The Spirit of the Apostles

Harold grew up in the Episcopal Church.  He even served as an acolyte, but never paid much attention.  It has been years since he attended a service.  Harold is not a bad person, but church is not for him. He has one passion – the ponies.  One day at the track Harold is surprised to see the local Episcopal priest, outfitted in full liturgical garb.  Before the first race, the priest approaches one of the horses – a real nag and a long-shot – and gives it a blessing by tracing the sign of the cross on its forehead.  Playing a hunch, Harold places a small wager on the horse and sure enough... it wins the race and pays off handsomely.  The priest blesses an entrant in the second race, Harold bets on it, and once again wins.  Well, this pattern repeats itself through the first eight races. 

Harold watches intently as the priest approaches a horse before the ninth and final race and proceeds to pray over it with an elaborate series and gestures and motions.  This pony is the longest shot of the day and Harold decides to bet all his winnings on it.  If it pays off, he’ll nab more money in one day than most people do in a year.  Well, sad to say, Harold’s horse comes in dead last and all his winnings are lost.  He is mystified and little more than angry at the priest.  Harold tracts down the reverend and lets him have it.  “How could you bless eight winners and then have the last one do so poorly?”  The priest puts a hand on Harold’s shoulder and says, “My son, you need to come to church more often.”  “Why,” says Harold, “so God won’t play such cruel tricks on me?”  “No,” the priest replies, “so you can learn the difference between a blessing and the last rites.”

During the Easter season the Lectionary replaces readings from the Old Testament with passages from the Book of Acts.  This affords us the opportunity to hear the earliest sermons and missionary activities of Jesus’ first followers.  With everything else going on at this time of year, it is easy for these readings to fall through the cracks so allow me to provide a brief recap of what we have heard over the last seven weeks. 

On Easter Sunday we hear a portion of one of Peter’s sermons.  In it, he puts forth a succinct summery of Jesus’ story; touching on his baptism, message of peace, healing ministry, death, resurrection, and appearances to his followers.  Peter concludes by remembering how Jesus commissioned his followers to testify he was ordained by God. 

On the Second Sunday of Easter we read about Peter and John being brought in for questioning by the same council that condemned Jesus to death.  Even though they have been told not to speak of Jesus they continue to preach, “filling Jerusalem with his teaching” according to council.   

By the third Sunday harassment has given way to all out persecution.  Its most rabid proponent in a Pharisee by the name of Saul.  Travelling to Damascus, which lies just north of present day Israel, he is confronted by the Risen Christ and blinded by the encounter.  Three days later, a church leader named Ananias prays with him, leading to the restoration of his sight.  Saul becomes Paul, an effective missionary of the early church. 

On the next Sunday we find Peter being called to meet with disciples in Joppa, a port city on the Mediterranean coast west of Jerusalem.  A woman in the town is very sick and the disciples there ask Peter to pray for her.  The text tells us her name is Tabitha and adds “which in Greek is Dorcas.”  It is a tidbit hinting these early believers are culturally diverse with associations cutting across ethnic divides.  Peter prays over Tabitha and she recovers.

By the Fifth Sunday of Easter Peter has returned to Jerusalem to report to fellow disciples what happened to him in Caesarea, a city some twenty miles to the north of Joppa.  He was called there to visit a Gentile family.  While with them, the Holy Spirit fell upon the members of the household and they began to speak in tongues, just as the disciples did on the Day of Pentecost.  Peter, sensing God’s movement, baptizes everyone present and they become the first Gentile converts to the Christian faith.

The Sixth Sunday finds Paul in Asia Minor.  He has a vision of a person in Macedonia (a region in northern Greece) calling out to him.  Paul travels there and settles in the city of Philippi.  He meets a woman named Lydia, who is a merchant and a follower of God.  Paul tells her the story of Jesus and she decides to be baptized, becoming the first convert on the European continent. 

Today, on the Seventh Sunday of Easter, we learn of the impact of Paul’s preaching and ministry.  An enslaved girl is freed of a tormenting spirit and a man who profits by her is enraged.  Paul and Silas are imprisoned, survive an earthquake, and convert their jailor and his family.

This unfolding drama hints at the growth of Christianity; how it begins in Jerusalem as a sect of the Jewish faith and expands across a geographical region and ethnic divides.  The Book of Acts focuses primarily on the growth of the faith in the northwest Mediterranean, an area spanning Jerusalem to Rome.  At the same time, other faithful followers are taking the message of Jesus to Egypt, the Southern Mediterranean, and parts of Africa including Ethiopia.  Still others travel the Silk Road and proclaim the faith in Persia all the way to India. 

One thing is clear.  These early followers do not experience the faith as a private enterprise.  It is Good News to be lived and told.  They can do nothing but share the love and joy made known to them in Jesus Christ.  No court order, no cultural divide, and no geographic barrier stand in their way.

Last Sunday I worshipped at an Episcopal church in an area known as the West Hill in Akron.  While parts of the neighborhood are being resettled by urban pioneers, much of what surrounds the parish still maintains its rough edges.  People with resources live side-by-side with people in need.  The Sunday congregation reflected this.  It was a diverse lot who shared a common love for Jesus and one another.

In the pew in front of me sat a young family with two small, reasonably busy children.  An elderly man in a wheelchair occupied a space across the aisle from me.  Several times during the service one of the parents rose to take the smallest child to the back of the Nave and more than once a person was called to tend to the elderly man.  No one seemed to mind any of this and none of it eclipsed my ability to pay attention.

At the announcements several people spoke of community events in which they were involved and encouraged others to join them.  The Junior Warden thanked folks who participated in a work day and the building – 123 years old – was well maintained.  They welcomed me with great warmth and invited me to their Pizza Lunch in the Parish Hall after the service.   They have a food pantry and Panera Bread delivers leftovers to them for distribution.  Several people encouraged me to take a loaf, but I declined.  I met a boy from the neighborhood who started coming to the church a few weeks ago when he learned about the bread.  Everyone seemed glad he was there.

Two things struck me about the parish.  First, in their own way, the people reminded me of the early Christians in the Book of Acts.  There is no containing their love and joy in the Lord and they are open to extending it to their neighborhood in a great many of ways. 

And second, the people there reminded me a lot of the people here.  Here at St. Paul’s we take our faith into the world and welcome the world into our church.  I felt the same warmth there I feel here, and that does not always happen when I visit other churches.

It is tempting to listen to the stories from the Book of Acts and sense a disconnect between their faithfulness and ours.  The main figures of the early church gave much, travelled far, and risked all to share their faith.  Compared to them, it feels like we here do so little.  And yet we share something crucial in common with them.  Like them, our belief in Christ overflows with love and joy.  We cannot help but express it as we worship God, as we greet one another, and as we move throughout our community. 

Our hearts, like those of the people I worshipped with last Sunday, are made alive by the presence of God’s Spirit in all we say and do.  You can feel it.  You can hear it.  You can see it.  Those who know us know it.  No matter who they are, they know God loves them because we love them with the love of Christ.  God’s Spirit – so active and vital in the Book of Acts – is active in and through us here at St. Paul’s. 

This is what I thought about and felt last Sunday as I worshipped with the good people of the Church of our Savior in the West Hill neighborhood of Akron.

Love is a Verb and a Noun Too!

Jesus said, “A new commandment I give to you.  Love one another as I have loved you.”

Years ago I pondered this text and from my meditations a brilliant sermon emerged.  I gave it the title “Love is a Verb.”  In 2012, more than a decade later, the Grammy Award winning artist John Mayer released a song with the same name (so, apparently, my sermons reverberate far, wide, and across the sands of time!):

Love is a verb
It ain’t a thing
It’s not something you own
It’s not something you scream

When you show me love
I don’t need your words
Yeah love ain’t a thing
Love is a verb

Catchy, isn’t it. 

My old sermon made a simple point.  Love is an action.  It is an activity.  It is something you do – like a verb – not something you are – like a noun.  As it says in the First Letter of John, “Little children, let us not love in word or talk, but in deed and truth” (3:18). 

Well, I am here this morning to recant my words of yore.  Oh, yes, love is still a verb.  It still describes what you do.  When you love another as Jesus loves you it involves some kind of action.  But love is also a noun.  It is descriptive of a thing.  The Christian author Jon Bloom makes the point best:

If we reduce love to mere action, we will miss love at its source.  Making love only a verb will likely make us Pharisees.

It is possible for us to do all the right things, but without the proper motivation.  The Pharisees kept all of the commandments, but Jesus finds their actions lacking.  Yes, they do the right thing, but no, they do not love God with all their heart and soul and mind and strength.  Without the inner source, the outer action is in danger of becoming empty, or worse.

When Jesus instructs his followers to love one another as he has loved them, most definitely he is qualifying what this love is to look like.  It should be selfless and giving, free and forgiving, natural and (at times) costly.  He is saying, “Let the verbing of your life reflect how I verbed my life” (or something like that). 

But he is saying something more.  He is reminding them of more than how he loved them.  He is reminding them that he loved them.  His love for them was also a noun. 

Experiencing love as a noun is absolutely essential.  Think about your parents.  Hopefully they set a good example for you.  You learned how to be an adult and how to be parent by emulating they best of what you saw in your mother and father.  But their love was more than an example.  It was something real that you experienced.  As you bathed in their love, you became you.  You received from your parents not just a series of actions to imitate, you received a gift – the gift of love.  And it is this give that fills you and animates all that you say and do.  You are filled with love because your parents loved you.

This is what John meant when he wrote, “We love because God first loved us” (I John 4:19).  This is what Jesus says to his followers, “My love is something for you to replicate, but it is also something for you to experience, to know, and to receive.”  As we receive God’s love we find replicating it is something flowing naturally through us, rather than something we must force in order to be faithful.  Jon Bloom puts it this way: “Love originates as a noun that necessarily produces verbs.”

Church life can degenerate into a mess of feverish activities all designed to produce the fruits of the verbs.  And there is no doubt many of the things we do here shore up our ability to love. My participation in the life of the Church helps me to be a better verber, no question.  But I wonder how much of what we do invites us into the presence of God’s noun-like love for us.  How much of what we do opens us to be filled with a love that becomes us?

I came across an interesting little exercise this past week.  It invites us to think of Jesus’ love through the lens of Paul’s magnificent writing in his letter to the Church in Corinth:

Jesus is patient and kind;

Jesus does not envy or boast;

Jesus is not arrogant or rude.

Jesus does not insist on his own way;

Jesus is not irritable or resentful;

Jesus does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.

Jesus bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Next, the exercise requires you to substitute Paul’s word love with your own name.

Keith is patient and kind;

Keith does not envy or boast;

Keith is not arrogant or rude.

Keith does not insist on his own way;

Keith is not irritable or resentful;

Keith does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.

Keith bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

The point of the exercise, I think, is to make the person doing it feel completely misserable about his or her Christian life.  It is to remind us that our lives as verbs are terribly lacking.  And, well, do we really need to go through Lent all the time?  Of course our lives come up short of the lofty ideals set forth in Scripture and lived out by Jesus.

If you decide to undertake this rigorous project I suggest you do it by contemplating how you have been (and are being) transformed by the experience of knowing Jesus’ love has been a noun in your life:

I am patient and kind because I experience Jesus as patient and kind with me when___________;

I do not envy or boast because I experience Jesus doing neither when___________;

I am not arrogant or rude because Jesus is not arrogant or rude with me when __________;

I do not insist on my own way because Jesus does not insist on his own way when _________;

I am not irritable or resentful because Jesus is neither with me when __________:

I do not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoice with the truth because this is my experience of Jesus when _________;

I bear all things, believe all things, hope all things, endure all things because I feel Jesus bearing, believing, hoping, and enduring when _______.

I have said before the Christian faith is first about being.  It is about experiencing yourself as a beloved child of God, unique and special, precious and full of promise, in no ways perfect but always loved dearly just as you are.  As you experience this as your being, the doing (the verb of the faith) happens naturally.  God’s love in us seeks to be expressed as God’s love for others made real through us.  My prayer this morning is for you to experience God’s love as a noun so that you can be God’s love as a verb.

Distraction Sickness

Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice.  I know them and they follow me.”

The children in my boyhood neighborhood played outside all summer.  It was the era before cell phones, so our resourceful parents devised all manner of ways to call us home for dinner.  The Lux family blew a whistle.  Using different toot cadences, they could call all their boys at once or any one of the three individually.  The Emerson’s had an old hand-held school bell and my mother rang it from the front porch so we could hear it.  Not only did we know its sound, but so did every other kid on the block.  “Keith, I hear your dinner bell.  You had better go home.”

“My sheep hear my voice.”  There are times I wish Jesus’ voice was as easy to discern as my mother’s call to supper.  We listen for his voice to be our moral compass, a source of compassion, a beacon of guidance, a clarion of discernment, and a purveyor of healing.  In a sense, listening for God’s voice has never been easy.  Yes, on some occasions it is as clear and unmistakable as three loud, long blasts from the Lux’s whistle.  But most often it is much more elusive. 

It isn’t so much that God doesn’t want to speak to us.  It has more to do with our inability to be attentive.  Being attentive to God’s voice requires time and space for sustained focus.  It needs self-emptying.  It demands we cease doing and simply be.  And so much of our culture degrades our capacity to do these things.

William James, the 19^th Century philosopher, held we are what we experience and we experience those things to which we give our attention.  Andrew Sullivan, in an essay on ‘distraction sickness’ in The New York Magazine, points out our attention is everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.  Ads, smartphones, apps, social media, and the internet produce an endless parade of distractions to which we are incredibly susceptible. 

There is immense competition for our attention.  There is an entire industry selling its ability to capture it.  The things that ‘pop up’ on your screen don’t just happen by accident.  Politicians, who once garnered our support by articulating positions and policy ideas, now desperately vie for our attention.  Outlandish statements and bizarre behavior have become the new pathway to electability because more and more they are the only way to get noticed. 

“My sheep hear my voice.”  “You are what you pay attention to.”  A 2015 study of young adults determined the average person uses a smartphone five hours a day, engaging it a whopping 85 times, most of which last less than 30 seconds.  What does this tell you about our ability to pay attention?  Just as revealing, the study found participants far underestimated how much they used their phone.  It just doesn’t seem like we spend 1/3 of our waking hours using a device that did not even exist a decade ago, but we do.

Consider the uniqueness of what we are doing right now.  For about 12 minutes, each of you is going to sit in one place, not look at you cell phone, listen to a person speak (who is unaccompanied by pictures, video, or a scrolling series of headlines and stock market updates underneath).  There are no panelists shouting down each other.  No slickly produced PowerPoint presentation.  It is just me and my words bathed in the light of our timeless and familiar church imagery.  I dare say there will be nothing else in your week even close to this.  Paying attention to a sermon has never been easy, but it is especially challenging in an era when we cultivate multitasking and accept as normal the fragmentation of our focus.

Every minute you sit listening to me 500 new profiles are being created on Facebook, 150,000 messages are sent, and 3,000,000 new comments are posted.  Every minute you listen to me 400 hours of video is being uploaded onto YouTube.  The abundance of information available far exceeds our ability to consume it.  And it is not just social media.  I remember a medical professional once stating she would have to invest 200 hours a week reading the latest articles published in professional journals covering her field just to stay current with the latest research. 

The time you have and the attention you can give is a scarce resource.  More and more, learning how to manage and allocate these resources is an essential life skill as well as a spiritual necessity.

Andrew Sullivan’s article on distraction is titled “I Used to be a Human Being.”  He describes in it the soul-crushing experience of making a living as a political blogger spending almost all of his waking time on-line responding to the endless seeping of ‘breaking news.’  This is what he came to learn:

I spent many hours communicating with others as a disembodied voice, but my real life and body were still here.  I began to realize, as my health and happiness deteriorated… [e]very hour I spent online was not spent in the physical world.  Every minute I was engrossed in a virtual interaction I was not involved in a human encounter.  Every second absorbed in some trivia was a second less for any form of reflection, or calm, or spirituality.  Sometimes I walk down the street, and I’m the only person not plugged in… No one is where they are.

After coming to this realization, Sullivan decided to make a change; to go in a new direction for him, but one as old as the dawn of the human spirit.  He signed up to be a part of a week-long silent retreat focusing on the art of meditation.  He reports it took a few days for his brain to ‘settle down’ and his body to be comfortable relaxing.  He then began to notice things that had escaped him for some time… the sound of birds singing, the feeling of the breeze on his skin, the changes in the quality of light as late afternoon gives way to early evening.  For the first time in a long time he began to feel as if his body and his mind existed in the same place at the same time. 

Sullivan said his immediate impulse was to grab his phone, take a picture, and post it online.  Alas, he had been forced to surrender it at the start of the retreat so all he could do was simply be in the moment and live with what he was experiencing.  This, he came to realize, is exactly what he needed.

As the week unfolded Sullivan became more aware of long-held painful memories he had suppressed for years.  He wanted an instant antidote, but came to understand this too is a false way forward created by our modern, make-it-happen-at-microwave-speed world.  Some things, he learned, require time.

“My sheep hear my voice.”  Sullivan states something fascinating in his article:

[M]odernity slowly weakened spirituality, by design and accident, in favor of commerce; it downplayed silence and mere being in favor of noise and constant action.  The reason we live in a culture increasingly without faith is not because science has somehow disproved the unprovable, but because the white noise of secularism has removed the very stillness in which it might endure or be reborn.

Some churches have gone all in with an “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” approach.  They make their worship services as showy and as glitzy as possible.  Big sound, bold visuals, bright lights, and blazing personalities.  Their worship has the pace and the energy of the latest Avengers movie.  But, as the late Rachel Held Evans wrote, she was not looking for a ‘cool’ church to compete with the culture, she deeply desired a place she could encounter ancient religious practices in a meaningful way.  Essentially, she, like Sullivan, sought a place where distractions are minimized in order to provide a place and a space to listen for the voice of Jesus.

Last Sunday we read the story of Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus.  He heard the voice of Jesus only after being knocked off his horse and blinded by an intense light.  For most of us, nothing this dramatic will ever happen.  It is not that Jesus does not want to speak to us.  He does.  It’s just that his voice is soft and calm and is best heard in stillness and quiet – the very things our culture (to borrow a popular social media term) has blocked.

Still, we desperately want to know our lives matter, and not just because we got 100 reactions to our latest post.  We want to know someone cares about us for something deeper, more unique, and more enduring than purchases we might make because we are bombarded with pop-up ads some algorithm has determined should be enticing to us.  We want to know that life has meaning so grand it cannot be captured in 144 characters.  We want a purpose more significant than proselytizing the unknown masses to our particular position on the news cycle’s most recent dust-up.

To the best of my recollection I never missed a dinner as a child.  No matter what was going on, my ear was tuned to hear that bell (or others heard it and quickly brought it to my attention).  This for me is a wonderful image of a spiritual skill we all seek to cultivate.  None of us wants to lose focus on what really matters.  We want the ability briefly to gaze down life rabbit holes and then walk on.  Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice and they follow me.”  In life, you are what you pay attention to.  Thank you for paying attention to me these last few minutes. 

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.