Pentecost 9C, 2013: Rebellious hospitality

Lectionary: Genesis 18:1-10a; Psalm 15; Colossians 1:15-28; Luke 10:38-42
Preacher: The Very Rev Dr Valori Mulvey Sherer, Rector



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

When we were younger, my husband and I did a lot of entertaining. We loved it. Our house was known as a place where great dinners and fun evenings could be had – and we had them often.

We were working parents, stretched to the limit on time and energy. Plus, my work was such that at any time I could get an emergency call and have to run out to the shelter or the hospital to help a victim of violence.

Sometimes, I would work so hard on the details of a dinner party that I’d exhaust myself. I’d gripe at my family, feeling unsupported and unappreciated. When the guests arrived, however, we were the perfect hosts, even though I was yawning by 9:00 pm.

I remember knowing then something was wrong with that picture, but the expectations for hospitality from me kept leading me to the same place. I was supposed to bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan wearing my pinafore apron, high heels, and a smile. These were the expectations I learned growing up.

All of our readings today speak to us about hospitality. Looking at this very familiar concept through the lens of our Scripture readings, we can see that hospitality really is textured, vacillates between gift and sin in our lives, and in the end, demonstrates a manifest truth of our redemption.

For example, in Genesis, three guests show up unexpectedly. Some say they were three emanations of God, others say they were angels from God. Not knowing who they were, Abraham asks the three not to pass by, but to stay, rest, and receive his gift of hospitality. Giving hospitality in Abraham’s day was a big deal, it was expected. So Abraham had Sarah make fresh bread, and told his servants to kill a calf and prepare a feast.

One texture in the fabric of hospitality this story shows us is time: imagine how much time was dedicated to hospitality for these guests… time enough to make bread, time enough to kill, clean, dress, and cook an animal. Another texture is humility. While the preparations were being made, Abraham put aside his own plans for the day, washed the feet of his guests, and sat them under a shade tree where they could rest.

The Psalm describes for us another texture in the fabric of hospitality: generosity. The psalmist asks, “Who may dwell in your tabernacle?” You may remember that a tabernacle is a moveable habitation for God. In ancient Israel, the tabernacle held the Arc of the Covenant as it moved from place to place until the temple was built where it was permanently housed.

So it was, in a real sense, a church on the move. Think about that – one week you go to worship where the Arc is parked, the next week, it’s been moved somewhere else. Who can be a member of such a church? The answer is: anyone who abides with God upon God’s holy hill.

To abide with God is to live according to the will of God; and ‘holy hill’ is a biblical term for the presence of God. The hospitality of generosity involves welcoming into the worshipping community anyone whom God calls to live according to the will of God, in the presence of God.

St. Paul discusses yet another texture of hospitality in his epistle to the Colossians: proclamation. Paul tells of the sacrifice he made of his own life, mimicking Jesus’ sacrifice of his life, for the sake of making “the word of God fully known…” proclaiming that the mystery, which had been hidden
had been revealed to us who believe.

In fact (and this is the important part), Paul says this mystery abides in us: “the mystery which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.” The hospitality of proclamation is us offering ourselves as a living sacrifice, because we know that through Christ the “tabernacle” of God is our very bodies. We are the church on the move, and our purpose in moving about is to make known the “riches of the glory of this mystery” proclaiming it and teaching it to everyone so that they can know it too.

In the Gospel story Martha is preparing a great feast for her good friend, Jesus, and his disciples. Martha is devoting much time and care to the feast she will serve them. She’s doing very much as Abraham was doing in the Genesis story.

But as we know, with Christ, things are always unexpectedly transformed. In this case, Martha’s sister, Mary, chooses to sit at Jesus’ feet as he teaches which is something only men are supposed to do.

Mary’s choice upsets Martha’s careful planning schedule costing Martha experienced help in the kitchen. As the dinner begins to fall apart, so does Martha.

So Martha marches out to her good friend, Jesus, and (my guess is) feeling unsupported and unappreciated, and maybe a bit jealous, Martha asks Jesus to make Mary do what’s expected of her. ‘Tell my sister to stop acting like a man and help me in the kitchen like she’s supposed to do.’

And this is where Jesus reveals the transforming texture of his hospitality: rebellion.

”Martha, Martha,” Jesus says soothingly, “you are worried and distracted by many things.” I would restate that like this (and this is totally my Midrash)… ‘Martha, you know me well enough to know that I don’t need a fancy dinner, just time abiding with you and our friends in your home. All we need is food enough to sustain us. Be still, Martha. Be with me. You have no praise to earn, no expectations to meet. You are already beloved.’

Martha had gotten lost in being the perfect host. Her motivation was good – she truly loved Jesus and wanted to offer him great gift, one she knew well: hospitality. But her gift became her sin when she lost sight of the true priority: it wasn’t about what she could give Jesus, but what he could give her: “… there is need of only one thing [Jesus said]. Mary has chosen the better part which will not be taken away from her.”

If only the world had listened and obeyed! Maybe we wouldn’t still be arguing about the place of women or gays in the Church today. Jesus made this point pretty clearly in our Gospel story. He was emphatic that his followers should be agents of his transforming love in the world and he rebelled against the religious and cultural expectations used to exclude anyone from seeking the better part.

Jesus opened the door, but sadly, that didn’t last, and by the second century, women had been pushed back to the margins of church life. The window opened by Jesus was slammed shut once again by the church’s leadership.

The newly emerging body of Christ ceased to be rebelliously hospitable and returned to its familiar ‘We’ve always done it this way’ protocol. Twelve hundred years later, St. Thomas Aquinas summed up the church’s traditional theological stance on women, fortified by the science of his time saying: "Woman is defective and misbegotten, for the active force in the male seed tends to the production of a perfect likeness [of God] in the masculine sex; while the production of woman comes from defect in the active force or from some material indisposition, or even from some external influence, such as that of a south wind, which is moist." (“Summa Theologica” I q. 92 a. 1)

Many people don’t recognize the Spirit of God in themselves or in others. They were either never taught or encouraged to look for it, or as we’ve just heard, they were taught falsely – sinfully - that they did not have it.

I call on us as followers of Jesus Christ today to hear our Redeemer’s call to practice rebellious hospitality, welcoming everyone into our church, knowing that if they are breathing then the Spirit of God lives in them.

I call on us not just to welcome them, but also to feed them (actually and spiritually), to wash their feet, and give them a safe, loving place to rest so they can be still and be with God and discover their belovedness.

I also call on us to proclaim that the glory of the mystery that was once hidden but is now revealed is that Christ is in us – all of us.

Finally, I call on us as followers of Jesus Christ today to be intentional about seeking the one thing we need - individually and corporately: time spent abiding with God and one another, listening for the voice of God within and among us, being strengthened for service, so that we can live as agents of Christ’s transforming love in the world.

Amen.

Pentecost 8, 2013: Sermon by Michele Wiltfong, Aspirant for Holy Orders

Lectionary: Deuteronomy 30:9-14; Psalm 25:1-9; Colossians 1:1-14; Luke 10:25-37
Preacher: Michele Wiltfong, Aspirant for Holy Orders



May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

Being the youngest of three children, I held an interesting place in my biological family. I always thought my sister was the prettiest of us and my brother was the most caring. I was always kind of the black sheep of the family because I never really acted like my siblings and certainly did not do what my parents expected me to do. I would go about my life studying and I started working at the age of thirteen. We were a regular middle class family with a roof over our heads and clothes on out backs, but they were certainly not name brands.

As different as we are, all three of up learned one of the legacies that my father left behind when he passed away - the desire to advocate for those less fortunate than we are. A popular quote going around Facebook right now is "I don't give because I have in abundance. I give because I know what it is like to have nothing." My father would often speak to local farmers who were paid to not harvest their fruit or who let the less than perfect fruits and vegetables fall to the ground that would not bring as much money. He would ask them if he could pick up the rejected produce and donate it to the local food bank or needy individuals. Often the response from the farmer was "Whatever as long as I am not expected to help you gather it or deliver it." My father would then gather all he could in the bed of his pickup truck. Sometimes some of the hired hands around the farm would help him gather because he would bring them warm clothes for the winter. He would then make the stops to those people he knew needed these items just to put another meal on the table for their children.

I started my working life as a cook and dishwasher at a neighborhood golf course. We would cater weddings for hundreds of guests each weekend. I would watch as the serving line ended and clean-up began. The plates would come back to be washed and the leftover food would get thrown in the trash. Trays and pans and platters of perfectly good food went out in the garbage. I was horrified, but I did not know what could be done about it. The owners of the course did not care because the food was already paid for. I asked if there was a better system for finding a use for the food instead of throwing it away. I was basically told to mind my own business and do my job. I knew, from that point on, what I would do to try to make a difference in the lives of those who could have benefitted from that pan of green beans or that platter of cheesecake.

In today's Gospel, we hear Jesus being tested by the lawyer who wanted to trip him up by asking him the question, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus answered that question with a question, "What is written in the law?" The young lawyer then answered with the great commandments written in the Bible. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind and love your neighbor as yourself." People often get into debates about "Who is my neighbor?" Being a good teacher, Jesus tells us who our neighbors are by telling the parable of the Good Samaritan. Two religious leaders see the man beaten on one side of the street and intentionally cross the street to avoid him. Perhaps it was so that they would not become ritually unclean by touching a man who is bleeding or so near death. Perhaps they feared they too would succumb to the same punishment if they walked down the street passed this man. None of that mattered to the Samaritan. He didn't ask, "Did he deserve this or will I get sued for helping him? " No, he just went about helping him to heal by pouring wine and oil on his wounds and bandaging them before taking him to an inn for respite and recovery. He told the innkeeper he would be back to take care of whatever other expenses he might incur. The Good Samaritan did not just drop the man off and forget about him. He said he would return to see what else was needed.

Brian Konkol, Lutheran Pastor in Wisconsin, writes, "While the parable of the Good Samaritan provides a wonderful lesson in response to a specific question (who is my neighbor), we are often left wondering how to advance life-giving communities alongside our neighbors. For example, while people of faith are often spectacular at providing relief in times of crisis, we often fail at long-term work that is necessary for lasting social justice." He asks, "What if the parable continued and the Good Samaritan paid similar expenses day after day for victims?" So often we get involved in helping someone until it becomes a burden on time or finances, then we say, "They need to stand on their own now. I've done my share. Do they even appreciate my help?" The short term effort would be focused on relief from the current symptom, but the long term solution would be to try and prevent people from being victims in the first place.

Showing mercy and justice are not just about providing food to the hungry or clothes to the naked one time. It's about hearing God's call on our lives and living into the people God is calling us to be. It's about living in faithful obedience, as a community, to be merciful. This often flies in the face of our individualistic thinking and acting society, but if we listen and "get ourselves out of the way", we can hear where God is calling us to make a difference - no matter how large or small.

Jesus asked the lawyer who presented him with these questions meant to trick him, "Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?" The lawyer could not bring himself to say the Samaritan, but said, "The one who showed mercy." Jesus said, "Go and do likewise." That can seem like a hard instruction, but if we love others with all their human imperfections as God loves us, it should not be so hard after all.

There was a poem by an unknown author titled The Other Side of the Desk I was given when I began working at DSS. It helps me remember the dignity of the person on the other side of the desk and I would like to share those poignant words with you.

Have you ever thought just a wee little bit
of how it would seem to be a misfit,
And how you would feel if you had to sit
on the other side of the desk?
Have you ever looked at the man who seemed a bum,
as he sat before you, nervous -- dumb --
And thought of the courage it took him to come
to the other side of the desk?
Have you thought of his dreams that went astray,
of the hard, real facts of his every day,
Of the things in his life that make him stay
on the other side of the desk?
Did you make him feel that he was full of greed,
make him ashamed of his race or his creed,
Or did you reach out to him in his need
to the other side of the desk?
May God give us wisdom and lots of it,
and much compassion
and plenty of grit,
So that we may be kinder to those who sit
on - the - other - side - of - the - desk.

What would we want to happen if the tables were turned and we were lying in the ditch, beaten and left for dead? Where is God calling us to be the Samaritans of our time? Where is God calling us to ask more questions in our own lives and receive more questions in return? Where does God want to break us open and use us for the social justice that is so desperately needed in society today? Jesus defied all convention. Where and to whom in our lives are we called to do the same thing?

"I do not give because I have in abundance. I give because I know what it is like to have nothing."

Amen!

Pentecost 7, 2013: Spiritually powerful lambs

Lectionary: Isaiah 66:10-14; Psalm 66:1-8; Galatians 6:(1-6), 7-16); Luke 10:1-11, 16-20
Preacher: The Very Rev Dr Valori Mulvey Sherer, Rector



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

Author Marianne Williamson once wrote, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure… We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.”

This, I think, points to a primary modern-day temptation: the temptation to be spiritually powerless; to look away from the power of the Spirit of God that dwells in us until we have ignored into non-existence.

You will often hear me say that what we believe is really true: that we have been reconciled to God in Christ and are, as we live and breathe, dwelling places of the very powerful Holy Spirit of God… that God chooses to work in and through us to cure the sick and set people free from whatever holds them bound… that we will dream dreams, have visions, and prophecy, that in the name of Jesus, we will bear one another’s burdens, welcome the outcast, and proclaim the Good News of salvation to the least, the lost, and the lofty… and all this as we live in the peace of Christ, a peace which surpasses our understanding.

Ahhh… but that’s what scares us, isn’t it? So we throw boundaries around the mystery, create laws and institutions that contain the wildness of the Spirit of God in us, and rather than building families of faith, we promote clubs of Christian certainty.

In his letter to the Galatians, Paul warns us not to be fooled. There is no club, no certainty. And don’t be used by religious people who are only interested in boasting about their numbers saying, ‘Look how many have joined our church!’

What matters isn’t membership rolls or the ability to follow the rules a particular religious club prioritizes, because they don’t even follow their own rules. What matters for us, Paul says, is being the new creation we are in Jesus, who sends us out to manifest the glory of God that is within us, and to help those we meet learn to see that same glory in themselves.

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus is about to send 70 followers into the harvest, but first he tells them to pray for themselves: “…ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” The reason is, prayer is where we learn and practice humility. It’s where we surrender ourselves and our wills to the will of God. Praying before they went would help the 70 remember that it’s God’s harvest, not theirs.

God has done the work: planting the seeds, growing them in the womb of the earth in secret, nourishing them, and bringing them to the moment where they are ripe and ready for harvesting. As the psalmist says, “Come now and see the works of God, how wonderful he is in his doing toward all people.” (66:4)

Then Jesus sends the 70 out, two by two (because we don’t do the work of God alone) as bearers of God’s powerful, redeeming love into the world to transform it, to reconcile it, to re-create it… not by attracting new members into a church, or by coercing obedience to any doctrine or rules, but by sharing Christ’s own peace with everyone they meet – everyone, that is, who will receive it - because some won’t. When that happens, Jesus tells them to wipe off the dust from their feet in protest against them.

Some people interpret this to mean that Jesus is giving his followers the authority to determine who is worthy to receive the gift of salvation. If they receive you, they are worthy. If they don’t, they aren’t.

I don’t agree with that interpretation. What comes to my mind as I hear Jesus’ words is… trying to talk to members of the Westboro Church about the inclusive love of God for all of God’s people… or trying to talk to fundamentalists of any ilk who have closed their hearts and minds to faith in God, clinging instead to a certainty they have created and communally applied to a god of their own making.

What I hear is Jesus asking us to make our objection to their closed hearts and minds clear, then walk away – reminding them that the kingdom of God is here, whether they accept it or not, and no matter how they distort it. We are to entrust them to the redeeming love of God, then go about our work.

In Galatians, this point is taken even farther: when you find someone who is lost according to the law of Christ (which is love of God, self, and neighbor), “you who have received the Spirit should restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness.” In other words, do not be tempted to violence or coercion.

Bear the burden of their lost-ness prayerfully, for a burden it is. These lost ones have distorted the love of God until it looks like oppression or hate, trapping themselves in lives that lack the peace of Christ, doing harm to themselves and other children of God.

Speak the truth to them and pray for them. Today’s Collect is a good way for us to begin: “Grant us the grace of your Holy Spirit, that we may be devoted to you with our whole heart, and united to one another with pure affection…”

When the 70 returned, they were amazed and excited to tell Jesus about what happened: “In your name even the demons submit to us!” Or as I would say it: “This stuff is really true!”

In response, Jesus cautions them to remember that what they should be rejoicing about is the unity of their spirits with God’s Spirit and their wills with the will of God, not a newfound power over anyone or anything.

“Do not be deceived,” it says in Galatians, “God is not mocked.” In other words, if you make God unreal and claim God’s power as your own (or as it says in the epistle: “If you sow to your own flesh”), what you will reap will be your own corruption. 19th century historian and moralist Lord Acton said it famously like this: "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men."

Jesus calls them wolves and instructs the 70 to go out like lambs among those wolves. You don’t need to be powerful, you just need to be faithful. The power you carry into the world belongs to the Lord of the harvest, and this power doesn’t destroy – it transforms, it reconciles, it re-creates.

So I ask us, who are the laborers in God’s harvest today, will we trust the plan of redemption, lay down our defenses, and go out as lambs among those wolves? Will we throw off the boundaries we’ve placed around the mystery and let the wildness of the Spirit of God work in us to transform, reconcile, and re-create the world?

God’s plan of redemption is for the whole world, and it is already underway. Eternal life, which is life in the eternal presence of God, is ours right now – not after we die. The peace of Christ is also ours – right now. We have been reconciled to God in Christ and to one another making us one body, one spirit in Christ.

These are gifts given to us by our Savior. And this stuff really is true!

As believers, then, we don’t have to figure out how God will redeem those we think need it or demand when God should do that. We only have to surrender ourselves and our wills to God, trusting in the plan of redemption, so that we can be faithful laborers who bear a power beyond measure, the power of God’s redeeming love, into the world.

So the question for us is, how do we do that today? And the answer is – together.

Being reconciled in Jesus Christ makes us one body, one spirit. We live as a community, a people dedicated to our purpose of reconciling the whole world to God.

As Bp. N.T. Wright says: “There are no individual Christians.” We are a body… the body of Christ. As the body of Christ, we breathe in the strength of the Spirit here at our spiritual home, the Church of the Redeemer, and breathe it out into the world through our missions and ministries.

We manifest the Jerusalem described in the Isaiah passage: a place of spiritual comfort, satisfaction, and nourishment; a place where the Lord God is met and provides succor to all who are wounded or hungry or exiled or hated.

Let it be for us, Lord. Let it be that we bear your redeeming love into the world. Make us instruments of your reconciling love, a spiritual home where laborers are gathered and strengthened to work in your harvest. Let it be for us, Lord.

Amen.

Sermon for the ordination of Linnea Stifler to the priesthood

St. Martin of Tours Episcopal Church, Kalamazoo, MI. (Note: This is offered in written form only)

I begin with a “Celtic Prayer” by David Adam:

The terminus
is not where we stay,
it is the beginning
of a new journey
It is where we
reach out beyond,
where we experience
new adventures.
It is where we get off
to enter new territory,
to explore new horizons,
to extend our whole being.
It is a place
touching the future.
It opens up new vistas.
It is the gateway
to eternity.

In the realm of God there is always hope. Our hope is in the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ, in whom we have eternal life – life in the eternal presence of God.

We are a resurrection people. We believe – we know – that new life always follows death, and so, we don’t fear death. In fact, we don’t fear anything because we know that God Almighty, who created us and redeemed us, also sustains us. If we are breathing, we see the evidence of God sustaining us. What then can we possibly fear?

As followers of Christ we move through the cycles of our lives with the confidence borne of our faith that each step is taking us where God’s purpose for us will be fulfilled. Each hardship we face not only builds our spiritual character and endurance but also give us opportunity to watch the redeeming love of God in action. It’s a source of our stories to share about how good the Good News of salvation in Jesus Christ really is.

Since our reality is that we live in the eternal life given to us by our Savior, Jesus Christ, there is no end for us – no death - only places of new beginnings. The Latin word for this is “terminus.”

Here we are – in a moment of terminus because today we gather to make a new priest. We are marking the end of what was for Linnea and for the Church, and opening ourselves to the new thing God is doing in us. And in the way only God can manage, this new thing is an act of loving fulfillment not only for Linnea, or for the St. Martin’s where she will serve, but also for the whole people of God.

I don’t say that lightly, and it isn’t an overstatement. We are a people united in the love of God. We are one. What happens to one happens to all of us. This moment of terminus is not just for Linnea, but for us all.

In her book, “The Great Emergence” Phyllis Tickle, a leading voice in the emergence church movement, describes 500 year cycles of life, death, and resurrection in the life of the church. These cycles are punctuated by moments of terminus – moments wherein the established systems and institutional structures of the church move toward their death so that a new thing can begin. Phyllis suggests that we are currently in one of those moments of terminus, and this one is leading us to a spiritual reformation.

Entering into the dying part of our cycles is always hard. But within each moment of terminus, God makes available to us people who keep us deeply and intimately connected to God so that we don’t lose hope, for example, St. Brendan, the great Celtic mystic from the first 500 year cycle; St. Hildegard of Bingen, from the second 500 year cycle; St. Terésa of Avila from the third 500 year cycle.

Now we wait… and watch… and welcome those voices, sent to us by God, who will help us connect with God and remember our hope, so that we can faithfully and confidently extend our whole beings and explore the new territory God is placing before us.

Linnea is one of those voices. Will she be another Hildegard or Terésa? Only God knows that, and I know Linnea well enough to know that is NOT her goal. I also know her well enough to make that bold a statement: Linnea is one of those voices.

Linnea lives a life of deep and intimate connection with God. It is from this deep connection that she will proclaim the Good News and be a shepherd for God’s people. Isn’t that what the Church needs from its priests?

Anyone who knows Linnea knows she has the gift of tears. When Linnea first began her discernment for ordination, this gift was truly (and literally) overflowing, and she was concerned that it might be a hindrance in her ministry. Linnea once asked me, “How can I distribute communion to people if I’m sobbing all over the communion bread?” I assured Linnea that her gift would not be a hindrance, but I’m not sure she was convinced of that back then.

I’ve been gone for 4 years, so I wasn’t sure where Linnea had gone with this gift. But when she greeted me last night at our hotel, there were the tears and my heart leaped for joy. In Linnea’s eyes, which are the window of her soul, I saw holy joy, and in that moment our souls were connected and we were lifted up into God. I am thankful that this gift, which is one of Linnea’s many gifts, is as powerful now as it ever was.

As Washington Irving once said, “There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief...and unspeakable love.” (Source: http://moyra.hubpages.com) And I would add to that: they are manifest evidence of an intimate connection with the heart of God and a vehicle by which others are brought there…because this isn’t just about Linnea.

When we gather to make a presbyter for the Church, it is a moment of terminus for the whole community. In the Episcopal Church, discernment is always done individually and in community. The office of priesthood is but one of four orders in our church and none operates alone or above another.

It’s a bit like a choir. All of our voices singing together make a sound that none can make alone. And, remember, it isn’t just us singing. We believe that our voices join with the heavenly chorus and together we sing our “Hosanna! – Holy, holy, holy!” making a sound only God can orchestrate.

And that’s why we can run without fear into the new territory God is placing before us. We can explore the new horizons before us with confidence borne of our faith that our God who created us and recreates us everyday, our God who Redeemed us in Jesus the Christ and made us a resurrection people, our God whose Spirit dwells in us and sustains us every moment of our lives – now leads us into the harvest with Good News to share for the healing of souls.

If we will go… Today we confirm that we will go - all of us – each fulfilling the purpose for which God made us.

I close with a favorite prayer of mine, the Prayer of St. Brendan (as the St. Mary’s folk know). I’ve asked St. Brendan for dispensation to change it from first person to third for our purpose here today and he was OK with that… so let us pray:

Lord, we will trust You.
Help us to journey beyond the familiar
And into the unknown.
Give us the faith to leave old ways
And break fresh ground with You.

Christ of the mysteries, we trust You
To be stronger than each storm within us.
We will trust in the darkness and know
That our times, even now, are in Your hand.
Tune our spirits to the music of heaven,
And somehow, make our obedience count for You.

(Source: http://imagodeicommunity.ca/category/prayers/)

Amen.

Pentecost 4C, 2013: Freedom in forgiveness

Lectionary: 2 Samuel 11:26-12:10, 13-15, Psalm 32; Galatians 2:15-21; Luke 7:36-8:3
Preacher: The Very Rev Dr Valori Mulvey Sherer, Rector



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

We begin our worship together every Sunday with the Collect for Purity. We hear it so often, I wonder if many of us stop hearing it at all. Today is a good day to hear this powerful prayer anew. Turn with me please in your BCP to page 355 and let’s say together the Collect for Purity:

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.

The readings from 2 Samuel and the gospel from Luke, show us the nature of God who created us, who knows us intimately, and sees beyond our behavior, our reputation, and our titles to the truth that is in our hearts. These stories show us the merciful nature of God who, even seeing our sins, forgives us and calls us to new life – life lived in reconciling forgiveness.

In order to live in forgiveness, however, we must first open our eyes and our hearts to know our sin, especially our invisible sin – which is the sin we can’t or won’t see. Most of us resist this. The knowledge of our sin is too painful and frightens us.

But it’s very clear in both stories that God isn’t leading us to an awareness of our sin in order to shame us or punish us. No, these stories show how God uses the knowledge of our sin to lead us to see differently, to understand differently, and therefore, to live differently – which is to say – to repent.

When Jesus proclaimed to the woman everyone knew to be a sinner that her sins were forgiven, he did so publicly. But this wasn’t an act of absolution. Jesus was simply stating what was already apparently true. Her sins had been forgiven.

Jesus knew that with the knowledge of God. The rest of us could know it by her life and her behavior – if we had eyes willing to see it and hearts open to know it. The woman’s demonstration of love toward Jesus is the evidence of her forgiven-ness. Jesus said, “…her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love.”

By saying it out loud and in front of witnesses from her own community, Jesus was confirming for her, that she could live unbound from the past she knew and no one could force her back there if she chose not to go. ‘Your faith has saved you…” Jesus said. Now you may go and live in peace.

One of the hardest parts of the forgiveness experience, is receiving it – taking it in and letting it change our understanding of ourselves, our lives, other people, even God. The habits of self-contempt, self-destructiveness, and self-judgment can be very hard to let go of once they have become familiar companions in our lives.

Living as a people who are forgiven, healed, and renewed, we know that around here. We know that we don’t deserve the dignity and grace lavished upon us by God – and yet it’s ours for the taking.

We know it’s sometimes easier to go back to the way it was. The familiarity of what was, even though it was destructive to us, can seem so attractive to a tired soul. Plus, people all around us compel us to go back… don’t rock the boat… don’t throw the system we know out of balance.

You see, we do know how to live with a condemned sinner –even today. We exile them from our love and our community, we look down on them and judge them as bad (which makes us feel so much better about ourselves).

But if that sinner is forgiven and we can’t condemn them anymore, then how do we live in relationship with them? You may remember a similar question came up last week when the widow’s dead son was raised to life again.

It’s an honest predicament. Trying to be faithful to God, the Jews had certain laws (we call them canons today) to help guide them. Ritual purity was one of those laws and it was a very big deal for faithful Jews. So Jesus uses this moment to teach a different kind of purity – purity of heart.

Knowing the Pharisee’s honest desire for purity, Jesus tells him 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: who will love the creditor more? The one who had greater debt, Simon replies. Right, Jesus says.

Then he turns to the woman and asks Simon, ‘Do you see this woman?’ thereby immediately connecting her and Simon to the story. When I entered your home, you received me, but she has loved me lavishly, dangerously, selflessly. That’s why I say her sins are forgiven, Jesus said, because she has shown great love.

Simon was caught up short. He had only seen what he already believed about that woman – that she was a sinner. And so he had judged what she was doing - anointing Jesus’ feet – as the kind of unseemly behavior a sinner would do. Standing on accepted religious teaching, Simon felt totally justified in condemning her. She was, after all, unclean according to the law.

What Simon hadn’t seen, and what he couldn’t see, was what was in the woman’s heart. But Jesus could. Jesus could also see what was in Simon’s heart and now he was convicted by it just as David was convicted by Nathan’s story. That’s because for God, all hearts are open, all desires are known and no secrets are hid. God sees the truth about each of us and reveals it to us so that we can be set free from our sin.

Jesus’ 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, and shame, and contempt. He set Simon free from the invisible bonds of his privileged status, bonds that strangled the love right out of him and blinded him to the truth about himself, others, and even God.

But there’s more. God’s forgiveness not only sets us free, it also sets everyone in community with us free – our household, as it were. And that’s important, because as Evelyn Underhill says, “A Christian does not stand alone.”

Evelyn Underhill was a 19th century mystic who called upon all Christians to be mystics, to practice contemplative prayer, something at that time only practiced by monks and nuns in the monasteries. Underhill believed that all Christians would benefit from entering into the transforming presence of God using no words and having no goals, just being there… being loved… and being transformed by that love.

As Underhill said, it isn’t just about us. “As well as the solitude of my soul before God, there is the responsibility of my soul to my fellow-men, as a member of the Mystical Body of Christ… I must in some way show [the]… characteristics of Christ in my life… according to my special call. I am part of the organism through which Christ continues to live in the world.” (The Light of Christ, Morehouse-Barlow Co., p 15)

St. Paul taught us how we might live as a community of sinners set free by forgiveness, reminding us that: “We have been crucified with Christ and now it is no longer we who live, but it is Christ who lives in us.

That’s why we pray, “Keep, O Lord, your household the Church in your steadfast faith and love, that through your grace we may proclaim your truth with boldness, and minister your justice with compassion; for the sake of our Savior Jesus Christ… Amen.”


Image source: Edward T Babinski, edward-t-babinski.blogspot.com

Anglo-fact: Intinction

By: The Very Rev. Dr. Valori Mulvey Sherer, Rector

INTINCTION (aka: dipping the communion bread in the chalice).

When I arrived at Redeemer nearly four years ago I used to offer an “Anglo-fact” each Sunday during the announcements. An Anglo-fact is a short teaching on aspects of our communal life as Anglican Christians. Anglo-facts can be about our theology, liturgy, polity, or practices.
As our community’s life became busier, I stopped doing the Anglo-facts to save time during the liturgy. With so many new people among us, most of whom come from non-Anglican experiences of church, I’ve had some requests to do the Anglo-facts again. Mindful of the time in our liturgy, I’ve decided that the newsletter might be a better format.

Intinction is the practice of dipping the communion bread into the chalice rather than drinking the wine from the chalice. Many people choose this method of receiving communion to avoid passing (thank you) or receiving germs. With so many communicable diseases about, this is a valid concern.
Thankfully, it is our practice to use a silver chalice which actually makes the common cup very safe. Silver doesn’t conduct most germs, which means they can’t live on the cup and pass from one person to the next. In addition, the chalice bearer is trained on how to wipe the cup and turn it one-quarter turn between each communicant. This ensures that any germs that survive being wiped wait through three people before there is opportunity to make contact with a person again. This amount of time further limits the likelihood that germs could be passed. Finally, the cup contains real wine and alcohol kills most germs. So between the silver chalice, the wiping with the cloth (called a purificator), the quarter-turn between each communicant, and the wine in the cup, the possibility for passing germs is practically non-existent… unless people are reaching their hands into the cup.

The chalice bearers are required to use hand sanitizer prior to serving the cup at communion. The fewer people reaching into the cup, the less likely germs can be introduced.

That’s why it is your rector’s policy that if a communicant chooses intinction, the chalice bearer will take the communion wafer, dip it into the cup, and give it to the communicant. I ask that everyone please refrain from trying to dip the wafer yourself for the sake of everyone’s health.
If you have any questions or information to add to this discussion, please feel free to share it with me. Also, if there is a topic or issue you’d like me to address in these Anglo-facts please let me know.

Peace!

Valori+

Pentecost 3, 2013: Ushers of grace

Lectionary: 1 Kings 17:17-24; Psalm 30, Galatians 1:11-24; Luke 7:11-17
Preacher: The Very Rev Dr Valori Mulvey Sherer, Rector



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

How do we live in community? How do we respond to one another in moments of joy… in moments of pain or need? Do we respond the way the world tells us we should, or the way the Good News of salvation in Jesus Christ leads us to do?

Last week an 84 year-old woman won a huge lottery jackpot. It was reported that a young mother had allowed the old woman to go ahead of her in line enabling the elder woman to buy the winning ticket.

I saw the young mother interviewed the next day. The reporter seemed surprised that the younger woman wasn’t “bitter” about the way things had turned out. From the world’s perspective, it seems hard to imagine sharing someone’s joy without a bit of resentment.

How do we live in community?

There’s a lot of discussion in the world right now about how to be in relationship with the poor and needy among us. The debate, it seems to me, boils down to the difference between pity and compassion– and there is a difference.

Pity is an emotion. It is the experience of real sorrow in the face of someone’s suffering. But pity is detached - an observer of the other’s suffering. It may lead one to act to relieve the suffering of another or it may not. When it does not, pity opens the door contempt.

The issue becomes one of us and them. We worked hard for what we have. It’s their own fault they are suffering. They need to change – who they are, what they are or aren’t doing, how they’re living... We musn’t “enable” them or let them become “dependent” on us. What this is really saying is: I can be compassionate, but only for so long. Then I want relief from their suffering. The truth is, so do they.

Compassion, on the other hand, is the linking of ourselves to another’s experience of suffering. It isn’t an emotion. It’s an act of will – the will to participate with someone in their pain, offering ourselves, our gifts and the love of God that is in us, as balm to their wounds.

When we are moved by compassion, it is the Holy Spirit in us leading us to shine her Divine Light into the darkness of someone’s life. Compassion has no time-limit and no discomfort limit. We commit for as long as it takes and whatever the cost, remembering that our Lord’s commitment to compassion for us led him to the cross. And no matter how long it takes, we trust that God will guide them and us on the proper path to wholeness and restoration of life.

I want to be clear: pity is not a bad thing. Both testaments of our Scripture tell us of the many times and situations in which God was moved by pity into a compassionate, merciful response.

Pity is God tapping us on our proverbial shoulders to awaken us to notice and feel the sorrow that will link us to the heart of God and to the one who suffers. And that’s the point. God hears the cries of those who suffer and responds, often through us, with mercy, healing, and restoration of life.

At no point does God trade mercy for faithfulness, good behavior, or worthiness. Jesus makes the unworthy to be worthy, and does it in the presence of witnesses so that they have to acknowledge the generosity of God in offering grace to those they (the world) deemed unimportant. As St. Peter said, God shows no partiality, (Acts 10:34) therefore, neither can we.

Our readings from 1 Kings and the gospel of Luke illustrate God’s compassion toward iconic symbols of poverty and contempt: widows. And the letter to the Galatians demonstrates how God uses us as partners in this work in the world.

In both of the resurrection stories, the favor of God’s healing was not sought. Neither widow asked for healing or resurrection for her son. In fact, in the story from 1 Kings, the widow yells at Elijah for bringing her to God’s attention at all, believing that this was what led to her son’s death. She would have preferred Elijah and God just leave her alone.

To understand why, we need to look at how that culture lived in community. First is the notion that sin brings punishment. Elijah brought her sin to God’s notice and therefore her son is dead – that’s how she was thinking. Also in “Jewish tradition…female relatives [were required] to walk in front of the corpse in the funeral procession. [This] custom was said to have been established as a reminder of Eve’s defection in bringing death into the world.” (The IVP Women’s Bible Commentary, Kroeger and Evans, eds., InterVarsity Press, IL, 2002, 569)

So, imagine the grief of these women. Their husbands were already dead and now their only sons are dead. They are alone, destitute, and forced to march at the front of the funeral procession – ritually bearing the blame not only for the death of their sons, but for all death. Each of them is literally walking into a life of extreme poverty, certain death, contempt and exile from her community.

In both of these stories, Compassion intervenes. God’s grace is lavished on these women and restores them to life and health. In the gospel story from Luke, Jesus happens upon the funeral procession and, moved by compassion, approaches the woman, comforts her, and touches the bier.

I imagine when he did that everyone froze, holding their breath. Jewish men of that time did not approach or talk to women in public, especially women who were not family. And according to Mosaic law even touching the bier would have made Jesus ritually unclean for a week. And Jesus, who was a rabbi, knew that.

Then in the midst of this already shocking moment, Jesus raises the dead man to life. Luke says the witnesses of this were “seized by fear” and glorified God.

Now isn’t that an interesting response? Even though what happened shocked and scared them, the people knew they had witnessed the power of God made manifest right before their eyes in Jesus, the Christ.

And they would have to change their relationship with this woman as a result. With her son no longer dead, she is no longer destitute, held in contempt, or exiled from her community.

Do you think anyone in her community resented that? Do you think anyone complained that God was enabling her or making her dependent on divine grace?

We don’t know what happened in this woman’s life after Jesus walked away. But we do know this: because of God’s intervention, the community had to live together differently than they anticipated that they would, differently than the world and their religious laws said they should.

Now they had to live together as a community touched by grace and she who should have been no-one was now the favored one. And that, people of Redeemer, is how the kingdom of God works.

As partners with God in this work in the world, we are called to be ushers of the flow of the grace of God, not barriers to it. When we think we have the right or responsibility to identify someone as undeserving of our mercy, compassion, or assistance, I hope we remember these women and how God responded to them.

That is, after all, why we exist as church – to form, equip, and send out bearers of the lavish, impartial love of God into the world. We gather together to be fed by Word and Sacrament, to be strengthened for service in the holy name of God.

Let us pray: “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; through Jesus Christ our Lord.” Amen.