Pentecost 16B, 2012: For the sake of the gospel

Proper 19 Lectionary: Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 116:1-8; James 3:1-12; Mark 8:27-38



En el nombre del Dios: Padre, Hijo, y Espiritu Santo. Amen.

I begin with a quote from one of my favorites, Mother Theresa of Calcutta, who said: “I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.”

In our gospel reading today, we have that wonderfully uncomfortable conversation between Jesus and Peter. Jesus has asked the disciples who people are saying he is. Having done amazing things – feeding the 5000 with 2 fish and 5 loaves, opening the deaf man’s ears and loosing his tongue so he can speak plainly, Jesus wants to know ‘What are people saying about that?’

The disciples answer that the people think he might be John the Baptist, or Elijah, or a great prophet. ‘Well, you’ve been with me throughout all this,’ Jesus said. “Who do you say that I am?”

Peter answers without hesitation: “You are the Christ” (the Messiah, the Anointed One). And Jesus sternly orders them not to say that to anyone else. Why?

Maybe because their understanding was too small. The expectation was that the Messiah, the Anointed One would save the people of Israel. Like King David, the awaited Messiah would free the Jews from Roman occupation and establish peace for Israel.

But God’s plan was much bigger than that. The Word made flesh came to save the whole world, and his salvation would be eternal, not historical.

The time had come for Jesus to have a hard conversation with his disciples. By rebuking Peter, Jesus was reminding them: ‘Salvation is not what you’re thinking. You have part of it right, but there’s a bigger picture beyond your view.

So first, let me tell you what will happen to me, Jesus says. the Son of Man must suffer, be rejected by those whose opinions matter most among earthly authorities, and be killed. It will be humiliating.’

‘Now let me tell you what will happen to you Jesus says. if you keep to your own expectations and plans, if you live your life protecting yourself from darkness and judgment, if you seek the approval and blessings of those with earthly authority – you will die an eternal death.’

‘If, on the other hand, you follow me, if you willingly accept humiliation and disgrace from earthly authorities because you are living according to the teachings I have given you, if you enter the places where souls are in danger and darkness for my sake, if you and bring the light of the good news I have given you to the world, then even if you die doing that, you will have eternal life.’

We Christians are called to go wherever there are people living in darkness and despair and carry to them the light of Christ. We’re to go where the cords of death have entangled someone and set them free.

In the world, you have to prove that you are poor enough, disabled enough, or legitimately sick enough to receive help. And that’s fine for the world – but it isn’t fine for Christians.

This week I met a woman at the Shepherd’s Table. Well, I didn’t actually meet her, I was sent to her because she was causing trouble, so I went to speak with her.

The situation was this: This woman is homeless. She carries her entire world around with her in a rolling suitcase and a backpack. She’s mean and belligerent. She’s been kicked out of most of the area shelters because of her caustic behavior.

Local advocates told us she was trouble and not to give her our names. They said she “causes trouble if you do.” They also wanted nothing more to do with her – their doors are closed to her now.

I was sent to talk to this woman because she was found trying to take a bath in the bathroom sink. When some of our volunteers asked her not to do that, she got angry and began cussing them out.

When I found her, the woman was eating her meal. I began our conversation by telling her who I was and affirming that her desire to be clean was a good and honorable one, and I apologized for not having adequate facilities to provide that for her.

“When?” she asked me, not looking up from her plate of food.

“Today,” I replied.

“Where?” she asked.

“In the bathroom,” I said, and I repeated that she was right to want to be clean, but our facilities were inadequate for that. I promised that I would work to find out where she could shower and let her know.

“Why?” she asked, still not looking up from her food.

“Because I care about you,” I said, “and we want to help you.”

“Why?” she asked – this time looking up at me.

“Because you matter,” I said.

It’s possible this woman is suffering from some kind of mental illness. It’s possible she’s feigning mental illness because it gets her a little compassion.

I don’t know and I don’t care.

I observed, however, that she has learned to have power in an otherwise powerless existence by threatening people, cussing them out and being belligerent. It works. She has an impact.

When I asked the woman her name, she said, “Homeless.” ‘That’s what you are” I responded, “but not who you are. What’s your name?”

“Homeless” she repeated.

“OK, Homeless,” I said. “It will take me a few hours to find out what’s available for you. Since I won’t be able to reach you, please come back and see me.”

“I might” she said.

She didn’t – but I ran into her a couple of days later at the Dollar General store. I noticed her sitting in front of the abandoned storefront next door. I went over to her and said, “Hi Homeless. Do you remember who I am?”

“I remember,” she said.

“I’ve been looking for you. I’ve been looking for what you need.” I said. “You’ve made a lot of people upset around here and they don’t want to help you.”

“I know,” she said.

“I’m still looking for a place where you can clean up” I said. “Do you remember why?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Good,” I said. “Everyone should know that they matter.”

I asked her if I could get her something to eat or drink, but she said she had just eaten and pointed to the food trash her backpack. I asked if there was anything else I could get her while I was out running errands and she said no, she was fine.

I told her I hoped she come again Wednesday and eat with us, that I hoped to have a resource for her by then. She said she’d see me there. I hope she will.

The fact is, most of us haven’t experienced the indignity of being shunned because we’re unclean. Most of us haven’t known the kind of powerless Homeless experiences every day.

Is it any surprise that she’s mean?

Homeless may be suffering from some mental illness, but she is certainly carrying a load of bad experiences along with her rolling suitcase and backpack. And it’s very likely that she has been treated with indignity by people whom she had to ask for help.

Homeless is exactly the kind of person Jesus calls us to walk toward, not away from as the world does.

We can enter the darkness of her world because we bring our own light with us – the light of Christ. We can be patient with Homeless as she learns how to see in the light, just as Jesus was patient with the disciples, and just as he is patient with us now.

People will say bad things about us and judge us as stupid or naïve, but that’s OK. It isn’t their approval or blessing we seek. You see, our church isn’t here to win praise for ourselves or to build a great local reputation.

We’re here to carry the gospel to people like Homeless. We’re here to bring the light of Christ into her darkness.

We may not be able to change the world, but we can set some ripples going in the waters of life. We can bring God, who is gracious and compassionate, to those who are entangled in the grip of the grave, even when their call sounds - at first - like a threat.

We can, and we must, reach into the world as it is, and do our part to make it as it should be.

I close with a Celtic prayer I love:

Lord, touch our lives with your glory that we may reach out to others.
Fill our hearts with your love that all may see the love of Christ.
Inspire us to dare new things for you that we may encourage those without hope,
Open our lives to your Spirit that we may reflect your praise.
(Source)

Amen.

Pentecost 15B, 2012: Be opened

Proper 18 Lectionary: Isaiah 35:4-7a; Psalm 146; James 2:1-10, (11-13), 14-17; Mark 7:24-37



En el nombre del Dios: Padre, Hijo y Espiritu Santo. Amen.

Last week we heard Jesus arguing with the Pharisees about ritual cleanness, about what defiles and what doesn’t. Jesus insisted that what is unclean comes from within, not from without.

Calling the Pharisees hypocrites for holding to human tradition rather than embracing the heart of God, Jesus turns to the people and explains that it is an unclean heart, a rigid, small, unloving heart that defiles. Then he demonstrates this teaching by heading immediately to an unclean region - the Gentile region of Tyre and Sidon - the place where Jezebel was from.

There he encounters a woman (strikes one and two – she’s a Gentile and a woman) who comes to him (strike three – she broke the rule that prohibits women from speaking to men) seeking healing for her daughter (a Gentile girl? See strikes one and two) who has an unclean spirit.

Jesus’ response to this woman startles a bit each time we read it. He said, “Let the children (the people of Israel) be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs” (a name often used to refer to Gentiles). Why would Jesus exclude this woman and deny her request?
 
Perhaps he was demonstrating what he had just finished teaching. Or perhaps it was because he had not yet completed his mission to the Jews, which had to come first, as it was prophesied in Isaiah. Maybe it was so that when we read this 2,000+ years later, we are left unable to deny that Jesus was moved by the faith of an alien, someone who was not supposed to be able to eat the food of life.

The current discussions we’re having in the church and in society on immigration and open communion come to mind.

Undeterred, the woman reminds Jesus that even the dogs eat the children’s crumbs. What a powerful and faithful response! Her faithfulness so moves Jesus that he changes his mind, drops the religious and societal barrier that separates them, and heals the woman’s daughter.

In response to the trust this woman has demonstrated, Jesus doesn’t even need to meet or touch the child in order to heal her. He simply speaks it, and she is healed.

This isn’t the first time God’s mind is changed following an argument with a human. In Genesis, Abraham argued with God about not destroying Sodom if only ten righteous people could be found. And Moses asked God to relent from destroying the people of Israel for their spiritual adultery during their exodus. Now this woman argues with God to obtain wholeness for her child, claiming, at the same time, both her identity as a member of the household of God and her right to partake of the spiritual food of life given to the children of God.

Isn’t it amazing how Jesus encounters someone with a pure heart right after arguing with the Pharisees about this? And just so we’re clear – she was a rule-breaking alien, woman. Three strikes against her and she still gets the home run.

That’s because this Syrophoenician woman trusted in three important ways. 1) She trusted that in Jesus she would find the food of life, which for her, was the healing she desired for her child. 2) She trusted in the mercy of God who cares for the stranger (Ps 146:8). She may not have been a Jew, but she was in the household all the same, and everyone in the household deserves to be fed. 3) She trusted in the abundance of God’s love knowing that there would be enough for the children of Israel and for her.

Our Scripture tells us that after this encounter Jesus continued on through the Gentile country and headed back toward Galilee where people brought a deaf man to him to be healed. Like many who are born deaf, this man spoke with an impediment.

Jesus didn’t hesitate. He took the man away from the crowd and did a healing ritual with him. There was no magic in putting his fingers in the man’s ear or his spittle on the man’s tongue. It was ritual.

Jesus could have healed this man in the same way he had healed the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter, with a word, but he chose instead to do a healing ritual. Ritually touching the man’s ears and tongue, then raising his eyes and his prayer to heaven, Jesus sighed - a signal of release - and called upon the man to do the same.

“Be opened,” Jesus said. It’s a simple command, but it’s so powerful and transforming that we ought not to run by it too quickly.

“Be opened.” Jesus wasn’t talking to the ears, but to the man. It was a command with a sense of urgency and it required the man to come into the presence of God and let go, to be still and let God do the work.

Be … just be… just wait in the presence… release, let go all thoughts, all desires, all expectations… let go all doubts, all fears, all concerns about worthiness or unworthiness, cleanness or uncleanness… let go and let God open you. “Be opened.”

And immediately, our Scripture tells us, he was opened. We know his ears were opened and his tongue released because Mark tells us that he spoke plainly. It seems clear, however, that the man himself was also opened, along with the people to whom he returned.

Mark tells us that no matter how much Jesus cautioned them not to talk about it, their excitement could not be contained, “astounded” as they were “beyond measure.” They had witnessed the fulfillment of the prophesy that when the Messiah came he would make “the deaf to hear and the mute to speak” and they couldn’t help but proclaim what they had just seen Jesus do.

The healing ritual with the deaf man was done for the benefit of the man, the people in his community, those to whom they told the story, and for us who read about it today. It demonstrates an important part of our relationship with God, who waits faithfully for us to come near and be made whole.

It also reminds us how important it is for us to do what we do on Sundays and Holy Days: ritually praying and eating together while giving thanks to God – the source of the food of life that makes us whole. When we come to church we make an offering of ourselves to God knowing – trusting – that in Jesus we have the food of life, that God’s mercy and love are abundant and available to any who ask.

As Episcopalians, we’re familiar with ritual, and the symbolic language and actions involved. We may not think about it much, but we are affected by it when we are open to it.

So like that deaf man, Jesus is calling us - right now - to be opened… to come into the presence of God… to release, to let go all thoughts, desires, and expectations… to let go all doubts, fears, and concerns of worthiness… to let go and let God in.

“Grant us, O Lord, to trust in you with all our hearts…” Amen.

Pentecost 11-B, 2012: Food for the journey

Proper 14 Lectionary: 1 Kings 19:4-8; Psalm 34:1-8; Ephesians 4:25-5:2; John 6:35, 41-51



En el nombre del Dios, Padre, Hijo, y Espiritu Santo. Amen.

The Eucharist, our celebration of thanksgiving and praise, is the central act of worship in the Episcopal Church. It says so right there in the first sentence on page 13. The Eucharist is what we do on Sundays - our Sabbath day.

The Eucharist is also discussed in the Catechism on page 859. There it says that the Eucharist is “the sacrament commanded by Christ for the continual remembrance of his life, death, and resurrection, until his coming again… [The Eucharist] is the way by which…Christ… unites us to…himself…”

In the document entitled, “Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry, put out by the World Council of Churches, of which the Episcopal Church is a member, the Eucharist is described as “...the sacrament of the gift which God makes to us in Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit. In the eucharistic meal, in the eating and drinking of the bread and wine, Christ grants communion with himself... giving life to the body of Christ and renewing each member. In accordance with Christ's promise, each baptized member of the body of Christ receives in the eucharist the assurance of the forgiveness of sins… and the pledge of eternal life... in the eucharist, ...we are sanctified and reconciled in love, in order to be servants of reconciliation in the world... to be... in solidarity with the outcast,... to become signs of the love of Christ who lived and sacrificed himself for all...”

The language used by Jesus in today's Gospel, bread as flesh and wine as blood, is language of ritual. Jesus was, after all, a rabbi, who presided over many ritual meals. In his book, Doors to the Sacred, Catholic theologian Joseph Martos says ritual meals, “affirm and intensify the bond of unity among the participants.” (Doors to the Sacred, Joseph Martos, 213)

Martos affirms the teaching that those of us who come to this sacred meal ought to reflect on what we’re doing, why we’re coming to receive this holy food, what is it that we are inviting into ourselves – our bodies and our lives – because in the sharing of the bread of life and cup of salvation, “we are being united into a body – the body of Christ.” (Martos, 215)

That means things are different for us because, as St. Paul says, “we are members of one another.” (Eph 4:25) We can be angry, but we must not let that anger cause us to sin, that is, to break our communion with one another or with God.

When we speak, we are to say only that which will give grace to those who hear us, remembering that when we tear another member down, or cling to bitterness and anger, or slander another member, we cause the Holy Spirit to grieve. So we think about this meal and make a choice to receive it knowing its power over us – the power to unite us to God and to one another in love.

Ritual meals like the Jewish Passover and our Holy Eucharist are also “re-enactment(s) of sacred vents” so that “those events become real and present to the people who share it.” (Martos, 213) This isn’t just a memorial for us, it’s a present reality. Christ is truly present, and we don’t just remember this, we live it.

When we hear the words, “do this for the remembrance of me” I hope we hear the voice of our Savior inviting us to come back into unity with him. Remember. Re-member... be a member again… be one with me again...

That’s why, in our tradition, all of our senses are engaged in our liturgies. We sit in the midst of the beauty of these stained-glass windows and the warmth of the wood that forms our chancel, altar, and pews.

We gaze upon the cross that was transformed by our Savior from a symbol of humiliation to a sign of victory. We light candles so that we have living light in our midst – a reminder that Jesus lives and is in and among us each time we gather. We hear the rich beautiful tones of our organ and engage our bodies and our minds as we sing prayers of praise to God.

In many churches, including our own chapel, the smell of incense becomes a familiar cue that we have entered a holy space where our prayers are lifted to heaven as we watch the smoke from the incense rise to the rafters and hang there like a cloud. And we imagine that must be where the cloud of witnesses prays with us. (I hope we can enjoy this sensory experience again one day here in this holy space.)

We walk up to the communion rail and kneeling or standing by someone we may or may not know, someone we may or may not like, we reach out our hands and take the bread of Holy Communion into our mouths and remember that we are one in the body of Christ. We taste the bread of communion as it melts on our tongues and that too becomes a signal to our bodies that something holy is happening and we are choosing to let it happen within us.

The smell of the wine greets us as the cup is raised to our mouths and the deep and momentarily harsh flavor of the consecrated wine stimulates our glands and our saliva mixes with the wine in our mouths, making manifest the union of our bodies to Christ. As we swallow, we can feel it as the warmth of the wine travels deeply into our bodies.

When we eat the bread of life and drink the cup of salvation, we make an offering of ourselves, giving our bodies to God who enters us, becomes one with us, and makes us one with each other.

It is a mystical moment, a moment of pure joy as we remember, even for just this moment, that our sins have been forgiven. It is a moment of deep peace as we remember that by this spiritual food we are renewed, strengthened, and made whole again.

Our daily lives can drain us. Our Christian life should drain us.

We should be giving out love and prayer and offering words of hope to someone every day, all the time. There are so many who need it. We should give it until it’s gone because we believe, we know there is always more. God’s grace is sufficient, so there is always enough to replenish us.

God granted Elijah heavenly food when he was used up, when he was “give out” as my husband would say. Let me die, Elijah said. I’ve had enough and I don’t want to go on. But the angel of God said to Elijah, get up and eat, and there before him was heavenly food.

Eat this food, the angel said to Elijah, “otherwise the journey will be too much for you.” (1Kings 19:7)

It’s true - the journey is too much for us too unless we are continually nourished and renewed by our spiritual food, the bread and wine of Holy Communion, “the sacrament commanded by Christ for the continual remembrance of his life, death, and resurrection, until his coming again…” (BCP, 859)

The journey is too much for us unless we continually affirm our bond of unity and remember that we are one with Christ and one another.

The journey is too much for us unless we stop the world, come into the presence of God and remember that our sins are forgiven and we are sanctified, that is, made holy, and drawn by the Father to Christ who will raise us up on the last day.

Remembering that gives us strength to go out to the world, again and again, as living signs of the love of Christ, imitators of God, and servants of reconciliation in the world.

Amen.

Link to the Baptism, Eucharist, Ministry document: http://www.oikoumene.org/en/resources/documents/wcc-commissions/faith-and-order-commission/i-unity-the-church-and-its-mission/baptism-eucharist-and-ministry-faith-and-order-paper-no-111-the-lima-text.html

The prayer our Savior taught us

Every Sunday at our Eucharistic gathering we pray together the prayer our Savior taught us: The Lord’s Prayer, found in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. Jesus said to his disciples: “Pray then in this way: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not bring us to the time of trial, but rescue us from the evil one.” (Mt 6:9-13)

We pray believing that God hears and answers our prayers. We pray not so much to ask for what we need or want – God already knows that and is answering our prayers before we ask. We pray in order to bring ourselves into the presence of God whose Spirit fills us and leads us to wholeness again and again – as often as we go there.

When we pray that God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven, we know that this is already happening. That can be both comforting and frightful when we think about it. If God’s Spirit is in us, then what happens to us happens to God who is in us. Therefore, when we see the face of a suffering child of God, we see the face of God. When we give comfort to one of the least in the kingdom (or when we don’t), we give comfort to God (or we don’t).

When we pray for God’s will to be done, it’s because the only other option is our will – and even in our least humble moments, we know our will isn’t sufficient. We know our best gifts and greatest compassion and most self-sacrificing love can’t bring about reconciliation of the world to God. Only God can do that – and God chooses to continue that work through us. So when we pray that God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven, we are asking God to change us. By our free will, we can choose to step out of God’s will. Sometimes we look up and find that we have stepped out of the path of God without realizing it. Mindlessness and habit can lead us to that. Prayer is our way of consenting to be brought back into cooperation with the divine will.

When we pray, Jesus reminds us to do so trusting in the steadfast love, mercy, and compassion of God who provides what we need – our daily bread - as we need it. When we truly believe that, then we become sources of that abundance to others. We are unafraid to “give it away” because we know there will always be more, there will always be enough.

Jesus also teaches us to remember to seek to be forgiving, just as God is forgiving. We are all children of God and we’re all bound together in that identity. The question is, what binds us – sin or love? If it is sin, we get stuck, held back from our true purpose or we hold others back from their true purpose. If it is love, we live in freedom and all things really are possible by the power of God working in us.

When we pray, we remember the truth of eternal life given to us as a gift (grace) from God, and we are able to live our lives in the eternal presence of God. Right here. Right now. From that prayerful perspective we can see clearly that the things of the world are tempting, but temporary, and we are no longer deceived by what they seem to promise.

We return our gaze to God who is the source of life, truth, compassion, and fullness of joy. This is the reign of God. This is the glory of God. Now and forever. Amen.

Pentecost 9: Fill me now

Dear friends,

Today's sermon was extemporaneous. I meant to audio-tape it, but in my weakened condition (I'm recuperating from dehydration from a funeral this weekend), I didn't get it done. I guess this one was for just us this week. The Holy Spirit showed up, though. One member told me I was "fairly glowing" as I gave way for God to preach through me today - even in my physical state of emptiness. I'm glad. I had nothing to offer. It was up to God alone to feed these people. The title of my sermon, "Fill me now" speaks of the theme I preached - being people who are filled with the fullness of God. Peace.

Valori+

Pentecost 8, 2012: Valued, accepted, and forgiven

Proper 11 Lectionary: Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 23; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 6:30-34, 53-56



En el nombre del Dios, Padre, Hijo, y Espiritu Santo, Amen.

In today’s gospel story, Jesus feeds the five thousand who, he says, are like sheep without a shepherd, that is, they are lost and aimlessly wandering around in a desert – a desert that is as much within them as it is the place where they are gathered. St. Mark tells us that they come to Jesus with the same kind of faith demonstrated by the woman with the flow of blood (whose story we discussed a few weeks ago). They believe, like she did, that if they only touch the hem of his cloak, they will be healed. They know that Jesus is the source of their healing, their wholeness of life, and they want to be made whole, to be delivered from their despair.

Being healed, being made whole again, is a choice all of us can make anytime. What’s in the way? Well, some of us as, we discussed last Sunday, believe the lie that we are too unworthy to be healed. What it takes then is for someone to welcome us as a friend, someone who will tell us the Good News of God in Christ that we are all forgiven, accepted, and loved by God.

Bur living in this truth, living in the Good News of God in Christ means giving up our judgments and our excuses and allowing ourselves to be guided by God alone, who anoints our heads with oil and consecrates us as holy. It means being the temples of God’s Holy Spirit that we are by means of our Baptism. It means answering our Baptismal call to proclaim by word and deed the good news of God in Christ. That means we don’t seek the kind of justice that satisfies us but the kind of justice that satisfies God, whose mercy and goodness follow all of us all the days of our lives.

In our Baptism we also promise to seek and serve Christ in all people, loving our neighbors as ourselves. We are the bearers of the grace of God to the world. As hard as it is sometimes, we forgive our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. We love one another as God loves us – and by one another, I don’t just mean our friends and family (who can be challenging enough at times), but all of our neighbors: the poor, the homeless, the addicted, los inmigrantes (immigrants), even the criminals here in Cleveland County where we’ve been planted. It means loving neighbors like the 24 year old shooter in Aurora, CO, who killed a dozen people and injured 58 more, or the suicide-bomber in Bulgaria who killed a busload of vacationing Israeli youths and their chaperones.

Following news of the mass shooting in Colorado I saw lots of postings on Facebook and Twitter about people praying for the victims, their families, and those affected by these tragedies - which is a good thing. But by Friday afternoon, I hadn’t seen a single one, even from the Episcopal Church, that offered prayers for the broken soul who committed these crimes. So I replied to a tweet by Episcopal Relief and Development calling for prayer for the Colorado shooter and his family. Their reply to me: “Absolutely - perhaps most of all. But for the grace of God, there go all of us.”

Living in the truth of the Good News of God in Christ is hard. It’s often easier and there’s infinitely more overt support for us if we live our lives according to the story told by society or culture rather than by the Christian narrative.

Society dictates very clearly to us who is acceptable and who isn’t, who is beautiful and who isn’t, who is approved of and who isn’t. And those ideals change from era to era.

In our current cultural narrative, there is the saying: “You can’t be too skinny or too rich.” Being both of those makes you acceptable, approved of, and worthy. Even if it kills you – which it often does.

Please find the sermon illustration in your bulletins (bloggers, see this at the end of the blog) and notice the way beauty was depicted in art from the Renaissance period. I’ve given you two of the most famous images from that time: The Mona Lisa by Leonardo DaVinci, and The Three Graces by Botticelli.

These women would be considered fat and unattractive by today’s standard of female physical beauty which you can see illustrated on the back side of that handout.

Unfortunately, exile from the ranks of the acceptable and the approved happens to even the most beautiful and the richest among us. Diana, Princess of Wales, suffered from bulimia and self-mutilation, and she had this to say about it: “I had bulimia for a number of years. And that's like a secret disease. You inflict it upon yourself because your self-esteem is at a low ebb, and you don't think you're worthy or valuable. You fill your stomach up four or five times a day… and it gives you a feeling of comfort. It's like having a pair of arms around you, but it's… temporary. Then you're disgusted at the bloatedness of your stomach, and then you bring it all up again. And it's a repetitive pattern, which is very destructive to yourself." (Source)

“You don’t think you’re worthy or valuable” she said. The most photographed and admired woman of her time didn’t feel worthy or valuable. Why? I think because she was looking in the wrong place - both for her value and for her comfort.

It’s sad, because what she needed, what we all need, is already within us. We have this mistaken notion that if we go into the presence of God, we’ll feel like a worm.
We won’t. In the presence of God we feel only love from God and the hugeness of that love heals the worminess the world and our own inner chatter make us feel.

We are temples of the Holy Spirit. THE SPIRIT OF GOD, who created us just as we are and loves us that way, LIVES IN US.

When society or we ourselves exile us into the ranks of the unacceptable and the unapproved, we need only go into prayer, into the presence of God to find comfort and remember our value in the sight of God.

As for those whom society exiles, the letter to the Ephesians resets our thinking on that. “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us.” (v 13-16)

One of the things that drew the crowds to Jesus is that they felt valued, accepted, and forgiven in his presence. Women, sinners, lepers, tax collectors, strangers, even criminals like the one on the cross next to Jesus felt valued, accepted and forgiven in his presence.

We are the presence of Christ in our world today. We are called to live the truth of the Good News of God in Christ, no matter the cost (and there is a cost), and to share the Christian narrative with all those who are wandering aimlessly in the deserts of their despair.

We’re called to receive into our love and into our family ALL whom God sends us. In our presence, EVERYONE should feel valued, accepted, and forgiven.

Here is what our Scripture says to all who are exiled and excluded: “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him 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.” (Eph 19-21)

May The Episcopal Church of the Redeemer continue to be built together spiritually into such a holy temple. Amen.

Pentecost 7B 2012: Blessed desolation

Proper 10 Lectionary: Amos 7:7-15, Psalm 85:8-13; Ephesians 1:3-14; Mark 6:14-29



En el nombre del Dios, Padre, Hijo, y Espiritu Santo. Amen.

COLLECT: O Lord, mercifully receive the prayers of your people who call upon you, and grant that they may know and understand what things they ought to do, and also may have grace and power faithfully to accomplish them…

I love the prophets! To me they are like artists, painting doorways to the truth with the brushstrokes of their prophecies. Like other forms of art, it often takes some education to fully appreciate their work.

Amos is known as the prophet of social justice, which he considered essential, indispensible, for those who held themselves to be chosen ones of God.

Amos was a herdsman and farmer who lived in Judah. This was during the time that Israel was divided into two kingdoms: the southern kingdom of Judah and the northern kingdom of Israel. God sent Amos, to prophesy to the people in the northern kingdom of Israel where Jeroboam was king.

The northern kingdom of Israel then was kind of like Galilee was in our Gospel reading, and kind of like Hollywood is for us today: a place of earthly excesses, sometimes even decadence, populated by circles of rich, materialistic cosmopolitans, who believed they earned their own fortunes and, therefore, deserved the enjoyment their fortunes afforded them. They showed little to no mercy for those in need among them. They had lost their sense of righteousness, mercy, and duty in the name of God.

It was to them that Amos prophesied in Chapter 6: “Alas for those who lie on beds of ivory, and lounge on their couches, and eat lambs from the flock, and calves from the stall; who sing idle songs to the sound of the harp, and …improvise on instruments of music; who drink wine from bowls, and anoint themselves with the finest oils, but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph!” (v 4-6)

Amaziah, the priest of the temple, begged Amos to leave and prophesy somewhere else. Stop saying bad things about us, Amaziah said. This is the king’s territory and we are beloved, favored, and chosen of God. That’s why we have it so good.

Amos responded, yes, you are! Which is why you, of all people, should know how you are to live in relationship to God and one another. You have gotten lost in the satisfaction that comes from earthly wealth, power, and privilege. You believed that you deserve it, that you earned it, that it belongs to you and you can do with it whatever you will.

But your power and privilege is an illusion. And when the illusion fails, you’ll realize that you have nothing.

That’s because living life in the absence of God, there is only nothingness and Amos uses prophetic language to describe this nothingness saying, your wife will be sold into indignity, your kids will have no life in them, you will lose all you hold dear – including your land (which, for the people of Israel, meant their identity). You will even lose the dignity of your life and your death.

But God, who is steadfast in love and mercy, responds to our hubris, offering mercy and a way to go. In the vision of the plumb line, God asks Amos, ‘What do you see?’

‘A plumb line,’ answers Amos.

Right, says God. “See, I am setting a plumb line in the midst of my people Israel; I will never again pass them by; the high places of Isaac shall be made desolate, and the sanctuaries of Israel shall be laid waste, and I will rise against the house of Jeroboam with the sword.” (v 8-9)

In other words, by the mercy of God, all that the people cling to, all that seems desirable to them but leads to their destruction must be removed. All will seem lost because those things – the luxuries, the power and wealth, the success, and the approval of the others in their elite circles – had seemed so important, so supremely important.

But God, who loves us with steadfast love, knows that these things are to us humans like pills are to an addict. They are a lie and they lead us to death. They trick us into believing that we are satisfied and happy even as they destroy our relationships with God and one another. They cause us lose sight of the suffering of our needy sisters and brothers – those who are hungry, homeless, infirm, and alone – because we are too focused on ourselves and what we think we need/want/deserve. They also lead us into error, tricking us into believing that we are the source of our success, our wealth, and our happiness.

Detaching from these things is a lot like detoxing from an addiction – it’s painful at first. The body and mind fight against it. We cling to the lie which is preferable to the truth that is coming into view – the truth that in their absence, all that’s left is emptiness, nothingness. It feels like desolation.

And, in fact, it is desolation, blessed desolation: complete emptiness, the utter destruction of a false reality we had constructed for ourselves. It is only in that complete emptiness, in the stark, cold, darkness of the tomb, that the people of God (then and now) stripped of our illusions of power and self sufficiency, can discover what is truly important – what is true at all – life in the presence of God.

From that place of desolation we call out to God who is always there waiting to save, remembering again, or finally, that it is only God who saves. We believe that our salvation is in Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Word, God, who came to live among us, to minister among us, and to give his life for our salvation. Jesus did it and it has been done – once, for all. There is nothing we can do to save ourselves. No amount of obedience or good works can save us. Indeed, they are the fruits of our salvation, not the means to it.

We need to remember that if we do anything good it’s because the grace of God has been lavished upon us, compelling us to do our part in Christ’s continuing work of the redemption of the world. If we do anything good, it’s because the Spirit of God lives in us and touches the world through our grateful hearts and willing hands. If we do anything good, it’s because we have “heard the word of truth,” believed it, and surrendered ourselves and our lives to it.

Therefore, no matter how many modern-day Amaziahs ask us to stop speaking the truth, we won’t stop. No matter how many of them condemn us for welcoming all into the Church, all into presence of God, we’ll keep doing it anyway. And no matter how impossible or desolate the path ahead seems to earthly minds, we’ll continue to pray for and gratefully receive the grace and power to do what God would have us do.

I close with a prayer from Sir Francis Drake:

Disturb us, Lord, when
We are too well pleased with ourselves,
When our dreams have come true
Because we have dreamed too little,
When we arrived safely
Because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess
We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;
Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity
And in our efforts to build a new earth,
We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.

Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas
Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,
We shall find the stars.
We ask You to push back
The horizons of our hopes;
And to push back the future
In strength, courage, hope, and love.

Amen.