the messenger.

The thoughts of God are greater in number than the grains of sand.

We need to say, “Speak, for your servant is listening” a lot more often.

I don’t know why this prayer was so fundamental to Carl Jung. I do know that when our knowing God is surrounded by God’s call and our listening, and God’s call and our decision to follow, that this prayer – bidden or unbidden, God is present – becomes a way for us to live our life and approach our death.

It is a reminder that throughout it all – the daily-ness of life, the celebrations, the heartaches and the gift of the gathered community – we are always in the middle of a conversation with God, invited to listen, knowing we are loved, called to join the great journey with Christ.

~ AMEN ~

[1] Kathryn Matthews Huey, ucc.org: Sermon Seeds.

[2] Feasting on the Word Year B, Volume 1; page 249.

[3] Feasting on the Word Year B, Volume 1; page 261.

Sermon from November 13, 2011

2011-11-14T13:10:00.000-08:00

All Souls, Berkeley

11/13/11

Proper 28A

Judges 4:1-7

1 Thessalonians 5:1-11

Matthew 25:14-30

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

What a day to get the charge to read, mark, learn and inwardly digest Holy Scripture, eh?

I’m wondering if anyone else felt a moment of disconnect at the end of the Gospel there?

Mary? How was it for you to proclaim that ‘For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away’?

Did anyone else feel a slight hesitation in responding ‘Praise to you, O Christ’ after the last line about the worthless slave getting thrown into the ‘outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth’—as if it were some horrible trip to the dentist!

One clergy friend posted this comment on Facebook: “If you’re preaching tomorrow, please join me in reminding your congregations that God is *just* like a vicious loan shark whose only interest is in securing more money for himself. But somehow, also, loving.”[1]

I think all of these reactions to today’s Gospel point to one thing – this is no easy story to proclaim or hear.

So what are we to do with it? Let’s begin by taking a closer look at what Matthew was doing with this parable.

While most commonly known as the ‘parable of the talents’, this tale is in actuality not centered on the talents, but on the third slave, the master, and their relationship.[2]

That being said, what was a talent? In the time of Jesus a talent was an enormous sum of money. One talent was roughly equal to 15 years of wages for the average day laborer. So one slave was given the equivalent of 75 years of wages, another 30 years and the last one a mere 15 years. And then the master went away trusting them to steward such amazing gifts.

Like is the case with many of the parables, there is an over the top quality to the circumstances we find in this story.

Not only are we talking huge, unrealistic sums of money, but two thirds of the slaves took that money and were able to beat the odds by doubling it in the market. Only the last slave hid the money by burying it in the ground, but both choices were actions which set the stage for the return of the master, a settling of accounts and the climatic finish of weeping and gnashing of teeth.

But the kicker is that for Matthew this wasn’t about money at all. While Luke has a slightly different version of this story that occurs earlier in the story, Matthew puts this parable as second to last tale Jesus told his disciples before the events leading to his passion and death.

Jesus wasn’t giving his friends last minute financial advice, he was again (like he had been all along) teaching them how to live faithfully in the world once he was gone. He was telling them that life, and living, are full of risks, but that if they trust God and don’t give in to fear, then they will continue to follow the path he set out for them.

It was the slaves that took the exorbitant gifts and took risks with it, that resisted the fear of just trying to hold on to it, and in the end they entered into joy upon the master’s return. Not because they doubled his money, but because they didn’t keep it hidden, because they lived like they really trusted God. The lived the Gospel every day and not just on the Sabbath.

But the third slave buried the money, as like in a grave. He acted out of fear, which he readily admitted to when questioned by his returning master. He was able to return coin for coin exactly what he was given. But instead of living the Gospel he let fear kept him from growing, just as it did the gift he was given stewardship over.

Fear is powerful. It can be strong enough to stop us in our tracks and make all our choices seem futile and the ability to take action seem impossible.

Fear makes us cling rather than letting go. But clinging only binds us to our fear. It does not set us free.[3]

The slave that was driven by fear learned the lesson that the greatest risk of all is to not risk anything, not to care deeply and profoundly enough about anything to invest deeply, to give your heart away and in the process risk everything.[4]

With all this in mind we would do well to remember the words of Anglican poet and priest George Herbert: “Seven whole days, not one in seven, I will praise thee.” Like so many of Jesus’ stories, this parable calls us to a fullness of life built on God’s love every day and in all our actions.

Sooo…this parable is not about money. Except when it is.

Money is an inescapable factor in our lives. Decisions about how we get money and then what to do with it, are things we begin learning as children and can take us a lifetime to master. Money can be used for necessities and for indulgences. It is said it can’t make you happy, and yet our culture tells us that we always need to buy something new and better – always more.

And in the last few years, as the economic crisis has unfolded, more and more of us have faced the reality of unemployment or pay cuts, rising food and housing prices and the weight of debt. It never ends, like a treadmill that keeps us moving but never gets us anywhere. And we’re still told it’s never enough, there’s always something next. Right now that next is Christmas. In fact, it was Christmas in many stores before it was even Halloween. It’s always more, more, more.

But not more like in the parable. In our lives, paradoxically the more has begun to bury us in the ground.

Something has to change. And perhaps it has begun.

Occupy Wall Street. The 99% talking back to the 1%.

For the last month as we’ve watched this movement unfold in the streets, and as we’ve sat in our pews and focused on St. Francis and stewardship, I’ve felt the call to pull this into our corporate life and to pray about the things happening in New York City and in our own backyards – Oakland, San Francisco, Cal.

What’s going on is something that shouldn’t remain outside our walls, and while it is in no way a Christian or even religious movement, faith leaders and faithful people are bringing Christian thought and theology to sidewalks and tents.

There is much commentary, both theological and otherwise to be found out there, including an excellent sermon that I highly recommend for your edification preached recently at CDSP by All Souls member and Professor of Church History, Dr. Dan Joslyn-Siemiatkoski, in which he wove together beautifully foundational Anglican theologian Richard Hooker and the OWS movement.[5] (have Dan stand up; people can email me for link to it)

When I read today’s gospel, and indeed our psalm as well, I knew it was time to examine what the Spirit might be saying to us about the occupy movement.

Now, I have to admit when I first starting reading and hearing about OWS I was, if not skeptical, then perhaps just comfortable in my inability to affect change. You might call entrenched fear.

I didn’t see a clear message emerging. I didn’t see how camping out in the shadow of Wall Street’s golden calf could really do anything. And while there is still no clear message with a list of bullet points for change, and while it remains to be seen what this movement will be able to do to affect change, I have begun to feel changed because of it.

Do you feel it? The smell of possibility in the air? The feeling of a loss of isolation, as if for so long we were each alone in thinking that the system is broke, that our culture and economic system were heading for collapse. The tentative stirring of hope as we watch this something pull together so many people into one place.

And now, as OWS has spread across social media and throughout the world, there is for the first time in my memory, real and widespread conversation going on about power and money, oppression and privilege, about no longer accepting the status quo.

People en masse are not only gathering in cities and towns and campuses to occupy, but they are beginning to take the risk of change together en masse too.

Just look at the number of people who have taken their money out of big banks in the last few months and the popularity of ‘bank transfer day’ a little over week ago as many thousands of people put their money in Credit Unions. Or the rise in popularity of ‘Small Business Saturday’ on November 26^th when we are all encouraged to do our holiday shopping at locally owned businesses as a counterpoint to the orgy of consumerism that is Black Friday.

These are just a couple of the things rising to the surface for the 99%. Where it goes next is up to all of us, and I find that risky and exciting.

But the fact remains that 99% is not 100%, and just like the good shepherd left the 99 to search for the 1 lost sheep, I believe we are called as Christians to focus our wrok in all of this towards reconciliation.

What do I mean by that? Well, I think there are many layers. The first could be this: I am going to go out on a limb and say that most of us gathered here are 99%-ers, and yet the fact remains that we are individually and as a parish privileged. I define privilege not only by wealth, but by other factors as well – race, gender, class, education level attained, sexual orientation, physical ability – you name it; all those little categories we can break ourselves down into give us relative levels of power and privilege.

Those in effect are our own personal 1%-edness, and we ignore it to our detriment. How we each choose to use our privilege is just as important as how those who make up the 1% that OWS cites does. Do we bury our power and privilege, like the third slave did the talents, or are we out there risking ourselves to help co-create the reign of God here and now?

A second is layer that as a parish we are in a place of privilege. We are growing while so many churches are shrinking. We have been able to make budget throughout the economic downturn because this community gets that we are called to live and give from a place of abundance, not scarcity. So what are we doing with the gifts we’ve been given to steward? What are we burying and what are we sending out into the world?

And a final layer might just be that as Christians we are called to speak truth to power – to that 1% that holds so much more – that we proclaim that we will not live in fear, that we will not buy what they are selling, and that we invite them to repent and join us – in making us – 100% together.

All of this together brings me back to the Gospel. It isn’t about money, except when it is. But what it is always about, is how we choose to live our lives, how we live into change and indeed make change. It’s about living our faith fully, however risky that may be. Seven days a week, not just one in seven.

When we live this, we bury nothing. This is our call. This is what we why we respond “Praise to you, O Christ.” This is our voice reflected down through the centuries from the Gospel, into poetry, and maybe even into a movement to Occupy Wall Street.

~ AMEN ~

[1] The Rev. Stephen Hassett

[2] Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 4, Season after Pentecost 2 (Propers 17 – Reign of Christ), pg. 310.

[3] www.unfoldinglight.net, The Rev. Steve Garnaas-Holmes.

[4] Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 4, Season after Pentecost 2 (Propers 17 – Reign of Christ), pg. 310.

[5] https://www.facebook.com/notes/dan-joslyn-siemiatkoski/richard-hooker-and-the-100/10150295612117185

Sermon from March 27, 2011

2011-03-27T18:37:00.000-07:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Lent 3/A

Exodus 17:1-7

Romans 5:1-11

John 4:5-42

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

We see things not as they are, but as we are.

This is true for each of us and is a part of how we read and hear scripture. It is evidenced by the stories of Nicodemus last week and the Samaritan woman today, and how they saw Jesus. It is revealed to us by God throughout the telling of the four Gospels, a collection of every sort of stories that reach out to every sort of person, showing us not only who we are, but that we are a part of God’s story.

We see things not as they are, but as we are.

I took a class in seminary called “Changing Racism.” One course participant remarked that it was a funny title and wouldn’t a better one be “Ending Racism?” To which my professor replied, “Ah, but can one really ever root out every bit of prejudice within themselves? No. Instead we must learn to continuously peel back the layers of our heart, like the skin of an onion, so that our vision may change.”

We see things not as they are, but as we are.

This is certainly true of many Biblical commentaries on today’s passage from John. They see not the story of a faithful, intelligent woman who would be a witness, even a disciple. They see instead a sinner, a woman of loose morals, someone who is simply a foil for his discourse on living water.

That is not how I see things. That is not how I read this story.

I see the connections and contrasts between the story about Nicodemus from last week and the Samaritan woman today.

I see a named man, a member of the religious elite, who visited Jesus under the cover of darkest night. I see an unnamed woman, a member of an enemy people, who encountered Jesus at high noon.

I see Jesus using clever words with dual meanings – born again/born from above – running water/life-giving water – and two faithful people struggling to reconcile that with their own preconceived notions of God, and who this Jesus might just be.

I see one story that ends without telling us if the listener was changed, if he believed, feeling unfinished – unless it’s not. I see one story in which the listener is transformed and tells her friends and neighbors about it, bringing them to Jesus.

What I see is right there in black and white print, but it may not be what you see. And I think that’s okay, as long as we keep telling each other what we see and listening to each other faithfully.

But what I see when I read today’s story is formed by mostly equal parts of a heart that is peeling and a head that has read and discussed and prayed about the word of God. And I have a soft spot in both heart and head for stories about women, so know that as I preach it.

In the time of Jesus, Jews and Samaritans were bitter enemies. The source of the enmity between them was a dispute about the correct location of worship (something the Samaritan woman notes to Jesus). During the Assyrian occupation of northern Palestine (circa 721 bce), when the north was cut off from the south, the Samaritans built a shrine on Mt. Gerizim and worshipped there instead of Jerusalem in the south. Fast forward several centuries and Jewish troops destroyed the shrine in 128 bce, leaving a schism between Jews and Samaritans.

Our passage tells us that Jesus had to travel through Samaria on his way to Galilee. But while it may have been a geographical necessity to journey through Samaria, it is interesting that the word used in verse 4 – ‘had to’ – is associated in John’s gospel with God’s plan. And so this passage can be said to be a theological necessity as well, one in which Jesus would expand the circle of God’s grace, extending it to those whom social convention deemed unacceptable. [New Interpreter’s Bible, pg. 565]

And so we find Jesus at a well by himself in the heat of the midday sun when a Samaritan woman comes to draw water.

Give me a drink.

She was Samaritan and she was a woman, and she could see that a Jewish man should not be asking her for water. And yet, he did, opening a dialogue of thirteen exchanges, one of the longest in the entire Gospel.

The setting of this scene evokes many Old Testament images, one in particular that I see as beautiful layer to the story. Jesus’ request for water recalls the story of Elijah and the widow of Sidon. In both stories a man interrupts a woman engaged in household work to request a gesture of hospitality. The parallel suggests that both she and we should see Jesus as a prophet as well.

With the stage thusly set, we hear from this woman for the first time and see her surprise at being addressed by the strange man. She knows her location in the world and his as well – or at least she thinks she does.

How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?

Instead of answering her question, Jesus began the process of inviting her towards revelation.

If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.

Living water. The dual meaning – running water/live-giving water. Just as with Nicodemus Jesus seems to know that she will first attach herself to the literal meaning, running water – and yet, he knows he can draw her into deeper understanding.

And I imagine that the nuance wasn’t lost on this woman. I see not earnest confusion that Jesus has no bucket and the well is deep. She may have answered his question point blank, but in my mind – in my heart, I can see the slight upturn of her lips and the faintest of mocking tones to her voice and she enters into the parry and thrust of the conversation.

In effect she is challenging Jesus to show that he is greater than Jacob, for it was by his well that they sat.

It is only then that Jesus clarifies his meaning and throws open the arms of God’s embrace. He is truly offering her life-giving water, the gift of the Spirit.

But whether she doubts his sincerity, or his ability to bestow such water, or whether she is testing him, her answer is sly, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.” Not 100% literal, an acceptance of his offer, with a sniff of suspicion thrown in.

Jesus knows that she needs more. Just as he will one day say to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt, but believe,” he now turns the conversation in such a way as to bring the Samaritan woman’s belief.

“Go, call your husband, and come back.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!”

Did you notice the exclamation point at the end of Jesus’ statement? As if he were excited to reveal to her that he knows all this? Or the fact that he does not shame or judge her in any way?

There are many possible reasons for the woman’s marital history. Perhaps this woman, like Tamar in Genesis 38, is trapped in a levirate marriage in which the brother of a deceased man is obligated to marry his brother’s widow, only the last male in the line has refused to marry her. We don’t know, and Jesus didn’t say.

I see the point of this part of their dialogue not as a commentary of her morality

I see the point of this conversation is that it serves two purposes. First, it illustrates Jesus’ ability to see and know all things. Second, it is a moment of revelation for the woman, a moment when he is able to see Jesus with new eyes.

“Sir, I see that you are a prophet.”

From surprise, to skepticism, to tentative belief – this woman’s journey to the well has become something more.

Her faith is growing and so it shouldn’t be a surprise that her next comment is the most pressing question between the Samaritans and the Jews – where is the proper place to worship God?

Some argue that this is her attempt to sidestep the conversation about her husbands, or that she, as a woman, wouldn’t have the understanding needed to deepen their discussion further. That is what some see.

What I see is not a woman disengaging from Jesus, but rather her inquiry about worship as an act of deepening engagement with Jesus, because she anticipates at this point that the prophet Jesus will be able to speak an authoritative word on the subject. And his response causes the woman’s faith to grow again as by the end she begins to wonder about the possibility of Jesus being the Messiah.

And his response, “I am.”

As we reach the apex of their encounter, Jesus’ words resonating with the voice of God in Exodus, the disciples arrive on the scene and the woman departs, leaving her jar behind as she returned to town.

The disciples of course wonder what he was doing talking to a Samaritan woman, though they don’t ask, and they offer him food, but then he tells them about bread and harvesting and stuff – but I’m going to skip to what I see as the good stuff at the end.

When the woman left Jesus at the well she went and testified to her friends and neighbors about Jesus, about what he said and how he knew her. The Gospel actually says, “Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony.”

She witnessed to Jesus, one of the primary marks of discipleship in John, joining the ranks of John the Baptist, Andrew and Philip and all the others whose names were remembered.

That is what I see when I read this story.

And I wonder what it is that you see? What is there in this story that you would tell to those near and far? How does the encounter with Jesus here peel at the layers of your heart?

I see a God that is willing to meet people where they are – whether with Nicodemus by night or a Samaritan woman by day. I see a God that sees people as they are and as they can become when they listen with changed hearts and strong minds.

I see a God who is once again journeying with each of us through Lent, meeting us with a warm embrace and puzzling words, and gentling us towards the Mystery of Easter.

~ AMEN ~

Sermon preached at Church Divinity School of the Pacific

2011-03-27T18:30:00.000-07:00

I was honored recently to be asked by CDSP Trustee Carol Anne Brown to preach at the community night Eucharist focusing on Episcopal Relief & Development.

CDSP, Berkeley

3/3/11

John & Charles Wesley/ERD

Isaiah 49:5-6

Romans 12:11-17

Luke 9:2-6

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

Jesus sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal.

And then he told them that they weren’t supposed to bring anything with them, and where they should stay, and what they should do if they were not welcomed.

We don’t know exactly where they went, or exactly what they did. But they went somewhere and they did something, because the next part of the story tells us simply yet declaratively, “They departed and went through the villages, bringing the good news and curing diseases everywhere.” And so it was done.

As if it was that simple. As if walking out your front door and setting course for places unknown one day, with nothing more than the clothes on your back and the conviction of your beliefs, could change the world.

Only Jesus gave the twelve more than that, didn’t he? This wasn’t some half thought through plan, a neat idea to see what might happen if his followers began to spread his message further. No, this was another incalculable step in expanding God’s mission of justice, compassion and reconciliation in a broken and divided world.

Jesus had a strategy when he sent his friends out, and it was both missional and incarnational – two complementary pieces that were both essential for the success of the work they sent out to do - proclaim the kingdom of God and heal.

The strategy to have the disciples proclaim the kingdom of God was missional because it wasn’t about bringing people in, it was about preaching the good news out in the world – beyond the paths they travelled as a group, and certainly beyond the walls of a building.

This was missionary work in the best way possible – an honest offering of God’s love through proclamation and healing.

In a recent post on the Episcopal Relief and Development blog, The Rev. Luke Fodor offered thoughts on the idea of mission and rightly pointed out that the words mission and missionaries can conjure either negative images such as Colonialism, smallpox and cultural imperialism, or they can offer romantic and simplistic ideas of exotic locales and pioneering work. [blog.er-d.org]

But in the end they both distort the essential partnership inherent in true mission.

Jesus knew this. He knew that increasing God’s mission involved more than just the missional work of proclaiming the kingdom of God – no matter how important that was.

And so the strategy he offered those being sent was also incarnational.

Incarnational because it wasn’t about convincing people about a doctrine, a truth, a belief. It was about sharing the story and then demonstrating, in the flesh, the truth that God’s reign had come – through the power of offering healing. And not only offering healing, but doing just that.

I love thinking about what might have actually happened on those travels of the disciples. What kinds of stories did they tell around the dinner table with people they just met? Did they laugh? Did they argue? Were their hearts on fire?

And how exactly did they heal? Who? What? There is a part of me, that I hope never dies, that holds on dearly to a theology of the Jesus Action Figure. You know, that part that believes in Jesus like he’s some sort of divine superhero.

And when I think about the power he conferred on those he sent, I can’t help but hope that they gave some people back their sight, or their hearing. That they healed a little boy who had fallen out of a tree and broken his leg. That they healed the heart of a woman who had known plenty of the bitterness of life and not enough of the sweetness that God’s love brings.

Proclaim the kingdom of God and heal. This is our mission too.

And there are as many ways to do this work as there are people gathered here today. Each of us has different gifts and talents that are unique but essential pieces of God’s mission. And the world certainly needs what each of us has to offer.

But this is a case of both/and. God’s mission needs both our individual efforts and the work that only be accomplished when we band together to proclaim and heal.

This is why the work of Episcopal Relief and Development is so important. The programs they support reach farther, in essence are sent out farther, than you or I could ever do on our own (or together if you want to think about the time Jesus sent them out two by two J).

But even more important than that, Episcopal Relief and Development is essential because, using the lens of the Millennium Development Goals and their goal of reducing the number of people living in extreme poverty, its work – its programs, its strategies – are both missional and incarnational.

Taken directly from the Episcopal Relief and Development website, these facts clearly illustrate this:

· In 2009, Episcopal Relief & Development reached more than 2.5 million people in over 40 countries around the world.

· Rather than imposing “one size fits all” solutions, Episcopal Relief & Development supports unique local, long-term initiatives that address poverty, hunger, disease, economic development and disaster response.

· Our partnership with the worldwide Church creates opportunities to serve communities in some of the most remote areas of the world, as well as in urban environments where extreme poverty persists.

· In many of these places, the Church is often one of the few institutions people trust and turn to for help. Episcopal Relief & Development leverages existing Church relationships to reach those whose need is greatest

The work of Episcopal Relief and Development heals a hurting world. Maybe not in the miraculous ways I like to imagine the disciples healed, but…

But in the equally miraculous way they were able to amass supplies and help on the ground nearly immediately after the devastating earthquakes in both Haiti and Chistchurch. And the miracle of the gift of a cow or a goat to provide ongoing nutrition to a family.

Or the way savings and credit circles allow individuals and groups to start or expand small businesses and cooperatives that work miracles in ever expanding circles of relationship. Or protecting the miracle that is life, preventing malaria through the distribution long-lasting insecticide-treated nets through the Nets for Life program.

And what is our part in the miraculous? How can we support their mission? It is four-fold: to pray, learn, give and act.

Pray. Standing here in a seminary chapel and looking out at the gathered crowd I’m not going to even attempt to elucidate the practice of prayer. I’m simply going to say DO IT. It’s important. I think it should always be the first response to any situation and certainly to the important work of God’s mission of justice, compassion and reconciliation.

Learn. Learn more about the issues you are passionate about. Dig deeper into the factors that cause global poverty and disease. And visit the Episcopal Relief and Development website to learn more about their programs.

Give. Episcopal Relief and Development, like all non-profit organizations, needs you to give money in order for their programs to reach those in need. Don’t think of it as charity, think of it as living from a place of abundance and answering the call of those being sent out.

Act. Whether it’s connecting and volunteering with the Episcopal Relief and Development Network or getting connected to Episcopalians for Global Reconciliation or the Episcopal Public Policy Network, there are plenty of ways to get involved.

My prayer for all of us is that we will accept the missional and incarnational call of Jesus, and that we will participate with Episcopal Relief and Development in healing a hurting word.

~ AMEN ~

Hives for Christmas and Gold for Epiphany

2011-01-02T20:34:00.000-08:00

So, I'm caught up on posting my sermons for the last few months and my goal for the new year is to have an actual, REAL, post at least once a week. So here goes a little musing.

I woke up on Christmas morning to my two year old's face covered in hives. As the morning progressed they spread to his arms and thighs. Good times. As the spouse and I talked about what could have caused them, and then spent a good 25 minutes on the phone with the advice nurse, we narrowed it down. And the most likely culprit was...dun, dun, dun...his sheep costume from the Christmas pageant the night before. Mental note: make sure and wash the costume next year BEFORE the kids wear them.

Today we celebrated the Second Sunday after Christmas as well as the Epiphany. The current tradition at my parish is to hide three golden dollar coins in pieces of cake and then the three kids who find them are crowned Magi. I hid the coins and so I cut the cake. The kids lined up on either side of me and as I cut the cake I passed them out back and forth, first one side and then the other. A few slices in it was my son's turn to get a piece and I thought, "Crap, one of the coins is either in that piece or the next one--it's going to look bad if he gets it." Fast forward 10 pieces of cake and I get to the piece that I know has the last coin in it and who's next in line? My boss, the Rector's, younger son. That's right, clergy kids sweep two out of three Magi slots. I would feel bad, except they have just as much right to 'win' as all the other kids. And they made some damn fine Magi if I do say so myself.

Sermon from December 19. 2010

2011-01-02T20:29:00.000-08:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Advent 4

Isaiah 7:10-16

Romans 1:1-7

Matthew 1:18-25

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

An angel said, “do not be afraid.”

And while not used in exactly the same way, this is the only connecting point between the two different versions of Jesus’ birth narrative found in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke.

It’s easy to forget that our Christmas story is pulled from two different books of scripture, because we so easily make it into one narrative without hesitation, mixing together The Annunciation and Mary’s visit to Elizabeth with Joseph’s dream, the shepherds with the Magi, the Escape into Egypt and the slaughter of the innocents with the Dedication in the Temple.

When we do that, it makes for an incredible story – one worthy of a pageant every year.

But today, on this last Sunday of Advent, as we approach the Mystery of Christmas, we only hear a small part of the story – Matthew’s version of the events that led to the birth of Jesus – a part that often seems a side-note to the larger drama.

It’s no wonder that Luke’s version, with Mary at its center, is the more well-known part of the story and the one we often focus on. It is by rights the center of the story, as a pregnant woman is to every birth story. But more than that, in Luke we see Mary come to terms with God’s promise in ways both small and breathtaking – from her response to the shocking visit from the angel, and on through her visit with Elizabeth which elicits the haunting poetry of the Magnificat.

Joseph’s experience, however, was not that of one at the center of the mystery of the incarnation. God did not visit him first. And when an angel of the Lord did finally visit him, it was merely in a dream, followed by a few compulsory sentences saying that he did as he was told and then a baby was born.

And that can lead us into dismissing the significance of Joseph’s story, of the mere dream and what it meant – what it still means for us today.

+++

Do you know what your name means? Have you ever looked at those books of baby names that list all the variations, their origins and their meanings? Names are fascinating things – what they mean, how they are chosen, who we are named after.

I have a cousin named Alex but my uncle took one look at him as a baby and declared he looked more like a Ralph, and that’s what we always called him. Two years ago I chose the name Jasper in part because he was due around Epiphany and it’s the Anglicized version of Caspar, one of the Magi. I am thankful every day that my parents quickly let go of the idea of naming me MERRY since I was due on December 23^rd. Every family has stories about names.

And names are at the center of Joseph’s dream – at the heart of Matthew’s telling of Jesus’ birth.

You are to name him Jesus.

This is the instruction given to both Mary and Joseph by the angel. Jesus, a common name of the day, being in Hebrew the same as Joshua. But what the angel said to Joseph indicated that it would take on uncommon meaning, “for he will save his people from their sins.”

Matthew, the most Jewish of the Gospel writers, played on his audience’s intimate knowledge of their history and their stories to create a new story. The beginning of the Gospel clearly shows this with the long list of the genealogy beginning with Abraham and ending with Joseph, creating a line to Jesus from the deepest roots of their faith history. And he counted on his listeners to know that it was Joshua who brought the Israelites into the Promised Land after the death of Moses.

Anglican scholar N.T. Wright argues that Matthew sees Jesus as the one who will now complete what the law of Moses pointed to but could not itself produce. He will rescue his people, not from slavery in Egypt, but from the slavery of sin, the exile they have suffered in their own hearts and lives.

A common name that would be made uncommon if only for the life this baby would have – a life that would model compassion and justice, ending in a death that showed forth love and eternal life.

+++

By contrast, the other name that is given in Joseph’s dream , Emmanuel, was not common. It was not given to anyone else, perhaps because it would say more about the child than anyone would normally dare. [Matthew for Everyone, Tom Wright]

Emmanuel, which means God is with us.

Taken from the passage in Isaiah that we read today, Matthew uses the image of God with us to frame his Gospel. It is declared at Jesus’ impending birth, and it closes this Gospel as well, the very last line being, “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

This is why Joseph’s story. This is why the dream. This is why the names. To declare from the beginning to all who have ears to hear that there is a new shoot growing forth from the branch of Jesse and that a new story has begun from the pages of the old one.

The two names together express the meaning of that story. God is present with God’s people. God is always active, not intervening from a distance, but close at hand and sometimes in the most unexpected ways. And God’s actions are aimed at rescuing people from oppression and suffering. [Matthew for Everyone, Tom Wright]

This is our story. The promise of Jesus/God with us is our story. This is what we approach when we speak of the Mystery of Christmas. This is inconceivable happening, that God was conceived in a woman and became fully human – the miracle of the incarnation.

That is what we need to re-member and use to re-center ourselves in the next seven days as we live the chaos that is the week before Christmas. That is what we need every day.

To remember that it’s not just a pageant once a year. It’s not just the myriad images on Christmas cards of that scene in the manger. It’s isn’t a story about something that may or may not have happened as we’re told it did about 2000 years ago.

It is the still point in time when the inconceivable did happen and God was with us, that God might be so fully with us evermore. It is about the life that the man Jesus would become and would lead, illuminating God in new ways. It is about God’s promise to be with us always and Jesus giving us ways to embody that together – in sacraments like baptism and Eucharist, in the commandment that we love God with all that we are and that we love our neighbor as ourselves.

And it all began with an angel. And a visit. And a dream. And from there came shepherds and Magi – and us too. And so let us prepare with anticipation once again the celebration of the coming of the baby known as Jesus, God with us wrapped in swaddling clothes, that we may hold him closely to our hearts and accept the gift that is offered.

~ AMEN ~

Sermon from November 14, 2010

2011-01-02T20:26:00.000-08:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Pentecost 25 / Proper 28C

Isaiah 65:17-25

2 Thessalonians 3:6-13

Luke 21:5-19

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

Today’s readings from Isaiah and Luke serve to remind us of two truths.

The first is that this world is a broken place, torn apart by human desires for power and the power of nature over our humanity, and it has been a broken place for as long as human memory stretches.

The second is that our only hope in the face of this brokenness is our hope in the abiding love of God, and that that love can transform and heal the hurt.

In Luke we are presented with eschatological images, pictures of what will happen before the end of times—destruction, wars, plagues, betrayal, famine—the very essence of brokenness in our world. And yet, this passage tells us that things will get much worse before the reign of God’s mission of justice, peace and reconciliation comes to full fruition. It also tells us that our faith will be tested. And it tells us that there is hope in the form trusting the Spirit of God to give us wisdom and words when we are in times of need.

In Isaiah we read words spoken to comfort those who have returned from exile to rebuild Jerusalem. It is one thing hearing about devastation as it was passed down their story, but it is another thing to stand amidst it. But when those who returned were standing and facing the utter destruction of their homeland, and hope must have felt fleeting, they were bolstered by the knowledge of a God who can and will create joy out of desolation—that they shall not labor in vain and they shall be blessed.

God knows that we need hope in order to stand in our broken world, just as the Israelites did and just as those who read and listened to the Gospel of Luke did after experiencing the destruction of the Temple in their own day.

But their question, and our question too, is, what is that hope calling us to do? I believe it calls us to join the work that the Spirit has already activated in the world, bringing transformation through love and compassion.

If only it were that simple. I don’t know about you all, but when I consider the brokenness of the world—not unlike the portents offered up in Luke—I can become overwhelmed. What can I really do to change things? Even thinking bigger, what can we do to change things, sometimes doesn’t seem to help. Because we have to start somewhere, but how and where?

It feel paralyzing, not knowing how or where to start when we look at such complex issues as war, political maneuvering, poverty, oppression—the list goes on and on. If we are not careful it can lead to hopelessness, or something even worse, apathy.

So how do we keep hope alive and forge ahead in our call? I think the first step is that we must realize that there are some things we can do as individuals and there are some things we can do a communities. And accordingly, the tasks we set for ourselves and the actions we take need to be in scale with those dimensions.

It was Margaret Mead that said, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."

What she doesn’t say, and what I would add, is that small, thoughtful, committed actions are the root of change—the operative word being small.

Church historian Roberta Bondi wrote in The Christian Century about such a scale of action in telling a story about a great early monastic teacher in the Egyptian desert named Poemen.

One day a student of his came to Poeman asking about a big, complex teaching Jesus. What did Jesus mean when he said, "No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends." What a seemingly huge commitment that asks of us!

But of all the answers that Poemen could have offered, this is what he gave his student, “In truth if someone hears an evil saying, that is, one which harms him, and in his turn, he wants to repeat it, he must fight in order not to say it. Or if someone has taken advantage of it and he bears it, without retaliation at all, then he is giving his life for his neighbor.”

In other words, no matter how complicated or serious the problem, insisting on a grandiose solution can end only in despair and hopelessness. There are many small ways that we give up our lives for others, and the love inherent in those is no less for there being no actual loss of life.

Without the little things we do there can be no changes, big or small. We are not called by God into complexity, we are called into simplicity. This is about the choices we make every day, the way we spend our money, the relationships we choose to nurture.

If we think about hunger on a global scale we may lose hope. But if we think of those in our community that are hungry then we can do something little, like bring food every Sunday for the Berkeley Food Pantry, or serve at Open Door Dinner.

If we think about global warming and environmental degradation then we may lose hope. But if we each do the small things we can it will make a difference, whether that be riding our bikes and using our cars less or just choosing good old CFL’s over standard light bulbs. And as more of us live into these small changes it is only the natural progression of hope that we will join to form larger groups that will in turn push for more change—sometimes organized groups and sometimes those who are drawn together solely by concurrence of the Spirit, such as the 61% of Californians that voted to reject an attempt to roll back global warming legislation in our recent election.

If we think about access to health care and treatment of disease on a global scale we may lose hope. After all, our nation is divided on this very topic. And something as simple as a monetary donation to Episcopal Relief and Development can have the effect of purchasing treated malaria nets for those in sub-Saharan Africa to prevent the spread of malaria, as well as provide care to those affected by HIV/AIDS. And if you give through the end of the month your donation will be doubled through a matching gift challenge.

Each of us have a different lens for viewing our world and a different passion for fixing what is broken. A helpful lens may be the Millennium Development Goals. Where is your passion? Ending poverty and hunger? Universal Education? Gender equality? Child health? Maternal health? Combating HIV/AIDS? Environmental sustainability? Global partnerships?

Wherever your hope draws you, you have the opportunity to transform the world, locally and globally through your actions. Now is the time to reflect it and figure out just what it is your hope calls you to do.

And once you know you need to share it with others. For to truly heal our world we need to share our hope with each other, that we may form communities of hope.

In Luke, Jesus calls this testifying . I kind of like the old timey images that word brings up. It’s not one we generally use, but I think it’s one we ought to reclaim. It hits to the center of the task set before us: How does your life testify to the abiding love of God? How do your actions testify to the missio dei – God’s mission of justice, peace and reconciliation? How do you testify to the hope that together we can heal the broken places in our world.

I think it’s fitting somehow that from two truths, what we are left with are many questions. From a sense of surety, we find space for reflection. And within that space the hope of God transforms our humanity, our very expectation of what we can do.

Hope led those returning from exile to believe they could rebuild Jerusalem. Hope is what remained in Luke’s vision of the end of times. Hope is what we need to draw on when the brokenness seems too much, and to guide our minds and hands and hearts in healing this world.

So today I ask you, where is your hope leading you, and what will be hope together as a parish family?

~ AMEN ~

Sermon from September 22, 2010

2010-08-25T13:39:00.000-07:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Pentecost 13 / Proper 16C

Jeremiah 1:4-10

Hebrews 12:18-29

Luke 13:10-17

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

And just then appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” When he laid hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God.

I wonder how many times that woman had come to that same place of worship in her life, and when it was that the vision of those around her became as narrow as her own.

For, being bent over and unable to look up except with slanted sidelong glances, her own vision was indeed narrow. She could not feel the warmth of the sun on her face, but rather saw the shadows it created as it shown on the world around her. She could not look into the face of others, instead learning to know them by the shape and size of their feet. She knew her way around her world by landmarks that most people never noticed – the nuances of dusty paths, chipped stone foundations and the detritus of the street. [Some ideas taken from Tuesday Lectionary Leanings on RevGalPals blog]

And yet, for all her narrowness of vision, what of those around her? Did they notice this woman at all anymore? Did her hunched over back warrant a second glance or thought? Did anyone remember the color of her eyes or the strength in her straight nose?

Jesus noticed. Jesus noticed her passing by the assembled group and he did something. The woman didn’t ask for healing, but it was given to her with words and through touch. And in a split second her vision, her world, her life, was changed!

By default the life of those around her was changed as well. We see some of that played out in rest of our passage as Jesus and the leader of the synagogue bandied back and forth, two faithful men who were struggling with what it meant to be faithful according to their vision of the Sabbath. [Kate Huey, Sermon Seeds]

But what of the woman’s family? Her neighbors? How did her healing affect their vision? Were they all content to simply praise God for her healing and go on in their ‘new normal,’ or did they feel called to expand their vision of the world around them?

This Gospel story is compelling for so many reasons, not the least of which is that it invites us into the reality that all too often we too are stuck in the narrowness of our vision.

Sometimes we have no choice in how our vision is limited. We are like the woman who was bent over, whether what bends us over is the shortcomings of our bodies or our minds, the weight of financial worries, the tension of family discord, or knowing the pain and oppression of being marginalized by society.

Other times it is our own choices that narrow our vision of the world around us. Like the leader of the synagogue, we may be faithful people and yet let the ‘shoulds’ rule us, distorting how we see ourselves, others and the world. I ‘should’ take on that extra project at work (even though it will mean less time with my family). I ‘should’ say yes to my friend’s request to go out for coffee (even though I don’t feel like I have anything left to give of myself right now). I ‘should’ pray more (even though I don’t seem to know where to begin these days). And before we know it we are bent over under such weight.

So, what is it that bends you over, weighs you down and narrows your vision? Do you need to think about it or has your mind already touched on what you know hunches you over? How about the person next to you in the pew? Do you know? Or the woman in line in front of you at the grocery store? Can you guess? How about the man crossing the street in front of you as you wait at the stoplight? Do you ever wonder?

It is important to reflect on and identify what it is that bends us over. It is just as important to realize that nearly everyone we pass in daily life is also bent over because of one thing or another. But we don’t have to just live with it.

Jesus offered healing to the woman who walked past him, and that same healing is there for us. God’s grace and unconditional love heals us. Even when we don’t ask for it, it is always there waiting for us to take, waiting for us to open our hearts.

And when we do open our hearts and let God’s grace and love touch us, like Jesus touched that woman, we can know healing. When in an instant, or like a slowing dawning revelation that things have shifted, we notice that the shadows give way to direct sunlight; feet give way to faces; our vision is opened up. And when that happens we too praise God.

I believe the way we experience God’s grace and love most clearly is through community. Something of the unboundeness of God’s love is known when we truly know other people and they in turn know us; when we journey together in this life throughout our woes and joys; when we accept help when we need it and offer it when others do.

It is through community, through relationships with others, that healing therefore happens. Sometimes we are ‘bent out of shape’ in small ways and it may be something as simple as singing a favorite hymn or enjoying light conversation at coffee hour that heals us. Sometimes something terrible suddenly happens and yet the seed of healing is already planted in us because we know that we only have to call and a member of the clergy will be there with us. And we are blessed in this parish to have Stephen Ministry—a powerful force of healing among us, offering us companions to walk with us as we face crisis, transition or on-going struggles.

Community and relationships. It is likely that we move in and out of several such circles throughout our daily lives—and they are all important—they all create our support structure and are places we experience love and healing.

And yet, I think that this community in particular is surely our foundation of healing. It is here that we root that healing in faith and knowledge of God.

And when we experience God’s love we know that the healing can’t end with us. Like the bent over woman our joy at being healed leads us to praise God, and creates in us a spirit that wants to pass on the good news. We heal each other so that we can heal the world, and work towards the reign of God.

Theologian Hans Kung wrote that the reign of God is “God’s creation healed.” Jesus’s life, death and resurrection began this healing, opening up our vision to the reign of God. And through our healing we are called to also enflesh God’s healing love in the world.

Our call is to use our new vision, broken free from narrowness, to look at the world around us and see where people and systems and creation itself are bent out of shape –

The Court of Appeals stay on Judge Vaughn Walker’s ruling on Prop 8. The lingering and long-reaching consequences of the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. The hatred and vitriol that has been spewed forth about the plans to build a community center that would contain a mosque near Ground Zero in New York City. The increase in those living in poverty, violence in our neighborhoods, debt, racism, affordable housing, the state budget – the list can go on and on.

Once our vision is opened it’s hard not to look away from all that we see, but in spite of that we’re not only called to witness, we are called to action. Jesus did not merely watch the bent over woman walk past, he reach out to touch her. It is not enough for us to just see where healing is needed, we are called to strive to heal it in any way we can.

Sometimes we can heal pieces of it by ourselves because of our own gifts, talents and experiences. But more often than not it is when we band together that we are most effective at spreading God’s healing love – sending our youth to South Dakota to repair buildings while building new relationships, feeding the hungry at Open Door Dinner and serving them with respect, offering prayers and the laying on of hands in our side chapel week in and week out – a place that can be counted on whether we visit it regularly or never at all.

This week I invite you to spend some time reflecting on what bends you over and what healing will set you free. On how healing might open up your vision of the world around you and how it is that you and we are to be God’s heart and hands in this world that needs healing too.

In the words United Church of Christ pastor and scholar Kate Huey: “We're not here each Sunday because we simply enjoy one another's company. We are not here because we like to sing or see our friends or just because we feel we should be in church, or even because someone is pressuring or influencing us to be here. No, I don't believe that. I believe that we are here this morning because somewhere in the deepest part of our spirit is a hunger for the reign of God. I believe that we long for the healing, and the justice, and the love and acceptance, and the peace that is the reign of God. We are here because we've come to know that we can't fix this world on our own, or even provide for ourselves on our own, and that our only real choice is to turn to God and one another for what we need and long for.” [Kate Huey, Sermon Seeds]

~AMEN~

Sermon from July 25, 2010

2010-07-26T10:29:00.000-07:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Pentecost 9 / Proper 12C

Hosea 1:2-10

Colossians 2:6-15

Luke 11:1-13

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

Lord, teach us to pray.

My first year of seminary I took a class called The Life of Prayer, in which we studied and practiced many different forms of prayer – from Lectio Divina to Ignatian Contemplation to Centering Prayer, and beyond. One of the requirements of the class, and you might expect, was to pray 20-30 minutes a day. I clearly remember my professor going over the syllabus and emphasizing that course requirement, adding with a small smirk, “This will likely be the only time in your life you’ll actually get credit for praying.”

Another point she made is that it’s all fine and dandy to say that you’re praying everywhere all the time with all your actions and words, but in reality you have to learn to pray somewhere, some of the time, before you can truly pray without ceasing.

And one thing is clear when you read the Bible, people do pray to God. A lot. They pray in many different ways, for many different reasons. I think it is safe to say that prayer is one of the most important ways that we express our faith.

In my personal experience, though, and based on many conversations I’ve had with others, prayer is often something that we simultaneously hunger for, and that scares us at the same time. Our inner thoughts plague the backs of our minds – what if I don’t do this right? what if nothing happens? what if something happens?

I can almost hear those questions swirling around in the heads of Jesus’ friends in our passage from Luke today when they say to him, “Lord, teach us to pray.”

This question stands out for me for many reasons. One, it is in response to them observing him pray, and I can’t help but wonder if there is a tone of awe or even jealousy in their voices to have witnessed what I can only imagine was something powerful as Jesus communed with God. It is also one of the only times that the disciples ask Jesus to teach them something, as it is usually he who led their teaching. And, they say teach us – and he does, teaching them and us, a communal prayer.

This story models for us that prayer is not only about us and God, but that it’s about all of us and God. We need to spend time in prayer alone, but we’re not left alone in it either.

Every Sunday we come together and pray – not only the prayer that Jesus taught, but through our entire liturgy – the collects, the prayers of the people, the Eucharistic prayer and especially when we share birthdays, anniversaries and thanksgivings.

When we do this together it becomes easier to see that at its heart prayer is not about what we say or how we say it, it’s not even about whether something happens or not, it’s about relationship.

I believe that is what Jesus was trying to tell his friends when he told them the story that follows the prayer in Luke. Although it seems to focus on the ‘results’ of praying – ask and it will be given you; search and you will find – if we take a closer look we can see that as is so often the case with Jesus’ stories, just beneath the surface lurks something profound.

The first word that clues me in that praying is about relationship is persistence. “I tell you, even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.”

What I hear when I read this is that God is our friend, indeed God loves us, and yet God longs for us to be persistent, to reach out, to talk and to listen, to seek a relationship. God is always there, but it takes at least two people for there to be a relationship. And relationships take work and time. It takes persistent hearts for it to grow and deepen.

Next in Luke are the well know lines, “Ask, and it will be given you; search and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.”

As beautiful as that prose is, it can trap us. What does it mean if you ask in prayer, even persistently, and that prayer isn’t answered?

This is where the depth of the relationship with God is important, because the trust found in a strong relationship can help us to move away from ‘outcome prayers’ – prayers where we essentially want to remain in control and tell God what to do for us – and into ‘offering prayers’ – prayers in which we offer all that is on our hearts and minds and then listen for how God will respond in our lives.

And that is where the final verses of this passage come into play. “Is there anyone among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake? Or if the child asks for an egg, will give a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

I believe that God is saying, trust me to give you good things, perhaps not what you ask for, but good things, nonetheless.

Because what does it say God will give to those to ask? The Holy Spirit. Not a result to our prayer, but an invitation to listen with our hearts and minds and souls woven together just how God is moving in our lives.

It is this listening part that I personally find the most difficult. Sure there have been times when I haven’t known exactly what to say to God in prayer, or not felt like praying at all, but even then my heart has thrummed with a longing.

But how do you listen for God, and what exactly does God sound like?

I think the answers to those questions are different for each of us, and also changes for each of us throughout our lives. The kind of prayer that feeds our hunger now may not work next month. The space we create in prayer that lets us listen for the heartbeat of God and feel the Spirit blowing through our lives amidst the chaos of daily stuff must change as we change and as our relationship with God changes too.

There was a time in my life when I regularly practiced Centering Prayer. The inexplicable rush coupled with serenity I got after sitting in silence for 30 minutes was wonderful. And then I had kids, and I found that if I sat still for 30 minutes in silence the only thing that happened was that I fell asleep. And so my prayer life changed. I’m guessing that many of you have had a similar experience where an existing way of praying stops working or maybe you are still clinging to an old prayer practice that no longer spark your soul, or perhaps because you have lost that spark you’ve just given up on personal prayer altogether.

The good news is that bidden or unbidden, God is always there. God is persistent – always ready to listen and always ready to speak. All we have to do is find ways to persistently reach out to God and try to listen.

What does that look like for you?

Is it turning off the radio in the car during your commute? Do you sit and journal every day? Is it singing songs and saying prayers with your children before bed?

Because it’s not only about how we pray, it’s about when we pray.

The theme of our parish retreat this September is ‘Jesus – the still point in a turning world’ and it will offer us a chance to explore how we find Jesus in the midst of our chaotic lives. This is not unlike the book Momfulness by Denise Roy in which she offers meditations on the spiritual practice of mothering in the midst of barking dogs, toys strewn about the house and refereeing children.

It’s certainly not always easy – no relationship is – but I invite you all to take some time this week to examine your prayer life, see what is working, see what isn’t and try on being persistent.

And if nothing else just follow the words of the poem Praying by Mary Oliver -

It doesn’t have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try

to make them elaborate, this isn’t

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice my speak.

~ AMEN ~

Heaven

2010-05-27T15:52:00.000-07:00

Today my 5 year old asked me what heaven is.

Wow, I said, that's a really big question.

And then I tried to think about what I wanted to say him.

I told him that some people think that heaven is where God and the angels live, and that may be true, but that I think that God is all around us and always with us.

Before I could say anything else this is what he said:

I think that heaven is when God loves us. And Jesus too. And when we love God and Jesus and other people.

That sounds like heaven to me.

Amen.

Sermon from April 2, 2010 Good Friday

2010-04-02T22:07:00.000-07:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Good Friday

Isaiah 52:13—53:12

Psalm 22:1-22

Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9

John (18) 19:1-42 (chanted)

Stay with me, remain here with me, watch and pray.

These were the final words of the Maundy Thursday service last night as we crowded into the Chapel of the Nativity to sit vigil all night with the reserve sacrament, the consecrated bread and wine that we set aside to share tonight.

This Vigil of Repose, as it is known, recalls Jesus’ final night in the Garden of Gethsemane and his urging the apostles to stay awake with him in prayer.

And so all night, people came and went, staying-remaining-watching-praying with the bread and wine—those things that are for us more than mere symbols—those things that means for us Jesus.

++++

I think it would have been pretty easy to stay with Jesus as he rode into Jerusalem with palm and olive branches waving in the air. I think remaining comfortable through last supper and the foot washing would have been difficult. I think watching Jesus pray in the garden must have been exhausting.

I think the only thing that there was to hold on to as Jesus was tried, beaten, mocked and crucified was prayer.

Stay with me, remain here with me, watch and pray.

These are not just words for us in the garden—they are words for us today, another Good Friday, as we contemplate the death of Jesus. As much as we may want to, we can’t make the story either stop before Jesus dies or fast forward to the empty tomb—we must now linger with the broken body of Jesus.

This inevitability of the Good Friday story holds so much power, and yet it is the part of these three great days that I sometimes find the hardest to stay present in. I don’t mind a taste of it, but I don’t want to remain in it for too long—because then I might truly begin to feel the pain, horror and loss that is this part of our story.

Yet, that is why we need to stay-remain-watch-pray as the events unfold. Because many of us don’t want to allow ourselves to feel Jesus’ death that much. We are okay thinking about it, but we only allow our feelings about it to go so deep. We might stay for a brief time, but we don’t want to remain. We will glance at it, but to really watch it would be just too much—an invitation to lose control of ourselves.

Two years ago my son Zach, then just almost 3, showed me just that.

++++

I’m wondering how many people here have seen the Veggie Tales movie An Easter Carol? Well, in case you are unaware of what the Veggie Tales are, they are a group of animated vegetables that tell stories from the Bible and reflect on virtues—such as Dave and the Giant Pickle for the story of David and Goliath, and Larry Boy and the Rumor Weed to explore how lies can grow and grow until they choke out life like a weed in the garden.

And in An Easter Carol, as you might expect, we find a group of cucumbers, tomatoes, squash, peas and an asparagus ‘Tiny Tim’ telling the Easter story through the familiar lens of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

You see, Ebenezer Ezzer is out of control. He wants to make Easter bigger and bigger, with more and more candy filled eggs by pushing the robotic chickens in his factory to make more plastic eggs. But that’s not all. Still reeling from the death of his beloved Grandmother, he decides that in her memory he is going to buy the one place he knows she loved the most—her church—so that he can then tear it down and use that land for the site of Easter Egg Land—a place where Easter never ends!

And so he finds himself on the eve of Easter (they evidently don’t have an Easter Vigil in Veggie Tales land) when an egg sculpture he has releases a fairy named Hope who must lead Ebenezer on a journey through his past, present and into the future to show him what the world will be like without the hope of Easter if he destroys the church.

And it is in the church where Hope and Ebenezer end their time in the present, with her using the stained glass windows to sing the story of Jesus, before a very dramatic action takes them from Easter present to Easter future. As the song is ending and focusing on the brand new rose window of the resurrected Christ (that Ebenezer’s grandmother commissioned before she died), suddenly a huge wrecking ball smashes through the window—showing not only the impending destruction of the church being torn down but the obliteration of the hope of Easter.

It was at this point that Zach freaked out. And I use that term mildly. Because upon seeing the wrecking ball tear through the window of Jesus, it was like a switch flipped inside of him and his reaction was purely visceral.

His body began shaking uncontrollably. He began to cry hysterically. He was clinging to me and clawing at me to try and climb into some safety that my arms couldn’t provide. And he yelled. He just kept yelling and yelling, “Mama! They are killing Jesus! They are hurting God! Why? Why?”

It took me almost 15 minutes to calm him down. During that time my focus was solely on him and I hadn’t turned off the movie—and that turned out to be a good thing. Because I had kept telling him that it was okay, this was only make-believe, that it was only pretend and wasn’t real, and by the time he was through the shock, it was at a place in the movie where Ebenezer had made choices that kept the hope of Easter alive and there were happy images of people worshiping at the church—the church and it’s windows that were not broken.

It took me longer to let go of the shock and surge of emotions that his reaction to the movie had stirred up.

At the time it was because of the adrenaline rush that had kicked in and because of guilt I felt for not pre-screening the movie like a good mother should have (though I’m not sure I would have picked up on that as a trigger), and also because of the overwhelming feelings of protection and love I felt for my son.

But as I prayed about that experience, and as I shared the story with others, I realized another reason I kept coming back to it—and that’s the knowledge that I lied.

Jesus’ death isn’t make-believe. It isn’t pretend. It was real.

Jesus was killed and God was hurt.

That is the unavoidable and inescapable truth of Good Friday. And it has the power to bring us to our knees if we only let go of the pretense of control we hold on to and let ourselves feel the reality of this truth, the pain of this truth, even the abiding love of this truth.

In Johann Sebastian Bach’s St. Matthew Passion there is a line sung near the end that I think invites us to feel the anguish and yet hope of Jesus’ death in a wonderful image:

Make thyself, my heart, now pure,

I myself would Jesus bury.

For he shall henceforth in me

More and more

Find in sweet repose his dwelling.

World, depart, let Jesus in!

Or, as a clergy sister of mine said, “I will dig a grave for Jesus in my heart.”

This is our prayer and work for Good Friday. We must dig a grave in our hearts so that there is a place to put the broken Jesus within us.

Digging takes time. But Good Friday is not a church service, it is a sacred period of time in which we stay-remain-watch-pray. When we leave here tonight my prayer is that we will truly keep Good Friday until we ring in Easter, doing this by taking the time to turn over the soil of our hearts so that we will be able to plant the seed that is Jesus—the seed that will bring forth the hope of Easter and call us all into new life.

Palm Sunday Sermon

2010-03-31T10:25:00.000-07:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Palm/Passion Sunday

Luke 19:28-40

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 31:9-16

Philippians 2:5-11

Luke 22:14 – 23:56

There’s a book that we read over and over again at my house. Actually, there are a lot of those, but the one I’m thinking of is The Easter Story by Brian Wildsmith.

It’s a children’s picture book and I love it for two reasons: first, it has the most amazing illustrations, the kind that set your heart to singing; and secondly, because it is a wonderful telling of the Easter story for children that in no way dumbs down the events from Palm Sunday all the way through the Ascension.

I also love it because it tells the story through the eyes of a donkey – without ever once skirting into cheesy or cutesy. Instead, we see all the well-known events unfold with the donkey as the constant witness and presence.

He begins the story close to Jesus gives him the ride into Jerusalem. And then as the story progresses we see the donkey always present, but always in the distance—close enough to witness the Last Supper through a window and watch Jesus pray in the garden as the disciples slept snuggled around his warm body, near enough to hear the accusations of his trials and gaze at Jesus on the cross—but always separated from him. Until it is time to take Jesus down from the cross and then it is the donkey who carries Jesus’ broken body to the tomb.

Like the women who prepared spices and ointments, the donkey returned to the tomb and saw the angels who said, “He is not here. Here is alive again.” And then he stayed with Jesus’ friends as they lived into the mystery of Easter until Jesus ascended, returning fully to God.

It is only then that one of Jesus’ friends took the little donkey back to his home, where he lived out the rest of his life, re-membering the story of Jesus.

It doesn’t take much to see that in this story we are the donkey. And, yes, I am aware of the myriad jokes found in that statement.

But the truth is, that like the book that is read and over and over in my house, we here come together to read and hear the same stories again and again. And just like the donkey, we re-member again and again—as a way to make meaning and to remember who and whose we are.

But we are not yet ready to return home, so today we pause and remain with the confusion, horror and pain of the crucifixion and tomb. We will not stay here long—just as Jesus did not—and like the donkey we will soon live into the fullness of our story and spend the rest of our lives both looking back and living forward.

In the poem The Poet Thinks about the Donkey, Mary Oliver put it this way:

On the outskirts of Jerusalem

the donkey waited.

Not especially brave, or filled with understanding,

he stood and waited.

How horses, turned out into the meadow,

leap with delight!

How doves, released from their cages,

clatter away, splashed with sunlight!

But the donkey, tied to a tree as usual, waited.

Then he let himself be led away.

Then he let the stranger mount.

Never had he seen such crowds!

And I wonder if he at all imagined what was to happen.

Still, he was what he had always been: small, dark, obedient.

I hope, finally, he felt brave.

I hope, finally, he loved the man who rode so lightly upon him,

as he lifted one dusty hoof and stepped, as he had to, forward.

(from Thirst)

Seriously, if it weren’t for those pesky Commandments about idols and other gods and worshipping them, then I would totally bow down and worship Mary Oliver because time and again she is able to see to the heart of things and put into words the stirrings of my heart.

Not especially brave, or full of understanding…

Then he let himself be led away…

Still he was as he had always been…

I hope finally he felt brave…

He lifted one dusty hoof and stepped, as he had to, forward…

We are the donkey.

Nothing special, or so it seems, except that we carry, each of us, a piece of God within us, just as the donkey carried a piece of God on his back. We don’t have to be brave or full of understanding, and yet, there is hope that we will continue to grow into the people God wants us to be, and we do that by putting one foot in front of the other and joining the story and mission of God to bring justice, compassion and reconciliation into this world.

And so, that is where we are today. We are walking in the midst of the story, our story. We are carrying Jesus. We carry him with us on the good days when we hear the shouts of Hosanna. And we are carry him with us on the not so good days when the pain of the world pushes down. We carry him with us on the days in between as we, like Jesus, speak truth to power, eat and celebrate with our friends and families and pray in our gardens.

It is now up to each of us to make space this week to really walk and re-member the story of Jesus. Thursday begins the Triduum—the great three days of the church year, spanning Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday.

Come to these services and be present to witness and partake in our greatest story. Wash the feet of another on Maundy Thursday. Immerse yourself in the nearly incomprehensible sorrow and love of the three hour service on Good Friday. Walk from darkness to light and celebrate the first Eucharist of Easter at the Vigil Saturday night and rejoice with those who will be baptized.

We are the donkey, and so this week let us be like the donkey, an abiding presence to the events that will lead us into the mystery of Easter.

~AMEN~

Sermon from February 14, 2010

2010-02-24T21:17:00.000-08:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Last Epiphany/The Transfiguration

Exodus 34:29-35

2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2

Luke 9:29-43

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

I hope you all have Tuesday marked on your calendars, because I know our vestry has been hard at work planning and preparing for one heck of a Shrove Tuesday/Mardi Gras feast! In classic All Souls BOTH/AND fashion, we will celebrate the last day before Lent in both of its traditional forms: with Shrove Tuesday pancakes and Mardi Gras jambalaya, using the same recipe that will feed those who come to our Open Door Dinner today.

This means that we once again find ourselves on the cusp of Lent, for as certain as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, the joy and celebration of Tuesday will be followed by the marking of ash on Wednesday, as we begin again the journey with Jesus to Jerusalem.

And so today we find ourselves wrapped in the mystery of the Transfiguration and the healing of the epileptic boy, as we do every year on this Sunday, that is, for us, the bridge between Epiphany and Lent.

It may seem strange to you that these two stories are told together, and that they are sandwiched between the first and second Passion predictions that Jesus makes to his followers in the Gospel according to Luke. After all, how does the prediction of death and resurrection connect with a mountain top experience, wrapped in the clouds of God’s presence, and, yet another of Jesus’ healings? Truth be told, we are given the option today of only reading the first part of the story, allowing us to dwell on the mountain if we choose.

But I think to do so is a mistake, because one of the many things that Jesus taught over and over is that life is BOTH/AND. We need BOTH the respite, prayer and focused time facing God that the mountain offers, AND the daily, lived action of our faith to fully live into the belovedness that God proclaims as ours and that we are called to share in the world.

And so it was that Jesus, Peter, John and James went up on a mountain to pray. In a scene that foreshadows the garden at Gethsemane, the disciples were weighed down with sleep as Jesus prayed, but what they then experienced shook them awake – for the appearance of Jesus changed (reflecting the story of Moses from Exodus) and they saw with him Moses and Elijah discussing his upcoming exodus to Jerusalem.

Seeing Jesus in “his glory,” Peter, ever the stumbler, exclaimed that they should build dwellings there to commemorate this amazing occurrence. I don’t know about you, but I always feel a kindred connection to Peter. He often tried to talk his way into understanding, processing out-loud his experiences as he tried to make meaning of them. He was so earnest, often not really thinking things through first, but nearly always following his heart.

And his heart told him to DO something instead of just BEing in the experience, something I think many of us can also relate to. Scholar R. Alan Culpepper observes, “faithfulness is not achieved by freezing a moment, but by following on in confidence that God is leading and that what lies ahead is even great than what we have already experienced.”

Jesus knew that the time for doing was coming, but that there was nothing to be done on the mountain itself. They couldn’t stay on the mountain and do the work they were called to do. And he might have told them just this, pointing for the second time to the road to Jerusalem, if not for the fact that God chose that moment to say something.

Echoing the language of the voice from the heavens as he rose out of the waters of his Baptism, God spoke saying, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him.”

Can you imagine what they must have felt as that was happening? Or what they thought upon hearing such a statement? It was surely one that these three disciples, all of whom would become key leaders in the faith after Jesus’ death and resurrection, needed to hear in the most profound way possible – from the lips of God.

Listen to him.

Listen when he tells you what is going to happen. Listen when he tells you what it means to be a disciple. Listen when he tells you parables. Listen to his actions in dealing with the marginalized. Listen when he instructs you on how to pray. Listen when he tells you that God hears your prayers. Listen to him when he talks about the Reign of God. Listen to how he deals with the rich and the poor. Listen as he enters Jerusalem. Listen as he teaches, and weeps, and shares meals – and a last meal with you. Listen to him as he is crucified. Listen to him when he assures salvation. Listen to the silence after he is buried. Listen to him in the voice of the stranger as you journey on the road. Listen to him when he commissions you. And then, when he is gone. Speak of him.

This is what I imagine may have reverberated in the hearts and minds of Peter, John and James as God spoke. And just as unexpectedly as the cloud of God’s presence appeared, it was gone – and they were left dazed and likely wondering if that really just happened, yet knowing that something had shifted.

Transfiguration – transformation – is only real when it goes beyond ourselves and affects the world around us.

And so they went back down from the mountain, beginning to take the steps toward Jerusalem. And what was seen and heard on the mountain was powerfully reflected as Jesus showed again who he is by what he does when he encountered the little boy seized by an unclean spirit.

On the mountaintop, God affirmed his Son; now a troubled father asks for help for his only son. This parallel and connecting element only serves to show us again how intimately these two stories really are tied together. Jesus heard the voice of his father on the mountain and then he responded to the cries of another – he took the boy, rebuked the spirit, healed the boy and gave him back to his father. Taking, blessing, giving – a pattern Jesus repeated over and over throughout his life. But it is in the healing the boy that Jesus demonstrated what the mountaintop experience meant, for God’s power through Jesus was revealed as he addressed the suffering of those below. And all were astounded at the greatness of God.

We like the disciples have been told to listen to Jesus.

It's true, then, that in our own lives, thousands of years later, our experience of God, rather than being for our own private pursuit and comfort, is inextricably linked to our response to the suffering of the world, and that makes us vulnerable ourselves. [Kate Huey, UCC Sermon Seeds]

Anglican theologian N.T. Wright cautions, "The more open we are to God, and to the different dimensions of God's glory, the more we seem to be open to the pain of the world. We are right to be wary when we return from some great worship service, when we rise from a time of prayer in which God has seemed close and his love real and powerful. These things are never given for their own sake, but so that, as we are equipped by them, God can use us within his needy world." [Luke for Everyone]

The needs that we serve and the ways we serve need are diverse.

This weekend our Rector, Phil, and eight other Young Adults from our Twenties & Thirties group (TNT) are in Salinas volunteering with a Catholic Worker Community and serving at a homeless women’s shelter and farm worker center. Yesterday they cooked a served breakfast to over 100 people and painted a co-op building and tonight they will cook and serve another meal – mirroring our own Open Door Dinner which offers a hot meal and open hearts to all those in our community that are hungry. Today, as a part of ODD, our youth groups will be serving by decorating the parish hall in honor of St. Valentine’s Day and baking and bagging the cookies that will be given out as dessert, as well as serving and cleaning up after the meal.

In the last month many have sought to help the need of the people of Haiti by contributing to Episcopal Relief and Development, which has 23 camps serving over 25,000 people in Port au Prince, among other efforts throughout the country. To date we’ve had just over $2100 pass through All Souls and be sent to ERD.

And as we enter Lent this week, we will build on our efforts from last year as we take on the Lenten discipline of prayer and giving in support of the Nets for Life program through Episcopal Relief and Development. Our theme this year is Gathered in the Net of God’s Love. We will be passing out Lenten devotional materials and net bags for you to collect money in throughout the season to be in-gathered at Easter, and we will be selling new cards featuring the artwork of our Sunday School children that will fund the purchase of nets as well.

These are ways that we as a community come together to address need, but we must not forget the myriad ways that we each as individuals do this as well. Whether it be bringing a meal to someone who needs the support, offering prayers for someone who can use them or simply sharing a smile with someone – when we let the Light of Christ shine forth from us then we are participating in God’s call to justice, compassion and reconciliation.

My prayer for us all is that as we end our Epiphany experience and prepare to embark on our Lenten journey, taking steps to the cross, we will follow the example of Jesus to BOTH take time to pray AND to answer the call to live our faith in a world that needs to be reminded every day that God’s love is boundless and transforming.

~ AMEN ~

Mama and the rainy day.

2010-01-19T16:07:00.001-08:00

Today was a rainy day. My mad scientist took Zbug to school so that Jbug and I didn't have to go out in the wet weather. And so we played and then napped and then ate and then played some more. It was so much fun to see him building little towers with the duplo legos and then go sit at the back door to watch the rain on the patio. We just kept looking at each other and giggling. Then, when it was time to pick Zbug up from school, the sun made an appearance! We stopped and shared a treat at Starbucks on the way home, just because. And no sooner had we arrived home then another round of rain arrived and we watched a bit of lightning together out the front window. Sigh. It was a darn near perfect Mama day.

Where religion and circuits meet

2010-01-18T09:42:00.000-08:00

My older son Zbug was really taken with the idea of the three magi, especially when he found out that we were going to have an Epiphany cake at church that would have three golden dollar coins hidden it for three lucky children to find! He wasn't one of the finders, but that didn't keep him from bringing that story and incorporating it into his current favorite things in the world: making circuits and art. For Christmas he got a "snap circuit" set that has all these different pieces that you literally snap together to make circuits to turn little lights on and off, make a motor run, etc. So at school he used 'found objects' from the 'found box' in the art studio to make a circuit--and amazingly he really did have all the right parts and it really did look like a circuit--complete with three coins that he dubbed 'the three magi' that were the power source for the circuit. That boy cracks me up.

But what I really loved about this, and the reason I'm sharing it, is because it is such a gift and really a revelation of our children's spiritual lives, every time we see them combine the elements and strands of our sacred story into their daily life. My only question now is, are the magi AA or 9-volt?

amen.

Sermon from January 17, 2010

2010-01-18T09:28:00.000-08:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Epiphany 2

Isaiah 62:1-5

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

John 2:1-11

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

During the season of Advent we waited with anticipation for the celebration of the birth of Jesus, the incarnation of God in human flesh. I believe Epiphany is a season not of waiting, but of doing – we are called to actively examine the life of Jesus and then to live into the ways in which our own lives incarnate God.

It is no wonder, then, that the stories we hear this season make manifest for us, through word and deed, who Jesus the Christ was, while also offering us the chance to comprehend how God’s love is woven into our lives.

Last week we reflected on Jesus’ baptism and how our own baptism shows us who and whose we are. This week we encounter the wedding at Cana and the first of Jesus’ miracles – a sign of God’s abundance, transformation, timing—all wrapped up in God’s love – a miracle that has the power to activate our lives as well.

I say this fully aware of all that is swirling around in our lives. In addition to those things that are unique to each of us and our families, last week saw the start of the federal trial challenging the constitutionality of Proposition 8 and the almost incomprehensible devastation of the earthquake in Haiti and tomorrow we celebrate the birthday of Martin Luther King, Jr. and many will honor his dream for this nation through a day of service.

And so we look to a wedding celebration in Cana.

The wedding or theme of marriage is not the central theme or sign in this passage – at its center is the abundance of wine that Jesus miraculously creates for those gathered.

And yet, especially in light of the Prop 8 trial, I believe we must address how this story has been one of the scripture passages used historically, as well as in our time, to limit the understanding of marriage for the purpose of power and prejudice. Because both the gospel, as well as the passage from Isaiah, when read through a hetero-centrist lens, can be read to say that marriage is between and man and a woman and that that is what God condones.

I believe this to be unexamined literalism at best and gross manipulation at worst. To say that Jesus condoned the state of marriage in general, let alone that of only a man and woman, because he once attended a wedding is absurd.

And so we must claim the deeper truth of this passage. That of wedding and marriage as symbolic not of human unions, but of our relationship to God and our spiritual journey.

When we do this, we are bid to examine the best aspects of what a marriage can offer – love, fidelity, support, laughter and so much more. This is what God wants with us and for us. And the abundance of Jesus’ miracle at the wedding in Cana is a sign for us, that despite our own experiences, both positive, negative, or perhaps none at all with human marriage – God will always be there to pour out love and forgiveness, joy and abiding presence, in our lives.

Womanist theologian Renita Weems compares our spiritual journies to marriage in this way:

It hits highs and lows, goes through seasons of ecstasy and ennui, and you find yourself wondering whether it’s possible to regain the passion, the conviction, the spiritual momentum you once enjoyed. The message of this second Sunday after the Epiphany is yes. Take those empty stone jars, fill them to the brim with the water of hope, prayer and persistence, and draw from them.

We encounter Christ, she says, not only in mountain top experiences, for:

he has been known to show up in miraculous ways on more than one occasion in the simple day-to-day activities of drawing water from wells, preparing food, tending sheep, and trying to figure out what to do when the wine runs out at a wedding celebration. [New Proclamation, 2000]

Like all relationships, the ability to journey with the one we are committed to, to the top of the mountain and back down again, and throughout the mundane activities of life, is what determines the depth of the bond. And the deeper our bond, the greater the possibility for transformation in our lives and in the world. And so we turn to that first miracle of Jesus, turning the water into wine, the true center of this story.

Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons.

Those ordinary vessels are the signs of this story for us. John does not call what Jesus does in this story a miracle, he calls it a sign – calling forth an understanding of something that points to something beyond itself. And so these jars do – they are signs that point to abundance, transformation, timing—all wrapped in God’s love.

When the wine ran out at the celebration, Mary turned to Jesus to let him know. There’s always one person in a group like that, right? The someone who pays attention, or the one who worries about the details, or the person who sees the world through the lens of compassion and calls those around them to action. Mary was all three of those wrapped up into one and when the wine ran out she turned to her son. Do something.

Jesus’ first response was to not take the bait. He even essentially used the classic child’s answer of, “I’ll do it later.” For by performing a sign, a miracle, Jesus knew he was declaring to all those who witnessed it whose he was, that he was indeed the messiah, and for whatever reason he wasn’t ready yet.

But Mary knew that later wasn’t good enough, the need was now.

Do whatever he tells you.

And with that determined prompt, and what I imagine to be one heck of a motherly look, Jesus ordered for the stone jars to be filled with water and for their contents to be taken to the chief steward, who tasted the water that had become wine.

The abundance of this sign, over 120 gallons of fine wine, is just as striking as the transformation that is offered along with it. It shows us that God’s grace is given to us in abundance, beyond anything we can ever expect. But it also teaches us about the power of God to transform:

To transform the incomplete into the whole

To transform the weaker into the stronger

To transform the ordinary into the precious

To transform the despised into the beloved

To transform the tasteless into that which gives joy to the heart

To transform what we are into what we can become

[Ken Kesselus, Sermons that Work]

Martin Luther King, Jr. knew something about transformation, and about timing too. As he said, “The moral arc of the universe bends at the elbow of justice,” and “A right delayed is a right denied,” things to keep in mind as the Prop 8 trial continues to unfold.

Because transformation and timing are often linked with justice and we need to pay attention to the signs that point us in the direction of just action, especially when it is to help those who have less than we do and those who are in need.

And nowhere on earth is in more need right now than Haiti. I don’t know about you, but the images and stories that have unfolded in the last six days have been, for me, nearly incomprehensible – too much devastation, too much loss. Why did this happen? How could God let this happen? Why does suffering of any type happen if God’s love for us overflows from stone jars?

These are the questions that I ask at times like these. I wonder, what are your questions? No matter the question – there are no easy answers. But I see a connection to our gospel and Jesus’ moment of hesitation to act, what one scholar has called the ‘scandal of divine reluctance.’ Because when it comes down to it, Jesus seemed to balk at helping those in need. There is a tension, then, between that hesitation, followed by an extravagant gift of finest wine, and God’ seeming absence or inaction in the face of human suffering and need in any age or place. Why this divine reluctance? [Carol Lakey Hess]

Perhaps we like Mary have a role to play, nudging God with our observation that ‘they have no wine.’ It is then that God will show us the overflowing stone jars that pour love into our hearts, making us agents of God’s transformation. Maybe it is by truly trusting in God’s abundance that lives will incarnate God, now, in this time.

And how can we do that? It's the season of Epiphany and we are called to action. And so, we pray. And then pray some more. And when we’re done praying, go back and pray again. Because transformation is rooted in our connection with God. We can also DO something by giving – abundantly and in love for our fellow brothers and sisters. Episcopal Relief and Development, the mission and outreach arm of our national church, is on the ground and at work in Haiti.

You can write a check today and note ERD or Haiti in the line and we will get the money to them, or you can visit their website and make a donation online.

But it is through our prayer and giving that the words of the prophet Isaiah will ring true –

You shall no more be termed Forsaken,

and your land shall no more be termed Desolate;

but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her,

and your land Married;

for the LORD delights in you.

There is much work to be done and this is the time for doing it. And so I leave you with marching orders this morning:

As the Savior so taught…

Go now and overcome.

Overcome racial hatred with love and understanding.

Overcome sexism with mutual honor and respect.

Overcome social inequities with fair and equal educational and employment opportunities.

Overcome mean-heartedness with a kind word or good deed.

Overcome war, poverty, hunger and suffering throughout the world by sharing the love of Christ Jesus with your neighbor.

Go now and overcome!

[Adapted from the African American Lectionary.org]

~ AMEN ~

Sermon from December 20, 2009

2009-12-21T10:19:00.000-08:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Advent 4

Micah 5:2-5a

The Magnificat

Hebrews 10:5-10

Luke 1:39-55

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

Blessed is she who believed there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.

Today we finally arrive at the doorstep of Christmas. And our hope, our preparation and our anticipation come to fruition in the story of two pregnant women greeting each other and sharing their joy, amazement and faith in God.

Mary’s visit to her relative Elizabeth was spurred on by the events that happened just prior to her journey – namely a visit from the Angel Gabriel. During that fateful encounter. Gabriel announced to Mary God’s plan for her – that she would conceive and bear a son through the power of the Holy Spirit, and that child would be called the Son of the Most High.

Understandably Mary was confused and skeptical, but to indeed show her that nothing is impossible with God, Gabriel then told her that Elizabeth, in her old age, was also pregnant and would bear a son.

With all of this in her heart, Mary set out with haste to see Elizabeth.

I can’t help but wonder why the first thing Mary did after this revelation was to journey to Elizabeth. Was it to share this astounding news? Was it to seek wisdom and counsel? Was it to see if indeed Elizabeth was indeed pregnant? Did she need confirmation of that, in order to truly believe the rest of what Gabriel imparted?

I believe that sometimes we need to hear what we already know is true from someone else to really live into that truth ourselves. Elizabeth’s greeting did just that for Mary: Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.

Any lingering doubt that she might have clung to after Gabriel’s proclamation was surely dissipated in that moment. Elizabeth’s round belly, as much as her words, led Mary’s heart in an instant, as she embraced the fullness of the truth of what was to be.

And this full truth sparked a most beautiful response. Mary’s response to Gabriel was simply, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Oft described and meek, certainly obedient, and certain in its faith – Mary’s response this time is simply breath-taking:

My soul magnifies the Lord,

and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,

for God has looked with favor on his servant.

Surely, from now on all generations will call be blessed;

for the Mighty one has done great things for me,

and holy is God’s name.

God has mercy for those to fear

from generation to generation

God has shown strength with his arm;

God has scattered the proud in their hearts.

God has brought down the powerful in their thrones,

and lifted up the lowly;

God has filled the hungry with good things,

and sent the rich away empty.

God has helped his servant Israel,

remembering mercy,

according to the promise to our ancestors,

to Abraham and Sarah and their descendents forever.[1]

The Magnificat – The Song of Mary. This is her response to the glorious impossible that is the incarnation of Jesus. It tells us so much about who Mary understood God to be, and by extension, who her son would be, but also about who she understood herself to be in the midst of this sacred chaos.

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.

I’ll be honest, I’ve never given much thought in particular to that image – magnifying – but one scholar I work with pointed out that upon reading it for the millionth time, it was suddenly different. Magnify can be taken to simply mean an expression of praise and glory.

But what if we take it literally (and yes I am saying take the Bible literally here!). What does it mean to magnify something? A magnifying glass makes things bigger, it intensifies the object it focused on, making it clearer and sharper. A magnifying glass has power to spark change. Just think of one catching the sun’s rays and starting a fire.

In her song, Mary claims the truth that what she is, is a magnifying glass for God. It is through her, and the son she will bear, that God is made bigger, God’s love is intensified, God’s mission of justice, compassion and reconciliation made clearer and sharper. She is the lens that will spark a new in-breaking of the reign of God.

And that is what she proclaims – the reversals of human power and status: God has mercy for those to fear from generation to generation, God has shown strength with his arm; God has scattered the proud in their hearts. God has brought down the powerful in their throne, and lifted up the lowly; God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.

And so a question I have is this, how does the Magnificat both reflect and shape the incarnation?

Certainly Mary reflected what she already knew, pulling images from the Song of Hannah (another song written by an unexpectedly pregnant woman), a song she must have learnt and known by heart. But since we know the full story of who Jesus was and what his life and death will be, we can also see that Mary’s song anticipates, perhaps even shapes, one of the most loved teaching of Jesus, the Beatitudes.

And this gets to the crux of the incarnation – the essentiality of the humanness of Jesus, humanness that comes from Mary and is loved and shaped by her. From the very beginning Mary understood this. That she would be the Theotokos, or God-bearer, but that since God chose to come to be with us as a vulnerable baby it was her love and faith that would help shape the human he would become.

And so at the end of the day – at the beginning of our Christian story – Mary shows us all what it is to be fully human. To accept God’s call in our lives, to seek out wisdom and council from others in community, to proclaim the reign of God and to love with our whole beings, for it through that love that the world is transformed.

~~~~

In his book The Womb of Advent, Episcopal priest Mark Bozzutti-Jones does something I think is amazing. He offers daily meditations for Advent, each one including a section he calls ‘In the Womb.’ It’s almost akin to the book, Your Pregnancy Week by Week, in that what he offers are reflections on the final month of development of a baby in its mother’s womb as it prepares for birth.

In his reflection for last Monday he offers this:

“The Child in the womb has no functioning tear ducts. His first cries will be loud but tearless. I can imagine Mary having shed many a tear. She might well have cried tears of joy when she knew she was pregnant with the Savior of the world. She might have cried when Joseph finally embraced her and told her all was understood, and she might have cried when she went to visit her cousin Elizabeth. The tears of Advent. I imagine that Mary, Zechariah, Joseph and Elizabeth were all well acquainted with tears.

We get so used to our tears that we forget that in our earliest days we did not have them. Tear ducts mature a few days or weeks after birth. What a great lesson to take into Christmas. Where are our tears? When was the last time we cried? When was the last time we felt moved to tears in joy or pain?

Advent calls us to pay attention to the suffering and pain of others because sometimes people’s pain is expressed without tears. It we are looking to see tears, we could miss the cry of anguish. Some of us miss the tears and unfortunately also miss the cries. To journey toward the manger requires that we stop along the way to dry the tears, respond to the cries and set the captives free. It is a hard task. But there is nothing in the Christmas story that speaks of ease.”

Tears are one of our most basic human responses to the world within and around us. And in his humanness, Jesus wept upon seeing Jerusalem as he entered it the last time (Luke 19:41).

So, where are the tears in our lives? For some of us there are tears of sorrow or fear. For others, tears have been absent for a long time.

Where do we hear cries of anguish? How about in the health care reform debate and from our fellow Americans who have no health care? Or the fact that for the last year the number of people we feed at our Open Door Dinner each month has steadily grown?

And what are we doing about all of the tears and cries? These are personal questions and each of our answers will be different. We each hold a piece of the puzzle that brings the reign of God to fruition.

Because we are not all being asked to carry the Son of the most High in our wombs. But we are all, like Mary, being called to magnify God. And so Mary’s song is our song too – a song that we sing until like Mary did with Hannah’s song, we turn it into our own song.

This is our call this Advent and Christmas – to magnify God’s love in the world and give birth to hope in spite of, and through the tears and cries that surround us, believing like Mary that God’s reign will be fulfilled.

For, blessed are those who believe that there will be a fulfillment of what has been spoken by the Lord.

~AMEN~

[1] Inclusivised Magnificat

Sermon from November 15, 2009

2009-11-18T23:13:00.000-08:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Proper 28/B

1 Samuel 1:4-20

The Song of Hannah

Hebrews 10:11-14, 19-25

Mark 13:1-8

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;

take our hands and work through them;

take our hearts and set them on fire.

Amen.

What I’m about to say will come as no surprise to some of you – and by some of you, I mean the ones who actually pay attention to the sermon every week rather than those of you who create masterpieces with the coloring sheets in the pews.

There is a saying that every preacher learns in seminary – and that’s that every preacher really only has one sermon. We may dress it up in different scripture and stories, but at the heart we each really preach the same thing again and again.

One of the many reasons to love All Souls is that you get a regular variety of preachers and so it doesn’t get too boring!

But, I always have this in the back of my head when I sit down to prepare a sermon. Even if I don’t consciously think about it, I know it’s there. And yet, I think I actually have two sermons that I preach.

One sermon always leads to, or includes, our call to participate in God’s mission of justice, compassion and reconciliation for the transformation of the world. The other sermon always centers on the community and the grace-filled truth that it through community our lives are transformed; our joys, when shared, are multiplied – and our sorrows, when share, are lessened.

It is perhaps because of this that I had a really hard time this week writing a sermon. I nearly always err on the side of preaching the Gospel, but I kept being drawn in by the complex yet powerful story and song of Hannah, and by the end of the epistle to the Hebrews, And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

And then I realized – those stories are my two sermons. And so, which do I choose to preach today?

Well, how could I not choose God’s mission, especially when it is wrapped in a story that has a woman strong in faith at its core?

Oh, Hannah—what a story she tells us! Yes she bargains with God, ‘if you give me this, I’ll give you that,’ which is not a prayer that has ever worked for me, but she gets her son, in part because her story and his story are a part of the larger story of ancient Israel and how God is transforming that community. And so when Samuel is weaned Hannah takes him to Eli to be dedicated to the Lord, and the sings a wonderful song—which we too sang today.

Listen again to part of the Song of Hannah:

The bows of the mighty are broken but the weak are clothed in strength.

The once full now labor for bread, those who hungered now are well fed.

The childless woman has borne sevenfold, while the mother of many is forlorn.

God destroys and brings to life, casts down and raises up, gives wealth or takes it away, humbles or dignifies.

God raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap.

To make them sit with the rulers, and inherit a place of honor.

Does it sound familiar to anyone? Like you’ve heard something else like it before? Remember the Magnificat – also known as the Song of Mary?

His mercy is for those who fear him

from generation to generation.

He has shown strength with his arm;

he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.

He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,

and lifted up the lowly;

he has filled the hungry with good things,

and sent the right away empty.

Are these songs not songs of God’s mission? Do they not prophetically sing of justice, compassion and reconciliation?

It is significant that both of these songs come from women whose stories center on giving birth to sons that are dedicated to God. In the case of Hannah’s Samuel, literally a son given to the service of God who was raised up as a mighty prophet and anointer of kings, and in the case of Mary’s Jesus, literally God incarnate.

Two men that radically changed the world of those around them and beyond. And yet, in the lives and ministry of both men, it is their mother’s songs that we see in action, and even in word, and in the process transformation.

For the ancient Israelites, who until that point had an identity rooted in the covenant tradition of early Israel, Samuel served as a priest, judge and prophet – and the one chosen by God to anoint the first kings of Israel, first Saul and then David. But not only anointer, but also prophetic critic. For it is in 1^st and 2^nd Samuel that we see Saul choose the will of the people over the will of God and be cast down as king. It is in those books that we see David abuse his power through war, adultery and murder and be humbled by his choices. The mighty, indeed, were broken.

And then there’s Jesus, who lived his mother’s song every day, and on occasion even copied her. You may remember something we call the Beatitudes? Hear them again, listening for the echoes of Mary.

From Luke –

Blessed are you who are poor,

for yours is the kingdom of God.

Blessed are you who are hungry now,

for you will be filled.

Blessed are you who weep now,

for you will laugh.

And from Matthew –

Blessed are the merciful,

for they will receive mercy.

Blessed are the peacemakers,

for they will be called children of God.

Hannah, Samuel, Mary, Jesus. God’s mission rippling through time from the single drop of Hannah’s song, and now it is our turn to participate in that mission of justice, compassion and reconciliation.

And yet—all that being said—don’t we, today at All Souls, really need to hear the call of Hebrews? Are we not at a place in our ministry as a community where we are taking stock of what has come before and actively seeking new ways to live more fully into our identity as Christians and our mission as a parish?

How do we provoke one another to love and good deeds?

The answer to that question is as varied as the people who make up this glorious community—for some it’s being a part of Outreach and Peace and Justice work, such as the Health Care Forum. For others it is through participation in small groups, whether that be Spaghetti Again or Parents in the Park. For many of you it is through small but powerful acts of pastoral care – taking meals to those who need the support or the way the Altar Guild and Flower Team give the flowers each Sunday to people who are marking birthdays and anniversaries, or just seem to need them.

I know those are only a few of the myriad ways that we provoke each other, but the thing they all have in common is that they happen in community.

Our outreach has more impact when we do it together. Don’t you remember last year the colossal mountain of teddy bears we collected in Advent for kids in foster care? Or how many lives we saved through the malaria nets we purchased with the money collected last Lent? Are these things you would have done on your own? Maybe. But isn’t it better together?

We are more joyful in our love and good deeds when we are inspired by the wisdom and support of those we gather with regularly. Who, that has been fed at Lunch Bunch, both by the food lovingly prepared and company, does not go back out into the world ready to share that love with those they meet? And is not the gift of music that the choir and the Angel Band make for us not a reflection of their love week in and week out? Would any of us be able to proclaim God’s love if we didn’t first come together and share in it? Maybe. But isn’t it easier together

It is the simple, grace-full truth about community that when we are joyous and we share our joy, it is multiplied; and when we are in pain and we share our pain, it is lessened. We care for each other in the good time and the bad, and all the time in between. There is no maybe here, this can only happen in community and it transforms not only our lives, but the world around us.

God’s mission and community. Hannah’s song and provoking love and good deeds. At their heart they are both about transformation and our call as followers of God to be God’s hands and heart in the world.

So maybe I only really have one sermon after all. Or maybe you just heard two little sermons. Either way, my prayer is that at the end of the day we are transformed because we know that we are loved by God, that we are called by God and that we know God most fully when we know God together.

~ AMEN ~

Sermon from October 11, 2009

2009-10-13T22:31:00.000-07:00

All Souls, Berkeley
Proper 23/B ~ Stewardship
Job 23:1-9, 16-17
Hebrews 4:12-16
Mark 10:17-31

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;
take our hands and work through them;
take our hearts and set them on fire.
Amen.

Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Yes, this is the Good News of Jesus Christ. And my hope today is that you too will go away shocked and grieving.

No really, I’m serious.

I think the key to this passage isn’t Jesus proclaiming how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God, nor the beautiful statement that for God all things are possible, nor even the whole last part (that is just sooo Jesus) that is all about reversals.

The key to this story is that the rich young man is shocked and goes away grieving. Because Jesus looked at him. And loved him. And told him come, follow me.

And that’s exactly what the rich young wanted to do, right? Because even though he was wealthy, even though he was a “good person” and had kept the commandments, he knew in his heart that he was missing something.

And so he ran to Jesus and knelt before him and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” In other words, ‘what must I do to share fully in the life of God, because there is a God shaped hole in my life right now.’

I don’t know what he expected to hear. We have the benefit of knowing Jesus better than the rich young man, in some ways—because we could probably have guessed that Jesus would come up with something crazy like selling everything you own as an answer to that question—and it seems like that wasn’t the answer the young man expected.

And yet. And yet maybe it was.

Maybe this man already knew in his heart that his possessions were in fact possessing him and that they had become a barrier between himself and God, and were tainting his relationships with others.

Maybe he asked that question, hoping for that answer, knowing that hearing it from the lips of Jesus would confirm what he already knew.

+++++++++

I’d like to share a story with you. Every week I meet with a group of local women clergy—we’re Episcopalians, Lutherans, Methodists and UCC folk—and we spend time together studying the lessons for the following Sunday and talking about how and what we will preach. This week one of my colleagues told us this story and gave me permission to tell it to you:

For a long time this woman was really focused on clothes—she always wanted to buy the newest styles and latest fashions, but because she is a sensible and centered person at heart, she always bought things at Ross Dress for Less. And so when her spouse called her out on her behavior—buying way more clothes than she needed—she always justified her shopping because she wasn’t spending that much. But over time her closet and her drawers filled up. And the weight of the clothes and the compulsive consumption began to build up. She began to feel guilty. And then one day she went to Ross to buy one thing she really needed. And sliding into her pattern she filled her cart with lots of great clothes—all of them bargains—and she went home. Only this time was different. When she got home she laid all of the new clothes out on her bed and looked and them. She then had the courage to ask herself truthfully the question she already knew the answer to: do I need these clothes? And the answer she felt in her bones was NO. And so she put them all back in the bag, took them right back to Ross and returned them. She reflected that she walked away after that feeling 100 lbs. lighter and free at last.

++++++++

Possessions are a two edged sword. It is good to have things: a home, food on the table, favorite books, nice clothes. But in our materialistic world it can seem as if everything around us tells us that we need more. And the more we have the more important it all becomes to us—until we spend our time, our talents and our treasure on the maintenance of what we have and the acquisition of more.

There’s an even sharper sword though. Our letter to the Hebrews today tells us this, “the word of God living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”

This is the sword that the rich young mad felt in Jesus’ words. And he was shocked and went away grieving.

But why was he shocked and what was he grieving?

It is so easy to assume that he was shocked because he was told that being a wealthy, good person wasn’t enough – and that he went away grieving because he didn’t want to sell what he owned. And maybe that was it.

But the Gospel never actually tells us what he ended up doing.

Maybe he was shocked because Jesus saw that narrow place between soul and spirit, knew him fully, and still loved him.

Maybe he went away grieving not for what he was asked to give up, but for all the time he had spent being possessed by his possessions instead of the love of God which Jesus freely offered him.

+++++++++

Last week Phil asked the question, “Can you have a 30 year fixed mortgage and still follow Jesus?” I’m going to tweak it a bit to fit the context of our Gospel story and ask, “Can you have a 30 year fixed mortgage and still have eternal life?” And I think the answer to that question can be yes.

Jesus isn’t trying to keep us out. Jesus just shows us how it is we keep ourselves out. And he does this by handing each of us the missing puzzle piece that fills in the God shaped hole in our lives.

Because I think we do all have God shaped holes in our lives. It may not be the shape of possessions or clothes. But each of us have something in our lives that we are too attached to, and when we are honest with ourselves we know that those attachments, as much as the objects themselves, separate us from God.

I’m not asking you to share with me what your God shaped hole look like. But I am asking you to ask yourself – what is it that you use to try and fill that hole? What separates you and God?

That is why I hope everyone here goes away shocked and grieving today—because I hope that we all take a close look at our God shaped holes and ask Jesus the questions that we already know the answers to.
I hope that each of us can more authentically live into our relationship with God so that we put God first, above all things – our possessions, our wealth, even our time.

And I hope and believe, that after the shock and the grief, we will know joy. The joy accepting God’s love and the joy of participating in God’s mission of justice, compassion and reconciliation in this world.

+++++++++

That’s a lot to ask I know, and realistically, for most of us it’s a lifetime of work. A continuous cycle of filling in what may be many pieces in our God shaped holes.

But wherever we are in our journey, still afraid to ask the question we know the answer to, or in shock, perhaps still grieving, or even rejoicing, I believe we are all called to Gather the Harvest and Sow the Seeds as a part of this community of God.

For those of you on our mailing list you should have received in the mail this past week an invitation to an evening of dinner, fellowship, music and celebration—our Stewardship Dinner on October 25th. If you did not receive one, no worries, there will be information and sign up tables in the Parish Hall during coffee hour for the next few Sundays.

But in the next month, as we take time to reflect on thankfulness and joy, giving and abundance, our shock and grief, I would want us to make connections between our belief, our actions and our giving.

Stewardship is all that I do, with all that I have, after I say, “I believe.”

That’s one of the definitions of stewardship I found on the website of The Episcopal Church and it’s a good one—not to cheesy and to the point: we believe and then we act.

That is the story of the choice of rich young man, he believed in the Good Teacher and that led his action. It is the story of my friend who literally laid her ‘belief’ out on her bed so that she could claim what she truly believes in. We too are believers and so it is also our story—for we are all called to choose how to use our possessions in meaningful and substantial ways—one of them being the support of this community of faith.

But there’s another way to think of stewardship—one that can cut like a sword, separating for us even more clearly how we live our belief.

There is old saying in the Episcopal Church that praying shapes believing. I believe it is also true that stewardship shapes believing. How we spend our time, where we use our talents, where we spend our money says a lot about what our priorities really are.

Our giving shows us what we believe in.

I know that this gives me pause as I look at my household budget. Do I believe in Comcast each month more than God? Do I believe in Starbucks each day more than All Souls?

And you know what? I know the answer to those questions. And I’m going home shocked and grieving, and I hope you will too.

~AMEN~

Sermon from September 20, 2009

2009-09-21T11:49:00.000-07:00

All Souls, Berkeley
Proper 20/B
Proverbs 31:10-31
James 3:13 – 4:3, 7-8a
Mark 9:30-37

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;
take our hands and work through them;
take our hearts and set them on fire.
Amen.

A capable wife who can find?

Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.

Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.

A wife, a servant and a child. These are the people that scripture raises up for us today as holy models to be emulated.

And while we’ve come to expect things like this from Jesus, and we can sort of get the joke—these are people who are not usually at the top of the power structure and therefore not who we aspire to be like—the social status of these people in ancient times was so much more marginalized than we realize, that the power of what we are really being called to through their example – CHRISTIAN SERVANTHOOD –is mostly lost to us.

To really understand what Christian servanthood is and how we are to embody it we must first, therefore, examine the wife, the servant and the child in their historical contexts.

Proverbs is the oldest of the Israelite works that are considered “wisdom literature.” Unlike the Torah and the Prophets, which view God primarily in terms of covenant and national history, for the wisdom tradition God is primarily Creator. God used Wisdom to create the world and placed Wisdom within creation, where people could observe its harmonies and live in right relation to it. [Women’s Bible Commentary, Newsom and Ringe]

Last week we read the beginning of Proverbs in which the remarkable figure of Woman Wisdom is encountered addressing men from all the busiest parts of the city—teaching them how to live a good life and warning that to disregard her is to court death.

And this week we end Proverbs with the capable wife. The words usually translated “a capable wife” mean literally “a woman of worth.” The term for “capable” can also be translated as “worth,” (though that translation is more often done when referring to men) and the word for “woman” and “wife” is the same in Hebrew. [Women’s Bible Commentary, Newsom and Ringe]

This woman of worth is the living embodiment of Woman Wisdom’s teachings and attributes. And boy does she set a high standard! Her every action is about creating the good life for those around her. And they called her ‘happy.’

Everything she does, she does for her husband—to increase his stature and his wealth, his happiness and his security. She is the consummate giver, serving everyone else’s needs before her own. And in spite of the high praise she is given, she is valued not for her gifts and talents, but for what she can provide for others through her service.

This was the status and role of a wife in ancient Israel the wider culture of the time as well. One of subservience and devotion.

Is this what servanthood looks like to you?

~~~~~~~~~~~

In today’s passage from the Gospel of Mark, Jesus challenges his disciples who have been arguing amongst themselves about who is the greatest. We, and they, know something important is coming because Jesus sits down, like a traditional Jewish teacher.

Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.

In the first century servants had no social status or power. They were often, though not always, slaves. The work they were called upon to do was considered demeaning to those above that station.

In telling his disciples they must be servants not just to each other, but to all, Jesus asked them to humble themselves and let go not only of their bickering over who was the best disciple, but of the rules and expectations of the world in which they lived.

This kind of servanthood meant putting your neck on the line and breaking strong-held social norms and risking shame in a culture in which the pivotal social value was honor. [Social-Science Commentary of the Synoptic Gospels, Malina and Rohrbaugh]

That is to say, taking on the mantle of servanthood meant taking risks. And what’s more, it meant fully engaging with the world, in spite of those risks.

Is this what servanthood looks like to you?

~~~~~~~~~~~

Jesus continued with his teaching:

Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.

To further illustrate his call to be a servant, Jesus made his point by embracing a small child. It is easy for us to sentimentalize this action, imagining groups of small children regularly playing at the feet of Jesus and his reaching out and cuddling a wee one and in an appeal to the hearts of his followers. But that’s not what is going on here.

Jesus and his followers both knew that children had even less status than servants, and they were even more vulnerable.

In our culture children and childhood are given priority and valued. This was not the case in Jesus’ day. Childhood in antiquity was a time of terror. Children were the weakest, most vulnerable members of society. Infant mortality rates sometimes reached 30 percent. Another 30 percent of live births were dead by the age of six, and 60 percent were gone by age sixteen. Children had little to no status within the community and family, and while minors were considered on par with a slave. Children had literally nothing to offer. [Social-Science Commentary of the Synoptic Gospels, Malina and Rohrbaugh]

By instructing the disciples that they must welcome children Jesus was telling them that not only must they be servants, but they had to be servants to those who had no way of ever reciprocating their actions. They had to give without the expectation of receiving anything in return.

Is this what servanthood looks like to you?

~~~~~~~~~~~

The stories of the wife, the servant and the child, rooted in their contexts, each offer us a glimpse of servanthood, but none of them in and of themselves are complete or show us the fullness of Christian servanthood. So I would like to expand our understanding of each and examine how they are related to the formation of community.

When asked what the most difficult instrument was, Leonard Bernstein was quoted as saying, “the second fiddle. Plenty of people want to play first violin, but to get someone to play second violin or second flute, etc...that's a problem. Yet, without them there is no harmony.” That is at the heart of Christian servanthood.

Because Christian servanthood is concerned not only with being a servant, but with how being a servant creates and affects community.

Authentic community, one in which there is harmony, is created when we each use our gifts and talents in such a way that both others and we ourselves become the best we can be, and therefore the community becomes the best it can be.

The capable wife is very good at serving in such a way as to bring out the best in others. But the capable wife only truly becomes the woman of worth when she is valued not just for the benefit she can provide to others through her service, but for the gifts and talents she offers others and her ability to serve herself as well. It is Christian servanthood when in serving others we become the best we can be.

Because Christian servanthood is not about being subservient, not about being the ever-giving giver, not about being the doormat that others walk on and take advantage of – servanthood can only be Christian when we also uphold the necessary truth that being a servant requires boundaries that protect both ourselves and others.

Jesus told the disciples to be servants of all. The Greek word used for servant in this passage, diakonos, can variably mean servant or minister, and is the root for the word deacon. We know that in the early church the office of deacon included serving those in the community in need through the distribution of alms, and our own understanding of the role of a deacon today is one of servant ministry.

For servants to really be the diakonos of Christian servanthood, they must engage both individuals and the larger community.

It is diakonos when we who have the ways and the means take up the status reversing call of Jesus and serve those around us who are unable to help themselves, without expecting something in return. It is diakonos when we risk engaging the world around us and speak out against the status quo of the earthly order by proclaiming God’s order—the first shall be last and the last shall be first.

We are called to expand God’s love in the world, and when we do we are not only agents of transformation but we are ourselves transformed. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “It is one of the most beautiful compensations of this life that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.”

Christian servanthood is seen in the welcoming of not just the child that Jesus embraced before the disciples, but the understanding that we are called to offer welcome to all those who are most vulnerable. And not only welcome but to embrace. And not just to embrace, but to serve. And in so doing, create a more authentic community, one in which there is harmony because every member is playing a part.

Barbara Brown Taylor writes, “They wanted to know who was greatest, so he showed them: twenty-six inches tall, limited vocabulary, unemployed, zero net worth, nobody. God's agent. The last, the least of all…if we want to welcome God into our lives then there is no one whom we may safely ignore.”

For it is a holy truth that we advance God’s mission of justice, compassion and reconciliation when we become Christian servants by offering our gifts and talents in ways that sustain both our communities and ourselves. When we take on the mantle of diakonos. And when we live every day knowing there is no one whom we may safely ignore.

For, we are each called to be the woman of worth, the diakonos and the ones who offer welcome. And it is up to each of us to live into this call to Christian servanthood. What does your servanthood look like?

~ AMEN ~

Sermon from August 2, 2009

2009-08-17T21:14:00.000-07:00

All Souls, Berkeley
Proper 13/B
2 Samuel 11:26 – 12:13a
Ephesians 4:1-16
John 6:24-35

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;
take our hands and work through them;
take our hearts and set them on fire.
Amen.

One of the things that I love about being a part of a liturgical church is the ebb and flow of the seasons—the expectation of Advent and the Joy of Christmas—the quiet certainty of Epiphany and the intentionality of Lent—the pageantry of Easter, the Spirit of Pentecost and then the long green season when we really get a chance to delve into the life and work of Jesus.

Part of being part of that liturgical church is that we use a three-year cycle of set readings from holy scripture—which is sometimes hard, often fun and always fruitful. And just as Advent and Easter and the other seasons each have their themes, within our yearly journey through the green season we encounter themes there as well.

Last summer might have been called ‘the summer of growing’, when we read primarily from the Gospel according to Matthew and encountered many a parable and story centered around the theme of gardening and growing.

This summer we have mostly been reading from the Gospel according to Mark and have been treated to a variety stories—stories of healings and miracles, parables and teachings.

Until last week, that is, when we entered what might be called the ‘summer of bread’ as we spend five weeks with the Gospel of John, which began with his version of the feeding of the five thousand with a mere five loaves, and continues with extended teachings around the assertion that Jesus is ‘the bread of life.’

One significant thing to remember is that in the Gospel of John there is no Last Supper—no example set of the blessing and breaking of the bread with the instruction, “take, eat; this is my body”—no cup of wine blessed and offered as the “blood of the covenant.” John provides us with no Eucharist with a capital ‘E.’

What we get instead is that blessing and breaking of the bread and fish that fed 5000 and today’s proclamation that, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty,” followed in the coming weeks with discourse and conversation around what that really means.

So what does it mean?

Scholars generally agree that the loaves and fishes feeding is a ‘sign’ pointing to other things: the feeding of the Israelites with manna when they were wandering in the desert, for example. Some call this story ‘John’s Eucharist’ since it is the closest thing in the gospel to a Eucharistic meal. But most importantly, this story is sign that points to Jesus as the Bread of Life, the source of our life, in the deepest meaning of that word.

The thing about signs is that they always point to something else. They aren’t really important themselves, they point to the thing that is important. And this is the stumbling block for the crowd that followed Jesus across that sea, and often for us as well.

The crowd, after witnessing the miracle sign of the multiplying loaves and fishes, seeks more and bombards Jesus with questions. Jesus accuses them of seeking nothing more than more of the bread that has filled them, and turns the conversation in a new direction.

Scholar Brian Peterson writes: “As so often happens in John, Jesus refuses to answer the question which they have asked, but instead redirects the conversation to more important issues. Because they have focused on the wrong "bread," Jesus redirects them toward the bread which "endures." The word translated "endures" (meno) in verse 27 is a word which takes on profound meaning as it is used throughout the fourth Gospel, especially to describe the relationship between Jesus and the believer. In the end, this "enduring" or "abiding" will mean nothing less than the Father and the Son dwelling with the believers through the Paraclete (John’s title for the Spirit of God). The bread which "endures" to eternal life is this relationship which has been made possible by the incarnation of the Son. In fact, the bread which endures is the Son himself, whom the Father gives for the world.

But this bread that endures for eternal life only confused the crowds—they sought more signs as a way to understand, and so reflected on the bread memory of their ancestors and Moses with the manna in the wilderness.

We can almost hear Jesus saying, “Again with the signs, and not paying attention to what they are pointing to!”

For Jesus then reminds them that the point of the manna wasn’t that their ancestors had food—it was that they were in relationship with God. It wasn’t Moses who gave them the manna, it was God. And what’s more, they need to look at what today’s ‘sign’ is pointing to: it’s not about what was given in the past, but what God is giving now. “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

Jesus as bread is a sign. He both points to and is the enduring love of God. Bread and everything else around us will perish, but God will abide.

This was the message for the crowds that followed him then, and for the crowd gathered here today that are following still.

Episcopal Priest, author and blogger Barbara Crafton reflects, “Maybe all this emphasis on bread this summer is just that—a recognition of its dailyness, our daily need of it. You don’t bake all the bread you’re going to need for the year on the same day; you bake every couple of days, just a few loaves at a time. You don’t have one experience of God to last you for a lifetime; you enter into the relationship with God every day, again and again.”

The bread is a sign and it points us to God, again and again.

So the Gospel of John does not provide us with a Eucharist with a capital “E” – but it does give us that sign to follow and an invitation to what I can only call a eucharistic life. The Greek verb Eucharistéō means to ‘give thanks’—and a eucharistic life is one in which God is at the center, we give daily thanks and we follow the teachings and life of Jesus as signs pointing to how and who God wants us to be in the world.

And this is where eucharist with a small ‘e’ comes in. The Gospel of John, as well as the Gospels of Mathew, Mark and Luke, contains many stories in which Jesus shares food or meals with those around him, or uses food in his teachings. I’m not talking about that Last Supper meal—but all of the ones leading up to it. Much of the agenda of Jesus is revealed in the context of those meals—how he ate, where he ate and whom he ate with were often the subject of the debates he had with religious authorities and through those debates we have come to know Jesus as the one who proclaimed God’s love for all and made a place at the table for everyone.

Have you ever thought of the many meals Jesus shared throughout his life? In them we are likely to find some of our favorite stories: the lost sheep, the prodigal son, the good Samaritan, Matthew 25 and the feeding of the least of these, the wedding at Cana, the feeding of the 5000, the woman and the crumbs under the table, a meal with Martha and Mary, the meal at Emmaus, that final resurrection meal in Galilee by the sea…and there are oh so many more!!!

Eucharist with a small ‘e’ is a way of seeing the grace that is present every time we break bread and share stories with others.

Eucharist with a small ‘e’ is the daily living out of the love of God.

Eucharist with a small ‘e’ invites us to be Christ in the world because through it we can proclaim God’s mission of justice, compassion and reconciliation.

And lest you think I was clever enough to come up with “eucharist with a small ‘e’” myself, let me commend to you the deceivingly small yet abundantly rich book of the same name by Miriam Therese Winter. When I first read it a few years ago it was a transformative experience and one that shed new light on living a sacramental life, my relationship with others and my relationship with God.

And at the end of the day that is what the John’s passage on the bread of life is really about. It’s about refocusing our eyes and hearts. It’s about reminding us not to focus on the signs, but on what they are pointing to. It’s about the abiding love of God.

For Jesus said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

~ AMEN ~

Sermon from July 19, 2009

2009-07-20T13:41:00.000-07:00

All Souls, Berkeley
Proper 11/B
2 Samuel 7:1-14a
Ephesians 2:11-22
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;
take our hands and work through them;
take our hearts and set them on fire.
Amen.

David, the king, settles into a house and thinks to himself that God must also want a fine house instead of residing in a tent and sets about to build a house for the ark. And since he didn’t think to talk to God or ask God about his plan, it is God who strove to be heard – and who said, with a note of credulity in her voice I think, “when did I say I wanted a house?” – thanks, but no thanks.

The writer of the Letter to the Ephesians worked to reconcile two groups of believers in Christ – those whose heritage was Jewish and those who were Gentiles – declaring to them that in the flesh of Christ both groups are made into one, for Christ is peace and has broken down the dividing wall of hostility. It is Christ who will create in himself one new humanity in place of two.

These lessons have much to teach us about being in right relationship with God and with each other.

We must always remember to ask one another, and God, what it is the other needs instead of taking for granted that we know best what to give. In the case of God, specifically, we must always try to attune ourselves with listening hearts so that indeed we hear when God is calling us to action, or like David, not into action.

And we must remember always that it was the life, death and resurrection work of Jesus Christ to bring ALL humanity together into the loving embrace of God, regardless of differences.

These lessons – of listening with our ear and our souls and of the limitless love of God for ALL people – are fitting for today as we reflect on the work that came out of General Convention in the last two weeks.

Begun in 1875 and happening every three years since 1789, the 76th General Convention just wrapped up on Friday in Anaheim. General Convention is the primary governing and legislative body of our church, and like our federal government, is made up of two houses: the House of Bishops (because everybody in that house is a Bishop) and the House of Deputies (which includes both lay people and clergy). This year the Convention met for ten days—and in those ten days the hours of sleep for bishops and deputies alike were few and far between as countless pieces of legislation were brought forward for debate, amendment and votes, as people took every opportunity to schmooze and of course, as they celebrated many a festive Eucharist together.

This year the theme of General Convention was ubuntu, or togetherness, an African theological concept which Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori described in her opening address as meaning, “I can only become a whole person in relationship with others. There is no I without you and in our context, you and I are known only as we reflect the image of the one who created us.”

Now I didn’t attend Convention, so I am basing what I am about to say on what amounted to hours of copious web browsing and communication with those I know who were there: watching video of some great sermons from the daily Eucharists, reading the daily Convention notes published by Episcopal Life Online, keeping up with amendments and votes on the online legislation tracker and of course checking out blogs, FB posts and Tweets.

Through all of these forms of communication two things became clear to me: one was the dedication that hundreds of our sisters and brothers had in putting in long and tedious hours to get the business of this church done. As one person, named Jim Richardson, posted to FB, it was like “watching church sausage being made.”

The other thing that I am clear about is that this Spirit of ubuntu really did weave into the work of the Convention, becoming more than mere words and coming alive in the process and outcome.

I believe this because of the many great things that came out of Convention, a few of which I’ll mention:

Gordon’s House – named in honor of a priest from the Diocese of Los Angeles who served on the Board of Habitat for Humanity, this is an entire house that was framed in the convention center during the Convention by convention participants – it will become a home for a single dad and his two kids.

Resolution D019 – A reaffirmation of support of the Millennium Goals as the mission priority of the church.

Resolution A178 – which speaks to our recent experience supporting the Nets for Life through Episcopal Relief and Development by "encourage dioceses, congregations and individuals to remember and support the lifesaving work of Episcopal Relief and Development during Lent through prayer and a special offering."

And then the two big ones that have received the majority of attention, both within church circles and in the mainstream media:

Resolution C056 – the call for the collection of resources, both theological and liturgical, for same-gender blessings which will be presented to the next General Convention in 2012. The resolution says that bishops, “particularly those in dioceses within civil jurisdictions where same-gender marriage, civil unions or domestic partnerships are legal, may provide generous pastoral response to meet the needs of members of this church.” It also specifically “honor[s] the theological diversity of this church in regard to matters of human sexuality.” My former seminary professor, The Rev. Ian Douglas – who serves on the Executive Council of The Episcopal Church, was a member of the Design Group for the 2008 Lambeth Conference and is a member elect of the Anglican Consultative Council (in other words – a big-wig church wonk) – was quoted by Episcopal Life as saying, “We cannot pretend that concurring with C056 will not cause turmoil,” he said. “Yet I will concur with C056, not because it is a justice agenda, but because by doing so our church is being faithful to God in Jesus Christ and the leading of the Holy Spirit.”

And Resolution D025 – which affirms the openness of the ordination process at all levels to all people and recommits the Episcopal Church to continued participation in and financial support of the Anglican Communion; while this does not officially rescind the so called ‘moratorium’ on electing openly gay bishops, it now supersedes that earlier resolution.
With those two Resolutions the Episcopal Church has made clear and honest statements about who we believe God is calling us to be as a church, even though they have the potential to conflict with two of the three moratoria the Windsor Report put forth (the three moratoria being: Consecration of Bishops living in a same gender union, Permission for Rites of Blessing for Same Sex unions, Interventions in Provinces)

And in light of that I hold up what has been called The Anaheim Statement – a statement prepared by Bishop Gary W. Lillibridge of West Texas and signed by nearly 20 other bishops who did not support D025 and in fact support the moratoria on electing openly gay bishops and rites for same-gender blessings, that states in part, “It is apparent that a substantial majority of this Convention believes that The Episcopal Church should move forward on matters of human sexuality. We recognize this reality and understand the clarity with which the majority has expressed itself. We are grateful for those who have reached out to the minority, affirming our place in the Church.”

Why do I include that last one? Because of ubuntu. “I can only become a whole person in relationship with others. There is no I without you and in our context, you and I are known only as we reflect the image of the one who created us.”

It appears that at this Convention, despite differences and disagreements, we as a Church body have begun to arrive at a place where our bonds with each other are strong enough and our honesty with each other is valued enough that D025 could pass and The Anaheim Statement could be issued, and we could still all come together at the table of our Lord to celebrate.

I am not trying to romanticize things or be a Pollyanna here, I am well aware that the most strident voices that oppose the direction of the Episcopal Church were not in attendance, and that many very hard choices had to be made to trim $23 million from the triennial budget.

But the fact remains that we as a Church came and stayed together to make those hard but clear decisions about where we hear the Spirit of God calling us. We listened to God together. And almost as importantly, we are listening to each other.

I am sure there will continue to be many a heated discussion on these topics, and now we wait to see what the fallout of our discernment will be in the wider Anglican Communion in the coming months. But what I have taken away from watching this Convention from the sidelines is that we as a Church took to heart the call to ubuntu.

We as a Church took to heart lesson that David learned – to listen for God’s voice in our midst instead of blindly making decisions.

We as a Church are taking seriously the belief that ‘in Christ the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.’

And all I can really say is
Thanks be to God!

~AMEN~

Sermon from June 14, 2009

2009-06-17T09:57:00.000-07:00

All Souls, Berkeley

Proper 6/B
1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
2 Corinthians 5:6-17
Mark 4:26-34

Gracious God, take our minds and think through them;
take our hands and work through them;
take our hearts and set them on fire.
Amen.

The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy by JRR Tolkien are some of my favorite books of all time. I’ve re-read them countless times and a few years ago when Peter Jackson made movie versions of LOTR (as it is affectionately known by us fans known as Ringers), I was pretty – well – obsessed.

I saw all the films on opening night – including the infamous Trilogy Tuesday on which I saw all three films back to back for 10 ½ hours of hobbity goodness – and, I can proudly boast that I have over 70 LOTR action figures.

I even used to joke with Bryan that I was going to make sure that he always listened to my sermons by including some random Tolkien reference in each one that he would have to listen for, even if was only to cough out a character’s name (cough-Gandalf).

And so it’s not surprising that when I began preparing for this sermon today and I read the parable of the mustard seed my mind, and it’s ever-present pop culture lens, immediately made a connection to Lord of the Rings.

Because among my various LOTR treasures is a poster that shows the Hobbit Frodo holding the One Ring in the palm of his hand – and underneath it, it simply states, “Power Can Be Held in the Smallest Things.”

If you are familiar with Lord of the Rings you know that this is an allusion to both to the One Ring – a simple gold band that contains tremendous power – and also to Frodo – a member of the diminutive race known as Hobbits in Tolkien’s mythical Middle Earth.

Power can be held in the smallest of things.

I think this is the essence of the parable of the mustard seed, and it too alludes to more than one thing – offering us an understanding of who we each are and what it is we are called to do collectively.

So, about these mustard seeds – by all accounts they are very small. I will be hosting a show and tell in the greeting line after the service courtesy of Phil who graciously lent me some mustard seeds someone brought back from the Holy Land for him. But in the mean time I would like you to pick up your bulletin and look at the period at the end of any sentence. Found one? Good. That’s roughly the size of a mustard seed. Smaller even than a poppy seed! And less substantial too – being more of a flake than a seed almost.

So what is it about this tiny mustard seed that made Jesus choose it for a parable? Well, if I have learned anything about Jesus over the years it’s that he liked to take the values of the world and turn them around, and that he knew his disciples and those around him well enough to know that he had to bash them over the head with obvious symbolism to get them (and us!) to begin to understand the message he came to proclaim.

The mustard seed symbolizes for us, I believe, the power inherent in each individual – in each of us – to be caretakers.

“It is like a mustard seed, which, when sown upon the ground, is the smallest of all the seeds on earth; yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”

Even this shrub, which comes from the smallest of seeds, provides care and is able to nurture the creation around it.

So it is with us. All of us have embedded within us the ability to care for one another and all of God’s creation. Each of us has something to offer, a branch to provide shade. Everyone one of us has something to teach, skills and knowledge to help others build nests.

In Justin’s sermon last week he made just this point when he reflected on the L’Arche community he visited in France.

L’Arche communities around the world are places where people with and without disabilities share their lives together, giving witness to the reality that persons with disabilities possess, in their words, “inherent qualities of welcome, wonderment, spirituality and friendship.”

Those communities are founded on this mustard seed understanding – that everyone can give something to others. And it is easy to see in there. It is often easy to see in others, but what is harder, much harder, is accepting the mustard seed within each of us.

So many people in this community give freely and care for others so generously, and yet I can’t help but wonder how many of those people understand they are offering something of real value when they take someone a meal, or share a conversation or just offer a smile or a laugh with the person next to them? Do they recognize within themselves the gifts that God has given them? Do they accept that they are loved by God wholly and it because of this love that they are able to care for the world around them?

So, do you?

In spite of what you may see as the smallness of your actions, do you see that you are indeed the mustard seed? Can you claim your belovedness and the honest to God truth that even you have something to offer and that the world needs what you can give?

It is when we not only recognize this power in others, but accept it within ourselves, that we are able to begin to co-create God’s kindom of justice, compassion of peace here on earth.

And it is this kindom of God that this parable also points to – for it is God’s kindom that Jesus compares with the mustard seed. It is one where each of us fully lives into the power of caring for one another and God’s creation – and it is one that stands over and against the kingdoms of this world.

For it is not to the majestic cedars of Lebanon, or to our glorious sequoias, that Jesus points to when illustrating what the kindom of God is like. It is compared to a small shrub. God’s kindom does not replicate the kind of greatness that human nations attempt to build for themselves.

Jesus spoke out to the people of his time, and is still speaking to us, telling all who will hear that God’s kindom is not of this world – that it is in fact at odds with this world. It is not a place that values fame, or material wealth or power over. Instead, it is a place where small actions are significant because it is only when we act in the power of love that true justice will be realized, compassion will be the foundation of all relationships and peace will be realized as the journey, not the destination.

Power can the held in the smallest of things –

And so it is my prayer that each of us will embrace the power of the mustard seed planted within us to grow into the people God longs for us to be – caring for those in our lives and in so doing cultivating God’s kindom on earth.

Amen.

My FB posting from today

2009-05-18T22:14:00.000-07:00

The Rev. Mama reflects on the intersection of Mamahood and Priestliness:

Kristin Nelson Krantz thinks the only thing that gets more stares than a woman in a clerical collar is a pregnant woman in a clerical collar. And the only thing that gets more stares than a pregnant woman in a clerical collar is a woman in a clerical collar wearing a baby in a sling and dragging a 4 year old behind her.

Let's just say I got a lot of comments from people :)

AMEN.