Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost Yr A Proper 17 August 30 2020

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Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost Yr A Proper 17 August 30 2020

Exodus 3:1-15, Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26, 45c, Romans 12:9-21, Matthew 16:21-28

 

There is so much suffering going on just now, isn’t there. Our siblings in Christ are suffering with hurricanes in Louisiana and Texas, again. They are suffering with wildfires in California, again. We are witnessing the rise and fall of unrest in our cities. There is so much suffering going on, whether related to COVID, racial injustice, economic hardship, emotional despair, our own loved one’s deaths, or more. Not to make light of our situation, but It feels like that carnival game, whack a mole, ya just keep whacking and as soon as one gets hit another one pops up.

 

But in all of this Matthew reminds us, in all these things, not just Christ’s cross is present, but Christ himself – holding us, lamenting with us, encouraging us, and promising us the strength to endure and, having endured, to flourish and, flourishing, to help others do the same. In Matthew's gospel we hear, "those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life." 

 

Jesus continues on his way to Jerusalem. In Jerusalem, Jesus is charged with sedition, and is sentenced to death on a cross. In the eyes of the culture, then and now, death, and especially death on a cross - was not only terminal but counted as failure as well. We know that Jesus' mortal life ends on a cross, hung between two thieves. But the reality of this story, this story of life and death and resurrection, is that what the world counts as loss, what seems like failure, what looks to the world as death, is really something else altogether, something amazing, something astounding, something completely new. When a new doorway is opened, another doorway is closed. When a seed is planted in the ground, it comes up looking nothing like it did when it went into the ground. When a branch is pruned, it makes way, it leaves space for completely new growth. For every new thing, something dies, and is born again in an unimagined way.

 

And the reality is that this life takes a lot of death. That's not necessarily a bad thing. It is usually painful, but it's most definitely not failure. It just is. The world shifts under our feet, what happens is not exactly what we expect. The shifting is literal, earthquakes and hurricanes and floods. The shifting is violent, wars and shootings, protests and counter protests. The shifting is heart-wrenching, broken hearts and broken lives, and the shifting is decisive, as when we experience the death of our loved ones. 

 

And that, you see, that is what Peter is railing against. Even to Peter, Jesus' impending ordeal and death looks like failure. What a disappointment this must have been, what a baffling shift in expectations. Not unlike our shifting expectations, our redefinition of normal. Clearly, this is not what Peter had imagined. Peter says something like, "listen, Jesus, this cannot be what God intends for you. There must be a different way. This is not what our deliverer ought to do. Suffering and dying is what we have all endured, prophet and ordinary person alike. You are supposed to be different. You are supposed to save us from all our enemies!"

 

Peter himself is wondering what it looks like to follow the Messiah, the anointed of God. We wonder what it looks like to be a follower of Jesus. That path is lined with crosses and paved with Jesus’ passion. This is a matter of life and death for Jesus’ followers as much as it is for Jesus. It is about making space for the new thing that will grow, that must grow.

 

And there are things that we must let die, things that demand our time and attention that pull us away from true relationship, things that cause us to judge others, things that disconnect us and fragment our beings, these are the things that pull us away from mercy and compassion, love and justice. These are the things that harden our hearts and keep us from forgiveness and healing. These are the things that grip our hearts and minds so tightly, we cannot see beyond them. These are the things that cause us to judge, ridicule, and oppress. These things are seductive, like all things that divert our attention from the one who loves us. They are not intrinsically bad things, they may in fact seem like good things, but their false claim is so strong that we cannot pay attention to that which has the ultimate claim on our lives and our souls, which is Love. The Love of the creator for all of creation, the Love of the creator who is willing to show us how it's done, the Love of the creator who gives up all power to show us the way of the cross, to show us the way of Love, and mercy, and compassion, and reconciliation, and healing. 

 

That is what is happening in this passage from Matthew. Peter and the disciples, and you and me, are witnessing this powerful thing that God is doing in our lives and in our world, then and now and in the age to come. As followers of Jesus we are called to lay down that which is killing us, and to pick up the new life that Jesus offers. It is not really easy. And yet we learn that suffering and death, each and every death that is part of this life, this cruciform existence, is not all that there will be. The Son of Man will return and bring justice in this world. Such justice is not merely the paying off of old debts or the settling of bitter scores. Instead, this justice is a promise of deliverance.

 

The cross will appear to span finality. The cross will appear to be the end of the story for us all. But the promise Jesus makes here and the promises God has made from the beginning assure a future, a future in which justice blooms, a future in which the hungry are fed and the imprisoned are comforted. And that future is not a long way off. 

 

Can you imagine it? Can you imagine that God is at work in and through your life for the good of the world? Can you imagine that this congregation has something of value to offer our community? Can you imagine that when you befriend the lonely or encourage the frightened heaven rejoices? Can you imagine that, though afraid, when you stand up to those who spew hate God is with you? Can you imagine that even small acts of love and generosity challenge the world order and introduce a different reality? Can you imagine that God wants for us not just comfort but freedom? Can you imagine that love is more powerful than hate? Can you imagine that God raised Jesus from the dead?

 

We stand at a crossroads, a cross really, in our lives today. We stand at this place where we must choose the way of Jesus, the place that to some, the mighty and powerful, looks like failure, but that is a lie. The very hard truth of the cross is that we are so very much like Peter, believing that Jesus can deliver us from this life that is so very hard sometimes, believing that Jesus can deliver wealth and prosperity to us if only we are good enough and pray hard enough and go to the right church. The truth of the cross is love. The truth of the cross is that Jesus embraces all of creation, not just some or a part of creation. We must imagine the way forward with God who raises Jesus from the dead.  Amen, Alleluia!

 

Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost Proper 16 Yr A August 23 2020

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Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost Proper 16 Yr A August 23 2020

Exodus 1:8-2:10, Psalm 124, Romans 12:1-8, Matthew 16:13-20

 

Two weeks ago we heard Jesus’ followers exclaim, “Truly you are the Son of God.” Last week we heard the Canaanite woman call Jesus into an expansive and inclusive ministry. Today we hear Jesus ask, “who do you say I am.” And Simon Peter announces on behalf of the band of disciples, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

 

Who do you say I am. Jesus asks each one of us this question. Who do you say Jesus is? When you are out in the marketplace in these times when that may be a hard choice, who do you say Jesus is? When you begin to return to work, or school, who do you say Jesus is? When you are sitting in traffic, or having backyard conversations, or deciding how you want to vote, or considering the violent events in our country and our world, who do you say Jesus is?

 

Who do you say Jesus is? Like Peter, I announce Jesus is the son of the living God. But I also think those are just words, unless they are backed up by what I do with my time, my talent, and my treasure, how I make my decisions and how I treat people. But you and I aren't the kind of people who have a ready answer to the question, who do you say Jesus is? The words don't come easily, but I guarantee any words we use fall unmeaning if our lives don't speak of mercy and compassion.

 

Jesus is teaching disciples in these stories. Jesus is trying to impart all he knows and all he is as he prepares for his last days in Jerusalem. In these stories, Jesus is developing followers. You and I are followers of Jesus, and our work is to live the answer to the question, who do you say I am, with our words and with our lives.

 

What you do this week with your live lived as a follower of Jesus, will change the world. In the Exodus story, a single act of resistance saved an entire people. The King had commanded that all male babies be killed. The baby in our story, Moses, was hidden from that awful fate by the midwives who caught him, until the daughter of Pharoah found him and raised him as her own. Moses went on to lead his people out of Egypt into a new land and a new life, Moses led his people from slavery into freedom. Like Shiphrah and Puah, who by their actions saved Moses, what you do this week will change the world. We just don't know how what we do will effect that change, but it will, and it does. And even the ancient story of Moses shows us that what we do matters to God and matters to the world. Who do you say Jesus is? How your life answers that question makes a difference.

 

Last week I said to you that our words matter. This week I say to you that what we do matters. Both are true. Jesus’ teaching is to love your enemies, to come before God in prayer and in worship, and to forgive one another. Out of love, Jesus steps in our place, and Jesus gives his life for ours. This is the kingship through which the God who created the heavens and the earth inaugurates a new creation.

 

Who do you say that Jesus is? This question presupposes that what we believe about Jesus matters. What we believe about Jesus matters to you and to me, it matters to our church, and most importantly it matters to the world.

 

It also assumes a relationship; there is no way to begin to say who Jesus is without the relationship. And in this relationship with Jesus, we learn who we really are. In response to Peter naming Jesus Messiah, Son of God, Jesus tells Peter who he really is. Jesus says, you are Peter, a rock. In this relationship, Jesus knows who we really are, we are named and marked as Christ’s own forever. Jesus names us beloved, the delight of God’s life.

 

So this is not so much about the right answer to the question, who do you say that Jesus is, but it is very much about the relationship the question presupposes. And that relationship is, you are the delight of God’s life. I think this is the most important part of this story. We might not be very good answering the question with words, but we can begin to show the world that Jesus matters, that this relationship with Jesus matters.

 

That brings us to the image that is presented in Romans, we, who are many, are one body in Christ. This is an amazingly counter cultural image, one body, with different graceful gifts. This new creation that God inaugurates in Jesus is all about a completely new way to live on this earth. We live not for ourselves, but for the greater good of God’s creation. Do not be conformed to this world, but transformed by the relationship, and the amazing and abundant love that God has for you.

 

How do we live in the world as the body of Christ?

How do we live in the world as the delight of God’s life?

How do we live in the world as people to whom Jesus matters?

How do we live in the world as agents of new creation?

How do we live in the world as a people transformed by God’s love?

I think we do that by showing forth love not only for those it is easy to love, but for those we count as enemies as well. I think we do that by showing mercy and compassion. I think we do that by caring for God’s creation. I think we do that by showing up in our lives with intention, with love, with mercy, and with compassion.

 

So now we come back to the question, who do you say that Jesus is? This is not just a rhetorical question. We must answer it. I want you to know your answer to it. Your answer to it matters, because what we do matters, what we say matters, and that can change the world. And our world needs changing. Who do we say Jesus is?

 

Jesus is God in our midst.

Jesus is the love that wins.

Jesus is the way. Jesus is the truth. Jesus is the Light.

These are words, words that matter. And this is a life that matters. When we say these words, with Peter and the disciples, as followers of Jesus, and as part of the body of Christ, we stand for love, we stand for truth, we stand for light. We speak for those who cannot speak for themselves, we love when hate seems pervasive. We include when others call for exclusion. We must stand against powers and principalities that would condone and cause violence against any group of people.

 

Like the midwives who caught Moses as he was born, and chose life over death, today, we must be midwives. We must choose life, we must choose love. Our lives will tell the world who Jesus is. Amen.

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost Yr A Proper 15 August 16 2020

 

11 Pentecost Proper 15 Yr A Aug 16 2020

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost Yr A Proper 15 August 16 2020

Genesis 45:1-15, Psalm 133, Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32, Matthew 15: (10-20), 21-28

 

It's been a hard year. It’s been a hard month. We’ve had too much death in our little community. In our larger neighborhoods people are behaving badly, accusing one another of this, that, and the other thing. We've been stretched to breaking with the demands on our patience and on our compassion. We have experienced so very closely the broken world in which we live. But there is also much goodness all around us, in so many places and in so many people.

 

And on top of that we have before us a hard lesson from Matthew and this continuing story in Genesis of Joseph and his brothers, brothers who sold him into slavery because they didn't like that he was a dreamer. What are we to make of it all? What are we to make of the readings and what are we to make of the reality? 

 

In the verses from Matthew we have before us today, Jesus really seems mad. He's been spending all of his time teaching the disciples and other followers, parable after parable, story after story, trying to impart everything he can about humanity's relationship with God, and God's relationship with God's people. Jesus experienced the tragic death of his relative, John. Jesus has fed thousands of people, and all he wants is to get away by himself for a little R and R. He's got to walk on the water out to the boat to save those hapless disciples, and after all that, the Pharisees come all the way from Jerusalem to entrap him. I imagine that the actual telling of this story has quite of bit of censoring and editing, I imagine Jesus' language may have been much more colorful than we hear today. 

 

Jesus says that what comes out of our mouths and from our hearts can be disastrous when we don't speak with love and truth. Jesus says, our words matter. Our words have the power to create a compassionate reality, and our words can challenge the darkness, our words can even be the light in the darkness. Our words and our actions even have the power to dispel the darkness. One of my favorite books by my favorite author is A Wrinkle in Time, it is a story that is all about using our gifts, following in the footsteps of the saints who came before us, about daring to be different, it's about foolishness, faith and free will, and the greatest call and commandment, loving one another. That story shows us, like scripture tells us today, what we say to one another matters, our words matter. 

 

The words that dispel the darkness are words that come from a heart that is filled with mercy and compassion, a heart filled with love for each and every gift of God's creation. Even in the midst of sadness, even in the midst of tragedy, we are called to speak words of mercy and compassion, words of God's love for all of God's creation. We are called to speak words of mercy and compassion into every darkness. We must conspire with God to speak words of love, words of mercy and compassion, into the darkness to dispel the darkness. That is what Jesus is trying to show us in this gospel today, and that is the truth of what God in Jesus has done and continues to do. Darkness does not win. Love wins. Our words can create a compassionate reality. And we are desperate for a compassionate reality. 

 

The second half of the story from Matthew paints a picture of Jesus that may be even harder for us to understand. He is angry, and mean, and in this particular story, Jesus claims an exclusive mission. He says he is sent only to the lost sheep of Israel. What is amazing in this story is that the Canaanite woman challenges Jesus, and her challenge creates a new compassionate reality. She challenges Jesus to include not just the lost sheep of Israel, but everyone in the known world. 

 

In this story, the Canaanite woman is absolutely and completely the other, the foreigner, the alien, she doesn't look like us or talk like us. But she's also a mother. Jesus is speaking to a mother whose daughter's life is at risk. Many of you know that when your child's life is at stake, you will do most anything, go to any lengths, you'll stay by their bedside, you'll take them to the hospital in the middle of the night, you'll pray and ask everyone you know to pray, you'll even bargain with God. This is that mother. She's not an insider, she's not an Israelite, she is a foreigner, she looks differently and she speaks differently than Jesus. And even Jesus, this Jesus who I have always believed includes everyone, initially says no. Maybe he's just too tired, maybe he's had a hard day, maybe he's fed so many people he's just spent. I've felt that way. 

 

It is hard to hear, but in this passage is a comment on cultural and racial differences. The talk about throwing food to the dogs, and that even dogs eat the crumbs from under their master’s table is about that difference, and initially, nobody responds to this Canaanite woman. She is not Jewish. Too often we cannot or refuse to empathize with people whose experience is different from our own. If the oppression, injustice, or pain is not happening in our house and neighborhood or does not impact our race, gender, class, or sexuality, then we dismiss it as unwelcomed, unjustified noise. Jesus’ response to the apostles’ urging to send the Canaanite woman away seems to affirm their desire to dismiss her: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel”. The fact that her people’s blood runs through his veins and that his people’s blood runs through her veins does not move Jesus! If our common humanity, our relatedness, does not move us, what will?

 

The Canaanite woman persists. Like Sojourner Truth, Rosa Parks, Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm, Oprah Winfrey, Senator Hillary Clinton, Michelle Obama, Senator Elizabeth Warren, and Senator Kamala Harris, the Canaanite woman persisted. She didn’t go away; she won’t be dismissed. She draws closer and kneels. Yet Jesus does not perform an exorcism; Jesus simply says, “Let it be done for you as you wish.” Jesus does not say let it be done as you believed but as you will. The woman’s will to power manifested by her persistence identified as faith led to her daughter’s healing.

 

When you don't think you can do one more thing, help one more person, listen to one more story, persist, and something happens. Something shows forth the light, the love, the healing, the hope. Something breaks through. And the break through expands the love, the result is not just her baby being healed, but it is healing for everyone, for all of us. The light shows forth, mercy and compassion are possible. 

 

We are desperate for this compassionate reality. Our words matter. Love wins. What we do and what we say in the midst of violence is capable of healing. This is that day. Remember, what Jesus does on the cross is to take evil out of the world with him. He does not look for revenge, and surely he is the one who would have the right to. Instead Jesus loves. Instead Jesus forgives. Instead Jesus heals.

 

It is our baptismal call to bear Jesus' love, forgiveness and healing into the world, it is our baptismal call to speak words of compassion into the world. It is our baptismal call to stand up for those who would be torn down. This is our mission: To build bridges of love and compassion, to build bridges of healing and hope.

 

Martin Niemoller, a German theologian and Lutheran Pastor, who was imprisoned in concentration camps from 1938 to 1945, said, “First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—

Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

 

We may not be any of these things, but we are followers of Jesus and we must stand for Love. Amen.

 

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost Yr A Proper 14 August 9th 2020

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost Yr A Proper 14 August 9^th 2020

Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28, Psalm 105:1-6, 16-22, 45b, Romans 10:5-15, Matthew 14:22-33

 

“Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid”. I could hear that over and over again, maybe that’s why Jesus says it over and over again. “Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid”. Because really, what do we have to be afraid of? When we read the newspapers or our news feeds, when we watch the news, it seems that there is much of which to be afraid. Pandemic, disruption in our cities, protest, election. But here, in this story from Matthew, Jesus says, “take heart, it is I, do not be afraid.” And Jesus shows us just what that looks like. Peter wanted desperately to trust Jesus, and Jesus invited him to come. Peter began the walk over the water to Jesus, but became frightened, lost his courage, and began to sink. But Jesus doesn’t let Peter sink in the water. Jesus reached out his hand to Peter to pull him back in.

 

Sometimes we think of this as a story about not having enough faith. It’s where we get the expression, “oh ye of little faith”. But that’s not right. This is a story first and foremost about Jesus’ assurance of courage. Step out, and Jesus has our back. Do not be afraid.

 

We have so many examples of courage in Jesus’ name. We just said goodbye to John Lewis, a man of courage, who stepped out of the boat as a young man. Who sat at lunch counters only to be spat upon, who crossed bridges only to be beaten, who as a congressperson spoke truth to power.

 

Or WEB DuBois (Dewboyss), whose commemoration day was just this past week. Racism was the main target of Du Bois's polemics, and he strongly protested against lynching, Jim Crow laws, and discrimination in education and employment. His cause included people of color everywhere, particularly Africans and Asians in colonies. He was a proponent of Pan-Africanism and helped organize several Pan-African Congresses to fight for the independence of African colonies from European powers. Du Bois made several trips to Europe, Africa and Asia. After World War I, he surveyed the experiences of American black soldiers in France and documented widespread prejudice and racism in the United States military. He is most famously known for being one of the founding members of the NAACP.

 

Or what about Malala Yousafzai (Use-efsai)? The Pakistani schoolgirl who defied threats of the Taliban to campaign for the right to education. She survived being shot in the head by the Taliban and has become a global advocate for human rights, women’s rights and the right to education.

 

I could go on with the Peter’s of the world who stepped out in courage. It’s not so much about not being afraid, as it is in the midst of the fear knowing that Jesus has our back, that Jesus reaches out and walks with us in the midst of the fear. That is what courage is. That is what faith is.

 

Jesus doesn’t let us sink.

 

Let’s check this out. We heard the mustard seed story just two weeks ago. Jesus says in a version of that story, “if you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.” Now we know that a mustard seed is a mighty tiny seed, so having faith the size of a mustard seed is a little faith. But these are stories not about what faith is lacking, and it is not about not having enough faith, it is about the faith that Peter has that causes him to courageously step out of the boat. And they are stories that include you and me, who, on most days, like Peter, have a little faith. And these people whose stories we know, that probably felt a lot like Peter.

 

So how much faith do you need to make a difference, to change the world, to move mountains, to be courageous, and, like the rest of the disciples in the boat that day, to know that Jesus is lord? You need a little faith. Faith is not about having enough, faith is not about knowing for absolute sure, faith is not about clarity or certainty. Faith isn’t about shouting most loudly about knowing exactly what God’s specific plans for everyone are, faith isn’t about knowing the future. 

 

Well then, what is faith about? Faith is a willingness to risk. Faith is about the courage to take that step out of the boat, to respond to Jesus when he says, “come ahead,” and to do it whether you think you’ll sink or swim. And faith proceeds from love, the kind of love that makes a person willing to be the first to say “I love you”, not because of a certain expectation of a particular reply, but because of the possibilities that saying “I love you” opens. 

 

Faith doesn’t connote belief in a particular outcome, and it isn’t an intellectual assent to a particular proposition. Faith is not a wish for more money or a better life. Putting our faith in this particular story about death and resurrection, putting our faith in Jesus does not mean believing that we’ll be successful in a particular enterprise that Jesus is calling us to. Having faith in Jesus means a willingness to follow Jesus, not because we believe that we’ve already got the rest of the story plotted out once we’ve made that decision, but because we take seriously that Jesus is Lord.

 

So faith is the courage to risk, faith opens up the possibilities, and faith is taking seriously that Jesus is Lord. This faith opens up the possibility that we are fully capable of loving one another, that we are fully capable of respecting the dignity of every person, and the possibility that we must die in order to live again. This kind of faith also opens up the possibility that we may fall, and that we may wallow in the mess. And when that happens, we can look to resurrection and hope, and know that Jesus is right there with us in that mess. 

 

Faith is not certainty and it is not security in a right future. Faith is living each day knowing that Jesus lived each day. Faith is the courage to risk. Jesus loved, Jesus was hurt, Jesus even hurt others, Jesus risked everything, Jesus died and Jesus rose from the dead. Faith is responding to Jesus’ invitation, “come ahead, have courage,” and being transformed by the relationship. 

 

Faith is risking it all and being together in the mess. Peter wasn’t alone in that boat. All the disciples were there with him. Faith is finding love and hope here in the body of Christ. Because this risky business of faith is not to be undertaken by yourself. It is to be undertaken together, it is to be undertaken in the body of Christ. We do this together, no one is out there alone undertaking this risky business of faith, it’s too important, it’s too dangerous, it’s too perilous. Every one of us needs a support team, whether the team meets in person or online.

 

The body of Christ, the community of faith, is our support team in this risky venture of faith. I could not be your priest without all of your prayers and words of encouragement. I depend on your prayers, as you depend on my prayers and the prayers of all of us gathered. Not one of us can accomplish the risky work of faith out in the world without the support team that is our community of faith.

 

My favorite author, Madeleine L’engle once said during her recovery after a horrible accident she was in, that she could no longer pray, but that she knew that there were people who were praying on her behalf. We pray for others and on behalf of others all the time. That is the body of Christ, the community of faith doing its courageous work.

 

I believe faith is not one sided. Faith is not just about us. I believe that God has faith in me, and in us. Imagine the risk God takes at the creation of each and every child, each and every planet, each and every star. Will it be all that God intends for it to be? Will it be creative, will it be life-giving, will it fulfill all the hope in its creation? God is faithful. God risks everything with each and every one of us. If we have little faith, the size of a mustard seed, God has humungous faith, the size of millions of universes.

 

It is God’s huge faith in me that enables me to have faith in Jesus. Whatever that faith is, it’s enough to make a difference, it’s enough to bring Light into the mess, it’s enough to move mountains, it’s enough to get through the hard stuff of life. Thank God. Amen.