The Patron Saint of Stepping Out of your Comfort Zone

Yes, Lent is over, but I am on a mission; a mission to impart church knowledge/trivia to this faithful flock.  Today’s category: Churches named after a saint.  Here are the 10 most popular in the United States:

#10  St. Matthew (724)

  #9  St. Andrew (789)

  #8  St. Luke (1,053)

  #7  St. Mark (1,062)

  #6  St. Joseph (1,152)

  #5  St. James (1,270)

  #4  St. Peter (1,362)

  #3  St. Mary (1,832)

  #2  St. Paul (3,210)

  #1  St. John (3,713)

Now, as near as I can tell, there are only two churches named after St. Ananias: one in New Jersey, the other in Indiana, and both are Orthodox.  Why so few churches named after Ananias?  Perhaps a better question is “Who the heck is St. Ananias?”

According to tradition, when Jesus sends 70 of his followers in teams of two to preach and heal throughout the region of Galilee, Ananias is one of them.  Just a handful of years after the Resurrection, he is leading a small house church in the city of Damascus, some 140 miles north of Jerusalem. 

No matter the size, it appears to be a dynamic and effective congregation because a Pharisee bent on persecuting Jesus’ followers makes the long journey north in order to do harm to the members of this church.  He bears documents authorizing him to arrest those professing to be a disciple, to bind them, and to bring them back to Jerusalem for trial.  Truth be told, if he has his druthers, he prefers to stone them to death on the spot.

The Pharisee’s name is Saul and, as we read in today’s first lesson, something life-changing happens to him on the road to Damascus.  He is driven to his knees and struck blind by an intense light.  He hears a voice in the light.  It is the voice of the Risen Jesus.  Saul’s travelling companions, witnesses to what has happened but unsure of what to make of it, guide their comrade into Damascus where they leave him to ponder what has happened.

Enter Ananias.  The Lord appears to him in a vision, instructing him to go to Saul and lay hands on him in order to restore his sight.  Ananias has heard of Saul and, knowing how he has persecuted disciples in Jerusalem, questions the wisdom of such an assignment.

Here is why I think St. Ananias should be a popular name for a Christian church.  Show me a good parishioner who cannot identify with him.  He is active and engaged in his faith community, giving what he can and volunteering to do those things in his zone of comfort.  Without hesitation, I’d take twelve people just like him to serve on a Vestry and count myself blessed as a rector.

I look around the congregation and do my best to access gifts, skills, and interests.  I then encourage each person to contribute in ways he or she is naturally suited.  I keep a mental list of the comments I hear:

“I’ll fold bulletins, but don’t ask me to read in public.”

“I’ll write check to support such-and-such, but I can’t give my time to it.”

“I’ll visit folks in a nursing home, but don’t ask me to teach in the Sunday School.”

For those of us who like to operate in a church within our comfort zone, Ananias can be our patron saint.  But here is the problem: God has a way of asking us to do things which make us extremely uncomfortable! 

Churches are famous for pot-luck dinners and if there is one thing I’ve learned over 30+ years of ordained life while serving in numerous congregations of varying size and makeup, we Episcopalians discover a dish we are capable of preparing and then bring it to pot-luck dinners over and over and over again.  That is why, years ago at another church, I took a perverse pleasure in announcing a terrific new idea I’d had: a pot-luck brunch.  You have never seen such an uproar.  Why, no one had ever before prepared a dish for a pot-luck brunch.  What to do?  What to do?   You can’t imagine the anxiety created by asking people to do something unfamiliar to them… or maybe you can.

Now, we can laugh at the challenge of switching from bringing deviled eggs to cheese croissants, but each of us knows following Christ places much more significant demands on us than this:

“Do you really want me to love the person at work who continually stabs me in the back?”

“How am I supposed to let go of the pain and bitterness I have carried for so long?”

“What do you mean I must learn to master my destructive passions and cravings?”

Perhaps we have stumbled onto the reason so few churches are named after Ananias.  No one wants to be reminded the Christian faith really is a costly and risky proposition.  How could you enter a sanctuary every week seeking peace and comfort if it was named after a saint who was called by God to pray with (not for, with) a person who wanted to arrest and kill him?  I can just imagine such a parish’s mission statement:

Here at St. Ananias, we strive to make all people as uncomfortable as possible by asking them to do what they feel least capable of doing.  Won’t you join us?

Umm, I think not.

Chapters 8-10 of the Book of Acts chronicle four dramatic conversions, each essential to the unfolding work of God’s Spirit in and through the church.  Philip preaches to hated Samaritans and in the process confronts a man who profits by manipulating a child possessed by an evil spirit.  Philip next approaches an Ethiopian who is reading Scripture while riding in a chariot.  Then we read about Saul’s journey to Damascus and Ananias is introduced.  Finally, Peter is directed to visit a Roman centurion in the coastal city of Caesarea.  This soldier and his family become the first Gentile converts to the Christian faith.  There is at least one common thread in each of these stories: God asks a faithful person to do something unconventional, something outside of his comfort zone. 

Philip challenges the economic status quo.  Peter defies stringent social and cultural convention.  Ananias is asked to do something absurdly dangerous.  None acts simply to go out on a limb.  Each responds after some understandable hesitation because God calls them to do so.

Has God ever called you to do difficult things or to go to unexpected places?  Might God be calling you even now to some thing which, like Ananias, gives you serious pause or concern? 

Annie Dillard famously observed if we take the Christian faith at its word, we wouldn’t hand out bulletins in church, we’d hand out crash helmets.  I have known some people and some churches who acted as if faithfulness looked like jumping from the frying pan into the fire and then back again in a continual feverish frenzy of spiritual and emotional flagellation.  I don’t subscribe to this pattern of Christian living, nor do I recommend it.  However, as today’s reading reminds us, God is about stirring up things until all things reflect God’s dream for the world.  And it would seem when God sets out to stir, God calls on people like Ananias and you and me. 

Imagine how different the world would be if Ananias had stayed in his comfort zone.  A person would have remained blind and wasted away in a house on a street called Straight in the town of Damascus and the church would have been bereft of its first great evangelist and deep thinker.  

Imagine how the world – or at least your life – might be different if you responded to God’s call to do that thing you least want to do or go to that place you least want to go.  The next time you feel hesitant, the next time you are afraid, the next time every fiber in your being tells you to resist, think about St. Ananias, the Patron Saint of Stepping Out of Your Comfort Zone, and you will know what to do.

In Praise of Praise



Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. (Psalm 150:6)

The glorious Book of Psalms ends on the highest of notes.  If you had to boil down all of the 2,598 verses in the Psalms to one, this is exactly what you would come up with.  Praising the Lord should be as easy and as natural as breathing, but it is not.  Praising is not our default mode.

Don’t believe me?  Well, I have never had a parishioner walk in our red doors and say, “As I was driving to church this morning 58 cars passed me going the other direction and not a single one swerved into my lane!  Praise the Lord.  And of the 19 cars going my way, none cut me off or forced me to take evasive action.  Praise the Lord.  Oh sure, there was that one car in front of me driving really slow, but what is such a mild inconvenience compared to so many blessings?  All in all, I just have to praise the Lord because God is good… all the time!”  No, even in this sanctuary of praise we are more likely to hear, “Some idiot was driving so slow in front of me I never thought I would get here on time.  There ought to be a law against…”

If you find yourself drawn more toward the negative and critical than the positive and affirming, you are not alone.  And there is good reason for it.  From a cognitive perspective, our brains process good and bad experiences in different hemispheres.   We are hard-wired to invest more time and deeper thought in what has gone wrong than what has gone right.  Rather than praise, human brain functioning is actually set up to focus on the negative.  From an anthropological perspective this can be advantageous because survival often involves urgent attention to what can go wrong.  Our ability to do detailed processing of bad things gives us an evolutionary advantage.  And from a theological perspective we might attribute this aspect of our being to the Fall.  Because our human nature is marred by sin we are unable to dwell (either physically or psychologically) in the blessings God has created for us.

Even the most positive among us tends to remember negative things more strongly and in greater detail.  No matter how many A’s are on your report card it is the C that stands out.  A single rotten childhood experience has the power to eclipse fifty wonderful memories.  One hundred compliments cannot outweigh one criticism.   The friend who let you down festers even though there are ten who stand by your side.  All the drivers in Suffolk can operate a motor vehicle proficiently, but that one little old lady who doesn’t realize her blinker is on has the ability to get your boxers in a bunch.

This is who we are, whether we want to admit it or not.  And while it may be an adaptive way to look at reality, it is by no means an accurate one.  We are like wealthy misers; rich beyond measure, but living like paupers.  Our lives teem with an abundance of grace and blessing.  There is an old adage holding it is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness, and while this is true, I submit we might just be desensitized to all the light that is always around us. 

If the part of our brain in charge of processing challenges and negative experiences is far more muscular than the part responsible for identifying and enjoying all that is going well, perhaps we need to train ourselves to think differently.  If only there was a spiritual gym where we could go to strengthen that part of us designed to wallow in what is going well! – something like, oh I don’t know, perhaps a church. 

If you want to develop the equivalent of a six-pack of praise, let me offer a three work-out tips. 

First, pick a manageable number – say 5.  Identify five people you relate to on a regular basis (daily, if possible).  Every day be intentional about offering each person some word of praise.  Pick a second number – say 10.  Offer to ten different people a word of praise over the course of the week.  This one may require some intentional record keeping, but (as they say at the other kind of gym) “no pain, no gain.”  If you do the math, this little exercise will require to make 45 statements of praise over the course of each single week, but just imagine how quickly you will develop your six-pack of praise!  It occurs to me I am asking you to begin jogging for the first time by running a marathon.  If it feels like this, take the challenge to do this every day for the next week.  It will be kind of like how Public Television does their fundraisers.  Commit yourself to a week-long Praise-a-Thon!

And think what you will do to enhance the self-esteem of people you love and care about.  Self-esteem is on of the most necessary and elusive aspirations we seek.  One survey determined 80% of all 3^rd grade students feel good about themselves.  This number drops to 20% by 5^th grade and 5% by the time a person is a senior in high school.  Many never recover.  Studies indicate 2/3rds of us suffer from low self-esteem.  When you offer praise, not only do you begin to change the way you see the world, you change how others experience it as well.

Here is the second thing you can do.  Freely and graciously receive praise from others.  Most of us, reared in the dictates of modesty, are dismissive of even the most innocent compliment.  Why is it when a person says, “This dinner is delicious” the typical response is something like, “Oh, it was nothing” or “The potatoes could have been better.”  Why not respond, “You mean a great deal to me so I am glad you enjoyed it.”  Now the praise is flowing in both directions!

Years ago, after serving several months at a new parish, I commented to a church leader that people did not engage me in conversation about what I said in my sermons.  That had not been my experience in previous churches and I wondered what was going on.  The church leader told me if you mentioned to the previous rector you enjoyed the day’s sermon his typical reaction was, “What was wrong with last week’s sermon?”  Can you see how praise muscles tend to atrophy in that kind of environment?

So, be intentional about offering praise and be welcoming of any praise coming your way… here is a third thing to do.  Make a list each day of the grace you experience.  It may be a just mental exercise, or perhaps you will find it helpful to sit down and put it to paper.  Make sure your list of graces contains everything that is extraordinary, but do not neglect the ordinary.  While you may not want to delve into the minutia of every single automobile that did not hit you head on, you will want to grow your awareness of the blessing of safety and care surrounding you on every side. 

And this is just one facet of life’s blessings.  Relationships, health, food, shelter, a sense of meaning and purpose, the intricate way each person contributes to the common good, beauty and art and entertainment… I could go on and on.  As I said, our lives teem with grace and blessing.  Begin to use your list as a resource for praising God.  From what I read in the bible, God likes to hear it and, from what I know of human nature, it will begin to influence how you experience life.

2,598 verses all pointing to one profound truth ought to get our attention:

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.

Why is the Stone Rolled Away?

Welcome Happy morning!  It is wonderful to gather in our beautiful church to celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord.  While it is always a joy to leave behind the rigors of Lent and let forth Alleluias once again, this year brings a special sense of relief for those of us who may need to brush up on our general knowledge of all things religious.  You see, at our weekly Lenten Pot-Luck dinners we had fun playing different game shows: Family Feud, The Pyramid, The Newlywed Game, Jeopardy, and Kahoots.  Each night, while intended to be enjoyable, tested what we know of the bible, the Christian faith, church history, and the Episcopal Church.  The results?  Well, if God evaluates parish priests the way the Commonwealth evaluates teachers based on how their students’ performed on the SOLs, I am in serious trouble.  Let’s just say I should plan on a long-term booking at an extended stay in Purgatory!

On this morning I filled with Easter hope I want to double down.  Based on how well you all answer one simple question, either the penalty for my instructional deficiencies will be forgiven or multiplied.  So please listen closely, take this seriously, make your mark with a #2 pencil, and do your best.  Are you ready?  Here is the question:

Why was the stone sealing Jesus’ tomb rolled away?

Not how, but why?

The answer might seem obvious.  It was rolled away so the Risen Christ could get out.  But before you check this box, let’s take a look at what the bible has to say.  Mark’s was the first Gospel to be written.  Listen to its record:

Very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, [a group of women] went to the tomb.  They had been saying to one another, ‘Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?’  When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back.  As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed.  But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.  He has been raised; he is not here.  Look, there is the place they laid him. 

Lets make a list of the details we find in this account.

· It is early in the morning on the first day of the week.

· A group of women is going to Jesus’ tomb.

· They are anxious about the stone.

· They find the tomb open.

· They enter it, see a young man sitting inside, and are terrified.

· The young man tells them Jesus is risen and encourages them to look around the tomb to see it no longer contains his body.

Luke’s Gospel was written after Mark’s.  Sometimes he draws from it directly, other times he adds new material, and still others he augments Mark’s record:

On the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared.  They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body.  While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them.  The women were terrified.

Again we find it is early morning on the first day of the week.  Again, a group of women is going to the tomb.  Luke adds they are carrying burial spices to put on the body.  There is no mention of them being concerned about the stone.  They find the tomb open and enter it.  Jesus’ body is not there.  Luke tells us two men appear beside them and they respond to this with great fear.

John’s Gospel was the last to be written and while it contains a historical record, he was more concerned with meaning than accuracy.  John often arranges events to demonstrate a truth rather than to be a strictly true account of what happened.  Here is what John says:

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb.  So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, ‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.’ 

John sets these events even earlier in the morning – before sunrise – and identifies only one woman going to the tomb.  There is no mention she is anxious about the stone sealing it.  When she gets to the tomb it is open.  The text does not indicate she goes inside and she concludes Jesus’ body has been removed and taken to a different location.  There is no one is else present to explain to her what has happened. 

So far we find no direct answer why the stone is rolled away, but it still appears it has been moved so the Risen Christ can get out.  There is one small problem with this choice.  The biblical record indicates Jesus’ resurrected body appears in rooms with locked doors and disappears time and again as mysteriously as he enters.  His body is no longer inhibited by physical barriers.  The implication is staggering: the stone blocking the opening of the tomb could not and would not prevent the resurrected Christ from leaving.  So why was it moved?

We have one more Gospel to help us.  Matthew, like Luke, draws from Mark’s account.  Like Luke, he copies parts, adds parts, and augments parts.  Listen to Matthew’s description of what happens:

After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb.  And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it.  His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow.  For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men.  But the angel said to the women, ‘Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay.”

Matthew has the same time and day as the others.  He has a group of women.  There is no mention of their being anxious about the stone.  He adds the new detail of soldiers guarding the tomb.  But his most startling addition involves the women and soldiers witnessing an angel descend from heaven who causes something like an earthquake and rolls back the stone. The guards are the ones who are terrified.  The angel announces the tomb is empty and invites to women to enter in to see for themselves.

Matthew’s Gospel is the only one recording the tomb is already empty when the stone is rolled away.  The other three do not address the matter directly, but leave open the possibility this is how it happened.  The implication and answer to our question is this: The stone was rolled away not to let Jesus out, but rather to allow the women (and other subsequent visitors) to enter in to see for themselves it is empty.

Easter, for Jesus’ followers, begins with an empty tomb.  There is much confusion and a good deal of fear as what has happened.  In the biblical record not a single one of Jesus’ closest followers believes he is risen until they meet him face-to-face.  The empty tomb raises profound questions and concerns that are settled only by meeting the Resurrected Christ.

Today, nearly 2,000 years later, the stone is rolled away from the tomb and you and I are invited to look inside.  We are invited to see Jesus’ crucified body is no longer there.  And we are invited anew to ponder what has happened and what it means.  May the Risen Christ be manifested to each of us so we can experience anew the miraculous power of the Resurrection and Easter faith in our lives. 

The stone has been rolled away so you can look in and see the tomb is empty. 

Judas & a Woman I once Met



Allow me to read for you a poem by Georgie Starbuck Galbraith titled “Old Tears in Galilee.”  Listen closely and see if you can figure out whose tears are being described:

No woman has ever borne a child

and worshipped his eyes and the way he smiled,

and reacted with pride at his first clear word;

Who bound up his hurts and loved his absurd

fierce concentration, watching a spider;

Who saw him grow till he stood beside her,

straight and tall as a mountain pine;

No woman who had a son like mine

ever believed that aught than good

could come of this fruit of her motherhood –

no woman ever believed – not I!

That this life of her life was born to die as mine,

going down from Nazareth to Jerusalem

and sorrow and death.

Do you think you know yet who is speaking these words?  Keep listening…

Some say he was wrong, some say he was right

in the way he did that dark spring night.

I only know what is done is done,

and I weep for Judas… I weep for my son.

Galbraith’s poem startles us by challenging us to see the humanity of Judas.  It asks us to see him as someone who was loved by his mother, and from there to recall how he was a friend to the other disciples and a champion of social causes – especially to God’s call to care for the poor.  John, in his gospel, reminds us Jesus thought enough of Judas to wash his feet and to share with him the bread and wine of Last Supper – all the while knowing what was in his heart.

We may want to see Judas only as being one of the chief villains in all human history, but Galbraith’s poem challenges us to realize even he brought light into the world.  And Jesus loved Judas   not just those aspects that were good, but all of Judas; from the dirt on his feet (which he washed on the night of his arrest) to the darkness in his soul (which he knew all too well would led to history’s most infamous betrayal). 

Bill Stafford, in his book Disordered Loves: Healing the Seven Deadly Sins writes this:

Medieval preachers pointed out that Peter sinned almost as greatly by denying Christ as Judas had sinned by betraying him.  Could not Judas have repented?  God will forgive any sin.  In fact, they pointed out, Judas even followed the steps of repentance: he confessed his sin to the priests – “I have betrayed innocent blood” – and made restitution – flinging back the thirty pieces of silver.  But Judas, unlike Peter, did not stay with the other disciples and open himself to God’s mercy.  Still, rejecting, still withdrawn, certain of his damnation, he went out and hanged himself.

Have you ever pondered this before?  Unlike Peter, Judas did not return to the disciples and to the community of faith.  Rather, he cut himself off from the place where God’s mercy is made known.  Perhaps this is the only real difference between Peter and Judas.  Though his sin was great, Peter remained in the community and it was here the Risen Christ met him and it was here he received the grace necessary to go on with his life forgiven and healed.

I was fresh out of seminary in 1987 and hired to assist the rector of a parish on the shores of Lake Erie.  He tasked me with visiting lapsed members and there were a lot of people on the parish rolls who fell into this unhappy classification.  Each afternoon I went off to knock on the doors of two or three people who had not been involved in the parish for a number of years.

I will never forget calling on one woman who was in her seventies.  While I don’t recall her name, I remember much of the gist of our conversation.  I led off with my typical opening, “Tell me a little bit about yourself.”  She responded, “Well, my husband died in 1958.”  Now, I wasn’t born until 1959 and it shocked me to think over the entire span of my life nothing had happened in her life significant enough to mention before this.

At some point our conversation came around to her history with the church.  Some twenty years before a previous rector angered her when he refused to baptize her grandchild because the family now lived out-of-state and did not attend a church.  She was so angered by his decision she stopped attending church all together, even though there are hundreds of other churches in the Cleveland area – dozens of them Episcopal – which she could have joined.

What was the effect, I wondered, of her turning away from the community of faith?  Perhaps at the time it made some sort of impression on the community as a whole.  Maybe she gave a handsome pledge or served on the Altar Guild or was the driving force behind a yearly event.  The fallout happened so long ago there was no way for me to know if her leaving registered in the life of the parish. 

However, it was evident the decision for her was catastrophic.  It was almost as if her life had stopped.  Nothing meaningful had happened to her in 29 years to heal the devastation of losing her husband.  No flower given, no book read, no prayer offered, no service rendered, no task completed, no grace received in nearly three decades was significant enough to alter her self-identity.  As I pondered the many wonders, joys, sorrows, and blessings that filled my years over the same course of time I wanted to weep for that woman.  But hers was a self-imposed prison and the gates unlocked only from her side of the door.

Did her life come to a standstill because she left the community of faith or did she leave the community of faith because her life came to a standstill?  I can’t really say.  Either way this much is certain, like Judas, when she left the community of faith she turned away from the most likely place she could find God’s grace manifested in our world. 

There is an old folk tale about Judas that holds he gradually comes to himself sometime after his death.  Regaining consciousness he finds himself in utter darkness, lying flat on his face on dank ground oozing with filth.  He is exhausted.  For a thousand years he lays there agonizing over what he has done.  Then with a groan he rolls over and, face up for the first time, he sees a tiny point of light high above him.  He realizes he is in a deep pit – a hole with sheer sides made of slime and mud.  For 5,000 years he climbs, groping upward and sliding back down.  At the end of 5,000 years, his hand grips the top edge of the hole, and he pulls himself out until he lays grasping on the ground above.  After another thousand years he regains his strength and looks up and sees Jesus and the eleven, sitting at a table, resplendent in glory.  There is one vacant seat at the table.  Jesus looks at him and says, “Judas, we have been waiting for you.  Come and take your seat.”

Today, as we gather in the shadow of the Cross, we consider what is cost to form the Christian community of faith.  Our Lord and Savior paid for it with his very life, but he considered the grace and mercy made known through it to be worth the sacrifice.  For some, this day is a call to return to what Christ’s death makes possible.  For others it is a call to continue to extend to all the love and grace and mercy made known to us in and through this place.  For all, it is a call to remember no one is beyond God’s love.  Christ’s arms stretched out on the Cross are open wide to embrace the whole world.

Facing the Truth

Today’s gospel lesson falls between two significant events – Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead and the Passover festival.  As Jesus’ closest followers and friends gather in the home of two of his most ardent supporters, both of these events surely are the talk of all present.  They wonder if Jesus has power over even death, what mighty act will happen when he goes to Jerusalem for the Passover. 

For months now, ever since the execution of John the Baptist, Jesus has been telling his followers he will die when they go to the holy city.  His grim vision is part pragmatic hunch (the powers that be surely will not let someone like him live, given his potential for mobilizing the people against them) and part divine revelation (Moses and Elijah talk with him about it during the Transfiguration).  But every time he brings up the subject, Jesus’ followers are resistant to hearing it.  They seem to think he will go to Jerusalem and become a king.  They even discuss/argue what will be their individual positions of power and prestige in this new order.  While Jesus harshly squelches any such talk, it surely is the topic of hushed conversation for those gathered at Bethany in the home of Mary and Martha.

You will remember this is not the first time the sisters have hosted Jesus.  At a previous visit Martha becomes annoyed with Mary who is sitting at Jesus’ feet listening to his teaching while she alone shoulders the burden of preparing a meal for all the guests.  In today’s reading, Martha is in the kitchen once again while Mary reclines discretely at Jesus’ feet.  Of all the people in the house, Mary alone appears to hear and believe what Jesus is saying about dying.  It is not what she wants, but she accepts it is what is to come.  We know this because of the sign she performs.  She rubs Jesus’ feet with a burial anointment she has purchased to use after his impending death.

Facing the truth, when the truth is difficult, is never easy. 

I have a clear memory of an early afternoon day in June 1980 someone tracked me down at a summer job in my college town to tell me my father had suffered a massive heart attack and was in intensive care.  To the astonishment of his doctors, he survived and even came home for a brief period of time.  Still, we were told not to get up our hopes because his heart muscle had been badly damaged. 

We celebrated his 52^nd birthday a few weeks later and I gave him a pair a Levis jeans, with a waist size about ten inches smaller than what he wore before his crisis.  My father never wore jeans, but in my mind it represented youthfulness.  The smaller size reflected my belief he was well on the road to recovery, was going to drop weight, stop smoking, and enjoy many, many more years of health and vigor… wearing those jeans. 

I returned to my work in my college town and a week or so later my father was readmitted to the hospital.  I failed to comprehend the gravity of the situation.  Six weeks after the initial attack the telephone rang as the early morning sun poured in through a window of the house where I was staying.  It was my mother.  “Your father is no longer with us,” she said, her voice strong, but shaking.  “What did you say?” I responded.  It was as if my mother shared a computer file that my hard drive head had no software to open.  “You father has died,” she repeated.  I was absolutely stunned because I had refused to believe what was obvious all along.  I collapsed on a sofa and sobbed uncontrollably.

I know firsthand facing the truth, when the truth is difficult, is not easy.  I know most of you know this as well.  These truths don’t come to us often, but they do come: 

· Your company is downsizing. 

· Your marriage is in trouble. 

· Your child needs more than the “typical” help. 

· Something about your body just doesn’t feel right. 

· Your drinking is taking a toll on you and on those you love.

· Your capacities are diminishing.

· Someone close to you is dying.

This is not an exhaustive list, but you get the idea. 

We have developed remarkable coping mechanisms to help us find easier alternatives when we are faced with difficult truth.  The disciples first turn to denial.  Do you remember how Peter contradicted Jesus the first time he told his followers he was going to die?  The fisherman turned follower said, “This will never happen to you”; denial bald and naked.  They also turn to delusions – substitute visions easier to palate.  “When we go to Jerusalem Jesus is going to be made king and each of us is going to have a special place in his royal court.” 

When I think back on those jeans I gave to my father, I think how much it is a tangible sign of my denial and delusion with regard to his situation.  In as much as we use the devices to avoid the truth, denial and delusion are lies.  And God, who is a God of truth, can do little to help us as we choose to live our lives based on them.  When my father died, the lies I had turned to collapsed in an instant and I was devastated.  Only then, facing the truth, was God able to begin to help me.

Think about Jesus’ followers.  Where did living based on a lie get them?  When Jesus is arrested they flee.  When Jesus hangs on the Cross they are nowhere to be found.  When he rises on Easter morning they are cowering behind locked doors, fearing they too will be arrested and executed.  The lies they choose to live by have been exposed and they are struggling to move forward in the truth.

Now think about Mary.  She is the only person to face the difficult truth Jesus reveals.  Although she is deeply grieved, God is with her and gives her the power to do some remarkable things the others are not able to do.  She comforts Jesus with costly nard.  She stands at the foot of the Cross as Jesus dies, comforting his mother and supporting him to the last.  She works with others in a hasty effort to prepare Jesus’ body for burial before the beginning of the Passover.  She rises early on Sunday morning to join a few other women in the solemn task of finishing the burial work.  And although the Scriptures don’t mention her reaction to Jesus’ resurrection, we can be sure she is one of the first to celebrate because while she mourned at her brother’s tomb a few weeks earlier she confessed a belief in Jesus as the Resurrection and the Life.  I suggest Mary is able to do all of this through the power of God only because she has faced the difficult truth others have been at pains to avoid. 

Think about the events of your life.  What difficult truths have you faced?  How did acceptance affect your ability to operate and minister in those moments?  Have there been times when you have avoided a difficult truth?  What happened as a result?  What did you learn from that moment?  In what ways did you experience God’s presence during those times?  Think about those you know who have avoided hard truths as well as those who have had the courage to face them?  What did you see in their experiences and what wisdom can you draw from them?

In life, some truths are extremely difficult to bear and, in our weakness, we will do almost anything to avoid them.  We have an amazing ability to create and follow absurd alternatives and explanations simply because in the moment they are easier to stomach.  In truth, these lies turn out to be much more difficult because God cannot be with us in them, thus we become disconnected from an essential source of courage and companionship when we need it most.  In the end, when the lies we choose to live by fail and fall apart, we are devastated.  When we embrace a difficult truth we are – in Jesus’ words – set free; free to act, free to give, free to love, and free to live… even as we are dying.  This morning we give thanks for Mary of Bethany and her witness of facing a difficult truth.

Before It's Too Late...

“Give it one more year… and then, if nothing changes, cut it down!”

Jesus’ parables are rich and evocative.  They remain timeless because they invite contemplation and conversation while avoiding simplistic and trite interpretations.  One popular way to approach these stories is to ask which of its characters do you identify with most.  Today’s parable offers a plethora of possibilities.

Perhaps you identify with the owner.  He charted a course, engaged in risk, planted a vineyard, employed a laborer, and expected a return.  But now, at this point in the story, he is angry and frustrated and finished.  He wants to eliminate any and every reminder of his fruitless endeavor.  In his estimation it is time to move on.

Or maybe you see yourself in the gardener.  You are measured, hopeful, and optimistic.  You believe in the potential inside every person, thing, and moment.  You also believe in yourself and your ability to nurture the best qualities in people and situations.  You often find yourself interceding on behalf of others, attempting to be a calm head in a chaotic world.  The flip side of this coin is not nearly as positive.  Maybe you feel it is your responsibility to fix every unfixable problem.

Or perhaps you identify most with the fig tree.  You believe you are not worth much in this world and, try as you might, have little of value to contribute.  You sense you are a disappointment, especially to those who have invested most in you.  They let you know in subtle and not so subtle ways you are wasting away your life.

Maybe you identify with the yet-to-appear fruit.  You are just waiting for your opportunity to shine.  As of today, the stars have not lined up for you, but when they do… look out world because you have a lot to offer.  If only someone will believe and you give you a chance…

In which of these figures in the parable do you most see yourself?  Or, if you really want something to mull over, in what ways do you see yourself in each of them? 

While Jesus’ parables speak in multiple ways to many different situations, biblical scholars remind us each one as a single focused meaning.  Jesus’ main point in this one seems to be time is running out and each of us needs to get our act together… and do it soon!  We Episcopalians don’t warm up to sermons on impending judgment and the urgent need to repent.  We do not want to be compared to the barren fig tree, but this is exactly what Jesus does.  And whether we like it or not, as I often say, its Jesus’ story so he gets to tell it any way he wants.

And to make matters worse, he tells this story in response to a question about tragedy.  Someone asks him about a group of people executed on Pilate’s orders while they were worshipping.  Jesus’ response: “Do you think this happened to them because they were worse sinners than you?  They weren’t… and unless you repent the same thing will happen to you.”  It seems a rather harsh thing to say, and yet Jesus doubles down on it by mentioning eighteen people who died when a tower collapsed on them.  Surely Jesus is not saying victims of calamities get what they deserve, is he?  At least on the surface it sure seems like it. 

Here is another question to ask of a parable: where is grace found in it?  In the midst of all the judgment in today’s story – the owner’s anger, the fruitlessness, the call for punishment – where is the grace?  It is found in the phrase “give the tree one more year”.  Grace is found in the element of time.  The tree still has time to change. 

Time’s precious nature is a theme found throughout Scripture, especially in the Psalms, which compare the length of our days to the grass that flourishes in the morning dew, but withers in the afternoon sun.  For people of faith this reality is not cause for despair, but rather a call to intentional living.  “So teach us to number our days,” writes the poet of the 90^th Psalm, “that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.”  Scripture connects an awareness of mortality with a purposeful life.

I read once middle age is not a chronological point in life.  It is not something you experience precisely during, say, your 42^nd orbit around the sun.  Rather, it is a feature of attitude and awareness.  When we are young we sense the path of life is wide open to us.  You may set out on a particular career choice in your 20s only to discover it does not interest you.  You may try out several different options in your youth because you can always pull the plug on one thing and start another. 

We arrive at the phenomena of middle age when we realize we can no longer hit the reset button – at least without significant consequences.  Middle age is that point in life when you realize you have made your choices and now you have to live with them.  It is too late to do it all over.  It is the first time in our lives when time reveals itself to us as limited.  No wonder so many act out against this initial sense of limitation by engaging in what we call a mid-life crisis. 

The crisis ends with the wise realization the choices we have made are good ones and we begin to see what we have is pretty special and satisfying.  We become aware of how the time we have put into our our work and our relationships and our passions has been an investment.  Even though it is too late to take a different path, the dividends of the choices and commitments we have made are beginning to pay off.

I am embracing the reality I am now in my late-middle age.  I will turn 60 this fall.  Most likely I am at the 2/3^rds to 3/4^ths pole of life.  As I mentioned to the Vestry at our retreat, I will be retiring sometime in the next 7-10 years.  I describe this reality as being like the mileage signs on a highway.  Once you drive to Chicago, the sign tells you are 12 miles from Walla Walla and 400 from Minneapolis.  Yes, I still have a lot more to do in my career, but for the first time the next major destination 400 miles down the road is retirement. 

I am finding being in my late-middle years to be quite invigorating.  For the first time in my life I sense how precious time is, but I don’t fret it is running out.  When we are young we say to ourselves, “I’ll get around to that someday”, imagining our life to be an undiminishing supply of somedays.  Now, I sense the need to count up my somedays and do something with them.  And, you know something, far from being depressing, it is tremendously empowering.

So, for example, I have really enjoyed the various pilgrimages I have been on over the last few summers – hiking, biking, and touring.  If I am lucky I may have another 15 summers where I can continue to do this.  So I think to myself, what are the 15 things I most want to do with my time?  I can tell you this is a question I never asked in my 20s.  In this, and in so many other ways, knowing I don’t have forever has opened uncountable doors to opportunities and possibilities.  I can’t do it all, but I am more likely to be intentional and aggressive about choosing and doing something.

Well, today’s parable of the Barren Fig Tree reminds us time is precious with the hopeful caveat, baring unforeseen circumstances, there is still time.  We each have the time to turn things around, to tend to matters needing our attention, to get up, get going, and get after those dreams we have not yet pursued.  Perhaps it is too late to chase them all, but now is the time to prioritize and to act.

And there is one more element of grace found in Jesus’ story – manure.  While we don’t usually think of the s _ _ t in our lives as being a blessing, in Jesus’ parable it represents all the ways life lines up to help us.  Our quest to be fruitful is never undertaken in isolation.  We are surrounded by those who love and care for us; whose assistance and encouragement means more than we often realize.  And we stand in the presence of the One who created us; whose Spirit works in and through all things to bring forth in us what we struggle to achieve on our own.

Earlier in the week I revisited one of my favorite websites – deathclock.com.  You simply tell it the date of your birth, your gender, outlook on life, height, weight, and whether or not you are a smoker and it will tell you the day of your death.  Apparently my heavenly reward/final judgment with come on Saturday, August 12, 2056.  It may also become my saint’s day because, as a friend of mine once pointed out optimistically, if the Episcopal Church decides to make you a saint, it always assigns your remembrance to the day you die.  Well, I don’t know if I have produced enough fruit to merit such recognition and I don’t know how I feel about the possibility of living to 97. 

According to a countdown clock on the website, as of last Friday at 3:42 in the afternoon, I had 1,179,910,387 seconds left in my life.  I laughed out loud as I watched the seconds tick down… 386, 385, 384 it occurred to me no matter how much time any of has left, each one of you has invested about 1,000 seconds of your precious time listening attentively to my sermon.  I pray the seconds you have left are many and I pray you will consider how you and God would like you to use them.

Time is precious.  What do you need to do with this day?  What do you need to do with this week?  What is the most redeeming thing you can do before the end of this month?  What is God calling you to do before the end of the year?  In the next few years? 

Lord, teach us to number our days

that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.