The Blessing of Children

A little girl was staying with her grandmother for the weekend and on Sunday they went to church together.  Now the girl had never been to church before, so everything was new and unfamiliar.  Before the service started, folks were walking up to the altar and placing cans of food on it.  “Grandma,” the little girl whispered, “what are they doing?”  “Well,” the grandmother answered, “everyone brings a can of food to church so that we can hand them out to poor people.”  The girl thought this was a good idea.  Then the music started and the choir processed down the center aisle and up toward the altar area.  “Look Grandma,” the girl said, “Here come the poor people to get their food.”

A few weeks later the grandmother brought her young grandson to church when he was visiting.  It was also was the first time he had been in church.  He squirmed and fussed and did his best to behave, but it was not easy, especially when his grandmother kept chiding him to sit still.  After the service was over the boy said, “Grandma, when I grow up I want to be a preacher.”  The grandmother was both surprised and delighted.  “Why do you want to do that,” she asked, expecting that the boy had had some kind of mystical experience.  “Well,” he said, “I think it would be a whole lot more fun to stand up and yell at everyone than it is to sit still and listen.”

Children are a blessing.  It is a cliché we affirm in the abstract, but often overlook in the moment.  I saw where Holly McNeal posted on facebook this week her joy that Justice slept six-and-a-half hours straight one night; a thankful occurrence she did not expect to repeat itself any time soon.  One of my favorite St. Paul’s memories happened when Joby Webb whisked little Graham out of church one Sunday; swooping him up in his arms and heading for the door.  The last words we heard – and we all heard them clear as a bell – came from Graham just before they exited the Narthex: “But I am being a good boy.”  My guess is the Charlene Henry has put in enough time at the Emergency Room waiting for Samantha to be seen for yet another injury that she could be qualified as a registered nurse.  Yes, in the big picture children are a blessing, but the experience of that blessing can vary greatly from moment to moment.

I have some bad news to present to the Vestry at tomorrow night’s meeting.  We need more money.  There are too many infants and toddlers in our nursery for two people to manage.  The Vestry is going to have to find the funds for a third attendant.  What a nice problem to have!  At Game Night a few weeks ago I identified another problem.  St. Paul’s has an emerging ‘boy vibe’ in and around the kindergarten age.  A ‘boy vibe’ is active, it’s busy, it’s hands-on, and – of this you can be certain – inevitably involves someone getting hurt or something getting broken.  There is also a baby girl boom happening at St. Paul’s.  I can’t wait to see the vibe they bring to the parish in just a few short years.  

Jesus took children in his arms, held them tight, and blessed them.  The act of blessing is a curious thing.  We all know it when we see it, but if asked, would have a difficult time explaining what it is we are doing, or asking God to do.  Think about it… we bless backpacks when kids go to school, our pets on St. Francis Day, the food we eat, couples when they are married, bread and wine for communion, and on and on and on.  We do it.  We are comfortable doing it.  We are comforted by doing it.  But what exactly are we doing?

There is a three-fold aspect to every blessing.  First, we are thanking God for the grace we see at work in the person, event, or thing being blessed.  Second, we are asking that God will continue to favor the person, thing, or event so that he/she/it may live fully into God’s purpose and intention.  And third, we are seeking God’s empowerment so that the person, event, or thing may in some way bear witness to the gospel in the world.  Thus, blessing has a three-fold character.  It acknowledges what is already present—God’s goodness.  It sets apart something as holy and prays for the divine grace needed to fulfill God’s purposes.  And it recognizes the person’s call to be a light to the world.

So last Friday, when I blessed our pets, I was acknowledging the goodness, love, and joy each brings to the lives of our families.  Next, I was praying that each pet will be empowered to live more fully and completely into God’s divine intent for it – and this is where actual results may vary!  And finally, I was praying that the world will know something of God’s love and goodness through each one of our pets.

Through the act of blessing children, Jesus was doing much the same.  He was acknowledging God’s goodness that it already at work in them.  He was praying for the presence of God’s Spirit in their lives so that they might grow into what St. Paul calls “the full stature of Christ.”  And he was asking that each child, in his or her own way, will be a city set on a hill, a light set out on a table, a reflection of God’s goodness and holiness all the days of their lives. 

Beginning October 28, we will have a baptism on three consecutive Sundays.  If that is not a cause for celebration and a sign of hope, I don’t know what is.  It should also be an occasion to give each one of us pause because we will make a promise to each child and to their parents that we will do all in our power to support these infants in their lives in Christ.  Not only is it a promise we make person to person, but it is a sacred promise – what the bible calls ‘a covenant’ – that we make with God.  I suppose many of us imagine standing before God at the last judgment and having to answer for all the times we took the Lord’s name in vain.  But what if that moment looks more like this – like God asking us to describe how we did all in our power to support the children we promised support at baptism?  How would you answer that question?  What have you done?  What are you doing even now?  What might you do in the future to support the children of this parish in their lives in Christ?

You know the old saying: be careful what you wish for.  Everyone in this parish – like everyone in every parish I know – wishes we had more children and young families.  Well, God is granting our wish.  And I pray God isn’t finished.  We are at that wonderful place where we walk the delicate balance of passing on the faith that was given to us in the ways it was given to us while at the same time asking our children and young people what do you want to do with the faith that is growing in you.  It is a delicate balance because we always want to pass on what is essential while at the same time be willing to let go of what is non-essential.  Sometimes knowing which is which is a challenge, isn’t it.

This morning we give thanks that we have the opportunity in a new and a fresh way to live into one of the most endearing aspects of Jesus’ witness… his love of children.  Even folks with a minimal knowledge of the bible seem to know that Jesus welcomed children into his presence and taught us to do the same.  On this morning I am so very thankful for the children and young people of St. Paul’s… for their joy, their energy, their ‘vibe’, their witness to the Gospel, and for the hope they offer for our future.  What a great time to be a part of this parish.  Let’s do all in our power to support these folks in their life in Christ.

Useful & Salty

(Salted with Fire by Jan Richardson)

Settle back while I tell you a bedtime story Scandinavians tell their children…

One day a sheep and a pig decided to build a house that they could live in together.  So they began a long journey to find just the right place to make their home.  They came upon a rabbit who asked them where they were going.  “We are going to build a house,” said the sheep and the pig.  “May I live with you?” asked the rabbit.  “What can you do to help us?” they answered.  The rabbit replied, “I can gnaw pegs with my sharp teeth and I can put them in with my paws.”  “Good,” said the sheep and the pig, “You may come with us.”  A little farther on the three met a goose who asked, “Where are you going?”  “We are going to build a house.”  “May I live with you?” asked the goose.  “What can you do to help?”  The goose thought for a moment and said, “I can pull moss and stuff it in the cracks with my broad bill.”  “Good,” said the three, “You may come with us.”  Farther still the four met a rooster who asked where they were going.  Once they told him the rooster asked if he could join them.  “I can crow very early in the morning; I can awaken you all.”  “Good,” said the sheep, the pig, the rabbit, and the goose, “You may come with us.”  The five went a long, long way until they found a place to build their house.  The sheep hewed logs and drew them.  The pig made bricks for the cellar.  The rabbit gnawed pegs with his sharp teeth, and hammered them in with his paws.  The goose pulled moss, and stuffed it in the cracks with her bill.  The rooster crowed early every morning to tell them that it was time to rise.  And they all lived happily together in their little house.

So here is the question raised by the story; it is, in fact, the same question Jesus poses at the end of this morning’s Gospel reading: What can you do that is useful? 

Jesus gets at this question through the imagery of salt and three statements about it.  The first statement is this: “everyone will be salted with fire.” It has been described as one of the most enigmatic expressions Jesus uttered.  It is not at all clear what it means, but general consensus among biblical scholars is that it relates to animal sacrifice.  Prior to being offered on a fire, a carcass was rubbed with salt to draw out the blood.  Once this was accomplished it was roasted over a fire and offered in sacrifice or served for human consumed.  The salt was useful in this process, but once used it lost the qualities that made it such leading to the second statement: “how can saltiness be restored?”  The final expression, ‘have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another,” is an imperative to be useful in all our relationships.

So again I ask you: what do you do that is useful?

No doubt, your answer changes based on the context where your find yourself.  You are useful one way at home, another way at work, and still another way here at church.  There may be common threads that connect the various ways you are useful or they may be quite independent of one another. 

How is your usefulness recognized?  Are you paid for it?  Is it a great deal of money or is it just a little?  Or perhaps your usefulness is acknowledged only with a thank you.  Some times we are the only person who knows our contribution while other times we are the last to suspect just how useful we are.  As you ponder your usefulness, are you thinking about things that you do?  Do you cook meals for the family or keep the cars in good repair or make sure the books are in order at the office or get the kids to practice on time?  When thinking of our usefulness most often we think of things we do.

A few weeks ago I was having lunch with a colleague when he said to me with admiration, “Keith, you seem to be at peace with yourself and with the world around you.”  Well, the warring factions within me started a raging argument that still carries on.  One voice shouts “if he only knew” while another voice tattles “you are such a hypocrite” and so on.  But a new voice has been gaining traction in my inner the debate.  This voice reminds me that usefulness is not confined solely to what we do, but it also involves who we are.  Thomas Merton wrote that “we are so obsessed with doing that we have no time and no imagination left for being.”  As a result, he said that we are valued not for what we are but for what we do and for what we have.  Jesus might say that we have confused salt with saltiness.  It is not how much salt you have that matters, it is how salty your life is becoming.  Or, to put it another way, our being, when grounded in God, is useful to others.

Saltiness.  Last month Laura Cook asked me to meet her at the farm where she kept her horse.  She asked me to say prayers with them the day before she was going to have her horse put down.  Debbie Askew had been in conversation with Laura about this difficult decision and agreed to join us.  When we gathered I offered some prayers from a liturgy.  I am useful that way.  But Debbie was useful from her being; comforting Laura from the vast reserves of her experiences with horses and reassuring Laura her that she was making the right decision.  It is a moment that stays with me because it highlights how each of us has something useful to offer in this glorious thing we call God’s kingdom here on earth.

The gospel reading begins with one of the disciples complaining to Jesus that someone else – someone not of their little band – was invoking Jesus’ name to effect healings.  Shouldn’t that person be stopped, the disciple wondered.  Today we might say that he wanted to micro-manage the situation.  Jesus responds that the healer should be left alone because what he is doing he is useful.  He was helping other people.

From there Jesus launches into a series of teachings that, if taken literally, encourage self-mutilation.  But played against the question of usefulness, they ask a very sensible question: What are you doing that is destructive – either to you or to others?  If our call is to be useful - to be salty - then we also need to ponder how and when we have the opposite affect.  What in our doing and what in our being is detrimental to our usefulness?  Perhaps you complain too much.  Maybe your usefulness is tarnished by selfish ambition.  Do you always have to get your way?  Are you overly critical of yourself, demeaning who you are and what you do?  If so, that aspect of your personality needs to be removed.  It needs to die on the Cross so that God may bring about a resurrection of new and more useful life in you.

This morning we celebrate the usefulness that we can offer to the world in which we live.  When done in Christ’s name it becomes a part of what it means to be a steward.  It is one way we offer in God’s service all that we are and all that we have to contribute to the project of life and living.  The tale of the sheep, the pig, the rabbit, the goose and the rooster reminds us of something Jesus said long ago: there is always some way for you to contribute, every contribution is important, and no contribution goes unrecognized by God or unrewarded.  Have salt in yourselves!

A Gentleness Born of Wisdom

“A capable wife who can find?”  Our first reading from Proverbs seems all at once both timeless and hopelessly out of date.  Men, do we really need a wife who is a seamstress, merchant, chef, home administrator, property realtor, and wine maker?  Women, how do you warm to the thought of rising before the sun and staying up after everyone else has retired; providing for your family and taking care of the poor; keeping yourself always attractive while being tasked with promoting your husband in the eyes of others; eschewing idleness whenever a task-free moment arises while maintaining a perpetual sunny disposition that even your children acknowledge?  And you thought walking on water was a tough act to follow! 

Still, within these lofty expectations and charmingly outdated duties, there remains something that is timeless; that rings true even in our day.  More precious than jewels is a relationship that can be characterized by fidelity, monogamy, mutual affection and respect, careful, honest communication, and the holy love which enables both to see in each other the image of God.  Is there anything more attractive in a partner than inner strength, a sense of dignity, a light heart, the habit of speaking words of wisdom and kindness, demonstrating a concern for others, and possessing a sense of awe related to all that is holy? 

If there is a fulcrum verse in this morning’s readings on which all others rest, it comes from the Letter of James: “Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom.”  There is something of this behind all the qualities and characteristics put forward in Proverbs, isn’t there.  This gentleness born of wisdom is both a disposition we cultivate on our own as well as a gift that we receive from beyond ourselves.  James goes on to say, “the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy.”  Yes, these are traits that we can and should pursue through our own efforts, but they will never find their fullness in us – be able to establish deep abiding roots and bear consistent fruit in our lives – unless we seek the nourishment of God’s Spirit in our souls. 

In this morning’s Gospel reading we see Jesus’ disciples in a mode that is about as far from gentleness as you can get.  Some context to the reading is helpful.  Jesus has led his followers out of the region controlled by Herod Antipas after the ruler had ordered the beheading of Jesus’ cousin, John the Baptist.  Jesus has been in seclusion because he fears being arrested, because he is grieving, and because he needs to rethink his mission in light of this tragic loss.  He emerges from this period of discernment realizing that he is the Messiah – God’s anointed one – but also with a new understanding of what this means.  At the time, people anticipated God was going to raise up a Messiah to be a political leader – someone who would rally the people of Israel to rise up in revolt, overthrown the Roman rule, and reestablish a Jewish monarchy through David’s lineage.  After John’s death and a period of reflection, Jesus begins to see that the power of oppression, like the power of sin, can only be conquered through his death and resurrection. 

Do you recall from last week’s reading how Peter confesses that Jesus is the Messiah and in response Jesus orders his disciples not to breathe a single word of this?  It is easy to understand his reasoning.  If word spreads that he is the Messiah and if people believe that the Messiah is sent from God to lead a revolt, then Jesus will find himself at the forefront of an uprising, not offering himself on a Cross as a demonstration of God’s love for the world.  Jesus chooses to embody the words James would write some decades later… he will show the good life through his work done with gentleness born of wisdom. 

His new mission only sharpens the irony that, while he is teaching this message to his disciples, they are arguing privately about whom among them is the most important.  No doubt they were looking toward their imagined future and pondering one another’s place in King Jesus’ palace.  Jesus responds to this with a teaching and a living parable.  The teaching: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”  Then he shows them what this means in practical terms by placing a child in the midst and saying that greatness is demonstrated not through positions of power but through the manner you receive the powerless.  A trait that will do you no good in welcoming a child is self-importance.  A trait that will never fail is gentleness.

Last May, when a group of us met to evaluate our Sunday School program, several people mentioned how positive it is that Al Reese comes out of the church after the sermon and leads the children in a song before they come in to join us.  Our kids love Al and enjoy their time with him very much.  It speaks volumes to us that a person as talented and gifted as our music director/organist is willing to do this.  He is not demeaning himself, but rather is highlighting the value of children.  Al uses his gifts with great gentleness and wisdom and I am extremely grateful for both his ministry and his witness.

In early August, David Brooks, an Op-Ed columnist for The New York Times, wrote a very thoughtful piece weighing in on the debate about the roots of success – to what degree are we self made and to what degree do we owe our success to forces beyond ourselves?  Brooks offered the following insight:

There were many different chefs of the stew that is you: parents, friends, teachers, ancestors, mentors and, of course, Oprah Winfrey.  It’s very hard to know how much of your success is owed to those people and how much is owed to yourself.

Given this, Brooks writes:

You should regard yourself as the sole author of all your future achievements and as the grateful beneficiary of all your past successes.

It seems to me that if you had this outlook your works would be done with gentleness born of wisdom.  Throughout his column Brooks notes how we approach the question of credit differently at various stages of our life: 

In your 20s…, you should imagine that you have the power to totally transform yourself…  This sense of possibility will unleash feverish energies that will propel you forward...

In your 30s and 40s, you will  begin to…  have a lower estimation of your own power and a greater estimation of the power of the institutions you happen to be in.  You’ll still have faith in your own skills, but it will be more the skills of navigation, not creation...

Then in your 50s and 60s, you will [develop an], understanding that relationships are more powerful than individuals…  You will find yourself in the coaching phase of life, enjoying the dreams of your underlings.  Ambition… is most pleasant when experienced vicariously...  You’ll find yourself thinking back to your own mentors, newly aware of how much they shaped your path…

Then in your 70s and 80s,… your mind will bob over the decades and then back over the centuries, and you’ll realize how deeply you were formed by the ancient traditions of your people — being Mormon or Jewish or black or Hispanic.  You’ll appreciate how much power the dead have over the living, since this will one day be your only power.  You’ll be struck by the astonishing importance of luck — the fact that you took this bus and not another, met this person and not another.

In short, as maturity develops and the perspectives widen, the smaller the power of the individual appears, and the greater the power of those forces flowing through the individual.

Brooks is suggesting that gentleness emerges in us as time works on us.  We are not a finished product at any point in our lives.  Rather we are on a constant journey to grow into what St. Paul calls the “fullness of Christ.”  Those disciples who argued amongst themselves about their importance were not rejected because of their misguided self-estimation.  Jesus continued to nurture them toward a good life where their works were done with gentleness born of wisdom.  It took time, to be sure, but Jesus never gave up on them – neither before his death nor after his resurrection – and Jesus never gives up on us either. 

Brooks ended his column with these words:

[You] are right to preserve your pride in your accomplishments.  Great companies, charities and nations were built by groups of individuals who each vastly overestimated their own autonomy.  As an ambitious executive, it’s important that you believe that you will deserve credit for everything you achieve.  As a human being, it’s important for you to know that’s nonsense.

We who follow Christ give our best in everything we do, knowing that our best – if laced with pride, arrogance, or selfish ambition – is all for not.  Our best, when put in the service of others, fulfills what Jesus teaches… if you want to be great you must be last of all and servant of all.  I pray that this life continues to emerge in me as it continues to emerge in each one of you.

General & Specific (Revelation)

So Jesus and Peter are golfing.  They come to a long par 5 with a huge sand bunker in the middle of the fairway 300 yards from the tee.  Jesus takes out a driver.  Peter suggests using an iron to lay up for an easier shot.  Jesus replies, “Tiger Woods wouldn’t lay up.  He’d drive over the trap.”  So Jesus swings away and just as Peter warned, the ball lands short and rolls into the bunker.  Jesus walks up to the ball, swings again and it lands in the cup for a double eagle.  The next hole has a lake on the left side of the fairway.  Jesus takes a 3 wood out of his bag.  Peter reminds him that he has a tendency to hook his drives, but Jesus says, “It’s the club Tiger Woods would use.”  He swings and, sure enough, the drive hooks into the water.  Jesus walks up to the lake and then walks out on the water, addresses the ball, swings, hits the ball, and it lands in the cup for an eagle.  Well, the foursome playing behind our Lord and Savior have been watching all of this in disbelief.  One of those golfers approaches Peter and says, “Who does that guy think he is… Jesus Christ?”  “Well,” says Peter, “the funny thing is he is Jesus Christ.  The problem is he thinks he is Tiger Woods.”

In this morning’s Gospel reading we hear the person who thinks he is Tiger Woods solicit feedback on what others are saying about him.  He then asks those closest to him what they believe.  Peter proclaims, “You are the Messiah.”  Jesus then sternly orders them not to breath a word of this proclamation to anyone because, at least in the verses that follow, he needs to reframe for them what it means to be the Messiah.  It is a lesson that pairs nicely with what we heard read from the Book of Proverbs where God’s wisdom, personified and walking through the streets, offers counsel to all who will listen.

Theologians make a distinction between what they refer to as “general revelation” and “special revelation.”  We see one and then the other in these two readings.  The word ‘revelation’ refers to what we know about God and what we know we can only know because God chooses to make it known to us.  General revelation is knowledge about God that can be discerned from what God has made – the creation.  We can look at the world around us, at human beings and our social ordering, at art, music, and beauty and discern something about the nature and will of God. 

I’ll give you an example of this.  In my office I have a hanging that depicts a specific teaching from each of the seven great religions in our world:  Brahmanism, Buddhism, Christianity, Confucianism, Islam, Judaism, and Taoism.  Although the words of each teaching are slightly different, they all put forward what we in the Christian tradition refer to as the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.  Islam, for example, teaches “Not one of you will be a true believer who does not wish for his brother the same that he wishes for himself.”  Confucianism asks if there is a maxim that one ought to follow throughout life.  Indeed there is.  It is called the maxim of peaceful goodness: “What we don’t want done to us we should not do to others.”

This is one example of general revelation; of God’s personified wisdom being open and discernable by all people in all times and places.  It is proclaimed in the streets and the valleys.  It is written on the stars and proclaimed in the lilies of the field… general revelation that all people can know. 

Jesus Christ is the embodiment of God’s special revelation.  We learn things about God in the Word incarnate that we can not know through general revelation.  Take this morning’s Gospel.  We can look no where in the created order and discern the teaching that if we seek to save our life we will lose it and if we lose our life we will find it.  In fact, what we learn from creation is just the opposite, isn’t it… life is about natural selection and survival of the fittest. 

The Christian tradition holds that special revelation is not something we achieve, but rather something we receive.  When Matthew recounts the reading we heard this morning he recalls Jesus’ response after Peter’s confession, “Blessed are you for flesh and blood [general revelation] have not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven [special revelation].” 

From this I take that every human being is able to know something of God and God’s will.  And thus, every human being is accountable to God for that which is readily apparent to all people – a certain awe for a higher Being and a certain value and respect of all living things.  But I also take from this that those of us who have received the special revelation of Jesus Christ are tasked with a mission and held to a higher standard.  Our mission is to worship Christ, to embody Christ’s teachings in a manner that is faithful and compelling, and to preach the Gospel (using words, if necessary) to the end that others might become people of faith.

I count myself as blessed to have received the good news of God in Christ and to be called to this mission.  It is a special revelation that has come to me because of a variety of factors to which I can claim no credit.  First, I was born in a time after Christ.  Second, I was born in a society that is predominately Christian at a time when most parents took their children to church.  Next, I was born into a family of Presbyterians and we went to a church each week.  That church offered a variety of programs for children and youth to expose us to the faith.  It hired a young youth minister who was devoted to Jesus and shared his faith openly with us.  These are factors that not everyone enjoys.  But beyond all of this, there was something more… something – as Jesus puts it – from the Father.  Beyond being an accident of time and place, faith is a gift that bestows blessing and implies calling.  I am blessed to be a person of faith and called both to live it and to share it with others.

What if I had been born into a different family in that Presbyterian church; one that attended only on Christmas and Easter?  Or what if I had been born closer to this day and age when attending church is not a given and many young people have serious reservations about Christianity as they see it lived out in our day?  Or what if I was born in an Islamic country?  Sure, I might be familiar with the teachings of Jesus, and I might even be open to seeing how many of his teachings corresponded with those of my tradition, but would I strip away all the layers of my culture and heritage to take on another so completely foreign to my own?  Probably not.   I am who I am not because I am special and certainly not because I am better than other people, but because God chose to be known to me.  It gives me a task, a purpose, a role to play in life.  I am to be a witness to God in all that I say and do.

The German Jesuit theologian Karl Rahner, writing in the 20^th century, proposed a notion he called the “anonymous Christian.”  Through it, he made a compelling case that those born before Christ and those who came after Christ but never heard the gospel could in fact be saved by Christ through the faithful practice of their own religion.  It was an idea that met with widespread acceptance.  Since then, others have broadened Rahner’s thinking about anonymous Christians to include adherents faithful to other religions who live in accord with what this morning we are referring to as general revelation. 

I used to look at today’s Gospel reading and think that Peter was going to get to heaven because he knew something about Jesus that other people did not.  I used to think that because I knew it too I was going to be rewarded while those who did not were going to be punished.  That fixation on heaven does not sit well with me now because Jesus teaches that the kingdom of heaven is not just some glorious afterlife, but is a reality emerging in the here and now.  I now see how people of faith – all faiths – are to learn from God’s general revelation and bring it to bear in the world.  We in the Christian tradition who know the special revelation of God in Christ are given the added responsibility of living for the world those deep truths that can be found nowhere else but in the incarnate One.  I now see that we have been given a light not to be hid under a basket.  We are called to let that light shine for all the world to see and know what God has made know in Christ.

You Can Tell a lot about a Person from the Way He or She...

This morning I am thinking of Marjorie.  A dear, retired women I knew years ago, she was a devoted Christian and shared with me in the ministry of preparing young people for confirmation.  More than ‘knowing her stuff’ about the church, she was ideally suited for this work because she was the kind of person we want our young people to emulate: gently, caring, kind, thoughtful, full of faith, always radiating joy.  It was not at all her way to speak badly about anyone, which is why I have never forgotten a comment she once made to me. 

We were talking in private about one of the teenagers in the group who in class had made some pretty uncharitable comments about poor people and people of color.  Where did these beliefs come from I wondered?  Marjorie told me about a lunch she once had with the teen’s mother.  In church the mother presented herself as holier than thou, but at a tiny café a different side had emerged.  Marjorie described how the mother interacted with the waitress; ignoring her at one point, barking orders at another, and generally being so rude that Marjorie was embarrassed to be in her company.  It was then that Marjorie made said what I have never forgotten – a comment that has guided every single interaction I have had since she spoke the words: “My mother used to say that you can tell a lot about a person from the way they treat the help.”

You can tell a lot about a person from the way they treat the help – or we might want to change it slightly to a term Jesus used, ‘the least of these.’  If this is true, and I think it is, then you can tell something about me from the way I treat a congressman, but more by the way I treat a Wal-Mart cashier.  You can tell something about me from the way I treat a lofty admiral, but more from the way I treat a lowly administrator.  You can tell something about me from the way I treat the bishop, but more by the way I treat the Barons barmaids. 

More than being a common curtsey or a sign of a good upbringing, this approach to ‘the least of these’ was a crucial reason (if not the crucial reason) why Christianity spread throughout the Roman Empire in such a relatively short period of time.  In today’s New Testament reading we heard James – the brother of Jesus – admonishing the early church to show no acts of favoritism to the wealthy over the poor.  We heard him proclaim the belief that showing partiality is a sin. 

This was radical stuff in that day and age.  Listen to how one historian describes that era:

The ancient Mediterranean world that Rome once ruled was a vast, culturally diverse set of societies, unrelated by language, economics, religions, and histories, all forced into political unity by a brutal military.  Vast numbers of people who inhabited the Roman Empire resented or hated Roman rule and experienced few, if any, benefits from its social and economic structures.  The empire was not in any modern way even vaguely democratic or inclusive; instead, it was a rigidly hierarchical and status-based world of haves and have-nots, of masters and slaves.  Unlike Hollywood sword-and-sandal film, the ancient world was not a pleasant place absent conveniences such as sewer systems and running water.  Greco-Roman cities were small, extremely crowded, filthy beyond imagining, disorderly, filled with strangers, and afflicted with frequent catastrophes – fires, plagues, conquests, and earthquakes.  Unlike Western urban life today, where even the poor have access to marginal services, life in antiquity abounded in anxiety and misery for nearly everyone.

In that environment, Christians embodied the virtue of hospitality to all: the sick, the poor, travelers, widows, orphans, slaves, prisoners, prostitutes, soldiers, and the dying.  Lucian, a 2^nd century pagan critic of Christianity, wrote of the lavish care believers offered to a local prisoner, saying “the efficiency the Christians show whenever matters of community interest like this happens is unbelievable; they literally spare nothing.”  Tertullian, a Christian from same era offers a similar insight: “It is our care of the helpless, our practice of loving kindness that brands us in the eyes of our many opponents.  ‘Only look,’ they say, ‘look how the love one another.’”  One more quote, this from John Chrysostom, writing in the 4^th century, describes what motivated the early church to behave this way: “Observe the hospitality here spoken of is not merely friendly reception, but one given with zeal and cheerfulness, with readiness, as going about it as if one were receiving Christ himself.”

Our Christian forefathers and mothers received every person they met as if they were greeting Christ himself.  The early church could not have manufactured a weapon of war more powerful against the culture in which they lived nor could it have produced an ad campaign more effective than the sacrificial manner in which they humanized every person they encountered.  It subverted an entire society and way of life across the greatest empire the world had known to date. 

Today’s gospel reading is particularly interesting because it tells a story where Jesus is the antagonist.  The hero has several strikes against her: she is a woman, a foreigner, and her daughter is tormented.  She approaches Jesus as her last, best hope, but he brushes her off with a putdown that makes us bristle: “I don’t feed dogs like you.”  Here is where might want to remind Jesus that you can tell a lot about a person from the way he treats the help.  To her credit, the woman perseveres and, in a clever little bit of give-and-take notes that even dogs get to eat crumbs that fall from the table. 

It is a revelatory moment in Jesus’ life because her faith helps him to discern that his mission encompasses all people, not just the children of Israel.  Jesus grants the woman’s request by healing her daughter and then, in the very next story (which we also heard read) he heals without hesitation a man with a speech impediment even though he too is a resident of a foreign land.   These acts become signs of how outsiders – unlovely, unwanted human beings – are to be welcomed into the heart of Christian community and fellowship.

We are the inheritors of this tradition.  We become its standard bearers at our baptism when we make covenantal promises with God to seek and serve Christ in all persons, to love our neighbor as ourselves, and to respect the dignity of every human being.  Living as we do in a world that seems to be more dehumanizing and less friendly every day, the church is finding anew how powerful and potent embodying these promises can be as we seek to draw all people into God’s life and love.

You can tell a lot about a person by the way he or she cares for the least of these.  And you can tell a lot about a congregation by the way it does the same. 

As the election campaign cranks into full gear I find myself having a recurring thought: what would happen if word got out that a presidential candidate would be speaking at St. Paul’s next Sunday?  Well, we’d have the place spotlessly clean and the paint touched up.  Every burned out bulb would be replaced and every bit of brass polished.  The acolytes would be here early and they’d be wearing dress shoes with socks.  The choir would be at full strength and Al might even behave himself.  My sermon would be brief and possibly even coherent.  The Parish Hall would be decked out with the finest foods served on the fanciest flatware we can muster.  The pews would be packed long before the service started.  We would anticipate the event all week and talk about it with pride years later.  Whenever someone gets around to writing an updated history of the parish you can be sure that it would mention the visit from a presidential nominee. 

Now, let me ask you this: what would happen if an e-mail went out announcing that a former parishioner who moved out of the area several years ago was coming back for a visit?  Those who knew the person well might make a special effort to be here, evening changing plans to make it happen.  Someone might even arrange to go out to lunch with the person after the service.  There would be no special cleaning or music, Al would behave (or not behave) as we have come to expect, and my sermon would be long and rambling.

How about this scenario: what would happen if God whispered in your ear that next Sunday a homeless person was going to sit in the back pew during the service?  What would be different?  How would we approach that day and that event differently that the other scenarios?  I am not suggesting we have a silver and crystal reception after church (or maybe I am), but what does it look like to show no partiality?  What can you tell about us from the way we treat a presidential nominee, a returning friend, or a homeless person?

Our ancestors in the faith treated like royalty the most humble and lowly members of society.  They confronted the proud and pompous at every turn, even if it meant persecution, imprisonment, or death.  Their church grew and it thrived because they were selfless in the service of others.  They offer their witness to us and inspire us as we seek to serve Christ in our own day, striving always to discern what this looks like in our own time.

A Means or an End?

What are the adjectives we put in front of specific religious traditions to indicate a person’s dedication to it?  We speak of being a “practicing Jew”, or a “devout Roman Catholic.”  We describe a person as being a “good Baptist” or an “active Presbyterian.”  I have heard more than one person identified as being a “staunch Episcopalian.”  Some of these modifiers are interchangeable, others not so much.  We might describe someone as being a “good Episcopalian,” but probably not a “practicing Episcopalian.”
All of these terms hint at a high level of involvement; at being deeply engaged with the particular customs and dictates of a specific faith tradition.  Each speaks of a distinctive way to worship, to draw from the bible, to be in a community of believers, and to participate or not participate in a society and the culture as a whole.

The Christian writer Philip Yancey describes the do’s and don’ts – well, mostly the don’ts – associated with his upbringing in a fundamentalist church in the late 50’s and early 60’s:

“At the top [of the list of don’ts] were smoking and drinking… Movies ranked just below these vices, with many church members refusing even to attend The Sound of Music.  Rock music, then in its infancy, was likewise regarded as an abomination, quite possibly demonic in origin.  Other proscriptions – wearing makeup and jewelry, reading the Sunday paper, playing or watching sports on Sunday, mixed swimming (curiously termed ‘mixed bathing’), skirt length for girls, hair length for boys – were heeded or not heeded depending on a person’s level of spirituality.”


Does any of that mirror your own upbringing?

Every religious movement has a core tenant accompanied by surrounding practices aimed at helping a follower move toward that core.  For those of us in the Christian tradition, the core is to love God with all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love our neighbor as ourselves.  Practices like regular worship and turning the other cheek are just two of the ways we live into what is most central about our tradition.

The practices are a means to the end of loving God and loving our neighbor, but it does not take much for the means to become an end unto themselves.  Isn’t that what Philip Yancey was describing about his childhood?  Somewhere along the way, whatever it was about skirt length and hair length that directed a person toward loving God and loving your neighbor became obscured by the notions that good Christian boys keep their hair above the ears and girls keep their skirts below the knees.

In today’s Gospel reading Jesus is confronted by a group of religious leaders attacking him around this very same phenomena.  A particular practice of ritual hand washing meant to remind a person of the need for and value of inner holiness over time had become an end unto itself.  The religious leaders became fixated on the practice, but indifferent to its intended end.  It appears Jesus practiced the ritual, but his disciples did not.  The religious leaders chide him for not forcing his followers to observe this custom.

Jesus responds by quoting the sacred Hebrew Scriptures:

“This people honors me with their lips,   but their hearts are far from me.”

They had become what Mark Twain once described as “good in the worst sense of the word.”  It is not the practice that Jesus criticizes, but rather using the practice as an end unto itself.  He would not stand for an exterior manifestation of religion that did not emanate from an interior place in the soul.

We need specific practices, rituals, and customs in order to have an identity as a people of faith. Interestingly, mainline congregations that work hard at developing these things are beginning to flourish.  Joseph Stewart-Sicking is a member of a team of sociologists headquartered at Virginia Seminary who are studying churches all across the country.  Here is what he reports of their findings:


“In our research we saw intentional practice.  Churches worked hard at developing certain disciplines and making them the core of their life together.  We saw engagement with tradition, not as the tyranny of the dead but as a living body of wisdom.”
In other words, a hand washing ritual used as a means to move closer to loving God and loving your neighbor aids personal faith and adds to congregational vitality.  Of course, the meaning and purpose of the hand washing ritual is lost on us today.  There is no point to try to recreate it if it becomes an end to itself.  But we do have our own practices that are worth embracing.

Let me help you understand what I mean by telling you of one person’s experience with a church very similar to ours.  Nora Gallagher writes about walking into a parish as a visitor and then becoming a pilgrim as she walked through the seasons of the congregation’s life by celebrating its festivals, living through its ordinary times, and suffering in its dark moments.  It dawned on her she could never really understand Christianity unless she lived it by participating in the practices, customs, and rituals of a specific Christian community.

Stewart-Sicking’s fellow researcher Diana Butler Bass writes that “People are finding their lives transformed by joining a faith community – not by taking a membership class or signing a pledge card – but through participating in a congregation’s story, language, actions, and rhythms.”  The dynamic congregations they studied have created “a vision of Christian discipleship that fits their own cultural and historical locations.”

Pairing their research with today’s Gospel reading, we might want to ask ourselves this: what do I do to live out my faith that moves me closer to loving God and loving my neighbor and what do I do that has morphed into an end unto itself.  What do we do as a congregation that moves us closer to God and our neighbor?  And what in our common life invites visitors to become fellow pilgrims?

Here are a few of the practices I see at St. Paul’s that are doing this:

·  Like other Episcopal congregations, we observe the Christian calendar as a means to walk through the story of Jesus on a yearly basis.  Following the lectionary, living into the church seasons, and observing significant celebrations of Jesus’ life helps us to do this.

·  Our Sunday worship follows a pattern of gathering in God’s Name, praising God, listening attentively to Holy Scripture first as it is read and then as it is understood through preaching, aligning ourselves with Christians of all times and all places by confessing the faith through the words a historic creed, praying for our own needs and the needs or others, confessing our sins and receiving absolution, extending God’s peace to those who gather with us, remembering Christ’s great gift to the world through the words of the Great Thanksgiving, being nourished and strengthened through taking communion, and finally offering thanks for all that we have received in worship and expressing the belief that it has prepared us to reenter life as God’s servants.

·  Here at St. Paul’s we have various ways we practice service through self-giving.  It begins with our elected lay leaders – the Vestry – who commit to being here each Sunday to open and close the building, to greet us, and to ensure that coffee and treats - basic signs of hospitality – are available.  It begins before that though on Saturday morning when members of the Altar Guild give their time so that the church is prepared for worship.  It begins even before that when members of the choir gather for practice to ensure that music, beauty, and praise will be a part of our common worship.

·  Our service through self-giving is expressed on Monday evenings when people from the community come to our church to receive food items to help them make it through the week.  It is also expressed when we take a meal to a person recovering from illness.

·  It is expressed every Friday night when we open the doors of our church to AA meetings, on Thursdays when BARKs offers its services in our Parish Hall, and at various other times throughout the month and year when we make our facilities available to groups that make Suffolk a better place for everyone.

·  It is one of my greatest joys as your Rector to offer our practice of service through self-giving to whomever God brings to our doors.  That is why with confidence I told an Episcopalian from another part of the country that I would be the celebrant at a memorial Eucharist for our spouse and that we would provide a reception after the service for her family and friends.

These are just a few of our practices.  None is an end unto itself.  Each is a means to help us love God and love our neighbor.  Based on his observations of other congregations, Joseph Stewart-Sicking says this:

“There are no shortcuts.  It is something that develops over time, learning as you do, becoming a community dedicated to a way of life that can’t be purchased.”

Does that sound like us?  Or do the words of Jesus ring in our ears, “You honor me with your lips, but your heart is far from me”?  I know how I answer this question.  How do you answer it?

Answer Key..........page 95

A grade school aged boy figured out the whole Sunday School thing when he realized the answer to every question the teacher asked is “Jesus.”  “Who is the Good Shepherd?”  While his peers sat in ponderous silence, the boy shot his hand in the air and blurted out “Jesus.”  The next Sunday: “Who walked on the water?”  “Jesus.”  The Sunday after that: “Who was born in a manger?”  “Jesus.”  You can see how this little boy was starting to build some confidence, so imagine his confusion when the teacher said, “Who can tell me what is gray and furry, has a bushy tail, lives in a tree, and gathers nuts for the winter?”  The little boy raised his hand and said sheepishly, “Well, I know the answer has to be ‘Jesus,’ but that sure sounds like a squirrel to me.”

That old story came to me this week as I sat in the church’s resource room leafing through some old Sunday School curriculum.  I happened across a book titled Instant Bible Lessons, which are aimed at children ages 5-10.  Checking the table of contents, I noted lessons with such titles as “Don’t Pout–Pray!,” “The Path of the Proud,” “Cheerful Chores,” and (my favorite) “Pin the Hair on Samson.”  And then, at the bottom of the page, was this line that caught my eye: “Answer Key…….page 95.”

Why, I thought, does life not come with an answer key; a page to which you can turn and have everything you want to know laid out right there before you?  Why do good people suffer?  Or, I want to have faith that everything will be OK, but how do I let go and simply trust?  Or, what exactly am I supposed to do to be a good person and what does God think when I do not do it?  It sure would be nice to have a page 95 to give us the answers to these and other questions.

Over the last four Sundays we have been reading from the 6^th chapter of John’s Gospel.  It begins with the account of Jesus feeding the 5,000 with just a few fish and a couple of loaves of bread.  As the chapter unfolds it chronicles an on-going discussion between Jesus and those who at the meal, between Jesus and local religious authorities, and between Jesus and his own disciples.  Each conversation is a kind of search for an answer key: Why does the food have stop?  Where does Jesus get the power and authority to do these things?  What does this miraculous event mean?  And with each interaction, the conversation grows more tense until we find at the end of today’s reading most of the people who had been chasing Jesus around the lakeside decide following him is not worth the effort.  Getting a free meal was nice.  Not getting easy answers is frustrating as frustrating can be.  His audience wants everything wrapped up in a nice, tidy package with a little gold bow on top, but life doesn’t fit neatly into a box and the bows we tie always seem to come undone in the face of our experiences. 

More and more I am convinced that we begin our religious life on a quest for certainty but over time develop the spiritual capacity to live with ambiguity, nuance, and mystery.

There are two different ways people try to find certainty through religion.  One involves manipulating the bible.  This approach takes a verse from this Gospel, and phrase from that letter, and a bit of a psalm, and a dash of a proverb, and a healthy smattering of Paul, strings it all together, and holds that it then proclaims God’s truth through a sequential unfolding of a logical progression that is clean, clear, concise, and certain. 

I warm to this approach like I would warm to a person who takes a handful of shells, stings them on necklace, holds them up, and says, “Here is everything you need to know about the beach.”  Well, not really.  Where is the sound of the waves, the smell of the salt water, the feel of the sand, the warmth of the sun, etc.?  When confronted with the absurdity of certainty, this person will say, “How dare you attack my string of shells?  Can’t you see that every one of these shells came right from the beach itself?  How can you not see the entirety of the beach in what I have created?  You must not be a true beach person and you certainly will not get to spend eternity at the beach after you die.”  Have you ever met a person who uses the bible in a similar fashion?

There is another way a person might try to achieve certainty through religion.  It does not involve the bible, but rather what I call ‘soft, cheesy theology.’  This approach draws upon statements of belief that sound nice and offer comfort, but when thought through are fraught with problems.  Do you want some examples?  “God always answers pray, but sometimes we don’t like what God says.”  “God never gives you more than you can handle.”  “When God closes one door, God always opens another.”  I could go on, but you get the idea.  You may even use some of them yourself.  We like these sayings because they are sure and safe.  They give us confidence and certainty in uncertain times and situations.  But in their own way they reflect reality about as well as the string of shells reflects the beach. 

For many religion is a safe harbor of self-made certainty – a certainty that either has to be defended at all costs or kept out of the light of thorough examination.  But there comes a time when we let go of the need for certainty and begin to embrace the notion that we find God best as we let God be God – a Holy Being beyond explanation.

The lead character in Lucy Montgomery’s book Emily of New Moon understood well how to do this.  Montgomery writes this about her:

It had always seemed to Emily, ever since she could remember, that she was very, very near to a world of wonderful beauty.  Between it and herself hung only a thin curtain; she could never draw the curtain aside – but sometimes, just for a moment, a wind fluttered it and then it was as if she caught a glimpse of the enchanting realm beyond – only a glimpse – and heard a note of unearthly music… And always when the flash came to her Emily felt her life was a wonderful, mysterious thing of persistent beauty.”

Whenever I think of this passage I think that I want what Emily had… a belief that beauty is everywhere and very near to us all the time, an ability to wait on mystery to reveal itself to us, and – most important of all – the absence of need to quantify and explain it all.  She was comfortable simply to let life be what it is and not to demand it be what it is not. 

St. Peter was a great deal like Emily, at least as far as he accounts in today’s reading.  After the masses pack their bags and leave, Jesus turns to his small band of committed followers and inquires if they too are going to walk away.  Peter speaks for all of them: “To whom would we go?  You have the words of eternal life and we have come to believe that you are the Holy One of God.”  Notice that Peter does not say, “Who else is going to give us free food?  Notice he does not say, “Why would we go someplace else when you hold the Answer Key from page 95?”  He says, “You have the words of eternal life.”  In what Jesus has done and through what Jesus has said, Peter has caught a glimpse of the ‘enchanting realm beyond.’  He does not need to have it explained to him.  He does not need to describe it to others.  He merely needs to abide in it and with it.

We begin our religious journey in life looking for certainty and over time develop the capacity to live with ambiguity, nuance, and mystery.  We learn that finding God is not so much about finding answers as it is discerning a persistent Presence who is always with us.  We learn to trust in this Presence and to depend on it.  This, I think is, what Jesus offers in the bread and the wine.