YEAR B 2024 pentecost 26

Pentecost 26, 2024
Daniel 12:1-3
Psalm 16
Hebrews 10:11-25
Mark 13:1-8

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Now you may not knows this, but this present building is not the first St. Timothy’s Church to stand on this location.  The first building was completed in 1843 and was called “one of the finest church buildings in the state of Ohio.”  Diocesan Conventions were held in that space, and the parishioners were proud to show it off whenever they had the chance.  But over time, it turned out that the foundation was not strong enough to support the structure, and the building was sinking.  

In 1892, the last service was held in that building.  After just 49 years, one of the finest church buildings in the state of Ohio was gone.  Now this sanctuary was completed in 1898, and we once again have one of the finest church buildings in the state of Ohio.  And . . . Jesus said to his disciples, “Do you see these great buildings?  Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

As I’ve mentioned before, one of my favorite bumper stickers says “Entropy Rules!”  Entropy is the science-y word that means, everything naturally falls apart.  Like, you cut down a tree, come back in 20 years, and it will have slowly decayed into the ground.  Or, to quote from The Breakfast Club: "Screws fall out all the time; the world is an imperfect place.”  This is why we have to get our cars serviced, and launch capital campaigns to fix our buildings.  Because the natural order of things is to fall apart.  Entropy Rules!

And that’s kind of how Jesus responds to the disciples as they leave the Temple in this morning’s gospel reading, and it’s kind of depressing.  As we heard, one of the disciples says to Jesus, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” And Jesus asks him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”  What Jesus could have said was, “Yes, it’s all very impressive, and one of the finest church buildings in the state of Ohio.  But Entropy Rules.  Screws fall out all the time; the world is an imperfect place.”

I have a friend who used to be a pretty hardcore Evangelical, and he was really hooked on the idea that when Jesus returns he’s going to wipe everything out and start over.  When anyone got too attached to something, my friend would say, “It’s all gonna burn.”  Like you’d say to him, “I really like our new car.”  And my friend would say, “Don’t get too attached, because it’s all gonna burn!”  Like when Jesus comes back he’s going to be carrying the Mother of All Flamethrowers.  

Some people take that view, like my friend, because they think that everything is broken and twisted and must be replaced.  Irredeemably flawed.  I personally disagree with that view, because from what I see in the scriptures, it seems more the way of Jesus to perfect things rather than replace them.  When Jesus sees a blind man, he doesn’t replace him with someone who can see; Jesus gives that man his sight.  Jesus restores things, rather than upgrading to a newer version.  At the tomb of his friend Lazarus, Jesus brings him back to life, instead of rolling out Lazarus 2.0.  In Jesus, things become what they were meant to be, rather than what they currently are, and as opposed to what people say they should be.

But there’s a tricky balance at work here.  If my friend is correct and everything is gonna burn, then why take care of anything?  Why eat my vegetables since I might get hit by a bus tomorrow?  Why start singing a song since I know it’s going to end after the last chorus?  Is there any point in pursuing beauty through preservation and care if it’s all going to be destroyed?  And that’s where there is a difference between entropy and It’s All Gonna Burn.  Entropy makes us engage to make things better; thinking It’s All Gonna Burn makes us give up.  Entropy rules . . . but not if we can help it, right?  There’s a great quote that applies here, sometimes attributed to Martin Luther:  “If I knew that tomorrow was the end of the world, I would still plant an apple tree today.”

There’s a running theme in Mark’s gospel that has come up several times in the past few months.  And that is, the disciples’ obsession with greatness.  Remember that time they were arguing about which of them was the greatest?  And Jesus shows the disciples what greatness is by placing a child in the midst of them.  So when they talk about the greatness of the temple with its large stones, he reminds them that buildings do not last forever.  Because entropy rules.  Things fall apart.

We like to judge the disciples for their obsession with greatness, but that’s only because we don’t recognize it in ourselves.  We are obsessed with growth, and bigness, and strength.  In our country, in our churches, and in ourselves.  We want to be the biggest and the best at . . . well, at everything.  We are not so far off from the disciples in this way.

One of the thrills of being the Rector at St. Timothy’s is that throughout the year I get to bring groups of people into this space and hear them ooh and aww at the beauty that has been handed down to us.  And they say to each other, “Look, what large stones and such fine Tiffany windows!”  And then I say, “Do you see these great windows in this amazing building? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.  Hope you can join us for worship on Sunday!”

This section of Mark’s gospel is sometimes called The Little Apocalypse, because Jesus also says to the disciples: When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.  Scary stuff, right?  Apocalyptic.

But that response is an answer to a question from the disciples.  They say to Jesus, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?”  And here we’re really back to entropy.  Because it’s all falling apart, all the time.  We are living in a slow-motion apocalypse from the day we are born.  Just look around.  Have you seen nations rising against nations?  Earthquakes?  Famines?  When will it happen?  It’s happening right now.  You’re soaking in it!

We have no control over these things.  We’re living in a slow-motion apocalypse all our lives, and entropy rules.  And any time we start arguing with one another over who is the greatest, or marvel at our seemingly indestructible buildings, we would do well to remember this teaching.  “Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

But that’s much different from, It’s All Gonna Burn, right?  It is the natural order of things to be born or built, have their existence, and then pass away.  All will be thrown down.  In the words of the band Kansas, “nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky.”  It’s just the way things are.  When will things fall apart, Jesus?  Things are falling apart right now, all the time, even the finest church buildings in the state of Ohio.

Hearing that something is going to happen naturally makes us want to know when it’s going to happen.  And when the disciples hear Jesus suggest that all these buildings will be rubble at some point, they want to know when.  Tell us the day, Jesus.  Give us the signs that we are to look for.  Is it today?  Tomorrow?  Next week?  They almost seem to panic, don’t they?  What do you mean St. Timothy’s won’t be here forever?  What will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?  Whatever will we do?

And you know why they panic?  Why we panic?  Because we put our faith in structures, and buildings, and nations.  This American democracy will last forever.  This building will always be here for us.  And when we start putting our faith in buildings and nations, well, maybe it’s helpful to have someone say to us, remember: Entropy Rules.

Jesus says, “nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes; there will be famines.”  106 years ago this month the War to End All Wars came to an end, and simply paved the road to an even more devastating war.  If we put our trust in kingdoms, nations, and buildings, we will be sorely disappointed.

But, as we were reminded during the peak of the pandemic, the Church is not a building; the Church is us.  Sure, we happen to have inherited the most beautiful structure in the state of Ohio, but this building is not the Church.  We are the Church, along with all the others who have ever lived and ever will live.  We don’t put our hope in the current things of this world, where Entropy Rules.  But you know where we do put our hope?  

In the birthpangs, that’s where.  Yes, everything comes to an end.  But for those who put their hope in Jesus, the end is the beginning.  The rebirth is always around the corner.  As we heard in the letter to the Hebrews this morning:  

“Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful.”  We put our hope in the promises of Jesus Christ.  And we can trust that hope, believe that hope, live that hope, because Jesus is faithful.  And among the promises of Jesus, we know he has promised to be among us.  Here in building number 2.

I still believe the best bumper sticker is that one that says, Entropy Rules, but I’m tempted to add, “So Far.”  Yes, things do fall apart, and then God restores them to fulness.  Yes, we all do go down to the grave, and God promises to raise us up to new life.  May God give us the grace to trust in the hope of these promises, and to live together in unity and peace, until the day that Jesus returns, and makes all things new.

Amen.

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 25

Pentecost 25, 2024
1 Kings 17:8-16
Psalm 146
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

I really do love the first lesson we heard this morning, where Elijah comes to the widow because God sent him to her.  God says, “I have commanded a widow to feed you there.”  How's that for specific?  And how does Elijah even find this one particular widow?  We don’t get any clues from the reading.  But Elijah shows up and it feels a little uncomfortable when he gets there to be honest.  A widow who has nothing is being asked to give this stranger a portion of the tiny bit she has left.  And she complies.  Oof.

She says, I’ve only got a tiny bit of flour.  In fact, so little flour that I was planning to make a small cake for my son and myself to eat, and then we will die.  And Elijah seems to completely ignore her dire situation and says, make me a little cake before you feed your family.  ANY person in their right mind would say, “Um, no thanks.  We’ve got just enough to die; we can’t spare anything for you, lest we die sooner!”

We can’t tell for certain, however all the details here suggest that if Elijah hadn’t shown up, this woman and her son would have been dead the next day.  She’s made her plan.  Gather some wood for a fire.  Make a little cake.  Then lie down with my son and die.

This is how it was for widows in those days.  Which is EXACTLY why God says over and over throughout both the Old and New Testaments that people are to care for widows and orphans and immigrants.  Just look at the second half of today's Psalm.  Unless someone intervenes, they are destined to make a little cake to eat and then lie down and die.  Because people don’t care.  Because that’s just the way life is.  Widows and orphans and immigrants live at the mercy of others.  And that’s why God cares.  In that culture (and ours), widows and orphans and immigrants need people to care what happens to them.  And over and over God says, so care what happens to them!

But here is the interesting thing about this story.  If the widow had stuck to her plan.  If she had said, “No, I can’t help you, I’ve got to take care of my son and my family before I give you any extra,” she and her son would have died.  If she had adopted an attitude of circle the wagons, the pie is only so big, everyone has to fend for themselves, me first, my country first . . . well, she’d be dead.

It is only in sharing that the miracle of abundance can take place.  It is only in putting others first that we find there is always more where that came from.  And—in case it’s not obvious—this reading ties in quite nicely with the timing of our Stewardship Campaign.  She could very justifiably have said, “I don’t have enough to share because my family is on the edge.”  Just like, as a church, we could say, “We don’t have enough to share with our neighbors, because budgets are tight, and the bills don’t take a vacation, and we’ve got to circle the wagons, and the pie is only so big.”

And each one of us could sit at our kitchen table and say, “I can’t make a pledge to the church because the price of eggs is so high, and I’ve got to feed my own family first, and where will we find money next week, or next month, or any time?”  I know there’s a risk of sounding like a televangelist if I keep going in that vein, so I won’t.

But sharing what we have is what leads to truly living.  We need to consider the example of this widow when we think about our personal finances and how we spend our resources as a congregation.  Because if this widow hadn’t been willing to share with Elijah, she’d be dead.  If she hadn’t been willing to give a small portion of what she had left, she would not have survived.  It is literally by giving away what she has that she finds what she needs to carry on.

I don’t want to push this point too hard—because of that televangelist angle I mentioned—but it’s not too far a stretch to say that in giving things up, we find life.  In fact, Jesus says it all the time: in losing your life, you will find it.  In sacrificing, you will find fulfillment.  In dying, you will find life.  The first shall be last, and the last shall be first.  It’s true for us as individuals, and it’s true for us as a parish.  The more we are willing to surrender to God, the more God has to work with.  But enough of that, let’s turn our attention to the gospel, where another widow gives up all she has!

But that’s not the point I want us to take away from this gospel reading.  There’s an entirely different point I want to make, and it is related to what we’ve experienced this past week.  Or what some people have experienced this past week.  I want us to notice who gets lifted up by Jesus.

Jesus begins by describing the lives of the scribes.  These are sort of wealthy educated people who are respected in the community.  They walk around the marketplace getting noticed for being so awesome and drawing attention to themselves.  And that bit about devouring widows houses is because scribes fell into the role of what we think of today as a conservatorship, a position they then used to routinely steal from the women in their care.

So Jesus opens with a sharp condemnation of the kinds of people who walk around being flashy and popular and in control, who rip off the vulnerable ones who are at their mercy.  And then Jesus goes and sits down to watch what happens at the treasury.  More flashy people come and go, making sure everyone knows that they are giving tons of money, because they have tons of money to give.  And isn’t that just swell!  Does Jesus point to them and say how great they are for giving so much?  No he does not.  He doesn’t say a thing about them.

But then, along comes this poor widow who puts in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny.  And that’s who Jesus notices.  And that’s where we take the wrong message from this story.  We have centuries of talk about the “Widow’s Mite” and you’ve probably even seen little boxes with that phrase printed on it.  Give a couple pennies to the church, just like this poor widow did.

We want this to be a story about how a person with very little gives everything she has.  We want this to be a story about proportional giving, especially since it lines up so perfectly with our annual Stewardship Campaign.  But I don’t think this is a story about the percentage one person gives compared to another.  No, I think this is a story about who Jesus notices.

Societies elevate the people who are like the scribes in the marketplace.  The people who walk around the country club and give lots of money to the symphony.  Societies elevate the people who control hedge funds that rob widows of their investments while contributing nothing of value to the community.  Societies elevate those who have contributed “out of their abundance,” as Jesus puts it.

But Jesus notices the poor widow.  The one who is ignored by everyone else.  Jesus focuses his attention on the outcast, and the marginalized, and those whose very existence is threatened by the decisions of the majority of people around them.  If the majority are happy with their rights and their privileges and their status, why should we pay attention to the widows and orphans and immigrants?  If the majority are happy, why should we care about the trans kids, and the gay community, and the people of color?  In fact, why not use them as scary distractions in our attack ads to get elected to office?  If everything is fine for me, why should I pay attention to anyone else?  Let me just walk around in my flashy robes at the banquets and say my long prayers!  Who’s gonna even notice what happens to these other people?

Well.  To those other people, let me say clearly: Jesus notices you.  Jesus sees you when you don’t fit in.  Jesus sees you when the larger society would rather cast you off.  Jesus sees you when you find it is hard to have hope.  

Jesus saw the widow who gave everything she had.  And Jesus sees you when you think you have nothing left to give.  No matter what society is telling you, Jesus sees you.  Jesus loves you.  And Jesus is here for you.  No matter what you are going through right now, Jesus sees you.  And Jesus is here for you.

Amen

YEAR B 2024 all saints

All Saints, 2024
Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-9
Psalm 24
Revelation 21:1-6a
John 11:32-44

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Since this is the feast of all saints, we will once again renew our Baptismal covenant. Because it is the feast of ALL saints. And if you are bothered by anything I’m about to say, I encourage you to think deeply about why you are bothered.  And then I strongly encourage you to come and talk to me about it.  My door is always open.

There is no denying that the past decade has coarsened our rhetoric, expanded our divisions, and heightened our worst impulses.  In the past week, we’ve witnessed profoundly hateful campaign rhetoric, which—as usual—was then retrofitted to be called "jokes." And these are not even funny jokes. And these not-funny jokes are especially not funny for the people on the other end of what are very real threats to their personal safety. 

So today we will affirm our faith using the Baptismal covenant, because it is the feast of ALL saints.

Together, we will promise to respect the dignity of every human being,  Every person is made in the image of God.  And—in case it’s not obvious—human beings, made in the image of God, are not vermin.  Human beings, made in the image of God, do not poison our blood.  And Americans who vote differently than you do are still human beings made in the image of God, and they are not enemies. 

The dystopian hellscape we keep hearing about is not there. When you pull back the curtain, what you find is . . . people. Just people. Fellow Americans.  People like my immigrant great grandfather who came to this country because it is a good place, and is not the world’s garbage can.   People.  Beloved children of God. People in whom we have sworn to seek and serve Christ.  People whose dignity we have promised to respect. 

Whatever your politics, calling other people animals and vermin and poison and enemies is not the language of our baptismal covenant.  It’s just not.  Every single person is created by God, made in the image of God.  A beloved child of God. And when you call people—who are made in the image of God—anything other than made in the image of God, you are blaspheming the God who created them.  Since every person is made in the image of God, whatever you say about them, you are saying about God.  Whatever you say, you are saying about God.

Way back in 2020, we put a sign in our own private yard endorsing a particular candidate we favored for office. People left this church over that sign. Not because we had  A  sign, but because of whose name was on that sign. It wasn’t the sign; it was the name.  I will not make that mistake again, because our congregation is already a mere remnant of what we were before the pandemic. But if a sign in my yard makes you leave your church . . . . well, I don’t know what to say.

Today, we will affirm our faith using the Baptismal covenant, because it is the feast of ALL saints. 

We are going to need to start looking for unity no matter who wins this election. And—in some outcomes—there are people who will need extra protecting in the days and months ahead. The LGBTQ people whose dignity you have promised to respect. The people of color you have promised to seek and serve Christ in. The immigrants and strangers and widows and orphans whom God tells us over and over are God’s FAVORED children will need extra protecting.  And, to be completely honest about it . . . so will women.  

When the flames are burning this hot, it is our Christian duty to turn down the gas, and to shelter those the fires are aimed at. We are a sanctuary from politics, not an accelerant for it.  We are a place of shelter for the needy, not a fortress against the world.  As Episcopalians, we are people who are held together by our baptismal covenant, and we make very specific promises . . . with God’s help. 

On this feast of all saints, we will once again affirm our Baptismal covenant. Because it is the feast of ALL saints. 

We make these promises with God’s help.  And if you have trouble keeping the promises you are about to make with God’s help, ask God for help. Because with God’s help, we can do better. With God’s help, we must do better. With God’s help, we will respect the dignity of every human being.  With God’s help we will seek and serve Christ in every single person, known and unknown.  Because with God’s help we are the body of Christ in this world.

On this feast of all saints, we will once again affirm our Baptismal covenant. Because it is the feast of ALL saints.  And with God’s help we will make good on the promises we make.

Amen.

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 23

Pentecost 23, 2024
Jeremiah 31:7-9
Psalm 126
Hebrews 7:23-28
Mark 10:46-52

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

In the first lesson this week, from the prophet Jeremiah, we heard that God is going to bring back the people who have been exiled, “and among them the blind and the lame, those with child and those in labor, together; a great company, they shall return here.”  The more I thought about this group of people, the more I could see what it is those people have in common.  The blind, the lame, those in labor, they would slow us down, right?  If we are racing back to our ancestral land, we’d probably prefer that those folks just kind of meet us there at some point when they can.  I mean, a great multitude can only move as fast as the slowest members.

But what’s more interesting here is that those particular people, the blind, the lame, and those in labor all rely on the community to get them to a distant destination.  If you can’t see, you need someone to guide you.  If you can’t walk, you need someone to carry you.  If you are in labor, you need someone to hold your hand while you scream obscenities at them.  (Or so I’ve heard.)  All these folks rely on the community, and God is not going to let them be left behind.  Everyone comes home together.  Everyone.  God says, “With weeping they shall come, and with consolations I will lead them back.”  And the vulnerable bring along what makes them vulnerable, because they are loved as they are, and God will protect them, through the community around them.

And gospel reading we just heard is also about community.  But it’s about the transformation of the community.  Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus, is sitting by the side of the road.  A large crowd is walking with Jesus, and the blind man cries out to him.  And what does the crowd do?  Do they pick him up and carry him along?  Do they tell Jesus that Bartimaus needs his help?  No.  Instead they sternly order him to keep quiet.  Their instinct is to leave him behind, because they’re following Jesus.

But then . . . Jesus stands still, and he tells the crowd to bring the blind man to him.  Interesting that Jesus doesn’t go to the man.  Jesus doesn’t tell the man to come to him.  No, Jesus tells the community to bring the man to him.  The community turns to the man in need and tells him to take heart, because Jesus is calling him.  And throwing off his cloak (which we’ll come back to in a minute), he gets up and goes to Jesus.  And Jesus asks him, “What do you want me to do for you?”  And here we have to stop for a moment.

I don’t know if you have any friends who are blind.  But more than once I have asked a blind friend if they would want to have their sight back.  The answers are mixed.  Those of us who can see assume that blind people really want to be like us.  But that’s not necessarily so.  Even people who could once see—they know what it’s like—those people do not necessarily want to have their sight back.  My brother—who is losing his sight—has told me he has like supernatural hearing now.  There can be upsides to losing one or more of our senses.  Point being, we want to be careful not to assume that everyone who is “different” wants to be like us, right?

And so look what Jesus does here.  He doesn’t assume the man wants to be able to see.  He asks the man himself: What do you want me to do for you?  I find that both interesting and important.  Jesus asks the man what he wants, without assuming he would want what we might want.  And Bartimaeus says, “My teacher, let me see again.”  Jesus tells him his faith has made him well, and then Bartimaeus follows Jesus on the way.  He becomes part of the community.  The same community that originally sternly told him to be quiet, and then tells him Jesus is calling him, and now walks together with this man.  The community has also changed because Jesus has brought healing to the one they wanted to leave behind.

Okay, great story.  But back to the man’s cloak.  As we heard, the crowd told the man that Jesus was calling, and “throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.”  Consider for a moment Bartimaeus’ position in life.  He is blind and begging by the roadside.  He has a cloak, and maybe a bowl to collect the alms he might receive.  That cloak is very likely the one possession this man has.  The one thing of any monetary value in his life is this cloak.  And hearing that Jesus is calling, he throws off his cloak, springs to his feet, and comes to Jesus.

If you think back to a couple weeks ago, we heard about a rich man who came to Jesus and asked what he must do to inherit eternal life.  He was told he’d have to leave everything behind, and the rich man went away sad.  What we saw in that case was someone who was trying to save himself.  He wanted to learn how to do it on his own.  But the blind man Bartimaeus, and also the people from the first reading—the blind, the lame, and those in labor—they all know that they cannot save themselves.  They must rely on God; they must rely on the community.  And God and the community are there for them, in both cases.  Carrying them when they cannot carry themselves.

So . . . this week we are kicking off our annual stewardship campaign.  I was asked to preach a sermon about stewardship, and I agreed.  And then I read these lessons and thought, “Uh oh.”  But the more I thought about it, the more of a connection I saw.  Because, in a way, the blind man’s cloak is his offering.  It represents what he is willing to give up in gratefulness to follow Jesus.  Unlike the rich man two weeks ago, Bartimaeus leaves behind literally everything in order to follow Jesus.  It’s like the most extreme example of sacrificial giving.

Of course, he could have brought his cloak with him to Jesus.  But he leaves the cloak behind and brings his blindness with him.  In his excitement to be healed, his possessions become secondary.  And he ends up as part of the community, and together they follow Jesus.

Now I know the connection between Bartimaeus and stewardship is not a straight line for us.  But the idea of holding our possessions lightly is there.  There is a broad continuum between the rich man who kept his possessions and went away sad, and the blind man who leaps up and leaves everything behind.  None of us is at either of those extremes.

But ever since the start of the pandemic in 2020, I think we have all learned to hold our possessions just a little more lightly.  We’ve found ourselves focusing on our health, and our families, and our friends.  Money and things became a little less important when we found ourselves staring death in the face for months and months on end.

And over my time here in Massillon, I’ve watched the people of St. Tim’s unwavering generosity with your contributions of clothes and food and toys, in seeing how you volunteered countless hours working in the garden, cleaning the building, singing in the choir, teaching our children, providing food for our neighbors, and so much more.  In seeing you give your time, talent, and treasure, I know that we all continue to move a little closer to Bartimaeus and a little farther away from the rich man who went away sad.

The theme of our stewardship campaign this year is Walk in Love.  You’ll recognize that as part of the offertory sentence, which you’ll hear in just a few minutes.  Walk in love, as Christ first loved us.  

As we begin our stewardship campaign this year, I encourage all of us to consider what it is we are willing to part with in order to see the ministry of Jesus grow in this place.  Maybe it’s just a little.  Maybe it is significant.  And both of those are okay, because we are a community together.  We carry one another all the time.  But no matter what we might pledge, Jesus is calling and welcoming each one of us.  To heal us from whatever holds us back from following him on the way.  To join together in this community to share the good news to others that they too should take heart, because just like Bartimaeus, Jesus is calling for them too.

When Jesus asks us, “What do you want me to do for you,” let’s give some thought to what our answer might be.  Because God can do anything; we just need the courage to imagine what it is we want to do together.  God is with us, and God will always be with us.  And together we walk in love, as Christ loved us, and gave himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God.

Amen.

Massillon Tigers Prayer Service

Tigers Prayer Service
10/26/2024
Hebrews 12:1

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

So, I didn’t grow up around here.  I grew up in Niagara Falls NY, which is near Buffalo.  (Go Bills!)  The high school I went to had about 1,200 students, which is pretty close to what Washington High School has these days.  We had a football team, and I played in the marching band.  Our stadium—if you could call it that—seated, maybe, 500 people.  And I never once saw the stands filled in my four years of playing in the band.  I suppose we were more of a hockey school.

So imagine my surprise when I moved to Massillon eight years ago to become the priest in this church.  A high school football stadium that holds over 16,000 people!  More than 30 times the size of my high school stadium!  A stadium that is filled for most games, and is always filled for the rivalry game.  I hate to sound like an outsider, but this is just crazy to me!  I definitely had a completely different experience than people who grow up in Massillon.

Which got me to thinking . . . why is that?  Why is the only remaining Paul Brown stadium so big?  And how can it possibly still sell out when the school only has around 1,200 students?

And, well, you know the answer before I even say it.  The reason is because of the great cloud of witnesses.  It’s not exactly the same as the great cloud of witnesses mentioned in the reading from Hebrews we just heard.  But the idea is the same.

All those people who keep coming out to cheer you on, they are your cloud of witnesses.  In the good years and in the not so good years, the people of Massillon stand behind this team.  They support you as athletes, they support you as students, and they support you as people who will go on to support the ones who come behind you.  Massillon has always had a strong and faithful football program, because Massillon has always had strong and faithful people.  You are not the first to play the game here, and you won’t be the last.

Which brings us to today.  Everyone in town feels like this is their game, like this is their day to beat McKinley.  And—in a way—it is, sure.  But for each of you sitting in this room today, there’s something more.  Because this is literally your game and your day, in a way that no one else will ever know.

Whether you are throwing a ball, or blocking a tackle, or carrying water to the players, or calling the plays from the sideline, this game is your game.  You are the ones who will play this game, in front of—and on behalf of—that great cloud of witnesses who are supporting you, and who will always support you.

Massillon is a unique place, and I am proud and honored to host this prayer service with you each year.  Whether or not we share the same faith tradition, we are still each made in the image of God.  The God who creates, redeems, and strengthens us this day, and all the days to come.  May God bless you all, and may God keep you safe today, and every day.

Amen.

The Burial of Geoffery Hill

Geoffrey Hill, 10/25/24
Isaiah 25:6-9
1 Corinthians 13:4-7
John 6:37-40

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

I did not know Jeff Hill.  In fact, I don’t know that I ever met him in person.  But I know many of you, his friends and family.  I was most familiar with his father, Dr. Ed, and with his sister Sarah.  And I’ve read with interest that amazing obituary.  I feel like I have a sense of the man without knowing him, because I know you, and I’ve read those words, and heard some of your stories, and that amazing poem we just heard.

A theme running through Jeff’s life was a desire to give back.  And a person who so emphasizes giving back shows that they know deep down that everything they have is a gift.  You can see it in our use of the word “back.”  We have been given, and we strive to give back.  And this leads to caring deeply for others.  Helping those who were, “not given,” if you will.  Jeff Hill intentionally choosing to spend so much time working with children is a perfect example of this.  Caring for children who need our help is among the highest of callings.

Jeff gave back because he could see the gifts in his own life.  And you can contrast that with people who think things are being taken away from them.  Who aren’t recognizing the gifts in their lives.  Who are just learning to see their own lives and gifts.  Those are the people Jeff spent time trying to help.  He knew that all good things in life are a gift, and he shared what he had as a person.  Jeff’s unrelenting—and feisty—love for his family shows that he knew all of you to be a gift to him as well.   

In the passage of scripture I read a few minutes ago, from John’s gospel, Jesus says, "Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and anyone who comes to me I will never drive away.” And “I will lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.”  Jesus does not lose what is his.  All of us are given the gift of life on this earth, and when our time here is through, we return back to the one who gave us that precious gift of life.

Jeff spent his days giving to others, caring for others, helping others.  And he passed that desire to give back on to all of you.  And now he has returned to the one from whom every good thing comes.  Though Jeff is lost to us as we continue to live out our own gift of life, he is not now—and never was—lost to God.  Because Jesus does not let go of what is his, and he will raise each of us up on the last day.  May God bless Geoffrey Hill, and may God bless all of you.

Amen.   

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 22

Pentecost 22, 2024
Isaiah 53:4-12
Psalm 91:9-16
Hebrews 5:1-10
Mark 10:35-45

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

I spent a lot of time this week trying to think of a modern example that would be similar to what James and John are doing in today’s gospel reading.  At some point, it occurred to me, coming up with a contemporary example is pointless.

We all know what James and John are doing.  We’ve all done what James and John are doing!  We do it all the time.  We corner someone and ask for a favor, without first telling what the favor will be.  “Hey, I wonder if you could give me hand with something.”  Or children say, “Hey, Mom, I need your help with something.”  Then, once we’ve got the person’s agreement to help us, we have the upper hand.  “You said you would help me!”  Yes, but you didn’t say that the “help” was to give you all the cookies! James and John are using their friendship with Jesus to get what they want.  And if you’re anything like me, you have to admit, this is often how our prayer life looks: using our friendship with Jesus to get what we want . . . but that’s a story for another time.

Of course, there’s another side to what James and John are doing.  They’re also playing a political game against their fellow disciples.  By banding together and asking Jesus for the choice spots at his right and left, they’re trying to create a common-interest caucus, where all the good seats are locked up because they bring their political might to bear.  It’s like a Sons of Zebedee political action committee, ZEB-PAC, and they’re lobbying for their own personal interests and advantage.  This coalition of the James and the John has outmaneuvered the other disciples by being the first to ask for the key positions in the new government they think Jesus is setting up.

Meanwhile, the other disciples are now angry because they have been blind-sided by ZEB-PAC, since they either never thought of asking, or because they were too polite to try to demand a place of privilege. Whatever the reason, the other disciples are now mad at the Sons of Zebedee for moving in and taking all the good spots.

It’s easy to laugh at all this, and I think maybe we’re supposed to get some amusement at their expense.  But at the same time, the tragic side of it all is certainly prominent.  Because once again, the disciples don’t get it.  Just a few verses before today’s reading, Jesus has told his disciples for a third time that he must be handed over to the authorities, and will be beaten, mocked, spit on, killed, and rise to new life.

He JUST said it!  Like five seconds ago.  And the next paragraph begins: then James and John came to Jesus and said . . .  This is the third time in Mark’s gospel that Jesus tries to tell his disciples how the story is going to end, and it’s the third time the disciples completely misunderstand.

The first time Jesus tells them that he must be handed over to the authorities and be killed, Peter takes him aside and says “This cannot happen to you!”  And do you remember what Jesus says?  Jesus calls him Satan!  Apparently Peter had the wrong answer.  And then, in the next chapter, Jesus again tells the disciples that he will be betrayed and killed and rise again.  And the disciples did not understand and were afraid to ask him, so they begin to argue about who is the greatest among them.  Obviously, the disciples had the wrong idea. 

And then, in the next chapter, Jesus tells the disciples a third time that he will be betrayed and killed and rise again three days later.  And James and John start asking to be given good positions on his royal court.  The disciples are not getting the picture here.  They’re simply unable to understand that Jesus is not talking about taking over the earthly government.  They can’t get it out of their heads that Jesus is supposed to overthrow the oppressive earthly rulers and set up the new system.

But in all three of these cases, where Jesus talks of his own death at the hands of the authorities, when the disciples get it wrong, Jesus points to something.  The first time, when Peter tells Jesus to stop talking like a crazy man, and Jesus calls him Satan, Jesus points to the cross.  The way forward, for Jesus, and anyone who wants to follow him, is to take up their cross and follow him.

The second time Jesus predicts his death, and the disciples argue about who is the greatest among them, Jesus points to a child.  The way forward, for Jesus, and anyone who wants to follow him, is to become least among others, to be willing to be as a child.

And, today, the third time Jesus predicts his death, and the disciples start trying to call in favors for political power, Jesus points to baptism and the cup of suffering he must drink.  He says to James and John, "You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?" They reply, "We are able!”  Wow.  Talk about clueless, huh?  It’s like they’re little kids with plastic helmets and light sabers reporting to the Army recruiting office.  “Sons of Zebedee, armed and ready for duty, Sir!”  I think if you and I were in Jesus’ position, we couldn’t help but laugh at these two.

But Jesus can see the gravity of the situation.  Their ignorance and eagerness is to be pitied, not mocked.  Jesus says to them, "The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized.”

In some ways, these words can be interpreted as recognition of the persecution of the early church.  Many of the disciples died in horrific ways.  They did suffer death; they were handed over to the authorities to be mocked and beaten; there is a literal sense in which the words of Jesus were true for them.  They drank the cup, and were baptized in the baptism, if we think of those words as metaphors for all that Jesus was to suffer.

Here in Massillon, you and I are not likely to be persecuted or killed for our faith.  But there is another sense in which the disciples were baptized and drank the cup, and we share with them in that same baptism and cup.  At Baptisms in the Episcopal Church, usually the priest sprinkles water on the baby’s head and we hope she doesn’t scream too loudly.  Other churches, like most Baptist churches, have a huge hot tub behind the altar, and practice what is called “full immersion,” which is just what it sounds like. 

As we profess in the Nicene Creed each week, there is one baptism.  But there are many ways to get the deed done.  And our method of sprinkling drops gets a bit disconnected from the full immersion in running water that the early church used.  It’s still baptism in our little font, but we miss the powerful imagery of being drowned and brought back to life.  We are baptized into the death of Jesus, as Paul says, and we rise to new life, just as Jesus does.  You and I are baptized with the same baptism of Jesus, the same baptism of all the saints, the same baptism of James and John.  Are you able to be baptized with the same baptism that Jesus is baptized with?  Crazy as it seems, the answer is yes.  You and I stand at the recruiting office with our own plastic helmets and light sabers saying, “Reporting for duty, Sir!”

And what of the cup?  Are we able to drink of the cup?  Here again, I think we might get distracted by the subtlety of our current method.  We think of gulping down a cup of suffering.  Grabbing the goblet with both hands, holding our breath, and forcing the stuff down in a show of devotion to Jesus.

But that is not how it goes for us.  Instead, you and I come week by week, month by month, year by year, to this altar.  We take little sips, drops in fact, of the cup that Jesus offers to us.  Over a lifetime, we drink this cup of suffering, because it is also the cup of life, the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.  One small sip at a time, over the course of a lifetime, we do indeed drink the cup.  And we find it to be the source of life, the way forward.  Like the disciples, we do not understand what Jesus is telling us about his mission of salvation, but we can look to the things he is pointing at.
The cross.  The child-like life of service.  And the baptism and cup.

And eventually, if we look where Jesus is pointing, we find him pointing at himself.  The way of salvation, whether or not we are ready, whether or not we feel worthy, and whether or not we understand.  You are baptized with the baptism of Jesus, and we do indeed drink from the cup of salvation.  We are the disciples of Jesus.  We are the friends of Jesus.  We are his siblings, all of us sitting at his right and left, as we gather around the table with him, along with the saints of every time and every place.

Amen.