Ministers & Members

 

Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Proper 10 / Year A

Jesus said, “Some seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty.”  ^{Matthew 13:8} 

Several years ago one of my colleagues was distressed.  The church he served was in a fast-growing region of metropolitan DC and the congregation was undergoing a period of significant growth – so significant, in fact, the leadership determined the parish needed to expand its facilities.  Based on the success of a capital campaign, the church decided to take out a $1.5 million loan, believing the monthly mortgage payments would be manageable given their projected increased membership.

A beautiful new church addition was added and everyone was happy with the results.  The growth, however, did not keep up with expectations.  The financial pressure built month after month and various meetings with the bank to find ways to ease the burden failed to produce a scenario the parish could manage.  At one particular clergy gathering my friend was in shock.  It seems the church had just received a letter from the bank calling in the loan. 

We met a month later and I asked him how he was doing.  He told me the church’s leadership held a parish meeting to alert members to the situation.  My friend then reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and took out a check someone had given him just that morning.  It was made out to the church in the amount of $120,000.  The donor had assured him he could help in the future and also committed to give $60,000 to fund an outreach effort the parish was seeking to launch.  That generous person told my friend he and his wife had succeeded in life far beyond what either could ever have dreamt.  Being thankful for their blessings, it was important to them to support various projects which made their community a better place for all.

Of all the things I have said in my sermons over the past 19 years, what I am about to say now has to be the most self-evident, least controversial statement I have ever made... we clergy love having a person in the parish who is willing and able to write a check for $120,000!  Yes, as Jesus said, some seeds produce a hundredfold and by one parishioner sharing a part of his abundance, that faith-community was empowered to produce a spiritual bounty not possible without it.

But listen carefully to what I am about to say next.  We clergy also value the harvests that produce sixtyfold and thirtyfold.  I have yet to hear of a thriving faith community where every single member gives over $100,000.  A generous donation or two sure helps, but it doesn’t get the parish hall set up for the Coffee Hour or the altar reset for next Sunday’s service.  It doesn’t produce someone who will ask you how your aging mother is doing nor does it generate a welcoming smile when the Food Pantry doors open.  For these kinds of things to happen, a parish needs a lot of sixty and thirtyfold people.

One of the most common questions I am asked about St. Paul’s is “How many members does the church have?”  I am never quite sure how to respond, what metric to use, but I am tempted to say, “How many members do we have?  Too many!”  Startled?  The second most common question I am asked is, “Are you the only minister?”  Easier to answer?  Yes, but I am tempted to respond, “No, we have somewhere between 150 to 200.” 

Do you know the different between a minister and a member?  Surely you know it has nothing to do with professional training or ordination.

Members come to church expecting to get something out of it.  Ministers come expecting to give something.

Members sit back and wonder if anyone will speak to them.  Ministers look around and wonder who they can touch for God that day.

Members point out the things the church is not doing or should be doing better.  Ministers muster resources in themselves and in others to respond to the opportunities God presents.

Members are consumers.  Ministers are producers.

Members, even if they are friendly people, are not the kind of ground you want seed to fall on.  Ministers, working in partnership with God, turn seeds into miracles.

So, based on this, how many members would you say we have at St. Paul’s and how many ministers?

A third question I am often asked is “Does the parish have any outreach ministries?”  Again, this is easy enough to answer by listing all the things we do for others and the ways we make our building available to the community.  A better question, but certainly more difficult to quantify, would be, “How does St. Paul’s nurture and encourage its members (ministers?) to make a difference for God once they leave the building and drive off the parking lot.”  This would be an insightful question because there is a reason why the biblical tithe to support God’s work in and through the church is set at 10%.  That leaves 90% of what God’s seed in you produces to be shared with your family, your friends and neighbors, your community, and the world. 

The parable of the Sower and the Seeds with its four different soil conditions, does not describe four different kinds of people.  It describes each one of us, you and me.  Parts of us are easier for God to cultivate and use than others.  Like that field, some parts of us needed to be hoed and made more receptive.  Some parts need a good weeding (and, at my house at least, this is an on-going effort, not a one and done).  You and I, well, we all have our rocky parts which need to be cleared up and cleared away.  And there is something in each of us that is productive, that is willing and able to bear fruit with what God entrusts to us. 

One of the real joys of preparing to retire is receiving from the diocese a lengthy set of questions which is to serve as an exit interview.  It is only a slightly less detailed than the instructions I had for how to write a dissertation for my doctoral program.  Here is what I am thinking of writing:

St. Paul’s has only a few members and many, many ministers.  Some produce a hundredfold, some sixty, and some thirty, each according to their ability.

The Yokes of the Soul’s Two Rooms

 

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

Proper 9 / Year A

The gospels give us precious little information about Jesus’ formative years.  We have only the story of him as boy talking with Temple scholars.  We can deduce growing up he learned about the Scriptures at the synagogue in Bethlehem because when he becomes a public figure, he is deeply steeped in these holy texts. 

Somewhere along the way, he transforms from dutiful student to crusading reformer, we don’t know how, when, or why.  In short, he begins to perceive how religious devotion has been boiled down to observing a list of regulations, overshadowing its great purpose to foster a life-giving relationship with God and enhance communion with all people.  In the process of formulating his own message, Jesus watches how religious leaders respond to his cousin John’s ministry and he must know his own is going to be met with resistance also.

The resistance manifests itself with religious leaders functioning as gatekeepers, controlling who gets to say what and undermining the achievements of those not part of their guard.  They seek to protect their status by defending their established traditions.  They gain recognition and esteem for their mastery of its nuances and minutia.  And anyone getting noticed who is beyond their circle is treated as a threat, marginalized, and discredited. 

And this morning we read of one of the moments in Jesus’ life when he addresses their gatekeeping in public:

John came neither eating nor drinking, and you say, “He has a demon”; the Son of Man came eating and drinking, and you say, “Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!” 

Can you hear the exasperation in his voice?  In our day, Jesus might say, “There is no winning with you guys.  I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

None of us with something important to share you feel called to offer delights in resistance.  And we certainly don’t shoulder outright rejection without paying an internal cost.  Frustration, self-doubt, anger, dejection, these are some of the ways we might react and we can be sure Jesus, because he is human, is racked with similar emotions as he is attacked, criticized, and dismissed.  We certainly would understand if he retreated and withdrew into himself saying, “I don’t need to put up with this stuff.”  Like a turtle pulling into its protective shell, this is an option many of us would consider.

But not Jesus.  What does he do?  He offers a public prayer:

I thank you, Father, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants.

He assesses the situation and focuses on what is working.  From deep in his spirit, he draws not malice toward those who obstruct, but gratitude for those who receive.  In so doing, he reminds all of us who set out to follow our calling how detractors always will be close at hand.  And he shows us how to live with this not by becoming bitter, but by recognizing what is being accomplished.  He takes off the yoke of his burdens and replaces it with the yoke of his blessings.  And this shift in focus allows him to spark a movement which draws us here today. 

Raise your hand if you come here this morning with thankfulness permeating your spirit.  Now, keep your hand up if you are not dealing with some kind of challenge in your life… if there is not something troubling you or someone you love.  The truth is, in life we always live with challenges.  They never go away, only give way to a new one.  How is it even possible you can have a smile on your face, given all you to face?

I am reading a book by Frederick Buechner called Telling Secrets.  Reflecting on how he has been affected by his father’s suicide and his daughter’s crisis with anorexia, he describes two rooms in the Tower of London built by William the Conqueror in the 11^th century.  One is a small, stone, Norman chapel where, among other uses, Knights of the Order of Bath kept an all-night vigil before being anointed by the king.  Buechner describes the space this way:

It is very silent, very still… You cannot enter it without being struck by the feeling of purity and peace it gives.  If there is any such thing in this world, it is a holy place.

He goes on to describe another room directly below the chapel – a dungeon.  Measuring four feet by four feet wide and only four feet tall, there is no way to get comfortable in it.  Its heavy oak door, once shut, blocks out all light and ventilation.  It affords its prisoner no room to stand, no light to see, and almost no air to breath. 

Buechner writes his soul has both rooms in it.  We all do.  And he writes how he responded to the deep challenges he faced by retreating in the dungeon.  He was completely devoid of perspective, of joy, of freedom.  Both a writer and a Presbyterian minister, he lost touch with his faith, with his relationship with God, with what it felt like to spend time in the Tower chapel in his soul.  And he writes about the things which opened the dungeon door and allowed him to reemerge.

Reading this, I wondered where these places are inside me.  I didn’t locate them so much as I identified how I am processing life when I am each one.  In the dungeon I am fixated on the darkness around me.  I give crushing weight to my challenges and frustrations and disappointments.  In the chapel I feel lighter.  I find abundant joy in everything, especially simple things.  My soul is buoyant, floating free on the sea of goodness all around me.  I know I am in the chapel when I am overcome with a feeling of thankfulness, an awareness of the privilege it is to live my life in God’s world with all its blessings.

In this morning’s reading, we are given a glimpse of how Jesus lived with these two rooms in his own soul.  We see how he drew on goodness and light rather than allowing himself to be smothered by imprisoning darkness.  And he offers up to us his example:

Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

No matter what burdens you bear, may you always know the ease and lightness Jesus offers through his witness and indwelling spirit.

God will Provide

 

Genesis 22:1-14

Proper 8 / Year A

When I have preached on today’s Old Testament reading in the past I have pondered the challenges it presents.  This morning I want to focus on something in the story we might want to adopt in our own life and practice.  I find it in Abraham’s response to his son’s question as they ascend the mountain: “Father, we have fire and we have wood, but where are we going to get a lamb?”  Abraham replies, “God himself will provide the lamb for a sacrifice.”

God will provide.  This reflects a deep disposition which manifests itself as a calm faith, the ability to be at peace in moments of stress or anxiety.  It is not foolishness, like putting your entire life savings on Red 36 and trusting God will make the ball drop in your slot.  It is not recklessness, because, as Jesus says, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”  And it certainly is not a sentiment born of self-reliance: “Where is the lamb?  You know I’ll figure out something.”  Abraham’s posture is one of waiting.  He models patience.  He knows God will do something, will act, will provide, and when this happens, Abraham will ready and he will respond.

We observed our parish’s 375^th anniversary back to 2017.  It was no small effort.  We worked and planned for at least two years and the actual celebration on Pentecost Sunday was the culmination of a several projects and ventures.  I remember saying to Bishop Holly at the time, “We have worked so hard to get to this day and I don’t have a clue what to do next.  I think our parish and I need to sit back and catch our breath over the summer.”  His response: “Well, that is one strategy, I guess.” 

I think he, like most of my colleagues, assumes parish leaders keep the pedal to the metal all the time, without letup or pause.  It is not at all normative to have a priest say, “I don’t know what to do next.”  But by August, just two months after my conversation with the bishop, five families with young children moved into the area and began attending our church.  What had been unclear – what to do next – became very clear – find a Christian Education Director and figure out how to start a couple of new Sunday School classes.

For me, that was an aha moment.  I realized you can spend a lot of time and energy trying to produce a particular outcome or you can wait to see what God is going to do next and then respond.  You can go with your idea, your plan, your scheme or you can take the posture God will provide and live day-to-day with a calm expectancy someday, something will happen because God is going to provide.

Abraham held on to this belief with every step as he and his son climbed higher and higher.  But this wasn’t always his approach.  You recall how God told him to pack up his wife and his belongs and leave his home for a land God would reveal to him once he got there.  Abraham does this and in so doing demonstrates great faith and trust.  At the same time, God tells Abraham one day he will become the father of many nations.  Now this is more problematic to believe because he and his wife are old and childless.  You recall from last week’s reading how the couple takes matters into their own hands when Sarah offers her handmaiden to her husband, carving their own path rather than waiting for God to act.  The result of Abraham’s own efforts is problematic, to say the least.  Yet, experience has a way of giving birth to wisdom and Abraham learns the value of being patient and trusting God to provide.

Now I am not advocating for passivity.  Sometimes you have to grab the reigns and go, trusting God will be with you as you do everything in your power to confront a situation.  Kent and Norma Spain have been great models of this.  I so admire how, when Kent was diagnosed with cancer, they both took it on with every resource and ounce of energy at their disposal.  I have witnessed many of you face your challenges with steel and grit, which are the fruits of faith, and I have marveled at your determination.

When I think of Abraham and the lesson we can draw from him, I am thinking of circumstances different from that, situations where pausing opens the door to God’s activity; something like what Nathaniel Hawthorne hints at through this quote:

“Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but if you sit down quietly, may alight upon you.”

It is possible to go through life scrambling so tenaciously God can barely find a space to step in, to work feverishly to achieve something, never once imagining God may have something else in store.  But if you pause, if you wait, God will find a way and a place to touch you.  God will provide.  And then, like Abraham who named that mountain Yahweh Yireh, which means “The Lord will provide”, you will be able to cite a time and place when and where you waited and God acted.

An Alternative Narrative

 

Genesis 21:8-21

Proper 7 / Year A

Five people are walking down the street when a loud, cracking bang occurs.  In the milliseconds after it is heard, each processes the sound and their brain begins to respond.  One ran track in college and her brain, harkening back to the sound of a starting pistol, readies her body for motion.  Another is an auto mechanic and his default reaction is to hear it as the sound of a car backfiring.  A third spent time on a tour of duty in a war zone.  He hears it as gun fire and his first urge is to duck and seek cover.  The fourth gives it no thought at all because he works in a warehouse where loud sounds are commonplace and he is conditioned to tune them out.  The fifth is taken back to fond memories of duck hunting with her grandfather.  Five people, five different initial reactions.  Past experiences influence how we process data in the present.

Imagine a group of us attends a wedding where the Flower Girl keeps twirling around.  One of us might think she is cute and steals the show.  Another might bemoan how today’s parents are failures at raising children.  A third may harken back to a memory of when she was a Flower Girl.  Still another may be so taken in by the flowers she never even notices the girl!  Do you see what I am getting at?  It is possible – in fact, likely – for a group of people to experience the same event in profoundly different ways. 

Reality has both an objective component – what happens – and a subjective component – how individually we interpret what happens and determine what it means to us.  The loud sound is caused by an objective event, but each person’s initial reaction is subjective and rooted in previous experience.  The Flower Girl also is an objective event, but each person’s reaction to it says more about that person than actual the event.  Aldous Huxley said, “Experience is not what happens to you, it’s what you do with what happens to you.”  Anais Nin contends, “We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.”

Keep all of this in mind as I invite you to ponder the first reading we heard this morning: the story of Hagar and Ishmael.  I trust you know at least some of the backstory: how God promises Abraham he will be the father of a great nation, but he and Sarah are childless; how Sarah offers her handmaiden to be a surrogate, but then becomes jealous once Hagar conceives; how she demands Abraham banish the expectant mother to the wilderness; how God appears to Hagar there and directs her to return; how, after Hagar gives birth to Ishmael, Sarah conceives and gives birth to Isaac; and then, as we heard, the handmaiden and her son are sent away.

We might want to ask ourselves how these different people “experience” the objective events of the story.  Abraham.  Sarah.  Hagar.  Ishmael.  Isaac.  Whatever the objective reality is, it means something different for each person because each person is different and comes to it from a uniquely personal perspective and, to be sure, the objective events affect each of them differently.

Because we read this story from the bible’s Book of Genesis, we tend to see it through the eyes of Abraham, Sarah, and Isaac.  And because we are rooted in the Judeo/Christian tradition and trace our story through this lineage, we tend to see it in a particular way; a way which tends to diminish aspects of the story which do not concern our story. 

For us, this is what is called the Dominant Narrative.  It is the prism through which we look at these objective events.  In short, the Dominate Narrative holds Isaac is good, Ishmael is bad, Isaac is legitimate, Ishmael is illegitimate, Isaac is blessed, Ishmael is cursed.  In our narrative, Ishmael has to be sent away in order for God’s promises to come to fruition through Isaac.  Is there another way to look at all of this?

English fox hunts date back to the 15^th century.  The nobility mounted up on their horses and raced through the countryside in pursuit of their quarry.  At the end, it was “jolly good fun”, “sport.”  This was their Dominate Narrative.  There are at least two Alternative Narratives.  One is told by the fox [Spoiler Alert: its story doesn’t end well] and the other is told by local peasants whose fields and crops get trampled under hoof.  These unfortunates experience this objective event from the perspective of the food lost and how it will impact their bellies.

You may be aware that Islam traces its lineage back to Abraham through Ishmael.  Their’s is also an Alternative Narrative and, because it does not place the Judeo/Christian heritage at the pinnacle, we tend to be dismissive of it.  But what would we learn if we tried to understand how Ishmael and his descendants experience these objective events? 

Why do this?  Because every person’s perspective matters.  Why?  Because every person matters.  How do I know this?  Because, according to our Dominate Narrative found in Genesis, God hears Hagar crying and asks what is wrong, because God has compassion on the boy and his mother, because God promises to bless the child and his descendants just as God promised to bless Isaac and his, because God is with the boy as he grows up, and because God’s promise to him comes to pass.  Clearly God cares about Ishmael.  Why?  Because God cares about every person.  In this story God is revealed as being sympathetic to each person’s experience and values each unique perspective.

I try to keep this mind as I engage with people in a wide variety of situations.  For example, I don’t approach a Vestry meeting attempting to win people over to my point of view.  I seek to listen to each person.  I want to understand each perspective and ponder the clues each holds for charting a path forward we can walk together.

And I think about it as we observe our nation’s 250^th Anniversary.  For much of my life, our nation has been trying to listen to those with Alternative Narratives asking for a voice: the Native American story, the African/American story, the Immigrant story, the Women’s story, to name a few.  Each is asking us to see our country through their eyes, from their perspective.  This can be threatening because some perceive it as an attempt to invalidate their own experience.  I don’t see it like this.  We are only being asked to appreciate why one person hears a starter’s gun while another person hears a backfire.  Alternative Narratives also can be threatening because they may infer moral judgements on the Dominate Narrative.  And this does happen.  Why should the fun of the hunt supersede food security for the poor?

The story of Hagar and Ishmael invites us to see the world as other people see it; to understand how other people experience objective reality in a way which may be very different from ours.  Why do this?  Think about what we hear in today’s gospel reading.  There was a time when the Christian life and witness was an Alternative Narrative and our ancestors in the faith were subject to marginalization, arrest, imprisonment, beatings, and martyrdom all because they wanted to tell their story.  Thanks be to God they persevered and thanks be to God some people were open enough to consider a perspective different from their own, otherwise we would not be here this morning.   

Shalom Aleichem

 

Matthew 9:35-10:15

Proper 6 / Year A

As you enter a house, greet it.  If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it.  ^{Matthew 10:13}

When I say “shalom aleichem”, you say “wa alaykumu as-salaam.”  Shalom aleichem!  Wa alaykumu as-salaam.  Not bad.  Maybe this will feel more natural: Peace be with you… and also with you.  “Shalom aleichem” is an ancient Middle East greeting dating back several millennia.  It means “Peace be with you.”  The response, “wa alaykumu as-salaam”, equally ancient, translates as “and peace be upon you as well.”  You may recall every time Jesus appears to his disciples after the Resurrection he greets them by saying, “Peace be with you”… Shalom Aleichem.

In biblical times it was more than a polite social salutation; more than a fancier version of “What’s happening” or “How you doing?”   Shalom Aleichem and its response was a deep, meaningful spiritual transaction which made manifest very tangible commitments.  We see this clearly expressed in today’s reading from Genesis.  Abraham goes to extraordinary lengths to extend hospitality to his guests because, at the time, visitors are understood to be sent by God.  They, in turn, extend the gift of fertility, promising the barren Sarah will be with child before they return again.  At the time, a host’s generosity and welcome are considered to be sacred duties and the blessing of peace is offered in return for the kindness shown.

The biblical word translated here as peace has its roots in Greek mythology and relates to three sisters: Eirene, which means peace, Eunomia, which means good ordering as in a fair distribution of possessions, and Dike, which means justice.   Thus, to extend peace, was to concern yourself with the needs and rights of the person you bless.  It was not a passive wish, but an obligation to be fair and just in your dealings with another.

You may recall how the Genesis story goes on from the end of today’s reading.  Abraham’s visitors travel to Sodom where they are welcomed by his nephew Lot.  The residents of the city, however, want to submit them to domination through violent acts, the exact opposite of shalom, and are condemned for failing to receive the visitors gracefully.  They violate the sacred duty of hospitality.  They care not at all for the needs nor the rights of their guests.

Because I find his social analysis of our times to be compelling, I am reading David Brook’s book How to Know Another Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen.  He contends…

…the quality of our lives and the health of our society depend, to a large degree, on how well we treat each other…  There is one skill that lies at the heart of any healthy person, family, school, community organization, or society – to accurately know another person, to let them feel valued, heard, and understood.  That is at the heart of being a good person, the ultimate gift you can give to others and to yourself.

And while we are enmeshed in all manner of relationships from casual to intimate and from broad to specific, it is becoming more and more difficult for us to “see” another person as he or she truly is.  The number of Americans who report feeling lonely has been on the rise for some time and Brooks notes since the pandemic the average person spends less than three hours a week with friends.  Loneliness, he says, gives birth to sadness and sadness, unattended, morphs into meanness.  This leads to distrust and low-trust societies, Brooks notes, tend to fall apart because it lacks the basic social fabric required to hold it together.  Given all of this, is it any wonder the biblical concept of shalom falls on deaf ears in today’s world.

Brooks holds our primary challenge is a moral one.  For centuries, he says, the main goal of formation was to “turn out people of character, people who would be honest, gentle, and respectful toward those around them.”  He identifies three concepts we used to hold as central:

·    Helping people to learn how to restrain their selfishness in order to incline their hearts to care more about others.

·    Helping people to find a purpose so their life has stability, direction, and meaning.

·    Teaching the basic social and emotional skills so you can be kind and considerate to the people around you. 

So, selflessness, purpose, and kindness.

Since World War II, however, there has been a steady shift away from the emphasis on moral formation toward individual achievement.  Our schools, for example, care less about character and more about SOL scores.  Brooks cites a 1966 study which found 90% of college students where strongly motivated to develop a meaningful philosophy of life.  In 2015, 82% of students indicated their most important goal in life was being well-off financially.  “In short,” Brooks says, “several generations, including my own, have not been taught the skills they would need in order to see, understand, and respect other people with depth and dignity.”  This, he says, has produced “disconnection, alienation, and a culture in which cruelty is permitted.”

All of this is to say we live in a time now, perhaps more than ever, when our society desperately needs people of faith who pray sincerely God will make them an instrument of peace, sowing love where there is hatred, pardon where there is injury, union where there is discord, faith where there is doubt, hope where there is despair.  The world needs people of faith who will seek to console rather than to be consoled, to understand more than to be understood, to love more than to be loved.  As St. Francis said, it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. 

Just as Jesus sent out his first followers to impart peace wherever they went, so too Jesus sends you and Jesus sends me.  If you want to live your faith once you leave this place, let it be manifested as peace; the kind of peace which offers fairness and justice.  Shalom Aleichem!  Wa alaykumu as-salaam. 

DAIN - Default Answer is No!

 

Matthew 9:9-13, 18-26

Proper 5 / Year A

As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.”  And he got up and followed him. ^{Matthew 9:9}

I suppose with my retirement lurking it is only natural for me to wonder how I will be remembered.  I hope there are many things about me you will recall and treasure.  I know I will hold dear so many amazing experiences and moments I have been blessed to be a part of in my time with you.  Please, please, please, do not forget this about me: “Every time someone invited me to lunch after church, I said ‘No!’”  When my name comes up, when someone remembers me fondly, in the highly unlikely event you look at a future rector and think, “Why couldn’t he or she be more like Keith?”, please, either in the silence of your heart or with a booming voice, say, “Whenever we asked him to join us for lunch, he declined.” 

Are you familiar with the acronym FOMO – Fear of Missing Out?  Social media has made us so aware of what everyone else is doing.  FOMO is a state of mind held by a person who suspects someone out there is having more fun or a better time than you are.  JOMO (Joy of Missing Out) is its opposite.  “I am so relieved I didn’t have to go to that!”

As a person who is capable of being alone without being lonely, there are times I am definitely a JOMO.  But, as is the case with the lunch invites, most often I am a DAIN.  What is a DAIN?  Don’t know?  Haven’t heard of it before?  Feeling left out or left behind on the latest lingo?  Well don’t be because I just made it up to describe me.  DAIN stands for “Default Answer Is No!” 

I first became aware of my DAINness sometime after I became a single father.  My girls where always asking me for things or to do things with them or to allow them to do things and, at some point, it occurred to me 99% of the time my answer was No!  Now, some of the their requests were absolute non-starters. “No, we are not going to Lowes at 8:30 on a school night to buy a can of paint so you can repaint your room.”  Other times, it simply was not the time to say yes… like when my daughters suggested we spend a quiet night at home watching movies and I said, “Well, I can’t because its Christmas Eve and I have services to do.”  But most often I said “No” just because I couldn’t be bothered.  There was no reason I couldn’t have said yes, and no reason I shouldn’t, but I am a DAIN and that put an end to that.

Brené Brown cautions, “Joy comes to us in moments – ordinary moments.  We risk missing out on joy when we get too busy chasing down the extraordinary.”  While some people need to hear to hear a sermon on the importance of taking time to stop and smell the roses, not us DAIN types.  We need to be reminded – and reminded often – what the motivational speaker Jim Rohn preached: “Often, the most extraordinary opportunities are hidden among the seemingly insignificant events of life.  If we do not pay attention to these events,” he said, then “we can easily miss the opportunities.”  

In today’s gospel reading we hear what is known as “The Call to Matthew.”  Matthew is sitting at his booth doing his work when Jesus appears and says, “Follow me.”  You know how the DAIN in me would have responded.  Of course, Jesus is not proposing something as banal as “Wanna take a coffee break?”  His invitation, if excepted, will be life changing. 

I’d like to think this story starts off a little more innocently than this.  I’d like to think it is written well after the fact Matthew has embraced discipleship and, in retelling the story, makes this moment more dramatic than it is.  If I walked into a bank for the first time, went up to an attractive teller, and said, “Come with me.  Let’s get married”, most likely she would call the security guard.  We know from human nature Matthew’s experience must be more of a transition than an instantaneous transformation.  Most likely the “call” we read about today falls somewhere in the midst of transition, somewhere between meeting Jesus for the first time and becoming a revered Apostle, after the opening scene and well before the final act.

No matter what transpired on that day Matthew was collecting the taxes, the thing which captures my attentions is he said “Yes” when Jesus invited him to follow.  I can’t prove it, but I’d like to think Matthew was a DAIN like me.  Every fiber in his being must have been screaming, “We don’t want to be bothered!”  If he was not a DAIN, then those same fibers were yelling, “This is not at all a good idea” and “Look before you leap” and “What he is suggesting is really scary.”  “No!” would be a perfectly understandable answer, be it out of default or well-reasoned analysis. 

But he didn’t say “No.”  He said “Yes” and we might want to ponder what would have happened if he had said “No.”  What would Matthew have missed out on if he had responded differently?  Well, for sure, he would have missed out on an opportunity to embrace Jesus and experience him more deeply in his everyday life.  That would have been a part of the cost of saying “No.” 

The legendary actor and comedian Dick Van Dyke said this in an interview: “Anyone who doesn’t sing and dance at every opportunity is missing out on the joy of life.”  He might say to me, “Every time you go into your DAIN mode you are missing out on something.”  Matthew might say to me, “You know, when your friends went out to lunch, Jesus sat at the table with then, so when you said “No” you lost out on the privilege and pleasure of being with him.”

So please, down the road, long after I am gone but before I am forgotten, when someone speaks of me or askes what I was like, whatever you tell them – the good, the bad, the ugly, and the embellished – please remember to tell them, “Whenever we invited him to join us for lunch he said ‘No.’”

The Trinity as Exclamation & Question Mark

 

Matthew 28:16-20

Trinity Sunday / Year A

The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them.  When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.  ^{Mt. 28:16} 

Janet Hunt, a Lutheran pastor in Illinois, tells a story about a high school Baccalaureate service.  One of the graduating seniors spoke about a time when her friend was diagnosed with cancer.  It called into question everything she thought about her faith.  She was angry, confused, helpless.  The young woman described what it was like to be at his side when he took his last breath.  Quite unexpectedly, it was a moment of profound peace and the speaker related how her prayers moved her to acceptance and gratitude, allowing her to understand God was present in that moment.  Later in the ceremony, one of the clergy members in the community addressed the class about the importance of keeping the faith.  He told them of a time he prayed with a friend who had cancer and how it left him never to return.

Hunt then states she much prefers the witness of the student than her colleague because…

“she told her own true story of a journey from faith through doubt to faith again.  And not because God bowed to her yearning whim.  But simply because God made God’s own self known to her in the darkness.”

The story invites us to ponder which experience of God rings more true to your own experience of life.

Today is Trinity Sunday, a moment in the church year dedicated to an idea, a doctrine.  At its heart, this day invites us to ask, “What is God like?”  “What is God’s true nature?”  The only way to begin to answer this question is to ask, “How have I experienced God in my life?”  “When have I sensed God was present, what happened in that moment, and how did it shape what I believe about God?”

The word Trinity is not found in the bible, although within twenty years after Jesus’ ministry we find Paul ending his letters with a reference to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Trinity is first used by Tertullian, one of the church fathers, in a document written almost two centuries after Jesus was born.  In fact, it did not become the official teaching of the church until the Council of Nicaea over 100 years after that.  One critic wryly observes the church tells us God is two men and a bird.

But the church never arrived at the Doctrine of the Trinity because it wanted an intellectual, incomprehensible way to describe God.  We got here because it is the best, most faithful way to describe our experience of God. 

The Rev. Dr. Carl Gregg, a minister of a Unitarian Universal church, writes this:

Early Christians experienced God was beyond them, “as utterly transcendent.”  They recognized that the fullness of God is beyond our language, beyond our knowledge, and beyond our experience...

They also experienced God as with them, “as present historically in the person of Jesus.”  This became known as the Incarnation: that Jesus embodied the ways of God in his life.  Over time, because his followers saw the ways of God so clearly in his life, this itinerant Jewish rabbi known as Jesus of Nazareth, became known by some as Jesus the Christ.

And… the early Christians… also experienced God as within them, “as present in the Spirit within their community.”  So, although there was a transcendent aspect of God, that would always be beyond their experience and even after Jesus was no longer physically with them, early Christians still experienced the immanence – the closeness – of God that is… “closer yet than breathing.”  They call this aspect of God “Spirit.”  

The gospels were not written to make an accurate record of an order of historical events, but rather to tell a story.  In Matthew’s gospel, the eleven disciples have heard reports Jesus is alive, but when they gather on the mountain in Galilee, it is the first they see him after the resurrection… and it is the only time they see him.  This is the setting where they worship, but some doubt.  Matthew offers a candid description of the disciples’ experience in that moment.   

The Greek word translated here as doubt is found only one other place in the entire New Testament.  It occurs when Jesus walks on the water and approaches the boat where the disciples are struggling at the oars.  You remember the story.  At Jesus’ invitation, Peter steps out on the water, looks around, and begins to sink.  Jesus grabs him, they get into the boat, and says to Peter, “Why did you doubt?”

In both uses, doubt is not the opposite of faith, but a part of it.  It is not a mark of failure, but rather a response to an experience… one that in the moment is difficult to incorporate into one’s understanding and system of belief.  “Can I really do the amazing things Jesus is doing?”  “Jesus is alive [exclamation point/question mark]”.  “My friend is dying of cancer and there is nothing I can do about it.”

On this day when we celebrate the Doctrine of the Trinity, we are not so much saying here is an idea which is a rock on which we can stand and never be shaken.  This day is more a recognition that faith is more like a journey; a pilgrimage which sometimes takes us through tranquil settings and other times is like scaling a steep mountain and then again there are moments when we feel lost in a deep valley or a dark, dense forest.  Worship is a part of the journey.  So too is doubt. 

To have faith is to acknowledge God is beyond us, a mystery we can never fully comprehend.  To have faith is to realize God is with us, seen and known in human flesh and action.  To have faith is to sense God is within us, individually and collectively.  To have faith is to accept life’s path will take us from faith to doubt to faith over and over again. 

Never forget that when the eleven first saw Jesus they worshiped him, but some doubted.  That was that moment.  Each one of them went from the mountain experience and traveled to the ends of the earth making disciples of all people.  No matter what you have been through, not matter what questions you carry, no matter what takes you high or what sinks you low, you too can do the same.  You have everything you need to live and share the Christian life as best you can.