Pick Up Your Cross

Jesus began to teach his disciples that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed.

It has been eleven days since the shooting at the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida.  In a few days the students will return to their classes for the first time since Ash Wednesday, the day the church invites us to remember our own mortality.  I cannot begin to imagine the courage it will take for fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen year olds to walk through those doors, stand in the hallways, and sit in the rooms where they experienced unfathomable horror and terror.  My heart goes out to them and to their parents and to all who work in and for the school.  My thoughts and prayers are with them.

And my prayers are with our country as we launch yet again into a national conversation about what to do about violence in our society.  I am not going to stand in this pulpit and preach the answer is… gun control… arming teachers… spending more money on mental health programs… etc.  This is not the place for that.  But I do want to say, “Enough!”  This kind of tragedy is becoming far too common and we need to come together as a country to insure it does not happen again. 

Maybe I am the only one, but I just feel so powerless in all of this.  Like Peter in today’s reading, I just want the world and the people I love in it to be safe.  I don’t want to see anyone hurt.  I don’t want violence to be the norm.  But it is, not everywhere and not all the time, but it is not going away any time soon.

Jesus understood his own path in life was going to take him to a very dark and difficult place – the Cross.  It is one of the most brutal methods of execution devised in human history.  How interesting Jesus invites each and every one of his followers to pick up our cross and follow him.  Your own personal cross is a composite of all the pain and suffering and brokenness in your life.  We have broken hearts and broken bodies, broken thoughts and broken relationships.  All of this and more is your cross.

Jesus’ teaching to pick up your cross and follow him raises two questions.  First, why in the world would you pick up your cross?  Well, because if you try to hide from the pain and brokenness in your life it will overwhelm you.  You can try to pretend it does not exist, but if you do this – what Jesus names as trying to “save” your life – your cross will eventually crush you. 

The second question is this, if I pick up my cross and follow Jesus, where will he lead me?  Jesus will lead you on a path he himself has already walked.  When Jesus teaches his followers he will undergo suffering, be rejected, and be killed, he adds one more thing.  He tells them when all of this happens, after three days he will rise again.  Jesus is walking the path of resurrection and new life.  Only when you embrace the brokenness of your life and carry it with you as you follow Jesus can you begin to hope for healing and wholeness.

Scott Bader-Saye, a professor at the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin, Texas and our keynote speaker at last week’s diocesan council, said something that helped me clarify my own theology around a question with which I have struggled for some time.  God, he said, is not behind human history pushing it forward.  God is ahead of human history inviting us into God’s self.  Think about this for a moment.  We often ask why God allowed a tragedy to happen, as if God is somehow either the author or the allower of everything that happens.  Bader-Saye says this is the wrong perspective.  God is ahead of human history working, as Paul writes, to reconcile all things in Christ.  God sees our brokenness and invites us to bring it to God’s healing heart; to the place where we find resurrection and new life.  God feels deeply the pain of this world and invites us all to move toward God’s reconciling love.

And while we here at St. Paul’s are far from perfect, I believe we are on the path Jesus walks as he invites us to follow.  As individuals, we have responded to Jesus’ invitation to pick up our cross and follow him and he has led us to this place.  Here we sense and see the heart of God.  We are a community of peace, mutual affection, respect for one another, compassionate, self-giving, merciful, and joyous.  And while I feel powerless to change the world, in this place I feel empowered by God’s Spirit to a part of a community reflective of God’s dream for all people.  We are witnesses to the power of a common life centered on Jesus Christ. 

Michael Curry, our Presiding Bishop, was the speaker at our clergy conference last fall.  It took place less than two weeks after 26 people were killed at a mass shooting at First Baptist Church in Sutherland, Texas.  I asked Bishop Curry to share his thoughts on church safety.  His answer, which I cannot possibly hope to replicate verbatim, encouraged us not to approach our national debate as conservatives or progressives, but as Christians.  Hold up, he said, what the faith holds dear.  As Americans we prize above all else life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  We in the Christian tradition know the value of each and understand that each must be safeguarded.  But above all else we value the first gift God has given to us – the gift of life. 

If innocent lives are being taken through gun violence with greater and greater frequency, we people of faith must speak up for life.  Again, I am not here to say what specific liberties and what forms of happiness need to be forfeited.  But Bishop Curry’s point hits home.  We must do all in our power to uphold the value of life.

I believe God invites us as a people to journey to the place where God is, where true healing and wholeness is to be found.  Perhaps it is a destination we will never reach in this life, but surely every step we take toward it gets us a little bit closer to the abundant life God seeks to share with all of us.  My prayer is as a country we will find a way collectively to pick up our cross and follow Jesus.

Achieving or Receiving Life

Here is one of my all-time favorite sermon jokes.  Some of you have heard it before, but it has an infinite number of possible punch lines.  A young Sioux Indian says to his mother, “Tell me the story about how my big brother, Soaring Eagle, got his name?”  The mother nostalgically answers, “Well, it happened like this… just after he was born, your father stepped outside and the first thing he saw was a majestic eagle circling in the sky overhead and this is how your brother got his name.”  The child then says, “Tell me the story of how my sister, Leaping Deer, got her name.”   “Well, it happened like this,” the mother responds, “Just after she was born, your father stepped outside and the first thing he saw was a beautiful deer jumping gracefully over a thicket of shrubs.”  “And mother,” the little boy says, “tell me how I got my name.”  The mother scoops him up in her arms, looks him in the eyes, and lovingly says, “Well, Kitty Coughing Up a Hairball, it happened like this…”

One of the on-going features of being human is the quest for identity.  Who am I?  Who should I be?  Most of us borrow from a wide variety of images and inspirations to construct some kind of identity to which we aspire.  We imagine we should have the body of a swimsuit model or NFL quarterback, be as successful as Bill Gates, and as charismatic as a late night talk show host.  Our homes should look like Martha Stewart’s, our parenting skills should be as magical as a dog whisper, our charity should emulate Mother Teresa, and our inner peace should rival the Dali Lama’s.  Maybe you set your sights a little lower, but you get the idea.  When it comes to constructing an identity, the human tendency is to set the standard impossibly high.

Perhaps the answer is to aim lower, but even this approach ignores a fundamental question: we must decide if we are going to try to achieve our life or receive it.  We must settle for ourselves a question as old as the scriptures: do I earn my salvation through hard work and good moral behavior or do I receive it as a free gift from God?  Do I merit what I get in life or does all come through grace?  Do I make myself into who I am or receive my identity from the God who knows me through and through?

On the first Sunday in Lent we always encounter the story of Jesus’ baptism and temptation.  They are set next to each other as a companion to the first three chapters in the book of Genesis.  In chapter one of Genesis, God brings forth creation and at the end of each day pronounces pleasure at what has come to pass.  At the end of the sixth day, after the creation of the human family, God is said to be very pleased.  And then in chapter three, the humans encounter temptation.  Will they trust in God to provide all that is good and necessary or will they reach beyond their bounds to look for these things in ways other than God has provided?  Whereas Adam and Eve succumb to temptation, Jesus does not.  He lives as God intends for all of us to live.  The blessing he receives from God, Paul says, he passes on to all of us.

I want you to notice something very important from today’s Gospel reading.  Jesus is baptized and as he comes up out of the water he sees the heavens open and the Spirit descending on him in the form of a dove.  And then he hears a heavenly voice say, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  With you I am well pleased!

In Mark’s gospel, this episode takes place at the absolute beginning of the record about Jesus.  There is no mention of the origins of his divine birth.  He has not yet resisted temptation.  He has done no miracles.  He has not healed anyone.  He has not taught a single parable.  He has confronted no corruption.  He has forgiven no sin.  He has not yet offered himself to death on a cross.  Jesus, at this point in the gospel story, has achieved literally nothing.  And yet it is precisely at this point God pronounces Jesus ‘the Beloved’ and says, as God said of Adam long ago, “with you I am well pleased.”

God loves, not because we have done something lovable, but because God loves.  God gives, not because we have done something to deserve it, but because God gives.  God forgives, not because we confesses and repent of sin, but because God forgives. 

Think about the things that matter most in your life; things like family and friendships and health and a sense of calling or purpose in life.  The blessings that matter most to us have come to us not through our own achievement, but through the grace of God.  They come to us as gifts of love from a God who loves us because God loves us. 

If you make achievement your goal in life then your constant companion will be complaint, because you can never achieve enough and you will never be rewarded as you believe you deserve.  But if you make it your goal to receive your life from God, you constant companion will be gratitude for all God is giving to you and doing through you.

Look at Jesus.  He did not earn God’s love at Baptism.  He received it.  And because he received it, he could give it to others.  Give it freely.  Give it abundantly.  It is no different for us.  If we believe we earn God’s love through what we achieve, than we will be able to offer only our own love and offer it only to those who merit it from us.  Imagine how this will come to color our children, our spouse, our friends, even the people whose lives we tangentially touch.  But if we receive God’s love, we will have the love of God in us and it will pour from us onto and into everyone we know.

Over these five Sundays in Lent, we will hear again the ancient stories of God’s covenant love for us.  The Hebrew word for this love is hessed.  It is most often translated as long-suffering.  Don’t get too caught up on the suffering part, as if God is at pains to put up with us or to tolerate us.  The idea of hessed is God’s love is sure, certain, unshakable, unconditional, freely offered, and freely received.  

This being human is a hard thing.  There is something inside of us, a temptation if you will, suggesting to us we must make something of ourselves.  It hints God’s love and affirmation are conditional on what we do, on what we accomplish, on what we achieve.  “Be worthy,” we hear a voice say, “and I will be well-pleased with you.”  That voice, as loud and clear as it may be, is not a voice from heaven.  The voice from heaven is the One saying, “You are my child, my beloved, and with you I am well-pleased.”  This is our true and heavenly identity.  We do not make it.  We do not earn it.  We receive it and live into its blessings every day.

Fasts and Feasts

You may be interested to know the first English prayer book of 1549 calls tonight’s rite “The First Day of Lent, commonly called Ash Wednesday.”  The 1552 revision changed the name to “A Commination against Sinners, with Certain Prayers to be Used Divers Times in the Year.”  (A commination is the reciting of divine threats of vengeance on sinners.  As a word it has fallen so far out of use that it is unknown to spell check.)  Not to be outdone, the 1662 English prayer book calls this service “A Commination, or Denouncing of God’s Anger and Judgment against Sinners, with Certain Prayers to be Used on the First Day of Lent, and at Other Times, as the Ordinary shall Appoint.” 

The Commination was drawn primarily from the 27^th Chapter of the Book of Deuteronomy:

Cursed is the man that maketh any carved or molten image, an abomination to the Lord, the work of the hands of the craftsman, and putteth it in a secret place to worship it.

Amen.

Cursed is he that curseth his father and mother.
Amen.

Cursed is he that removeth away the mark of his neighbour’s land.
Amen.

Cursed is he that maketh the blind to go out of his way.
Amen.

Cursed is he that letteth in judgment the right of the stranger, of them that be fatherless, and of widows.
Amen.

Cursed is he that smiteth his neighbour secretly.
Amen.

Cursed is he that lieth with his neighbour’s wife.
Amen.

Cursed is he that taketh reward to slay the soul of innocent blood.
Amen.

Cursed is he that putteth his trust in man, and taketh man for his defense, and in his heart goeth from the Lord.
Amen.

Cursed are the unmerciful, the fornicators, and adulterers, and the covetous persons, the worshipers of images, slanderers, drunkards, and extortioners.
Amen.

Well, now you have been rightly and duly comminated and don’t forget it.  Still, there is something helpful about rehearsing those things that are definitely wrong.  And the old liturgy did more than lecture people on their sins, it spelled out (in exacting Old-English detail) what one must do to be restored to God’s favor.

The themes of penitence and mortality are intertwined in our Ash Wednesday liturgies and lessons.  We are human and we fail, sometimes spectacularly, at what it means to be created in God’s image.  In Lent we reach out to God in an attempt to become again who God created us to be.  We seek healing of what is broken in our hearts, in our lives, and in our world.  In tonight’s Gospel reading, Jesus reminds us this is to be a very personal and private act.  Our piety is intended for transformation, not attention.

And speaking of transformation, what are you giving up for Lent?  Some of us will give up something personally challenging, say alcohol, while others will give up something not so taxing, like kissing hippos.  The choice is yours, but one thing I know from experience, the more demanding the particular Lenten rigors I embrace, the longer it takes to get to Easter. 

Here is another Lenten question, just as important as the other, but not asked nearly as often:  What are you taking on for Lent?  The call to almsgiving, reading scripture, and prayer during Lent suggests what we add is just as important as that from which we choose to abstain.

William Arthur Ward, who passed away in 1994, is one of America’s most quoted inspirational writers.  He contends Lent should be a season of feasting as well as a season of fasting.  He elaborated on this in his famous Lenten Prayer:

Lent is a season to:

Fast from judging others;

feast on Christ living in them.

Fast from emphasis on differences; 

feast on the unity of all life.

Fast from apparent darkness; 

feast on the reality of light.

Fast from thoughts of illness; 

feast on the healing power of God.

Fast from words that pollute; 

feast on phrases that purify.

Fast from discontent; 

feast on gratitude.

Fast from anger; 

feast on patience.

Fast from pessimism; 

feast on optimism.

Fast from worry; 

feast on appreciation.

Fast from complaining; 

feast on appreciation.

Fast from negatives; 

feast on affirmatives.

Fast from unrelenting pressures; 

feast on unceasing prayer.

Fast from hostility; 

feast on non-resistance.

Fast from bitterness; 

feast on forgiveness.

Fast from self-concern; 

feast on compassion for others.

Fast from personal anxiety; 

feast on eternal hope through Jesus.

Fast from discouragement; 

feast on hope.

Fast from lethargy; 

feast on enthusiasm.

Fast from suspicions; 

feast on truth.

Fast from idle gossip; 

feast on purposeful silence.

Fast from thoughts of weakness; 

feast on promises that inspire.

Fast from problems that overwhelm; 

feast on prayer that undergirds.

Fast from everything that separates us from the Lord; 

feast on everything that draws us to the Lord.

Unlike the Commination, these are not divine threats of vengeance on sinners.  Rather, they speak to the brokenness we experience when we fail to live fully into the image of God in us.  And the feasts direct us to a more whole and holy way of living.  They hint at and give hope for how dying to self can give way to a new Easter life.

So here is something you may want to do.  Take this prayer home with you and meditate on it for some time.  What one or two or perhaps three fasts and feasts from the prayer you might want to take on for Lent?  If you are really brave, you can ask your spouse or a close friend what they think you should fast and feast on.  When was the last time you asked for this kind of honest feedback?

Who would Miss Your "Preaching"?

“Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim my message there also, for that is what I came out to do.”

Jesus sets a tone in today’s gospel reading that distinguishes Christianity from pretty much every other major religious tradition in the world.  Eastern religions are available to provide enlightenment for those who seek it.  Judaism is a religion for a particular group of people, the Hebrews.  Islam seeks converts, but the converts are brought into the traditions and tenets of the faith.  Only Jesus goes out into the world to engage people where they live and work. 

Let’s think back over the gospel readings from the last few weeks.  While we heard them as individual stories, they are, in fact, events unfolding over just a matter of a few hours.  Jesus invites four fishermen to leave their jobs and follow him.  They go into the nearby town of Capernaum and worship in the synagogue.  There, Jesus teaches “with authority” and commands an unclean spirit to leave a person.  Today we read they leave the synagogue and go to the home of one of the fishermen.  His mother-in-law is sick with a fever, a potentially life-threatening illness in an era before modern medicine.  Jesus goes to her, takes her by the hand, lifts her up, and the fever leaves her.  She is able to resume her customary household role of tending to the needs of visitors and guests.  By nightfall everyone in town brings anyone who is ill to the house and Jesus heals all.  Before the sun comes up the next morning Jesus slips away to pray. 

Perhaps he is praying about what to do next.  Capernaum has been pretty good to Jesus.  People seem open to his message, it has a nice place to worship, a beautiful view of the Sea of Galilee, and all fish a person could want to eat.  It is not unlike the Eastern Shore – wonderfully out of the way with a relaxed vibe and self-sufficient mindset.  Jesus can stay here and set up shop.  He can preach and teach and heal until his heart is content.  Anyone who wants to hear him can come to Capernaum and find him.  I mean, if they went out to the Jordon wilderness to be baptized by John, this little village on the lakeside will seem like paradise. 

Jesus emerges from prayer and announces a very different vision to his followers.  He is going to move on and move about and he is going to proclaim his message through what he says and through the healing deeds he does.

It makes sense for Jesus to do this.  As Paul wrote, Jesus “did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking on the human form.”  In today’s reading the person who set aside all divine prerogatives in order to become incarnate in our world announces he will take another step and then another and then another to become even closer to all people.  Jesus engages the world with God’s redeeming love and we are inheritors of this spiritual tradition.  Christianity, when it is lived properly, is an outward focused endeavor aimed at bringing God’s love to a lost and hurting world. 

Perhaps you have heard this question before.  It has been around for a long time.  If St. Paul’s closed tomorrow, other than our members, who would miss us?  There are some congregations whose honest answer might be absolutely no one.  In fact, some churches could be closed for months or even years before anyone notices at all.  This cannot be said of St. Paul’s.  Our Food Pantry clients would miss us.  The people who come here each week for A.A. meetings, Al-Anon meetings, and N.A. meetings would miss us.  Quilters and Dog Dancers would have to find some other place to gather.  Various groups that use our facilities over the course of the year would miss us.  People who enjoy coming to the holiday handbell concert would miss us.  People who like pecans, work downtown and park in our lot, or who just enjoy the beauty of our building and a green space on Main Street would miss us.  Groups and organizations we support on a regular basis, such as Boys Home, Jackson-Feild Home, Episcopal Relief & Development, Chanco, CAPS, and the diocese, would miss us. 

As we saw at the Annual Meeting, our average attendance on a typical Sunday morning last year dipped slightly below 80 people after hovering near 100 just a few years ago.  The Vestry and I are committed to on-going reflection about this.  Average Sunday attendance is an important measure of a congregation, but it is just one measure.  By most other measures St. Paul’s is a dynamic and vital church whose members are faithful and generous. 

At our Vestry retreat last weekend we looked at another way to measure a congregation.  How many people do we engage over the course of a typical week?  How many people come into the building or participate in a ministry or come here for an event or activity or just simply drop by to say hello?  While not as easy to track, we have approximately 375 engagements each week (and this number does not take into account the people we reach through our on-line presence).  Now, we engage some people more than once over the course of the week.  Kitty Quillin, for example, is here Monday night for Food Pantry, Tuesday night for Bell Choir, Thursday night for Choir, perhaps on Saturday for Altar Guild, and Sunday morning for worship.  She alone accounts for 5 engagements each week! 

Your Vestry and I are pondering some of the things we might do to increase the number of people who engage St. Paul’s over the course of a typical week.  We are not planning on closing our doors anytime soon, but if we did we want even more people to miss us.  Because we have a fixed physical building, which is a tremendous asset in our work and ministry, we are not able to pick up and move from town to town, as Jesus did.  Our calling is not to be an itinerant congregation.  We are called to engage the community from and with this space, making St. Paul’s a center of God’s love and healing for all people.

Here is another question for you to ponder.  It gets to the heart of how you live out your faith:  If you were to move away from our community tomorrow, other than those of us at St. Paul’s, who would miss you?  How would the community be poorer without you?  In what ways would your witness to the Christian faith and life beyond these walls be missed?  Just as the question about our church gets at the heart of our call to reach out beyond ourselves, so too this one asks you to ponder how you are living the faith “from town to town”.

The Catechism states in part “the ministry of lay persons is to represent Christ and his Church; to bear witness to him wherever they may be”.  We Episcopalians do not go about thumping on our bibles at public meetings nor do we tend to stand on a soapbox in the town square preaching at every person who passes by.  Our faith motivates us to get involved, to make a difference, and to contribute to the common good.  We carry God’s presence and healing love with us wherever we go.  And we like what St. Francis is reported to have said, “Preach the gospel always, and when necessary use words.”  If you were to move away, other than us here at St. Paul’s, who would miss your “preaching”?

What to You and Me?

Old Father Jones retires after serving as a parish’s rector for 35 years.  Father Smith, a young priest and recent seminary graduate, accepts a call to replace him.  Celebrating the Eucharist for the first time in the parish, young Father Smith is surprised when half the congregation stands throughout the entire Eucharistic prayer while the other half kneels.  The tension between the two groups is palatable.  After the service Father Smith asks the two groups about the parish’s tradition.  “We always stand for the prayer,” some say rather forcefully.  “No, we always, always kneel,” say others indignantly.  A heated argument ensues.  Father Smith decides to pay a visit to Father Jones to learn more.  He tells Father Jones, “Some contend the parish’s tradition is to stand.”  “No,” says Father Jones, “standing is not the tradition.”  “So the tradition is to kneel?”  “No, this is not the parish’s tradition either.”  “Well, I don’t understand,” says a dismayed Father Smith, “all they do is fight about the matter.”  “Ah,” says Father Jones, “fighting is the parish’s tradition.”

Last week we learned how Jesus invited Peter, Andrew, James, and John – all fishermen – to follow him.  The first two walk away from their nets and second two leave their father’s boat and business and all go with Jesus.  The group heads straight into town and when the Sabbath arrives goes to the local synagogue to worship. 

Now, synagogue worship is not quite like what we do here on Sunday morning.  You come here this morning expecting to hear me preach and celebrate.  And you expect a certain order and orderliness to our worship.  Those who go to synagogue expect a wild and wooly give-and-take as all present engage in open discussion and debate about the meaning of the texts read at the service.  It is a kind of free-for-all where multiple people – including visitors – feel free to weigh in.  The discussion/debate is an unregulated, participatory event pocked with twists and turns.

Into this arena steps Jesus.  The text does not tell us what he says, it reports only he teaches with “authority.”  It is not at all clear what it means by this.  It does not seem to be a reference to charisma or power.  Most likely “authority” is a reference to how Jesus cites himself to validate what he says.  Think how Matthew’s gospel uses the formula of Jesus saying, “You have heard it said…, but I say to you...”  Jesus validates his teaching by referencing himself.  Mark tells us the local scribes do not teach with this kind of authority.  It is not that Jesus is an exciting teacher while they are dull and dry.  It means the scribes derive their authority by being able to reference the teachings of rabbis from the past whereas Jesus has developed his own thoughts and ideas about things.

The text tells us the people in the synagogue are “astounded” at his teaching.  Astounded seems to me to be something of an ambiguous term.  It does not mean offended nor does it mean impressed.  What Jesus says shocks his listeners.  It leaves them flabbergasted and speechless.  They recognize there is something about Jesus but they just don’t know what to make of it or what to do with him.

Perhaps the reason Mark does not record what Jesus says is because he wants to focus on what Jesus does.  And in this particular situation, actions speak louder than words.  A person “with an unclean spirit” bursts out with a piercing cry that reverberates throughout in the synagogue.

I have a vivid memory from when I was young of being in our large, well-to-do church located in an upscale, established neighborhood of the west end of Akron.  A rather disheveled street person entered the sanctuary as the service was in progress, walked down the center aisle, and seated himself in the second or third pew.  His very presence put people on edge.  After sitting quietly for about ten minutes, he stood up, interrupted the service, and announced he had something he wanted to say.  A middle-aged man sitting near this fellow grabbed his coat and his wife and together they fled the church in near panic.  I can still recall the look of fear on their faces as they made a hasty retreat.

I wonder if this is the initial reaction of the people in the Capernaum synagogue on this day.  Does the man crying out catch them completely off guard or have they seen his act before? 

A literal translation of what the person/unclean spirit says to Jesus is “what to you and us?”  It is a blunt inquiry into to the relationship between them and the consequences of their meeting. 

And notice this, the unclean spirit displays an orthodox understanding, “I know who you are.  You are the Holy One of God.”  It is an affirmation of Jesus’ identity far beyond anything anyone else in the room understands at the time.  Because the unclean spirit understands Jesus’ identity, Mark’s storytelling focus falls heavily on “what to you and us?” – what are the implications of Jesus’ identity for the person with the unclean spirit?

In a very real sense this person gets it in a way everyone else in the synagogue does not.  They are astonished by Jesus’ sense of authority.  This guy, with his troubling spirit, understands how Jesus’ authority stakes a claim on every person and every relationship and every aspect of life.  And one thing Jesus claims for all people is health and wellbeing.  Whatever tortures or torments an individual will not stand.  Jesus will not allow it.  The unclean spirit recognizes Jesus will not tolerate its destructive dominance over the person it occupies.  And the person, repressed for so long, recognizes liberation is at hand, an understanding which can be both exhilarating and terrifying. 

With one simple command Jesus banishes the unclean spirit.  I call it the “clergy voice”. 

Some of you were volunteering in the Food Pantry when two of our clients, waiting in the Parish Hall, got into a loud, profane, verbal confrontation and in a matter a seconds my “clergy voice” came out:  “What is going on here?  You.  Sit down now!  You, come with me right now and get your food then leave.  This is not the kind of conduct we tolerate in this place.”  I remember walking the one person to the pantry and getting the sense everyone was ASTOUNDED at what they witnessed me do.  Clergy voice can be very effective, if used sparingly.   

Those in the synagogue move from being astonished to being amazed.  What Jesus does makes credible what Jesus says.  He doesn’t just talk a big game, he backs it up.

So here we sit in our beautiful church some 2,000 years later listening to this story during what hopefully will be a tranquil and uneventful Sunday morning.  The question of the person with the unclean spirit is our question as well: Jesus, what to you and me?  As you stand before Jesus what in your life cries out?  What troubles you?  What torments you?  Does something or someone dominate you?  Jesus’ deep desire is to set you free.  Free to flourish as the gifted human being God has created you to be.  Free to love and live in relationship with others.  Free to praise God and to pray for yourself and on behalf of others.  Free to celebrate all the goodness God has infused in creation.

This weekend your 2018 Vestry and I met in retreat to organize and plan for the coming year.  We also spent time in conversation around a series of prayers written by a Ted Loder, a Methodist pastor, and published in a 1984 book titled Guerrillas of Grace.   This prayer is called Guide me into an Unclenched Moment.  The opposite of unclenched is clenched.  Think about this as you listen to the prayer ponder the times and ways you feel clenched in your life:

Guide me,

Holy one,

into an unclenched moment,

a deep breath,

    a letting go

        of heavy expectations,

            of shivering anxieties,

                of dead certainties,

that, softened by the silence,

surrounded by the light,

    and open to the mystery,

I may be found by wholeness,

upheld by the unfathomable,

    entranced by the simple,

        and filled with the joy

            that is you.

I suspect, like me, you do not consider yourself to be the unwilling host of an unclean spirit.  But, perhaps like me and like the members of our Vestry, the notion of being clenched resonates with you.  Jesus stands before you as One with authority.  Jesus, what to you and me?  How does your presence create silence?  Light?  Openness to mystery?  How do you uphold me by means I cannot create or fathom?  How do you entrance with the simple and fill with joy?  How do you guide me into an unclenched moment?  Jesus, what to you and me?

Good News / Bad News

I am a fan of “Good News/Bad News” jokes, so imagine my joy when I came across this genre of about ministers:

The Good News: You baptized seven people today in the river.  The Bad News: You lost two of them in the strong current.

The Good News: The Women’s Guild voted to send you a get-well card.  The Bad News: The vote passed by 31-30.

The Good News: The Vestry accepted your job description the way you wrote it.  The Bad News: They were so inspired by it they formed a search committee to find somebody capable of filling the position.

The Good News: Church attendance rose dramatically the last three weeks.  The Bad News: You were on vacation.

The Good News: The Vestry voted to pay your airfare for an oversea mission trip.  The Bad News: They are stalling with the payment until war breaks out in the country.

The Good News: Your women’s softball team finally won a game.  The Bad News: They beat your men’s softball team.

John Brandon is a contributing editor for Inc.com.  He wrote an article for Inc about how people react to bad news.  In it he describes these scenarios:

The client just called.  He is not going to renew.

At a tech conference, your boss tells everyone in the group you are not pulling your weight.

You come back to your desk to find a pink slip.

What do you do when you receive bad news? 

I know many of you have sat in your doctor’s office and heard her say, “The tests came back and I have some bad news…”  I remember in 2007 and 2008 how common it was to turn on the TV and hear “There is more bad news today about the stock market.”  We got some bad news at St. Paul’s two weeks ago and it came in the form of a broken pipe and water cascading down from the kitchen ceiling.

What do you do when you get bad news?

In the Gospel of Mark, before Jesus begins his public ministry he hears some bad news.  He learns John the Baptist has been imprisoned by Herod Antipas, the Roman tetrarch of Galilee.  John publically rebuked Herod for his many faults and moral failings; a lengthy list to be sure, which includes marring his brother’s wife.  John’s scathing criticism lands him in prison and Jesus must know it will not end well.

Just a few verses earlier in Mark’s gospel Jesus makes a long pilgrimage from Nazareth to the Jordon River to be baptized by John.  After this the text tells us he goes into the wilderness for forty days.  Then Mark says, “After John was arrested…”  He doesn’t tell us how much time has passed, only what Jesus does next is in response to this bad news. 

Mark says, “After John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee.”  So Jesus returns to his home region, to an area ruled by the very person who has John imprisoned.  If this does not seem wise to you neither will what Jesus does next.  Jesus himself begins to speak publically.  Mark tells us that in response to the bad news of John’s arrest, Jesus proclaims “the good news of God.”

Perhaps you battle a natural urge to shutdown in the face of bad news.  It is easy to feel overwhelmed and overmatched.  When the kitchen pipe broke and gallons upon gallons of water was falling from multiple places in the church’s newly remodeled kitchen and pantry I was aware I was not dealing with it well.  I was also aware of six or seven people around me who were.  They captured water in trashcans, called the fire department to get the water shut off, and, once the water stopped, began to clear off counters and shelves in order to dry off every wet thing and surface.  For the most part, I stood by in a fog contemplating the disaster at hand and wondering how much havoc is was going to wreak on the schedule of events involving the kitchen. 

What do you do when you receive bad news… give up or get going?

John Brandon, the Inc editor, faced this very question.  He writes:

One of the worst days of my life was when I was ousted from a corporate job.  I drove home that night and my wife came up with the idea of being a writer.  I jumped into action.  I’m not saying I was all that confident at the time, but it was a lesson for me.  I pounded the pavement for weeks and months.  I reacted [to bad news] with action.  It’s a good thing, because I’ve been writing ever since.

I am consistently impressed with how members of this parish refuse to take bad health news laying down.  You educate yourself about various diagnoses, treatment options, community resources, and all the things you can do to put yourself in the best position to be healthy and cured.  And once you are healthy and cured you find ways to reach out and support others who are just beginning the journey after receiving their bad news.

A team of psychologists studied why some people react to bad news with confidence while others do not.  They determined people quit when they are uncertain about their own ability to produce a desired result or when they are uncertain their actions with will lead to a desired effect.  They offer two definitions that, while technical, are insightful.  The first is world-certainty and uncertainty:

We define world-certainty as the feeling that desirable outcomes can be achieved and undesirable ones avoided because the path connecting means and ends is clearly predictable and stable.

The more you understand the situation the more confident you are taking action.

The second term is self-certainty:

We define self-certainty as the feeling that one can learn and follow the steps associated with achieving one’s goals, and self-uncertainty as feeling doubtful that one can learn and follow the steps associated with such goals.

The more you believe in yourself the more likely you will initiate an effort to make a situation better.

We people of faith might add to these God-certainty.  We believe God is engaged with us and at work in this world to create a community where God’s dream for all people and all creation is normative.  This is what we call the good news.  And we people of faith are certain God’s good news may be challenged by the world’s bad news, but it is never overcome by it. 

The comedian Tracy Morgan observes “Bad news travels at the speed of light; good news travels like molasses.”  For Jesus, bad news sparks the opportunity to proclaim good news.  He launches a ministry to preach and teach God is good and gracious and God is with us and for us.  Jesus invites others to follow him, people who find his vision of life so compelling they drop everything they are doing to learn more about it.  Eventually they make it their personal mission to proclaim this good news as far and wide as humanly possible.

We are a people of good news.  For some time I have struggled with the image of the kingdom of God because (1) we don’t live in the kingdom so it is difficult to connect with this idea and (2) kingdom seems to imply everyone is a part of it and clearly there are many disinterested in God’s sovereign reign in this world and claim on their lives.  More and more I am warming up to the image of community as a better way to envision God’s presence in the world.  We at St. Paul’s are a community of God’s people who proclaim the good news through what we say and what we do.  We live it with and for one another and as a witness to the world.  And we invite and welcome everyone to be a part of our fellowship of God’s good news.