Sunday, August 18, 2013

August 18, 2013 - Proper 15C


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

The peace of God it is no peace, but strife closed in the sod. Yet let us pray for but one thing, the marvelous peace of God.
            Sometimes the hymn writers just get it, and that is certainly true for William Alexander Percy, the author of today’s sequence hymn. Today we get a view of Jesus that is unsettling. This isn’t Jesus as the shepherd of our souls, or Jesus the friend of sinners, this is a far more aggressive and angry Jesus than we’re accustomed to. This is a challenging Jesus, perhaps a Jesus that we wish would just keep his mouth shut. This Jesus makes us uncomfortable with words such as “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!... father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother.”

Thursday, August 1, 2013

What is Charity?

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This graphic is making the rounds on Facebook today. Quite interesting. The question is asking what sort of action is called for when we speak of "helping the poor." Is it directly helping a person in poverty through an act of charity (donation, serving at a food shelter, etc.)? Or is it in working to reform and re-envision our culture to be one where the plight of the poor is addressed?

Sunday, July 28, 2013

July 28, 2013 - Proper 12C

Lectionary Readings

In the name of God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
            I’ve been looking forward to preaching this sermon for quite a while. Three years ago, I had just begun the work of ministry at St. Francis, and after spending a week with our high-schoolers on a mission trip, I preached my first sermon here. I don’t know if you all recall the sermon or not. It likely wasn’t that memorable, other than the fact that I preached it from the chancel steps without notes, something you probably haven’t seen since then.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

July 14, 2013 - Proper 10C

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

These are the hardest sermons to preach. All you have to do is utter the phrase “Good Samaritan” and even those with a passing knowledge of the Bible will know what you’re talking about. We have “Good Samaritan” laws that try to promote helping those in need. Even the series finale of the hit show Seinfeld was based on these sorts of laws. So how is a preacher to preach on such a well known text? As Jesus told it, this story was subversive and shocking, but in our culture is has become genteel. Most people hear this passage and assume that the moral of the story is “be nice to strangers,” which it is not. Some preachers will approach the text by examining the question “who is my neighbor,” urging their congregation to respond with compassion to everyone they meet. And that too, is missing the point.

This is an extremely rich parable, and it refuses to be summed up in one pithy little statement. In fact, referring to this passage as the “Good Samaritan” is misleading. We’d do better to call it “The Parable of the Man in the Ditch,” or “The Unlikely Neighbor.” But even those statements don’t capture the full grandeur and all of the subtle lessons that Jesus has put into his masterful telling of the parable. So let’s walk through this passage and see what exactly we are being told to “go and do.”

As the text begins, a lawyer arises to test Jesus and set a trap for him. Lawyer really is a bad translation, this man was a religious scholar, someone who studied the laws of Judaism. So don’t read this passage as an indictment against attorneys, this man had a religious motivation in his approaching Jesus. He came to test Jesus, to try to undermine his teachings. Maybe he wanted to see, if perhaps, the rumors might be true, if there was a chance that he might be really be a prophet, or even more, the messiah.

But his motives were not so pure, as the way the dialogue unfolds, we see that he is just waiting to pounce on Jesus if he fumbles the question. We see this most clearly in the question- “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” The question itself is a trap because it doesn’t make any sense. The easy answer is that there is nothing you can do to inherit anything. By definition, inheritances are free gifts, you cannot do anything to earn them. He has asked Jesus an impossible question.

When do we do the same? When is it that doubt causes us to test God? How many times do we pray “God, if you really want me to do this, give me a sign.” And in doing so, we’re just waiting for a chance to get out of if it. When do we ask those impossible questions? When do we make those deals with God that are setting us up for failure, you know the sort- “O God, if you’ll just do this one thing for me, then I’ll do this grand and wonderful thing for you.” But as we’ll see, our traps of insecurity and fear don’t pull God into them.

So Jesus, rather brilliantly, answers his question with a question, not falling for the trap. He asks “what is written in the law? What do you read there?” Any Jewish legal scholar knew the answer- love God and love neighbor. As the passage from Deuteronomy this morning proclaims so beautifully- “the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe.” This isn’t rocket science. The word of God isn’t something hidden from us, it isn’t something that we struggle to understand. It isn’t something that we have to go and search for. It is as near as our mouth and heart. This is one of the most important blessings with which God blesses Israel: the nearness of God and God’s word. So this religious scholar had no choice but to answer the question in this way- love God and love neighbor. And when he responds in that way,
Jesus tells him that he has answered correctly. But the man can’t leave well-enough alone.

The text says that he wants to justify himself. The word “justify” might also be translated as “vindicate” or “make oneself right.” The spring on the trap didn’t work, so he’s grasping at straws now. Parables are meant to draw us in, to invite us to participate in the story. So now is a good time to consider how we fit into the story thus far. If someone asked you- “what is written in the Bible?”, how might you respond? Have you read enough of the Bible to answer that question? Have you meditated on God’s word to have a response? How near is it to your heart and your mouth?

And when is it that we seek to justify ourselves, when we would do better to just keep quiet? When the argument is over, and our traps have failed, why do we keep grasping for straws? This parable is an invitation, both to consider how near to us God is, and to discern the motives for our actions- are they in keeping with God’s word, or are we just trying to justify ourselves?

So Jesus then begins to tell the parable. A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of robbers. This was not an unheard of happening. Thieves could easy hide and jump on travelers who were not well-protected. They stripped him, beat him, taking all of his possessions, and left him there to die. And I wonder where we still have Jericho roads in our world. What are those pathways that still exist that are full of danger? What are the institutions that still exist that beat people up?

The past several weeks have been historic ones for the Supreme Court. The case that got most of the attention was the ruling that the Defense of Marriage Act is unconstitutional. And while that is something to celebrate, let us remember that it is just one step in the step towards liberty and justice for all. But there was another case decided that I’m afraid will set up many new Jericho roads. The Court recently struck down a key provision of the Voting Rights Act, opening the door for discrimination and racism to find a new home in the voting booth. The Court said that the nation has changed in the past 50 years and such a law is no longer needed. I wonder if the security personal on that Jericho road were removed because there hadn’t been any muggings recently. As Justice Ginsburg wrote in dissent- “[This] is like throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet.”

There are many Jericho roads, where those who are forced to travel them are just waiting to be mugged and beaten. You can find these roads in North Carolina if you’re unemployed, as our legislature has decided to strip benefits. You can find these roads in the housing projects, where the road from poverty to prosperity is full of robbers just waiting to knock people down. You can find these roads in our jails, which are disproportionally full of minorities. You can find these roads in our education system in North Carolina, where we rank 46th in the nation in dollars spent per student and are continuing to cut funding to public schools. You can find these roads in Raleigh, where Medicaid expansions are being rejected in favor of tax cuts for the wealthy. You can find these roads among migrant workers and our immigration system. You can find these Jericho roads everywhere.

And along comes a priest, coming from Jerusalem and returning home to Jericho. Priests had shifts at the Temple in Jerusalem, and this priest had likely just finished his few weeks of service in the Temple. Some people try to give this priest a free-pass and the quote laws from the Torah about ritual purity, suggesting that the priest would have been making himself unclean by touching the beaten man, thereby making himself unfit for his duty to God. And that would be a great argument, if it worked.

But it doesn’t. For one, the text clearly says that the priest was heading down from Jerusalem, which is a city on a hill. If he was going down, he was finishing up his priestly duties and would have had plenty of time to go through the purification rituals before his name came up on the Temple rota again. Furthermore, those rules only applied to touching a dead body, and the priest doesn’t even walk over to see if the man was still alive. He doesn’t attempt to get help, instead, he can’t be bothered with this. So he crosses over to the other side and goes on his merry way.

Perhaps the priest thought that if anyone asked about it, he could use those purity laws as his excuse. Or perhaps he could say that he was so focused on where he was going that he didn’t even notice the man. What are our excuses? What excuses do we use to keep the dirty, poor, and needy at an arm’s length? When do we look the other way and pretend that we didn’t see injustice?

This priest’s error was in confusing holiness with Godliness. He thought that he had excuses for avoiding this inconvenience- his duty was to remain holy so that he could do his ministry. But he forgets that before anything else, he is called to Godliness, to loving God with all of his heart, soul, and mind, and to love his neighbor as himself. Let us not make the same mistake.

Next down the road comes the Levite. Levites were a group of people that assisted the priests in the Temple. And this Levite was also coming down from Jerusalem, signaling the end of his shift in the Temple. And what I’d like to point out is that he did the same thing that the priest did. Now priests led the worship and rituals in the Temple, and the Levites assisted. And what is so abhorrent about this part of the parable is that the Levite did the same thing as the priest. He knew that the priest, who lived just down the street from him in Jericho, had left the Temple a few minutes before he did. So he knew that the priest must have passed by this wretched man and not done anything. And he did the same thing- nothing.

You’re probably familiar with the psychological phenomenon known as the “bystander effect,” that says that the more people who see someone in need, the less likely anyone is to act. Momentum can be hard to break. It is difficult to go against the grain, to be the voice of dissent when injustice is happening. This incident is an extra damnation against the priest, who set the example for this Levite. And we would do well to consider what examples we are setting. What does the way we live teach our children and grandchildren? How do our actions, as people who claim to be Christians, reflect on Christ? What example do we set for those around us?

But the Levite bears some of the blame as well. And his inaction begs us to consider those moments when we just go with the crowd. The Levite didn’t have the courage to be different. He couldn’t find the strength to do what he knew was right, but would have made him vulnerable. After all, the wounded man could have been a trap. Perhaps the robbers were waiting for someone to approach the man and then attack them as well. But the riskiness of doing the right thing does not make it any less the right thing to do. Let the example of the Levite be a wake-up call to act when action is called for and to speak when a voice needs to be raised.

I really wish that we could have read this gospel passage in its original Greek this morning, because the words jump off the page in the next section. These first two encounters use the exact same sentence structure. But as Luke tells Jesus’ parable, this next section is jarringly different.

This next sentence begins with the word “Samaritan.” And I wish there was a way for me to make your gut churn when you heard that word, as it would have for Jesus’ audience. The conflict between the Jews and the Samaritans was intense, to say the least. It was grounded in a theological dispute, but became an ethnic hatred. The feeling this injured man, a Jew, would have felt when a Samaritan approached him would be the same as if in 1950s Alabama a black man approached a white woman, or if a Palestinian approached a Jew today in the Middle East, or if a Sunni came upon a Shia, or Nazi soldier approached a Jew in 1930s Germany. To say there was tension is an understatement.

And this part of the parable is often overlooked. The beaten man had to accept help from the Samaritan. Even in his half-dead state, he could have let ethic hatred drive him to tell the Samaritan to leave him alone. And it begs the question, would we accept help from anyone? Is there a group of people for which you’d rather die than admit that they saved you? Being helped by someone, especially someone you don’t like can be a challenge. Booker T. Washington was once asked how much he charged for a speaking fee, and he said “$50, unless you host me, then $150.” Putting ourselves at the mercy of others takes a lot of trust and vulnerability. Receiving hospitality, especially for those of us who like to appear as if we’ve got it all put together, can be just as hard as giving hospitality. So let this injured man be a lesson to us, that we accept the grace of God, regardless of what vehicle it uses to get to us.

Do you wonder why the Samaritan stopped to help the man? And not just stop, but he tended to the man, he poured expensive oil and wine on him. He put him on his own animal and guided him to an inn, and paid for his stay. Why did the Samaritan lavish compassion and mercy on him?

Again, the differences in the Greek text make it so clear. In the first two encounters, the text says “a certain priest/Levite was going down that road, and seeing him, passed him by on the other side.” But when the Samaritan enters the parable, the text reads “a Samaritan was journeying and seeing him, had compassion.” What I want to point out is the difference between going down that road, and journeying. The priest and the Levite were going down from Jerusalem, they had a destination in mind. They were on a mission, and they weren’t willing to be distracted. They were so focused on what they thought they should be doing and where they thought they should be going, that they couldn’t make any room in their life for compassion. But the Samaritan was not “going down,” he was “journeying.”

It’s really a question of how you go about life. Is your life a closed system, or open to new possibilities? Do you keep your head down to avoid distractions, or do you take in the sights? What happens when someone threatens to throw a wrench into your plans- do you get frustrated, or do you see it as a new opportunity for grace?

As the parable concludes, Jesus asks the question “which of these was a neighbor?” And this is a rather ironic and intentional reversal of how the parable started. The religious scholar came to Jesus and asked, “who is my neighbor?” And Jesus concludes by asking “who was the neighbor?”

And in that subtle shift, Jesus is communicating the point of this parable. The neighbor goes from being the object of the sentence, to the subject. And point of the parable isn’t to figure out who we’re supposed to be nice to, to discern who our neighbor is. That’s easy, everyone is our neighbor. The tough part of this parable is in figuring how it is that we can be a neighbor to everyone that we encounter. Jesus concludes by saying “go and do likewise,” or in other words- be a neighbor. And that is the point of this parable.

As you can see, this parable isn’t quite as simple as being about the “Good Samaritan” who teaches us to be nice to everyone. Jesus tells this parable to challenge us and reverse the way we see neighborly hospitality. We are invited to consider how it is that we try to trap God in our uncertainly. We are urged to explore the Jericho roads in our own time, that we might make them safer to travel. Our excuses are nothing that should prevent us from doing the work of Godliness. Though it can be difficult to break precedent and be that voice calling out in the wilderness, it is our calling as Christians. We might consider how we can be more open to receiving hospitality from others, and be willing to cross racial, economic, and ideological boundaries to offer help to those in need. And we are invited to enjoy the journey of life, so that we might be able to see what lies around us instead of just going through the motions. It’s a very rich parable, but if all you remember are three words from this sermon, remember these three- “go and do.”

Sunday, July 7, 2013

July 7, 2013 - Proper 9C


In the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
            If you go to the Middle East today, you’ll find that one of their core values is hospitality. Receiving the stranger and offering them food and water is not only the nice thing to do, but it is the only acceptable thing to do. Hospitality is a part of that culture, and that was just as true during Jesus’ time in the Middle East. And here in the West, we talk about hospitality as well. We often use the word “welcome” as a rough synonym for hospitality. But hospitality means more than that. In the Greek of the New Testament, the word literally means “love strangers.” What if we not only welcomed strangers, but loved them? That would get us closer to Biblical hospitality. This morning I’d like to examine three aspects of this Biblical hospitality, as seen in this passage from Luke. The three parts are offering, being vulnerable, and interdependence.
            First, we’ll begin with offering something in hospitality, as this is the most common form of hospitality that we know. Jesus suggest that there are two things that the disciples are to offer those they meet, peace and the Kingdom of God. As they enter a house, their first word is to be “peace.” “Peace” was an ancient greeting that conveyed tranquility, wholeness, harmony, and health, being based on the Hebrew word shalom. And I can’t help but wonder what our world would be like if “peace” was the first word that we offered to one another instead of “hey, how are ya?” And not just what if we said “peace” instead of “hello,” but what if we meant it? What if we were setting the tone for our interactions by offering peace? By saying “peace,” what if we were committing ourselves to trusting that we won’t be taken advantage of, to promising to offer only harmony and health to the other person? It might not change the world overnight, but I’d be willing to bet that you might start to see small changes in your relationships.
            But I’d also like to point out that peace does not mean an absence of conflict. Conflict is a good and healthy thing when handled properly. Conflict is natural, but what you do with conflict will determine whether or not it will lead to peace and healing or to war and strife. Too often we say that we can’t be at peace because we can’t agree with each other, and that’s a fallacy; and the sad truth is that it leads to negative conflicts. I don’t expect everyone to agree on everything. In fact, part of what makes the Episcopal tradition so rich is the fact that we live what we call the via media, the “middle way” between the poles of Protestant and Roman, between Conservative and Liberal. And Jesus knows that he disciples will encounter some conflict as they go out and tells them how to deal with it.
            If you’ll remember the reading from last Sunday, James and John asked Jesus if they should call down fire to consume the Samaritans. But here, that isn’t how Jesus suggests that we handle conflict. Instead, Jesus suggests not staying in an unhealthy relationship. If the person will not receive your peace or offer it back to you, you leave. It doesn’t mean that you won’t come back another time, but don’t stay in a place where peace is not possible. But as you leave, your parting words are not to be threats or insults, but rather a reminder that “the Kingdom of God has come near.”
            And this is the second offering of hospitality that Jesus offers us- the Kingdom of God. What is the Kingdom of God? Well, it’s like a mustard seed, and it’s sort of like a lost coin, and it reminds you of a father welcoming back his lost son. Jesus never defines the Kingdom of God, he simply says that has come near, or “is among you,” in other translations. And this is a point that should not be overlooked. Far too many Christians have fallen for the trap of thinking that the Kingdom is the same as the afterlife. Why would Jesus say “the afterlife has come near?” He wouldn’t; it makes no sense. And our preoccupation of who goes where when they die is nonsense as well. If you’ve paid attention to my preaching here over the last three years, you’ve probably realized that the present Kingdom of God is the core of all my theology. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever preached a sermon without at least once mentioning the Kingdom of God.
            What the disciples are to offer is the proclamation that the Kingdom of God has come near. And as Jesus presents it, this Kingdom comes with peace, with healing, with community. We pray it all the time- “thy Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.” What does that look like to you? What would it mean if the Kingdom drew closer today? How can you help to realize that prayer?
            The first move of hospitality outlined by Jesus is in the offering of peace and the pronouncement of the Kingdom of God. When we offer hospitality, how might we be sure to include those elements?
            Next, hospitality involves vulnerability. Notice that Jesus makes his disciples reliant on others from the start. He tells them to take no purse, bag, or sandals. For one, they will get these things from others; but secondly, they aren’t going to make a career or build up their net worth. They won’t be collecting souvenirs or donations that they’ll need to carry. He sends them out, telling them not to be weighed down by the burdens of possessions or money. And there is great vulnerability in this action. What if they don’t find anyone to feed them? Or give them a place to sleep? Or what if they’re a vegetarian and their host sets out a pot roast for dinner? It takes a lot of vulnerability.
            Jesus wants them to go out and truly be with the people whom they visit. And I hope that we notice that this is a reversal of how we often think hospitality works. Normally, hospitality is seen as welcoming. And we’ve really gotten this wrong in America. We think that hospitality is saying “come on in, we’ll show you how we do it around here, and we’ll even teach you how to be like us.” But as colonialism in Africa showed us, that doesn’t really work. When the first missionaries arrived in Africa, they didn’t find much success. Christianity grew very slowly when the Africans were told how to be Christian. Once the missionaries left, Christianity exploded. When they were allowed to know God in Christ through their culture, it clicked.
            So hospitality isn’t as much about “welcome, let me teach you,” as much as it is “can I stay with you and learn from you?” Martin Luther King famously said that Sunday morning is the  most segregated hour in America; and nearly 50 years later, he’s still right. And part of the reason why he is still right is that we’ve forgotten how to be vulnerable in our hospitality.
            We don’t risk being changed, or doing what is uncomfortable, and therefore we don’t really know each other. Jesus warns the disciples that they will be like lambs being sent into the midst of wolves. How often do we feel like lambs surrounded by wolves? When does our faith or hospitality endanger us or make us targets? When was the last time we risked something in being hospitable?
You can see this all around, churches are trying to welcome and attract young people by trying to be hip and cool. And all the research shows, that despite praise bands and guitars, despite letting people wear blue jeans instead of suits to church, despite preachers that look like a CEO giving a keynote address, young people haven’t been impressed with the efforts. They aren’t coming because churches aren’t doing what Jesus suggested that we do.
We’re not going to others on their terms. We aren’t learning their customs, we aren’t eating their foods, so to speak. It takes a lot of courage and trust to go out on that limb, to leave behind the known, to be utterly dependent on the other. But that is exactly the sort of hospitality that Jesus is suggesting to us.
And this vulnerability of doing things differently is seen in our reading from 1 Kings as well. Naaman, the commander of the Syrian army, has leprosy, and finds his way to the Israelite prophet Elisha, who tells him to bathe in the Jordan River seven times. Naaman’s initial reaction isn’t “good, this is easier than I thought,” instead, he resents the fact that he travelled all this way to not even get a face-to-face meeting with Elisha and then be told to bathe in a river that is dirtier than the rivers back home. There was a sociological experiment done a few years back where a group of people were given free movie tickets, while another group had to pay $10 for their tickets. They were shown the exact same movie, but people who paid for the tickets were both more likely to have actually showed up to the show, but also gave the movie considerably higher reviews than the people who got free tickets.
We expect that good things are expensive and difficult. We expect that anything worthwhile will take a lot of time and energy. And we tend to overlook the easy stuff, the things that are right in front of us. The median cost for a wedding in the US is $18,000. After a wedding, I’ve never heard anyone say “that was worth $18,000.” But instead, the couple will often say that the best moment was something simple. The same is true of my seven month old daughter; she gets more use out of the bag that the toy came in than the toy itself. We tend to take more ownership of things when we have to invest a lot in them. It does take a bit of vulnerability to trust that what we need will be given to us, and it isn’t something that we need to earn ourselves.
If you look at mega-churches, you’ll see this phenomenon playing out. Mega-churches tend to espouse a rather difficult faith. They will tell you what you can and cannot drink, what shows you can and cannot watch, what beliefs you can and cannot hold. But that simply isn’t how God works. God isn’t present as much in rules and prohibitions as much as God is present in some simple bread and wine, or in the face of the person next to you. We like clear definitions and boundaries, but in the simple answers, we don’t get as much clarity as we’d like, and that takes some vulnerability. The grace, mercy, peace, and love of God isn’t something we earn, it is a free gift. Let’s not make that any more complicated than it needs to be. Let’s be more vulnerable in our hospitality, let’s really be with each other, learning from each other, and accept the love of God that is all around us instead of trying to define how it works.
Finally, hospitality takes interdependence. And given that we just celebrated Independence Day on July 4, that word choice is intentional. Independence is seen as a virtue; being able to take care of yourself is a noble thing. But in this passage, Jesus seems to be elevating the status of being interdependent.
I’ll be honest with you, I have some real uneasiness about the relation of patriotism to discipleship. There is a tension between being a citizen of the United States, or any other nation, and a citizen of the Kingdom of God. There is friction between being a citizen of an empire, a citizen of the last true superpower, and being a disciple of the Prince of Peace. And I struggle with it. Now pride is a natural thing for us to feel. There is nothing innately wrong with feeling a deep connection to the place where you were born and live. There is nothing wrong with celebrating the triumphs of your community. But we must realize that the flag and the cross are competing symbols. They both compete for our deepest loyalty and devotions. Which lapel pin do we wear, the cross or the flag? Do we give priority to the flag in the pledge of allegiance, or to the cross in the Creed?
Jesus gathers 70 disciples and sends them out. In Genesis 10, there is a list of nations, and there are 70 nations on it. It is no coincidence that these numbers match. Nationalism and patriotism was very much alive in Jesus’ time in Israel. People expected a messiah to come and be of the Jews, for the Jews, and by the Jews. But Jesus seems to be saying that God is bigger than Israel, and I think Jesus would also remind us that God is bigger than the United States.
Let us remember that since our founding, the United States has been called a “great experiment.” The United States is not the end of the road, but, at its best, it is a step towards the Kingdom of God, where we will experience true liberty and justice for all. But like all experiments, it’s not perfect, and it will fail, but we hope and pray that our failing will lead to a better design the next go-around. I am reminded of Abraham Lincoln’s great words- “sir, my concern is not whether God is on our side. My great concern is to be on God’s side.”
And the only way to live into that prayer is to be interdependent, not independent. Being independent, disconnected from others, seeing ourselves as superior to others, does not lead to anything good, and it does not lead to the Kingdom of God. American exceptionalism is an idol that has taken us away from the giving, vulnerable, and interdependent hospitality that is so characteristic of the Kingdom of God. So let us remember, that as Jesus commissions us and sends us out, it is to be interdependent on others.
Just as Jesus sent those seventy out to proclaim the Kingdom of God, so too does God send us out to do the same. May we go, setting the tone with our first word of peace. May we vulnerable enough to learn from others, to see the new ways that God is working. May we be interdependent, growing with each other into a fuller realization of the Kingdom.

When the disciples come back to Jesus from their missions, they are excited about their mighty acts and successes, but Jesus says “Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this… but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.” Now that’s worth shooting fireworks off over. Let us remember that that our glory is not found in our hospitality or our success, but instead in the glory that God has been hospitable to us, in giving us God’s peace, in being vulnerable enough to come to us in the person of Jesus, and in being interdependent with us through the Holy Spirit. And for that, in the words of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, I say, “glory, glory, hallelujah.”

Sunday, June 16, 2013

June 16, 2013 - Proper 6C


In the name of God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
            So often the Old Testament presents us with the most illustrious and captivating stories in all of the Bible, and today’s reading from 1 Kings is no exception. It would make a great opera, as it has all the needed tragic and dramatic elements. It tells the story of the king of Israel, Ahab, and his wife, a princess from Phoenicia who follows other gods, Jezebel, and their plot against the Israelite Naboth. It is an old story, but one full of wisdom for us today. It should be rather obvious after hearing this reading that one of the major themes deals with justice.
And to put us in the right frame of mind, I’d like to begin with a quote from Archbishop Desmond Tutu- “I don’t preach a social gospel; I preach the Gospel, period. When people were hungry, Jesus didn’t say ‘Now is this political or social?’ He said ‘I feed you.’ Because the Gospel to a hungry person is bread.” I begin with this quote because, at times, this might sound like a political sermon. At times, I will say thing that sound like they’ve been taken from a Republican stump speech. At other places, you might hear me as Democratic speech writer. And other times, I just might sound plain crazy. But I want to make it clear: I am simply preaching the text as it was read this morning, pointing toward the Gospel truths.
As Americans, we’re obsessed with the law and justice, and our reading from 1 Kings is very much concerned with law and justice. Supreme Court cases get major media attention, we have several shows about law and order, and courtroom drama is now its own television genre. And in particular, the Constitution has become our focal point. We look to it to discover what is right and what is wrong. But anyone willing to give our country an honest look will soon realize that the Constitution does not lead to justice. We have billion dollar mud-slinging contests to decide who will win the White House every four years, and perhaps the most important job that any president has is appointing Supreme Court justices. And not even for one moment does anyone seriously think that any president will appoint impartial judges to the court; but instead they stack the court with like-minded people. As the prophet Habakkuk notes, “the law becomes slack and justice never prevails. The wicked surround the righteous-- therefore judgment comes forth perverted.” And he might as well be talking to modern day America. One has to wonder if what we have is actually a justice system, or rather a punishment and revenge system.
One of the themes that we’ll run into in 1 Kings is the problem of idolatry. And we have made the Constitution an idol. But compared the Word of God, the Constitution is just a piece of paper with ink smeared on it. The justice of our courts is nothing compared to the justice of God. King Ahab of Israel forgot that. He didn’t have our Constitution, but he had his own vision of how a nation should be run. He turned from the Covenant with God, making idols out of everything. And we have begun to do the same. So let this story about Ahab and Naboth be a reminder to us that we keep our focus on God’s law and not laws that we create to suit our own desires and needs.
As we enter the text, it begins with a simple business proposition- “Give me your vineyard, so that I may have it for a vegetable garden, because it is near my house; I will give you a better vineyard for it; or, if it seems good to you, I will give you its value in money.” Ahab is committing the sin of coveting. He wants what is not his. And if this doesn’t speak to our human nature of being selfish and materialistic, then I don’t know what does. Here we have the king of Israel, with more land than he could ever need, with two palaces, with armies and servants, and yet he still isn’t satisfied. He still wants more. He isn’t content with what he has.
And how often do we fall into that pattern? We all do it, so there’s no sense denying it. As St. Augustine said, “our hearts are restless, O Lord, until they rest in thee.” But we put our hearts in other places. We have other priorities that end up higher on the list than God. We have soccer tournaments that keep us from church, we have budgets that focus more on our own standard of living than the standard of living of those homeless people that live in our communities, we put our faith in political leaders who are just as corrupt as Ahab and Jezebel. We live in a culture of planned obsolescence, always wanting the next best thing. We have all committed the sin of Ahab.
Ahab shows us the dangers of desire; the evils that can come through coveting. You perhaps have seen in the news over the past few weeks the unfolding saga of the young girl in need of a lung transplant and the action of her parents to move her to the top of the transplant list. Now I’m all for a parent doing everything in their power to help their child, nothing wrong with that. But where sin enters the picture is when it devolves into coveting in the way that Ahab did. The problem comes when we focus on our own needs and desires above and against the needs and desires of others. In all of the media coverage, I have yet to hear about what happens to those who get “leap-frogged” on the transplant list; as those parents who have enough money to hire lawyers and create a media-storm seem to get whatever they want, while not considering how their actions might affect others. We often say “you have to follow your heart and be true to yourself.” And the danger in this is that we make desire our ethical standard. We must consider where our desires leads us.
Ahab didn’t consider what taking the land of Naboth might do to him. Ahab commits the sin of saying “I want,” and that is where the whole debacle begins. When we covet, we lose ourselves. Perhaps nowhere is this better illustrated than in the character of the same name in the novel Moby Dick, Captain Ahab. The captain becomes obsessed with catching the white whale, and is willing to sacrifice is ship, the lives of his crew, and his own live in chasing what he covets. It consumes his entire life, and he exclaims “to the last, I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart, I stab at thee; for hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee.” When we covet as Ahab, both the captain and the king, did, we lose our relationship with ourselves and with others.
So after this proposition is made, Naboth responds to the king, “The Lord forbid that I should give you my ancestral inheritance.” Ancient laws in Israel prohibited the selling or trading of land, as the land was seen as a gift from God to the family. Even when the law was ignored and land transactions did happen, every 50 years, when the Jubilee year came, the land would revert to the original owner. Naboth was not willing to forget who he was. Ahab was after something that he could not have, and Naboth respected God’s law, even though Naboth stood to gain a lot of money or an even better homestead.
There is an interesting point in Ahab’s speech- he says that he wants to turn Naboth’s land into a vegetable garden. It seems innocent on the surface, but there is a deeper meaning. The other time in the Bible where a vegetable garden is referenced is in Deuteronomy 11:10, where God says “For the land that you are about to enter to occupy is not like the land of Egypt, from which you have come, where you sow your seed and irrigate by foot like a vegetable garden.” Ahab intends to take the Promised Land, a land flowing with milk and honey, and turn it into a new Egypt, a place of slavery, a place of oppression, a place without God’s justice. And so Naboth refuses to allow this atrocity to happen.
Ahab returns home and sulks. He is so overrun by jealousy and covetousness that he has made himself sick to the point where he can’t even eat. Jezebel enters the story, and seeks to console her husband. She says “Do you now govern Israel? Get up, eat some food, and be cheerful; I will give you the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite.” For the first time in the story, we see the wisdom of that old phrase on display- “absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
What I find to be perhaps the most disturbing part of this whole story is that Ahab doesn’t say anything in response to Jezebel. He does not ask, “how are you going to do that?” He doesn’t say “you can talk to Naboth about it, but be mindful of God’s justice.” Instead, he just sits there, complicit in the evil that he knows is about to be done. At the end of the passage, justice comes down on Ahab, reminding us that we are responsible for the actions of those under us. If you’d like a modern example of how this works, I suggest you ask President Obama about it. When we turn a blind eye or abdicate responsibility, the entire house of cards will fall and it will come crashing down on us.
We should also consider how we are like Ahab at this point in the narrative. What are we complicit in? When do we look the other way when it benefits us? There is a great alternative form of the Confession, that, in part, prays “We repent of the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.” And it’s a great line- the evil done on our behalf. For the most part, if we have a comfortable life, it is the direct result of someone living an uncomfortable life.
I’d like to draw your attention to the growing movement in Raleigh known as Moral Mondays. It is a group of faithful people gathering to peacefully protest against the disgusting legislation being presented before our State legislature. The issue is that the North Carolina General Assembly is considering bills that will remove Medicaid and unemployment benefits from many; that would add a consumption tax that will adversely impact the poor, who will face increased prices on basic goods; and that will force college students to return to their often distant homes to vote, seeking to control election outcomes. In short, the Biblical teachings and imperatives to protect the poor, respect the stranger, care for widows and children, and love our neighbors are being ignored, much in the same way that Ahab and Jezebel ignored God’s justice in favor of their own desires and power.
Do we really think that $4 gasoline, out of season vegetables in every grocery store, and $10 jeans have no repercussions? There is a price to be paid for convenience, but we’re not the one’s paying it. Naboth is. And far too often, we are like Ahab, turning a blind eye so that we can get what we want. The saying is “out of sight, out of mind,” but nothing is out of God’s sight.
And so Jezebel begins scheming, and commits several evils in the process. This is the ultimate nightmare as far as Biblical crimes go. In this one story, Jezebel orchestrates and compounds the sins of Adam, Cain, and David. First, she creates a national crisis by proclaiming a fast. This decree would be as if the president instituted martial law as a means of preventing voters from going to the polls; it is an extreme abuse of power that would have caused panic. It was a way for Jezebel to control the situation and not give Naboth a chance. The fast would have been declared as a way of making amends to God. It was a way of saying, “there is a sinner in our midst, so we need to fast and find them, lest God’s judgment come down on us all.” It’s a rather heinous act to appeal to God’s justice as a way of perverting that same justice. And I can’t help but think of the infatuation that Fox News has had with Benghazi over the past 6 months as a modern day parallel of having an inquisition and crisis for political gain. In both cases, it is a distraction so that people don’t pay attention to the other issues that are going on. And Jezebel is setting Naboth up for doom by creating the conspiracy of someone having angered God.
She then lies and bears false witness, both in concocting the story, but also in signing decrees in Ahab’s name. Naboth’s initial response was “The Lord forbid that I should give you my ancestral inheritance.” Jezebel likely committed the same crime that every news outlet commits on a daily basis- she probably just misquoted Naboth. It is quite likely that she reports Naboth to have said “The Lord forbid that I not give you my ancestral inheritance.” And in doing so, Naboth was swearing an oath before God, and then breaking it by not giving the land to Ahab. And so the trumped up charges of “cursing God and the king” begin to stick. Words are powerful, they can be used to build up or tear down. And Jezebel’s twisting of words urges us to consider how we use them.
Jezebel’s plan is working perfectly, and Naboth ends up being stoned to death for blasphemy against God. This is perhaps one of the greatest crimes that we can ever commit: the killing of an innocent. As I mentioned before, we have an imperfect criminal justice system. We are not God. And so why we insist on utilizing the death penalty is beyond me. This story clearly shows that the death penalty can be improperly applied. Naboth was put to death, following the exact laws of the land- there were two witnesses that corroborated the crime. And as we’ve seen, DNA results have cleared those wrongly convicted, the death penalty is unfairly applied to minorities, and it doesn’t really bring about any sort of justice, but instead focuses on vengeance.
And now that the land owner has been killed for violating God’s law, the king can rightfully take the land instead of it staying with the family, who now has a cursed name. This is the last of the evils that Ahab and Jezebel do. The prophet Elijah comes to Ahab and asks “Have you killed, and also taken possession?” The end of the plot has finally been realized, Ahab has the land. It is a story about the ultimate abuse of power.
You’ll recall the story of King Midas, the king who turned everything he touched to gold, which wasn’t so bad until he touched his daughter and turned her into a statue. Power weakens those who are eager enough to exploit it. King Ahab will live to experience this truth, as Elijah tells him “In the place where dogs licked up the blood of Naboth, dogs will also lick up your blood…Because you have sold yourself to do what is evil in the sight of the Lord, I will bring disaster on you.” There is an old hymn that sings “this is my Father’s world, oh let me never forget / that though the wrong seems oft so strong / God is the ruler yet.” It is a truth that Ahab would come to learn, and we would do well to remember that lesson.
So what do we do in response to a story like this? How do we live faithfully when justice is so often perverted? We forgive. Justice unravels when we lose sight of who we are in relation to God. Once justice is broken, it is awfully hard to restore. Somehow, we must break the downward spiral of justice and injustice, the cycle of retribution, the vendettas of vindictiveness. And forgiveness is the one thing that can do this.
To some of us, forgiveness in the face of the evils of Ahab and Jezebel might seem naïve or soft.  We worry that we’re not doing anything to stop these evils from happening again. And we end up pushing forgiveness aside, because we think it gets in the way of justice. So we charge into the situation with our own vision of what justice should look like, and the pursuit of justice becomes an idol for us, and before long, we can’t remember if we’re Naboth or Ahab.
We must remember that justice belongs to God. Though the sins we commit are horizontal, going from person to person, there is also a vertical element to our sin. We sin against God just as much as we do others when we violate divine justice.
To be clear, forgiveness isn’t the last thing that Christians are to say in the face of injustice; but it is to be the first thing. We say, “you can harm me, but you can’t take away my allegiance to Christ. You can be cruel to me, but you can’t make me become like you. You can hate me, but I can forgive you.” Forgiveness is God’s justice; it is the way to make things right and restore order. Of course, repentance and restitution have to be part of the equation, but without forgiveness, the cycles will never be broken.
As the former dean of Duke Chapel, Samuel Wells, writes, “why do we forgive? Because Jesus in his cross and resurrection has released the most powerful energy in the universe and we want to be a part of it. Why do we forgive? Because Jesus is dying for us to forgive.” And he goes on to say that forgiveness is the Christian word for justice. When Christ came earth and entered the vineyard, he didn’t come as an Ahab to claim authority and bring about revenge; he came as Naboth, a man who was killed on false charges. And the way that Jesus sought justice wasn’t in condemning the wrong, but it was in saying “Father, forgive them.”
It’s a rich story about justice and forgiveness. We see the problems created by the sins of idolatry, the dangers of desire, and the evil scheming to get whatever we want, regardless of the cost to others. This ancient story gives us a good opportunity to consider justice in our own lives and nation. Where do we sit by and let justice be perverted? Are we able to recognize those moments when we are Ahab or Jezebel and need to be forgiven?
If only we could be a people who were known for forgiveness instead of being obsessed with the law and our own idea of justice. Perhaps when modern day Elijahs confront us, we will repent of our sin. Perhaps then we could be less like Jezebel and Ahab. Perhaps then the Kingdom might come on earth as it is in heaven.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

June 9, 2013 - Proper 5C

In the name of God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
            Well today is a busy day- we have two young children to welcome and initiate into the household of God through the Sacrament of Baptism, and during the announcements we’ll be recognizing Mike Taylor for his exceptional and dedicated ministry at St. Francis as our facilities manager as he departs to work for Habitat for Humanity in Wilmington.
            The lectionary this morning presents us with two very similar stories about widows who lose their only sons and God’s power to redeem those broken situations. Both women found themselves in very desperate situations. The widow of Zarephath, from 1 Kings, is living in a time of extreme drought and famine. There is little food for anyone, and so the charity that a widow would depend on has dried up as well. And in that culture, a widow was in very dire straits, as without a husband or son, she would be unable to negotiate deals, earn a living, or have many civil rights. And so when her only son dies, she is losing much more than her beloved child, which would be a painful enough loss, but she is losing her lifeline to many social structures.
            And the widow of Nain, in Luke, is likewise in a tough situation being a widow losing her only son. She too was not only mourning the loss of her only son, but had lost her male protector and provider. And though it sounds rather sexist and misogynistic to our modern ears, it is the simple fact of that culture- without a man to provide for them, these widows were thrown down several steps on the social ladder.
            And so as the text provides these two stories of funeral processions, we can ask ourselves the same questions that they asked. Where is God? Does God even care about me? Is God around? Why am I being made to suffer? Where is God’s justice? No matter how strong our faith, there are those times when it is only natural to wonder how it is that such a loving and powerful God seems to standby while so much evil and sadness happens. These widows were likely pondering similar questions in their tears.
            Often we think of Elijah and Jesus as very holy men, mouthpieces for God, or in the case of Jesus, God incarnate. But Elijah and Jesus must have decided to skip class the day that pastoral care came up, as they both would receive an “F” for their intrusions in the lives of these widows. First, Elijah comes to a widow in a land of famine and asks for food. Rather rude isn’t it? Imagine going up to the homeless person and asking them for dinner. But he does it anyway. She protests that only has a few morsels left for her and her son, and if they don’t have that, they will die of starvation. But Elijah insists, just do the best you can.
            I wonder what was going through this widow’s mind. She probably wanted to throw him out for being such a demanding guest, not to mention for being the prophet of the God who was causing the famine. But she responded instead with hospitality and trust. We are reminded of the disciple on the shores of the Sea of Galilee that asked, “how will feed all of these people with only five loaves and two fish?” And we recall that in our generosity, in our ability to loosen our grip on our possessions and fears of scarcity, that God’s abundance is made more visible. In her generosity, she opens herself to the miracle of there being food enough. So let us remember, there is always enough to be generous.
            Jesus, likewise, intrudes rather poorly into the funeral procession. Imagine the scene. A solemn procession heading towards the cemetery, people crying, and a complete stranger approaches the mother of the dead son and says “stop crying.” That’s certainly not what they teach in seminary. And this woman, instead of slapping Jesus, or asking a relative to remove this rude intruder, watches as he approaches the bier and touches the casket. Perhaps she wanted a reason to stop crying and wanted to see what this holy man might do.
            Isn’t that the way that God often enters the picture? How often does God come to ask us to take on one more task, to write one more check, to shed one more tear when we’ve already done all we thought possible. God’s intrusions into our lives are not always welcome, sometimes they seem rather crazy. Now to be sure, the widow doesn’t know what Jesus will do. She doesn’t know that her son will be brought back to life, at this point in the gospel, Jesus hasn’t done anything on that level yet. But like the widow at Zarephath, the widow at Nain was open to receiving what God was offering. I’ve shared it before, and I’ll share it again, as St. Augustine said- “without God, we cannot; without us, God will not.” We can either be open to what God might be doing in our world and lives, or we can stay closed off from these holy intrusions.
            And in being open, both of these widows find hope. Elijah asks God to send life back into the son, and Jesus tells the dead son to “rise.” And in both instances, the miracle of God’s redemption is seen. In Luke, the author is trying to portray Jesus as the new Elijah, so this link shouldn’t be overlooked. In the Greek text of both readings, the exact same phrase is found, “he gave her back to his mother.” In both instances, the hopeless widow is recast as the joyful mother.
            What is fascinating is that these stories differ from other miracle stories in the gospels. These healings are not based on the faith of the people involved. The widow at Zarephath isn’t even Jewish, she doesn’t follow the God for whom Elijah is a prophet. She certainly didn’t expect the God of Israel to do anything for her. She lived in the land of the Baals, another deity in the region. And the widow at Nain didn’t ask Jesus for a miracle as the Roman centurion did in the reading last week. She wasn’t seeking Jesus out, she wasn’t expecting a miracle from Jesus, she wasn’t even expecting a card in the mail from him. These stories demonstrate, not the faithfulness of the widows, but the faithfulness of God.
            These two women were open to God, they responded to the intrusions not with anger or hostility, but with hospitality and grace. And they became witnesses to God’s faithfulness. We often focus on our own faith. How we pray, how we give, how we share, how we read the Bible. And those are important things. But how often do we consider God’s faithfulness?
            When we find ourselves in tough situations, it’s very easy to go inward and look for solutions to our problems. We live in a culture that makes pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps a virtue. Our political commentary casts people in poverty as moochers that take government handouts, because somehow they can’t overcome the systems of oppression designed to keep the rich rich and the poor poor. When our President reminds us that we didn’t build the schools and the roads that lead to our individual success, we call him a socialist instead of acknowledging the truth that “no person is an island.” Our culture today would likely condemn both of these widows with terms such as “illegal,” “dependent on government welfare,” or “hopeless.” We take pride in our own success instead of God’s faithfulness.
            David Brooks recently wrote a great op-ed piece in the New York Times about individualism and amorality. He notes that Google has recently made available a database of words used in books published between 1500 and 2008. It’s just a list of how many times a word is used. And he notes that in the last 48 years, words such as “personalized,” “self,” “unique,” and “I can do it myself,” have risen is usage, while words such as “community,” “share,” “united,” and “common good,” have decreased. Over the same time period, words of humility have dropped by 52%, words of compassion have dropped 56%, words of virtue such as “bravery” or “fortitude” dropped by 74%, and words of gratitude and appreciation have dropped by 49%. And he concludes that these gradual shifts in language reflect tectonic shifts in culture. We write less about communal bonds, obligations, and reliance on others because they’re less central to our lives.
            What Brooks is saying is similar to what these widows are witnessing the faithfulness of God. These women receive grace, not through belief, not through their faith, not because they deserved it, or earned it, or even asked for it, but instead because they were open enough to receive God’s faithfulness.
            Consider today’s Psalm- Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning / You have turned my wailing into dancing; you have put off my sack-cloth and clothed me with joy.
            As these widows and the Psalmist show us, though we will experience pain, God’s faithfulness will also show us joy. But how you might ask?  I’ve never had any of my dead loved ones come back to life. It was rather easy for these widows to rejoice, their dead sons came back to life. But as far as miracles go, resuscitating a dead person back to life is just a cheap parlor trick. Now I’m sure many of us would like this to happen in our lives, but if we’re talking about the Creator of the universe, it’s not really all that spectacular.
            But what is worthy of our wonder and awe is God’s ability to raise those who merely live and breathe to living a true life. Simon Weil wrote “the extreme greatness of Christianity lies in the fact that it does not seek a supernatural cure for suffering, but a supernatural use of it.” What is amazing about these stories is not so much that these dead sons came back to life, but it is the transformation of their situation. Those sons both died again at some point, it wasn’t a lasting miracle. What was so powerful about these acts is the way these events changed the people that witnessed the miracles, the way it changed tears of sadness into tears of joy, the way it reminds us that God’s grace comes not because we deserve it, but because God is faithful.
            Theologian Karl Barth said “where [humans] fail, God’s faithfulness triumphs.” We need not obsess over all of our problems, we don’t need to see failing as the worst possible outcome. Because it is in our failings, in our deepest needs that God’s faithfulness will be there. Some pains, such as the loss of a child, will never go away; some scars will never fully heal, but just as those wounds remain, God’s faithfulness remains with us. Grace and healing come not through our individual accomplishments, but through God’s faithfulness.
            And isn’t this what Baptism is about? God being faithful to us, who can’t earn God’s grace. It’s why babies are the perfect sort of people to baptize, people that are completely dependent on others, who receive God’s grace instead of earning it through a confession or class. And we’re setting them on the path to live a life full of moments of God’s faithfulness. And we thank Mike Taylor for his witness to God’s faithfulness through his humility, his care, and his dedication to St. Francis.

            These widows remind us that sometimes when God enters the picture, it can be a rather rude and unwelcome intrusion. But if we can respond with hospitality and openness, we can be witnesses to God’s faithfulness, which will be the true miracle- the miracle of living a life that truly matters, the miracle of a legacy that will endure long after we are gone, the miracle of having God transform our sackcloth into joy. As the refrain of the great hymn proclaims- Great is thy faithfulness, great is thy faithfulness / Morning by morning new mercies I see / All I have need of thy hand hath provided / Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.