January 21, 2018 - Epiphany 3B

Lectionary Readings

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

            One of my many flaws is that I like things to get resolved quickly instead of dragging on. Just ask my wife about my refrain of not having things “halfway done.” No, when there is a project or task at hand, I immediately get to work on it. Perhaps this idiosyncrasy of mine is why I find Mark’s rendering of the Gospel to be the most compelling.

January 10, 2016 - First Sunday after Epiphany & Baptism of Our Lord

Lectionary Readings

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

            Have you ever wondered what Baptism is all about? I mean, why do we do it? I think that many of us would say that God loves every single person in the world, and that we are all children of God the moment we are born, if not sooner. Our two-month old daughter hasn’t yet been baptized, but I don’t doubt God’s love for her for one second. We belong to God before we are baptized, so why Baptism? Some might say that in Baptism we receive the Holy Spirit. But do we really want to say that the Holy Spirit can only come through a human action – that somehow by denying someone Baptism that we could deny them the gift of God’s Spirit? I’m not comfortable with that one. Of course, some will say that Baptism is required for personal salvation from Hell, and as pervasive as that point of view is, that conclusion doesn’t really have any solid Biblical or theological basis. So why do we Baptize people?

April 26, 2015 - Easter 4B

Lectionary Readings

In the name of the Risen Lord. Amen.

            Preaching 101- never tell people what they “ought” to do. At the leadership program I attended last week, they told us that when we’re trying to influence people that it is better to lead people to the answer rather than giving it to them, so that they will think it was their own idea. The expression is “don’t should all over other people.” Well, the authors of our readings from 1 John and the gospel according to John never got this lesson- “We ought to lay down our life for one another,” “we should believe and love,” and “I must bring them.” So much for leading us to the still waters of Psalm 23, these texts seem to be pushing us there.

January 18, 2014 - Epiphany 2B

Lectionary Readings

Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name; through Christ our Lord. Amen.

            That prayer, known as the Collect for Purity, begins our worship each Sunday. It is, perhaps, one of most powerful and intimate prayers that I know of. A version of that prayer dates back to the 11^th century, so it has quite literally been prayed for over a millennium. The form that we have today has been in every Book of Common Prayer since the first one was published in 1549. That is one of the best parts of the Episcopal tradition- that our prayers have roots and when we pray them, our voices join with the multitudes through the ages that have prayed these very words. But anytime a prayer is so familiar, it can easily become rote. Given the context of Psalm 139, this morning I’d like to consider the depths of the Collect for Purity.

August 17, 2014 - Proper 15A

Lectionary Readings

            Almighty God, as you know, today is my last Sunday serving as a priest at St. Francis. Prayer is always a fitting response in times of transition, so what better way to spend this final time in the pulpit than in prayer? Today's reading from Genesis isn't quite about a departure, but rather a reunion between Joseph and his brothers who assumed that he was dead. Now, Lord, I know some of us complain about our families, but you sure did have your work cut out for you with this one. Those brothers wanted to kill Joseph, but Reuben convinces them to instead sell him into slavery. Well, as you would have it, Joseph rose through the ranks of Pharaoh's courts and became his right-hand man. When there was a famine in the land, and Joseph had instructed Pharaoh to build up a stock of extra food, his brothers journey from Canaan. Instead of telling his brothers who he is, he hides his identity and accuses them of being spies. As we heard today, Joseph reveals himself to his brothers and the family rejoices for being brought back together. That day, the emotions ran deep.

January 26, 2014 - Epiphany 3A

Lectionary Readings

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

            What does it mean to follow Jesus? In today’s gospel reading, Jesus walks along the Sea of Galilee and calls out to Simon, Andrew, James, and John, inviting them to “follow me.” And the invitation is extended to us as well- follow Jesus. But when the rubber hits the road, how do we do this?

June 3, 2012 - Trinity B

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

            Domine ivimus. Those words are a fairly recent discovery at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. This church is built over the places where Jesus was crucified and rose again on Easter morning. Archeologists were exploring the foundations of the church via fiber optic cables and found some graffiti on a wall. Now, normally graffiti is not a welcome sight, but this one was, as it dates back to the early 4^th century. There is a drawing of a boat, and below it the Latin words domine ivimus, meaning “Lord, we went.”

            We don’t know who left this graffiti, but likely they had come from a long way to do so. The picture of the boat makes us think they sailed there, and the Latin indicates that they came not from the local area, but from Europe. And they make such a simple statement, domine ivimus, as if to say “Lord, we made it! Here we are, O Lord!” These early pilgrims were traveling in a time when Christians were fed to lions for sport, when such a long journey meant taking months away from home and work, when traveling that distance was full of dangers and challenges. But they went, and they made it.

            When I read our passage from Isaiah earlier this week, reading the question posed by God- “whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” and the corresponding response “here I am; send me,” I immediately thought of that holy graffiti. Two great proclamations of faith “Lord, here we are” and “here I am”- but I began to wonder “where is here?”

            This passage from Isaiah is a very well known one, often being read at ordinations. We read it today because today is Trinity Sunday and this is one of the Biblical passages that points to the idea of the Trinity, though it certainly doesn’t said it plainly. The song of the seraphim should also seem familiar, as it is the sanctus that we sing in the middle of the Eucharistic prayer. God has a job that needs to be done, and God needs a messenger, a doer for this task. St. Augustine once said that “without God, we cannot; without us, God will not” and so it is. God has a vision, a plan, a hope for redeeming Israel and all the world. But God will not do it alone, as God empowers the creatures to take a part in constantly re-creating the Creation.

            Today, that same question still beckons from on high- “whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Who will feed the hungry? Who will love the unlovable? Who will stand up for the poor and the oppressed? Who will work for justice and peace? Who will tear down the walls that separate us? Who will choose the good of others over the good of themselves? Who will take up their cross and follow Christ? Who will teach Sunday School? Who will visit those in the hospital? Who will go and preach the Gospel? Who will build the Kingdom of God?

            The justice and salvation for the world that God had in mind has not yet come to its fullest realization on earth as it is in heaven. The world and God needs people to go. But before we get going, before we can say “here I am,” we must discern where exactly we are. We’re not in Kansas anymore. Christianity is at a crucible moment. Christianity is no longer the assumption, as 25% of young adults choose “none” when asked for their religious affiliation. We’ve seen declines in all sorts of ways- Americans give less financially than they used to, we spend less time at church than we did in the past, we pray less, read the Bible less, and know less about those topics than our parents and grandparents did.

And what are reasons for this decline? Well, basically, they are the same as we see in Isaiah- excuses. Isaiah says that he’s unclean, and therefore unfit to be God’s messenger. Sorry God, really wish I could help out, but I just can’t. Not many of us use unclean lips as our excuse, but we still have our excuses: I don’t know enough to teach Sunday School, I’m too busy to come to forums, reading the Bible every day is just a lot of time, people will think I’m crazy if I talk about Jesus in public. But just as God addressed Isaiah’s excuses, God addressed ours as well.

Saying “here I am, send me” is one of the hardest statements to make because it means dedicated ourselves to something other than ourselves. Being sent involves taking risks, being uncomfortable, spending less time watching television and more time reading the Bible, spending less on vacations and Starbucks and more on charity. Being sent is not for the faint of heart. But as on any journey, we all know that doing it halfway doesn’t get you anywhere. If you want to go to Paris, halfway gets you to the middle of the ocean. You can only have the experience of saying “here I am” or “Lord, we made it” if you go all the way. Christianity is supposed to be a challenge, it is supposed to be counter-cultural, it is supposed to be hard. We wear crosses around our necks, and if that doesn’t tell us that saying “here I am, send me” is hard, then I don’t know what would. And so because it can be such a challenge, more and more people are finding themselves reluctant to take on the challenge. If we read the signs of the times, signs such as less involvement, less giving, less commitment, it seems like we have signs of despair.

But looking at our gospel reading and Nicodemus, we see that signs are not all they’re cracked up to be. Nicodemus is such a wonderful character, and a great stand-in for many of us. Nicodemus was part of the establishment- he was an upstanding member of the Jewish community, he was a respected leader, he was well liked, he was wealthy and educated. And he understood what following Jesus would mean. Nicodemus knew that discipleship under Jesus would be renouncing his wealth and comfort, his power and prestige. As a member of the Jewish power structure, he knew that Jesus was bound to end up in trouble with the law and knew that there was a bounty on Jesus’ head. But he was still intrigued by Jesus. Nicodemus yearned for the sort of stuff that Jesus spoke about- the love, justice, and peace of the Kingdom of God. But he wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to commit.

Perhaps Nicodemus should be considered the patron saint for the seeker and the uncertain. So Nicodemus comes to visit and question Jesus at night. He probably snuck out of his house so that no one would notice his absence, he took some alleys instead of main roads to get to Jesus, probably had his cloak pulled up around his head so that no one would recognize him. Nicodemus comes to Jesus and asks him about the signs. Perhaps he figures that if Jesus can explain the signs or even do a few more, then he could take the plunge and follow Jesus- he just needs to see a little more evidence, needs just a little more convincing.

But Jesus wants nothing to do with these signs and instead offers a riddle about being born from above. Jesus introduces a lot of dichotomies and comparisons in his response: flesh vs. spirit; born from above vs. born from below: light vs. dark; hearing vs. understanding; condemnation vs. salvation. Jesus makes it clear that to follow him, his followers must make a choice about where “here” is for them. With all of these options, a choice has to be made. Will you focus on what is above you, or what is around you? Will you hear, or will you understand? Does Jesus condemn, or does Jesus save? To choose one thing, is to choose not to do the other. As much as we want to have it both ways, we can’t. You can’t be a disciple and an individualist. You can’t hoard up treasure and follow Jesus. You can’t turn a blind eye to those in need and love Jesus. You can’t come to Jesus by hiding at night and ignore him during the daylight. Jesus invites Nicodemus to make a choice that night.

But Nicodemus doesn’t understand what’s going on, as he’s still trying to figure Jesus out, instead of simply living in Jesus. He wants to say “here I am, send me,” but wants to know first where he will be sent. Nicodemus gets tripped up. When Jesus says that you have to be “born from above” it could also be understood as being “born again.” Nicodemus makes the same mistake that millions of Evangelicals make when they put so much emphasis on being born again.  We don’t need to be born again, once was enough; but in our lifestyle, we have a choice: either we are born from above and seek ye first the Kingdom of God, or we are born of this world and seek the idols of comfort, certainty, wealth, and self.

Being born from above is the key, orientating ourselves towards God is the task of discipleship. Just as Eucharist without meaning from above is just bread and wine, and Baptism that is not from above is just a bath, life without being born from above is simply going through the motions each day. Just like the sacraments of the Church, the meaning for our lives comes from above. If we trust that there is a loving Creator, a redeeming Lord, a giving Spirit, our truest meaning is only found when we locate ourselves as being “here” in God. St. Augustine said “our hearts are restless, O Lord, until they find rest in thee.”

Nicodemus doesn’t find what he was looking for, he couldn’t see how being born again, or from above, was something he could do, so he walks home. He wanted a sign to show him the way, but if could be born from above, he himself would be the sign. Later in John, we’ll run into Nicodemus again, but for now, he’s only watches Jesus from the sidelines and isn’t ready to get into the game. What prevents Nicodemus from going all-in? I don’t know, I wasn’t there, I didn’t have a chance to interview Nicodemus while I was writing this sermon. But it’s a question we should all ask ourselves. What keeps us from being the most devote disciples of Jesus as possible? And this isn’t me speaking on high to you all either, none of us have it all figured out. When I love, I worry about being hurt. When I give money away, I worry about unexpected expenses coming up. When I wear my collar out in public, I risk being labeled and judged as something I’m not. When I counsel people in need, I worry about not being helpful. When I decide to follow Jesus and go against cultural norms, I fear the repercussions. When I speak about dedication and following Jesus, I worry that I’ll scare people away with too much talk to commitment. And Lord knows, I make my share of mistakes- whether it’s a short temper or a selfish attitude, I don’t think I’m alone in sin.

There are thousands of reasons to be like Nicodemus, to stay a seeker, to avoid the risk of going all-in with discipleship, but there is one really good reason to take the plunge, to say “Lord, send me.” John 3:16- “for God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” Let’s rescue that verse from the billboards, from those who want to use that verse to exclude instead of welcome, and more importantly, let’s not interrupt Jesus in the middle of a thought. John 3:17 is just as important- “indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

In these two verses, Jesus speaks about the rationale for being born from above and living for the Kingdom which is above: we are loved and we are saved. In a recent interview, Desmond Tutu was asked about freedom after Apartheid ended in South Africa and he said that being freed from something is actually quite easy by comparison, but the harder task is being freed for something. It was one thing to freed from legal discrimination and prejudice, but it something else entirely to be freed for service and reconciliation. It was easy for Isaiah to be cleansed from his sins, but it was hard to be cleansed for being sent. This distinction between “from” and “for” is a very helpful one in looking at these verses.

Through Jesus we see God’s love and are saved. So what? Big deal. If salvation is some sort of divine action on the cosmic level that lifts some sort of roadblock into heaven, then what difference does it make? Being loved, saved, or freed from something has very little meaning, just like living from below instead of above. If I love my wife, what difference does that make to her or to me? Not much. But what if I love her for a purpose? What if I love her for the sake of making her happy, of being her companion through the ups and downs of life, of supporting her? That is something life changing. And the same can be said of God.

If there is some deity in the sky that loves us, great. But if the Almighty loves us for the purpose of making us whole, of giving us meaning, of letting us partner with God in Creation, then that matters. And the same is true of salvation. We are all sinners, yes. And forgiveness is a great thing, don’t get me wrong, but if our salvation is about life after death, then what’s the point of all this? Why bother with all this suffering, with the challenges of life? But what if we are saved not from something, but for something? What if we are saved so that we can do accomplish something? What if we are saved from wallowing in our sins, from fear of death or failure so that we can attend to the needy or sacrifice our self interests for the greater good? What if we are saved from being unlovable so that we can go out and love with all of our being? That, my brothers and sisters, is something to be excited about. That understanding of John 3:16 is something to put on a billboard or make posters about.

To live into the purpose of our love and salvation is a daunting and holy task, but it is the task to which we are called. Our world needs more people to do get into their boats and say domine ivimus, “Lord we are here”, or “send me.” To do so is to be bold and courageous. Our hearts yearn to find their rest in God, to fully embrace our mission. We are loved for a purpose, saved for a reason: building the Kingdom of God. There is much work to be done, the “help wanted” ad has been posted, now is our time to answer “here we are Lord, send us.”

March 4, 2012 - Lent 2B

Almighty God, may you guide us to seek the truth: come whence it may, cost what it will, lead where it might. Amen.

            One of my preaching mentors once told me to avoid the “should” in sermons, because the preacher need not be in the business of telling folks what they should do. Should-sermons, he said, often sound oppressive and holier-than-thou. And he was right, the prophetic voice is best reserved for appropriate moments and is best when it isn’t the tone for an entire sermon. But, today we do need to consider the “must” of our faith. It’s similar to “should,” but is a bit more open ended. So I’ll ask it now, and I’ll ask it again in the conclusion, but “what must you do?”

            We find ourselves today at the midpoint of the gospel according the Mark. In the section just before this one, Peter confesses that Jesus is the Messiah, and after this, Jesus sets his face towards Jerusalem, the city in which he will die. In the first half of the gospel, Jesus is preaching and healing all around Israel; in the second half, Jesus sets the wheels in motion that will lead to his execution. Our passage today is often seen as the crux of the Gospel- “if any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” So before we get to applying that statement to our lives, let’s first try to get our heads around it.

            One of the first issues we run into is the difference between faith and knowing. We see this too in our Old Testament reading. This encounter between Abram and God happens when Abram is 99 years old, and God is still yet to deliver the promised child to Abram and Sarai. It has been 24 years since God first made the promise to Abram. Abram had a lot of trust and faith in God, but he didn’t have much knowledge. But as Paul points out, his faith was reckoned to him as righteousness. Sometimes, believe or not, God knows more than we do. Sometimes we know the answer to the question “what must you do?” but we don’t know how to get there, or even why that is what we must do.

            I’ve always loved the Second Song of Isaiah, the part that reads-“for my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Isn’t that how life is? We wish we knew more, but sometimes all we have is faith and trust. That’s the problem with Peter here. He, like many of us, likes to know the plan. We like certainty, we like being able to draw the lines between cause and effect. Peter does the math in his head, Jesus has been winning arguments against Pharisees, he’s been healing, he’s been demonstrating God’s love, so this adds up to Messiah, which means Jesus will be the military leader who defeats Rome and establishes the peace of God over all the world. But when Jesus tells him about his addition error, he doesn’t know how to respond. There is no way, using Peter’s math, that Jesus’ actions add up to death. So he says to Jesus, “I think you forgot to carry the 1, this doesn’t add up to the cross, but instead to a crown.” And Jesus rebukes him, saying that he is setting his mind not on divine things, but on human things. Jesus says “I know what I must do. You don’t have to understand it, you just have to trust me.”

            We are finite beings, we don’t know it all, and we never will. In understanding what must we do in life, we have to accept the fact that we’ll never know where all the roads lead, but we can trust that God will be with us on any of the journeys we find ourselves on. It is trusting in the words of Julian of Norwich- all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.

            Next, these readings say something about the self. After all, Jesus says that we must deny ourselves, which is hard to do if we don’t know ourselves first. So the question is, who are you? The first answer to this is that you are a child of God. As we see in the Genesis reading, God wants to be with us, to covenant with us. But that’s true for everyone in the world. In denying ourselves, we don’t deny that love of God, but we have to look deeper into our individuality. When you die, what will be said about you? One of the things I love about our Wednesday Healing Eucharist is that we celebrate and preach on the various saints of the church. Often, in doing a little research about these people, I find that we know nothing about them, save a few basic details. Now, that of course doesn’t tell the story of someone’s whole life, but what will people say about you 100 years from now? They likely won’t mention the traffic tickets, the C’s on your report card, or even the trophies you won in high school. They might simply call you a parent, a lover, a philanthropist, a Christian. The sooner we embrace that reality, the sooner we can deny ourselves.

            Self-denial it not self-loathing or self-hating. Self-denial is not about starving yourself, or beating yourself up. Self-denial is about letting go of yourself so that you can be found by God. It is about dying to your ego and pride, so that God can raise you up again. In a letter from prison, Bonhoeffer once wrote “who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, thou knowest, O God, I am thine.” This is a radical statement for our individualistic and narcissistic culture. We are not our own, we are God’s.

            In denying self, we deny any notion that we are self-made men or women. As much as we like to think that we’ve pulled ourselves up by our own bootstraps, we’ve only done so because others have made it possible. We are part of the problem. We all know the saying about a housed divided cannot stand. If our interests are split between our ego and the answer to “what must we do” then neither can we stand. Leo Tolstoy once said “everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing themselves.”

We have to see things differently. We are all the recipients of the labors of others, as we all reap the benefits of researchers, of doctors and nurses, of school teachers, of police officers who keep us safe, of construction crews who build roads and houses, of farmers who grow our food. No person is an island. It’s a humbling reality, but it is reality. Jesus tells those who wish to follow him to deny themselves, not because we are bad or evil and need to be denied, but because we get in the way of the Kingdom of God by making it about us instead of the Kingdom.

And the purpose of this self-denial is so that we are able to take up our cross. Someone once said that if you want to follow Jesus, you better be able to look good on wood. The cross is a metaphor for death. Sometimes that death will be literal, but it is always a death of some sort. The cross means that you won’t be in full control, it means giving up certainly luxuries. It’s a paradox, the only way to gain your life is to lose it; the only way to be truly alive, is to first die.

            And this is hard. One of my sayings is “Jesus didn’t say take up your lazy boy, he said take up your cross.” If you ever watch Joel Osteen, you’ll notice that behind him, there is no cross on the wall, but a revolving globe instead. The cross is difficult. The cross means that we will have to die in living for ourselves, in living for what is easy, what is convenient. Courage is the ability to see the worst possible result and act anyway. Taking up your cross will take courage, and lots of it. Just remember, you don’t have to do it alone, we’re here to help each other, and so is God.

            There is a proverb that says “the heaviest burden to carry is having nothing to carry.” Can you imagine a life with no answer to “what must you do?” What would life be like if there was nothing greater to live for, nothing worth dying for? What if Martin Luther King, Jesus, Oscar Romero, or Dietrich Bonhoeffer hadn’t take up their crosses? Discipleship costs, yes, sometimes even death. But aren’t there worse things than dying? Maya Angelou writes “to survive is human, to thrive is divine.” Take up our cross is about choosing that higher path of thriving, instead of simply surviving.

            So to summarize where we are: I’ve considered the difference between knowing and trusting, I highlighted the importance of knowing self, and I discussed the cross as the way to a full life. And now to bring it home. What must you do? What is worth dying for? What are you here for? What would you cease to be if you didn’t do it? What is worth giving your best and your all to? What must you do?

            Let me share with you a story, it comes from a book called Friedman’s’ Fables by Rabbi Edwin Friedman. There was a man who had given a lot of thought to what he wanted out of life. For years, he tried to answer the question “what must I do?” He tried lots of things, never quite finding his place. But at last, he finally began to see clearly his calling. So he eagerly began his trip to another land. He walked out of his home and started down the road. As he walked, he could barely contain the excitement to be moving towards his goal. Eventually he came to a bridge and our friend noticed another person walking towards him from the other side of the bridge. He saw that the stranger was carrying something, and as he got closer, recognized it to be a rope. When they were nearly side by side, the stranger said to our friend, “pardon me, can you please do me a favor?” Our friend is a charitable person, and agreed to help. The stranger handed our friend an end of the rope and said “hold on tight, two hands” and proceeded to jump over the edge of the bridge. The man’s body rocketed towards the ground and our friend was dragged to the side of the bridge as well, but he held on. Our friend braced himself against the edge and looked over to see the stranger dangling safely above the ground. He shouted “what are you trying to do?” The man replied, “just hold on.” He tried to pull the other man up, but he couldn’t budge him. He looked around for a spot to tie the rope to fixture, but none were to be found. He began to get anxious; after all, he had a mission to embark on. He called out “why are you doing this,” and the response came “just hold on, my life is in your hands, if you let go, I will be lost.” The man said “just try to climb up the rope and I’ll hold it steady. I have somewhere I need to be and I must go.” He said “no, I’m your responsibility now.” Our friend looked around for help, but no one was in sight. Growing frustrated, he pleaded with the man, just try to climb up and I’ll pull from my end to help you up. The man said “just tie the rope around your waist; that will make it easier to hold onto me. Remember, don’t drop me, my life is in your hands now.” Our friend began to weight his options; he couldn’t let this man die, could he? He wanted to try one last time, so he called down “I don’t think I can hold on much longer, please tell me what you want, just try to help me save you.” And the man shouted back “I just want your help, that’s all, I’m in your hands.” Our friend, on the verge of tears, and at the end of his rope, cried out “you can either help yourself up, or I’m walking away.” The man said “you cannot be so selfish. I am your responsibility, you can’t let me die.” And our friend let go of the rope, and began his journey.

            Remember, it’s a fable, and the question we ask ourselves after hearing this wisdom story is “what must you do?” In your life, what begs you to hang onto a rope? What keeps you from leaving the bridge and starting on your journey? What needs to be let go so you can be free? What do you need to deny in yourself so that you can let go of the ropes that hold you back? What demands the best in you? What must you do, at all costs?

            Discipleship requires that we take up our cross and let go of our ropes. Discipleship is answering the question “what must you do” and pursuing it at all costs. Jesus said “Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed.” Jesus had to let go of the ropes of self-preservation, of safety. Not many of us are called to be martyrs, but we are called to be disciples.

            There is a book called Good to Great that begins “good is the enemy of great.” In our discipleship, in our lives, we must answer the question “what must you do?” and pursue it with all of our being, giving it our best, not simply what is good enough. Best doesn’t mean perfect, but it means giving it your all. How can you be great at what you do? How can you be a great spouse, a great lover, a great friend, a great parent, a great child, a great colleague, a great neighbor? What is the best you have to offer your church, to God, your community, your nation, yourself? Leonard Bernstein once told an orchestra he was conducting “give it all you’ve got, then crescendo.” And so it is in the life of discipleship, in living for the must.

            You will have to decide how to answer “what must you do?” for yourselves. I’ve seen some of your answers in Stephen Ministry, in Helping Hands, in Heaven Help Us, in the altar guild, in the choir, in the youth group, the Vestry, and I am truly blessed to be a witness to such faithful living. This Lent, may we continue to explore the question, “what must you do?,” may we pursue the answer, and help each other along the journey.

            Before I close, I’d like to make a personal note. On Wednesday I will begin a trip that I am looking forward to with all of my being, I will be going to Israel for 3 ½ weeks. I am so very thankful to you all for this wonderful opportunity. I cannot imagine the experiences that I will have, but I trust they will be spiritual and life changing. I ask that you keep me in your prayers, for safe travel, for God’s spirit to be with me, and for a magnificent trip. I will remember you all in my prayers this Lenten season as well, and I look forward to seeing you all again on Palm Sunday.

            May God bless you this Lent. May God move in your lives as you contemplate the question “what must you do?” God grant you the faith to trust in God’s love, the wisdom to know yourself, and the courage to bear your cross. And in all things, may you be strengthened and blessed as we all pursue the musts in our lives; that we might gracefully give ourselves and the best we can offer to the glory of God’s Kingdom. Amen.

Week of December 4

So last night I had dinner with a fraternity brother before an alumni association meeting for our Chapter. He graduated a year after me from Wake, so we got to know each other fairly well. He is a commissioned (yet to be ordained) Methodist minister in a small town in eastern NC. I enjoy talking with him once a month or so and getting up with him the few times a year when our schedules bring us together. Over dinner we discussed some of the struggles, joys, and conundrums of parish ministry. Specifically, last night we discussed the difference between American Christianity (that is, Christianity in name only) and Transformational Christianity (that is, authentic and faithful discipleship).

He told me about NT Wright's writing on the four spiritualities, which I was not familiar with. I did a little research this morning and it appears that these are discussed in Simply Christian. From what I can gather, Wright says that each person hears "the echoes of a voice" which calls them to do something. The way my friend explained it is that each person, Muslim, Christian, atheist, or deist all are motivated by at least one of these voices or spiritualities. They are:

• longing for justice (equality issues, social justice, outreach)
• quest for spirituality (prayer, academic study of religion, meditation)
• hunger for relationships (outreach to others, friendship gatherings, dinner groups)
• delight in beauty (art, spending time in nature, music appreciation)

God is in each of these movements, and God's Kingdom can be built through each of these with some intentionality. Hiking is listening to the voice of delight in beauty; but we all know that hiking, in itself, isn't spiritual, nor does it really accomplish the work of the Gospel. But that isn't to say it can't be those things. It can. Our focus is what matters. I think that many of us hear these "voices" daily, but often we over look them as calls from God or as invitations to be spiritual.

As we talked, I wondered which of these spoke to me the clearest. This morning I served with others at Urban Ministry as we prepared breakfast for the homeless, and I realized that for me, the longing for justice is what I most yearn for, it is the voice that I continue to hear.

So going back to this past Sunday's readings, what is the voice calling out in the wilderness saying to you? Which of these four voices calls the loudest to you? How do you ignore or silence these voices? How do you respond to these voices? How do you help others to hear the call? Some good things to consider this Advent season.