You Need Help!

A driver losses control of his car and it careens off the road over a 500 foot cliff. Miraculously, he is able to jump free from the falling car and grab hold of a small sapplying growing from the side of the cliff. He holds on for dear life, not being able to climb up and way too high up to survive the fall down. He looks up to the ledge and begins to shout, “Help me! Help me! Is there anybody up there?” At that moment the clouds part and a single ray of light shines on the clinging man. A voice says, “I am here, my child.” “Is that you, God,” asks the man? “It is I,” God answers back. “How can I help you.” “Well,” the man says, “I am hanging on the side of this cliff here and I need you to save me.” “How strong is your faith, my child?” “It is getting stronger by the moment,” the man answers. “Then, my child,” God says, “You must let go of the sappling you are holding, begin to fall, and have faith that my angels will catch you before you crash onto the rocks below.” The man thinks about it for a moment and, uncomfotable with this plan, shouts, “Is there anybody else up there who can help me?”


Needing help is not a comfortable place to be. Perhaps you are deep into a home renovation project and realize either you don’t have the skills necessary to finish it or simply need an extra set of hands. Asking a friend for help may prove a little humbling, but on a scale of 1-10 – 10 being the most difficult – this is a 1 or 2 at best. Say you lost your job and have to ask a family member for a signicant amount of money. Now we are talking about a 9 or 10.

Out of curioisty I conducted a google search of the phrase “I need help” thinking I might get information on local handymen. To my surprise websites came up that offer fast and easy loans or that reach out to alcoholics, those suffering from depression, and people affected with a bipolor disorder. There is a ‘heaviness’ to needing help. Often times it is no small matter. And there is a risk involved too. When we ask for help we become vulnerable to the person who helps us. I did a quote seach for the word “help” and my favorite by far was a quip by Ronald Reagan who loved to say that the two scariest sentences a person can pair together are (1) “I am from the government” and (2) “I am here to help.”

Over the past few weeks our Old Testament lessons have told us the story of the prophet Elijah. Much of his minstry took place during the reign of Ahab, who the bible regards as one of the worst kings ever to sit on the throne in Israel. He married a Canaanite named Jezebeel and she had a strong, forceful personality. The marriage did at least two things: it made for peace between the Israelites and the Canaanites and it introduced Canaanite culture into Israel’s society. For centuries the people of Israel maintained strick distinctions between themselves and the people around them. Nowhere was this more true than religious practices. Israel held that God is one and that God is a jealous God. They were to worship God and God alone. Jezebeel introduced elements and symbols of Canaanite worship into ever sacred place in the land. Baal worship was all the rage. It was what you did to fit in during this new administration.

Elijah challenged all of this by setting up a contest between himself and the prophets of Baal to see whose God could bring down fire from above on a sacrafical altar. After Baal’s prophets failed, Elijah had gallons and gallons of water pour over the altar to make his task even more diffcult. Then he prayed and God sent down fire that consumed not only the sacrifice but also all of the Baal prophets.

We also heard how Elijah confronted Ahab and Jezebeel for the murder of Naboth. The king wanted to purchase Naboth’s ancestral land but was rebuffed. Jezebeel then came up with a scheme to have Naboth falsly accused and then stoned to death. Only Elijah had the courage to speak out against this injustice. Well, its funny how the corupt and powerful don’t like people who criticize them. Elijah has to flee into the wilderness to save his own life. He endures hunger and thirst, hot days and cold nights, and the thought that danger could always be just around the corner either in the form of the king’s henchmen or in a confrontation with a wild beast.

He finally makes his way to Mt. Horeb, which is where Moses first encountered God in the burning bush. Here God speaks to Elijah and Elijah speaks to God. Well, it would be more accurate to say Elijah complains to God. He complains that all he has done has made no difference at all. He complains that God’s work has forced him to run for his life. He complains about the hardships he has been forced to endure. Most of all, he complains that he is completely alone – the only person in all of Israel who has not been corupted by Canaanite worship and culture.

God listens patiently and then God says to Elijah, “You need help.” “Go back to Israel,” God says, “and annoint Hazael as king over Aram and Jehu as king of Israel. Then go to Abel-meholah and annoint Elisha as a prophet. Do this and you will have the help you need.” The biblical author of the First Book of Kings does not record if Elijah asked if there was anyone else up there he could talk to.

God recognizes something that Elijah does not. God recognizes that Elijah can not do alone the reforming work God has called him to do. The task is too big, too demanding, too taxing to be born by just one person. Elijah needs help; help that is spiritual and help that is secular; help that is as personal as a companion and as powerful as a ruling authority.

Maybe it was in Elijah’s personality to gut it out and go it alone. Maybe he was afraid to ask for help or perhaps the thought never occurred to him. At this place where I feel a deep connection with the prophet. Several times over the course of my marriage my ex-wife said she wanted us to go to counselling. Each time I resisted, believing that I could change on my own and make things better in our relationship. I also believed that going to counseling for help was a sign of weakness, failure, and shame. I look back on that now and believe my unwillingness to get help was the single biggest thing I did that contributed to the end of my marriage. By the time we went to counseling it was too late.

How about you? Do you find it difficult to ask for help? Have you resisted in the past or even now? If so, why? What is it that holds you back? If you wanted help, to whom would you go? I’ve known people who believe the only help a person should need comes from within. One’s own strengh and fortitude ought to be ennough. I’ve known people who believe faith in God is the only help a person should need. Pray enough and God will show you the way. These folks hold that going to a counsellor, for example, indicates weakness of faith. And I’ve known people who hold that there is no such thing as spiritual help. Going to church, praying, taking communion, and the like have no value for them whatsoever.

The help that God gave to Elijah affirms the value of sacred and secular. When we face a health crisis we need a doctor and we need our faith. When we have a legal problem we need a lawyer and we need our faith. When we have a rodent problem we need an exterminator and we need our faith.

In the Old Testament Elijiah is second only to Moses in working great signs and wonders. God helps Elijah in some fanstastic ways; a quick fire here, raising a child from the dead over there. His prophetic words have immediate impact sending the king and queen into a rage. But there is something different about the help that God offers this time. It is not a quick fix or a short-term solution. Yes, we read today that Elisha takes up the prophetic call, but it will be Elisha, not Elijah, who will annoint Hazael and Jehu as kings, and that will not happen for some time. Help will not look like something immediate and spectular, rather it will unfold over the course of time through ordinary events. The change will be solid and substantive.

When we call a plumber for help hopefully we will get a quick fix and a reasonable bill. Other times we need help that will be with us for the long haul – addressing a problem in the family perhaps, or battling a major health crisis. God knows that we need help from above and God knows that we need help from those around us. God is willing and able to provide both. Perhaps the question is are we willing to accept it, or, for that matter, even to ask for it? Elijah didn’t ask for help. He complained and complained and complained after he had reached the end of his rope. God offers help and to his credit Elijah accepts it. God listens to your prayers too. Never doubt this. Might God’s response to your prayers be “You need help”?

Clothed with Christ

This morning I want to preach on a text we heard read moments ago from Paul’s letter to the Christians in Galatia: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.”


But first I have to tell you about the priest who was invited to a parishioner’s home for dinner. Because it was work related he elected to wear his clergy collar. The family welcomed him graciously, but their six-year-old little boy kept starring at him. Finally it occurred to the priest that the boy was transfixed on his collar. “Do you know what this is,” he asked the boy? The boy shook his head no. The priest explained, “It is a clergy collar. It tells people that I am a priest and that I do God’s work.” This seemed to help a little. Reaching around to undo the fastener, the priest said, “Let me show you how I take it off and put it on.” Taking off the collar, he asked if the boy would like to hold it. The boy nodded yes. Handing it over, the priest asked if he could read what the writing on the inside of the collar said. For the first time the entire evening the boy spoke up (and with confidence). “Oh, I think I know what it says.” “And what is that,” the priest inquired? The boy replied, “Kills fleas and ticks for up to three months.”

Beyond the obvious functions of covering our body and keeping us warm, clothes serve two important social functions. They tell us something about ourselves and they tell others a great deal about us.

What we wear tells us who we are and how we fit in to a given social setting. I am sure each one of us has an experience either of being overdressed or underdressed at one time or another. Those moments are unnerving because they suggest to us that we don’t belong, that there is something not right with us. It is an experience that burrows deep into our psyche. I read of a priest who accepted a call to a new parish in an affluent community. He himself did not come from money and worried that his is upbringing would hinder his ministry. His anxiety found expression in his dream life where he often found himself invited to a formal party. The men were dressed in tuxedos but he showed up always in jeans and a t-shirt.

And while what we wear says something to us, it can speak volumes to others. I read an interesting blog the other day written by a young female priest who asked the question must she wear her clergy collar when she shops at Target. She wondered if she should go into the store as a priest or as a person. Believe me, her shopping experience will be radically different based on what she decides. Clergy are not the only people whose clothing says something about them. I wonder if nurses doing grocery shopping after coming off a shift are ever asked for medical advice. I image uniformed military personnel get a much different response in public today than in the years after the Vietnam war.

All of this is to say that the notion of clothing is a rich image with many broad and diverse facets. Did you catch the reference to clothing in the gospel reading? The crazed man Jesus encounters lives in a cemetary, is covered in filth, out of his mind, and completely naked. After his encounter with Jesus, the villagers – who condemned him to this lifestyle – find him sitting (as opposed to running around), carrying on a conversation with Jesus (as opposed to screaming at everyone), and clothed. The clothing has a sacramental function in the story: it is an outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible grace.

The demonic man is a vivid image of Paul’s teaching: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.” Baptism does two things: it reforms our core identity and it tells the world something important about us. The other day I saw a photograph of man wearing a bright orange jumpsuit. I did not need to see the word “Inmate” on the back in order to make certain assumptions about him. He was a person who had been convicted of a crime and was now in prison. Being baptized into Christ is like taking off an orange jumpsuit and putting on regular clothes. The change suggests that something important about you has changed. You have been restored to your intended, natural status.

Early Christians literally acted this out in their baptismal liturgy. Candidates gathered near a lake or river where they took off everything they were wearing before entering the water. This was intended to symbolize leaving behind everything from their old life. The candidate was held under water three times, first in the Name of the Father, then of the Son, and then of the Holy Spirit. It was intended to be a near death experience – a symbolic drowning if you will – in order to act out dying with Christ in the waters of baptism. Coming out of the water the newly baptized person was clothed in a white rob as a way to demonstrate new life clothed in Christ. As you may suspect, the modern day chrism dress has its roots in this ancient ritual.

This putting on Christ has never been understood as an end, but rather has always been seen as a beginning. It is the start of a new life, or perhaps it might better be expressed as a restart. In the book of Genesis we learn of God’s intention when creating humanity: “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness… So God created them, male and female.” Early church theologians thought much about these two terms, image and likeness. Image, they concluded, has to do with our potential for communion with God whereas likeness is the communion we actually have. Think of it this way: most experts agree that right now LeBron James is the best basketball player in the world. That is his image. The likeness is how he actually played in seventh and deciding game of the finals.

From a theological perspective human sin affects both image and likeness. Obviously when we sin we are not living as we ought. Our likeness is not like that of a holy, loving, generous God. But sin also separates us from God; breaking communion, leaving us estranged and alienated from the One in whose image we are created. A popular Eastern Orthodox icon for Easter depicts Jesus descending to the dead on Holy Saturday, taking Adam by the hand, lifting him up, and restoring the image of God in him. The icon speaks of Christ’s work to restore our potential for full communion with God. What we do with that potential is up to us. It is up to us what we will do with the likeness. Through baptism each one of us is made a champion. The question is will you play like a champion today? Tomorrow? For the rest of your life?

As far as we know the Christians in Galatia did not wear special “Jesus” clothes in public. There didn’t have “Property of the King of kings” t-shirts or even cross-shaped necklaces. Nothing about their appearance made them stand out as people of faith. Being clothed in Christ had a symbolic meaning. What set apart those early believers from everyone else in their godless community was their behavior: how they lived, how they demonstrated compassion, how they forgave, their sense hospitality, their commitment to one another. Likeness was not something they wore, it was something they did.

This morning we baptize three people and in so doing we will restore image and encourage likeness. Their journey through the baptismal water reminds all of us to give thanks for the potential communion we have with God that comes to us through the merit and work of Jesus Christ. It also encourages us to ponder what we are doing with this gift? Is our likeness anything like the image? It encourages us to recommit ourselves to live as people clothed in Christ.

On Politics, Religion, and Being a Like a Harp

When creation was finished God gathered together all the hosts of heaven. God was particularly pleased with the planet earth; boasting that it was a place of great balance. “Balance?” asked the archangel Michael. “Yes,” said God. “Look, here is a continent that is very hot while that one over there is very cold. This region gets lots of rain while this other one is a desert. Everything is in balance.” Pointing to one specific area of land, Michael asked, “What do you call this place?” With great pride God answered, “Oh, that is Virginia. It is the most glorious place on earth. There are beautiful mountains, rivers and streams, lakes, forests, hills, and plains. The people from Virginia are going to be handsome, modest, intelligent, and humorous, and they are going to travel the world. They will be extremely sociable, hardworking, high achieving, carriers of peace, and producers of good things.” Michael was very impressed, but also confused. “What about the balance?” God smiled and said, “Well, right next to Virginia is Washington, D.C. Wait till you see the idiots I put there.”


Today’s readings invite us to talk about something even those of us raised in the north know is not appropriate conversation in most settings: politics and faith.

The story of Naboth’s vineyard reads like breaking news on the latest scandal to rock our government. The wimpy Ahab and the scheming Jezebel seem like caricatures of contemporary political figures. The entire episode reminds us how difficult it is for public figures entrusted with political power to refrain from using that power for personal gain. We expect those we elect to office to serve the public, not to be self-serving. The framers of our constitution would have heard this story as a cautionary tale on the scope of government. Power given to the central state is power that can be brought to bear against the people, or in Naboth’s case, against a specific individual.

I had the most amazing experience this week listening to talk radio. I have XM in my car so I follow political talk on a station called “Patriot” and on one called “Left.” Guess which perspective each expounds. Well, on Monday, for the first time ever, the commentators from both stations agreed on an issue. All saw the government’s action to collect and store the data of private citizens as being a dangerous over-reach and an abuse of power. Coming on the heels of the IRS scandal, it raises sobering questions as to how personal information could be used or misused today as well as down the road.

We Americans highly value both our privacy and our security, but there are times when these two values are in conflict. Since September 11th we have been willing to sacrifice certain aspects of privacy in order to gain a greater sense of security. Perhaps the time is right for us to have a thoughtful, informed public conversation regarding how to balance these two cherished values. What concerns me most is how people in the shadows are making decisions with sweeping consequences without public knowledge or public consent.

If the first reading leads us to politics, then the Gospel reading leads us to faith. Jesus is eating a meal at the home of a religious leader, a Pharisee. His name is Simon and he seems to be genuinely interested in Jesus and in what he has to say. At one point in the conversation he even addresses Jesus with the honored title of “teacher.” A woman from the city identified as a “sinner,” which means she was a prostitute, slips into the house with a jar of ointment and tearfully begins to caress Jesus’ feet. In our culture something like this would be shocking, to say the least, but it was much more common in Jesus’ day. Notice that Simon objects not to the act, but to person. He protests that Jesus should know what kind of woman she is; that she is a sinner.

When religion is at its best it builds on what is strong and good and healthy in each one of us rather than harping on what is wrong. When religion is an authentic expression of God’s love it draws a wide circle that is inclusive of all people, not a narrow one that excludes some, let alone most. Yes, we want religion to remind us that certain behaviors and attitudes are destructive, but each time we proclaim this it must be accompanied by the assurance of forgiveness and promise of new life. And every time we detect a speck in the eye of another, the religion Jesus promoted helps us to see the log in our own.

Ultimately, the thing that links Jezebel, Ahab, and Simon is that none can see past their own needs, desires, or prejudices. For each it is as if others do not exist. That is a dangerous perspective in a person holding political power and it is a dehumanizing perspective when wielded by a person honored with religious authority.

One of Mary Oliver’s new poems speaks to this, but gets at it from a different direction. Listen to carefully to The Moth. The Mountains. The Rivers:

Who can guess the luna’s sadness who lives so
Briefly? Who can guess the impatience of stone
longing to be ground down, to be part again of
something livelier? Who can imagine in what
heaviness the rivers remember their original clarity?

Strange questions, yet I have spent worthwhile
time with them. And I suggest them to you also,
that your spirit grow in curiosity, that your life
be richer than it is, that you bow to the earth as
you feel how it actually is, that we – so clever, and
ambitious, and selfish, and unrestrained – are only
one design of the moving, the vivacious many.

Perhaps even more than goodness, what Jezebel, Ahab, and Simon lacked was curiosity. Neither the king or queen were at all curious about Naboth; about who he was or why his ancestral land was so important to him. Simon was not at all curious about what led the sinful woman down the road she took and he certainly was not curious about what was in her heart. None of the three understood themselves to be a part of the “vivacious many.” For each it was only me, what I want, what I know, what I believe, what I decide.

I never have been one for preaching much about politics, although if you know me you know I definitely have political views. I don’t preach about them for two reasons. First, I don’t believe in using the bully pulpit and second, I don’t believe if I did it would make much difference. I could preach about healthcare or tax reform or various scandals from now until sunset and it would not change a thing. I can’t change the world from this pulpit, so rarely do I try. There will always be self-serving politicians and there will always be short-sighted religious leaders. But I can change me, and I can encourage you to change too.

Gregory of Nyssa, the 4th century bishop, gave this instruction to converts preparing for baptism:

God made human beings to share in his goodness. To that end he endowed our nature with great potential so that it could attain an excellence in all manners, and thus grow towards the origin of all perfection…

Just as sight is an activity of nature and blindness is a privation of this activity, so virtue stands in the same kind of antithesis to evil. The origin of evil can only be understood as the absence of good. If you remove light, darkness ensues; if light is present, darkness does not exist. In the same way, as long as good is present in nature, evil as such is non-existent; withdraw goodness, and you have the beginning of its opposite.

Gregory taught his converts that we are endowed with God’s virtue and goodness and that whenever and wherever we choose to exhibit God’s goodness evil does not exist, just as darkness disappears in the presence of light. It is up each one of us to choose what we will do with God’s gift.

You and I have very little control over what “those idiots in Washington do.” We have only marginal influence over events in our national church and diocese. But we have complete control over ourselves. We can choose to do right by the Naboths of our lives. We can respect the dignity of every human being, even (and especially) the sinners. We can cultivate curiosity in order to understand that we are just one of many, but we can also know that our single light casts off an element of darkness for those around us.

This being Father’s Day I want to encourage us dads to be mindful of the light we cast in our families. I read recently of an interesting property shared by harps. If there are two harps in a room and they are tuned to the same frequency, when a chord is struck on the bigger harp it fills and infuses the smaller one with the grandeur and beauty of its resonance, thus bringing the smaller harp into its tuneful harmony. The smaller harp is then able to sound out its tune in its own voice. Dad’s, and mom’s, if you live into God’s goodness it is not likely you will change something in Washington, but it is very likely you will set a tone for your children and your family and your neighbors and your coworkers and your fellow parishioners. Your tone will bring a light, it will banish a certain amount of darkness, and it will help others to live out the goodness God has infused in them. This is within your power. It is up to you to decide what your witness will be.

Heidegger's Hammer & a Grieving Woman

The church roof was leaking so on Sunday morning the priest made an announcement asking for help to fix it. A dedicated member known for foul language approached the minister after the service and said, “I’m not much of a carpenter, but I’ll give you a hand.” The next Saturday the two went up on the roof with a stack of shingles and got to work. Just a few minutes into the project the parishioner hit his thumb with his hammer and, in a moment of pain, shouted out, “Damn it! I missed!” The priest looked at him and said, “You know one of these days God will strike you down for cursing.” The parishioner apologized and went back to work. A few minutes later, he hit his thumb again, “Damn it! I missed!” The priest looked at him and said, “One of these days God is going to strike you down for cursing.” Again the parishioner apologized and started hammering. Sure enough, a couple of swings later he hit his thumb again and yelled out “Damn it! I missed”! But before the priest could say anything, a bolt of lightning came out of the sky and struck the reverend square between the eyes. The confused parishioner looked up to the heavens from whence he heard a deep, booming voice exclaim, “Damn it! I missed!”


Martin Heidegger, one of the most influential philosophers of the last century, would have enjoyed that joke because in his 1962 book Being and Time he used a hammer to illustrate one of his most important concepts. Heidegger believed that we don’t exist independently from this world, but rather are a part of it. As such, he wrote that there is no way for us to step back and observe what is happening in a detached manner because we are a part of what is happening. And what is happening all around us, he said, is happening so fast that we don’t really have time to think about it. Most of what we do is reaction based on instinct.

Think about your drive to church this morning. How many conscious decisions did you make? Were you aware of turning the wheel slightly in order to negotiate a curve in the road? Do you recall touching the brakes or pushing down on the accelerator? You drove here by instinct and reacted subconsciously to most of what was going on around you. Think back for a moment to the time when you were learning to drive. Do you remember how every aspect of operating a motor vehicle required intense, thoughtful action? Can you imagine if every moment and every task in life required that kind of awareness? You’d be a basket case in a matter of hours (as would everyone around you).

Heidegger states that when it comes to negotiating life we simply act. We only analyze an action after we have performed it and most often, according to Heidegger, we do this only if the action did not go as we expected. Here is where the hammer comes in. When we are hammering a nail we don’t focus on the hammer. We simply pick it up, hold it in our hand, and use it. Heidegger famously observed that we only become aware of the hammer when it is broken. That is when we stop to reflect and analyze what went wrong. Only when we have it figured out can we get back to the process on acting and reacting to life.

Heidegger’s broken hammer helps us to understand something important about today’s gospel reading where we meet a grieving woman from the town of Nain. It is about a day’s walk from Capernaum and sits on a hillside over-looking a plain. There is a spring in the heart of town which provides water for olive and fig trees. The word nain means “pleasant” and we can imagine that most of the time it was a pleasant place to live, but not on the day Jesus arrives. The town is mourning as they process toward the cemetery to bury the only son of a grieving widow.

Any time someone close to us dies it is a ‘broken hammer moment’ – a time when our unconscious acting in life and reacting to the blinding pace of everything comes to a screeching halt. We are suddenly aware of everything going on all around us. Even our experience of time itself changes. Life seems out of control in a way it didn’t the day before. It is an experience of reality that is overwhelming and often forces a grieving person to shut down in some form or fashion. We talk about life getting back to normal, but what we are really saying is that we have found a way to get back to auto-pilot; to be able to hold the hammer in our hand and use it without having to think through every detail of hammering; a time when we regain confidence in acting without thinking.

The grieving woman from the pleasant town is a long way away from that. She has been down this road before. She has buried her father. She has buried her mother. She has buried her husband. She has figured out how to pick up the hammer each time, but this time may be different. She is burying her only son. In the patriarchic society of her day, she no longer has a status. When she was born it fell to her father to protect her. That responsibility shifted to her husband when she married. When he died she became the responsibility of her son. Her identity, her status, her legal standing, her property, everything about her was tied up in him. Losing a child is never easy, but for this woman in this society it is even more devastating than we might imagine. She is now no one, alone and hopeless.

The way Luke recounts this story is somewhat puzzling. Bringing a person back to life is a big deal, don’t you think, and yet Luke presents the episode in a nonchalant manner. There is a sort of ‘ho-hum’ tone to the whole event, especially when we contrast it to how John tells the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead. Luke doesn’t record any specific teachings Jesus wrapped around this miracle; no “I am the resurrection and the life.” Pretty much what he tells us is that Jesus had compassion for the women, told her not to weep, and then directed the young man to rise. The people of Nain instantly associate Jesus with the great prophets Elijah and Elisha who each brought a person back to life. From Luke’s prospective, the event serves to elevate Jesus in the eyes of the people, but little more.

But you can be sure it meant a lot more to the woman. Her grief gives way to surprise and joy. Her identity and place and role in life are restored. Once again she can pick up the hammer – whatever that looks like for her – and do the work God has given her to do.

From my reading, the most interesting detail in Luke’s narrative is found in these six words, “Jesus gave him to his mother.” Think about what Jesus could have done. He could have invited the young man to follow him in discipleship. The young man would have come in pretty handy as Jesus and his band moved from town to town. His testimony would have been gripping, to be sure. Think of the converts he could have won. But Jesus knows that the young man is needed at home. He knows that the young man’s mother needs him both as a provider, but also to perform the function that society designated for the eldest male in the family.

Jesus demonstrates a sensitivity to and respect for the place each of us has in family life. His action communicates that our daily acting has a sacred sense to it. You do not need to renounce everything and enter a monastery to be holy. You simply need to be faithful in the place where you are. You do not need to be ordained in order to carry out a special purpose for God. How you function in your family and contribute to your community is as spiritual as anything I do while wearing the clergy collar.

If we were to blend Heidegger’s thinking with Christian spirituality we would say that the goal of life is to pick up the hammer and be conscious about how we use it to the glory of God. We would develop an awareness of how all of life is lived in the presence of God. We would be attune to how our every task has a purpose in God. Nice words, I know, but not so easy to do. For most of us most of our time is spent on spiritual autopilot. Being aware of who we are in God’s eyes and how our work is done in God’s sight is not an easy discipline to master, but it is a rewarding one. It helps us to find the holy, sacred dignity to the day, the very dignity Jesus affirmed when he gave the young man back to his mother.

Faith Over a Distance

Today we learn about a person we do not meet – a Roman centurion stationed in the town of Capernaum. As his title implies, he commands a “century” of one hundred foot soldiers. There were ten centurions in a cohort, sixty in a legion. These leaders were working officers and the backbone of the Roman army. One historian from the time recorded that “centurions are required not to be bold and adventurous so much as good leaders, of steady and prudent mind, not prone to take the offensive or start fighting wantonly, but able when overwhelmed and hard-pressed to stand fast and die at their post.” Centurions were well-paid career men responsible for the discipline and drilling of the soldiers under their command.


In today’s reading, we never meet personally the Capernaum centurion nor does he have any direct lines in the narrative. We learn of him through others. We hear his words through others. Yet even in this round about way we get to know him. We learn that he owns a slave, something not uncommon in the culture and time. We learn that he “highly values” his slave - the words chosen by Luke to constitute this phrase suggest a deep, personal affection; something well beyond being a prized asset or good worker. And we learn that the slave is ill and close to death.

The centurion would have been well informed about the comings and goings of the town where he was stationed. He has heard about Jesus – about his healing powers – and knows that Jesus is in town. He wants Jesus to tend to his slave. He could have gone to meet Jesus himself, but didn’t. He could have sent some of his soldiers to ‘invite’ Jesus to come to his house, but didn’t. He sends local Jewish religious leaders to make an appeal on his behalf and they could not have made a more compelling case: “He is worthy to have you do this thing. He loves our people [and you can be sure that not many Jews would say that about most centurions] and it is he who built our synagogue for us.”

Jesus is convinced and makes his way toward the centurion’s home. Before he gets there he encounters another group sent by the Roman official with a message: “I am not worthy to have you come to my house. Only say the word and my servant will be healed. I know what it is like to give an order to a subordinate with the confidence it will be carried out. I recognize that you have the same authority in this matter.” Jesus, amazed by the centurion’s faith, effects a healing without ever meeting him or his slave.

While there is much to ponder in this story, today I am especially curious about the dynamic of distance. I am impressed that Jesus understood the good he could do without ever being present to see it in person. And I am struck that the centurion understood he (and his slave) stood to benefit greatly by being in relationship with a person he never meets directly.

This is not the normal operating dynamic of our day, is it. We want to be hands-on, face-to-face. We feel connected to a person or to an office or to an institution by having direct, first person encounters. Modern technology and communication has enabled us to be in relationship with people all around the globe and to sense that we are an intimately involved with people we have never met. We now know people from Newtown, CT, Boston, MA, and Moore, OK and have been inspired by stories of their courage, selflessness, and loss. If you watch on a regular basis, say, the Today Show, you probably have a better sense of what is happening in Matt Lauer’s life than you do in the lives of your own adult children.

The dynamic of distance has important implications for how we live out our Christian faith and life. For example, we will feel a greater sense of reward if a team from the parish works on a Habitat project than if we take up a collection and send a $150 to support that work. Because modern communication has helped us “to be there”, we are more likely to contribute to tornado relief than we are to give to a general appeal aimed at general needs we know little about.

In our day, distance creates a sense of alienation and distrust. And yet, as the story of the centurion reminds us, sometimes it is important to have faith even though there is distance; where there is no face-to-face encounter or pre-existing relationship.

I was reminded of this last week as I attended a conference for diocesan coordinators of the Episcopal Relief & Development fund. This fund has been in existence for 74 years and during that time it has enable Episcopalians to respond to domestic relief efforts and to participate in international development projects. It began in 1940 as a way to assist refugees fleeing from Nazi Germany. Today its program functions revolve around...

 alleviating hunger and improving the food supply,

 promoting health and fighting disease,

 creating economic opportunities and strengthening communities,

 and responding to disaster and rebuilding communities.

$.91 cents out of every dollar you contribute goes to program based in one of these priorities. Helping donors feel connected to the good they do is difficult, but important work. When we watched the clean water/well video the distance between our Lenten fundraising and the good it would do got a little smaller. Still, it takes faith to believe that a check is going to make a difference.

While we were focused on clean water, many Episcopal congregations got excited about the Nets for Life initiative. A $10 donation purchases a mosquito net that is hung over a sleeping area and prevents the spread of malaria. The goal was to distribute 3 million nets, but enough money was raised for 5.3 million. They have been given out in over 40 countries. Tens of thousands of people have been trained how to instruct recipients to use the nets and to fight off common diseases. Episcopal Relief & Development estimates that this program has saved the lives of 109,000 children under five years old. Increased childhood health means that parents have more time to spend working, thus creating a better standard of living for their family. Episcopal Relief & Development plans to continue to work with net recipients to address other needs, such as clean water.

All of this is healing at a distance and it requires faith, doesn’t it. For us as givers, we must have faith that our donation will be used efficiently and effectively, that it will enhance the living conditions of another human being, and that it will be pleasing to God. The recipients must have faith that the gift will make their lives better. You can go to the Episcopal Relief & Development website to watch videos and read stories about some of the people touched by the program, but other than that we must have faith as Jesus did; that our act will be sufficient.

And most often, giving money and giving it at a distance is the best and most effective way to help. At the conference we heard the story of a saintly Episcopalian who was so moved by stories of a particular disaster and how many people had lost everything that she worked tirelessly to collect teddy bears in her community. She was so dogged and effective that after six months she filled an entire tractor trailer. She then had a shipping company haul the load to an Episcopal Church in the affected area. Well, it was a small church with a worship space, tiny hall, and two little classrooms. They had nowhere to put a truckload of stuffed animals and, in fact, had no need for a truckload of stuffed animals. The geographical distance had been overcome, but it made little actual difference.

Most often we are at our Christian best when we are present with another person. But there are times when we must have faith that our efforts overcome distance. We exercise this every Sunday when we engage the Prayers of the People. As individuals we probably know personally only a few people being prayed for. Most likely this week many of us will have direct contact with only one or two people on the list. There is a distance between us and the people we are praying for. And yet, does anyone here doubt that our prayers at a distance are not important? Does anyone doubt that our prayers at a distance do not make a difference; a difference in the lives of the people we pray for as well as a difference in us who offer the prayers?

Today’s gospel reading tells a unique story in Jesus’ ministry. This is the only time he heals at a distance a person he has not met. All of his other healings are done face-to-face. They are hands on events. Thus it is with our Christian faith and life. Most of what we do and most of what sustains us is an experience in the first person. It happens here at St. Paul’s or in our families or with our friends. Still, there are aspects of the faith that are carried out over a distance. Today we recognize that these acts are effective and celebrate God’s goodness and faithfulness in blessing our efforts to make a difference.

The Holy Spirit at St. Paul's Church

Friday nights in the fall where I grew up meant one thing: high school football. And at my school, which had a long tradition of not being very good in football, it meant cheering for our award-winning marching band. It was very good musically, but outstanding in marching. Members stepped in unison as they changed from one formation to another and then another through a series of intricate (and sometimes magical) movements and shifts. Fall Saturdays were given to watching Big 10 football on TV and back in the day halftime meant watching the marching bands of both schools compete to out-do one another. In Columbus, then as now, nothing gets the crowd going quite like when the Buckeye Band spells out “Script Ohio.”


Imagine my shock watching a marching band years ago when its members did something completely unexpected. When the performance was over, the drum major gave a signal and rather than marching off the field in dignified, uniform, organized formation, each member was set free to clear out in whatever direction and manner he or she chose. Some dashed for the nearest sideline. A few went in circles. Some jumped. Others hopped. I saw a few do cartwheels. And at least one person tumbled across the field in a zigzag fashion. I had never seen anything quite like it before, nor have I since, but do you know what… I loved it! Yes, there is much to be said for order and precision and planned intricacy, but there is also something to be said for moments of unbridled emotion released from our inner core and spilling out through every pore of our body and fiber of our being.

If there is a day in the liturgical calendar for such a thing as this, surely it is today – the Day of Pentecost. No verse of scripture has had more influence on Anglican worship than I Corinthians 14:1: “Let all things be done decently and in good order.” For fifty-one Sundays a year and Christmas Eve we are all about decency and order. But there was nothing decent about the first Pentecost. The disciples behaved in such an outlandish manner that bystanders thought they were under the influence. And there was nothing orderly about the Holy Spirit moving to and fro like a mighty, rushing wind. This was the liturgical equivalent a marching band running off the field in a free-for-all.

I must tell you that I have been to Episcopal Church services in the charismatic tradition – yes, there is such a thing – and I resisted mightily all the directions to lift up my hands in praise, to shout, and to dance about. Worship, for me, is about moving inward to that deep, quiet place in my soul where God’s Spirit dwells. It is not about moving outward and letting go of all my inhibitions so that I might be “caught up in the Spirit.”

But every now and then something happens to move me spiritually and encourages me to come out of my shell. Such a moment took place right here at St. Paul’s in January when, during a memorial service, we blew up balloons that had inside a piece of paper with our name of in it and batted them around as a way to pass the peace. It was joyous. It was colorful. It had a child-like quality to it. And it released something in each of us that led to a twenty minute peace passing that was filled with hugs and laughter and a sense of the Spirit that I long to experience again.

In his book on beauty John O’Donohue writes this:

“Reverence is not a stiff pious posture which remains frozen and lacks humor and play. To live with a sense of reverence is not to become a prisoner of dull piety. Playfulness, humor and even a sense of the anarchic are companions of reverence because they insist on the proper proportion of the human presence in the light of the eternal.”

I like St. Paul’s tradition of having a cookout after church on Pentecost Sunday. Casual clothes and gathering outside in good weather have a way bringing out our playfulness and humor, accompanied by a dash or two of anarchy. And while we can’t schedule the movement of the Holy Spirit, we can do programming in a way that opens us up to the possibility.

I have been reading Mary Oliver’s new book of poems. One, titled “If I Were”, beautifully captures the connection between movement and spirit:

There are a lot of ways to dance and
to spin, sometimes it just starts my
feet first then my entire body, I am
spinning no one can see it but it is
happening. I am so glad to be alive,
I am so glad to be loving and loved.
Even if I were close to the finish,
even if I were at my final breath, I
would be here to take a stand, bereft
of such astonishments, but for them.

If I were a Sufi for sure I would be
one of the spinning kind.

What makes you spin for joy? How do you experience a sense of profound gladness for the blessings of life? When does the Spirit move in you and flow from you in a way that is anything but decent and orderly? When does a deep sense of reverence manifest itself in you through playfulness?

I think these things happened more naturally and more frequently in my life when I was young; when on a winter day I could not help but drop to the ground and make a snow angel or on a summer afternoon could do none other than climb a tree for the sheer joy of it. Maybe that is why Jesus said the Kingdom of God belongs to children. His gift of the Holy Spirit moves so much more freely through them than through us adults.

The Book of Acts tells the story of the early church. It began on this day – the Day of Pentecost. Our beginning was not decent and it was not orderly. It was a rushing wind and a wild celebration. That feeling and expression did not last forever. The same Spirit of Pentecost Day also imparted a sense of peace and calm. It gave to the church and its members the strength to live life from one day to the next, from one week to the next, from one generation to the next. But as the story of Acts unfolds, from time to time the calming, gentle Spirit of peace and quiet hope moves like a playful wind unleashing something joyous in the people in touches. It is not every day and it does not happen every time the church gathers. But it does happen… from time to time.

I love our worship life at St. Paul’s. I enjoy our decent and in good order. But every once in a while the Spirit moves us in an exhilerating way - the Old James River Jazz Band or Liberian clergy singing and dancing or celebrating the Eucharist in the midst of a brunch or batting baloons around the sancturary. Today I want to name for us these moments as Spirit-filled and Spirit-born. They are tanglible signs of our link to the first Pentecost. The Spirit is alive and present in our midst and we are glad indeed.

Annoyed by Paul's Annoyance with a Slave Girl

I don’t believe the framers of the Lectionary – the assigned scripture readings for each Sunday – took into account that today would be Mother’s Day when they choose these lessons. The reading from the Book of Acts could not be more ‘unMother’s day’ if it tried, and yet it speaks to an important global problem that surely is every mother’s concern.


Paul, Silas, and his travelling companions arrive in the city of Philippi and make their way to a “place of prayer.” On the way they meet “a slave girl who has a spirit divination” and the text tells us that her ability “brought her owners a great deal of money by fortune-telling.” The girl follows Paul and cries out, “These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation.” Every time the girl saw Paul and his companions she launched into “crying out.” After several days of this, Paul became “annoyed” and ordered the spirit to leave the girl, which it did immediately. You heard how the story unfolds from there: the slave owners are angered that their revenue stream is gone, they make legal charges against Paul and the others, the group is put in prison, the earthquake, the jailer, the baptism.

The text casts the slave girl as a minor character, but she puts a human face on what is an age-old, world-wide problem. Today she would be classified as a victim of human trafficking. It is a term which conjures up images of something that happens in foreign countries, but in fact is a tremendous problem here in America and often occurs closer to home than we might imagine. Maggie Tinsman, an Iowan Episcopalian with a deep concern for this issue, writes “Put simply, human trafficking is slavery. Force, fraud or coercion is used to compel a person to perform labor or commercial sex, and all profits belong to the trafficker.”

A 2007 report estimated that as many as 27 million people worldwide may be victims of human trafficking; most of whom are young woman and girls. Because of the underground nature of this crime it is hard to get an accurate estimate, but it is possible that as many as a million victims are right here in the United States. In our country, the overwhelming majority of runaway girls end up in human trafficking within 48 hours of leaving home.

Tinsman writes “women are forced to work in strip clubs, massage parlors, in street prostitution, and are required to advertise their services on classified websites. They are abused mentally, physically and sexually as a means of keeping them under traffickers’ control.” She goes on to say that victims of labor trafficking “may work in restaurants, as hotel housekeepers, in factories or on farms, and as nannies. These individuals are not paid, and frequently work and live under deplorable conditions. Often, these victims face language barriers, and any escape is impeded by the traffickers who maintain their victims’ documents, isolate them from the outside world and threaten to turn them over to U.S. authorities.”

Recent headlines have highlighted just how prevalent this problem is both at home and abroad. Media outlets resported on May 2 that two girls were rescued from a Saudi Arabian compound in McLean, VA. Then came the shocking news out of Cleveland where three kidnapped girls have been held in a house for ten years. On Friday, the death toll at the Bangladesh clothing factory stood at over 1,000 people – most of them women and all of them working in a horrific enviroment.

Something about the very fabric of today’s text bothers me, something beyond the way this poor girl was used and exploited. I am bothered by the way the text focuses only on the men in the story and how unfolding events affect them. Paul is annoyed. The slave owners lose their income. The crowd in the marketplace – most likely all men – riots against Paul and his companions. The men are beaten and thrown into jail. The male jailer is distraught when he thinks his prisoners have escaped. The jailer and “all his household” are baptized. Whatever women where a part of these events – starting with the slave girl – don’t seem to matter much. Who was this girl? What was her name? What happened to her after she could no longer turn a profit for her owners? Who were the women in the jailer’s household? How did they feel about getting baptized? Feminine biblical scholars point out these kinds of deficiencies in the text, but also note we are asking questions that the text’s author – a product of a male dominated society – was not equipped to discuss. They are issues that simply where not on the writer’s radar screen.

But they are on ours, or should be. We care about this slave girl. We want to know what happened to her. Her life matters. It matters every bit as much as the life of the jailer. He is saved because Paul, Silas, and the others notice him. He is brought into the Christian faith and life. He and his household are given the opportunity to be a foundational part of the first church in Philippi. They will experience the same blessing, comfort, and companionship that we experience by being a member of St. Paul’s. She is never heard from again. No one even seems to think to go looking for her to see if she can be saved and brought into the faith community. Surely she needed to know God’s love every bit as much as any of the jailer’s daughters (assuming he had some). It is tragic really.

But we live in a different time when women, young women, and girls matter and people of faith across our country are finding ways to express God’s love to victims of trafficking. The Rev. Brian McVey, rector of St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Davenport, Iowa, has led that congregation to a unique ministry. Their parish is located just four miles from the world’s largest truck stop. Over 8,000 people pass through it every day and it is an active location for human sex trafficking. Some estimate that trafficking generates as much as $30 million dollars a year there. St. Alban’s, a parish with just 150 members and an annual budget of only $105,000, began what they call “a ministry of presence” at the truck stop. It involves being at the site and identifying themselves as members of a church who care about the people there. While it is hard to measure their impact, to date several young women have approached them for help and countless others have been educated as to the problem.

In 1997, the Rev. Becca Stevens, an Episcopal chaplain at Vanderbilt University, founded Magdalene as a residential community for women who have survived life on the streets, prostitution, trafficking, and drug addiction. They now have six homes that provide women with shelter, work, and support for up to two years. The women who come there range in age from 20-50, many were first abused sexually between the ages of 7-11, began using alcohol or drugs by 13, have been arrested on average a hundred times, and have spent about 12 years on the street prostituting. 72% who join the program are clean and sober within two-and-a-half years of joining. At the center of the community life are twenty-four spiritual principles and Magdalene stands as a powerful witness “to the truth that in the end, love is more powerful than all the forces that drive women to the streets.”

There is much that you and I can do to about human trafficking. The first thing is to educate ourselves. You can find plenty of information on the internet. Do a Google search on “Virginia human trafficking” or “Episcopal Church and human trafficking” and you will be well on your way. Talk with others here at St. Paul’s and with friends who belong to other area churches and find out if who else shares your passion for this problem. You can ‘like’ the facebook page of the Virginia Coalition against Human Trafficking and receive posts about news and events in our commonwealth. You can support ministries that are engaged in rescuing and rehabilitating victims of human trafficking. A good place to start is Thistle Farms, which is Magdalene’s job-training enterprise. It employs 40 women who create natural body and bath products that are available for sale online and at over 200 stores. They have perfect late gifts for Mother’s Day.

I have to tell you that until this week I have not paid much attention to the crime of human trafficking. I can hardly call myself a seasoned crusader. But there was something in today’s reading the kept gnawing at me. I was annoyed by Paul’s annoyance with the slave girl. The more I thought about it, and prayed about it, and mediated on it, the more I wanted to know about her and about how victimization like her’s continues in our own time. I don’t know where this sermon will take me, but I am interested in beginning a conversation with anyone who is interested in exploring the possibilities.

As I said at the beginning, this hardly strikes me as a happy topic for Mother’s Day and yet I can not imagine one any more important. As both a cheap way to marry the subject to the day, but also as a way of putting more of a human face on the reading, the slave girl had a mother. We know even less of her story that we do of her daughter’s. Did she die at an early age, forcing her child to the streets and life of slavery? Did her daughter run away and was her heart broken? Was her daughter taken from her and was she powerless to do anything about it? Was she herself a victim when she was younger? Perhaps she too was enslaved with no way out. Stories like hers, whatever the actual details may have been, are happening every day in our world, in our country, and in our commonwealth. Anything we can do that might free even one person is well worth the effort. Anything we can do that demonstrates God’s love is greater than the forces that exploit human beings is nothing less than an imperative we carry when the Good News of Jesus Christ is in our hearts.