“Measuring One’s Spiritual Temperature”
John 1:35-39, 43-50
October 2, 1994
A friend tells the story about his wife, who was a member of her local school board. The board voted to have a silent auction. They wanted to raise funds for a library. Members of the board began volunteering various services which were to be offered to the highest bidder. One person who was a banker volunteered to examine investment portfolios. Another said her spouse was a lawyer and would donate one hour of free legal advice. Another couple offered to act as a waiter and maid for a party. When it came to this woman’s turn, there was a noticeable pause. Everyone knew she was the wife of a clergyperson. In a very matter-of-fact way, she said her husband would be glad to give an assessment of a person’s spiritual condition
This offer was greeted with a burst of laughter. Somehow it seemed absurd to mention (in a normal setting) that people have a spiritual temperature, much less to suggest the possibility of assessing spiritual conditions just as we assess investment policies or the way we should stand legally or the way we have eye exams.
This morning, at the risk of incurring your laughter, I will attempt to provide you with some tools to measure your spiritual temperature. I do this because I believe strongly that this hour on Sunday is to be more than simply a time of listening to magnificent music or a sermon. Sundays are days when we can listen deeply to our spiritual lives, to the voice that is calling us out of the depths of our souls to the Christ calling us to be followers of the way.
So the question we are looking at is – where are you on the way? What is your spiritual temperature? What is the condition of your soul?
First, I would ask you to measure your spiritual temperature against The Great Commandment – the commandment to fully love God, your neighbor, and yourself. As a spiritual director, I’ve observed that when we have difficulty loving the people around us, it lowers our spiritual temperature. Parishioners sometimes come to me and want to talk about theological problems — problems with the Creed, the sacraments, the organization of the church. They are often disappointed when I shift the conversation and begin asking them how they feel about the person in the next pew, their neighbor. Or do they care about the person who sings off-key? Or what have they done lately about the homeless? Do they know what it means to love their God, their neighbors, and themselves?
There is a quiet, but unforgettable moment in Dostoevsky’s novel, The Brothers Karamazov, in whenh a woman comes to Father Zosima asking for help in recovering her lost faith. “How can I believe in God again?” she asks. “You must,” he says, ”learn to love. Try to love our neighbors – love the person next to you in church. Love them actively and unceasingly. And as you learn to love them more and more, you will be convinced of God, and the immortality of your soul,”
What an unexpected twist Dostoevsky gives to life in the spirit. Not first you must have faith, but rather first you must have love, and then you will have faith.
In this morning’s Gospel, the uninformed embryonic disciples ask a bunch of theological questions. And Jesus cuts through all the verbiage. He replies: “Come and see.” Come and let go of all your preoccupations. Come and link your life to those around you. Come and love, and your spiritual temperature will soar in ways you’ve never dreamed.
The second way we might measure our spiritual temperature or assess our spiritual condition is to put it up against The Great Commission. Episcopalians mostly seemed to have missed hearing The Great Commission – the commission to go into the world and to reach out to those not part of your immediate community – to go beyond our boundaries – to actively seek out those who are beyond our comfort zone and bring them into the Body of Christ.
Unfortunately, we have labeled all of that “Evangelism,” which in the Episcopal lexicon means a distasteful act done by some fringe groups like Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses, and is thought of as comparable to hunting for sheep. But is that so? Have we not trivialized The Great Commission? Have we not turned our backs because deep down inside we know the risk and are fearful of being embarrassed or resented? What would happen if we seriously took to inviting people to come see? (What then?)
One of my favorite authors is a Roman Catholic priest by the name of Michel Quoist. He wrote a long poem, which is more like a prayer. It has been a part of my meditations for many years. It serves, for me, as a springboard in measuring my own spiritual temperature. Let me share a few parts.
“Lord,” Quoist writes, ‘Why did you tell me to love all my brothers and sisters?
I have tried, but I come back to you frightened.
Lord, I was so peaceful at home, I was comfortably settled.
It was well-furnished, and I felt cozy.
But, you have discovered a breach in my defenses. You have forced me to open my door –
I did not know they were so near,
in the house, in the street, in this office, my neighbor, my colleague, my friend.
God, they are in the way, they are all over. There’s no room for me at home.”
“Don’t worry,” God says. “While people came in, I, your Father,
I, your God, slipped in among them.”
Measuring our spiritual condition is more than measuring how many times we have been to Church or how many times we have said our prayers. Measuring our spiritual temperature involves assessing how often we have let people into our hearts, how many times we have reached out, how many times we have said: “Come and see.”
Ultimately, that is the real test of our spiritual condition * the way we live – the way we link our lives to those around us the way we love.
Over and over again, the great religious teachers have said that we can never know God – be spiritually alive — have a mature faith-by sitting in our comfortable pews or by studying God or by not moving beyond where we find ourselves. As they say down south, “Let me stop preaching and start meddling.” Have any of you grown spiritually in the past six months? Have any of you gone beyond what you were taught as youngsters?
One problem is that we are content to be as we are. We laugh at people who are concerned with the state of our souls.
And therefore, when we hear the words: “Come and see,” we become as deaf persons or say to ourselves that Jesus must be directing the challenge to some people in beards and a bathrobe: in the Bible.
The invitation – the call – is to each one of us: “Come and see. Come and grow up to Christ. Come and raise your spiritual temperature so that you may be alive to The Great Commandment and The Great Commission.”
“Come my way – my truth, my life. Such a way as gives us breath.
Such a truth, as ends all strife.
Such a life, as killeth death. AMEN
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”FOR THOSE WHO DESPAIR”
Luke 18: 1-8
October 18, 1998
A clergy friend once shared the despair he felt while working in the Civil Rights movement in the ’60s. There was a point where everything seemed to go wrong. Many of his Southern friends disagreed with him. His congregation suggested he look for another parish. And he was on the verge of quitting the ministry. One day, in the midst of his difficulties, he sat down with an old Rabbi, a neighbor, and he told him of his frustration and lack of support from his parishioners. The old Rabbi responded to this tale of woe by saying, “My boy, for the Jew, there’s only one unforgivable sin, and that is despair. To say any situation is hopeless means you’ve given up on God. Humanly speaking, the old Rabbi said, despair is presumptuous. Religiously speaking, despair is heretical.”
This morning’s sermon is directed to those in the congregation who have felt the dregs of despair; who have been trying as hard as they could, but are now worn out; who are feeling that God, or anyone else, couldn’t care less about their situation.
The parable that we read in this morning’s Gospel was almost left out of the New Testament. It’s only mentioned in Luke’s version and seems almost an afterthought. It is rarely the subject of a sermon. Very little is found in commentaries. We have all heard about the Good Samaritan, the Prodigal Son. But this unnamed woman, this parable of the persistent widow, is seldom mentioned. We read it quickly and tend not to think about it; for what does a woman who makes a pest of herself have to do with us?
The story is squeezed in near the time of the crucifixion. Jesus tells his friends that there are rough times ahead. And the Disciples become fearful, so he tells them this parable. It’s almost as if this smaller story interrupts the larger story of Jesus heading for Jerusalem. The bigger canvas talks of God’s intervention, in listing God’s saving acts, of God’s great love. And then we are told of an unnamed, insignificant widow. But then again, the Bible is like that. Little stories of insignificant people are crowded into the margins of the larger canvas. Little stories that speak to the fragments of our lives. Listen to the story again, and see if it doesn’t become a story that speaks to your depths. Listen to it as a parable that was given at a time when the friends of Jesus were close to despairing.
In a city, not unlike Tucson, lived a woman who was devout, a churchgoer. A widow who had been through some rough times caring for a husband who died at an early age. This woman was fairly unsophisticated, trusting people, and believing that people were basically honest
and decent. Sure enough, she was taken advantage of, duped. And she quickly became a victim of someone’s greed. Now, we don’t know the details of the story. But, much we do know. We know that her life wasn’t the way she had planned it. We know that some injustice had been committed. But we are also told that she refused to lie down and settle for simply being a victim. Instead, she continues to cry out until she gets the attention of the authorities. She keeps looking for justice in a world where justice is a diminishing commodity.
Moving back into the parable, we hear that she takes her grievance to a judge. A busy judge whose case load is filled to the brim. The judge doesn’t have time for a widow’s problems. His court calendar is booked with really big crimes.
We read that the woman persisted. She did not give up when she received the first or second rejection. She pays off. The judge rules in her case. No longer is she simply a victim. Her loss has been restored. ‘
A modest story, but beneath the very ordinariness stands a learning. A learning that reminds us not to settle for being a victim, for God will answer our prayers. It’s a story that says, that despair need not be the last word. That persistence can overcome tragedy, and that hope can triumph over even great obstacles. ,– – –
Recently, I met with the Wardens. We talked about the future vestry. Sunny Bal, our people’s Warden, is collecting names for possible candidates in January. (If you have some, let him know.) I was asked, “What kinds of people should we be looking for?” Yd like to answer that question now. I think a vestry should be made up of people with hope. People who have the kind of faith that will persist and not give up when things don’t go their way. People who are like the woman in the parable, who in spite of obstacles, keep praying, keep moving forward, keep persisting, even when things aren’t going well.
Let me share an illustration of the kind of faith the parable commends to all who would understand. It comes from an old western that appeared late one night on TV. The movie was called Hard Times, Texas. It had a very simple plot. The town of Hard Times was just that. Nothing ever went right. The crops withered, the water dried up, and the people never got along. Finally, the town drunk burned the town down, and everybody packed up and left. They all said they had had it. All left except the old sheriff. He went out to the edge of town and sat at the side of the road. Whenever someone would pass by, he would say, “I have a dream. Fm going to rebuild this town, and I need your help.” After many such encounters, he gathered enough support to actually construct a new town. When the town was rebuilt and the people returned, the town drunk reappeared. You can guess what happened. (I told you it was a simple story.) He burned up the town again. The story ends with the old sheriff at the side of the road again, stopping a traveler and saying, “Hey, I’ve got a great dream. We’re going to rebuild this town, and I need your help.”
It’s that kind of commitment that we need on the vestry. But, not only on the vestry. We need that kind of faith, that kind of doggedness in our callings to serve God wherever we may be. We desperately need that kind of commitment. The commitment that trusts that God will hear our prayers even when things aren’t going well. We need that kind of faith that will not settle for what is, but continually hope and work toward what could be
There is no one within the sound of my voice who hasn’t tasted the bitterness of defeat, the effects of injustice, the unfairness of life. No one ever promised that we would live in a “Rose Garden” type of world. Yet, in the words of T. S. Elliott, ‘We are only undefeated because we go on trying.”
We go on trying to kindle kindness in a world that is at best uncaring. We go on trying to bind up wounds where the hurting ones outnumber the unscathed. We go on trying to overcome evil when darkness seems stronger than light. And when optimism dies, we live with hope. And we do this because we know that God will hear our cry, and our God walks with us.
What then shall we say to these things? if God be for us, who can be against us? Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or nakedness, or famine, or the sword? Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loves us. For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor things present, nor things to come, nor any other creature can separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Amen. -
ON HEAVENLY PORTFOLIOS
Mark 10: 17-31
October 4, 1998
There are certain signals one learns to recognize as you grow up. Signals that indicate the beginnings of a difficult conversation. When I was a youngster, my parents used to use my full name. They would say, “Roger Owen. let’s talk.” This always got my full attention, for I knew that a confrontation was just around the corner. Some of you have the same feelings when you receive a memo from your boss saying, “See me A.S.A.P..” You know that trouble is on the horizon. Or if your child calls up in the middle of the night and begins the conversation with, “No one was hurt.” Or if your stockbroker calls you and starts by asking, “Are you sitting down?” All of these signals provide clues that, in the words of the TV police dramas, “Something is going down.”
The intuitive newcomer and the experienced old timer among us are probably picking up some similar signals. It is the beginning of October. Pledge cards are being distributed. We are going to talk about money. Your intuition is right. The Rector is about to focus on pledging. “Something is going down.”
I tried to put this off for several months. I spoke to David Richardson about the falling stock market, the confusing world economy, and the genuine unease of many parishioners. David wisely replied that no time was a good time to talk about money to Episcopalians. We might as well stick to our schedule (or as he might say, shhhedule.)
The Gospel lesson chosen this morning is almost begging to be used as a launching pad for a sermon on pledging. I wonder how many preachers have hit their congregations over the head with this Gospel. I wonder how many have said, “See. If you want to reach heaven, give all your money away, or a least 10% to the pledge drive.”
Unfortunately, this Gospel is not about donations to the churclh. Jesus is not even talking about economic formulas; nor is he addressing just rich folk. He is declaring some spiritual realities. He is reminding us of how we can be well off, and still be cut off from God.
In this incident, a young man comes to Jesus asking how can he increase his “Heavenly Portfolio.” Jesus starts out by asking, “Have you obeyed the Commandments? in other words: In the pursuit of an earthly portfolio, have you been honest, not deflauding people, been ethical?” The young man says, “Sure, ifs not hard to make money honestly. But what do I need for my ‘Heavenly Portfolio’? As the Scripture puts it, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Jesus tells the young man to sell all, and come and follow him. This was not what the young man expected and he departs, sadly.
Now, if we focus on the presence or absence of money, we will miss the point. What Jesus is trying to say is: It’s the relationship this young man has to his money that is the key. It/s the meaning money has, that’s at the root. Money had become a rival God, competing for his allegiance. It was not what the young man had in the bank or at his broker’s office. It was the way he related to his portfolio.
Now, I want to stop preaching and start meddling. Let me begin by asking each of you, what does your money mean to you? What does it represent? Security, a hedge against a cruel world, standing in the community, a nest egg (That’s an interesting term. Some day we ought to explore the meaning of that phrase)? Or does it mean simply the equity that you deserve because of the sweat of your brow?
O.K., now that we’ve answered that question, let’s dig deeper into the meaning of your money. And now we would ask, why do you have your money? Normally, when that question is asked, we answer it in terms of how we received the money. But that’s not the question being asked. Whether you inherited it, or worked hard for it, whether you’re smarter than everybody or luckier than most, doesn’t matter. The question is, “Why do you have it? Now, how did you get it. And that’s a difficult question. What is your money for? is it for making more money? Is it for more retirement benefits? Is it for buying more toys (which we often call necessities)? Can you see where we are going?
The young man in the Gospel felt that his money was strictly there for himself. He was in control of his own portfolio, and it was no one’s business but his own. Jesus suggests that his money was there to serve God, and if he didn’t start with that premise, no matter what his net worth was, he was going to be a failure. That’s the secret of eternal life. Not how much you have accumulated, but what is your relationship to what you have? Whom does your money serve? Difficult questions…I know I’m meddling. But remember, rm not talking about pledging to the church. I’m talking about investing with God.
Last fall, The New Yorker carried a story of a Wall Street Venture Capitalist’s last innings in a fight with cancer. Kirk Bains was a tough, ambitious, driven man who over the course of his fight to the end/ began to understand that maybe he had missed some things along the way.
He had lived for “the deal.” And he had been so successful because he was able to know when to get in quick, ahead of everyone else, and when to get out.
That approach spilled over into his personal life. One day, his doctor asked, “Are you affiliated with a church?” “Episcopalian”, he said. “I celebrate Christmas, love the music, and sent my kids to Sunday School. But the religion part, I didn’t buy. Let me put it in my own words,” he said. “I’m not a long-term investor. I like to hold my money and use it for a quick return.
I don’t believe in working for dividends paid only in Heaven.”
Near the end of his life, Kirk Bains said, “I had no interest in creating anything lasting – except to make more money. And now I have no spiritual equity. Nothing to show in my portfolio. I was a self-absorbed, uncaring jerk.”
This morning, I am inviting each of you to invest in something that will not change with the Federal Reserve interest rate.
Sure, we need more money this year to run the Church. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that with a new building, expenses are going to be higher. But that’s not the issue. Something is “going down” today. And it concerns your life. What our Gospel is suggesting is that you need to invest in something more substantial than the stock market. We are being invited to invest in heavenly futures. A portfolio for eternity. Your investments are more important than you think.
He, She, who has ears to hear, let them hear. Amen -
Handling Anger
Ephesians 4: 26-32
Matthew 10: 21-35
October 3, 1999
I would like to talk to you this morning about something we all have a fair amount of – about something we’re not very successful at managing. We often deny we have it, bury it, bottle it up, and sometimes it explodes at inconvenient times. Some people get sick over it and even die from it. Have you guessed what I’m referring to? Anger, that emotion which most of us are not very good at handling.
Yet, St. Paul, in our text, recommends that we exercise our anger. He writes in the imperative mood. It’s a command, and I think he says this because it’s important to recognize the naturalness of anger. There is nothing inherently wrong with anger. And Paul would have us believe in effect, that anger is a gift from God.
In pre-marital counseling, I often spend a great deal of time trying to convince couples to see anger as a healthy emotion, something to be expected, and even welcomed. I often say, “The closer you are to a person, the more occasions you will find for anger.” The problem with anger comes when we fail to recognize our anger and then respond in inappropriate ways. Paul acknowledges this, for the whole sentence in Ephesians is, “Be angry, but do not sin.”
You see, it’s not anger at issue, but rather, the way we respond that is the occasion for sin.
Dr. Rex Julian Beaber, a clinical psychologist at UCLA, writes, “There is a reservoir of rage that exists in each person waiting to burst out.” He claims it’s natural to fantasize about killing the guy who takes your parking space, or arresting the person who has cheated you in business, or exposing to the world someone who has lied about you. Beaber then says, “Only by growing up in a civilized society of laws can we learn appropriate responses to anger.”
While the good doctor is right about the reservoir of rage that exists in each of us, I would question his thesis about appropriate responses. We live, I think, in a civilized society of law; yet we’re surrounded on every side by inappropriate responses. In the past five years, there has been a term that has become common in our vocabulary, “Road Rage.” This term doesn’t simply refer to incidents like what happened a week ago on Grant and Campbell. We use the term to refer to the cycle of violence that touches us all. Let’s face it, we live and breathe in a litigious, judgmental, unforgiving culture.
Paul, our guide for today, suggests that anger can be managed. We can overcome our so-called civilized society. “Be angry,” he tells the Ephesians, “but do not sin.” How can this be done? How can we respond and still avoid sinning? Let me suggest three steps to which our Christian faith points.
Before giving you these, let me freely admit that I’m preaching to myself (as I do in most of my sermons), and that it’s easier to preach than to do. Only with God’s grace can we hope to put these three things into practice.
The first step is to acknowledge the anger within. The beginning of wisdom is knowing and admitting to oneself that there is a reservoir of rage that we often, consciously or unconsciously, tap into. When we fail to recognize our own anger, we tend to focus on what others have done to us. We often see ourselves as the blameless one, or the innocent victim, and we paint the other as the worst of sinners.
There is, in the wedding service, a prayer which asks that “God give us the grace that when we hurt one another, to acknowledge our own fault.” Acknowledging your own fault is, in effect, recognizing that anger, sometimes rage, lies deep down inside and plays a part in most conflict situations. St. Augustan writes, “Imagine the vanity of thinking that your enemy can do you more harm than your enmity, than your own anger.
The second step in learning to handle anger is in learning to give it away. This may sound simple, and it is; but it is not easy. Giving away our anger means giving away the memory of whatever has made us angry. It doesn’t matter who is right or wrong. It isn’t a case of justice versus injustice. It is simply learning to hand the whole situation over to God.
Now, we’re not very practiced at giving much to God. (Next week we start our canvass, so let me get a leg up and say, “If you can’t give your money to God, the chances are that you’re not likely to be able to give your memories to God.)
But back to anger. How is it that some of us can wrap up our memories and hand them over to God, and others describe ourselves as elephants who keep rehearsing supposed wrongs? How is it that some people are forgiving and others are not? it sounds so simple. I wish I could make it more complicated. It’s like giving away a worn
/x out pair of shoes that you no longer desire to wear. Some of us hold on to those shoes in our closet even after they are no longer useful or stylish. Or it’s like a wound that we have incurred. Some of us keep rubbing it, so that it never heals. But remember, Christ said that he would take away the burden of sin. The burden of anger was included. So learn to be generous and give it away Give it to Christ, learn to forgive, and let God worry about justice and fairness and all the legalities.
Finally, there is one more step in the process of managing our anger. That step is re-imaging the person or situation. We must, in effect, make a new association with the person or event that has triggered our anger. What I’m calling for here is the ability to see persons who have wronged us in a new light. No longer can we see that person as simply a miserable sinner. Now that person is seen as the object of God’s love.
I’ve got to admit to you that this final step is the most difficult for me to follow. I and it hard to remind myself that those who have done me wrong will precede me into Heaven. And those people are the people for whom Christ died. But this is what our faith tells us. Forgiveness, healing, and reconciliation can only happen when we see the other person as loved and cherished by God.
Well, how is it with you? What do you say about your anger? Can you handle it, or does it control your very being? Remember! Remember, when you begin to feel angry, you stand at a crossroads. Are you going to manage your anger, recognize it for what it is, give it away, and let the light of Christ’s forgiving spirit shine on the situation? Or are you going to let the cycle of destructive rage that looks for vengeance and retribution have the last word? The choice is yours.
Paul reminds us this morning, “Be angry, but sin not.” It’s hard. It’s difficult. It takes God’s grace and support, but it is possible. So, be generous to one another and to yourselves. Be tenderhearted, forgiving one another as God in Christ forgives you.
Amen -
“What Can I Know?”
1 Corinthians 13
October 1, 1995
My text comes from the 13th chapter of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians. This is one of the most repeated chapters in scripture. I’m always amazed that 9 out of 10 times, this is the choice of people for their wedding service. It really has nothing to do with marriage. what Paul is basically saying to the Corinthians is Grow up. And so here is my text: when I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. But when I became an adult, I gave up my childish ways. In other words, as a friend of mine is fond of saying, we are young only once, but we can’t be immature forever. And how you ask, can we grow from immaturity to maturity, from childish ways to adulthood? There’s the rub. And that’s what I expect to explore with you today. Immanuel Kant once claimed that to grow, to mature from childhood to adulthood, a person must be willing to wrestle with three basic questions. The 1st is, what can I know? How much can I know? What do I need to know to fully become an adult? The second question is, what ought I to do? Here we face what actions are appropriate and what behaviors to grow into full maturity. And finally, what can we hope for in this confusing life? What can we bet on for a full life? Can’t believe that facing these three questions was the beginning of a growth period. you are only young once, but without grappling with these questions, you can be immature forever.
What, then, do we need to know for maturity? The question isn’t really about information. That is easy. The computer takes away the worry from the issue. We no longer have to store data in our brains. All we have to learn is what key to press. But data alone cannot tell us what we need to know about being mature. Information by itself cannot decide, judge, or discern how we might become a fully operational adult. And it certainly cannot tell us how to relate to God, or how to relate to each other.
Scripture offers us 3 principles which are enormously helpful as we wrestle with the question of how much we need to know. The first principle is that we can’t know at all. Paul tells us this when he says, Now we see in the mirror dimly, but never in this world face to face. And wasn’t this the sin of Adam and Eve? They wanted to eat of the tree of knowledge. They wanted to know it all. It wasn’t an apple; it was knowledge to be like God.
There’s a wonderful fable, popular among psychotherapists, about this problem. It’s about a woman who goes to a guru and says she wants to know everything there is to know. So he puts her in a cave and gives her lots of books. At the end of each day, he comes to her and says, Well, do you know everything there was to know? And she says, not yet. So he gets a big stick and whacks her over the head. You think she would be discouraged, but no, she continues to read voraciously, and every day the Guru comes back to The Cave and asks the same question. Do you know everything there is to know? She replies no and the stick comes up and whacks her on the head. This goes on four months. Finally, the guru goes to the Cave. It’s the end of the day, and he asked the question, do you know everything there is to know? And she says no. And as he lifts the stick to strike her once again, she has finally had it. She stops him. The guru smiles and says, Congratulations, you know all that you need to know. You know two things. You know you cannot know everything there is to know, and you know how to stop the pain. I would say to you who are here today, you know all you need to know, and you know how to stop the pain. The useless pain of searching for easy answers in this complex world
The pain of trying to get it all together, to be whole, to be congruent. If we are to be honest, we have a long way to go. The pain of trying to see clearly, when, if we are going to be truthful, we would say that we only see a mirror dimly and only in part. But despite this, we can declare that we are loved and understood as we search for the answers to life. And with that knowledge, the pain can be lessened.
The second truth that is basically related to the first is that human beings are basically unfinished. The principle is so deep in scripture that I wish people would grasp it more fully than they do. We would save ourselves a lot of pain and frustration if people could only realize they are unfinished.
There’s a wonderful story told about some theologians who were studying the creation story. They were puzzled when they read the story of creation, or after every act, saved one, they found the same words. And God saw it and it was good. But there was one particular act where good was not used. When it talked of God creating men and women, the word good was omitted. Finally, the theologians came up with the solution. In its context, they decided that good refers to a job well done, finished. We say, That’s a good job, when we mean it’s complete, it’s concluded. But with human beings, this is not the case. The heavens and earth were finished, wrote one commentator, but human beings were not and are not. We are left unfinished. A rough cut. So that we may be carefully formed, shaped, and changed.
This is buried deep into the heart of scripture period time and time again, it is written that we human beings only begin to know anything by being in community with each other, sharing, supporting. Whenever two or three are together there I am in the midst of you. Knowledge, real knowledge, only comes alive when it is shared. God is present only share. That’s a truth you need to know. It’s a deep truth of the gospel. We can only grow by sharing our questions as well as our pain.
Let me pass on to you a story which is kind of a parable that underlines our thoughts this morning. It comes from the stories of the Hasidim, those are holy men who began a renewal movement in the 18th and early 19th century of Judaism in Eastern Europe.
The story is of a man who lived in a little village somewhere in Poland. He was a good father, a faithful husband, and an honest Craftsman. But what he really lived for was the study of scripture, which he had done most of his life at the feet of the old rabbi who had served the synagogue in the village for more years than anyone could recall. It came about one day that this man had to move to the great city of Kraków to live and work. There was only one thing that bothered him about the move. He grieved his heart to think of leaving his beloved rabbi. So he went and saw the rabbi and poured out his problem to him. Teacher, he said, all my life I have studied with you, now I must move to the great and large city of Krakow. Where will I find another rabbi who can guide me in the journey towards God?
Well, the old rabbi thought for a moment and finally said, I’ve never been to the city of Krakow. I am not acquainted with any of the rabbis there. But this I can do. Can tell you how you might find such a rabbi. When you get to the city of Kraków, look around until you see a synagogue. Any synagogue will do. Go in and ask to see the rabbi and say to him, Teach me how I may learn all about God and the deeper questions of life while I am attending your synagogue? And when the rabbi answers you, listen carefully to what he says. Maybe write it down. And then say, thank you very much, and go on your way, for that is not the one.
Walk around until you find another synagogue. Go in and ask to see the rabbi and say, Teacher, how may I know all about God and the deeper questions of life while I am attending your synagogue? This time, listen very, very carefully and write down for sure. Then go on your way, or he is not the other one either.
Finally, go to another synagogue and see the rabbi and say Teacher, how may I know all about God and the deeper questions of life while I attend your synagogue? And if the rabbi says, my son, all my life I have been wrestling with those kinds of questions. Now there will be two of us searching.
Together we can search. And together we can find the strength to constantly ask the deeper questions about God and the issues of life. And together, possibly some of the pain of not knowing at all, I’ve seen through a mirror darkly, of being unfinished, of wanting to be adults, but finding ourselves to be childlike, some of the pain can begin to be lifted, and we can begin to mature. Now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. now we know in part that we shall be fully known. Amen -
“A Sermon on the Amount”
Luke 9: 23-26
October 24, 1993
Most sermons begin with the teachings of Jesus. They typically start with some words from a parable or the sermon on the mount. Today’s topic focuses on the amount. So we will not start with scripture, instead we will begin by talking about money, your money and mine.
Let me say at the outset, this sermon on the amount is family talk and it’s R-rated, visitors and children need not listen.
It’s R-rated, not because of sexual violence, but because a sermon on the amount is a touchy subject. In the minds of some, it raises anxiety. In the minds of others, it raises indignation.
I attended a meeting on Monday of the Episcopal clergy in town. Almost all admitted that at this time of year, when money became a subject, attendance at church fell off significantly.
What is it about money that causes this reaction? Why is it that we are uncomfortable when the preacher announces his topic is on the amount? Possibly it is the hypocritical way I have handled this subject in the past. Many clergy stand in the pulpit and try to convince you that money isn’t important. don’t believe them. At other times, clergy will tell you it doesn’t matter what amount your pledge is, the church will make due. Don’t believe that. And finally, they will equate money as a gift, something small and insignificant, that you give out of surplus. Don’t you believe that.
Money matters. The amount you pledge matters. What you do with your money matters to God and to yourself. And let me go even further out on a limb and claim, money always has strings attached to it. In this consumer Society of ours, money talks. It’s an important commodity. And as a commodity, it can only be long, invested, or stolen but never really given away.
Let’s be honest, even when we’re taking the High Road, and talk about giving money away. There is always an expectation tied to that money. We expect some kind of return. One of the most frustrating experiences is to give money to a person or organization and find that it is been wasted or misused. We feel an acute sense of betrayal, of loss.
So what happens when you loan or invest an amount of money? The first thing is that you begin a relationship with another entity. No straight-thinking person simply forgets a loan or investment. Only the very, very old or foolish can afford to lose sight of a loan or investment. The next thing is that she becomes aware of the contract that has been established by the loan or investment. This contract, whether written or oral, is always present. Contracts, my lawyer friends tell me, are about behaviors, the accounting, the return in some form that one is expecting, the strings that are attached to the money very often make up the basis of the contract.
What then is involved when you make a contract by pledging an amount of money at canvas time? Now we’re getting down to the nitty gritty. As my favorite line from the movie Wall Street put it, it’s about bucks kid, and all the rest is conversation. So what do your bucks represent? What’s the return? What’s the contract?
The contract you make when you give an amount as a pledge is with God. And I want to impress upon you that any significant contract you make with God, if it’s real, it’s going to change your life. You’re going to see the world differently. You’re going to have different priorities. You’re going to find yourself becoming a different person. God will remake the image you have of yourself. I guarantee it. A significant pledge will make you view yourself in a different light.
As long as we’re talking about the contract, let me tell you about the fine print. In many contracts, in small print, you are informed of what the receiver will not do. While the fine print here says, God will not enter into a relationship of codependency with you.
Pop psychology has made us aware of the pitfalls of codependency. That’s why I shudder whenever a preacher tries to sell the snake oil of codependency to a congregation around canvas time. Codependency talks about giving an amount because we will gain God’s approval or we can be manipulated by God’s promise of success. Popular psychology tells us this is a sign of sickness, not health.
The contract with God is not, not, in any way, appeasing God or buying God’s favor. Our gospel reminds us that following God may be injurious to your health, your popularity, and your bank account. It may lead you to loss and suffering. The contract merely guarantees transformation; you will become a new person. You will be changed by a significant pledge and that you can count on.
The other part of the contract is with the church. And this part says that if you make a significant pledge, give more than a token amount, it will change your relationship to the church. You will become an owner, much more than a customer. You will see your money going into growth when used as a ticket of admission to a religious entertainment society. And if I were your stockbroker instead of your priest, I would advise you to go forward.
Inevitably, we have to cut back on our dreams. And whenever we defer dreams, we are all the losers in the long run. As Langston Hughes, the black poet, said, What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a Raisin in the sun? I’m not sure, but of this I am if we cut back or go for a less costly investment, there will be consequences. Either we’re growing or we’re dying. Either we reach out to our dreams or we fall headlong into nightmares. There is no in between. Either we’re giving and receiving at the same time to a great vision, or our money is being lifted from our pockets to pay for business as usual. This past summer I attended a wonderful dinner where the national church jubilee center. Nancy Bissell spoke in response to the presentation. She told a little history of this grassroots organization, and then she told the secret of its success. I wrote it down and it goes like this: every time someone gives, we make sure they also become a receiver. That’s the key to good stewardship: the recognition of the contract the giver is also the receiver.
Which brings us to the subject of the amount. How much are you to give to be a receiver? No creature can tell you the answer to that. No one can tell you what percentage of income is right and proper. The amount you put down on a pledge is alive and vibrant or dead, like a Raisin in the sun.
Let me conclude our thoughts with the story. There once were two people who were jealous of an old community leader. Had developed a reputation for being wise and also predicted the future. These two people devised a plot to humiliate the old man publicly. It was to work like this. They found a tiny bird just after it had been born and went up to the old man and said, we have this bird in our hand. Is it dead or alive? If the old wise person said it was dead, they would simply open their hands and show it was alive. If the old man said it was alive, they would gently squeeze the tiny bird and show it with dead. Either way, the old person was bound to be wrong. Confident of their plot, they approached and said, old man, we have a bird in our hands. Is it dead or alive?
After a long pause, the old person said softly, The answer my son and my daughter is in your hands.
A sermon on the amount, the answer, my son and my daughter, lives in your hands. Amen -
“St. Michael and All Angels as Messengers of the Most High”
Genesis 28: 10-1
October 1, 2000
It’s a classic story. Two brothers, twins, one the favorite of his father, the other the apple of his mother’s eye. One direct, uncomplicated, filled with integrity. The other, devious, tendency to take the easy way, filled with resentment.
Two brothers, Jacob and Esau, one a good guy, the other a little bent, eager to supplant his brother in his father’s eyes.
I wonder how it feels to be always second best, always a bridesmaid, and never a bride, always looked upon as the less gifted child.
I was at a conference a few weeks ago. It was on ministry and the leader remarked, “If you want to know what to expect from your job, look at your birth order. Look to your family of origin. Look to the relationships that you had with your parents.” Jacob was second in the birth order, and he never received love from his father.
Tennyson, in Ulysses, wrote, “I am a part of all that I have met.” He meant that everything in life shapes us, but some experiences misshape and take their toll on us. Some of the past leaves an indelible mark. For others, it’s a continuous burden. Much as we’d like to forget our past, it always seems to lie in the background. For some, the past has left a bitter taste in our mouths.
Returning to our story. Jacob does a dastardly thing. How low can you stoop, stealing your brother’s birthright? Disguising yourself as your brother and tricking your old blind father. Mother, of course, is his ally. She manages the scene from behind the curtain. So Jacob, tricky Jake, robs his brother of his inheritance. And at least in this, he is successful.
Someone approached me after my sermon last month and said, “I can understand your saying the rain falls on the just and the unjust. I too, believe in the uncertainty of this fragile life. But can you answer this, ‘Why do the bad seem to win most of the time?’ Doesn’t God care about justice?
I’m afraid I didn’t answer that question very well. I simply pointed out that from God’s perspective, in the long run, God works out the plan of redemption in his own mysterious way. Well, maybe and maybe not, you might say. Jacob gains his goal. Esau gets the lesser role.
The story of Jacob is very discouraging if you expect the Bible to be filled with nice things. This story isn’t neat and clean with the good guys winning in the end. Holy Scripture helps us get in touch with the dark, rich, mythic mud of our origins. Here is a story where we learn of the deep psychic ooze out of which our souls are formed.
Brian Anders, a visionary from Iowa, whom I discovered this past year, tells about a plumber who was digging around in the pipes, and he saw something shine in the muck, and it turned out to be the soul of the last tenant. He said he found stuff like that all the time. “You would be amazed at what people lose,” he said.
Moving back to the story of our ancestor, Jacob. We find that old Mom has a good fix on what is happening. Too many people are aware of Jacob’s trickery. And so she suggests that he leave town, and his wife go on holiday, with stage right. Jacob leaves and goes to Beer-Sheba. Actually, he goes camping. And since in those days L. L. Bean wasn’t in business; he has to make do. He goes to sleep outdoors with a rock as his pillow.
I suspect that it wasn’t easy for Jacob to fall asleep. He’s like a lot of us who are enmeshed in the past. The author doesn’t tell us whether he was remorseful, or fearful, or gloating or what. But we can easily speculate, Jacob was unable to lay down the past and move on.
There is a tale told of two Buddhist monks walking in a drenching thunderstorm. They came to a river. A beautiful young woman stood waiting to cross n the other side, but was afraid of the currents. In characteristic Buddhist compassion, one of the monks said, “Can I help you?” The woman said, “I need to go to the other side.” The monk picked her up, put her on his shoulders, carried her through the water, and put her down on the other side. He and his companion then went on to the monastery.
That night, after prayers, his companion took him aside. I have a bone to pick with you. As Buddhist monks, we have taken vows not to look at a woman, much less touch her body. Back there at the river, you did both.”
The first monk said, “My brother, I put that woman down on the other side of the river. You still carry her in your mind.”
That’s a characteristic of many of us. We do something that we’re not proud of, and we can’t seem to put it away and move on. We continue to be obsessed with the past at the expense of the future. We need outside help.
And so it was that Jacob received some help from God in a dream. We read that he saw a band of Angels, ascending and descending from heaven to earth. Angels on a ladder.
I want to ask you all a question. Do you believe in Angels? is there anyone here who really believes in Angels? You do? That’s a relief£ because this is the festival of St. Michael and All Angels. And I believe in Angels.
I’ve seen them. Now, the Hebrew word for angel is Malach, which also can be translated as messenger. Angels are messengers sent to us from God to tell us something important about ourselves. This is often the way God communicates to us. It’s the way he uses to tell us of his love, his caring, and his mercy.
A belief in Angels requires a special way of looking at the world. A special point of view. The story of Jacob is filled with the visitation of Angels at certain times. When Jacob is most in despair, when his guilt seems ready to overwhelm him, Angels appear. Each time they declare that God’s mercy is greater than his sense of justice, and that Jacob, with all his faults, is still a part of God’s family.
Looking once again at Jacob’s story, we find a curious message. From our point of view, we would expect the Angels to chastise Jacob, to present God’s judgment on what he had done to his brother. But no, that’s not what happens. The Angel tells Jacob about his future. They say in effect that our past need not color our future. In God, there is forgiveness and reconciliation, and healing. Jacob’s dream is a dream that we could all have. It’s a dream not simply about Angels. It’s a dream about messages. Angels declare that the worst word about us is never the last word. There is more to come because we, like Jacob, are sons and daughters of God.
A learned old gentleman used to say, “Anyone can learn from experience.” A wise person learns from the experience of others. I hope this morning we have learned a little from our ancestor Jacob. But more than that, I hope we have made contact with the Angels, for their message can change our lives.
In the Middle Ages, the Rabbis came up with a theological truth that seems quite relevant today. They said, “If we could all but see, every human being is preceded by a legion of Angels, who cry out, ‘Make way for the image of God.’” That’s what a human being is. That’s what Jacob’s dream is all about. The future is bright for him and for us, for we are “Images of God.” Can you hear them? They are in front of you. Saying, “Make way, make way. There’s more to come, for you are the image of God.”
Amen -
“What Ought I to Do?”
Matthew 25: 1-13
October 22, 1995
I have a recurring nightmare. It’s Sunday morning, and the church is full. I step into the pulpit to preach – look down at the lectern and there is nothing there – no manuscript, no notes, and my mind is a blank. I’ve forgotten everything, and I just stand there, not knowing what to do or say
A psychiatrist might interpret the dream as a normal stress-related occurrence. But I suspect it’s something more. I believe it’s a way that my subconscious is raising one of Kant’s three basic questions of life. The question, ‘What ought I to do?”
We are exploring in this series Immanuel Kant’s three questions, with which he said all mature persons must grapple throughout their lifetime. The questions are: “What can I know?”; ‘What ought I to do?’; and, “What is my hope?”
It seems risky to focus on a question that involves behavior at this time in our parish life. Many of us are focused on the canvass and pledging. And this makes people edgy, particularly when a clergyperson tackles questions like: ‘What ought I to be doing?” But be that as it may, let’s turn to Holy Scripture and see if we can get some help on one of life’s basic dilemmas. WHAT OUGHT I TO DO?
The Bible has three principles that are embedded in book after book. They come up in different ways from Genesis to Revelation. The first is found right at the start with Adam and Eve, and is a central affirmation of all the writers of Scripture. Humankind has been given a gift by God. It is both a terrible burden and a wonderful gift. It is the gift of freedom – the freedom to choose, the freedom to change, the freedom to do many things in many different ways. Certainly, there are limitations. Our backgrounds, age, physical stature, and many other factors introduce limits on our freedom. But basically, within certain parameters, we all enjoy the terrible and wonderful Gift.
Let me share a secret. Seven out of ten people who come to me for counseling do not really believe they have this gift. They come because they feel stuck, unable to see alternatives to what they are presently doing. My task, as I see it, is to help people discover alternatives, to understand that they have been given the gift of freedom, to learn that they don’t have to act in the way they have always acted.
A friend tells the story of how he first learned to appreciate this gift. He arrived in Southern California fresh out of seminary. He had gone to establish a church. He had written and called friends and had been led to believe that he could start immediately, preaching and starting his congregation at the local high school on Sunday. And so he landed with his wife and all his worldly goods. And there he was sitting in an apartment on Thursday, brushing up on his sermon – and he got a phone call from the school board informing them that they could not use the premises of the local high school. My friend says he was discouraged, downhearted, ready to throw in the towel, prepared to pack up and go back to Chicago. He felt stuck and defeated. As he sat there with his wife at the dining room table, he picked up a pen and began to doodle on a paper napkin. Suddenly, he found himself writing down ten alternatives. And that’s when it dawned on him that he had been given a gift – the freedom to choose. He didn’t have to be stuck or limited by the circumstances of the school board. So, remember this, if you don’t remember anything else in this sermon: You don’t have to do things the way you have always done them. The Bible reminds us that we have been given the gift of freedom.
The second affirmation from scripture is less clear, yet just as important. This is the principle that says: ‘We are accountable.” Accountable for what we do, accountable for our choices, accountable to God.
I guess that most of us have been taught a lot about being responsible, but very little about accountability. There is a difference. It’s a subtle difference, but extremely important. To be responsible means literally “to be able to respond.” Responding to a need or concern is what any good citizen or good neighbor would do. As a matter of fact, if someone were to call us irresponsible, we would take it as a large insult. Being responsible is a high value.
The problem is that it’s a societal value and not a Christian virtue. The virtue that Scripture enjoins us to follow is to be accountable. As the people of God, we are accountable to God for all our actions, decisions, and for all that we do. This means that our every action has meaning far beyond any given situation. Every choice, everything we do, says a great deal about who we are and what our ultimate allegiance is. Thomas Merton, the great monk, spiritual leader, and writer, put it this way. “If you want to know who I am, don’t simply ask me what I do or where I live. Ask me to whom I am accountable and for whom I am living. And then push me on it.”
The third Biblical principle is that living the Godly life means to live as if each moment were your last, your final testament.
Now let/s look closely at the implications of this principle_ To live as if each moment were your last would mean that we would be living in a constant state of readiness. We would be living our life in a crisis mode for our every action would have eternal significance.
Most people do not care to live that way. A sense of urgency is not the kind of message we’re looking for on a beautiful Sunday morning.
I suppose this is why the parable we just read as our Gospel is one of the least mentioned and least preached about teachings. Jesus introduces us to ten young women, preparing for marriage. They are eagerly anticipating the coming of the bridegroom. But then we heard a glitch. The bridegroom is delayed.
Anyone who has ever been involved in planning a wedding knows that there is always something that goes awry. And this story is no different. There is a postponement. And so we read that these ten brides decide to rest, unwind, slow down, and slumber. But then, all of a sudden, the bridegroom arrives unexpectedly early. And here is where the crisis ensues. Five of the women have prepared ahead. They realized that at any moment they might be called upon to give an account of their actions. The other five find it easy to postpone any preparations. It’s not that the latter five are bad, or even irresponsible. It is simply that they did not feel a sense of urgency. It was easier slumbering, putting off any decisions and actions until the bridegroom arrived. Well, you know the end of the story. When the five foolish maidens finally get their act together and respond to the situation, the door to the marriage service is closed. The moment to respond has passed them by.
The learning of this parable is quite simple and direct. We are being told to wake up. The moment is now, and you can’t postpone making up your mind. Your actions do count. They have transcendent significance.
The Romanian poet, Stefan Dorm, in one of his poignant poems written to the Romanian people, said: “I wanted to wake you up, but you are dreaming this merry nightmare so deeply.” Our merry nightmare is something from which we need to awaken. We need to wake up to accountability and urgency. Our actions do matter.
Which brings me to the fact that we are into Canvass Sunday. Now I don’t propose to tell you what to do about your pledge. That’s between you and God. But this much I will say. You don’t have to do it the same way you’ve always done it. You’ve been given the gift of freedom to choose. Why not write down some alternatives? And, second, remember that you are accountable for your pledge. It is true that the church has to live with what you pledge, but it’s also true that you have to live with it. And your pledge matters. It matters to God.
The third point is that there is a sense of urgency about what we do. I suggest you think of your pledge as your anal testament. There is a sign that I once saw outside of a church that has stuck with me. It seems to be appropriate in a time when we’ve all become trial watchers. It went this way: “If you were on trial for being a Christian, would they have enough evidence to convict you?”
If not now, when? if not here, where?
Amen -
How do you approach communion?
First Corinthians Chapter 11 verses 23 through 32
October 4th, 1987
A friend of mine once confided that of all the things that happened during worship, the part when we receive communion was the least meaningful. What got to him, he said, with the long empty spaces when we administered the bread and wine. When he stood in the aisle waiting, he had nothing to do and therefore was almost forced to watch the faces of his fellow worshippers coming and returning from the rail
.They all look so blank, so bored, so weary, that he lost interest in the whole process
I was really not too surprised to hear such words. This person was reflecting much of our culture. After all, from the moment we get up in the morning until we’ve gone to bed at night, the majority of us are pulled and pushed by a frantic pace at events. Our senses are bombarded by all kinds of stimuli. We have very few occasions for personal, quiet time, so we really aren’t equipped to deal with silence.
I must admit, when we instituted silent periods after the epistle and after the sermon, we did it with fear and trembling. I was sure I would get a lot of flak. We naturally want to fill up our empty spaces.
I have a friend who, whenever he reads the scripture in church or preaches, always ends by saying, Listen for the word of God. Maybe that’s better than saying, the gospel of the Lord, or here endeth the lesson. Listen, be quiet, wait on the Lord, for I’m convinced it’s at the quiet times when God speaks the most to us.
Going one step further with my friend’s comments, he said the people looked so blank, so bored, so weary. I hesitate to mention this because I don’t want you to feel awkward or under scrutiny when you are coming up to receive communion or leaving the rail afterward. And I certainly don’t want you to put on a religious face. Maybe that’s our problem. We’re so caught up with decency and decorum as Episcopalians that we don’t let the spirit shine through.
I recall a story. It happened at Trinity on the green, New Haven CT which is a pretty staid New England parish. One Sunday, a fellow came into church and he was pretty scruffily dressed. The ushers who were experts at suddenly placing people, put him in the back pull away from the regulars. When the service started, this guy kept claiming in during prayers and at the sermon with loud exclamations like Amen, brother! Thank you Jesus! And praise the Lord! Finally, the head usher couldn’t stand it any longer. He walked up to the man and said, Excuse me, Sir you will have to leave. You’re disturbing our parishioners. The man was nonplussed What’s wrong? He said I am just praying to Jesus. The head Asher drew himself up with all his dignity and said, Here at Trinity on the green, we don’t pray. We worship.
I love it. We don’t pray, we worship. How Anglican! Friedrich Nietzsche once said, speaking to the Christian Church, You will have to look more redeemed to believe your Redeemer. Let me translate that into terms my friend might say to the church now. You’ll have to look more radiant, more excited, more spirit-filled if I’m going to believe that communion means anything. Do you recall, in the book of Acts, the early church was accused of being drunk after worship? The only thing we can be accused of is sleepwalking.
Let’s face it, the way we leave or approach a table is usually reflective of what we’ve been eating or expect to eat. Was it to be a feast, a banquet, a celebration where the food was fantastic? Or was it a diet meal, good for you but bland and uninteresting? Our expectations color our approach.
Let me suggest 2 expectations regarding the communion. They may not have changed your approach but they may have helped me in different times in my life
The first comes from John Calvin, whom I have a tough time understanding in seminary. But one thing I did understand was his commentary on the communion service. Calvin said, the communion service is like a handshake, a visible, tangible sign. You can walk down the street, and someone across the other side says, Good morning. How are you? It’s great to see you! But there may be quite a crowd of people moving on the same St. and you’re not sure he’s speaking to you. But then the man crosses the street and shakes your hand, and you know the greeting was meant for you. Just so says Calvin, in the pulpit, the redeeming love of God is proclaimed, but you are not certain it is addressed to you. Then in the community, you come to the rail, eat and drink, and there can be no doubt. This is God’s handshake. He’s putting his arms around you. Confirming his love, saying to you personally, you are my beloved. I was in the Sunday school Class A few years ago, and I asked the youngsters what the Eucharist what the community, meant to them. There was that awful silence when as a teacher you say to yourself ohh no, I’ve asked the wrong question. What do I do now? Finally, 1 little child piped up, I know! It’s God’s show and tell. That’s terrific theology. When you’re at the rail you’re coming to God show and tell. It’s as if to say he has to let you know he cares.
Another expectation is to see the communion service through Thomas Cranmer’s eyes. Kramer was the Archbishop of Canterbury responsible for our first prayer book. What Cranmer did, other than putting it together, was to give the stage direction. The stage directions are what are called rubrics, and they are very important. Not only do they tell you what to do, but if you look closely at them, they imply why you are doing what you are doing.
In the directions for communion, Cranmer specified that the bread and the wine should be eaten in both hands, and the bread is to be placed into the hands of the people. This was no accidental choice of words. Cranmer knew that the verb to ordain meant word for word to place into the hands. In fact, a Hebrew priest was ordained by having the holy things placed into his hands. Kramer understood that every communion service was a service of ordination. When we are being ordained. We are made a Kingdom of priests. When you approach the altar, you are becoming a minister, a priest, an ordained person in God’s church.
Remember that when holy things are placed in your hand, or on your tongue. Remember who you are and what you are becoming.
You know, we live in an era of exaggerated speech. We are being bombarded on all sides by the media, and among the most common claims heard on radio and television are, you are what you wear, or, you are what you drive, or even, you are what you eat. All of these statements make a point and the point is that what we take on is, to a large or small measure, what we become.
And so this morning, as we think about our worship, I would remind you that we are what we need. Please think about that when you come forward to the rail. Come with joy, come with anticipation, come with excitement, for this is the bread of life, God’s blessing on each of us. Saint Augustine said it well. Just before his smile, the leaguered congregation was to come to the rail, he turned to the altar and pointed to the bread and wine, and said, See what you are. Be what you are.
A minister! A priest! An inheritor of the Kingdom, a son or daughter returning home, is what you are.
Amen -
How are You?
James 2: 14-24
October 5, 1980
I went east by plane this past spring. As soon as I boarded I picked up a book and became oblivious to the rest of the world. I’m afraid I was not listening as the stewardess went through the routine instructions on exit and crash landings. But all of a sudden, a few of her words filtered down and this is what I heard, in case of emergency your mask will appear.
I wrote these words down on a leaf of paper for my book and all through the summer they echoed in my head, in case of emergency your mask will appear. The one discovery I have made is that we don’t need an emergency for our masks to appear. Most of the time we wear masks whether it is an emergency or not
how are you, hello and goodbye, thank you, are simply buzzwords declaring that the masks are in place. This series we have been exploring how we might redeem these common sayings and thereby get beyond the mask to the person who lies in back of the polite chatter let us pray.
Lord give us a tender heart, let us do loving things that surprise even ourselves. Let us stop to talk to people who need a good word and fix what is broken, and touch with needs to be loved. Amen
do you remember the old rhyme that went this way? People stop you on the street, don’t talk of your digestion, remember, how are you is a greeting, not a question.
Do you believe the sentiment behind the rhyme? What does it mean when people stop you and say how are you? What do you mean when you say it to others? Is it as simple greeting? Does it signal that the masks are to appear? Or is it more?
Lately I have been responding to people’s how are you? By saying, do you have an hour or two? Then we both smile with our masks on and go our way.
For the most part, how are you? Is a greeting with the expectation that the conversation will go no further. A few banalities, a polite handshake, perhaps even a hug and the two ships passing in the night. No one is hurt, nothing happens and we simply miss another opportunity for reaching beyond the mask.
Several years ago I ran across a letter from a 17 year old boy. It expressed so well the cost of wearing masks and the frustration of 1 youngster who was denied the opportunity to go beyond the flight round, I have kept it as a reminder of the terrible price we pay. Let me share a part of it with you:
Thank you for everything, but I am going to Chicago and trying to start a new life. You asked me why I did those things and why I gave you so much trouble and the answer is easy, but I am wondering if you will understand. Remember when I was about 6 or 7 and I used to want you to listen to me? I remember all the nice things you gave me for Christmas and my birthday. I was really happy with the things for a week but the rest of the time during the year I really didn’t want presents. I just wanted you to listen to me like I was somebody who felt fabulous. I remember I even when I was young I wanted to share some of my feelings, but you said you were too busy. Mom, you are a wonderful cook. You had everything so clean, and you were tired so much from doing all those things that made you busy. but you know something? I would have liked crackers and peanut butter just as well if only you could have sat down with me and said how are you doing? Tell me about it so that I can understand. I think all the kids who are doing all the crazy things are simply trying to say will you listen? Will you treat me as a person? If anybody asks you where I am tell them I’ve gone looking for somebody with time because I’ve got a lot of things I want to talk about.
The terrible cost of not listening! It’s not that we don’t want to listen to our kids or our friends. It’s just that other things seem to have priority. I just have too many things to do, to buy, to remember, to write, to arrange Donald bills to be paid, people to be met, kids to be sheltered houses to be kept up, too many things, too many demands, too many pressures for high priority. And then we become too busy, too tired, too hurried, and we pay the cost.
Even industry is beginning to understand this cost. At least reading between the lines, I can tell that they are busily trying to play catch-up and teaching their employees to listen. If industry is doing this, should not the church be even more concerned? Every Sunday, we are admonished in one way or another to listen. Let me show you what I mean by paraphrasing our epistle this morning.
If a brother or sister is hurting, and you say to them peace, or how are you, or some other greeting without really listening to them, what does it profit you? Even so, faith by itself, without real love, is dead.
Can you hear what Jesus is saying? Love means listening. Caring means going beyond the mask. Concern more than polite gestures. There is a wonderful story suggested by Martin Buber, the late, great Jewish theologian. Bieber has a profound effect on much of contemporary theology. The story is a little parable on love.
Once there was a rabbi renowned for his piety and wisdom. One day a youthful follower came up to him, and a burst of feeling the young disciple exclaimed, master I love you! The ancient teacher looked up from his books and asked his fervent disciple, do you know what hurts me my son? The young man was baffled. Composing himself he stammered, I don’t understand your question rabbi I am trying to tell you how much you mean to me how much I care for you and you are confusing me with strange questions.
My question to you is not all that strange or irrelevant, said the rabbi, or if you do not know what hurts me, how can you truly love me?
Maybe when we ask a simple question like how are you? Maybe we are asking where a person hurts. Are your joys? Where are your sorrows? Remember, if you do not know what hurts me how can you truly love me?
Our gospel lesson this morning uses a fascinating analogy. Jesus is asked to describe the relationship between people. He uses the image of a vine with many branches, all connected, all intertwined with one another. How different that is from the typical picture of life as we know it. Polite, separated, alienated people all wearing masks going through motions, but no connections!
But let me challenge you as we draw this series to a close, I challenge you to go beyond the masks and make some connections. I guess This is why I have preached this series. My purpose was not simply to redeem the common sayings, not simply to sensitize your listing. My purpose was to begin the awesome task of connecting one to another period for that’s really what the faith is all about, connections. The connections between God and man, between man and man. John Fletcher tells a remarkable story which I can readily identify. It was an unforgettable occasion in the church in Washington DC. The Bishop was there for confirmation and as he began to preach, people became bored, restless and confused. His sermon was a vague theory about worship, and in 5 minutes, he lost everyone. Finally a young man stood up and quietly interrupted him with the words, Bishop I’m not sure if I’m alone, but I have not been able to follow a word that you have been saying.
A chorus of support and amens broke out all over the congregation. With that, the Bishop said, “I should have known better than to stay up until three this morning and come here today, especially when I am not prepared. Now let me tell you about my life and some of the pressures that I am under,” Then he began to describe the agonizing conflict he suffered, and as he preached he asked help both human and divine,
The extraordinary part of that story is that the young man who spoke out, the audience itself reached out beyond the masks of the Bishop and flock. Those masks are there so that we may feel sympathy, but rarely do we take the risk to go past that point. Rarely do people’s hurts become our hurts. Rarely do we more than observe.
John Fletcher’s story is about one branch of the vine awakening to the fact that another part of the same vine is in trouble. It has to do with sensing the oneness of the vine that binds and feeds us, it has to do with making connections, putting aside the masks.
For remember, remember, the words of our Lord: I am the vine, you are the branches. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.”
Let it be, Lord. Let it be.
Amen
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