Christ the King 2015

Christ the King 2015

I once worked at a church where I was responsible for the kids preparing for Confirmation. We had a really good Church School program, and kids began confirmation preparation in 7^th grade, and in 8^th grade were confirmed.

While the expectations for the process did require some commitment from the kids and their parents—for the better part, the families understood that making “an adult profession of faith” in confirmation required proper formation. So, while our expectations were pretty high, families were willing to commit and take the process seriously.

But, as you can probably guess, this didn’t deter parents calling me a week or two prior to Confirmation asking me if their son or daughter could still be confirmed. After all, grandma was coming into town for the service, and it’s very important to her—and while their family hasn’t really been around much (they’ve been so busy), they have a history with the church and a lot of fond memories, they even contributed to the capital campaign… (hint-hint) Besides, (they’d say), you understand how busy the kids are now, and really, they didn’t make it to any of the classes for the past two years because they were so busy, and they really didn’t know anyone, and they said it was boring. But it’s, of course very important to their grandmother, who is also their sponsor—and of course, she’s coming into town for it…

  

In actuality, there were a handful of people who did this each year, and, believe it or not, just about all of them said the exact same thing. I don’t mean that I’ve picked out a few things from each of them, I mean they all said pretty much every bit of what I just recited to you.

What’s more, these families really weren’t involved in the church at all. Apparently their history with the church was ancient and predated most of the people who’d been around for 10 years. And even though most of them said they were donors, they never said to what degree they had given. But as far as they were concerned, Confirmation was a Rite of Passage like your first sleepover, or watching Rocky for the first time. So, given this; grandma’s imminent visit; and their families financial patronage to the church, their child was entitled to be confirmed whether they were prepared for it or not.

Now, I know you’re thinking that I’m probably being a little harsh about these people. Kids and families really are busy, and sometimes working in things like confirmation requirements can be really difficult. And, honestly, I would have been happy to work with them to find an alternative means for meeting the requirements. But the straw that finally broke it was when most of these families called again the Friday before the service to ask if I knew when the “ceremony” would be done because they had already made reservations for brunch. Some even jokingly asked if I could try to hurry the bishop along when he preached.

  

Perhaps I’m just getting cynical, but I can’t help but feel like these people were kind of missing the point. But that’s to say if they had done some of the preparation work, it’s likely that they would have at least had some idea of what Confirmation was about. However, there’s part of me that thinks even with the formation, none of it would have been all that important to them (well other than grandma).

Still, I know we should always try to learn from experiences like this—and what I learned was that for some people, faith is a matter of sentimentality, it’s all sweet memories and keepsakes that gather dust. And I also learned that making concessions about sacred things based on financial contributions made me feel cheap. I promised myself I’d never let it happen again.

But this a lot like the revelation I had one time about McDonald’s. I was talking to a friend about how awful I felt after eating McDonald’s food, but admitted that I keep doing it because the food is tasty. Rather than agree with me, however, he simply said, “it’s not that it tastes good, it’s that it tastes the same—it’s consistent—and that’s what’s appealing to you, not good taste.” Even as he said it, and explained how McDonald’s tastes the same anywhere you find one, and there’s something appealing about that…I was amazed at how it made perfect sense.

So, not only did I have a revelation about how I’d been duped into eating McDonald’s for all these years because of consistency—it got me wondering where else this could be true. Where else in life is “consistency” being substituted for “good?”

When I remembered the story about confirmation, I immediately realized the Church likewise may just have confused consistency with good. Because, as many of you know, there will regularly be those people who have no real connection to faith, let alone a church—and will darken the door when it’s time to check-off certain sacraments. I know there are even places that literally offer some sacraments in a drive-through… And I always wonder in these circumstances whether our culture is either very superstitious, or just overly sentimental. Whatever the case, neither serves to make any of us better by transforming our lives—and certainly neither superstition nor sentimentality can be convoluted as sacred. Yet, somehow in spite of ourselves, I think we realize in our heart of hearts that what we’re experiencing today in the Christian faith isn’t so much “good” as it is consistent…as in, more of the same. Which, like McDonald’s, isn’t really good for us, but is what we’ve become accustomed to…

And at the same time, there is the Gospel—and really all of Scripture for that matter—which is really quite good until you start reading it. That’s when we start having to check ourselves and really see who we are—see whether our faith is a matter of vitality or sentimentality, consistent or truly good.

Today’s readings for Christ the King Sunday are good place to start—especially if we don’t ignore the significance of what it means to call Christ our King, and based on the readings, what that kingship means for people of faith.

In the reading from Daniel and Revelation we have this vision of Christ as Pantokrator—the “Ruler of All.” He is conferred power from God, and is set to reign victorious in justice, and mercy—but is likewise the judge of all. This aspect of judgement, while not explicit, still looms behind the image, and we’re given to recognize just how terrifying this King of kings really is, even as his imminent reign is a promise of comfort to the faithful. Of course, I can’t help but hear Johnny Cash singing his song When the Man Comes Around­—which is all about this…

Finally, however, we have quite a different reading from John’s Gospel. This is the familiar scene from the Passion narrative that we read each year on Good Friday. Jesus, you’ll recall, has been arrested in the garden, and throughout the night is being dragged to various officials and authorities, meanwhile being beaten and abused the entire time. Here Jesus is brought before Pilate, who asks Jesus if he is the “King of the Jews.” Jesus retorts by asking Pilate if he asks this on his own, or because someone told him to. Pilate, then points out to Jesus that he isn’t the one bringing up charges, but Jesus’ own people. Pilate also points out the apparent power dynamic in the situation, and how Pilate is holding Jesus’ life in his hands.

Of course, Jesus makes mention of his Kingdom not being of this world—but, really I think that has very little to do with the reason this is the reading chosen for Christ the King Sunday. Instead, it would seem to me that the very one who redefines Kingship, even while he redefines Messiahship is seen most perfectly here in this story. Jesus appears to be beaten and broken on the wheels of a much more powerful machine than his little movement could ever imagine.

By all accounts he is in over his head. And yet, the irony is that by allowing himself to be subject to this cruelty, and even executed—through his resurrection, Jesus breaks any power that such tyranny could ever have over him, or over us.  Even as he is subjected to those things that we fear, Jesus rises victorious to lead the way to a fuller, and just life.

Now if you happen to be a person without power, or wealth—this is good news. If you’re a person who is all too familiar with your own mortality—this is good news. If you’re a person marginalized, persecuted, and oppressed—this is good news. In fact, this is the kind of good news which could dramatically transform lives. And the people of the Church know it’s good news, because we hear it all the time. In this, we’re very consistent.

Yet in the same way that we’re not necessarily excited about telling everyone about the newest menu item at McDonald’s, it would seem that this overwhelmingly great news of Jesus Christ as King is kept quite secret. Maybe this Gospel is more a guilty pleasure than a life altering message of hope. Or perhaps all of this business of faith for the Church is simply “business as usual,” and these stories are just too sweet to let go of…sentimental.

On Friday and Saturday we attended the Diocesan Convention, and the keynote speaker was Becca Stevens, the founder of Magdalene House, and Thistle Farms. I’ve talked about her work before—but, just to recap, Becca Stevens is an Episcopal priest who survived sexual abuse when she was a child at the hand of a member of her father’s congregation—this happened not long after her father had died very young, from being hit by a drunk driver.

As an adult, and later an Episcopal priest, Becca confronted her abuser, and began devising a way in which she could help other women out of abuse, human trafficking and addiction. So, she founded Magdalene House in Nashville Tennessee. It wasn’t long that after her program had seen success that she realized that many of these women had nowhere to go, and really no opportunities once they the program, because many of them were convicted felons. And carrying through this idea of healing, she and some of the women began making candles and skin care products using essential oils, and healing oils which they produced and sold to make a living.

From their work of developing product lines using essential oils, Thistle Farms began branching out, and partnering internationally with other groups of women in similar circumstances. This included a women’s home in Rwanda where women are growing and producing plants that produce essential oils used for healing—plants that they grow in the killing fields where their loved ones’ bodies lay during the genocide. And all of this happened in a relatively short span of years, and thousands of lives are being changed throughout the world.

The last time she was here two years ago for our clergy conference, Becca reported that they had only just gotten some of their product line into places like Whole Foods. This year, at our convention, she reported that the company has shown growth of 48% over the past 3-5 years, which is unbelievable. What’s more, this is a company that is run, owned and operated by women who have been saved from addiction, abuse and sex trafficking.

Incidentally, the name “Thistle Farms,” as Becca explains, was taken from the fact that thistles can grow and thrive anywhere. They’re hearty and strong plants, and they spring up in so many diverse places—whether it’s a roadside, the desert, or a city sidewalk—these plants can hang on in any environment. But she said it wasn’t until much later that they discovered that thistles could be used to extract a something that can be used to cleanse and repair the liver. And for women who were caught in addiction, this has as much significance as the vitality of the thistle.     

Anyway, what I found most interesting, hearing Becca Stevens this time, was that she said that she could never have started Magdalene House and Thistle Farms in the Church. It’s probably not too hard to imagine why, but between trying to convince the Church that this was a project that would change lives, and that the lives of these women really do matter, and that by helping transform the lives of these women, other lives will be transformed as well—between this and then trying to keep the favor of “donors…” I would imagine that Magdalene House and Thistle farms would still be nothing more than an idea.

Just like my story about Confirmation, I think there is something we ought to learn from this… First off, it’s sad that an organization which is built on faith principles, is even formed around a Benedictine rule of life, and is changing lives could not be started in the Church. The priest who started it told us that.

  

Secondly, it’s hard to accept that this Gospel of hope and transformation is one that continues to change lives dramatically—people are freed from bondage and oppression, and the there are even now places in this world that are being renewed—but in this case the Church would have been a hindrance rather than a help.

 But you know, this is the McDonald’s Factor (as I like to call it). It’s this idea that perhaps we have settled for consistency so completely that not only does get mistaken for the “Good,” but has even become a comfort to us. And it’s become comfort to us in spite of the fact that it isn’t good for us, yet we keep hold of it because it offers such nice sentimental memories.

And yet, this approach to faith can’t be sustained. As we see with things like Thistle Farms, the Gospel message won’t be hindered by people who don’t really care about it much anymore. Instead, with all of its fire, and destructive power, the Good News will find a way to change lives, and change the world—and if the Church isn’t willing to get on board with that, it’s not likely that Body of Christ will look anything like we’ve come to cherish. In fact, there are already some churches where faith comes to die rather than thrive…which is sad, because the point of God’s Church is not death, but resurrection. I only hope the people within the institution of the Church will be willing to turn it around.

  

Anyway, as most of you know I’m not likely ever to be mistaken as a conservative Christian. However, I do think that the Church (big “C”) is in trouble. I’m not talking about persecution, or the apparent threat of Democrats in office. What I’m talking about is how we seem to have lost something of our identity, something of our authenticity. While I understand that there are necessities, and realities to attend to—I can’t help but feel that we spend more time trying to buoy the institution of the Church, and justify its existence, yet all the while we’re failing at being the Church. But if Christ the King Sunday is a reminder of anything, it should be the promise that the promise of the Kingdom is very serious, and important business. It’s promise can change lives, inspire hope, and even change the world—and if that sounds flaky, or idealistic, I would point to the work of Magdalene House and Thistle Farms as proof. And I would also hold that example up against church families who feel entitled to confirmation, and every other family or congregation where either superstition or sentimentality shape worship and faith life rather than the Gospel—and then I believe we’ll begin to see which ones are the truly sick and dying, and which ones are living a resurrection life with Christ as King of their lives.  

In Evangelicalism, we called this “being convicted” and I have to admit that I am very much convicted. That being said, it’s my sincere hope that I will learn to live into this faith thing intentionally and authentically. I hope I can learn not to take lightly the gift we’re given in the Gospel—or take for granted that it still has power to change lives. Because God knows there is a world in desperate need for new life.

Proper 27 2015

Proper 27 2015

Our Gospel Reading today is a familiar one to us—maybe even infamous. It’s one which occurs right around “stewardship time,” and is one of those stories which probably doesn’t have too much more mileage in it for the number of times we’ve heard it.

That being said, it does have some elements which make it perfect for stewardship sermons.

Here we have Jesus and his disciples hanging out at the Temple. Jesus has been teaching them—well, warning them really—about the dangers of showy, false spirituality. He tells them not to be like the scribes and Pharisees who want special titles and attention, but are just cheese and chalk when it comes right down to it.

As if on cue, in walks a poor widow who drops a couple of small coins into the treasury. When Jesus sees this, he points it out to his disciples that this poor woman gave more than any Pharisee or scribe, because while they give out of their abundance, this woman gave all that she had.

Actually, it is a great story, and perhaps we may be a bit more cynical about it because it does turn up at stewardship time. But that’s to say that the lesson is still a powerful one, as it does remind us that the value of a gift is not found in its size, but is given value by its intention—this of course is made all the more precious when the gift is one which is sacrificial.

  

So, while it may be a bit tiresome to hear this lesson in the context of stewardship campaigns, what I would add is that it doesn’t make the lesson and less important. After all we’ve heard the moral of this story in any number of parables. We’ve heard it in fairy tales, and fables, and countless bedtime stories. And the reason the lesson (not just this text from Mark’s Gospel) are shared over and over again is because we know that we need to hear it to help ground us in what is really important—especially when talking about money and resources especially. We live in a world that tells us something completely contrary.

The point is, I suppose, that this story, this Gospel reading is one which is supposed to help grease the wheels a little bit so we can talk about giving. The only trouble is, I’m personally squeamish about talking about money—the fact is, it makes me uncomfortable.

Now, I know that I could explain to you that a church is run through donation, and like anything we need to pay electric bills, water bills. We have to pay for the upkeep of properties, we have payroll, and a number of other places where money has to go. We publish the budget every year, and publish monthly reports—and we do our very best to keep a very tight budget—and we do this because that’s what “stewardship” is. But, I doubt that’s much of a pitch for a pledge drive.

I suppose I could tell you stories about lives that have changed, or places where the ministry of this church has helped in the community over 180 years. In fact, I could tell you stories about people who have found community here, and still others whose faith was strengthened from being here.

I could also probably mention the events that we’ve been able to offer, or our Church School program, and offerings for our youth that have become important to this church. But, while all of these things are important—there’s almost this sense that when we pledge, we’re really just paying for services rendered, or a commodity that we may or may not use. So, rather than being a pitch about giving to the life and mission of God’s Church, we may instead be tempted to make our giving about paying for stuff…and this, in turn, can make us feel that we’re only responsible for the stuff or services we feel we need, and that just becomes a whole different kind of economy. Suddenly our giving to the Church isn’t about giving to God, it’s about funding an institution.

When I think of stewardship in terms of funding an institution, I can’t help but get cynical about the whole thing. What’s more, I think it brings to mind how incongruous our sense of giving has become, versus the lesson we’re supposed to be getting from the story of the widow.

The truth is, this widow was giving her two small coins to an institution. To say that the Temple was not an economy which included services and commodities would be disingenuous. Of course there was a business side to the life around the Temple—and truthfully, this widow’s meager offering would not do a whole lot to offset the budget at the Temple. But, we also know that’s not the point.

  

The point is that this woman gives from her heart sacrificially—she gives in what could be called a dangerous way, because truthfully, what she gave would have covered the cost of her food. However, instead of worrying about that—here she is dropping her money into the treasury at the Temple.

This is actually a bad example of stewardship, by the way. This woman has just dropped all of her grocery money into the Temple. The Temple won’t notice any difference—but this widow, and if she has any dependents at home, will definitely notice a difference. And while it is extravagantly generous on her part—it is still bad stewardship financially speaking.

So, I have no idea why we use this passage for stewardship sermons…

That is, unless, what we really mean when we talk about stewardship in the Church is something quite different from the number crunching, and value based accounting that we do in the world. In other words, if we think of God’s economy in the same way that we think of the global economy—then this woman’s sacrifice is nothing more than a pittance, and someone should probably set her straight about her priorities.

But the truth is, in our heart of hearts we know that’s not right. Whether we have heard this Gospel reading a million times, or even if we’ve heard just heard the moral lesson from fables, and fairy tales and every other parable from our youth—what we know is that there is value that cannot be quantified. We know that there is value that can’t be seen, counted, and really can’t much be understood, but we know the quality of it when we see it.

And while it may be hard to articulate what this quality is exactly, we know that it has the power to change us, to change people, to change lives. An institution and a careful budget doesn’t do that.

If you’ve had the opportunity to see any videos of our new Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry, preach—you’ll know that he’s an immensely talented preacher. One of the themes which he has been regularly talking about is this idea of the “Jesus Movement.” He says that the Episcopal Church is part of the Jesus Movement, and his point is that Jesus didn’t come to start a new religion; he didn’t come to start the Church (the Episcopal Church and St. John’s included)—but Jesus came to start a movement. Bp. Curry says that Jesus came to call us back to loving relationship with God, and this movement that Jesus began is simply to tell everyone that they are welcomed to be part of that loving relationship. That’s really good news, and it’s a message that doesn’t need the institution of the Church to get it out there—to change people’s lives. And because this message of hope doesn’t need the institution, and never did, we call it a movement.

So, I guess the question we’re left with is “why in the world are we financing the Church?” Well, I suppose if we think of our pledge: the giving of our time, treasure and talents only as financing an institution, then I suppose we could say it’s pointless. It’s like investing in zeppelins, or carriages. In fact, if all that the church is about is the rendering of services, or offering programs and commodities—well, I think our money could be better spent elsewhere. Because this would also be bad stewardship, financially speaking.

  

However, if we understand that the Church is about creating a common space for God’s people to come together—to share in our gifts, and to strategize how to better share the Good News of God’s love, to be better prepared to be part of the Jesus Movement, then I think we could understand our giving to be more than a matter of fundraising. Instead, I think we could even say that the gift of our time, talent and treasure becomes far more than filling the gaps, and paying the bills. What these things become are real offerings to God. They become valuable in whatever mysterious way that the widow’s coins are valuable. They’re priceless—invaluable and precious to God because they become a sacrifice, and gift to God.

So, is this a stewardship sermon? Yes. Technically. Please support the work and ministry of this church through financial giving, as well as giving your time and your talents.

But this is also kind of an anti-stewardship sermon in a way—because I would say that if our only understanding of financial support, or offering our time and talent is about keeping the institutional church alive—well, I’d say stop. Because the institutional church has been on life-support for a long time, and that’s not the same as being alive.

However, if you’re interested in investing in changing lives, or taking part in transforming the world… If you’re interested in supporting Kingdom work rather than church work; I would ask you to prayerfully consider what you will give in the coming year. Of course, I mean more than just money—I mean consider how we each will invest of ourselves to add to the mission that God has called this Church to in the world. And I hope that each of us will find a way to give extravagantly (just like the widow) from our time, talent and treasure to support our work as the Jesus Movement. 

Proper 24 2015

Proper 24 2015

It’s the kind of question that all of us should be wary of: “If I ask you something will you promise (insert whatever ridiculous thing is being asked)?”

The point is, we know we should be wary because whatever we’re being asked, it is obviously something that we would never agree to do. And, what’s worse, the person asking us knows this about us, hence the attempt at clever entrapment from the very beginning.

But what we may find amusing is that, regardless of how old this tactic may be, people never seem to give up trying it. In fact, I would imagine that this was even a tired old con back in the First Century. I would even bet that it was so tired and sad that Jesus didn’t even have to rely on his Messiah powers to know what James and John were up to well before they even asked. However, in his patience, Jesus allows these “Sons of Thunder” to make fools of themselves, and in his grace, Jesus even uses it as lesson for all of us.

So, again, we have James and John who asked Jesus to promise them whatever they ask—whether it be a pony, a dog, or even Greenland. And Jesus, who could smell this from a mile away, probably smirked and asked them what it was they were asking. Without any real ceremony, then, the sons of Zebedee ask to have the seats of highest honor (one Jesus’ left and right hand) in the Kingdom.

  

Now before we completely become scandalized by this (which is what happened with Peter and the other disciples), it might do to remember that what John and James were asking really wasn’t completely out of line. After all, there are plenty of instances in which people who had been called to a particular mission by God were given lavish and abundant gifts. So, given that these two brothers had left everything to follow Jesus (the Messiah of God), reason held that they should ask, and not feel that what they asked was too much.

However, what Jesus says to them is completely in line with what he’s been teaching throughout his ministry—that his authority, power, and identity are all vested in God. So what they’re asking him to give, he doesn’t have the authority to give…

What’s more, Jesus then explains that the Kingdom of God is rooted in a power and authority which is far beyond the understanding of the power systems of the world. He explains that the Gentiles, even when they have a scrap of power, will lord it over one another (apparently some things never change). But the Kingdom of God, Jesus explains, is one where the powerless is exalted, and the servant is one who is given honor. Everything is turned on its head.

Last week I was away at the annual Clergy Conference for the diocese, and our speaker was Mark McIntosh who wrote one of the volumes in the Church’s Teaching Series—and is a professor of theology (I believe) at Loyola, and is well respected among Jesuits, even though he is Episcopalian (no small feat).

Anyway, one of the things that he brought up was this idea of the Greek Worldview—and this is something that would have formed the understanding and perspectives of the Romanized (or Hellenized) Near Mid-East (effectively these Gentiles that Jesus was talking about).

Mark explained that even within Greek religion, the gods of Olympus were really sort of just exaggerated egos and personalities that reflected humanity. And while these gods wielded supernatural powers, and were apparently immortal, they were regularly caught up in petty quarrels among themselves—or, they were regularly made jealous by the very mortals they feigned to rule over.

Mark’s point was, even in the realm of the gods, the game of power was one which was always about getting ahead, and taking the advantage regardless of the cost. Of course, as we well know this perspective is not limited to ancient Greek culture, and certainly continues even in our day without the gods of Olympus.

Yet into this system of power mongering enters Jesus. Not only does Jesus defy the structures of oppression, but he does it by teaching the powerless, confounding the powerful, and calling all of them together with the promise of a Kingdom which will belong to every one of them.

Certainly Jesus offers displays miraculous signs to get his point across—but even these things he attributes to God working through him.

  

And in spite of the prestige and strength that people projected onto Jesus: a Warrior Messiah, a Military King, even a Jewish revolutionary like the Maccabees who would stand and force Rome out…all of these Jesus shrugs off. Because his is a Kingdom of peace, justice and equity—and as we know, this sort of understanding of power is a threat to the illusions of power we hold to in the world. Inevitably, this is what got Jesus killed.

Death, should be the final word. For the powerful in this world, for the wealthy, for the famous—even for the powerless, the poor and the infamous: Death seems both the final word, and the great equalizer. Nothing we can do ourselves can change this fate.

But in spite of how absolute our sureness of both power and Death, Jesus breaks both of these by his resurrection. And by so doing this, Jesus unmasks the illusion of power that humanity seems to revere, and affirms this Kingdom which is already and not yet, where Death no longer has final say…

The point of all of this (which seems fitting for all of the campaigning that’s going on)—the point is that as people of faith, we can’t afford to be swayed, or even duped by the flash and promise of political power, or even the wild goose of success. Because our identity is vouchsafed in the promise that we are marked as Christ’s own forever. What this means practically is that one day when no amount of money, possession, or power can promise another moment of life—it will inevitably be this promise, this identity as the redeemed of Christ Jesus which will matter most. But we stand to miss so much of what is truly vital and truly important if we wait until then to realize it.    

Proper 22 2015

The Nineteenth Sunday After Pentecost EDIT

Today would be a great day to have planned for a guest preacher. Given the Gospel reading, and the other two readings (which connect very well), I would rather we all just nod pleasantly and go have a cup of coffee instead.

And while the last portion of the reading about Jesus blessing the children would give me an out, I think that it’s unfair to ignore elephants in the room.

That said, I admit that I really don’t like this passage, and it’s my inclination to either spend my time apologizing for it—or, doing some interesting theological gymnastics around it. But this only makes things more awkward, because in the end we only isolate this reading even more, and church—the place where we should be able to deal with difficult and painful things—becomes one more place where tough things are avoided. So often we never have a conversation about divorce, and it makes it that much more difficult for us to respond in love to those who are hurting when they experience it.

Now, we all know that this is one of those passages which has been used to beat people up. It’s been used to force people to remain in unhealthy situations, and while it hasn’t justified abuse, it has disallowed abused people from leaving abusive relationships. With these things in mind, all of us understand that divorce happens. In fact, there are times when divorce is the best response. Even the Roman Catholic church understands this, they just have creative names for it and ways of reframing it to avoid trouble.

The troubling thing , however, is that even when it’s the best response, divorce is still not good. What I mean by this is that when people divorce, relationships can be damaged and broken. I’m not only talking about the marriage relationship, but also the other relationships connected to the marriage relationship (which might have actually been healthy relationships) all of them still suffer. These relationships suffer because, even if the marriage relationship was bad, there is still suffering and emotional fallout to deal with afterward.

We all know that divorce is never the ideal, which is one more reason why it’s so painful. No one ever seeks to be married with the end being divorce—not unless they have some other motivation other than being in relationship with someone. But for any number of reasons, marriages end—or need to be ended. Whatever the reason then, there is inevitably a fracturing that occurs even beyond the marriage relationship. And perhaps more than in other times in one’s life, our human frailty and fallenness become very real.

However, fallenness and frailty are the condition of all of us. This is all the more reason that we need to know that we’re promised that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of Christ. We’re called new creations through the blood of Christ, and by baptism and forgiveness of sins—whatever marked us or bound us, or cut us off from relationship with God and one another has been wiped away. As he has said, “Behold, I make all things new.” This is, of course, coming from a God who went through divorce proceedings any number of times with the beloved people Israel, whom God took as a wife.

 If we believe that who we were prior to being forgiven is not who we are afterward, then we have to trust that being divorced does not leave an indelible mark. And being in a different relationship after divorce is not moral failure, rather it may be truly finding a relationship which reflects Christ’s love for the Church—and sometimes something must die before something new can grow.

In the end, I don’t know what to do with this reading. I know when it comes up in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus doesn’t come across quite so heavy handed. I know, N.T. Wright points out that this conversation in Mark is happening in exactly the same region that was a favorite preaching spot of John the Baptist. We also know that because John spoke out against King Herod and his marriage to his brother’s wife that John ended up in prison, and later beheaded. Perhaps Jesus is being delicate about the subject without compromising. In any case, he blames the provision for divorce on hard-heartedness, but is still clear to say it’s never been the ideal.

Of course, it’s the conversation with his disciples afterward  that is probably most vexing, and why I find it to be such an abysmal reading. I won’t say that I know better than Jesus, certainly—but I will admit that I have a hard time accepting this teaching. Which really doesn’t mean a whole lot since he’s Jesus and I’m not, thankfully.

 But as we know God’s response to humanity breaking relationship with him, and being truly unfaithful, was to send Jesus to call us into a new, loving relationship. In other words, almost in contradiction to this Gospel reading, by virtue of Jesus giving himself to the world; we know that he has no trouble whatsoever marrying a divorced people.

 Because of his sacrifice to make that relationship real, we have to believe that we enter that relationship and every relationship afterward as wholly new people. And while we will always continue to fracture that relationship from time to time, we can trust that we always enter this relationship new. Because beyond our brokenness, and even more than our shortcomings it is the fruit of a faithful heart that is most pleasing to God. And that is what really matters most.  

Proper 20 2015

Proper 20 2015

A couple of years ago, the Diocese of Chicago engaged a group called “Fierce Inc.” to train diocesan staff in “Fierce Conversations.”

Fierce Inc. worked with corporations…

The idea behind Fierce Conversations

          “Our lives succeed or fail gradually, then suddenly, one conversation at a time.”

                   This means:

          “While no single conversation is guaranteed to change the trajectory of a career, a business, a marriage, or a life, any single conversation can.”

                   In other words, there are many times throughout our lives where either we’re not           having the honest conversations we need to have—and it may be that at some point we           have the conversation that brings it all crashing down, or the one that turns everything           around for us.

Because, as they also say, “The conversation is the relationship.”

                   So, however we are relating in our conversations—whether honestly, or safely           (“not rocking the boat”)—that is the relationship…

Anyway, reasons for the diocese connecting with Fierce (not hard to guess)

                   The Diocese of Chicago, along with congregations in transition

                             Bold actions/Renewed vision—require buy-in and collaboration

                             Church people believe that we are always supposed to “be nice”

                                      Pretend we don’t fight/have conflict/have problems

                                                Playing at it for hundreds of years still hasn’t made it true.

                   So, the Fierce conversations model challenges us to: “Come out from behind [ourselves] into the conversation and make it real.”

          This is the clever way to say: put away the persona when we’re about to have a difficult           conversation (nice version of self/the version too quick to smooth things over); be honest,        and allow the conversation to do something. Actually work toward a resolution.

One models of conversation is the “Mineral Rights”

 (lists self-reflection questions/questions to pose the other person, as well)

          Asks you to interrogate reality

                   Check that we understand that our own understanding/perspectives are only a part                              of how big and complex reality really is…

                   Figure out where our DNA is on the conflict. What have we contributed, or added                              to the situation that has made it difficult?

          Both of these are really helpful reflections in general—in conflict situations, necessary.

Not “new” ideas…

          In the Letter of James…         

                   Reminds us that our work should reflect gentleness born of wisdom…

                   But, he is also quick to point out that any such work  can still bring about envy and             ambition in our hearts…but this, he warns, brings about disorder.

                   Whereas, this wisdom (and understanding) he speaks of is peaceable, gentle,                        willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or                                  hypocrisy.

But, as we all know from our own experiences in life, and life in Church—it takes work to keep these things in check.

          Regularly self-reflect as individuals/community

James offers us something like the “Mineral Rights” questions…

          These conflicts among you:

                   Come from the cravings at war within you

                             (he’s not saying we’re bad—just have agendas)

                   Want something, and force your own way and will

                             (often times these are the conversations with the people who aren’t the                                     people we need to talk to…triangulation)

                   If you don’t get your way…you engage in disputes (again, triangulation)

                   You do not have because you do not ask

                             (I think this fits because when people are not talking to the people they need                                       to, most times the things that they might want or need will never be made                                        clear, because the triangulation is such that even requests and needs are not                           communicated…In the church, this is where the clergy get in trouble                                               because we’re expected to read minds…)

                   If you ask, you ask wrongly…

                             (here, I think, that once things are on a roll—resentment can lead us to work                              our agendas even harder. And, by this point, because we haven’t taken time                                       to reflect on what’s going on in ourselves, or might be the perspectives of                                   others involved—we become entrenched, and feel that we have little choice                                      but to have our way, at whatever cost…which is a dangerous place.)

          In other words, when we make the life of the Church about ourselves and our needs           rather than the needs of the Church, and the work of the Kingdom—we have all but lost           sight of our purpose.

                   This is why, I think James ends this passage by saying: “Submit yourselves to God. Resist the devil” (or any of the unhealthy nonsense that poisons community)… “Draw near to God, and God will draw near to you.”

          Isn’t that what we’ve come here for?

I know I talk about community/responsibility/wholeness/health…

          It’s imperative that we keep in mind that our actions/inactions/behaviors can poison and           destroy a community of faith…

And another reason I talk so much about it, is because the Bible talks a lot about it…

          These are not “new” or “novel” challenges

          And things like “Fierce Conversations” will continue to offer new approaches to these           age-old matters…but that’s not to say that they can’t help.

          Community is everything: not Christians alone…

What is truly “fierce” is that we are called to heirs of a Kingdom where the only the most humble are given the greatest honor; and where the purpose of each one of us, is to always seek to care for others in Christ’s name.

          Puts our culture on its head

          Undermines our illusions of power, prestige, importance

Because at the center of all of this is

          A King who humbles himself to be broken on the wood of a cross

          And a God who would offer his Son for people who would never really get it…

So, no room for personal agendas in Kingdom work

          Only place for checking our own hearts

          And loving God, and loving the people of God            

Proper 17 2015

Proper 17 2015

If you remember from last week’s readings, I talked a bit about how the people who followed Jesus were almost scandalized when he began talking to them about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. And, while this sort of thing might sound pretty icky to us—for these people who were hearing it, what Jesus was inferring was not so strange. After all, he had already made connections between the bread that God had given to Israel—the manna that was holy food for God’s People. Not only was this God’s providence that Israel was receiving, but this was understood as something sacred, and something that was reserved for angels. But, here, God is giving it for these people God had delivered and called.

For these at-large disciples, this is a well known story. They understand where Jesus is going with this bread imagery. They’re picking up what he’s putting down about this Chosen People being cared for in the wilderness. They know what he means when he talks about them eating the food of angels, and they understand what he’s getting at when he says that their ancestors ate it, and yet they still died.

What’s more, as Jesus works this image of bread a bit more, he also begins to work in this allusion to sacrifice. Even though he’s still using this language of bread, what he’s obviously referring to is the animal sacrifice that happens on the altar in the Temple. They understand that the animal sacrifices that are offered in the Temple then becomes food for the priests of the Temple, and the poor alike…this is why they don’t completely flinch when Jesus starts talking about eating flesh and drinking blood.

Instead, the group is scandalized when they realize that Jesus is saying that he himself is a sacrifice that will be given on behalf of the people—just like a lamb or an ox might be given. What this means for his followers (who are to be called priests and royalty in their own right) is that they will eat his flesh and drink his blood in a way that is appropriate to the animal sacrifices offered in the Temple…

So, again, even though our sensibilities are a little chafed by Jesus talking about eating his flesh and drinking his blood—these people who have gathered around him in this instance are very familiar with what he’s talking about. What offends them, however, is that Jesus would ever think to talk about himself –first in terms of being a sacrifice; but, also a sacrifice that can grant eternal life… This is why Jesus asks if this offends them—because, let’s face it, they’re absolutely right. Believing that this guy is able to promise eternal life is a lot to ask. And, considering that this belief requires obedience to a way that leads to the Cross…well, it just may be wise for them to really consider whether or not they can commit. In this way, faith is very hard.

However, a couple millennia of separation, and a few cultures removed…I think it’s difficult to really get in touch with how difficult faith in Jesus really is… After all, this culture that we’ve been formed in is one that has inherited a Western Christian worldview. What’s more, we live in a country that holds up religious tolerance, and claims to accept diversity. So, really, whether we choose to accept the faith as Jesus presents it, or we do not…it really doesn’t make a whole lot of difference.

And yet, for the people who were hearing Jesus talk this way in the First Century—it meant everything. For them to choose to follow Jesus in a real way meant possibly losing their religious affiliation; which in turn meant potentially losing one’s family, and social standing. To follow Jesus openly, even meant possible execution… So, this decision was one which couldn’t be made lightly.

For us today, while the existential stakes are still pretty high, the reality is that we’re not as hard pressed to really consider the weight of our decision. Sure, there are a number of fringe Evangelical groups who will tell you that our government has it out for us, and that Christian values (of a particular perspective) are under attack. But, the truth is, we’re not being dragged out into the streets to be beaten and shot. Which, by the way, is a reality for some of our sisters and brothers in the faith throughout the world…and, we’re of course connected to them by our faith.

But, this is to say that while the danger may be more clear for our sisters and brothers throughout the world than it is here in America; it’s my feeling that the stakes are just as high for us. I mean, for the people in the First Century who were trying to figure Jesus out, and for the people today who are persecuted for their faith in the world—the reality and weight of their choice is very evident. What they choose in choosing to follow Jesus is no less important than it is for us. And yet, their reminded constantly of the cost of their choice in the lives of their friends and families who are persecuted for the faith that all of us share.

For us, however, the clarity of this decision is not quite so clear. And rather than facing the danger of whether or not we’ll be martyred for our faith—instead, we are challenged to realize the less substantial import of our faith. Because for us, the measure of our commitment to our faith is not about holding up against persecution—ours is more subtle. The measure of our faith is the authenticity of our heart…which, ironically, is pretty impossible to quantify or measure, actually.

In our Gospel reading today—Jesus challenges the religious elite on the basis of the non-quantifiable stuff, the internal heart stuff. This is difficult.

After they’ve maligned Jesus for the behavior of his disciples because they haven’t washed their hands before eating; Jesus calls them out immediately. He says Isaiah warned against you hypocrites, and writes:

          'This people honors me with their lips,

          but their hearts are far from me;

          in vain do they worship me,   

          teaching human precepts as doctrines.'

          You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition."

Jesus basically points out that these same people who claim to be so impeccable about their religious observance, are only about the externals. In other words, they’re all talk, and very little walk. And Jesus, who not only sees through this, is constantly ready to use the Scribes and Pharisees as examples of what a life of faith should never become—and that’s a life that is measured by anything other than the condition of a person’s heart.

Now, certainly we can guess how the Pharisees, and other religious elitists got to this point. While it’s not fair to presume that they were all bad people, it can be assumed that it was probably easier to follow all of the external rules (and keep up appearances of holiness) than it would be to really try to go deep, and live from the heart of holiness. After all, if you can contrive of particular expectations from people, and come up with all kinds of laws to separate those who are “in” from those who are “out,” it makes it a lot easier to figure out where you yourself stand. And, if you’re the one making the rules, and even deciding whether or not others are following them—all the better for your own reputation for following the rules…

This is likely the reason that so many fundamentalist churches thrive, and conservative denominations seem so successful. They offer clear expectations. They offer rules for how to live, and what to to do to have a life that measures up to the holiness God expects, and there is never anything other than black or white options. If you follow these rules, everything will be good. If you fail to follow these rules, life will be difficult.

Unfortunately, regardless of how impossible such expectations may be, it’s a whole lot easier than self -reflection, and learning to love as Jesus calls us to do. And this is the reason that Jesus calls the Pharisees “hypocrites.” This is a word that has really been taken out of context. It literally refers to being an actor, someone who puts on a persona that isn’t who they really are… So, Jesus is saying to these religious people that they’re simply actors—they’re showcasing these false personas, and yet, it’s not who they really are underneath.

The point is, it seems that faith would be a lot easier if it were all about the external stuff. After all, we wouldn’t be challenged to look deep within ourselves to see if who we claim to be really is who we are on the inside. We wouldn’t have to worry about our intentions in the things we do—so long as we played the game well, and met all of the external expectations.

But, then, if we did choose only externals; I wonder if we could claim to know God, or even Jesus as God’s son? After all Jesus not only teaches us that it’s what’s on the inside that makes us who we are in God—but it’s Jesus who invites us to receive him both through the mysteries of the Eucharist, but also through the mystery of loving relationship with God and with our neighbor.

So, here again we find that faith is difficult. Faith is difficult because it calls us to loving, honest and transformative relationship with God and neighbor. And faith is difficult because it strips away the safety of externals, and bids us to live from the heart.  

Proper 16 2015

Proper 16 2015

Sometimes I can’t help but pick on Evangelicalism a little bit… And the thing that’s had my attention for a while now is this saying that gets thrown around by pastors, and is even seen on church websites—it’s the saying that “they want to make Jesus famous.”

Now, I suppose in a culture where celebrities dominate so much of the American consciousness—I suppose I can see where the novelty of the saying comes from… But, then again, I can’t help thinking why it is that people think that Jesus isn’t famous. What’s more, the thought that these pastors or these churches would be the way in which Jesus is made famous is more than a little disheartening, if not a little presumptuous. Not only that, but I’m pretty sure it’s not Jesus, but the Church who really has the P.R. problem.

And it would seem to me, as long as there remains this dissonance—this disconnect between who Jesus is, and what his Church is supposed to be about—it may be that in trying to ‘make Jesus famous,’ the Church becomes infamous. But whether this disconnect is just an issue of Christians misunderstanding Jesus, or just that people of faith are double-minded—I don’t know. However, I don’t think it’s helpful to assume either one. Instead, I find myself wondering about how we understand the faith that we’ve received.

In our Gospel reading today, we read about this conclusion to the long bread discussion by Jesus. Here, we see that he’s beginning to really drive home this idea that in fully taking him into ourselves, that we receive eternal life. He uses familiar symbolism, and references the sacred stories of Israel—all to bring to mind what it is to be a follower of his.

However, as so often happens in life, as soon as the people (here they’re even referred to as disciples)—as soon as they hear Jesus talking about eating flesh and drinking blood…well, they’re obviously a little weirded-out. But it’s not the talk of eating blood and flesh that is necessarily bugging them, it’s that Jesus is presuming to make such an authoritative claim about the commitment to discipleship. After all, he’s using language of covenant with God in connection with himself and his disciples.

 Before long, then, this group begins talking about what a difficult thing he’s asking, and wondering who could even be expected to live up to such an expectation. Just then, Jesus asks them…”I’m sorry. Does this offend you? Does requiring a deep sacrificial commitment from people who want to be associated with God seem to be too much to ask?”

  

It would seem from this interaction that not only was Jesus not interesting in being famous—but, he wanted to make it absolutely clear that faith is ‘hard.’

What I find interesting, though, is that (aside from the 12)—any of these people would have an issue with Jesus talking about faithfulness to God, and being a disciple is hard… I mean, these are Jewish people—they’re “Israelites.” What did they expect discipleship to be?

We only have to look back at the history of Israel to see this cycle of brokenness, and pain. The identity of Israel is one of a people who were drawn through adversity, and given salvation by God—in fact, the name Israel (we might recall) means “one who has striven against God.” So, these are people well acquainted with adversity and faith that is hard…

What’s more, I would imagine many of these people have found their way to Jesus because they were hard pressed by both the Roman Empire, and their own religious elite, besides…

But that’s to say, even though they would be well versed in adversity, this wasn’t the whole of their story, either. Because, as the Chosen People of God, Israel was called from a number of trials and troubles by God. They were invited each and every time that they were delivered to not only remember that God had always delivered them, and always would—but they were also given the choice as to whether or not they would accept being the People of God.

In fact, we saw in the reading from Joshua, this very thing. Moses had led them through the Wilderness, God having delivered them from Egypt. And whether it was at the edge of the Red Sea, at the foot of Mt. Sinai, or even here…after Moses had died and Joshua would lead the people into the Promised Land—the people were asked to examine their hearts and really decide if they wanted this life—the life of being God’s People.

Of course, while the people seem to jump at the choice—they’re all the same reminded that this call is a call to holiness. It’s serious business becoming a confessed Child of God. Sure, it’s better than slavery in Egypt, or wandering in the desert for 40 years—so, in this way it’s an easy choice. And considering what is required of the people of God is pretty clear—we hear echoes of this all throughout Scripture: Love God, Love your neighbor; Do justice, love mercy and walk humbly before your God; and care for the sick, the friendless, the needy, the widows and orphans; and not least of all the foreigner in your midst… All of these are pretty clear expectations—and while they’re certainly not simple—at least we’re not guessing at how to appease some angry mysterious deity. The call of God is to love.

Now, as we well know—things between Israel and God were anything but simple. And a read through the Cliffs Notes of the Bible will make it clear that the relationship was a rocky one. Because for as clear as the demands were, and the purposes of God for the People of Israel—what we find is a cycle of unfaithfulness in Israel, the negative consequences of their actions, and God saving them from themselves again…

All of this should sound very familiar to us. After all, not only are we likewise asked at every baptism if we’re willing to continue to follow God, and be people who seek to live out the call that has been given us for generations—but, like Israel, I think we find ourselves constantly needing God’s help and forgiveness. But the point of all of this is not so much about our marketability, or how easy we can make faith appear to people. Sure, anyone can become disillusioned with one church, and go to another. But, it’s not as if we can get disillusioned with Jesus and move on to the next savior. It’s like Peter said, “where can we go?” because Jesus has the words of life. Faith is hard.

Honestly when I get to the heart of all of it, I find that faith costs everything. Faith not only demands my whole self—it demands making myself a living sacrifice to God…and in the power that we claim in baptism, I realize I’m no longer my own.

Beyond this, the difficulty and demands of this faith are not on the fine print, they’re writ large across the broken form of the Son of God, nailed to the cross—who calls us to join him in taking up our own cross.

So, it seems to me that rather than being about the business of “making Jesus famous,” perhaps we’d all be better served by knowing him a bit better ourselves. And what’s more, if we were willing to commit ourselves to being the people that God invites us to be—there would be no question about who Jesus is—and certainly less question about whom we represent…

It’s a hard teaching, who can accept it? But, for those of us who have been thirsty and come to the water—we know that there is no other place to go in faith, and no one who could love us more than God in Jesus Christ, the Author and Perfecter of our faith.