Pentecost 5, 2016: Cultivating seeds of divine love

Lectionary: 1 Kings 19:1-4, (5-7), 8-15a; Psalm 42 and 43; Galatians 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-39

(Note: I preached from notes today, so the audio text will be expanded from the notes below)




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

Intro: the preacher thanks the intercessor who added the intention of the Orlando shooting to our prayers last Sunday. We had no idea the scope of this tragedy as it would unfold throughout the days to come.

As we drove home from her, I got a call from my mother. She was panicked to know that my daughter (who is a lesbian) was OK. My daughter lives hundreds of miles from Orlando, but it wasn’t a rational fear my mother was experiencing. She was touching the fear every LGBTQAI (Lesbian, Gay, Bi-sexual, Transgender, Questioning/Queer, Asexual, Intersex) sisters and brothers experience everyday: the fear of being hurt or killed because of their sexual identity.

Share Rev. Wayne Nicholson’s (St. John’s, Mt. Pleasant, MI) letter (See below). This is the time for their voice, not ours. We, who are allies, must listen to them and what they need.

…We had awoken, of course, to the horrific news from Orlando: Forty-nine people shot dead at a gay bar by a murderer with an AK-15 assault rifle, 53 others seriously wounded.

To my GLBTQ community, I am with you with a broken heart, I share your anger, your fear, your love.

To my heterosexual community, I am with you also, but you must understand: This was not just an attack on Americans, this was not just the act of an Islamist lone-wolf terrorists, this was the murder of forty-nine people because he assumed they were gay. This was the murder of men and women, straight and gay, brothers, lovers, friends, uncles, sons, daughters, and at least one mom. Because they were in a gay bar. Not a "youth club" or any other sort of nightclub, a gay bar. (I'll not rant my disappointment at public leaders, including leaders of our own Church, who have avoided saying "gay" club... And I send my thanks to the Lt. Governor of Utah, of all people, and the Bishop of West Tennessee, who have not shied away from the acronym LGBT nor the word "gay.")

You must understand, also, that GLBTQ people, no matter how "out," no matter how confidently visible, live in constant, constant anxiety: "Why is that person looking at me? Am I safe? Can I touch my husband's hand here at Ric's?" We check our surroundings, we look over our shoulders, we avoid any public display of affection that you would take for granted because we never know who might take offense, who might be outraged, who might be dangerous. This is our life. Every. Damn. Day.

And now for some of us that anxiety has returned. Three weeks ago I was in the pulpit. Midway through the sermon a man entered the back of the church, a man I didn't recognize. He was taking the back pew, eyes forward toward the Altar (or me), reaching in his pocket. For some reason I had this moment of fear: "Who is he? Why is he late? Why is he reaching in his pocket? Does he have a gun? Is my time up?" And then, by grace, my fear abated with the thought and prayer, "All shall be well."

Homegrown terrorism is a fact. Accessibility to weapons created to kill large numbers of people is a fact. Right-wing extremism is a fact. Denunciation of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people is a fact. And it is reprehensible and un-Christian. And it contributes to terrorism. I believe that companies which sell AK-15 rifles, people who espouse fanaticism of any sort, and so-called Christian leaders who tell me I am intrinsically disordered, who say the people in the bar got what they deserved, who shun me because of who I love, are complicit in the tragedy of Orlando. They all have blood on their hands.

But I must return to the thought and prayer, "All shall be well." And I must heed the words of St. Paul that "faith without works is dead." Prayer is good. But prayer isn't enough. I must speak out, I must name the crime for what it was.

And I must love, and I must have hope.

In Christ,
Wayne+

Wayne is right: prayer isn’t enough. We must also act in solidarity with our LGBTQAI family – listening to them as they tell us, their allies, what they need from us – and in our gospel today, Jesus demonstrates for us exactly how to do that. It’s a spiritual habit any of us, in fact, all of us, can and should cultivate.

Before we get to that, let’s review a few things in this story.

1. NAMES (last week): “magnify the name of God.” The 8th chapter of Luke begins by naming the women following Jesus, which was the conclusion of our lectionary reading last Sunday. The issue of naming was very important in the culture of Jesus’ time.
• appellation
• (Hebraic) how you are known… details and feelings that one experiences upon hearing the name. E.g.: Francis of Assisi. Watch any victim of violence respond to hearing the name of their perpetrator.

2. DEMONS (Today): Anyone who speaks of demons is considered unsophisticated, superstitious, unscientific.
• E.g.” Legion” would be listed in the DSM 5 as Multiple Personality Disorder (at least on the first axis)
• “Not in their right mind” is a phrase we still use today, but we hear it as someone who would benefit from therapy, medication, or medical intervention (elderly person with an UTI)

All that may be true, but as one commentator put it: would therapy have stopped Hitler? Would medication have changed the murderous way Stalin or Pol Pot or Idi Amin?

There’s more to this concept of demons than science can manage.

Luke describes Mary Magdalene as one from whom 7 demons had gone out.
• In ancient Biblical understanding, the number seven:spiritual perfection, completeness, and the work or action of God.
• Demons – devils: general divine agency/a higher power. Later it was used to refer to destructive power, esp. morally.

I’ve heard many refer to addiction as a demon - destructive power. My experience with the chronic repetition of destructive lifestyle of some abuse victims affirms this too.

The demoniac, however he is understood, is possessed by a destructive force. How Jesus acts in this story is remarkable:

1) Jesus went to the demoniac (everyone else ran away in fear) and began a relationship with him where he was, as he was.
2) Jesus asked him his name.
3) Jesus listened to him and gave him what he asked for.

The symbolism in this story is so rich. Let’s listen to some of them in spiritual – not literal – terms:
• a Gentile (a despised outsider) living among the dead
• naked (unclothed by the spirit of Christ), wild (spiritually undisciplined), and bound with chains (sin)
• Legion: a Roman army of about 6,000 soldiers. It symbolized “the occupying forces whose power was overwhelming and whose presence meant the loss of control over every dimension of their society.” (Source: Keith F. Nickel, Preaching the Gospel in Luke, 120)
• the abyss (bottomless pit of nothingness, powerlessness)
• the pigs (unclean, despised by Jews)
• the drowning
• the rebirth of the man
• the fear of the onlookers

So, what’s the spiritual habit I mentioned we need to cultivate as followers of Christ? It was in our Collect: perpetual love. We need to walk into relationship with the demoniacs we encounter. We can be willing to walk into their darkness confident of the light of Christ we bear. It takes practice and there are parameters to follow:

1. Walk to them.
2. Don’t judge them or try to fix them. Just love them.
3. Listen to them as a prayer (meaning behind the words).
4. Stand still while God works.
5. Recognize that most people are afraid of change.
6. Remember a divine seed is being planted.

Jesus sent the man home with instruction to tell everyone the great things God had done for him. This was a seed of divine love planted by Jesus and harvested later by St. Paul in his ministry to the Gentiles.

The lesson for us as members of the body of Christ is: Detach from outcomes. Sometimes we are asked to simply to plant a seed, not to reap a harvest.

As we did with “seeing” one another last week, I pray you will practice and build this new spiritual habit of perpetual love here, with one another, then take it out there to the world – magnifying the name of God in the world.

Close with prayer/poem by St. John of the Cross as a response to the Orlando shooting.

It’s called: "If you love"

You might quiet the whole world for a second
if you pray.

And if you love, if you
really love,

our guns will wilt. (Source: Daniel Ladinsky, trans., Love Poems from God, Penguin Compass, 2002, p. 317)

Amen.

Pentecost 4 2016: Reconciling "seeing"

Lectionary1 Kings 21:1-10, (11-14), 15-21a; Psalm 5:1-8; Galatians 2:15-21; Luke 7:36-8:3
Preacher: The Very Rev Dr Valori Mulvey Sherer, supply priest at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Family, Mills River, NC



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

We begin our worship every Sunday with the Collect for Purity. It’s a Collect because we are asking God to collect us from our various life situations and perspectives into a single state of mind that in our worship we may be one body, one spirit in Christ. Let’s listen to it again: “Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name; through Christ our Lord. Amen.” (BCP, 355)

We talked last week about the “inspiration” of the Holy Spirit – God breathing God’s self into our bodies, into our lives. This Collect reminds us that it is by divine “inspiration” that we are able love God completely and magnify the name of God. To magnify is to reveal the nature of God by what we think, do, and say; and the name of God is God’s identity.

My experience anymore is that God is too often magnified by God’s people as a gun-toting, foreigner-hating, American flag-waving judge who is waiting to smite anyone who makes a mistake or violates a law. Either that, or God is far away in some heavenly realm, removed from the vicissitudes of life on earth, instead deputizing certain members of the people of God to judge, punish, and even kill those who are determined to be sinners in our midst.

Yet our readings show us something very different. They reveal a God who knows us intimately and loves us all - and I mean ALL- deeply; a God who sees beyond our behavior, our reputation, and our titles to the truth about us. They show us the merciful nature of God who, seeing our sins – which is anything that divides us from one another or from God - forgives us and opens space for us to change, that we might do the same for one another.

First, however, we must trust God enough to open our eyes and our hearts to know our own sin, especially our invisible sin – which is the sin we can’t or won’t see. Most of us resist this, I know I do, but it’s very clear in these Scripture stories that God isn’t leading us to an awareness of our sin in order to shame us or punish us but to encourage us to live differently, to live as people who magnify the true name of God.

Jesus demonstrates this by telling the story of the two debtors. One debtor owed much, the other half as much. Their creditor cancels both of their debts, and Jesus asks Simon the Pharisee: who will love the creditor more? Simon answers correctly: The one who had greater debt.

Then Jesus turns to the woman and asks Simon, ‘Do you see this woman?’ Simon was caught up short because he hadn’t really seen her. He’d only seen what he believed about her – that she was a sinner. He’d seen what she was doing – intimately touching Jesus with her hair loosed (a very suggestive detail in the gospel) which confirmed his conclusion that she was a sinner. Feeling justified, Simon had condemned the woman in his thoughts, but he hadn’t actually seen her.

When Jesus looked at the woman he saw, and publicly described, the joy of a life restored, the light of her love and gratitude pouring forth as tears that washed his feet. When he looked at Simon, he saw the sin of spiritual pride, the interior darkness of Simon’s judgement against both the woman and himself. You see, Simon’s lack of hospitality toward Jesus was a proverbial slap in the face to Jesus and Jesus called him on it saying, ‘You gave me no kiss, no water for my dusty feet, no oil to anoint my head…’

The gospel story demonstrates for us all how God, to whom all hearts are open, all desires are known and no secrets are hid, sees the truth about each of us and reveals it to us so that we can be set free from what divides us and begin to live together in reconciliation. Jesus’ public proclamation of forgiveness set the woman free from the habit of her former life, a life which held her bound in the chains of poverty, shame, and contempt. It also set Simon free from the invisible bonds of his privilege, bonds that strangled the love right out of him and blinded him to the truth about himself, others, and even God.

Seeing and being seen in this way transforms us. When I am attacked by a Simon who has misjudged me, or when I’m drowning in my own insecurities, I can look into my husband’s eyes or my children’s eyes, or even my dog’s eyes, and see myself as they see me, and I am healed.

When I look into the eyes of the beggar as I hand him my dollar, he sees my love and respect for him, and there’s that moment of surprise, a hiccup in time where both of us know we are truly “seeing” each other. It’s a vulnerable place to be. What if the beggar sees my sin? We are, after all, both sinners saved by grace. Perhaps this is the true reason we often look away…

In every church, every community, everywhere you look, there are people who won’t get along; people who judge another based on what they think about them or their behavior – without really “seeing” them. Yet every Sunday when we gather for Holy Eucharist, we have the opportunity to practice during the Exchange of Peace what Jesus is teaching in today’s gospel: to “see” our neighbors; to connect with them, forgive them or ask their forgiveness if that’s what’s needed; to notice and let go of whatever divides us. Only when we are reconciled to one another are we to approach the table for Holy Communion.

I have to admit: I love a chaotic exchange of peace. I love the love that descends upon us like a cloud covering us and permeating us. I also love the transformation that can happen when we use this weekly opportunity to really “see” one another; to forgive and be forgiven, and to live together differently afterwards as a result. It is by practicing this in here that we are made ready to worthily magnify the name of God out there.

So today, I have a 3-part challenge for us:

1) I challenge us to choose to really “see” our neighbors today as we offer one another the sign of peace.

2) I challenge each of us to find one person we need to forgive and go forgive them; or one person whose forgiveness we need, and ask for it. This might be forgiveness like the woman in the gospel received for something we did, or the forgiveness like Simon received for something we thought.

3) Finally, having practiced this kind of reconciling “seeing” here in church, I challenge us to make one opportunity to practice it out there in the world and come back next Sunday, our last Sunday together with me as your presider, and share our stories about how it went.

Let’s close with prayer. “Christ our true and only Light: receive our morning prayers, and illumine the secrets of our hearts with your healing goodness, that… we [may be] made new in the light of your heavenly grace. Amen.” (Source: Gelassian Sacramentary)

Pentecost 3, 2016: Living compassionately like Jesus did

Extemporaneous sermon preached at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Family, Mills River, NC. Transcribed.
Lectionary: 1 Kings 17:8-16 (17-24), Galatians 1:11-24, Luke 7:11-17



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

The Old Testament reading and the New Testament reading bring up for us the concept of compassion -as distinct from the concept of pity. Pity is a thought. Compassion is an act. So, I want to talk about that word for just a minute. The Greek work that we translate as “compassion” literally means, “ to feel the bowels yearn.” For the ancient people this was the seat of compassion. This (points to gut) is what we would call heart. This (points to head) was the location of thought, as for us.

So, when Jesus had compassion on the widow whose son had just died, leaving her penniless, homeless, and without protection, basically, she was to become a beggar until she died – he felt a yearning in his bowels. For the ancient peoples, the bowel was the location of love.

So in his body, Jesus felt the stirring of love. We know that God is love. So the stirring in our bowels is the stirring of God, acting in us. He said to the young man - our Scripture interprets it as, “Rise,” but what it actually says, the Greek work says, “Awake,” “Wake up.” which he did, and he gave him to his mother.

Now the story in Elijah and the story in Luke are almost identical. Elijah hears the spirit of God stirring in him and the first thing the Spirit of God says to him is, “Go.” The Scripture starts with, “The word of God came to Elijah…” The word of God, the logos of God, the action of God, came to Elijah and said, Go. Go to Zarapheth and there you’ll find a widow; and she’s going to give you something to eat because I have commanded that that happen.

So the word of God, the command of God is creative, is it not? In Genesis, God created ádam, which means human, and eve, which means first, and breathed life into their nostrils and they were alive. They became human. (Gen 2: 7). Job, in the book of Job says, ‘the spirit of God made me, but the breath of God gives me life.’ (Job 33:4) And in John, you remember that just recently we read about the upper room just after the crucifixion and the disciples are all afraid, and their behind a locked door; and Jesus passes right through the locked door, and what does he do? He breathes on them and he breathes his own spirit into them; his own life into the apostles including the women.

So Jesus says to the young man, Wake up. Compassion. The compassion that we’re given in these stories show us the compassion of God and the compassion we should have for one another. God says to Elijah, go to that widow. And he does, and the miracle happens with the bread and the oil; and he eats, and she continues to eat. Then her son dies – and she blames Elijah: you shouldn’t have even brought us to God’s attention because now my son is dead.

But what happens in Elijah? The spirit of God stirs in his bowels and he’s upset. And he goes to God and says, why are you bringing calamity on this woman? And he takes the child and brings him up and lays down on him. He takes his own body, his own life and lays on the boy and he says to God, please, please, please, bring life back to this boy.

But in the story in Luke, Jesus sees this woman walking in the funeral procession and knows that she’s a widow and that her only son has died, which means she going to die poor, a beggar, and he has compassion. He feels the love stirring in his gut and he walks up…

Now remember, in Jewish times and in Jewish faith, if you touch a dead body, you’re unclean. Even if you touch the bier, the thing holding the body, you’re unclean. But how many times does Jesus dispense with those rules when he has to? He walks up to the bier and he touches the bier, not the body, and he says, ‘young man, get up.’

That’s the difference between to story in Elijah and in Luke’s gospel. This story is the same exact story, right down to certain phrases; except in the Elijah story, Elijah lays on the boy and said, ‘God, please bring life back to this boy.’ But in the Luke story, Jesus brings the life back to the boy because… Jesus is God! Nowhere in the history of faith in this community has anyone brought life from death. Nowhere. Other people had done tremendous healings and lots of what we would call magical stuff, but nobody had ever brought somebody who was dead back to life. Yet Jesus did this a couple of times in his ministry, didn’t he?

So the compassion that we’re shown in these two stories is the compassion God has shown people who are suffering and the compassion we’re to have for each other just like Elijah did when this woman’s son died.

So let’s look at: what is the Incarnation. The incarnation was God taking human form, embodying flesh and walking among us. I want to look now at the Latin meaning of the word compassion because that’s what matters her in regard to the incarnation. So, the Greek meaning is that stirring in your bowels, the source of love. The Latin word from which we get the word compassion is "com," meaning "with," and "passio," meaning "to suffer." To have compassion is to suffer with someone.

The Incarnation is Jesus’ compassion, God’s compassion for humanity by coming among us and suffering with us. And we’re asked to follow in Jesus’ steps, to do exactly what he did, right? So when Elijah sees this woman, he suffers with her. ‘Her son is going to die, don’t bring this calamity to her, Lord. Please bring this boy back to life.’ And he does.

Jesus, sees with compassion. Jesus in human form, embodiment of spirit, sees this woman’s calamity about to strike and stops it. He suffers with her and he stops it.

So how do we do that? How do we do that? Isn’t that the whole point of church – to be Christ in the world today? We are bearers of that Holy Spirit. Christ breathed on us – I mean, we just had Pentecost. The Holy Spirit breathed all over this church. And every Sunday we leave here and we are sent out into the world; to walk out into the darkness, or as our Presiding Bishop now says, to enter the nightmare of the world and make it into the dream of God. Right?

The interesting thing about this gospel story from Luke is that it’s the second of a couplet. You may have noticed, but almost always, Luke presents stories in male and female versions. So this story immediately follows the story of the centurion whose slave was healed by Jesus; and then it follows with the woman whose son is healed. Now look at the centurion: a man of the world, commands great respect, has plenty of money. And then the opposite – the widow – whose son has just died- no power, no prestige, no respect… nothing.

So when the action of God, the compassion of God happens to the world, it happens to the powerful and the rich, and it happens to the powerless. It happens to men, to women, to the respected, to the un-respected… It’s as generous as Jesus said, and that’s how ours should be.

So when we hear the world – and ohhh, my gosh in this political season we hear plenty of this, don’t we? - when we hear the world saying who should not be treated with respect, or who should not be given compassion, or who should not be welcome among us… what we hear is this story. We hear it in the context of its couplet: the powerful and the powerless, the respected and the un-respected. And we remember that we bear the spirit of Christ in the world today.

So when God asks us to have compassion the way God asked Elijah and said, Go – go to Zarapheth, God is saying to us and to this church - this congregation is the body of Christ – God says to YOU, Go into the world. Find this person to whom I want to give grace... find this family who needs our compassion and bring it. Give it. It doesn’t matter if it’s a centurion or a widow. Bring it.

The last thing I want to say about this story (Note: this is such a great story. I told someone before church, these are some of my favorite readings, but I find myself saying that a lot!): whenever Jesus spoke, he always spoke in levels. That’s one of the reasons I loved learning Greek to hear the different levels Jesus was speaking in. So the level here is the literal level. There’s a story about a woman whose son dies. There’s a funeral. Jesus touches the bier. The boy wakes. That’s the literal.

Jesus is always talking spiritually too, isn’t he? Always. So remember I said that he said to the boy, ‘Awake. Wake up.’ If we think about it, this is a story about waking up spiritually. We’re walking around, many in the world are walking around either spiritually dead or spiritually asleep - kind of mindlessly going through our stuff; and this includes people who walk into church every Sunday somewhere and pray. They may be saying words, they may be doing (churchy) things, they may be obeying rules, but are they feeling that yearning in their gut? Are they feeling God’s love stirring, ready to pour into the world to bring compassion to someone who suffers?

This story is also for all of us to hear as a prayer. Listen to the symbolism in it: the widow – the person who has no prestige, no power. The son – the Son – get it? - who is dead and God says, wake up! It ends with, “A great prophet has risen among us… and God has looked favorably upon his people.” Let me tell you what the Greek said: “One on whom the spirit of God rests has risen among us; and God has visited his people. So when we hear that, we often hear this being directed at Jesus. This prophet has risen among us. And God has loved us and been favorable to us because this prophet is here. But let me tilt that just a little bit for you.

What is a prophet? A person who speaks the message of God to the world. We’ve got a whole bunch of prophets in the Bible who speak to the people saying, ‘Remember God. Wake up!’

Who woke up? The dead boy. What’s the first thing the dead boy did when he woke up? He spoke to his mother. He’s the prophet! He’s the one on whom the spirit of God rested. And then, the people shouted, God has visited his people! We have proof – this dead man is now up and speaking. He’s the prophet. Jesus is the Savior - not the prophet. It’s not that they didn’t get it. They did get it! They understood what was happening. We’re the ones who keep missing the point.

When you wake up spiritually, you become a prophet. Ahhh, which is why so many people choose never to wake up! It’s a big responsibility, isn’t it? But that’s OK, because it’s not as hard as you might think. Remember in our Collect, we prayed this: “O God from whom all good proceeds: Grant that by your inspiration we may think those things that are right, and by your merciful guiding may do them.” (BCP, 229)

By your inspiration… What is inspiration? Is there a doctor or nurse in the house? (Reply comes: “Breathing.”) Breathing!

By the breath of God in us, the life of God in us, we come to think and know the things that are right and do them.

One thing you don’t know about me is that I’m a science nerd. If I could have stayed in school I probably would have gone into quantum physics or neuroscience. I love both. So a new discovery in that field is that there’s a direct link between the heart and the brain. They have found the neural pathways that directly link the heart and the brain. So if, we, by the inspiration of God, feel that stirring in our bowels, the location of our love, it will automatically help us to know what is right.

I’ll give you a personal example. I go to Charlotte twice a month to see my therapist. (Note: Yes, I see a therapist. I think everybody should!) On the way back, there’s a place where I’m getting onto I-85 to come back to Shelby, that there’s always a beggar, and it’s not always the same beggar, but it’s one of those spots. There’s always a beggar. So before I leave the doctor’s office, I always take a dollar out of my wallet; so that when I get there, I can just hand him the dollar.

But I struggled for so many years with: should I give this person a dollar? Not this person, any person begging, and here’s why. I worked in alcohol and drug treatment for many years. If I give them a dollar am I just enabling their habit? Am I going to hurt them, rather than help them? If I give them a dollar, are they going to use it to buy their dog food instead of themselves? And so I really struggled with ‘should I give this person a dollar?’ Every time I saw a beggar do I do this? Any yet my heart kept saying - the stirring in my bowel kept saying - give them a dollar.

So I sat and I prayed about it a long time. And you know? It could be that this person is going to use it to put toward buying a drink. But what I get every time I get to give them a dollar… I roll the window down and this is what I get to do (Note: demonstrates with a parishioner in his seat): I get to look at that person right in the eyes. I get to draw near – my body and their body, together. They can feel what I’m feeling. They can see that I have given them the respect of looking them right in the eyes.

What happens with that dollar? I don’t know. I don’t care. What I seek is the opportunity to make that contact. For just a moment to have contact with a person that most people will just ignore, driving like this (demonstrates looking the other way) so they don’t have to look out and see them.

Compassion. The action of God stirring in us. The love of God helping us to know what is right and do what is right. God will bless that dollar I give them. They might use it for alcohol. Not my job. My job is to love. To give that person a moment of love – which I did… which I do. So I always have a dollar ready for them.

So, I’m going to close with a poem from one of my favorite compassionate saints; one of our bishop’s favorite compassionate saints: St. Francis of Assisi. St. Francis writes this: God came to my house and asked for charity. I fell on my knees and cried, Beloved, what may I give? Just love, He said, just love. Amen.

Note: Citation on the St. Francis poem is coming. I left my book at the church. :)
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Awakened to live

Life is full of little deaths that, as Christians, we are called to enter fully and, as best we can, fearlessly because we believe that death is the gateway to new life: resurrection life. So whether it’s the death of our habits, our expectations, or the death of our self-identifiers, our career, our relationships, or even the final death of our bodies, we who are followers of Jesus Christ know that new life awaits us on the other side.

In his resurrected state Jesus was hungry, cooked and ate with his friends, spoke with them, and allowed them to touch his wounds. He

was real and really there, yet he was also unrecognizable to those who knew and loved him best until his love unlocked the limits of their thinking. Simply speaking her name was enough to open Mary Magdalene to recognize her beloved Jesus. Letting go what made sense in that moment (she was at Jesus’ tomb to tend to his dead body), Mary surrendered to her love of Jesus and was transformed by it. Her transformation led to the transformation of the disciples which led to the birth of Christianity.

Every death we know in this life is like that, and Jesus is as real for us in these moments as he was for Mary Magdalene at the tomb. Promising to be with us always Jesus dwells in us. Uniting his spirit with ours, Jesus is our gateway into eternal resurrection. This is a huge truth which I have to reflect on often because of the limitedness of my humanity. It changes everything to recognize that my smallness is made vast, my weakness strong, by the presence of God in me for the purpose God has which is beyond me.

So it matters that we believe that Jesus was the Christ who came to reconcile humanity to God and that Jesus’ death and resurrection were real. When we choose to let go of what makes sense in our worldly experience and surrender to the love of Jesus that is present within us nothing is impossible, just as Jesus said. (Mt 17:20) Every mountain actually becomes moveable, every created thing becomes a thing of beauty and great value, and every death becomes a gateway to another resurrection.

Resurrection is not only something that happens after we die. It’s a way of being alive - awakened to the reality that the spirit of God in Christ lives/abides/dwells within us both as individuals and as the universal “us.” It is a state of unified being in which we have eyes that see, ears that hear, and hearts that are one with God’s own heart. In this state of unified awakening, what our tradition calls resurrection life, our wills are aligned with God’s will, and that affects what we do. We act, not out of fear or obedience to laws or traditions, but in love – divine, creative love - which flows from us making everything it touches through us new, whole… holy. The church, the community of faith with all of its supportive traditions, is where this process is (or could be) discovered, nourished, and manifested.

The key to this unified state of being in awakening is surrender. It helps to remember, however, that surrender is not weakness or loss. There is no white flag to wave, no humiliation to face. The English word surrender is derived from the Old French: sur-“over, on top of” + rendere “give back, return.” (Source, Source) To surrender in faith is to choose to return ourselves to our Source. In doing that, we become so much more than ourselves - we become one with all that is, that was, and that will ever be. When that happens, the individualism of western Christianity, in which most of us were reared, fades into foolishness.

Yet, each time my life leads me to another death, as is happening now, I dread what’s coming and I go into the experience with trepidation. I don’t know why… I’ve been through these deaths enough to know that the new life it will open for me is totally worth the pain of dying for it. Still, it’s hard each and every time. I take solace in knowing Jesus struggled similarly in the Garden of Gethsemane just before his arrest. “I am deeply grieved” he told his disciples. Then he asked God if it might be possible for the cup to pass from him. (Mt 26: 38-39, Mk 14:34-36)

Could it have gone another way? Nothing is impossible for God, but for us, the only way to resurrection life is through death. Dying involves a total detachment from expectation and outcome, and I always forget how empty the accompanying void of joy feels as the dying happens.

To me, it’s like the selective memory many of us mothers have about the intensity of labor in childbirth until, that is, we are in the midst of giving birth again. Then we have that moment where we wonder why we did this again. When the baby emerges we remember why. The new life is totally worth the pain involved in its birth, and the pain is soon forgotten, lost in the joy of the overwhelming love.

We really must die, over and over again, in order to truly live. This is what Jesus was saying to us in the story of the seed that must die in order to bear fruit (Jn 12:24) and when he cautioned us that whoever seeks to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life will save it (Mt 10:39, Mk 8:35, Lk 17:33, Jn 12:25).

Dying, in the spiritual sense I’m describing here, is an absolute, unconditional giving over (surrender) of ourselves and all of our perceived control back to our Source. Our fabulously designed but limited minds fight against that again and again as if our survival were at risk. The truth is our survival, as individuals and as a people, is in the hands of God in Christ who showed us the way and calls us by name to follow him. Unlocking the limits of our thinking, Jesus transforms us and our world by his divine love. For our part, we respond to this truth by entering enter every moment of our lives fully and fearlessly, knowing that even when are called to die, we live eternally in Christ who lives eternally in us.

Easter 2, 2016: Faithful witnessing

Preached at St. Thomas Episcopal Church, Burnsville, NC.
Lectionary: Acts 5:27-32; Psalm 118:14-29; Revelation 1:4-8; John 20:19-31



En el nombre del Padre, y el Hijo, y el Espiritu Santo. Amen. Please be seated.

I’m Valori. I’m a friend of Beth’s. I’ve been in the diocese for 6.5 years… and I’m really glad to be here today with this branch of our family tree. I thank Beth for inviting me to worship at St. Thomas and preach today. I have some friends here at St. Thomas from Executive Council and the CRM trainings, but I don’t think we’ve ever shared Holy Eucharist, have we. Well, that’s about to change. Isn’t it lovely that I get to be here on the day the Gospel talks about St. Thomas, your patron saint?

I’ll begin talking about one of my favorite saints. As you may have noticed, I’m Latina. I’m half Spanish, and one of my favorite saints is Theresa of Avila, 16th century Spanish mystic. And I’ll begin with her prayer that I think is familiar to most of you:

“Christ has no body now on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours. Yours are the eyes through which to look out Christ's compassion to the world. Yours are the feet with which he is to go about doing good. Yours are the hands with which he is to bless [people] now.”

St. Theresa’s prayer speaks to us about how we witness our faith. This kind of witness requires that we make ourselves sacrificially available to God; and that we be part of a faith community, because the faith community keeps us grounded and fed and sends us out to serve. Every Sunday we are sent out to serve.

In today’s story about doubting Thomas, who unfortunately is known as doubting Thomas, because he was faithful. In fact tradition tells us he was known to be very faithful , and even impetuous in his fervor.

The story of Thomas is important because through this shows Jesus demonstrated three very important lessons for us about our work as witnesses of the Good News:

1) that God accepts us where we are and leads us to where we need to be;
2) that there are many ways to come to faith and many ways to live faithfully;
3) that God is present in the gathered community.

Thomas was a believer but he couldn’t believe that his rabbi, who was dead, was now alive again and talking with folks. Who could believe that? Would you believe that if someone said it to you today. So, it’s not so much that he doubted but that it didn’t make any sense. How could it be?

Notice that Jesus didn’t get mad at Thomas for doubting. Instead, he came back and he invited Thomas to come into his presence and confront his doubt - to go fully into it – not to deny it or avoid it or be ashamed of it. Come close, Jesus said. Touch me. Be with me.

And no one kicked Thomas out of the disciples club for not believing right. They preserved their friendship with him, they invited him back, they kept him part of the community, and let God do the rest. The story of Thomas shows us that there are many ways to come to faith and many ways of being faithful and it’s that diversity that makes us such strong witnesses.

Whether or not we ever “see” Jesus will depend upon how accessible we make ourselves to God throughout our lives, in our whole journey of faith, and how God wishes to work in us. Some will know about Jesus from their earliest childhood – a deep abiding faith. You can witness it in children.

Others will have resurrection experiences, like Theresa of Avila who saw visions of Christ in his bodily form, or John Wesley whose heart was strangely warmed when he encountered the presence of Jesus in prayer – much like those disciples on the road to Damascus. Others will say they never experience the presence of God. They don’t “see” Jesus. To them, Jesus said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

In writings discovered after her death, Mother Theresa of Calcutta, of my favorite saints, confessed living most of her life in a dark night – a state of feeling totally absent of the presence of God. She struggled to believe, yet never stopped serving because it’s what her faith demanded of her. And how well did she serve?!? Her service changed the world. It changed the way the world looked at the poor. She touched them. She drew close, just like Thomas did to Jesus.

In our Collect today, we asked God to help us “show forth in our lives what we profess in our faith.” So we must ask ourselves: what do we believe?... and do we truly believe what we profess in our faith? …and if we can’t believe it, do we live it?... at work, at school, at home, …in church?

There used to be a TV show hosted by John Quiñones, called: “What would you do?” The show secretly filmed people witnessing such things as abuse, theft, fraud or cheating. The idea was, would this person intervene and make right the wrong being done, or would they sit there and ignore it?

People did both. What would we do? Hopefully, we’d show forth in our lives what we profess in our faith. Now, I think we all like to think we do the right thing. I don’t know… sometimes I think I would; sometimes I think I’d ignore it.

We have opportunities all the time. For example, what do we say when people ask us about the presidential election, or HB-2 (the bathroom law just passed by the General Assembly)? I’m not going to talk politics, but I am going to ask: Do we witness to our Baptismal Covenant in response?

What about – when we’re out in the world and we’re with someone who says they don’t believe in God. What do they learn about God by being with you… by watching you live your life? That’s a witness.

What is our witness when we are at a gathering of friends and one of them, who is a follower of Christ, spouts off insults and condemnations against someone because of how they look, or their race, or their gender, or their sexuality or sexual identity? How do we respond? What do we do?

Do we witness our faith when someone tells a dumb blonde joke, which perpetuates the degradation of women? Finally, what is our witness when we are afraid, or in doubt? How do witness the Good News when we’re worried about the transitions in our parish, The Episcopal Church, or the global Christian family?

I hope whenever we are challenged to show forth in our lives what we profess in our faith, we remember what Peter said to his listeners in Jerusalem: that we are witnesses of the redeeming work of God in Jesus Christ. We are not the ones who do the redeeming work – God is. Our role is to be faithful - to gather in community, to pray, to listen, to be fed by Word and Sacrament, to act when we’re called to do so… and sometimes, to wait – to wait in faith while God is working things out in ways we can’t see or imagine.

As witnesses, we are not called to coerce or threaten or frighten or cajole anyone into believing or into coming to church. That wasn’t Jesus’ way and it isn’t ours.

We are called upon to be the presence of Christ in the world today – a presence that accepts people where they are. Remember, Jesus breathed his Holy Spirit onto these disciples, and it happens again at Pentecost to the larger church. Breath. Life. Jesus breathes his own spirit into us. This presence that we carry as temples of the Holy Spirit, this presence allows us to accept people where they are, and gently we place them in the presence of God – right here in this sanctuary, right here among this gathered community, and we let God guide them into all truth.

That’s why your priests and rectors keep reminding you to ‘Invite your friends to church.” I promise you, it’s not about the Average Sunday Attendance numbers. It’s about the reconciliation of the world to God. That’s in our catechism. That’s our ministry. Invite people to come into the presence of God on Sundays and whenever you gather as a community of faith.

Do you know why your priests and rectors keep telling you to invite your friends – and not just your friends – everybody you have conversation with who needs to be in the presence of God (which is everybody), because this is the calling of the membership, not the rector. You are the gathered community. Bring them into the presence of God so that we can be one family, one spirit.

We know whenever we worship together, or study the Bible together, whenever we eat and party together, that God is present among us. Jesus promised. God is present, not just being there, but transforming us, growing us and forming us into a body – the body of Christ in the world.

We are Christ’s hands in the world today – hands that reach out to catch someone who is falling,
even when that means sacrificing our own comfort for their sake.

We are Christ’s feet in the world today – feet that will go to those places where hope needs to be spoken and compassion needs to be given. Feet that will walk willingly into the darkness of someone’s nightmare, confident that we are bearers of the light of Christ.

We are the body of Christ in the world today, members of the communion of saints, members of one another.

So let us pray today, right now, that as we gather today to worship God and nourishment by Word and Sacrament, we will recognize and accept the grace God is offering us and allow God to make us one body, one spirit, a living sacrifice in Christ, for the glory of God and the welfare of God’s people. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Lent: Making space for something new

For many of us, on Ash Wednesday, which is the first day of Lent, we gathered in solemn assembly and marked the sign of our salvation - the cross of Christ - on our foreheads with the dust of ashes. By doing so, we also marked these next 5 weeks of Lent as different – sacred time set aside for a purpose.

The word “Lent” means “spring” and it refers to a time when new life is being formed, and the one forming that new life is the same one who forms all life: God. We’re mistaken when we think we need to choose what to DO or STOP DOING for Lent. We don’t DO Lent. We simply choose to let Lent (new life) be formed in us – and we do that by faith.

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus, filled with the Holy Spirit, is led by the Spirit in the wilderness.(4:1) The Greek word translated here as ‘wilderness’ and in other versions of the Bible as ‘desert’ can also be understood to mean ‘a place that is uncultivated.’ So, the Spirit takes Jesus from his baptism to a place that is uncultivated and prepares him for his purpose. Luke tells us that throughout this time of cultivation, Jesus is tempted.

Jesus, in the fullness of his humanity, really is tempted, and in the fullness of his divinity, Jesus could have responded very differently. I think we let ourselves off the hook about our own responses to temptation by supposing that in his divinity, Jesus could simply out-power the devil and stand firm against temptation – something we, who are not divine, can’t do. But if we do that, we’re forgetting the truth of the Incarnation and we’re missing the gift of this gospel story – how to cultivate faithfulness to God in a world of temptations.

Luke tells us that Jesus went from his baptism into a season of cultivation… a season of 40 days. Forty days was a colloquial term for ‘many’ and meant ‘a period of time that was long enough,’ that is, enough time for God to act. He fasted, allowing himself to physically know the emptiness he was entering, trusting in God alone to sustain his life.

That is what Lent is for us. Time we set aside to go willingly into the emptiness and allow God to cultivate us, to prepare us for our purpose. Lent is not a time for us to wallow in the misery of our wretchedness as hopeless sinners. We don’t fast in order to suffer, or as punishment for sin. We fast to allow ourselves to experience emptiness. In the deep, dark center of ourselves, we willingly choose to make space for something new, something nourishing and life-giving that God will supply.

During Lent, we get honest about God. In Psalm 91, we are reminded that God is our refuge and stronghold, the One in whom we put our trust. But if we choose to make God into a big judge who is waiting to smite us for every failing we know we have, then we feel justified in keeping our distance and we have fallen prey to the second temptation Jesus faced: idolatry; making for ourselves an image of God to worship and serve (or not to worship and serve), rather than being in relationship with the one, true God.

During Lent, we also get honest about ourselves. We are all marvelously and wonderfully made by our Creator, who hates us not. But we often forget to live as if that’s true about us and our neighbors. There are times that every one of us will find ourselves lacking the will to be compassionate toward someone else when it involves some amount of sacrifice from us. There are (or will be) times in our lives when our anger erupts quickly, while forgiveness comes slowly, if at all.

We tend toward being so preoccupied with ourselves and our own, that we become blind to the fact that all around us, others of God’s kin are suffering, lacking food, friendship, or hope. Sometimes, our preoccupation with ourselves takes the form of addiction and we can be addicted to many things: being the center of attention, food, alcohol or drugs, or work. Other times, our preoccupation with ourselves takes the opposite form: subtraction - diminishing ourselves as if we don’t matter at all through things like: anorexia and bulimia, abusive relationships, and constant self-censure.

It is in these forms of self-preoccupation that we confront the third temptation Jesus faced: testing God. It sounds something like this: ‘If I work to destroy myself, will I matter enough that God will save me?’ The truth is, we do matter to God. God has already saved us, giving up everything, including his own life, for our salvation. What else do we need? Testing God is a deception. What we’re actually doing is denying God.

So, Lent offers us the opportunity to get honest about God and ourselves, and the hard work of Lent is emptying ourselves of all that already fills us, including the need to be full and satisfied. But emptiness scares us. The nothingness of it feels kind of like death, so we tend to avoid it. That’s why Lent is different. Knowing that by our baptism we have entered into Jesus’ death and resurrection we have no fear of death, not even the little ones like the death of a habit, or the death of an idea we hold about God, ourselves, or our neighbors.

The traditional Lenten practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving are tested and reliable ways we can use to respond to God’s call to us to return with our whole hearts. Prayer brings us into the presence of God who created us, gave up his life on the cross for us, and calls us to a season of cultivation to prepare us for our purpose. Fasting reminds us of our mortality and our real limitations as humans, and it provides a way for us to experience solidarity with those who truly hunger. When we remember how real and compelling hunger is, we are moved by compassion to do something to relieve it – even if it means making a bit of a sacrifice. And alsmgiving is the way we can do that: giving of ourselves: our money, time or gifts to serve those children of God who suffer from any lack: food, friendship, hope, or faith.

Our Lenten practices aren’t about success or failure. If you are diabetic, on medication, or for some other reason you can’t fast from food –don’t. We can fast from lots of other things: criticizing, complaining, or estrangement.

We don’t score points for praying, fasting or giving alms, and we don’t get demerits for not doing those things because we don’t DO Lent. We choose it. During Lent we choose to make space in our lives for God to cultivate new life in us.

Re-enter the womb of God this Lent

If I could reduce the purpose and practice of Lent into a single idea, I would use this quote from a poem by St. Theresa of Avila:“[God] desired me, so I came close.” 

It’s very sad to me that the most pervasive notion about Lent (my favorite season) is that it is a dark and difficult season, to be approached with avoidance, guilt, and self-loathing; that we have to “tame” our desires by giving something up, then use all the self-control we can muster to keep our Lenten promises. Doesn’t it occur to those people that exerting our self-will is exactly what we are called NOT to do during Lent?

Lent isn’t a time of practicing self control. It’s a time of relinquishing it. During Lent we practice discipline and penitence. It’s a mistake to confuse discipline with self-control and penitence with wallowing. In fact, it’s sin: the sin of hubris – the very thing that got Adam and Eve in trouble in the garden.

Our discipline and repentance are the means by which we re-enter the womb of God where we can rest, be restored, renewed, and prepared. In his book, “Praying Shapes Believing,”  theologian Lee Mitchell reminds us that: “Joy, love, and renewal are as much Lenten themes as are penitence, fasting, and self-denial; and we need to remember that it is within the context of preparation for our participation in the Feast of feasts that [our] Lenten penitence is expressed.” (29). 

Or - as St. Theresa said, “[God] desired me so I came close.”

Temptation is that which leads us into sin – and sin is that which causes us to forget who we are, whose we are, and why we’re here. St. Luke tells us that Jesus, the Incarnate One, the manifest reality of the unity of humanity and divinity, was tempted to separate himself into a dichotomy of body and spirit; to focus on his humanity (he was famished) and forget about his divinity.

Next, though he knew his purpose on earth (the reason he came), Jesus was tempted to walk away from God’s plan for his life and live out a different plan – one in which he, rather than God, would get the glory.

Finally, Jesus was tempted to throw his life away, daring God to prove that he mattered.

Each of these temptations teaches us something about our relationship with God. The first temptation, separation from the spark of the divine that is within us, goes to our very identity. We are body and spirit. In the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ, humanity and divinity were reconciled. Each of us is, therefore, a living testimony to that harmonious co-existence. To separate ourselves, even in our thoughts, is to undo the gift Christ died to give us.

The second temptation, putting ourselves and our wills ahead of our obedience to the will of God, goes to how, or even whether, we will live into our purpose. If Jesus’ life is any example,

living into our purpose won’t be all blessing and honor, but it will be redemptive – for us and for those whom God puts in our lives. When we’re honest, it seems ridiculous that we think we can devise a plan for happiness and fulfillment by chasing after that perfect life partner, or that perfect job, or that perfect body. Our hubris is, at times, astonishing.

The third temptation, trying to prove we matter by throwing away the very gift God gave us in the first place, goes to our core understanding of ourselves as beloved. It’s true that many people don’t feel very beloved, their earthly experiences have taught them to believe otherwise. But faith assures us that we are truly beloved of God.

The temptations Jesus faced in our gospel story aren’t the only temptations out there. Discovering what our temptations are and repenting of them is our goal during Lent.

Some of us eat to comfort ourselves. For these, repentance means honest self reflection along with substituting prayer or prayerful activity for cookies or chips.

Others among us work too much in order to win approval or to feel like we matter. For these, repentance means committing to a schedule that balances time devoted to work, family, leisure, and real time with God.

Some of us habitually deny ourselves anything good out of self-loathing. For these repentance means fasting from self-criticism or keeping a prayer journal which acknowledges the daily gifts and blessings God is constantly giving.

For all of us, Lent is a good time to commit to regular attendance at Sunday worship or Morning Prayer, remembering that we live out our purpose in community as the body of Christ in the world. Lent is also a good time for all of us to fast from complaining, self-criticism, foods or eating habits that will harm us, combativeness at work, in school, or in church – whatever leads us away from the love of God, self, and other. 

The disciplines we practice are meant to help us enter humbly into the presence of God, where we surrender ourselves to God’s unfathomable love and unfailing care for us. The emptiness in us that continually seeks satisfaction comes from our sense of separation from that love. We know this deep down but often don’t  pay it real attention.

It’s helpful to remember that God desires communion with us. Doing so quiets those voices of temptation that play like a tape-recording in our heads, saying: you’re not worthy, you’re not beautiful, you’re not gifted, you’re not loved. We are. We’re also unfinished… continually growing, maturing in body and in spirit.

Our brokenness is not something to be ashamed of or to avoid. It is as much a gift as any talent we possess because it is the place in us where God dwells most assuredly, most compassionately.

Our brokenness is the cross we bear; the place where salvation is victorious in us; the place where we witness the reconciling power of God still at work in the world.  When others see this growth and maturation in us they are empowered to stop being ashamed of their brokenness, to pick up their cross and walk into redemption.

Draw close to God this Lent. God desires it. We hunger for it. There’s nothing to fear.

The poem that I quoted from St. Theresa of Avila (which is a handout in your bulletin)

concludes like this:

A thousand souls hear [God’s] call every second,

but most every one then looks into their life’s mirror and

says, “I am not worthy to leave this

sadness.

When I first heard his courting song, I too

looked at all I had done in my life

and said,

“How can I gaze into his omnipresent eyes?”

I spoke those words with all my heart,

but then He sang again, a song even sweeter,

and when I tried to shame myself once more from His presence

God showed me His compassion and spoke a divine truth,

“I made you, dear, and all I made is perfect.

Please come close, for I

desire

you.”

Amen.