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.

The Burial of Terry Tolerton

The Burial of James Terry Tolerton
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 23
1 Corinthians 13:1-13
John 6:37-40

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

Terry Tolerton was a remarkable man indeed!  Though I did not know him personally, you all did.  That’s why you’re here today.  To pay tribute to a man you loved, who made a difference in your lives.  I have heard a few stories about him, and I’ve read his obituary, and we’ve heard the wonderful testimonies from John, Christina, and Will.  And I can tell just by looking around this room today that he left a great legacy.

And as I thought about all the things Terry did over the course of his 82 years, I realized the common threads running through his life are consistency, and showing up.  I mean you can just run down the list.  Two tours in Vietnam, a war that many people bent over backwards to get out of fighting.  But Terry showed up.  He served his country proudly.

He had a lifelong obsession with golf—which I’m guessing has something to do with why we are gathered in this particular place—but nobody is born a good golfer.  Golf is a game that is perfected over the long hall.  Again: consistency and showing up.  Terry’s level of commitment to family shows these traits as well.  And building a business from one little shop into a multimillion dollar organization.  That happens through consistency and showing up.

And, possibly the greatest example of this was in his final years caring for his beloved wife Judy.  He was there for her, because he loved her.  So often in life it is easier and even tempting to not show up.  To just tell yourself that somebody else will step in.  But the life of Terry Tolerton is a shining example of the value of consistently showing up.  I have no doubt that Terry is greatly missed, for who he was as well as the for example he set for all who knew and remember him.

I hope that you will continue to share your stories and memories of your time with Terry in the days and years ahead.  But here is what I really want you to hold onto as you leave this place today . . .

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 is always consistent, and faithful, and keeps showing up, and never loses 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.

Terry spent his days consistently showing up.  And he passed that attitude on to his children and his friends.  And now he has returned to the one who always shows up, in every circumstance, and every stage of life.  Though Terry is lost to us as we continue to live out our own lives, he is not now—and never was—lost to God.  Because Jesus does not let go of what is his, and God consistently shows up for each one of us, and will raise us up with Terry on the last day.  May God bless Terry Tolerton, and may God bless all of you.

Amen

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 21

Pentecost 21, 2024
Amos 5:6-7,10-15
Psalm 90:12-17
Hebrews 4:12-16
Mark 10:17-31

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

The epistle reading from Hebrews and the gospel lesson from Mark go together perfectly today.  And what ties them together is one of my favorite themes of all:  God is God, and we are not.  I feel like I could end right there.  God is God, and we are not.  Amen.

But let me say more.  A man comes up to Jesus and kneels before him and asks, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”  So much to say about this question!  First of all, we don’t know what he means by the phrase “eternal life.”  I’m trying to wean myself from using Greek words in sermons, so I’ll just say that the literal translation of what he is asking for is “age-long life,” that is, life without beginning or end.  He most certainly does not have in mind what we think of as heaven, or God’s kingdom.  He is asking for life that has no beginning or end.  So, again, we don’t know quite what it is he is even asking for here.

Secondly, he uses the phrase, “What must I do to inherit.”  Now, in my family, there is no inheritance coming my way—at least not that I know of.  But if I imagine myself in a family that did have an inheritance laid out in a will, it would never occur to me to ask what I must DO to inherit what is already rightfully mine.  It’s like asking, “What must I do to get a birthday present?”  Or like my cat asking, “What must I do to be fed?”  The answer in all these cases is . . . what . . . exist?  Have a pulse?  You don’t earn an inheritance.  I mean, not in a healthy family.  It’s like asking, “What must I do to earn your love?”

So that shows us the road map ahead here.  The man is working from the assumption that he CAN do something to EARN an inheritance.  And he’s also starting from the vantage point that it’s certainly possible, since he’s been doing and doing and doing all his life.  Then Jesus rattles off the commandments to the guy: “You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.”  And what does the man say?  “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.”

Seriously?  Seriously.  You have kept all these since your youth?  What were you raised by wolves?  And it’s important to note the inclusion of the word “defraud” in this list.  You don’t usually get this in a list of the commandments.  And it makes me wonder if Jesus threw it in there for a reason.  Because a command not to defraud definitely lends itself to the follow up from Jesus, to go and sell everything and give the money to the poor and follow me.  Of course, it’s even possible that the man hasn’t defrauded anyone personally, but is part of a system that oppresses the poor and protects the wealthy.  Which is a whole other sermon.  We don’t know.

But what we do know is that this requirement from Jesus makes the man go away sad.  And, we don’t know if he went and did what Jesus said.  Maybe, maybe not.  However, the entire conversation with Jesus seems rooted in the man trying to justify himself.  I have done all these things since my youth.  So check me out Jesus!  I probably don’t really need to do anything in order to inherit eternal life because I’m rocking it over here.  But I just wanted to be sure you knew how great I am.

And after he goes away sad,  Jesus says to the crowd, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” And they were greatly astounded and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?”  Which makes me ask, wait, was everybody rich?  They hear that it’s hard for the rich to enter the kingdom of heaven, and their response is “then who can be saved?”  And to their astonishment, Jesus says, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”  And that’s the key here.  Impossible for mortals; possible for God.  Whatever their reason for asking, “Then who can be saved?”  Jesus reminds them that God can do for us what we cannot do for ourselves.  God is God, and we are not.

And then, hot on the heels of that exchange, Peter has to go and open his big mouth.  He says, “Look, we have left everything and followed you.”  Translation, Peter is now trying to justify himself, just like the man on his knees.  We’ve been doing an awful lot over here, so check us out Jesus!  We probably don’t really need to do anything in order to inherit eternal life because we’re just rocking it over here.  But we just wanted to be sure you knew how great we are.  Same point, just different words.

Both Peter and the man who approaches Jesus have a secondary agenda.  And that agenda is to let Jesus know just how terrific they are.  Look at what we have done!  All this on our own over here.  We probably don’t even need any help from God because we’re just so darn good!  And it is awfully tempting for us to fall into that same trap.

Look at me Jesus, coming to church and everything.  Making a pledge toward the stewardship campaign.  Bringing in supplies for the animals, and blankets for the needy, and letting the other drivers go first at a four-way stop sign.  We love to pat ourselves on the back.  And we look to others to support us in that.  Praise is a tempting drug for us all.  And—when it comes down to it—the more we do, the harder it is to remember that we can never do enough.  I mean even Mother Teresa needed Jesus!  We cannot earn an inheritance.  But it sure is hard to stop trying!

And that brings us to the epistle reading from Hebrews.  As we heard, “before God no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render an account.”  Sounds a lot like the collect for purity.  To you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid.  Except we get the addition of “The one to whom we must render an account.”  Sure we are naked and laid bare before God’s eyes, uncomfortable as that sounds, but render an account?  That sounds pretty scary doesn't it?  It’s one thing to be known, but quite another to have to answer for it.

But then we also heard, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses.”  That’s a lot of double negatives, so let’s reword it.  In Jesus, we have a priest who can sympathize with our weaknesses.  Sympathize with our weaknesses.  God knows our failings, and Jesus understands what it is like to be human.  It’s easy to forget that.  But as we say in our Creed every single Sunday, Jesus is fully God and fully human.  He knows what it is like to be us.  And he knows we are unable to do it on our own. Even as we are so anxious to tell God we have followed all these commands from our youth, and have given up everything to follow Jesus.   And that brings us back to the main point: God is God, and we are not.  And then we come to the best part of all the readings today, from Hebrews . . 

“Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”  I think we have to break that sentence down, because it is really really good news if we really can hear it.  

First, God sits on a throne of grace.  Think about how you imagine a throne, and the purpose of a throne.  Thrones are for power and punishment and judgment.  This, however, is a throne of grace.  A throne of unmerited unconditional acceptance.  And when we approach that throne, we receive mercy.  Mercy, not judgement, not demanding an account, not accusation.  We receive mercy.  And we find grace in our time of need, because God knows we need grace, because we can’t do it on our own!  God is God, and we are not.

So hear that sentence again:  “Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”  With boldness!  We worship a God who knows us intimately, who knows we cannot do it on our own, who knows how much we want to point at all the good stuff we have done in order to win favor, and who still offers us grace upon grace.  We are known, and we are loved.  All that we are and all that we do is known to God, and we are loved.

And together, we can approach the throne of grace with boldness.  Because we are known.  Completely known.  And we are loved.  Completely loved.  And we are always invited to this Altar, where mercy, and grace, and forgiveness, and compassion, and sympathy, and honor, and dignity, and love reign supreme.  Let us approach the throne boldly, because we are boldly loved.

Amen.

The Marriage of Melissa and Anthony

The Marriage of Melissa and Anthony
Proverbs 3:3-6
Philippians 2:2-4

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

I’ve done many a wedding over the years.  And I’ve seen some interesting things in those years.  But this is the first time a couple has chosen to use a passage from The Princess Bride as one of the readings.  It is . . . unusual.  But it is not surprising.  Because both Melissa and Anthony have always thought outside the box.  And that’s how they found each other.  By not staying inside the box!

But enough about them.  Now I want to talk about wuv.  Truuue wuv.
I’ve never read the original book, The Princess Bride, but I am very familiar with the movie version.  And I can tell you that the portion we heard a few minutes ago captures the big profession of love toward the end.  In a nutshell, we hear Westley telling the Princess Buttercup that when he says, “As you wish,” what he is really saying is, “I love you.”

From a Christian perspective, this is profound!  From a non-Christian perspective, it is also profound.  Because true love (or true wuv) comes down to surrendering our will to another.  Love does not insist on its own way, as the apostle Paul tells us in First Corinthians.  Setting aside our own way for the sake of another IS love!  It is giving rather than taking.  It is surrendering rather than defying.

Now I can hear all the clergy and social workers’ alarm bells going off when I talk like that.  We’ve seen enough unhealthy co-dependent relationships to know that surrendering in an abusive relationship is not love.  But manipulative relationships are not about love.  Quite the opposite in fact!

So fear not;  that is not what I’m saying at all here.  In a healthy relationship, both partners set aside selfishness.  They are both willing to say “as you wish” every day.  And it only truly works when you both do it.  In any relationship.

And for Christians, the ultimate model of this kind of love is Jesus Christ.  The one who literally gave up his life in order to bring us life.  Now I know that transition sounds like I should have switched to my youth worker whisper voice and grown a goatee.  But what is the death of Jesus if not the very pinnacle of “as you wish?”

But back to mahwidge.  Melissa and Tony have already shown themselves to know how to balance self-worth with “as you wish.”  The readings they chose from Proverbs and Philippians get to this same thing.  Both those biblical texts get at putting others first, and living together in love.  But, in some ways, that Princess Bride reading was the best text these two could have chosen.  Because they get it.  Like, they both get it.  And when two people approach each other as equals in love, they are ready to spend the rest of their lives saying to each other, “As you wish” every single day.

So now I invite the bridal party forward so we can get on with a maywidge!

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 20

Pentecost 20, 2024
Genesis 2:18-24
Psalm 8
Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12
Mark 10:2-16

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

I’ve been waiting three years for this gospel text to come up again, because I have more to say about it.  Now, of course, this is a difficult gospel text to hear.  And it is a particularly hard gospel reading for anyone who has gone through the soul-crushing meat grinder that we call “divorce.”  And, sadly, this gospel text is easy for people to hijack for the purpose of making things worse for those who have been divorced, or who are about to be divorced.  Because some people like to quote little pieces of scripture out of context to make other people feel bad.  (You know, like Jesus always tells us to do.)  But let’s start here . . .

Imagine you’re sitting at dinner with your kids, and they are arguing about something or other.  And the older kid is being really mean and making the younger kid cry.  (Because that’s how older kids are, as we younger kids know.)  And you say to the kids, “That’s it!  I don’t want to hear another word out of you.”

After the smoke clears, and the dishes are done, you go and check on the kids and ask how their day was.  And one of them writes their answer on a piece of paper, and when you ask why they are writing, they write, “You told us not to say anything anymore.”  And then you rightly say,  Wait.  Not saying anything was the emergency brake here.  It was the backup to prevent you from doing something worse.  A safety net.  “But you told us never to speak again.”  To prevent further harm!  Now that’s a long way to go to get where I’m going, but, believe it or not, that is what is happening in today’s gospel reading.

As we heard, some Pharisees come to Jesus and, to test him they ask, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”  They’re Pharisees.  They know the answer to this question already.  But they also know that to answer the question either way will cause division, which is exactly what they are hoping for.  But it’s even trickier.  Because their quote back to Jesus, from Deuteronomy, is not about divorce; it’s about remarrying someone whom you’ve previously divorced, but who has been married to someone else in between.  Don’t even bother trying to follow that.  Let’s rephrase it all a different way.

Let’s pretend that in Deuteronomy it says, “If you bump into someone and they fall down, stop what you are doing and make sure they’re okay before you do anything else.”  And the Pharisees come to Jesus and ask, “Is it okay to push people to the ground?”  And Jesus asks, “What does Moses tell you?”  And they say “Moses says, yes!”  Which is why Jesus then says, “It’s because of your hardness of heart that he wrote this commandment for you.”  Or, as you might say to your kids, “Because you say hurtful things, I made this commandment for you to stop talking.”  The Pharisees are looking to find an excuse to push people to the ground, and they are misusing the Law of Moses as the basis for it.  And in this case, pushing people to the ground is actually, divorcing one’s wife.

“Hey Jesus, is it okay to divorce a woman and leave her to fend for herself with nothing in this first-century culture of ours that devalues women and children?”  Jesus answers, “What does Moses say?”  They respond, “Moses says yes!”  You ask your kids: Did I tell you not to talk anymore?  The kids write “Yes!”

So then Jesus does them one better, and says “. . . from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.”  He turns the conversation from being about the legality of divorce into being about the gift of marriage.  They ask, “Is it okay to demean women and throw them into the street?”  And Jesus responds with, “As God intended from the beginning, men and women are equal.”  This response is no small deal, in that culture, or in ours.  Jesus turns their cynical selfishness into a justification for elevating the downtrodden.  “Hey Jesus, we’ve already got all the power.  Is it lawful for a man to get even more?”  

But we don’t hear this passage from Mark’s gospel that way.  What we hear is, “Don’t get divorced!  Jesus says so!”  But that is not what Jesus is saying to the Pharisees.  He is saying forget your legal trickery for oppressing women and look at the point of marriage: two actual people come together on equal terms, as God intended from the beginning.  But, in response, you might then point to the conversation with his disciples in the house afterward, where Jesus says, “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.”  

And my response to that is, first of all, this is a statement about remarriage, not divorce.  And, more importantly, women did not divorce husbands in that culture!  This is a radical thing to suggest!  In the conversation with the Pharisees and in the conversation with the disciples, Jesus is elevating women to their rightful place as equal with men.  Which might sound good and right so to do . . . but was definitely absurd to the people around Jesus.  It’s like here he goes again, lifting up the lowly, declaring that everyone is loved by God, threatening my value by making someone else my equal, like he did with that Syrophoenician woman a few weeks ago with that crumbs under the table stuff.  What’s next, Jesus, turning our children into our teachers?

Well . . . Jesus said to them, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”  Jesus always turns everything upside down. 

The Pharisees and the disciples were both trying to get legal arguments out of Jesus for the purpose of clarifying what they were allowed to get away with.  This is what adults do, you see.  Tell me the bare minimum I must do against my will in order to get what I am entitled to.  Or, sometimes, let me tell you why I am so deserving of your love, Jesus.  Or, get a load of how worthy I am because of all the things I have collected and hold so tightly in my hands.

But a child?  How does a child approach Jesus?  With open, empty hands, that’s how—just as we saw two weeks ago.  A child can offer nothing.  And in that culture, a child is worth nothing.  That’s why the disciples are trying to keep the children away from Jesus.  These worthless little brats have no business being around Jesus, say the disciples, because Jesus is only interested in the people who matter.  You know, the men . . . who can divorce their wives . . . like Moses says.

This gospel text is not a lesson on the evils of divorce.  And if you want proof, just look at what upsets Jesus here.  It’s not divorce, is it?  No, he is angry with the Pharisees for their hardness of heart, and for trying to twist the gift of the Law of Moses into a justification for mistreating women.  And did you see what makes Jesus indignant in this text?  The disciples’ keeping the children away from him.  Jesus doesn’t love the children because they’re cute; he focuses on them because they are insignificant and rejected, which is what makes them first, rather than last.

Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”  So—just like two weeks ago—we must ask ourselves, how does a child receive the kingdom of God?  How does a child receive anything?  The key to answering that question is to focus on the word, “receive.”  The word is not “earn,” or “deserve,” or “demand.”  No, the word is receive.  Children receive things because children cannot go out and get them on their own.  Children rely on the kindness and love of the adults around them—for better or for worse.  Which is why when the disciples try to stop them, Jesus becomes indignant.  Which is a very strong response when you think of it.  He is indignant that they would keep the children from him.  Indignant!

“Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”  How do we receive something?  We stretch out our hands.  Our empty hands.  Nothing to offer; everything to gain.  This is how a child receives the gifts of God.  And it is also how the people of God receive the gifts of God.  We come to this Altar and stretch out our hands.  And if someone tries to stop us, we know that Jesus will be indignant.  Because you are welcome to this meal.  You are called to this heavenly banquet.  All of us equal.  All of us welcome.  All of us little children of God.  

And that’s when Jesus can take us up in his arms, lays his hands on us, and bless us beyond anything we can ever imagine.  Open your hands and receive the gifts of God.

Amen.

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 19

Pentecost 19, 2024
Numbers 11:4-6,10-16,24-29
Psalm 19:7-14
James 5:13-20
Mark 9:38-50 

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

We could look at this gospel text as having two parts.  There’s good news at the beginning, and there’s bad news at the end.  Unfortunately, the good news comes first, and it ends on what sounds like a scary note.  And since you never want to start with the good news, I think it helps to take things in reverse order here.  So the first shall be last and the last shall be first.  Start with the ending, you could say.

So, in what I will call the “first part” of today’s gospel, Jesus is giving a series of warnings to various people.  For those who put a stumbling block in front of one of these “little ones,” it would be better to have a millstone tied around their neck and be thrown into the sea.  A “stumbling block” in this context means anything that would cause them to leave the faith community.

Now, at the risk of doing what every preaching professor tells you not to do, I have to make a clarification about the original Greek language here. The phrase that gets translated as “little ones who believe in me” is mikron pisteuonton.  Which means, “small faith people.”  If you’re like me, when you hear the phrase “little ones,” you probably imagine little children.  But it doesn’t mean, “children;” it means “little faith ones.”  It’s like a term of endearment:  My little faith ones.  Better to have a millstone tied around your neck than to cause a little faith one to stumble and leave the community.

A millstone!  You’ve seen millstones, right?  Huge chunk of rock with a hole in the middle.  Like a giant stone bagel.  Tied around your neck.  This is Jesus saying this.  I find it compelling and important to note: this is not a punishment for causing a little faith one to stumble.  No, Jesus is just saying, “Given the choice between causing a little faith one to lose their faith, and swimming with the cement necklace, you should choose the river.”  Now, I am not clear on how much hyperbole to read into this statement.  But I think the point is clear.

We then move forward into the next section, which is where we get to the severed limbs and stuff.  This is violent, bloody, gruesome, horrific language.  And yet, the words seem to be delivered like advice from the Farmer’s Almanac. “If your hands get cold, put on your gloves.  If your eye causes you pain, see a doctor.  If your foot causes you to stumble, have that heel checked.”  The lack of passion in the phrases makes me think it is a teaching moment, not a damning moment.  After all, Jesus is talking to his friends here.  I would guess he’s using dramatic language to make a dramatic point.  And I think the dramatic point is this:  

Before you go throwing someone out because he or she is an obstacle to faith, consider whether you would just as likely cut off your hand.  Before you reject someone from the community on the grounds that they are different, consider whether you would cut off your foot for this. 

By all means, there are times when drastic action is called for.  It’s better to lose one part of the body than for the whole thing to be destroyed.  But, Jesus is saying, think carefully.  Remember the example with the severed limbs.  (And how could they not?)  That’s the kind of damage you’ll do to the body of believers.  Dramatic language to make a dramatic point.

Now we move the “the end” of today’s reading, by which I mean the beginning, where we find the gospel in today’s gospel.

The set up is, the disciples come to Jesus and say, “Hey, some guys are casting out demons in your name and they forgot to make a pledge with the church treasurer.”  Jesus responds, “Whoever is not against us is for us.”  Whoever is not against us is for us . . . where have we heard that phrase before?  From the rubble at Ground Zero?  In political campaign stops?  Not quite.  What we heard in those instances (and many more) was this: Whoever is not for us is against us.  But Jesus is saying, “Whoever is not against us is for us.”  A drastically different thing.  To say that the ones not on your side are your enemies is in fact the exact opposite of what Jesus is saying. 

The politician rules out those who don’t tow the line.  The savior of the world rules in all who do not exclude themselves.  The politician says agree or get out.  The savior says agree or disagree; all are welcome.  The politician draws a line of rejection in the sand.  The savior draws all people to himself.  As I say, a dramatic difference.

Jesus does not count people out.  Jesus does not throw people out, or cut them off, or hunt them down.  Jesus welcomes all people.  Jesus welcomes all sinners.  And this is truly good news.  Because that means you and I are welcome, no matter what—even if we didn’t fill out the pledge card at the church office.  If we are not against Jesus, we are on his side.  Simple as that.

And we saw a similar thing in the first reading, from the book of Numbers.  Someone runs up to Moses and says, “Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp.” And Joshua says, “My lord Moses, stop them!” And Moses asks, “Are you jealous for my sake? Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit on them!” 

The disciples in the gospel reading, and Joshua in the book of Numbers are both trying to set up an exclusive club.  Trying to limit God to using the canonically approved resources.  Their position is the exclusive one the politicians use:  If you’re not for us, you are against us.  But both Jesus and Moses start from the other end:  If you are not against us, you are with us.  If you are not actively against Jesus, then you are for Jesus.  Simple as that.

And the best news of all is this:  even when we are against Jesus, even when we are not loving God with our whole heart, even when we are not loving our neighbor as ourself, Jesus is still with us, still for us.  Literally.  Every time we come to this Altar, Jesus is for us.  In the body broken and the blood poured, Jesus is for us.  

Freely offered to all, even though we confess that we have sinned against God in thought, word, and deed.  And that’s the whole point.  Jesus offers himself for our sinful fallen world, laying down his life for all.  He is not against us.  He is for us.  He is for you.  He is for me.  He is given, for us.

Amen.   

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 18

Pentecost 18, 2024
Jeremiah 11:18-20
Psalm 54
James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a
Mark 9:30-37

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

I think we can all agree that this gospel reading is an adorable story, right?  Jesus picking up a little child, and telling the adults in the room that little people are important.  And that adorable part is the part we remember, because . . . well, it’s just so adorable!  That’s why people watch videos of cats and red pandas online: because they’re just so adorable.  

But, of course, there’s more to the story we just heard.  Jesus’ object lesson with the little child is in response to something the disciples were doing.  You remember, today’s gospel reading starts with Jesus telling his disciples about how he must die.  The Son of Man will be betrayed into human hands, they will kill him, and he will rise again.  The disciples did not understand, and were afraid to ask him. 

And so instead, the disciples do what any reasonable person might do.  They start arguing about who is the greatest.  You know, because that makes sense.  It is interesting to me that we don’t hear exactly what they are arguing about.  It is tempting to assume that they are each making the case for themselves.  You know, Peter is saying how he is the most inspirational, and Thomas is arguing that he is the most intellectual.  Judas claiming he’s got the corner on fundraising.  Or, it’s also possible that the disciples are arguing for one another.  That John is propping up Andrew, and Peter is defending Judas.  But it could be that they’re arguing about the greatest something else, like who is the best guitarist, or who is the best quarterback.  We don’t really know.

What we do know is that this arguing comes hot on the heels of Jesus’ explaining how he must die.  And this is not the first time in Mark’s gospel that Jesus does this.  Just last week, for example.  And it’s not the only time the disciples react the wrong way like this.  Just last week, for example.  Jesus keeps telling the disciples about his mission, and how his mission is leading to his death.  And every time the disciples not only miss the point, but take off on a completely inappropriate conversation.

Imagine that you’re telling someone about how you see that the end of your life is approaching, and they respond with arguing about who is the best dancer, or who bakes the best cakes.  Or, like Peter last week, telling you that you’re not allowed to die.  Today, the disciples are hearing and not understanding.  But Jesus' words seem pretty clear.  Are they just overwhelmed?  Is this just all too much for them?  

What’s going on here?  

Well, this lack of understanding is a theme that runs through the gospel of Mark.  But it’s a lack of understanding by the ones who are closest to Jesus:  The disciples, the friends, the close companions.  These are the ones who just don’t get it.  But, you know who actually does get it in Mark’s gospel?  You know who actually understands who Jesus is and what he is doing?  

The demons, that’s who!  The demons are the ones who consistently get it right, calling Jesus “Son of God.”  Recognizing his power as God’s son, which is rooted in his death and resurrection.  

The disciples keep clinging to some kind of earthly power.  The disciples want Jesus to come blasting in, kicking things and taking names.  This is the one who’s going to finally make everything turn out right.  The disciples have left their homes and families, and—quite frankly—they’ve given up their lives to follow him.  So when Jesus starts talking about how he’s going to suffer and die . . . well, with all due respect, Jesus, that’s not exactly what we had in mind.  And so, they start arguing about who is the greatest.  It does kind of make sense, when you think about it.  Jesus is the one who is being inappropriate, in their minds.  I mean, how can his mission of overthrowing the oppressors, and setting the captives free, and all that, how can that possibly be accomplished if he’s intending to go and die on us?

Right.  So they argue about who is the greatest . . . something.  When Jesus asks them what they’re arguing about, it probably makes us uncomfortable.  I mean, we live in the midwest—or, we’re midwest adjacent at least.  And for most of us, arguing is bad manners, or at least awkward.  We like for everyone to get along, even when it might be good to argue.  Hearing that the disciples of Jesus are arguing doesn’t feel right.  But watch how Jesus responds to their arguing.

He gathers the disciples in a circle.  And he takes a child and places it in the middle of them.  Stop right there and notice the word “it.”  No name, no gender.  A child in that culture has absolutely no power, no status, no worth, no nothing, and a child can offer nothing in return, or give anything back.

So he sets the child in the middle of them, wraps his arms around the child and says, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.”  Stop again and notice that Jesus wraps his arms around the child in the midst of the community of disciples.  Jesus does not run out into the desert and wrap his arms around a child.  Nor does Jesus pick out a child already standing in the community.  No, Jesus picks up the child, and sets “it” inside the community first.  What does that mean?  Maybe nothing.  Maybe everything.  But I think it is significant that when Jesus is showing his disciples how to be welcoming, he puts the child in the middle of them.  Someone who wasn’t there five minutes ago is now standing there in the midst of them.  Because Jesus put them there.  We move on . . .

Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.  Think back to what the disciples were doing right before this moment.  They were arguing about who is the greatest, right?  And Jesus has now placed among them one who is the least.  The smallest.  The most insignificant.  Someone who is not going to be noticed by a group of people so busy arguing over who is the greatest.  When we think about welcoming Jesus, we probably think about looking busy, or dusting off Bibles, or preparing our humility badges.  It’s really, really hard to imagine welcoming Jesus by welcoming a child . . . isn’t it?  When we look for Jesus, we want to look up, not down.  To the clouds shining in glory, not the kid playing in the sandbox.

But there’s another side to this welcoming the least among us.  And that is, each one of us is also the least among us.  Each one of us is also in need of being the child in this example Jesus gives us.  I need—and you need—for Jesus to pick us up, set us in the middle of the community of disciples, and then scoop us up in his arms.  Though we try to welcome the child as Jesus says, we are also the child being welcomed.  Jesus asks each of us to welcome a child in his name, but he also asks each of us to let ourselves be welcomed in his name.

And, just as importantly, today Jesus asks that you let him welcome you, here, at this Altar.  Jesus promises to meet us in this meal, saying, “This is my body.  This is my blood.”  And the only way to accept that promise is to receive it as a child.  Take it on faith, just as a child does, because—let’s be honest—it hardly makes sense to our rational brains.  

We accept it as true . . . or, we hope to accept it as true . . . but the more you try to explain what happens in Holy Communion, the farther it slips out of your grasp.

And how fitting it is that we receive the body and blood of Jesus the way a child might accept a gift.  Hands outstretched, and empty.  Reaching out our hands to receive him, offering nothing in return.  With our hands held in front of us, accepting what seems impossible: that God’s embrace comes to each one of us in our own outstretched hands.  We extend our hands, like a child, and say “Amen” to the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation.  And we accept the embrace of God within this community, gathered here.  Because God has picked you up today, and set you in this community, and wrapped you in the embrace of the love of Jesus.  As God's beloved child.

Amen.

   

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 17

Pentecost 17, 2024
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Psalm 116:1-8
James 3:1-12
Mark 8:27-38

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

In today’s gospel reading, Peter calls Jesus the Christ, or the Messiah.  You and I just kind of gloss right over this and say, “Well, yeah.  Welcome to the club, Pete.”  But it’s important to see this reading in the scope of Mark’s entire gospel.  In the first chapter of Mark, in the first verse, we read, “The beginning of the good news[ of Jesus [the] Christ, the Son of God.”  Right out of the gate, Mark calls Jesus the Christ.  And then . . . nothing.  All this exciting stuff happens for 8 chapters, healings, and teachings, and feedings, and nowhere is Jesus called the Christ, or the Messiah.  For 8 whole chapters, no mention of Christ or Messiah.

And then, suddenly, we come to today’s reading.  Chapter 8, verse 29, Peter calls Jesus the Messiah, the Christ.  And we would expect Jesus to say, “Exactly!”  But he doesn’t, does he?  Before that, Jesus asks them, who do people say that I am.  And they give that list: John the Baptist, Elijah, one of the prophets.  And then Jesus asks “But who do you say that I am?”  Or, actually, what he asks is more like, “Who are you saying that I am?”  You know, when you talk to people about me, who do you tell them I am?  And Peter answers, we’ve been telling them that you are the Messiah.  The Christ.  By which, Peter means, We tell them that you are the one who has come to take over the world, and destroy Rome, and restore Israel to its rightful place.  And then Jesus sternly orders them not to tell anyone.

Why?  Why doesn’t Jesus yell, “Yeah buddy!” and high five everyone in the group?  I mean, this is the One they’ve been waiting for.  Jesus is the one foretold by the prophets, the one proclaimed in the Psalms, the one who will finally lead God’s people to victory over their oppressors.  And Jesus says, don’t tell anyone?  What kind of PR strategy is this?  And then it gets even stranger, as Jesus starts describing what he is going to endure.  

And after Jesus describes what he must go through, Peter takes him aside and rebukes him.  And then Jesus rebukes Peter.  And then calls him Satan, for setting his mind on human things, rather than divine things.  I mean . . . that escalated quickly!  This story does not go where we would expect it to go, does it?  Instead of heading to the front of the class for having the right answer, Peter gets called Satan and is told that the right answer is the wrong answer.  How did this happen?  Well, we get our answer in what Jesus says after his rebuke  . . . to Peter’s rebuke.

It’s important to keep in mind that Peter has this Hail the Conquering Hero mindset about the Messiah.  And he’s not alone . . . everyone thought that way.  That’s why the Romans feared the Messiah, whenever he might appear.  God’s Messiah was supposed to be a great military leader, riding victorious over God’s enemies, because the only way to beat military strength is through greater military strength.  That’s how the world works.  Remember President Reagan’s slogan, "Peace through Strength?"  Although—fact check—the Roman Emperor Hadrian said, “Peace through strength or, failing that, peace through threat.”  To bring peace, God’s Messiah would need to be a powerful warrior in order to overcome a powerful oppressor.

But Jesus says, “Those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake . . . will save it.”  This is not how we think.  You save something by losing it?  You lose something by saving it?  This makes no sense to us.  If you want to win, you have to be strong.  That’s how winning works!

We want to stand strong for God.  Stand up for God.  Be the Christian nation that conquers for God.  Like, we want to be the championship 2016 Cavaliers, not the 2017 one-win Browns.  We want to be winners, but God comes to us in our losses.  We want God to see us standing strong; but we need God in our weakness and pain.  The idea that Jesus prevents suffering is a lie.  (We have all suffered plenty enough in our lives to know this.)  And the idea that Jesus causes suffering is also a lie.  (Jesus spends all his time healing people, and feeding people, and helping people, never hurting them.)  But God preventing suffering and causing suffering are two lies that are hard to shake.  The earliest Christians were tortured and killed.  But in our modern understanding of Christianity, we like to believe that Jesus will keep us safe.  Yet we know that’s not true.  Jesus does not save us from suffering.  Jesus saves us in our suffering.  

So, Jesus says, “Those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake . . . will save it.”  This is radical to Peter.  And it is even more radical to us.  Every message we hear is the opposite of this:  Get more, hold tighter, secure the border, protect what’s ours, take from the losers, give to those who have plenty.  The idea of laying down our life for others is radical, foolish, stupid, and even rebuke-able.

We think that more will make us happy.  Jesus says less will.  We say strength gives life.  Jesus says weakness does.  A world where you win by surrender, and gain by giving away?!?  Who wants THAT world?

Jesus does.  

Look.  Nobody said Christianity is easy.  Well, that’s not true.  Everybody says it is.  All the time.  Everyone except Jesus.  Which should tell us something about what we think being a Christian is all about.  We must be careful not to tie Christianity to world domination.  Or winning.  Or defeating our enemies through strength.  In today’s culture, that is easy to do.  The military and the cross are two very different things, literally representing victory and defeat.  To conflate the two brings a rebuke from Jesus.  We are called to take up our cross—not our sword—and follow Jesus.

And let me be clear:  I’m not saying we shouldn’t have a strong national defense, or that protecting us by serving in our country’s armed forces is somehow wrong.  Every country needs to protect its citizens.  I’m just saying that conquering our enemies is not what Christianity is about.  How do I know?  Because Jesus says so.  Right here.

When Peter calls Jesus the Messiah, he is thinking about a righteous military overthrow of the enemy.  He is planning to follow Jesus with a sword into victory.  And Jesus says, yes, follow him.  But carry your cross, not your sword.  Only by walking into death with Jesus will we rise to new life in Jesus.  

This is what baptism is all about, and that is why it is the entry point into the church.  We are drowned in the waters of baptism, and lifted up into new life with Jesus.  In some ways, that dangerous, powerful imagery of the Rite of Baptism gets lost in the gentle sprinkling of drops on a baby’s head.  But the message is still there:  Only by giving up will we gain.  Only in the death of Jesus will we find new life.  Only by dying will we live.  

Jesus came to serve on earth, and now rules in heaven.  Peter got it backwards in today’s gospel.  But it’s easy to see how that happens.  We worship the one who laid down his life for us.  This is a hard teaching.  This is an upside down teaching.  This goes against everything we know and trust about the world.  But it is what Jesus tells us.  And it is what Jesus shows us.

And you can see it most clearly in the Eucharist.  Only by laying down his life can Jesus be present at this Altar.  Only by surrendering can Jesus rise victorious.  The one we gather to worship promises to, somehow, be present in this bread and wine.  He offers himself to us again this morning in a tiny piece of bread and a few drops of wine.  He gives himself to us so that he can live in us, providing healing, and forgiveness, and hope to the broken world outside those doors.  

These mysteries are hard to understand.  Christianity is not easy.  Jesus told us so himself.  And it’s okay that we get it wrong.  But today, may God give to each of us the courage to surrender, the strength to serve, and the will to lay down our life for others.  The way of the cross is the way of life.

Amen.

September 11th, CAK Airport

We come together this day to remember a day that we must never forget.  We are grateful for the first responders, who were willing to do what most of us could not do.  We remember those who were just trying to get to work, or do their work, or make it through the day.  
And especially, in this place, we remember the pilots, and flight attendants, and passengers whose lives were taken in the name of hatred on September 11th.  

But on this day, we will always do well to remember the next day, September 12th.  Because that day represents who we are as a country.  That day reminds us how we came together across politics, and religion, and race to show the world a better way.  
America is an idea.  It has always been just an idea.  And that idea lives on in all of us, every day of our lives.  And the idea of America—at its best—will always bring us together across politics, and religion, and race.  Every day in our country is another chance to say, “Let this idea happen.  Let this beautiful messy country continue to be a place where the brave are respected, where every person is valued, and where what unites us is stronger than what divides us.”  Let us pray . . . 

O Judge of the nations, we remember before you with grateful
hearts the men and women of our country who in the day of
decision ventured much for the liberties we now enjoy. Grant
that we may not rest until all the people of this land share the
benefits of true freedom and gladly accept its disciplines. This
we ask in the Name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

O God, who created all peoples in your image, we thank you
for the wonderful diversity of races and cultures in this world.
Enrich our lives by ever-widening circles of fellowship, and
show us your presence in those who differ most from us, until
our knowledge of your love is made perfect in our love for all
your children; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 16

Pentecost 16, 2024
Isaiah 35:4-7a
Psalm 146
James 2:1-17
Mark 7:24-37

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

This is a really hard gospel text to hear.  And it’s hard to know what to do with it.  Sure, we could take an “all’s well that ends well” approach and ignore what Jesus says, and just emphasize the healing of the woman’s daughter.  Or—as I’ve done in the past—we could say that Jesus is leading the crowd along, by pretending to reject the woman until the big reveal, where he welcomes the one they reject.  But I don’t find either of those approaches to be honest . . . to be honest.

Because we cannot just overlook that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ has just flat out called another human being a dog.  No sweeping that under the rug—especially for us Episcopalians, a group of people who promise in our baptismal covenant to respect the dignity of every human being.  We do not call people dogs, or vermin, or cockroaches.  Certainly not if we are being true to our baptismal vows.  And there’s no getting around the fact that Jesus has done just that in this reading.  How do we reconcile this?  How do we explain what we just heard?  Well, let’s back up for a minute and look at the circumstances surrounding this gospel reading.

Most scholars date Mark’s gospel to around the year 70AD, which is like 40 years or so after the resurrection.  It’s important to know that at the time, Jewish zealots were mounting an insurrection in Jerusalem against their Roman occupiers.  This was an all-out war, which resulted in the complete destruction of the Temple.  This insurrection of the zealots caused widespread oppression across the entire Roman Empire, resulting in a backlash of hatred of the Jews as a whole.  In particular, the historian Josephus notes that there was serious animosity between the Jews and the Gentiles living in the area of Tyre.

And where does Jesus go in today’s gospel?  To Tyre.  For Jews of this time, going into any gentile region is walking into hostile territory.  The Jews and the Tyrians are serious enemies at the time Mark was written.  It’s also worth noting that there is no mention of the disciples being with Jesus in this story.  He’s walking into this scene completely on his own, fully alone, and fully human, as we say in our Creed every Sunday.

And then a note about dogs.  Here in America in 2024, we do not have dogs roaming the streets.  Dogs need licenses.  Dogs need homes.  Stray dogs are not something we are familiar with.  In Jesus’ time—and in many countries today—dogs are not domesticated.  Sure, they might hang around humans, hoping for scraps and the occasional pat on the head.  But in Jesus’ time, people did not have dogs.  And so there is no good construction to put on his calling someone a dog.  A dog is not a faithful black lab going for walks.  A dog is more like a rat in New York City.  A part of life by accident, but not in any way “man’s best friend.”

So, with all that as background, let’s set the scene.  A gentile Lebanese woman comes to the Jewish Jesus when he’s alone in hostile territory and she asks for help.  Everyone present, and everyone hearing this story would know all that background I just laid out.  They would know the hostility between the Jews and the people of Lebanon.  They would know the status of dogs.  They would also know the status of women, and of people thought to be possessed by demons.  And so—to cut to the chase—this cruel belittling response from Jesus would surprise exactly . . . no one.  

The woman asks for help for her daughter.  And Jesus says to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”  By which he means, “My healing power should go to the Jews first.  And you, madam enemy, are not my equal; you are not even on the level of a child; you are a dog.”  A dog.

And is there anything in this story to suggest anyone is shocked?  Does anyone object to this harsh language from Jesus?  Nope.  No complaints.  No notes.  No sense of surprise.  AND, no sense of shock from the woman herself!  You notice how she has a response ready to go?  She seems to expect Jesus to treat her this way!  She is ready to be rejected by God in the flesh.  And she is ready with the exact thing to make Jesus stop in his tracks and change course.

On the other hand, as post-resurrection listeners, WE expect Jesus to offer her some comforting words and to show an ounce of compassion.  We expect Jesus to extend the unconditional, unwavering, absolutely complete acceptance from God.  But the Tyrian woman expects no such niceties.  She has seen how Jewish people treat her people.  She knows full well the animosity on both sides.  And she is ready to respond.  And her response . . . changes Jesus.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again.  God.  Can.  Change.  And we can add to that . . . Jesus. Can. Learn.  I know that goes against a lot of what we have heard and thought over the course of our lifetimes.  I know that goes against the theology of much of our hymnody.  But it is not heresy.  It is Biblical.  God can change.  And God does.

Now before you go reporting me to the Bishop for heresy, let me say more.  There are aspects of God that are unchanging.  God’s mercy endures forever.  We say, as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever.  We pray that we may rest in God’s eternal changelessness.  We refer to God as the unmovable mover, and so on.

And yet, back in Exodus, Moses goes up the mountain, the people ask Aaron to make a golden calf.  And God gets angry and decides to kill them all.  But Moses pleads on their behalf, and reminds God of the promises made to Abraham and Isaac.  And then we hear: “And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.”  An argument from Moses changed God’s mind.  God can change.

In the book of Jonah, God sends Jonah to Nineveh and tells them they need to repent.  And they put on sackcloth and ashes and they repent.  And then we hear:  “When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.”  The actions of the people of Nineveh changed God’s mind.  God can change.

Jesus says, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”  Let me take care of my own people before I help the likes of you.  There’s only so much to go around.  And I have to be careful not to use it all up on the wrong people.  And she says, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.”  This is what we call a mic drop.  She says that . . . and Jesus changes.  Just like in the story of Moses and the golden calf, we could say Jesus changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.  A simple sentence from this woman changed the mind of Jesus.

You know what I think happened here?  I think Jesus forgot who he was.  In his exhaustion and frustration, Jesus forgot that he came to save all the people.  He lost sight of the expansive nature of love and compassion.  The universal love of God is for everyone, even the outsiders . . . especially the outsiders.  God lifts up the lowly and casts down the mighty.  Jesus came to save sinners.  God cares deeply about the so-called dogs under the table.  And it took this gentile Tyrian woman to remind Jesus of that.  The reminder of inclusion comes from the very one who is excluded.  Take note of that.

And if God can change, if Jesus can learn, that means we can too.  It’s possible that we too can learn to change, and adapt, and give up our prejudices.  Sure, we could stick to our stereotypes, and our bigotry, and our offensive language that we learned from the hostile society within which we were raised.  Like Jesus, we could refer to our enemies as dogs, or vermin, or cockroaches.  And we have plenty of genocides in the world to show us exactly where that kind of language ultimately leads.  We could treat others with racism, and hostility, and cruel put downs.  Or . . .

We could be like Jesus.  We could learn from our mistakes.  We could welcome the outcasts.  We could change our ways and step outside what our culture tells us to do, and step outside how our society tells us to treat others.

I mean, we’ve got an entire book that tells us over and over to turn the other cheek, to love our enemies, to bless those who persecute us, to do unto others as we would have them do unto us.  This is not new material to any of us.  And I don’t think it was new material to Jesus.  I think Jesus forgot who he was.  Just as I think we sometimes forget who we are.

The message for us today is this:  Let us remember who we are.  Beloved children of God.  Created in the image of God.  Redeemed in the resurrection of Jesus.  There is no one and no thing beyond the redemptive work of God’s healing touch.

After hearing the words “even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs,” Jesus remembers who he is, and who he came to save: the oppressed, the hungry, the stranger, you, and me.  May God constantly remind us who we are:  the redeemed children of God, who promise to respect the dignity of every human being.  All the people who are welcome at this table, where even the crumbs are enough to bring life and healing to all God’s people.  All of us.  No matter what the world outside those doors may tell you.  You are welcome here.

Amen.

YEAR B 2024 pentecost 15

Pentecost 15, 2024
Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-9
Psalm 15
James 1:17-27
Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23

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

We humans have a thing about food.  And I don’t just lately, or just here in the United States.  Humans have always had a thing about food.  Eating is about much more than just nourishment.  Meals build community.  Eating together breaks down walls and brings us together.  If you think back through your life, many—if not all—of the more significant events involved food in one way or another.  Birthdays, holidays, weddings, funerals, baptisms, confirmations, graduations . . . Life is kind of one long series of significant meals, with the time between marked by less memorable meals.

When someone starts or leaves a job, we have a meal, or at least some cake.  Birthdays we have cake.  Anniversaries, cake.  Because cake is just the more convenient version of a meal.  And people can eat it standing up.  Cake is like short-hand for “meal.”  And with the combination of flour, sugar, and eggs, we can see that most of the major food groups are represented here.  We give someone a cake when a full-on meal is impractical, or impossible.  In other words, though we want to provide a meal to mark an important event in someone’s life, sometimes a cake stands in as substitute for the big sit-down dinner.

Meals are important to us.  We do not just eat to stay alive.  There is a strong connection between food and significant events.  Tomorrow is Labor Day, and I can’t imagine that I’m the only one who is planning to grill.  I have no idea what else I will be doing tomorrow, but the one thing I do know is that there will be grilling.  And the more grilling the better, in my opinion.

So, okay, you got my point by now: food means more than just food to us.  And so we move to the next point: location, location, location.  Do you remember the first time you ate at a friend’s house and they didn’t cook the food right?  I mean “right” as in how you’re used to.  For me, it was a revelation when, as a kid, I slept over at my friend’s house and his dad cooked scrambled eggs with milk in them.  Scrambled eggs were supposed to be yellow, not off-white!  Imagine my horror when I learned that this family boiled their pork chops!  And ate canned vegetables instead of frozen.  These people were making their food wrong, plain and simple.

If they wanted to make their food wrong, that was their problem.  But, if they wanted their food cooked the right way, they would obviously have to come to my house.  Come spend an evening in the Baum house of my childhood and my friend would see that hamburger is supposed to be thinned using oatmeal, and coffee is supposed to look like tea, and pizza is supposed to be made from a mix out of a box called Appian Way.  I mean, that’s the way food was supposed to be made.  Though I’ve outgrown those childhood understandings, the idea remains: You’re welcome to make your own food however you want, but I will not be attending your event if you make it the wrong way.  Location and food are linked.

And that brings us to today’s gospel reading.  You remember what we just heard?  Well, what I should say is, do you remember the beginning of what we just heard?  Since that reading ends with what sounds like a lot of bad news and condemnation, you might have forgotten how it began.  The Pharisees and Scribes gather around Jesus.  These are like, the hard-core religious people.  They stand there shaking their heads and tisk tisking.  And they ask Jesus, "Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?"

Now, of course, the reason they ask this might actually be that they want to help Jesus bring his disciples in line with doing things the way they’re supposed to be done.  Jesus is Jewish, and a teacher of the Law, and he would want to be living up to the Law.  At which point, we need to step outside the story for a second and talk about the Law.

For faithful Jews, the Torah is the basis of everything.  That’s the first five books of our Bible.  Genesis through Deuteronomy.  According to Jewish tradition, all five of these books were given by God directly to Moses.  They are the basis of Jewish community.  The rules from God, given in the Torah, are sometimes called the Law of Moses.  From God’s lips to Moses’ pen, therefore the most sacred rules for living.  So sacred, in fact, that they need a barrier, what is called “a hedge.”  There is a longstanding tradition of building a hedge around the Torah, for the people’s own good.  The idea is that, in order to prevent a person from breaking the Law, we add layers of security to lessen the chance they will accidentally break the law.

Here’s an example:  According to Torah, men and women are not allowed to be intimate with one another during  . . . certain times of the month.  So, a hedge is placed around that rule, saying that the couple also must not hold hands, or kiss, or even pass a plate across the table, lest one thing lead to another.  Keep the Law safe by preventing our getting too close to it.

The point here is, there are rules about food in the Torah, but all this stuff about washing the pots and pans and hands is a ritual hedge that was added over the years by Rabbis.  That’s why, as Mark says, the Pharisees are following the “tradition of the elders.”  It is not the Law of Moses the disciples are violating; it is the tradition of the elders, the “hedge” around the Torah.  And Jesus tells them, “You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human practice.”  In other words, you ignore the beautiful Torah itself, and spend your time glorifying the hedge.

So, back to the hedge around food.  All these laws about washing pots and pans and stuff would mean something very specific when it came to sharing meals with others.  And here’s where location matters.  Because I could invite someone to my house (where all the pans were meticulously washed according to the tradition of the elders), but I could not risk going to your house if you didn’t follow those same traditions.  You could have dinner with me, but I could not have dinner with you.  And that means, you could come and celebrate the big events in my life, but I could not come and celebrate yours.  You can be there for me, but I cannot be there for you.  The hedge is so high that it distorts relationships

That’s not the intent of the hedge, right?  The intent is to prevent people from violating the Law of Moses.  But the result is throwing one another under the bus called the “hedge.”

People get sacrificed to the tradition of the elders rather than being guided by the love of God.  The Laws given on Mt. Sinai—the 10 Commandments, as we call them—are considered a gift from God by the Hebrew people.  The Law of Moses is seen as a sacred bond between God and God’s people.  So sacred that a hedge has to be built, a hedge that can become so thick that we can no longer see the gift that is hidden inside.

In a sense, Jesus is pointing out to the Scribes and Pharisees that they’re missing out on the gift because they’re focused on the gift wrap.  They’ve become distracted from the beauty God intends because all their attention is focused on the system that was built to protect that priceless gift.  It’s like walking through a jewelry store and only seeing the security cameras.

Now, we could draw a lot of conclusions from today’s Gospel from Mark.  We could focus on the list of things that comes after that conversation.  About how evil comes from within rather than without.  We could talk about the evil things that people do and then talk about the need for redemption that can only be found in Jesus.  But for today, I would like for us just to focus on the food.

I would like for us to go back to my first point.  That we mark our  significant days with meals together.  We share meals with one another to make those moments holy in some way.  And the more people we welcome into those celebrations, the more holy those moments become.  Because the more people we include, the more our celebrations begin to look like the kingdom of God:  The place where all are welcome . . . Regardless.

When we allow the hedge to become too thick, if the rules we set up to protect what we love turn out to be too high for others to see over . . . Well, it is our loss, my friends.  We will have missed the beautiful gifts of God, because we are all standing outside the hedge, not inside.

May we always keep our hedges low, and may St. Timothy’s Church continue to be a beacon for those who are seeking to celebrate the most precious meal of all:  The Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation.

Amen.