O come, O come, Emmanuel. Amen.
We’re all waiting for something – test results, the semester to be over, the chance to open Christmas presents, an upcoming trip. Advent is a season all about waiting. In fact, that’s what the name of the season means. Advent comes from a Latin word that means “arrival” or “coming.” It was the word for the ceremonial arrival of the emperor in a city. Advent is a season in which the Church prepares us for the coming of Christ.
And now we give you thanks, our God, and praise your glorious name. For all things come from you, and of your own have we given you. Amen.
I remember when I was a kid, one of the lessons that was drilled into me was to say “thank you.” If someone at church said something nice, I was to say “thank you.” When a relative mailed me a card with some money in it for my birthday, I had to call them to say “thanks.” When people went out of their way to do something nice for me, I was taught to write a thank you note. To this day, I still write thank you notes when people give me gifts or go out of their way to help me out. It’s a good habit to be in – gratitude is a virtue that our society can use more of.
Be with us, O Lord, for if you are with us nothing else matters, and if you are not with us, nothing else matters. Amen.
Things fall apart – it’s one of the truths of the natural world. As many are currently experiencing in one way or another, our bodies degrade over time. Maybe it’s an achy joint or a memory that isn’t quite as sharp as it used to be, our bodies fail. Relationships also fall apart – sometimes a friend moves away, differences become irreconcilable, or we end up so busy that we can’t keep up with all of our connections. Throughout our lives, our sense of who we are can also fall apart. Sometimes the death of a family member precipitates a change in our identity, or maybe it’s hitting a milestone birthday, or becoming an empty-nester. Whatever the cause, our carefully constructed sense of self is upended by the realities of life.
“The Bible says it, I believe it, that settles it.” Perhaps you’ve heard that phrase used in a conversation before. It’s often used to end a debate by appealing to the sovereignty of God. Sure, we might be tempted to dismiss such brazen logic as lazy or closed-minded; but in actuality, there’s something beautifully simplistic about putting our trust in God more than anything else. Goodness knows, I wish faith was that easy; that I always knew how to follow Jesus.
In the name of the God who makes all things new ☩ Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen
A week ago, I attended a week-long clergy wellness retreat hosted by the Church Pension Fund. It was a rich and deep time for both spiritual renewal and forming relationships with clergy from around the country. In a few conversations, the question of All Saints and All Souls came up and I realized that if the group of 25 clergy is representative of the wider Church, we are in the very slim minority of congregations that mark All Soul’s Day. In fact, only one other priest said that their congregation marks this holy day.
In the name of God ☩ Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.
Perhaps more than any other message, the Church needs to celebrate and proclaim All Saints. Many of us have already voted in the upcoming election and if you haven’t, please plan to do so on Tuesday. In this election season, not only is our nation divided, but the Church has been ripped apart by partisanship. If we speak about “red churches and blue churches” we all know what that means. And that is a travesty – that the Church can so easily and neatly fit into partisan labels.
Come, Holy Spirit, and fill us that we might be
your action in this community. Amen.
You know how sometimes in school we have vocabulary tests? We study the definitions so that we know how to properly use the words. Having the right word for the right moment can be like a treasure. Well, this morning as we celebrate our patronal feast of St. Luke, I want to think about the word “church” and what it means. In particular, I want to think through what part of speech church is.
God of possible impossibilities, help us to open
our hands and let go so that we can receive your gracious love. Amen.
The rabbi and leadership consultant Edwin Friedman has a collection of fables that offer insight into the human condition. One is called “The Bridge.” The protagonist is a person who spent the first part of their life searching for truth and trying out different things, encountering both successes and failures. Through prayer and reflection, they finally have a sense of purpose; they feel like their life has a direction and destination.
A lot of people turn to religion for answers. We want to know, like Job, why bad things happen to good people. We want to know what the meaning of life is. We want to know how to live more peaceful lives. So we turn to faith, hoping for an answer. And while it’s true that faith is more about helping us to ask better questions than it is about giving us pre-formed answers, in today’s Gospel reading from Mark, Jesus actually does give us a very clear answer about life and faith. Jesus tells us that the Kingdom belongs to the little children.
Thank you, God, for all that you do for us which we
will never know about. Amen.
You’ve heard me quote part of an Elizabeth Barrett Browning poem before and it bears repeating. “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God; but only they who see take off their shoes, the rest sit round and pluck blackberries.” I carry the imagery and wisdom of that poem around with me because, indeed, fantastical things are happening all around us, earth is crammed with heaven, Creation is enchanted with the grandeur of God.
We thank you, gracious Lord, for receiving us into
your loving embrace and help us to welcome others in your name. Amen.
We love greatness. Whether it’s a list of the 10 greatest baseball players of all time, the 10 greatest albums, or the 10 greatest travel destinations, we’re attracted to greatness. History is full of examples of emperors who built tributes to themselves and we often compare ourselves to others based on degrees, accomplishments, titles, and lifestyles. Before we make a purchase, we check to see how many stars it has. Humanity is obsessed with greatness.
Gracious Lord, forgive the sins of the preacher,
that only your Word might be proclaimed and only your Truth be heard. Amen.
Whoever said “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” is both a fool and a liar. The fact of the matter is that bruises fade, but memories remain. How many of us still carry wounds and insecurities from a comment we overheard or something that was said in the heat of the moment? Broken bones heal, but broken confidence or trust is much harder to recover. To be clear, violence is never to be tolerated, whether physical, emotional, or verbal. But to deny the power of words is not only foolish, it is bad theology.
Thank you, gracious God, for the gift of your love which is making all things well and all things new. Amen.
We love a good motivational speech, don’t we? Part of what makes a movie powerful is a rousing speech given in a moment of crisis. Braveheart, Remember the Titans, Dead Poets Society, and Independence Day are all memorable movies, even decades later, because of their stirring speeches. Or think about how JFK’s Moonshot, MLK’s Dream, or Sojourner Truth’s “Ain’t I a Woman” are addresses that galvanized a nation around audacious goals. When our backs are against the wall, a mighty speech can give us courage, clarity, and hope.
Gracious Lord, may your grace always shine through
us ☩ in the name
of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
“Do or do not, there is no try,” so says the wise and sage Yoda from Star Wars. In a nutshell, if we had to summarize the entire letter of James, that would be it: do or do not, there is no try. Through the month of September, the epistle readings will take us through this letter. It would be well worth your time this week to read through James – it’s found towards the back of the New Testament, right after the book of Hebrews. It’s five chapters long, so it’s easy to get through in one sitting.
Gracious God, help us to always be at home in your
love. Amen.
In journalism, one of the rules is “don’t bury the lede.” In other words, to capture attention, get right to the point. Well, the point of this sermon is that Jesus is truly present in the Eucharist in a unique and holy way, and this matters deeply. The rest of this sermon will be an exploration of what it means to say that Jesus is present in the Eucharist, why we say this, and what ‘difference this makes.
Gracious God, help us to learn and grow deeper into
your love for us. Amen.
O God of all Creation, satisfy us with your love
which is making all things well. Amen.
When was the last time you can say that you were satisfied? Maybe after an excellently prepared meal? Completing a project that you’ve been working on for a while? Getting good test results back? Satisfaction is something retailers and businesses want from us – that’s why they ask us to complete satisfaction surveys. They want us to be satisfied because a satisfied customer is likely a repeat customer. And so we are promised that a particular energy drink will satisfy our thirst, or that we’ll find the softness of a shirt to be satisfying, or that we’ll be satisfied with the new gutters with leaf guards. Satisfaction, it seems, is everyone’s goal. After all, that’s why we go on vacation, purchase things, and do things for entertainment.
God of beauty and love, help us to grow further into your image in which we are made. Amen.
When you look in the mirror, what do you see? For a lot of reasons, many people have a complicated relationship with the image they see in the mirror. As we heard in our Collect, the opening prayer for the week, we ask for God to help us to “pass through things temporal, that we lose not the things eternal.” It’s a prayer that asks God to help us focus on the things that matter most and let go of the things that aren’t so important. And so when you look in the mirror, there are two ways to see your reflection.
Loving God, help us to trust in you more than we
trust in ourselves. Amen.
When it comes to most of life, if we’re honest, we have no idea what we’re doing. Almost twelve years ago, Tyler and I brought home a beautiful and wonderful daughter from the hospital, but she didn’t come with a manual, nor did her sister. As parents, we do our best, but there’s no way to know if what we’re doing is the right course of action. I was recently talking with someone who is struggling with a child in their early 20s in what we might call a “failure to launch” scenario. What’s the right response to motivate this young adult to get out of bed and off the video games – tough love or patience while they figure it out on their own? We pray, we get advice, we read books, but at the end of the day, we don’t know what we’re doing.
Help us to trust and live as if your grace is
sufficient for us, O Lord. Amen.
I’m sure many of you remember the scene on January 6th at the US Capitol building. A preacher stood in the shadow of the dome and prayed that America might become “one nation under God.” Christian hymns were sung, supposedly in a country whose Constitution forbids the establishment of a national religion, and prayers were offered which suggested that those on the other side had corrupted our nation. Only the event that I’m describing didn’t happen in 2021; I’m talking about the events of January 6, 2022, when mostly Democrats gathered to claim the moral high ground and the preacher they chose to offer assuring words of blessing on their political correctness was none other than our own Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry. Separated by one year, both January 6th gatherings at the Capitol show us the problems of Christian Nationalism.
Heal us by your grace, O God, that we might go
forth in your peace. Amen.
By now, many of you have heard enough sermons to have a sense of my theological perspective. For example, if I say: “the gracious love of God is making all things well and we most clearly and fully see this love in the Eucharist,” that statement would surprise no one. That’s pretty much the foundation of my faith. And I bet you also know what makes me the most uncomfortable theologically, the thing that I struggle with the most – healing narratives such as the ones we heard in chapter five of Mark this morning.
Help us, O Lord, to trust you in all things and
above all things. Amen.
The story of David and Goliath might just be the most well-known story in the Bible. There are plenty of Biblical narratives that people know: Noah and the Flood, the Christmas story, the Good Samaritan, but the battle between David and Goliath might be the most culturally ubiquitous. It has entered our cultural lexicon as a way of speaking about the underdog winning against the odds. When App State beat #5 ranked Michigan in 2007 or when the 1980 US Olympic team defeated the presumptive Gold-medal Soviets, these victories were described as David conquering Goliath. You don’t have to have read the Bible or ever been to church to know that David, the little guy, ends up being the giant slayer against the big and ferocious Goliath.
Preached at All Saints Episcopal Mission in Linville, North Carolina
In the name of God ☩
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
It is a known rule of comedy that if you have to explain the joke, it’s not a very good joke. Humor is something that happens when we’re expecting one thing, but are given another. But explanations take away that element of surprise and leave the joke flat. It’s why in English class, when the teacher has to explain a joke in a Shakespeare play, the class doesn’t erupt into laughter. But you watch a Jerry Seinfeld bit and we’re laughing like someone is tickling us.
Help us, O Lord, to embrace the blessed oddity of
trusting you. Amen.
One
of the most dangerous phrases is “people are saying.” It’s usually a precursor
to making a bad decision – people are saying that the IRS doesn’t really do
audits, so it’s okay to not report all of your income; people are saying all of
your friends are doing it, so you can too; people are saying that ketchup on
ice cream is pretty good. Even if people say those things, none of them leads to
anything good. And I made up that one about ketchup and ice cream, so please
don’t try it.
Appealing
to the logic of the faceless majority is a dangerous thing that tempts us into
doing things we would otherwise know to avoid. It appeals to our sense of belonging
– which isn’t a bad thing. Belonging to a community is a healthy part of what
it means to be human. But, just as our parents warned us, just because everyone
else is doing it doesn’t mean that we should be. This is the wisdom that we
encounter in both 1 Samuel and Mark this morning.
In
First Samuel, we hear about the transition from being the people of God to the
Kingdom of Israel. After the Hebrew people were liberated by God from slavery
in Egypt, they spent a generation traveling to the Promised Land of Israel.
Along the way, they were led, but not ruled, by Moses and then Joshua. When
they arrived and settled in the land, they were what we might call a theocracy.
When conflicts arose, judges discerned about best to apply God’s law. When a
military was needed to defend themselves, one was assembled. To be clear, it
wasn’t a perfect system, far from it. Just read the book of Judges and that
will become obvious. But the people of Israel did not have a king, for God was
their sovereign.
Samuel
was a prophet and a judge, but his sons were not up to the task of providing
further Godly leadership. As Israel looked to the north and the south, the east
and the west, they saw themselves surrounded by kingdoms – nations ruled by a
monarch. “People are saying that a kingdom is a great way to live,” they protested.
So Samuel did what a good leader does – he went to God in prayer and listened.
And
though it’s not what God would have chosen for us, God grants us the freedom to
make bad decisions. Bad decisions are something that we humans specialize in. So
God told Samuel, “They’re not rejecting you, but rather me. Give them the king
they are asking for, but make sure they understand what this will mean.” God knows
us better than we know ourselves. As we so often pray, to God all hearts are
open, all desires are known, and no secrets are hid. Even though God had
brought the people out of slavery, even though God had provided water and bread
in the wilderness, even though God had been with them in their battles, even
though God had given them the Torah to guide their common life, and even though
God remained faithful to the people, the people did not remain faithful to God.
God might lament the people’s fickle desires for a human ruler instead of a
heavenly one, but God is not surprised by this particular manifestation of sin.
Instead
of just saying “Fine, have it your way,” God first warns the people what this
will mean. A king will take your sons and conscript them into the army; he will
use the military not just for national defense, but personal gain; he will put
your daughters into service in his palace; he will take the best of your lands with
the law of eminent domain; he will impose unnecessary taxes on you. And you
will not have a vote or a say in the matter. They respond by that people are
saying it won’t be that bad – “No! but we are determined to have a king over
us, so that we may be like other nations, that a king may govern us and go out
before us and fight our battles.”
Israel
did not need a king for geo-political reasons, they did not need a legislator-in-chief,
they did not need a better-organized military. Not at all. They asked for a king
not because they needed one, but because they wanted one. Maybe they were
jealous of other nations, perhaps it was their inability to be content with
what they had and their desire to see if the grass was greener on the other
side, it could be that they felt insecure with a heavenly ruler instead of an
earthly one, we can’t know for sure where this desire for a king came from, but
they are desires that we struggle with as well.
Some
struggle with being happy with what they have, so they have Amazon deliver
something every day, or they have extra-marital relationships, or they
constantly criticize others to feel better about themselves. Living in our
modern world, we all struggle with living in what we can call a “disenchanted
world,” a world in which God is optional. Two weeks ago, I was in the Vatican and
there was a large stoop, a holy water receptacle, near the entrance. It contained
water that had been blessed by the Pope. So, I made sure to put some water on
my fingers and made the sign of the cross. Earlier that day, I had also passed
by the lovely Trevi Fountain in Rome, but I felt no such desire to use that
water in the shape of a cross. Many would say “Either way, it’s just water.”
Indeed, we are tempted by
our modern way of thinking to push God off to the side, to think that faith is
a private matter, to relegate religion to the realm of opinions and hobbies. So
when we make political, financial, and personal decisions, we want autonomy –
we want to be the one who decides what is right for me, instead of being under
the jurisdiction of God or the community of the Church. For Israel, a king with
a crown and a throne was visible – and would be someone the people could overthrow,
if they choose to do so. No so with God. Being ruled by God requires greater
persistence and trust, and while God can be ignored, God cannot be overthrown.
We ought not to condemn the people of Israel for making the same decisions we
make on a daily basis. We prefer instant gratification to patient endurance, we
like things we can explain and understand more than mystery, we want to be in
control more than we want to be obedient. Like Israel, we choose things earthly
over things heavenly.
Unsurprisingly,
God was right about what would happen. The monarchy would eventually lead to the
downfall and destruction of Israel. The prophet Ezekiel would later write about
the kings of Israel, comparing them to bad shepherds who slaughter the flock
instead of protecting them. Israel will amass a great army, made up of many
chariots. Chariots, you will remember, were the very vehicles that pursued them
through their escape from Egypt. It was at the Red Sea that God delivered the
people from chariots, and here they are, becoming the very thing they had escaped
from. In being ruled by a king instead of God, the people lost their identity
and their freedom. Living under the rule of anyone other than the God of life
and love isn’t just idolatry, it is to choose the way of death. Especially in
an election year, it’s worth reminding ourselves that no candidate, no party,
and no political solution will ever bring about salvation or utopia. Either we
trust that God is enough, or we are led astray by false messiahs.
A
similar choice is in front of the people of Nazareth. Here they are, face to
face with the God of Israel in Jesus. But he isn’t conforming to their expectations.
And so they dismiss him saying, “He’s out of his mind.” Others go so far as to
say that he is demon-possessed. In First Samuel, the people rejected God by
choosing a human king. Here in Mark, the people are rejecting God by putting
the Messiah into a box.
Jesus
lived with a different gravitational center than those around him. For Jesus,
God was clearly his Father. And I’m not so much speaking about biology here
because God is the Father and Mother of us all. Jesus did not have a Caesar or
a King that he was obedient to, rather he was obedient to his father who art in
heaven, to his eternal mother from whose womb of love he came. We might say
that Jesus marched to the beat of a different drum, which put him out of step with
those around him. Martin Luther King once delivered a sermon called “The Drum Major
Instinct,” in which he has us question the beat and tempo by which we live. Do
we live for ourselves or for others? Do we make up our own beat, or do we
listen for and follow God’s holy rhythm?
When
the voice of the Holy Spirit speaks to us as our conscience, do we call it a
holy nudge or indigestion? This is what Jesus is getting at when he tells us
about blaspheming against the Holy Spirit. Rejecting God as our sovereign is
the same sin as rejecting the Spirit’s guidance. And when through the Church
the Spirit tells us what behaviors are acceptable and which are not, how do we
respond? Many say “That’s paternalistic, you can’t tell me what to do.” To be
fair, the Church does have a long and sad history of manipulation and
paternalism, but it also has a long and holy history of being a moral compass,
a beloved community, a place of boundaries, a hospital for the sick, and a place
for humble repentance. Our culture is infatuated with the idea of “finding your
own path” and “you do you” to the point that we have little room left for
listening to the drumbeat of God’s love and following instead of trying to be an
influencer. I can only answer these questions for myself, and I invite you to
ponder them this week.
The
rebuttal that Jesus offers to those who say he is possessed is exorcism. Jesus asks
“How can Satan cast out Satan?” The answer is that it doesn’t work that way. We
can’t replace one addiction or idol with another. Instead, we ask Jesus to
exorcise and remove from us the things that need to come out. It’s a tough
question to ponder, but what are the things that God might ask of us that would
make us say “I can’t do that”?
What if God called us to give
some of our endowment to another church in town that is struggling to make ends
meet? What if God called you to increase your giving to St. Luke’s by 25%? What
if you felt a nudge to exchange time on Instagram or Netflix for time reading
Scripture? What if you took a day off a month to go on a prayer retreat? What
if you reached out to that person you’re estranged from? Now, if our response
to these sorts of things is “But I can’t do that,” then we might need to
consider what needs to be exorcised from us. A sense of fear around money, our
need to be correct, our unwillingness to ask for help, our workaholism?
We all have things that prevent
us from hearing and following the drumbeat of God’s holy rhythm, things that make
us say “I can’t” to the call of God, things that make us choose earthly
priorities and masters over heavenly grace. Through prayer and with community,
Jesus will exorcise those things from us when we are honest about our captivity
to them and name them as the idols that they are. And this will make us odd. We
will not have the same priorities as others around us. People might say
negative things about us, but why should we care what people are saying? We
might be called “out of our minds,” or worse.
You might know that the unofficial slogan of the city of Austin, Texas is “Keep Austin Weird.” We would do well to adopt a similar slogan – “Keep Christianity Weird.” Or as the author Flannery O’Connor put it, “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you odd.” Help us, O Lord, to embrace the blessed oddity of trusting you. Amen.
Keep us in the fellowship of your love, O God. Amen.
What’s the last dream you remember having? We had a wedding at St. Luke’s yesterday and I had a dream that I walked into the church and found that the floral decorations had essentially turned the church greenhouse – there were trees and shrubs everywhere. I couldn’t even see the altar. Among those who study dreams, the wisdom is that only the dreamer can interpret their own dream, so don’t try to psychoanalyze mine. For most of human history though, dreams have been known as a way to receive messages from God, so we would do well to pay attention to our dreams.
Keep us in the fellowship of your love, O God.
Amen.
If you were to walk around downtown and randomly ask people what Christianity is all about, what do you think they might say? If you try it, let me know what responses you get. Surveys suggest that we’d probably hear some “it’s about following Jesus,” a few “it’s about loving God and your neighbor,” as well as some “it’s about eternal life.” As Episcopalians, I suspect that we’re good with the definitions that include Jesus and love, but are less certain about the focus on eternal life because of the exclusionary aspects of those who focus on that. As we are concluding reading through the letter of First John in Eastertide, eternal life is precisely what this letter is building towards, as we heard: “I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, so that you may know that you have eternal life.”
Give us your continual blessing, O Lord, that we might
be empowered to proclaim the grace and love of your name to the whole world.
Amen.
Ask any author, director, gymnast, or preacher and they’ll all tell you the same thing – endings matter. If you don’t stick the landing, points will be deducted. I often tell my preaching students at Hood Seminary that the majority of their creative planning in crafting a sermon needs to go into the conclusion. Yes, the introduction matters, but the conclusion is what people remember and either gives the people a handle to take the sermon with them, or the sermon just evaporates into a bunch of “sound and fury signifying nothing.” As we celebrate the conclusion of Jesus’ incarnate and earthly ministry on the Ascension, we see how Luke ends the Gospel narrative.
Keep us in the fellowship of your love, O God. Amen.
Ask my kids and they’ll tell you that if you really want to push my parenting buttons, do what I’ve told you not to do, or don’t do what I did tell you to do. To be clear, my unrealistic and selfish need for obedience is something I work on both in therapy and spiritual direction, and I pray that I’m making some progress. What makes obedience such a bad thing to expect out of other people, whether they be children or adults, is that the expectations that we put on other people do not enable them to meet the expectations, rather they are burdens. Nor should we assume that our standards be normative for others. In reality, the standards we have for ourselves are rarely reasonable or healthy, so why should we impose those on others and expect their obedience? It’s no wonder that obedience has become such a negative word in our culture.
Keep us in the fellowship of your love, O God. Amen.
A keystone is the stone in the center of an arch that holds the whole thing together. The tension from all the different angles meet in that stone, which gives the arch its strength and stability. In other contexts such as organizations, ecology, or ideas, a keystone is something that is a central principle or thing on which everything else depends. Well, when it comes to our Christian faith, today’s reading from First John presents us with the keystone of our understanding of God and ourselves – God is love.
Keep us in the fellowship of your love, O God. Amen.
In the pastoral aspects of being a priest, I have the sacred privilege and duty of being with people who are struggling. And while suffering is suffering and there is no way to compare different types of struggles, dementia is certainly one of the cruelest and most devasting of struggles. When someone starts to lose their sense of who they are, it is often experienced as a death before death comes. Memories fade, personalities change, and connections are eroded. It can be a scary, disconcerting, and frustrating experience on all sides. I’m thankful for the researchers who are trying to better understand the human mind in hopes of providing a cure, and I pray for their success. Indeed, there is something tragic about forgetting who we are.
Risen Lord, keep us in the fellowship of your love.
Amen.
The Prayer Book teaches us that “All Sundays of the year are feasts of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Through the centuries, many have said that “every Sunday is a little Easter,” drawing on St. Augustine who called Sundays a “sacrament of Easter.” And while, theologically and liturgically speaking, that might true – we can also admit that the difference between last Sunday and today is obvious. There are decidedly less seersucker, fewer people, and not as much energy in the air. Yes, if every Sunday is a little Easter, the “little” stands out on the Second Sunday of Easter.
Risen Lord, give us ears to hear and eyes to see your
new creation all around us. Amen.
In the name of our Risen Lord, Jesus Christ, welcome. It warms my heart and puts a smile on my face to see each of you here. Regardless of who you are, what your story is, or what you’ve been dealing with recently, it is a joy and blessing to have you here. God has brought us together this morning as this manifestation of the beloved community. Maybe you were here for every single liturgy during Holy Week, perhaps this is your first time in a church in a long time, maybe you are watching online, it could be that you’re not exactly sure why you’re here – something, or someone, nudged you to be here. As we heard St. Peter say in the reading from Acts, “I truly understand that God shows no partiality.” Indeed, it is an honor to have each of you here to help us celebrate Easter more fully.
Help us to always hear that same old song of your
saving love, O God. Amen.
There are so many wonderful aspects of our Prayer Book tradition. Through the centuries, the Book of Common Prayer has been revised, and sometimes certain prayers don’t make it into subsequent versions. This sermon is framed by one such prayer that was composed for the first Prayer Book in 1549. And it really will function like a frame – I’m not going to spend much time talking about the frame, just as we generally focus on the painting, not the frame, in a museum. But the frame is what holds it all together. This a prayer for those being baptized:
O God, you are so often found in silence, help us to watch and wait as the faithful myrrh bearers did at the tomb of your Son, our Lord, Jesus Christ. Amen.
Psalm 62 opens with “For God alone my soul in silence waits.” One mystic has said that the purpose of spoken prayers is to take us to a place of deep silence with God. And when the prophet Elijah was waiting for a word from the LORD, we are told that “the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a sound of sheer silence.”
Gracious God, help us to look upon the Cross and see
the love that makes all things well. Amen.
This Holy Week, the sermons have all been focusing on one character each day. By focusing on the very real people of Holy Week, we find our place within the great drama of our salvation that unfolds this week. On Good Friday, we fix our attention on Jesus.
Tonight, we enter into the Triduum, the three most sacred days in the Christian calendar on which we enter anew into the story of Jesus’ Last Supper, arrest, trial, crucifixion, burial, and Resurrection. Though our watches and calendars might tell us that it is the evening of March 28, 2024 – we are inhabiting holy time. Through Scripture, Sacrament, and community, we are entering into God’s timeless presence. Our worship over these next three days plunges us into the love and drama of that first Holy Week.
O God of love, help us to find our place in the holy drama of this week, that we might encounter anew the grace and wonder of our salvation. Amen.
As we continue to consider the characters of Holy Week, tonight we consider the one we might call the antagonist of the week: Judas Iscariot. Though, to consider him the antagonist is an interpretative move and not necessarily something that is quite as clear as we might think. It really comes down to who we see as the director of Holy Week. Does Jesus end up on the cross because that is where Jesus’ prophetic mission and the sinful nature of power-hungry people intersect, or was the cross the divine destination from the beginning of creation? Put differently, is Judas really the antagonist of Holy Week, or simply a pawn in God’s plan of salvation?
O God of love, help us to find our place in the holy drama of this week, that we might encounter anew the grace and wonder of our salvation. Amen.
One
of the intriguing aspects of Holy Week is that it all happens in public. A
parade into Jerusalem, an episode in the Temple, run-ins with authorities in the
streets and festivals, culminating in a public arrest, trial, and execution. It
allows us to wonder what we might have done if we were there. Would we have noticed
Jesus and the commotion he was stirring up? Would we have been so busy with our
tasks and conversations that we wouldn’t have noticed? Would we have decided to
just mind our own business and not worry about what he and his disciples were
up to? Would we have understood the heavenly significance of what was going on
around us?
On Palm Sunday, the sermon focused on the Je
O God of love, help us to find our place in the holy drama of this week, that we might encounter anew the grace and wonder of our salvation. Amen.
What does love smell like? Perhaps the aroma of a freshly baked apple pie at Grandma’s house? Maybe coming home to the smell of a recently cleaned and lemon-fresh house? The perfume or cologne of a lover? The scent of spring flowers? One poet has said, “Smells are surer than sights or sounds to make your heartstrings crack.” And it’s true. The sense of smell, for many of us, is the most evocative. So what does love smell like?
The best storytellers have a way of creating space for everyone to enter into the story. The way this is usually accomplished is through characters that we can imagine being friends with, or running into around town, or maybe even being ourselves. When we connect with a character, we enter into the story and the story becomes more than education, where we learn something, and more than entertainment, where we enjoy the story. What happens when we connect is that we enter the story on an emotional level; the story gets into our heart and gut, and from there, a story can achieve its highest purpose – transformation.
Help us, loving God, to walk the way of the Cross
and find it to be the way of abundant life. Amen.
You all know that along with Jim Greene and Edward Norvell, I am a member of the leadership team for Racial Equity Rowan – a group that is committed to bringing conversations and workshops about racial healing to our community. We began our work in 2019 and, since then, I’ve attended many 2-day workshops as a member of the team. I’ve lost track of how many, I think it’s 12 workshops that I’ve been to. And while I’m nowhere near an expert on the topic, after a dozen workshops, things begin to sink in.
Gracious God, just as Jesus put his trust in you, help
us to look to you for help. Amen.
“In
God we trust.” You can find that phrase on license plates, government
buildings, police cars, and printed US currency. If you want to hear my
thoughts about what that phrase is doing on our money, we can get a cup of
coffee or a pint sometime to discuss it, but that’s not the point of this
sermon. Instead, I have an even more basic question for us to ponder: what does
it mean to trust God?
Help us to tell the truth about ourselves, that in
doing so, we might find ourselves to be grounded in your love, O God. Amen.
I realize that this might sound a bit strange, but I love the doctrine of Sin. That doesn’t mean that’s the only teaching of the Church that I find attractive and helpful; I’m also a big fan of Grace and salvation, but I also really appreciate the Christian understanding of Sin. A lot of people, especially in The Episcopal Church, have an aversion to the doctrine of Sin. They would say that it’s just so negative, oppressive, and condescending. But not me, I love the doctrine of Sin.
Sometimes a glimpse is all you need. A lot of us keep photos of family around to remind us of who we love and who loves us. Soldiers and police officers often have a picture of their family tucked into a pocket, or we have a picture of our spouse, children, or grandchildren as the wallpaper on our phones. And when we catch a glimpse of that photo, it becomes something like our north star, our reminder of why it is we’re off to work at a job we don’t particularly want to be at, or makes us excited for when we’ll get to see them again.
Help us, O Lord, to speak and live in ways that
draw people toward your love. Amen.
What is inside of you that God is summoning forth? That’s a question that came up recently in a conversation. Someone was asking me if I’ve ever considered writing a book. And I say, yes, I’ve considered it. But I just don’t have it in me. I’ve heard many authors say before that what allows them to write a book is that the book is inside them and they couldn’t hold it in if they tried. Sure, anyone can write a bad book. But to write something that really connects and resonates, that can’t come from within us, it has to be something that the Spirit gives to us and then, like an embryo, gestates within us until we can’t hold it in any longer and it bursts out into the world.
Help us, O God of love, to welcome Jesus into the
whole of our lives. Amen.
On what authority are you doing this? That’s a question that most of us have probably asked or been asked. We live in a society that has trained us to value autonomy above pretty much everything else. The right to self-determination is written in our psyches. We see ourselves as the consumers who have the power of choice, as directors who have the power of control, as constituents who have the power of a vote. And while autonomy is not necessarily a bad thing, it’s also an illusion because the harsh reality is that we aren’t really in control.
Let us pray… Amen.
Faith
is about hearing. That does not mean that thoughts, emotions, sight, smell,
taste, and touch aren’t involved, but faith is primarily about hearing. When it
comes to God’s self-disclosure to us, God is lovingly loquacious. God has a lot
to say, meaning we have a lot to hear. And, to be clear, I’m not restricting this
to auditory hearing. Those who are dealing with hearing loss or deafness can,
without question, be people of faith who still very much hear the voice of God.
Faith is about a word that is spoken from the beautiful and infinite love of
God directed towards us.
It’s no accident that when God has something to say, we are sent prophets with a message. When God chose to come among it, John describes it as the “Word becoming flesh.” The story of Jesus is called a “Gospel,” which translates to “Good News.” The story of Jesus is news to hear about. And as St. Paul puts it in one of his letters, “faith comes by hearing.” What this means for us is that, as people of faith who are seeking to be in tune with God, the Christian life is a life of listening.
