YEAR C 2025 pentecost 7

Pentecost 7, 2025
Genesis 18:20-32
Psalm 138
Colossians 2:6-19
Luke 11:1-13

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

Man, I really love these readings today.  Even that long-winded one from Paul’s letter to the Colossians.  This section of Colossians has some good stuff about how we are connected to Jesus in Baptism and resurrection, but is also confusing in many ways.  As I told you a couple weeks ago, I have a complicated relationship with Paul and his letters.  But let’s start with the first reading, from Genesis.

When we read from the first book of the Bible, I think it’s helpful to remember that God is actually new to being God.  We don’t know if there is life on other planets; all we know from scripture is that in the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.  The Garden of Eden is God’s first experience with having people.  Human beings are learning what it is like to be God’s people, but God is also learning what it is like to have “a people.”  Strange as it is to say, God has never done this before.  And there are plenty of times in scripture where you can sort of see God saying, “Well, it never occurred to me they’d need a rule about that!”  And then God makes a rule.  And then we break the rule.  And God has to make a rule about breaking the rule.

So, throughout the first book of the Bible, God is learning what it means to have a people, and people are learning what it means to be God’s people.  And that’s good to keep in mind when we hear today’s reading.  As we heard, Abraham goes before God and asks, “Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked?”  And I don’t know about you, but I would expect God to respond, “Who do you think you’re talking to?”  I mean, the arrogance of him!  But then Abraham starts into what sounds to our ears like a bargaining negotiation.

What if there are 50 righteous?  How about 45?  Or 40?  Do I hear 30?  Anyone for 20?  How about 10?  And then I’m thinking, wow, that Abraham is one clever fellow!  Got God to spare the city by chipping away at the righteousness threshold until all he needs is 10 righteous people.  Way to go Abraham!  You got God to be merciful with your shameless persistence and arrogance!

But . . . here’s the thing.  What if this is not a story about Abraham persuading God to be merciful?  What if, instead, this is a story about God getting Abraham to understand the wideness of God’s mercy?  Not that Abraham is a super clever negotiator, but rather that God is waiting for Abraham to catch up?  Approach this reading by imagining God wondering, “How can I get Abraham to understand the breadth of my mercy?  How can I get Abraham to know that what I really want is for everyone to live?”  Well, it changes everything.

Because here’s a subtle little shift that you might not even have noticed.    Abraham is looking to convince God not to destroy the city.  He’s probing to find the minimum number of righteous people in order to save the town from destruction.  He asks, if there are fifty righteous in the city, will you spare it from destruction?  And God answers, if there are fifty righteous, “I will forgive the whole place for their sake.”  Arrogant upstart Abraham is aiming for a bare minimum of physical preservation, and God immediately goes way beyond that and announces absolute forgiveness.  To everybody!  Abraham wants mere survival, and God ratchets it up to a blanket forgiveness.  God’s mercy was way beyond what Abraham could ask or imagine.

Abraham speaks to God with shameless arrogance and receives unmerited mercy and forgiveness, which connects perfectly to the reading from Luke.  Let’s start with the mini-parable that Jesus offers.  Suppose you have a friend, and you go to him at midnight asking for 3 loaves of bread to put before an unexpected guest.  And the friend answers from inside that he is already in bed, and he cannot get up and give you anything.  However, “even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.”  We have to break down that sentence a little.

Essentially, the sleeping friend would not help solely on the basis of friendship.  Wow.  Some friend, right?  But then, “because of his persistence he will get up and give him whatever he needs.”  Now, “persistence” is a really bad choice of words here.  Because the original word means something more like shamelessness, arrogance, or impudence.  Shameless arrogance is what we’re talking about.  The friend would not help out of friendship, but because of the absolute arrogance of the request, he will give him whatever he needs.  It’s the audacity that does it, not the relationship.

Now let’s take a side road to look at the Lord’s Prayer.  We have the familiar wording in our prayer book, which we’ve all memorized long ago.  That version sort of lines up with what Jesus says in Matthew.  In today’s wording, from Luke, it’s a little different.  However, in both versions of the Lord’s Prayer, something really jumps out at me.  Once you get past the opening bit, the petitions in this prayer are essentially demands we are making.  You could imagine them with exclamation points after them.  Give us this day our daily bread!  Forgive us our trespasses!  Lead us not into temptation!  Deliver us from evil!

What might we call the audacity of making these demands from God?  Shameless arrogance?  Impudence?  A whole lotta nerve?  If there’s one theme that connects these two readings today, it is that we should actually approach God with audacity.  Which we are completely uncomfortable doing, at least consciously.  Or, you could put it another way: we do not have because we do not ask.

In this reading, Jesus tells his disciples what they need to do is to seek, to knock, to ask.  Not to wait around to be asked to ask.  An interesting thing about the prayers we use in worship each week is that they always have this same sort of audacious tone.  If we are going to pray to the Creator of all that is, we might as well go for broke, right?  And we do!  Give us world peace.  Make our clergy preach your true and lively word.  Heal the sick.  Give us wisdom.  Protect the environment.  Give us strength.  Though we might not be conscious of it, our prayers are audacious!  Shamelessly audacious!

As Jesus said about the friend who was sleeping, “even though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, at least because of his persistence [his audacity, his shameless boldness] he will get up and give him whatever he needs.”  Whatever.  He.  Needs.

 My friends, we know that God knows our needs before we know to ask.  And as we saw today, it is our shameless arrogance in asking that prompts God’s response, which is always beyond what we can ask or imagine.  Go for broke in our asking.  God knows what is good for us, and God promises to respond to our prayers.  May we always remember to boldly ask of the one from whom all good things come.  And may our prayers be shameless in their sheer audacity!

Amen.

YEAR C 2025 pentecost 6

Pentecost 6, 2025
Genesis 18:1-10a
Psalm 15
Colossians 1:15-28
Luke 10:38-42

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

So a long time ago, when I was in seminary, I agreed to co-lead a Bible study with a pastor friend at a Lutheran camp on Lake Erie.  One afternoon, we talked about this gospel reading we just heard, with Mary and Martha and their different ways of behaving around Jesus.  This pastor friend and I disagree on just about everything, and this story was no exception.  He focused on Mary, sitting at Jesus’ feet, encouraging people to take solitary walks in the woods around camp.  I’m a city guy, and that does not appeal to me in the slightest.  So I spent my time defending Martha, because—to misquote Milton—they also serve who stand in the kitchen washing dishes.

 Okay.  Full disclosure . . . I have always hated this story.  And the reason I hate this story is because of how people misuse this story as a justification for a certain way of looking at Christianity.  I’ve been ordained for almost fifteen years, and I've rarely had the chance to preach on this text—I guess because I was usually on tour in the summer—so, I’ve got a lot of pent up angst here, and I apologize in advance.

First things first.  One of the problems with keeping things straight in the New Testament is that they apparently didn’t have a lot of names to go around.  Lots of people are named either Mary or John, and we’ve got to sort out who we’re talking about when one of those names comes up.  The Mary in today’s story is not the mother of Jesus, and she is not Mary Magdalene.  This Mary is the sister of Martha and Lazarus, and is usually called “Mary of Bethany.”  So this scene we just heard takes place in the house where Mary, Martha, and Lazarus their brother all live.  Okay.

So, at some point, you’ve probably heard someone say something like, “I’m spiritual, but I’m not religious.”  You’ve heard that, right?  I’m spiritual, but I’m not religious?  I have to tell you straight up, that attitude is about as far away from my own view as you can get.  In seminary, I dreaded having to take a class called Ascetical Theology, which was all about the mystics who wrote mystical things that often seemed like descriptions of acid trips to me.  It just wasn’t my thing.  (I used to love quoting a professor who once said in class that the word Mysticism starts in mist, centers on the I, and ends in schism.)  In fact, when I was in seminary, I created a Facebook group called, “I’m religious, but I’m not spiritual.”  Which was only half joking. 

But for those who are spiritual but not religious, God is often found in nature, or in silent meditation and quiet reflection.  God is found in listening, not doing.  Which is why today’s gospel reading is their go-to text.  Martha races around the kitchen, cooking food or whatever, while Mary sits silently at the feet of Jesus.  And then Jesus says, “Mary has chosen the better part.”  And that’s why this text is perfect for someone who wants to be spiritual but not religious.  It’s their prooftext, see?  In my silent meditation, I am choosing the better way.  Jesus even said so!

But the obvious downside of the spiritual but not religious people grabbing onto this text is that it denigrates those who don’t find themselves getting closer to God on a silent retreat in the woods.  If sitting silently at the feet of Jesus is truly the better way, then working hard in the kitchen to feed people is—by default—not the better way.  And I have to say, I disagree.  A lot!  Because for some people—in fact for many people—doing God’s work in the world is what brings them closer to God.

This is why people do things like serve on the Altar guild and plant flowers outside the church, participate in Impact Massillon and donate school supplies for children, serve on Vestry and sing in the choir, read lessons and carry crosses, and even write out checks to put in the offering plate on Sunday.  Serving God is an action, by definition.  And, my claim to be religious but not spiritual is honestly true for me, on some level.  Because I personally find connection to God in the predictable ancient rituals of our worship together, as opposed to sitting silently staring at a candle.

Back to Mary and Martha though.  Martha is racing around the house, occupied by many tasks, while Mary sits listening to Jesus.  Martha complains to Jesus that Mary isn’t helping, and Jesus says, “Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”  The implication is, we should all just sit quietly at the feet of Jesus, right?  Let someone else do all the work.  And it doesn’t take long before there is no food to eat, and no clean dishes to eat off.  There’s dog hair everywhere, the utilities are all disconnected, and the lawn needs mowing.  Meanwhile, we’re all sitting at the feet of Jesus like a bunch of hippies, having chosen “the better part.”  (I told you, I’ve got a lot of pent-up angst about this text.)

Busy Martha might not have chosen “the better part,” but she wasn’t doing nothing.  When you think about it, she was making it possible for her sister to sit at the feet of Jesus.  And not only that, you notice, she’s the only one talking to Jesus.  She is having a conversation with the son of God, while Mary is just sitting at his feet.  She is in the room with Jesus, experiencing his presence, bringing her complaints and problems to him.  Which I think is what we call prayer, isn’t it?

Okay, so we can see, it doesn’t work for everyone to sit silently at the feet of Jesus, no matter what the mystics might tell you.  Someone has to be distracted by their many tasks.  Someone has to feed the people and keep the entropy of the world at bay.  But it does leave the question, what does Jesus mean when he says that Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her?  Well, since I’m the guy who’s supposed to answer my own questions, I’ll tell you what I think.

Mary is doing her thing, sitting at the feet of Jesus.  And Martha is doing her thing, being distracted by her many tasks.  They are both serving Jesus in their own way.  So far so good.  But then, Martha gets resentful of the way Mary is serving Jesus.  She looks around, stops serving Jesus, and starts complaining about the way someone else is serving Jesus.  Martha is essentially saying, “Jesus, make everyone else serve you the way I serve you. You know, the right way.”

When Jesus tells Martha that Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her, I think he means that she is living out her faith in her own way, without worrying about how other people live out their faith.  That’s the better way.  That’s the better part.  Jesus is not criticizing Martha for being busy; he is telling her to stop complaining about how other people live out their faith.  Mary has chosen the better way because her eyes are on Jesus, not on what everyone else is doing.  Keeping her eyes on Jesus.  That’s the better way.  That’s the better part.

No matter how you choose to serve God, no matter how you choose to worship God, no matter where you find God, focus on that.  How other people connect to Jesus is none of our business.  Because when it comes down to it, we are all spiritual, we are all religious, and we are all beloved of God.    

Amen.

YEAR C 2025 pentecost 5

Pentecost 5, 2025
Deuteronomy 30:9-14
Psalm 25:1-9
Colossians 1:1-14
Luke 10:25-37

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

Today’s Gospel reading is very familiar to you.  So familiar in fact that your eyes may have glazed over right about the time Jesus says, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho . . .”  You think, “Oh yes.  The ‘Good Samaritan’,” and go back to wondering if maybe you should mow the lawn this afternoon.

We’ve heard this story a thousand times, and that’s what makes it a bit risky.  Because sometimes we forget to listen to a story when we know how the story ends.  You know, heard it all before.  Jesus wants us to help people who get beaten up by robbers.  And that grass is getting pretty high with all this rain . . .  So, let’s slow down and go back again.

First thing, the guy who comes to Jesus is a lawyer.  But he’s not a lawyer like you and I think of lawyers.  He’s a student of the law, an expert in the law, but it’s the Law of Moses we’re talking about, not the Ohio Revised Code.  He’s a scholar, more than a lawyer.  He’s trying to gain insight from Jesus, not trap him in some technicality.  But, more specifically, we’re told he is trying to “justify himself.”  That’s an important phrase in this story.  The scholar is trying to justify himself.

But first, he asks Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”  At the risk of pointing out the obvious, the scholar knows the answer to his own question.  He’s not looking for the answer; he’s looking to see if there’s a way out.  A technicality or a workaround.  Jesus answers his question with a question.  (You know, like a lawyer might.)  What must I do to inherit eternal life?  Jesus answers, what do you read in the law?  (Meaning, the Law of Moses, or the Torah, or the first five books of our Bible.)  And the lawyer correctly summarizes the Law:  Love God with your whole heart, and love your neighbor as yourself.  Jesus says, Correct Mr. Lawyer!  Do that and you will live.

Did that phrase sound familiar to you?  Love God with your whole heart and love your neighbor as yourself?  I’ll give you a hint where you’ve heard it: we tell God every Sunday that we have NOT loved God with our whole heart, and we have NOT loved our neighbors as ourselves.  The lawyer’s response ought to be, “It seems I am not able to inherit eternal life on my own, because I am not actually able to do either of those things.”

But the lawyer, wanting to justify himself, or maybe not wanting to accidentally love someone he doesn’t have to, asks Jesus, “So, who is my neighbor?”  That is, who exactly am I supposed to be loving?  Skips right over the first part about loving God, and tries to get a narrower reading on what Jesus means by “neighbor.”  And then, of course, Jesus tells the story that we call “The Good Samaritan.”

Although we do not know much about the Samaritans, there is one thing we do know about them.  The Jewish people hated them.  Samaritans were half-breeds.  They worshipped on the wrong mountain, setting up their Temple somewhere other than Jerusalem.  The Jewish people saw the Samaritans as unclean, backward heretics . . . The lowest of the low.

So the guy in the story is going down from Jerusalem (that is, returning from where the Jewish Temple is located), and he is beaten and robbed and left for dead.  Along come two representatives of the Law, probably coming from that same Temple:  a Priest and a Levite.  Under the system that the lawyer has been studying, these two would be expected to help.  Love God and love your neighbor; that’s the Law.  So the Law should save the guy, see?  And here are a couple of people who personify the Law.  If the Law can save the poor wretch, well, here comes his Cavalry!  And what does the Law do?  What do the heroes of the Law do?  They cross to the other side.  They avoid the man completely.  They leave him to die in his misery.  The Law cannot save him, because as you and I know, he cannot Love God with his whole heart; he cannot love his neighbor as himself.

And so, Jesus introduces the third person approaching the man.  The lawyer would be expecting to hear maybe a Judge, or a Scribe, or a Pharisee.  Someone of high religious stature to save the man.  Someone who loves God with their whole heart, who loves their neighbor as themself.  And instead, Jesus sends . . . Wait for it . . . A Samaritan!  A Samaritan . . . The scum of the earth, at your service, sir.  Whereas the righteous, upstanding men cross to the other side of the street, the lowly Samaritan “came near him.”  The Samaritan—the literal enemy—saw this victim as a human being, and, “when he saw him, he was moved with pity.”  The Priest and the Levite cross to the other side of the road so they do not have to see the man.  They shut their eyes.  They avoid their neighbor so they don’t have to love him.  Love God with your whole heart, and love your neighbor as yourself . . . Unless you can cross to the other side of the street, in which case, definitely do that instead!

And Jesus asks the lawyer, “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”  No getting around this one.  The lawyer says, “The one who showed him mercy.”  Jesus says, “Go and do likewise.”

Now stop right there.  We’ve already determined that the Lawyer cannot do these things, right?  In case it’s not obvious by now, this is not a morality tale about you helping your neighbor.  The Good Samaritan is not a story about you being kind to other people.  Because--just like the lawyer--you will not love your neighbor as yourself.  In a matter of minutes you and I are going to admit that in the Confession:  We have not loved God with our whole heart, and we have not loved our neighbor as ourselves--the two things you must do to inherit eternal life, by your own efforts.

But even more so, this is a story about how the Law is not going to save you.  This is a story about the Law crossing the street and leaving you for dead.  Since you cannot love God with your whole heart, and you cannot love your neighbor as yourself, you cannot follow the Law, and therefore you cannot inherit eternal life.  End of story.  Amen.

How’s that for a gospel story?  Awful right?  It’s awful because I’ve just walked us down the path of trying to get us to justify ourselves, as the lawyer was trying to do.  I’ve walked us into the trap of thinking we CAN love God with our whole heart, and love our neighbor as ourselves, by our own determination and strength.  But we can’t.  And that’s why you and I are left dying in a ditch, beaten and robbed and left for dead.  Jesus asks the lawyer which character was a neighbor to the injured man, and the lawyer says, “The one who showed him mercy.”  That is, the Samaritan.  Jesus says, “Go and do likewise and you will live,” which the lawyer and we are unable to do.  Yes, the Good Samaritan saves the victim, but we are not Good Samaritans; we’re the guy lying in the ditch. 

And so this is where it’s important to ask ourselves:  Who was that masked Samaritan?  Who can possibly save the one dying in the ditch?  Who is it that binds up the wounds of the hurting?  Who makes the lame walk and brings redemption to those who are dead in sin?  Who is this who offers oil and wine and pays the debt we owe?  If you and I are the ones lying beaten and robbed in the ditch, then who is the Samaritan?  The Samaritan is the one who is rejected by his own people.  Hated enough to be strung up on a cross.  You see how this story turns, don’t you?  Jesus is the rejected one who saves you and me from the power of death in our lives.

You and I are not the Samaritan.  You and I are the ones lying in the ditch, unable to save ourselves.  We think the law will save us.  You know, follow the rules, try a little harder, be kind to your elders, eat lots of vegetables.  But when we need salvation, the law crosses to the other side of the street.  It cajoles and condemns, but it does not save.  

And along comes this despised one, the one who lives outside the Law.  The very stone that the builders have rejected has become the cornerstone.  Along comes the one who is reviled and condemned and cast out . . . And he picks up the injured, binds up the wounded, wipes away the tears, and pays for our redemption.

And more than that, when we are beaten down and broken and rejected, he meets us where we are, in this place.  He comes to us in the meal at this altar, offering himself in the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation.  Though we are called to love God and our neighbor, you and I do not find salvation in loving God and our neighbor.  Because.  We.  Can’t. 

No, instead we find salvation in trusting the one who saves us from death and the grave, the one who does not cross to the other side of the street, but meets us where we are, as we are, right here, right now.  And, being strengthened by the one who saves us, and confident of those promises, we go out into the world proclaiming the good news of what God has done for all people.  And, in that joy, and with God’s help, we just might find that—despite ourselves—we do end up loving God with our whole hearts, and loving our neighbors as ourselves.  With.  God’s.  Help.

Amen

YEAR C 2025 pentecost 4

Pentecost 4, 2025
Isaiah 66:10-14
Psalm 66:1-8
Galatians 6:1-16
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

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

Such interesting readings this morning.   In the passage from Isaiah, I love that we get this nurturing aspect of God so clearly laid out.  To those just returned from exile, God gives comfort just “as a mother comforts her child.”  Plus, we all just learned the word “dandled.”  I think we naturally default to God being angry and scary with a beard and lightning bolts.  (But, as I’ve told you many times, that’s not our God; that’s Zeus.)  And in this reading we hear nothing but comfort and care and consolation.  We would do well to hold on to this imagery when times are tough.  Which it seems they always are these days.

And now on to Paul.  As I’ve mentioned before, every Tuesday I meet with a group of clergy online to talk through the readings for the coming Sunday.  We read each lesson and then discuss it.  By this point I have a reputation for being the anti-Paul member of the group.  After someone reads the Epistle, I typically unmute to say, “I hate this reading.”  Sometimes people push back and tell me what’s good about it, and sometimes people say, “Yeah, me too.”  But by now, they knew me as the guy who doesn’t like Paul.

And so today’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Galatians . . . well, as I say, I’m not the biggest fan of Paul’s letters.  He often says things that are too easily taken to mean something else.  Or, worse, people read his advice to a specific group of people in a specific circumstance at a specific time, and then declare that it is true for all people in all circumstances.  For example, his warning to the Corinthians that women should be silent in church was written to a specific group of people, about a specific group of women, in a specific parish, at a specific time.  He was not writing to you and me.  I mean, he had no idea we would be reading his letters 2000 years later!  I implore you to remember that when you read Paul letters.

So in the start of today’s reading, Paul writes, For if those who are nothing think they are something, they deceive themselves. All must test their own work; then that work, rather than their neighbor's work, will become a cause for pride. For all must carry their own loads.  That passage can be read—in fact, often is read—as being a sort of Ben Franklin admonishment against laziness and the need for self sufficiency and hard work.  But it could also just as easily be read as a Eugene Debbs socialist argument, condemning CEO’s and corporate greed, and living off the sweat of the workers who actually produce the goods.  With Paul, your starting framework often determines what you think he is saying.  And that is why I’m not Paul’s biggest fan.  Sorry Paul.

However, the part about circumcision is important, and helps explain the Ben Franklin/Eugene Debbs portion.  The setup here is that Paul is trying to bring peace between the Jewish and Gentile converts to Christianity.  The Jewish folks have been saying the Gentiles need to be circumcised because that’s what the Law of Moses says.  But Paul writes, Even the circumcised do not themselves obey the law, but they want you to be circumcised so that they may boast about your flesh.  Like, they want to brag that they made you follow the Law, even when they themselves are not following the Law.  In that context, Paul saying, “everyone must carry their own load” comes across less like “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps” and more like, “Mind your own beeswax!”  So, in this rare case, I agree with Paul!

And the idea of forcing our beliefs on others leads nicely into today’s gospel reading, from Luke.  But first, remember last week’s gospel?  Jesus and his disciples are walking past a Samaritan town, and James and John ask Jesus if he’d like them to burn it to the ground.  James and John’s idea of spreading the good news is to call down fire upon their enemies.  Talk about forcing your beliefs on others!  Well in today’s reading, which comes right after that, Jesus offers a different method of spreading the good news.

As we heard, Jesus appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs, and his instructions run to other extreme from James and John and their fiery vengeance on those with different views.  Jesus doesn’t equip them for a holy war where the gospel is forced.  In fact, he un-equips them, so they must depend fully on the one who is sending them, and the people to whom they are sent.  Rather than offering them overwhelming destructive power, he removes power completely, and sends them out as “lambs among wolves.”

And it’s interesting that he doesn’t give them any content or material beyond “peace.”  There is no catechism, no discipleship workbook, no copies of  The Book of Common Prayer.  Just . . . peace.  Remember how Luke’s gospel starts?  With the birth of Jesus?  And what do the angels sing when they announce that this baby has been born?  “Glory to God in heaven, and peace to God’s people on earth.” 

It is baked in from the beginning that Jesus would bring peace, rather than fiery destruction.  That Jesus would save through surrender and persuasion, rather than dominance and force.  There are many Christians in our country right now fiercely arguing for forcing Christianity on our fellow citizens and . . . well, I’ll just say it again, Jesus saves through surrender and persuasion, not through dominance and force.  James and John and their fiery destruction belong with Zeus, not Jesus, the Lamb of God.

But let’s look at that phrase from Jesus about peace.  He says,  “And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person.”  The actual phrase used here is “child of peace.”  It’s not just a peaceful person.  It suggests a person who personifies peace, who is born of peace.  It’s not in their actions or attitude; it is who they are.  Children of peace.  Jesus tells his disciples to go out and gather the children of peace.  The ones who desire and pursue peace.

Again, Jesus saves through surrender and persuasion, rather than through dominance and force.  Look at the instructions he gives to those he sends out.  “Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide.”  Whatever they provide?  Can you even imagine?  What if I stayed with somebody and they ate peas every night and drank decaf coffee in the morning?  Or, given that those around Jesus were all Jewish, what if the hosts were serving pork and non-kosher foods?  The disciples certainly aren’t ordering out for pizza after the hosts go to bed.  This is some serious surrender and persuasion.

Rather than forcefully grabbing the levers of power, Jesus offers them absolute vulnerability to spread the good news.  It’s safe to say we have a hard time accepting this as an effective strategy.  And yet, it is what Jesus tells them to do.  Not our will, but your will be done.  Not fiery dominance, but peace and persuasion.  Not victory, but surrender.

And then here’s a surprising thing.  Jesus tells them to “cure the sick who are there, and say to them, `The kingdom of God has come near to you’.”  And, when a town rejects you, say to them, “Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near’.”  Whether they are welcomed or rejected, the kingdom of God has come near.  Which means, the welcome or rejection have nothing to do with whether the kingdom of God has come near.  You can do nothing to bring it nor reject it:  The kingdom of God is here!

However we react when the peace of God comes to us, the kingdom of God has already come near.  Our acceptance or rejection of it do not matter.  God’s kingdom still comes to us.  As the angels sang at Jesus’ birth, “Glory to God in heaven, and peace to God’s people on earth.”  Their song means that Jesus has been born, that God walks among us, that peace is with us, and the kingdom of God has come near.  Victory comes not with a sword but through peace.  Come, Lord Jesus, and bring us your peace.

Amen.

YEAR C 2025 pentecost 3

Pentecost 3, 2025
1 Kings 19:15-16,19-21
Psalm 16
Galatians 5:1,13-25
Luke 9:51-62

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

So, you probably have at least one story of a big misunderstanding in your family.  I know we have had some doozies in mine.  A story that is the stuff of legend  goes back to my parents’ wedding day.  Grandma Baum missed the receiving line after the recessional because she went out to buy the beer, as it was agreed.  (I guess because she was the German mom?)  By the time she got back, she had missed all the greeting and congratulating.  She was sure that Grandma McArdle had orchestrated the whole thing, to get the receiving line all to herself.  And she was also convinced that all future difficulties with her son were because she was not at that receiving line.  

The fact that their children were married did nothing to smooth over the rough spots.  This was the beginning of a relationship founded on mistrust and anger and misunderstanding.  And there was nothing anyone could say that would change things.  Grandma Baum spent her whole life looking back to that day in 1958, and it became the basis for her relationship with Grandma McArdle until the day she died.  Sadly, my grandmother was robbed of joy later in life because she continuously looked back in anger to that one particular day and to the strained relationship that grew out of it.  

In some ways, today’s gospel is about holding a grudge, and looking back.  Or, more accurately, about not looking back.  But first, as we heard:
When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.  

This might be the most important moment in Luke’s gospel up to this point.  Jesus has turned toward Jerusalem.  And we know what this means, because we have just walked with him through this journey during Holy Week.  Jesus has set his face to go to Jerusalem, because the time for him to be lifted up is drawing near. Jesus is going to Jerusalem to experience the worst that is in us, followed by the best that is in God.  From our crucifixion to God’s resurrection; there can be no larger divide in all creation.

So Jesus is heading for Jerusalem, and he sends out an advance team to make a town ready for him along the way.  But they did not receive him.  So the disciples ask, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume” the Samaritans in that village?  Jesus turns and rebukes them, and they go on to another village.

Now if you look in a Bible with chapter headings inserted, it probably says something like “A Samaritan town rejects Jesus,” or “Samaritan Opposition.”  And those little titles are not surprising, since the Samaritans and Jews had a long-standing disagreement about where the faithful should worship.  To a Samaritan, a person going up to worship should be headed for Mount Gerizim, not Mount Zion.  To Samaritans, a person whose face was set toward Jerusalem would be heading to the wrong temple.  So we naturally assume that Luke is saying the Samaritan town rejected Jesus, and that’s why the disciples offer to pour hot rain on their heads.  

But that’s not what is happening here.  When you look at the pronouns in the original language, the people who did not receive Jesus were the messengers he sent on ahead.  It was not that the Samaritans rejected him; it was that his advance team never received him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem.  Jesus was not rejected in this town; he was headed to a different destination.  

So why does this distinction matter?  Why should we care whether or not the Samaritans rejected Jesus?  Well, it matters because of the reaction of the disciples.  They would know that Jesus had not been rejected by this town.  Jesus and his friends are just walking past this town, and—apropos of nothing—James and John ask, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?”  (James and John weren’t called the “Sons of Thunder” for nothing.)  You know what I think happened?

I think the disciples had spent their whole lives nursing their hatred for Samaritans.  And now that Jesus is heading for Jerusalem, they are feeling full of themselves.  For as long as anyone could remember, the Samaritans had been nothing but trouble, looking down their noses at the Israelites for worshipping in the wrong place.  Well, now that Jesus is heading for Jerusalem to take charge, James and John think this is the perfect moment to rain down a little fire on the heads of their religious rivals.  Surely, Jesus will commend them for having the presence of mind to stick their collective thumb in the eye of the Samaritans.  Right?

Of course, what James and John don’t get (and what we often forget) is that Jesus is not the latest installment in How To Get My Religious Revenge.  Jesus is not going to Jerusalem in order to settle the score, or to set up an earthly kingdom, or even to offer the regular temple offerings dictated his Jewish faith.  No, Jesus is going to Jerusalem in order to be the offering that will make all religious systems irrelevant.  Jesus sets his face toward Jerusalem to bring an end to the whole mess.  

And it’s a good thing too.  Since, as we can see, the religious followers of Jesus are as likely to call down fire from heaven as they are to say, “God bless you” while walking past.  It seems to be in our human nature when we are filled with zeal to take it out on people of other faiths.  We see it in today’s gospel; we see it in today’s newspapers.  We condemn the “wrong” religious faiths, and feel justified in offering to smite them for Jesus, all the while living in fear of being smitten in the name of their God.  (Which is the same God as ours, I might add.)  There is nothing to get the anger and violence flowing like a little disagreement over the love of God.  

But Jesus rebukes us right along with the disciples on the road with him.  Jesus rebukes us all and then says, let us continue on toward Jerusalem.  His face is set, and we are to follow.  Don’t look back at the disagreements that have spoiled your relationships in the past.  There is a new day because of Jesus.  And we are to follow him to Jerusalem.

So, we have seen that being a disciple of Jesus does not mean calling down fire from heaven on people as you walk past.  Then there are three additional encounters with “disciple hopefuls.”  Jesus warns the first that he himself has nowhere to lay his head.  Of course, Jesus doesn’t mean he sleeps on the ground at night.  (After all, in the very next chapter he is eating at the home of Mary and Martha.)  Rather, Jesus is showing how isolated he is from those around him.  He is not talking about where he will lie down at night; he is trying to express what it means for him to be heading for Jerusalem.  

Then, one guy says he will follow, but first has to go and bury his father.  Jesus responds that he should let the dead bury their own dead.  It sounds harsh to us, I know.  But Jesus is not telling the guy to skip out on the funeral arrangements.  The man is saying he wants to go home and wait for his father to die so he can bury him.  You know, could be a week, could be 30 years.  In other words, the man is saying, “I’ll follow you  . . . uh . . . some day.”  Jesus tells the man to let the dead bury the dead and—more importantly—to go and proclaim the kingdom of God.  That is, don’t sit around waiting for people to die.  Proclaim the good news now, especially since those who are going to die are the ones who need to hear that message!  Get out of this culture of vengeance and death (the culture that would rain down fire on your enemies).  Instead, proclaim the kingdom of God, and the dead will take care of themselves . . . by being raised up!

The third response is perhaps the most interesting.  Here Jesus uses the image of a farmer setting about the task of plowing a field.  Jesus says no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom.  (I don’t know much about farming, but I’m guessing you can’t plow a field looking backwards.)  A farmer would need to keep the eyes focused forward.  Perhaps keeping an eye trained on a tree at the other end of the field.  Face set forward, not looking back, eye on the tree outside the fence.  It calls to mind Jesus, with his face set toward Jerusalem, not looking back, eye on a tree on a hill outside of town.

So, today’s gospel reading starts with Jesus setting his face and not looking back.  And it ends with Jesus telling those who would follow not to look back.

Well, look back at what?  I think the answer lies in the example of James and John, and maybe my own Grandmother.  The never-ending grudge, carried to one’s grave.  Looking back in anger is looking away from Jerusalem, where Jesus would be raised up those three times, where God’s redemption for all people would be proclaimed in no uncertain terms.  To follow Jesus is to follow him forward to the cross, forward to the empty tomb, forward to his ascension.  To look back is to focus on petty squabbles, to destroy relationships through misunderstanding and disagreement, to wish violent death upon those we dislike, to go back to a system based on power, wealth, violence, and hatred.  

The way forward is the promise of the resurrection, by way of the tomb.  In death and resurrection, all arguments are left behind.  The way of redemption and forgiveness transforms our relationships from anger and mistrust.  Putting your hand to the plow is putting your trust in Jesus, keeping your eye on the tree outside Jerusalem, knowing that life is only found in following Jesus into death.  And that is the kingdom we are to proclaim.  God has put an end to the power of death.  And not only is that truly good news, it might just be the only truly good news.   

Amen.

YEAR C 2025 pentecost 2

Pentecost 2, 2025
Isaiah 65:1-9
Psalm 22:18-27
Galatians 3:23-39
Luke 8:26-39
 
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Let’s start with that seemingly mild reading from Galatians.  First, we have to see the environment.  Paul is writing to people living in an oppressive system that works by keeping oppressed people divided from each other.  As authoritarians are want to do.  Jews and Greeks and slaves were all oppressed people under the Roman occupation.  They were intentionally kept at odds with one another, in order to diffuse their power.  The oppressor wants to keep them fighting each other, rather than fighting the oppressors.  As authoritarians are want to do.

Paul suggests a radical (and subversive) idea, claiming there is no distinction between them, even though the Roman system wants to keep them separate, wants the distinctions, wants to keep them fighting each other.  From a Roman perspective, to say there is no distinction between slave and free, Jew and Greek, undermines their power.  If these people came together, they could topple the whole system!  

Today, Paul might say there’s no distinction between the poor black people and the poor white people, or between gays and straights, or dare I say between Republicans and Democrats?  When the people are distracted and convinced to fight amongst themselves, the people in power win.  When poor people are fighting each other on the poor side of town, there’s no need for the rich people to be concerned.  But to tell those oppressed people that they are actually one, that they are on the same side . . .

But all that Galatians stuff is just Paul, rocking the boat.  Let’s look at Jesus . . . also rocking the boat, which is even MORE uncomfortable.

You heard the setup.  A guy who is called crazy has been chained to a rock in the tombs.  (Notice that location.)  He is naked and vulnerable and people have no idea what to do with him.  He has been cast off from society and is living among the dead.  “You’re crazy, and we don’t know what to do with you, so you go and live with the dead.”

It’s a system that works . . . you know, okay.  You keep your distance, and we’ll pretend you don’t exist.  That you aren’t a person.  That you don’t even have a name.  You shall be called, “A man of the city.”  And here comes Jesus.  And what’s the first thing Jesus asks?  “What is your name?”  Did anyone else ask that?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  But it’s the first thing Jesus says.  What is your name?  What have you been called?

And then we come to the dramatic pyrotechnics of demons flying into a large herd of pigs who then jump off a cliff and hurl themselves into the sea.  Awesome!  But then what?  Well, here’s where things get tricky.  Because we have to think of relationships.  People’s interactions with other people.  And there’s a whole bunch of interesting details and questions here.

First of all, what about the owners of the pigs?  We hear there are shepherds who were watching over the pigs, so maybe they’re the owners.  But more likely they are hired hands who watch over the pigs.  So, they’re responsible for these animals, and they have to answer to the owner of the pigs, and explain how some demons flew into the pigs and they just jumped off a cliff and were drowned.  Good luck with that, fellas.

But then they go and tell the people of the city what happened.  And the people come out to the scene and they see the man, “clothed and in his right mind.  And they were afraid.”  Afraid!  Things have been set right, one who was lost has been found, a beloved child of God has been rescued, and they were afraid.  What were they afraid of?  Maybe that the status quo has been disturbed?  Maybe that they wouldn’t have this man to project all their hate onto?  Notice this is before they are told the story of what happened.  Merely seeing this man “clothed and in his right mind,” that’s what makes them afraid.

And then, "all the people of the surrounding country” ask Jesus to leave because they are afraid.  Everyone is filled with fear.  And now this man who has been healed, the man who is clothed and in his right mind, wants to go with Jesus, and . . . well, can you blame him?  Put yourself in his position.  You’ve been chained to a rock, naked among the tombs by your neighbors.  Kept under armed guard.  You are the literal definition of outcast.  Left for dead among the tombs.  And then, Jesus turns everything around.  Brings you back to life.  Restores you to who you are meant to be.  Are you going to go back to the people who left you for dead?  Who saw you at your absolute worst?  Of course he wants to get in the boat with Jesus!

Get in the boat with Jesus and go on the rock star tour, telling strangers what Jesus has done.  If I were Jesus, that’s what I would do with this man.  Put him in the boat with me and go on a PR tour.  “Hey everybody, check out this dramatic story from a guy who was left for dead among the tombs, and then I pulled demons out of him and sent them into hogs who jumped into the sea!”  And then move on to the next town and do it all again.  What a marketing opportunity!  But a marketing opportunity for what?  There’s the question.

It’s easy to go town to town visiting a bunch of strangers and giving them your best performance.  I mean, I used to play in a band, right?  And I can also tell you that my four years doing supply work between calls were the easiest preaching gigs of my entire life.  I’d waltz into a random parish, deliver a sermon I’d had weeks to work on, to a group of appreciative strangers, and waltz back out.  Never had to make any connections, never had to deal with any fallout if I said something controversial, never had to worry about leaky roofs and finances.  Just show up, lead the service, preach a sermon, eat a couple cookies, and head back home.  

In this story today, everybody would like nothing better than for that formally naked crazy guy to get in the boat with Jesus and leave town.  “Just hop in the boat with the healing guy and we’ll all pretend none of this ever happened, okay?”  Everybody wants that.  Everybody except for Jesus.  He says to the man, “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.”  Home?  Return to your home?  You remember how this story started?  We heard that he “did not live in a house but in the tombs.”  How can he return to his home?  Where is his home?  Who are his family?  His friends?  

We don’t know the answer to any of that.  Maybe he has family and friends from before.  Maybe he doesn’t.  But Jesus tells him to return to his home, and to “declare how much God has done for you.”  And that’s what he does.  Is it uncomfortable?  Oh heck yes.  Is it a powerful story?  An even bigger heck yes!  And you know what makes it even more powerful?  The fact that they know him.  When he declares how much God has done for him, he doesn’t need to start with, “See, I used to be chained to a rock among the tombs,” because everybody already knows that.  They’re quite aware of the scariest guy in town.  Though the strangers in some other city would not know that, his neighbors sure would.  They’re the ones who chained him to a rock and left him for dead!

He has seen the power of God in his life, and so have they.  And though he wants to climb into the boat with Jesus and proclaim it to the ends of the earth, Jesus tells him to stay with those who know him.  Jesus is usually telling people to go somewhere and tell.  Not stay and tell.  But here’s a perfect example that we’re not all called to do the same thing.  Some are called to be missionaries, sure.  But not everyone is.  In fact, it seems most people are called to be "staionaries."  Stay in your place and proclaim what God has done and is doing in your life to the people who know you.

Remaining with the people you know, and who know you, that is where the power of God in your life can best be proclaimed.  The people who know you best are the ones who can witness the power of God in what you do and say.  

Just as in the case of this healed child of God, we are not all called to do the same thing.  People are different.  Circumstances are different; families are different.  But we are all called to live out our different lives as best we know how, in the places where we are right now.  And that calling is different for each of us.

But the calling we all have in common is to gather at the altar of God, to share in this meal, and then to go out and proclaim what God has done in our lives, in the places where we live.  And when we leave here today, we will go forth rejoicing in the power of the Spirit, to love and serve God, bearing witness to the same One who has done great things for us.

Amen

YEAR C 2025 corpus christi

Corpus Christi, 2025
Deuteronomy 8:2-3
1 Corinthians 11:23-29
John 6:47-58
Psalm 116:10-17

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

So today is the feast of Corpus Christi.  It’s not a big deal in most Episcopal churches, but I believe it should be.  Corpus Christi is Latin for the “Body of Christ,” and the day is intended to direct our attention to and appreciation for the sacrament.  Of course, like many things in the Episcopal Church, there is no clearly stated theology as far as what happens to the bread and wine in the Eucharistic celebration.

Catholics totally have this stuff down, with their talk of transubstantiation, saying the bread and wine become the literal body and blood of Jesus, and some Episcopalians do believe that.  Protestant churches are on the other end of the spectrum, treating Holy Communion as a memorial meal that reminds us of Jesus, and some Episcopalians believe that.

But most of us are somewhere along the middle of these two extremes, believing that Jesus is somehow present in the bread and wine, and leaving it at that.  So with all that as background, toward the end of the service we will take the monstrance—which Pastor Ed across the street gave us—and place it on the Altar to display the consecrated host.  We will offer some prayers of devotion and sing a couple suitable hymns, the first of which was written by Thomas Aquinas for this feast day.  In some places, they finish the service with a parade around the neighborhood carrying the monstrance in procession.  But we will stick to using it for blessing the people at the end of the service.

And now you may be wondering, since we’re focusing on the body of Christ today, why did we sing “Lift Every Voice and Sing” for the sequence hymn?  Well, given that today is also Juneteenth, I believe there is a connection between the real presence of Jesus in the sacrament, and the real bodies of our fellow human beings around us.  While the slaves in Galveston were indeed free, they did not know they were free for more than a year after the Emancipation Proclamation.  Someone had to tell them, and make sure they knew it.  And this is exactly how sharing the gospel works in people’s lives.  People are free and reconciled with God, but they need someone to tell them that!

And the connection between the body of Christ and the bodies of people is made known in the incarnation.  God walked among us in the real physical body of Jesus, which sanctified—and made holy—being human.  Bodies are sacred because God has inhabited one.  Physical presence has spiritual weight, you could say.  And what God has called good, we must not call evil.  What God has called free we must not call enslaved.  As Jesus himself said, “Whatever you do to the least of these you do it to me.”

Jesus is somehow present in the holy sacrament.  And Jesus is gloriously present in every person you meet.  We are called to honor those around us and we are called to give thanks for the gift of the holy sacrament, the body of Christ, and the bread of heaven.

Amen