Reflections on Glory

There are 21 chapters in the Gospel of John and 5 of them – 24% – are devoted to events that took place during the Last Supper in the upper room on what we now celebrate as Maundy Thursday.  Now, while the gospel wasn’t written with chapter divisions (that was something added in the 13^th century) there is a considerable amount of emphasis and weight given to this meal.

On this evening Jesus gives his disciples an example to follow by washing their feet.  He announces that one of the twelve will betray him.  He breaks bread and shares it.  He gives a new commandment (that we are to love one another as he has loved us).  And he tells his followers that he will be leaving them soon, but will send another – the Holy Spirit – to lead them.  All of this unfolds in chapters 12-16.

As they are gathered together in the intimate setting of that space, chapter 17 begins with this brief introduction,

“Jesus looked up to heaven and said…”

The remainder of the chapter contains what scholars refer to as Jesus’ “High-Priestly Prayer” and when the prayer is finished the meal concludes and the group heads to the Garden of Gethsemane where Jesus will pray alone before being arrested.

The dinner prayer itself provides fascinating insight into the life of the Holy Trinity in that it allows us to be privy to words spoken by the Son to the Father.  We get a sense of the mutuality and respect that exists in the heart of God.  The words Jesus uses are very familiar to us in the church,

“Glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you.”

“Glorify me in your presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world began.”

We began today’s service praising God by saying, “Glory to God in the highest…”  Glory is a very familiar, churchy word, but what exactly does it mean?  What is the exchange of glory between the Father and the Son all about?  What glory did Jesus have before the world began and what happened to it so that it needs to be restored?  And what might the answers to these questions mean to us beyond being a nice, safe, polite doctrinal conversation?  In other words, what difference does it make to us here and now?

Merriam-Webster Dictionary on-line suggests that glory has something to do with praise, honor, and thanksgiving.  It also has something to do with renown – distinction extended by common consent.  It hints at great beauty, grandeur, and splendor.  The site provided the following examples of ways glory is used:

· As a young soldier he dreamed of winning military glory.

· He now has only a few trophies to remind him of the glory of his athletic career.

· Let us give glory to God.

· The glory of the town is its fountain.

· an art exhibit showing off the glories of ancient civilizations.

· The new owners are trying to restore the company to its former glory.

· The beautiful art reminds us of the glory of the empire.

These different uses suggest to me that glory has something to do with what we value and esteem.  It has something to do with acknowledging a person or entity or thing that has achieved its highest potential.  The act of giving glory is a way of establishing the appropriate weight or place for what is glorified (for example, the town with the impressive fountain locates its source of worth and value in the fountain rather than, say, in a corner gas station). 

This raises a question for us: do we value things as we ought; are our priorities in order?  On a temporal level, what happens if the town with a fountain gets a new Target store?  Do the people of the community get caught up in what is new and exciting?  What do they lose when they lose a sense of the town’s glory be tied to the magnificent fountain?  On a spiritual level, what do we lose if we do not esteem God with the glory that God deserves?   What if, in our heart of hearts, we locate glory in something else; perhaps money or personal appearance or job performance or sexual prowess? 

When Jesus prays “glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you”, I get the sense he seeks to be in that place or state that existed previously, something akin to the new owners trying to restore the company to its former glory.  In his letter to the Christians in Philippi, St. Paul touches on this:

Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in human likeness.  And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.  Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (2:5-11)

The passage, which scholars believe actually was an ancient hymn, suggests something paradoxical: namely, glory comes to those who do not seek it.  In fact, some of the people we glorify the most are those who humble themselves and give themselves to others asking nothing in return. 

Vanna Bonta, who is described as American poet, novelist, essayist, actress, inventor, and model, once wrote, “Fame is not the glory!  Virtue is the goal, and fame only a messenger, to bring more to the fold.”  Athletic or military glory is never achieved without sacrifice, dedication, hard work, courage, and (above all) a care and concern for others.  We recognize the glory of an achievement, but it never stands apart from the virtues that it stands upon.  Jesus is honored with the name above all names not because he demanded all glory, laud, and honor be given to him, but because of what he gave up and how he went about God’s work.

Jesus makes these three statements in his prayer:

“I finished the work that you gave me to do.”

“I have made your name known to those whom you gave me.”

“Your words that you gave to me I have given to them.”

The prayer suggests that Jesus came into this world with a sense of purpose.  He knew what he was supposed to do and by doing these things the Father deems him to be worthy of glory. 

I wonder to what degree each one of us comes into this world with a purpose.  Some suppose there is a very specific way to walk set before us.  Others emphasize the importance not of the path you choose but the person you are and what you do while on that path.  The world is poorer with the passing of Maya Angelou but so much richer for her life.  In an interview in 1990, she said, “I believe that each of us comes from the creator trailing wisps of glory.”  You and I have a purpose.  Even if what you achieve affects and influences only a few people, or even if it is known only by you, God esteems you with a measure of glory.  God measures and values you as you ought to be, even (and sadly) if others do not.  Again, Maya Angelou once said, “One isn’t necessarily born with courage, but one is born with potential.  Without courage, we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency.  We can’t be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest.”  Do you have the courage to seek your potential?

Let me say one final word about St. Paul’s and glory of the past.  If you look around this church building, you might naturally and accurately assess that it is a beautiful symbol of the glories of a previous age; an age when people of means came together to commission craftsmen and artisans to create something far more magnificent than we could accomplish today.  Yes, it was impressive how generations before us built this place to glorify the Lord.  But week in and week out, this place is something much more than a museum displaying only the works of the past.  We are a living community gathered to glorify God in a way that helps us put all of life in perspective.  We joyfully and passionately set out to do the works God has given us to do.  When need arises we live life courageously, compassionately, and selflessly.  I believe that God looks on all of this and is glorified.  And I believe that our devotion to God and commitment to one another is worthy of glory.  This is what makes us an attractive, active, and vital faith community. 

Perhaps the most beautiful church I have served was located in a small Iowa town.  It was on the National Historic Registry, a designation we should want this place to avoid like the plague!  One Sunday I asked for individual members to describe what they thought was the church’s most magnificent, most beautiful, most glorious feature.  One person said it was the woodwork at the high altar (and believe me, it was an exquisite piece crafted by a person who had done work for the Queen of England).  Another person suggested it was the stained glass windows, most of which were crafted by Meyer of Munich, Germany, but also (like us) included a Tiffany or two.  When everyone who wanted had chimed in, I said, “Do you know what I think the most beautiful part of our church is?  It is you, the people!”  That has been true of every congregation I served and it is true here.  I thank God for the glory that is you all and for the privilege I have to be with you as your Rector.

Spiritual But Not Religious

Have you heard of a group of people now classified as SBNR – an acronym that stands for “Spiritual but not Religious”?  It is one of the fastest growing demographics in our country, with roughly 20% of the population now describing itself in this way.  Folks, that is over 60 million people.  Keep in mind that present membership in the Episcopal Church is just south of 2 million.  The numbers suggest that for every member of our church there are approximately 30 people in downtown Suffolk who think of themselves as spiritual but not religious.

What exactly is the difference between being spiritual and being religious?  Both words imply a belief in a Higher Power, a desire to engage that Higher Power, and a willingness to align behavior in certain ways based on insights derived from that connection.  As the words are commonly used today, being ‘spiritual’ implies that one engages in all of this in the private realm, while being ‘religious’ indicates engagement with it in the public realm.  I suspect that for most of us here today we do both.  Our way of approaching God is both public and private.  But today, one in five Americans rejects the notion that in order to have a connection with God you need to be a part of a place like St. Paul’s.

People who are spiritual but not religious pursue personal experiences removed from institutions like the church, with its rituals, doctrines, and creeds.  Many, in fact, have had a negative experience with the church and/or its leaders.  They tend to view themselves as being on a journey and are comfortable picking and choosing from a wide array of non-traditional options and alternative religious philosophies in their pursuit of personal growth.  Those who are spiritual but not religious are more likely than other Americans to have a college education, work in a white-collar profession, support liberal political views, and act independently (as opposed to having a group-mindset).

Linda Mercadante, a theology professor and author of the book Belief without Borders, argues that those of us who are religious should see the rise of the spiritual but not religious as something positive.  She spent over five years listening to hundreds of SBNR’s and concluded they are protesting three things. 

The first is what she calls “scientism” – a belief that everything can be reduced to its material value.  SBNRs hold that there is more to reality than what can be observed and studied.  Second, they are protesting secularism – the idea that we are just cogs in the machines of life.  For them, the individual person matters as much as the whole.  And finally, they are protesting religion if, on one hand, it is too rigid, or on the other, if it is comatose.  

Mercadante contends, in fact, that those of us who are religious care about these same things.  She states that this should be a wake-up call for us because many (but not all) churches have lost the ability to communicate and connect with SBNRs.  She offers three suggestions:

·   First, we need to understand and speak their language rather than being fearful of it and dismissive. 

·   Next, SBNR folks need to understand that some bad behavior by a few religious people does not automatically imply that you should give up on all religious people. 

·   And finally, people from both perspectives need to embrace the idea that you don’t have to agree completely on everything in order to get along. 

What I appreciate about her thinking is that it seeks to discover commonalities in order to make connections, rather than to center in on those places where there is discord in order to foster conflict.

In this morning’s first reading we heard Paul speaking to the people of Athens.  He has surveyed their city and noted its many diverse symbols.  He has worked hard to understand all of its rich meaning.  He concludes that Athenians are deeply religious people and tells them so.  The text suggests he uses the word ‘religious’ to mean both spiritual and religious – in other words they pursue a higher power both privately and publically.

Paul describes to the Athenians a particular altar that he noticed.  It contained the inscription “to an unknown god” and would have been very familiar to his audience.  Notice how the great saint builds a bridge between the Athenians’ religious experience and his own by proclaiming to know their unknown god. 

He begins to talk about what is, without a doubt, the fundamental question about spiritual and religious pursuit in our day.  In that era, a few might have asked it, but not many.  The question is this: Is God a product of human construction or a reality that exists beyond us?  In other words, did God create us or did we create God; naming those things as divine that exist beyond our present human understanding?  It goes without saying that as human understanding of reality increases the space occupied by a higher power decreases.  Assuming that we who are here today are both spiritual and religious, I can say with confidence that we hold at least one thing in common with those who are spiritual and not religious.  We both believe that there is a higher power and therefore a place for a Holy Being that will always exist beyond human understanding.

None of what Paul says can be construed as a direct attack on the Athenians’ faith.  It is meant to get people to think, to ask questions, and to begin a conversation. 

·   Does God live in shrines made by human hands?

·   Is God merely crafted by enlightened 21^st century individuals who explore the sociological elements of various traditions in order to stich together a spiritual garment that keeps them warm?

·   Can you, as it were, create a statue of God, either with human hands or through human intellect?

·   If the answer to any of these questions is yes, then does it represent the True and Living God (if there is such an entity) or is it merely something we wish is true?

Perhaps the second fastest growing demographic in our country would argue that the only way to answer these questions is in the negative.  It is imperative that those of us who are spiritual and religious find common ground with those who are spiritual and not religious.  We have got to find a way to walk together if we are going to find a way to live and move and have our being in a society that is increasingly non-religious and non-spiritual. 

Here are some points for conversation that we might have with family and friends and neighbors and coworkers as we seek to bridge the gap between those who are spiritual and not religious with those who are both:

·   Can the individual make a difference apart from an institution?  Does anything lasting or important ever emerge solely from an individual’s perspective, or at some point does it have to engage the collective whole?

·   Next, spirituality generates in us an emotion while religion produces a sense of obligation.  In the words of Rabbi David Wople, “Spirituality soothes.  Religion mobilizes.  Spirituality is satisfied with itself.  Religion is dissatisfied with the world.”  Is it enough to concentrate only on me, on what I need, and on what makes me feel good?

·   Spirituality focuses itself on a pursuit of personal well-being while religion demands that we think of ourselves as a part of a community.  How can I get what I need and give what I ought?

What gives me hope is that these are not points we argue but experiences we lift up as true.  All we have to do is welcome seekers into our community, live out our faith through its moments of baptism, confirmation, marriage, and burial – augmented by a weekly remembrance of our Lord’s words, actions, and self-giving – and we will find individuals are being drawn to our community as we journey together to pursue, honor, and obey the One who we believe has, through Christ and empowered by the Holy Spirit, made all that is.

Stephen's Witness

In a June 1965 commencement address at Ohio’s Oberlin College, Martin Luther King put forward this thought: “I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be.  And you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be.”  It was a statement deeply rooted in the principles of nonviolent resistance to evil and injustice and it flies in the face of thinking that holds in order for me to come out of any situation as the winner, someone has to come out as the loser.  Certainly if Dr. King could have stood before Stephen’s executioners in today’s first reading and said to them, “You can never be what you ought to be until Stephen is what he ought to be,” they would have laughed in his face.
 

Stephen appears from out of nowhere in the Book of Acts when he is lifted up as one of the first seven ordained deacons; ministers who had a specific role to play in the early church.  Two kinds of Christians coexisted in that Jerusalem community: those who were Hebrew Jews prior to following Christ and those who before being baptized were Hellenistic (or Greek raised and Greek speaking) Jews.  You can imagine that, while having a common faith in Christ, these two groups - given their cultural backgrounds and differences - had much to overcome in order to maintain unity.  The Hellenistic Christians complained that the community was not caring for their widows and orphans at the same level as they tended to Hebrew Christian widows and orphans.  Thus, the Apostles saw fit to ordain seven deacons, Stephen being one of them, to oversee the care of all persons in need.  

Surely Stephen approached this matter with a spirit similar to Dr. King’s commencement statement; knowing that neither group benefited when one held an advantage over the other.  The good of the community demanded fair and equitable treatment for all.

In addition to this work, the Book of Acts tells us that Stephen did much teaching and also performed many signs and wonders.  He soon caught the attention of religious authorities who brought him before the formidable Sanhedrin council for investigation.  There, Stephen made an articulate defense of his faith by stating how the whole of Jewish history pointed to Jesus as being the promised Messiah.  Those leaders heard this as blasphemy and dragged him out of the city, picked up rocks, and stoned him to death, making Stephen the first person to be martyred for the Christian faith.

His dying words are truly remarkable.  If I was in his place, I might have said something like “Jesus will get you for this” or “A curse be on all of you” or maybe even in weakness, “Let me recant my testimony.”  Stephen, however, said nothing of the sort.  His last words were these: “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.”  It is an amazing response that charts a clear and merciful path for the early church to follow as it endures persecution.  Stephen’s witness continues to reverberate into our day and age as it holds up the possibility of nonviolent resistance in the face of evil and injustice.

There is a very powerful scene in the movie Gandhi where that great leader addresses a mass gathering in South Africa.  Gandhi begins his speech:
 

“I want to welcome you all… everyone of you (he says facing the English police and authorities).  We have no secrets.  Let us begin by being clear about General Smart’s new law.  All Indians must now be fingerprinted, like criminals: men and women.  No marriage other than a Christian Marriage in considered valid.  Under this act our wives and mothers are whores and every man here is a bastard.  And a policeman passing an Indian dwelling - I will not call them homes - may enter and demand the card of any Indian woman whose dwelling it is.  He does not have to stand at the door, he may enter.” 
 

A man interrupts and shouts out, “I swear to Allah I will kill that man who offers that insult to my home and my wife.  And let them hang me.”  Another man stands and says, “I say those mean nothing.  Kill all the officials before they disgrace one Indian woman.  Then they may think twice about such laws.”  A third man supports this idea and proclaims, “I will be willing to die”. 
 

Gandhi responds:
 

“I praise such courage.  I need such courage.  Because in this cause I too am prepared to die but my friend, there is no cause for which I am prepared to kill.  Whatever they do to us, we will attack no one, kill no one.  But we will not give our fingerprints.  Not one of us.  They will imprison us.  They will fine us.  They will seize our possessions but they cannot take our self-respect if we do not give it to them.” 
 

A listener interrupts: “Have you ever been to prison? They beat us!  They torture us!” 
 

Gandhi answers him by saying to all: 
 

“I am asking you to fight… to fight against their anger, not to provoke it.  We will not strike a blow.  But we will receive them.  And through our pains we will make them see their injustice and it will hurt as all fighting hurts.  But we cannot lose… we cannot.  They may torture my body, break my bones, even kill me.  Then they will have my dead body.  Not my obedience.”
 

Certainly Gandhi’s thinking was inspired, in some part, by Stephen’s example.  As the old saying goes, he will love the sinner while hating the sin.  He will pronounce judgment on actions while embracing the value of the person acting.  He does not stand against other people, only opposed to what they are doing.

More and more, I am impressed by the power that you and I have through social media to join our voices with millions of others around the world in an effort to bring about justice where evil reigns.  The act of commenting, liking, and sharing posts that demand the Boko Haram free the school girls they have kidnapped brings pressure to bear on this situation.  Hopefully the same tools can help the world stand with Meriam Yehya Ibrahim, a Sudanese woman who has been sentenced to death for converting to Christianity.  Before she is executed she is sentenced to receive 200 lashes for committing adultery.  All of this comes about because an Islamic court does not recognize her marriage to a Christian man.

In his Letter from the Birmingham Jail, Dr. King wrote, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”  You and I now have powerful and productive ways to act for justice that were not available to us only a decade ago.  Stephen’s martyrdom, which was known at most to 100 people and witnessed by even less than that, today would be played out before the eyes of the world.  Your voice matters.  Your silence or indifference is also be noted and it too plays a part in every outcome.

In just a few moments we will renew our baptismal covenant by affirming our now-familiar vows to persevere in resisting evil, to proclaim by word and deed the Good News of God in Christ, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, and to strive for justice and peace among all people by respecting the dignity of every human being.  These promises have implications both for our personal relationships and for our individual standing on a world stage.

The feeling of powerlessness is perhaps the greatest temptation to inaction.  Today we have more power than we imagine.  And, as always, in addition to social networks, our individual and collective voices are heard by God.  Prayer remains the single most powerful force in a world of deadly weapons and instruments of mass destruction.

The reading from Acts ends by introducing another new character in the Christian drama, a man by the name of Saul.  He witnesses the stoning in some official capacity and is so moved by what transpires he becomes a zealous and malicious persecutor of the early church, travelling to towns and villages to carry out arrests and tortures.  In that he was present at Stephen’s death, the martyr’s dying words of forgiveness are extended to him as well as the others: “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.”

Well, in Saul’s case, God answers that prayer in spectacular fashion.  You remember the story how the Risen Christ appeared to him as he was travelling on the road to Damascus, an encounter that left Saul temporally blinded.  But it led to his conversion and to a new name – Paul, for whom our parish is named.  Prayer matters.  Forgiveness as an instrument of resistance makes a difference.

Stephen’s witness, which was an inspiration for Gandhi and King, tells us much about who we are to be as followers of Christ.  We are not to seek what is advantageous for us alone, but for what is beneficial to all.  We do not excuse bad behavior as if it were nothing, neither do we hold others forever accountable for the wrongs they have done.  We believe that evil has been judged and condemned, and thus injustice simply is intolerable in our community, in our common life, and in our personal relationships.  We stand with every person who is powerless in the face of injustice and in the name of a just God demand that righteousness reigns for all people.  And we know that the weapons of the world are not synonymous with the ways of God.

May Stephen’s example inspire and guide us as it has inspired and guided so many before.

Spontaneous or Sustainable Generosity?

It must have been a heady and exciting time to be a follower of Jesus in Jerusalem during those early weeks after the Resurrection.  Rumor that Jesus was alive spread like soft butter on hotcakes.  The Apostles, fueled by the power of the Holy Spirit, could not stop preaching and teaching and healing.  Already thousands of people had been converted and baptized.  No one knew exactly what the future held, but certainly it included the Risen Christ inaugurating some kind of kingdom on earth in the very near future.  Everything would be much clearer then, but in the mean time, the disciples felt compelled to convert as many people as possible.

During this exhilarating period, the last thing any one was thinking about was long-term planning, probably because no one believed there would be a long term.  The faithful were living day-to-day and moment-to-moment.  Given their mindset, it is easy to understand their attitude around material possessions.  It was springtime in Jerusalem and most certainly there would be no need again for winter coats.  Whatever Jesus was going to do, certainly it would happen well before the weather turned cold.  Why not sell your coats and give the money to the poor?  In fact, why not sell just about everything you have and give it to the poor?  What better way could there be to prepare for Jesus’ immanent return?  Surely his words spoken long ago now echoed in their heads and generated an enthusiastic urgency: “Take no extra coat and no extra sandals no extra bag with you as you go to the do the work of an evangelist.” 

A kind of spontaneous generosity swept through the ranks.  Listen again to what we heard moments ago from the reading from the Book of Acts:

All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.  Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.

What an amazing time that must have been.  No one seemed to have a care in the world as they waited for the Risen Christ to do something.  It was as if everyone was on a retreat together – worshiping, praying, sharing meals, relaxing, being filled with a sense of well-being and good will.  Earning a living?  Not a problem.  Paying the bills?  That won’t be necessary ever again.  Maxing out the credit card?  That won’t be a problem when Jesus’ new order arrives.

Think about what a great time we could have here at St. Paul’s if we all went home, liquidated our assets, sold our property and possessions, and simply decided to hang out together.  Think about how many other people would join our fellowship if we opened it up to them.  Think about the response we would get it we spread the word that there was a free cookout tonight at 5:00.  Think about the response we would get if we invited everyone back for breakfast (with bacon) in the morning.  Heck, if we all could live off the accumulated wealth we through into the pot and invited everyone to join our ranks, I’ll bet folks would even be willing to kick back for an hour or two each day and listen to me teach and preach.  And if – if – I could toss in some miraculous healings for good affect, well, we would be a going concern!

I am sure you see the fatal flaw in this plan.  No, it is not that no one here would liquidate everything to fund a wonderful communal experience.  The fatal flaw is that each and every one of us would wonder what would happen when the money ran out.  That is not something that was on the minds of the Apostles and all those early converts.

In short order, believers were selling everything they had and giving it to the disciples.  At the end of Acts 4 we read for the first time about a follower named Barnabas.  He sells a field he owns and lays the proceeds as the feet of the Jerusalem Apostles.  From there he will eventually accompany the yet-to-be-converted Paul on missionary journeys around the Mediterranean.  They will found Christian churches in various communities and nurture them from infancy, though growing pains, and into viability.  And Barnabas was just one of many converts who gave away everything gratefully and joyfully.

But, as we turn the page to the 5^th chapter of the Book of Acts, we encounter Ananias and Sapphira, and husband and wife recently baptized.  They wanted to follow the example of others and so they sold everything they had.  But for reasons unspecified, when Ananias comes before Peter to make his offering, he holds back some of the proceeds.  Peter, perceiving what is going on, proclaims that Satan has entered into Ananias’ heart and the next thing you know the reluctant giver is stricken dead.  When his wife comes to check out what has happened, she too attempts to conceal that they did not give every penny they had and dies on the spot.  In what might be one of the most understated verses in the bible, after this takes place Scripture records “great fear fell among all the believers.”  You can be sure it led to a dramatic uptick of generous and abundant giving. 

You may suspect that another shoe is about to drop and you are right.  Here it comes.  Jesus does not return in a way that inaugurates a new order.  Eventually (and more quickly than many would suspect) the assets collected by the Apostles ran out.  Jesus’ followers were broke.  The bible doesn’t say much about this, but it does record that a great famine comes over Palestine and that this puts the church in Jerusalem in dire straights.  St. Paul initiates a great undertaking by trying to raise funds from all the churches he has founded to supply relief for the suffering.  Most of his New Testament letters in one way or another implore believes to respond as they are able. 

Out of all of this, I want to lift up a tension we all live with: the tension between spontaneous (and perhaps lavish) generosity verses what I want to call sustainable generosity. 

You can scarcely go through a week without being compelled to make an act of spontaneous generosity: “Would you like to round up your change to help cause X?”, “Can you please do something to help me with my light bill?”, or a placard that reads “Homeless and need money for food.”  Spontaneous generosity typically presents us with a single, immediate way to meet a need that generally we know little or nothing about.  It plays on a particular emotion – not righteous indignation about a situation we find abhorrent, or passionate support for a worthy cause, but just straight, plain guilt.  Spontaneous generosity never addresses the problem, it only puts a Band-Aid on the need, assuaging – temporarily – our sense of guilt that we have more than we need when confronted by a person who has such obvious need.  That is not always a bad thing, but is there a better way?

What does sustainable generosity look like?  Well, first off, it looks like me giving in a way that does not exhaust my personal resources.  It allows me to take care of my basic needs in a way that the early Church model failed to do.  Second, it looks like me being generous.  I can take care of my ‘needs’ and even many of my ‘wants’ in a manner that still leaves me with significant resources to share with others.  The biblical model of the tithe suggests that 10% is a good benchmark.  Sustainable generosity is never born of guilt.  It is born of obedience to Christ’s call to care for others.  It is born of a belief in justice and in equity for all people.  And it is born in a belief that I can, through the power of my actions and the appropriation of my resources, make the world a more just place for every person.

I think about the Haitian mother of four who will receive a micro-finance grant from our Lenten offering.  I think about how she will use that money to purchase sheep and a weaving loom.  I think about how she will create products that she can sell at market and how that money will help her to provide food, medicine, and education for her children.  And, because in that society, a little bit goes a long way, she will be able to reach out in love and concern for her neighbors in material ways she could not before.  I think about her and how little it cost you and me to make it happen and I want to hit the reset button.  I want to say we have only dipped our toe in the water and in doing so discovered that the water feels nice.  Let’s keep going.  What’s next?  How do we begin to bring the idea and methodology of sustainable generosity to downtown Suffolk?

Bill and Ginger Rodgers have figured out one thing.  They helped to initiate a program where children with learning challenges can read to therapy dogs.  What a great idea!  In fact, it was such a great idea that when they launched the program absolutely no one came to benefit from it.  They talked to the library and got nowhere.  They talked to the school board and – shockingly – got nowhere.  But here is the greatest shock of all… they and their partners did not give up and finally they are starting to make some inroads.  Don’t I remember a fantastic preacher in this very pulpit once saying “God can’t make much use of quitters!”?   I think I do.

Today we observe two calendar events.  Liturgically, the Fourth Sunday of Easter is known as Good Shepherd Sunday.  Our collect and lessons focus of the image of Jesus as shepherd in our lives.  Today is also Mothers’ Day.  Shepherds and mothers are wonderful images of sustainable generosity, don’t you think.  They teach us much about how to care for self while being constantly oriented toward the care of others.  They remind us through their roles in life that living for self alone is no way to live.  They embody the words of St. Francis’ Prayer that it is in giving we receive. 

Let’s spend some time in thought and conversation thinking about the difference between spontaneous generosity and sustainable generosity and how we might move from one to the other in our lives.   

Known in Word & Sacrament

Sometimes I feel a little bit like the minister who stood before a congregation on Easter Sunday and said, “My friends, I have in my possession three colorful eggs.  If you buy the first egg it will cost you $100, but the sermon will only be 10 minutes long.  If you buy the second egg, it will cost you $50, but the sermon will last 25 minutes.  The third egg only costs $20, but comes with a 45-minute sermon.  We are going to take an offering now so I can see which egg you want me to deliver.”  Well, I don’t know if I’ll lay an egg this morning or not, but I can promise you two things: first, you don’t have to pay for it and second, it will be over in about 10 minutes.  During this time I want to describe my personal history with today’s gospel reading.  I encountered it one way growing up in the Presbyterian Church and another here in the Episcopal Church. 

I have said before that I learned my bible in the Presbyterian Church.  Every Sunday we children had a memory verse to learn and recite the next week.  Youth groups, starting in Middle School, focused on the bible, as did the bible study that began an hour before youth group.  Our Senior High youth group, along with another bible study on a weeknight, drilled home in me the content of the bible and much of its meaning.  Add to this that we were encouraged to read the bible on our own, which I did one chapter a night before bed for almost fifteen years.

So you can imagine how in that environment the focus on today’s reading honed in on the verse, “Beginning with Moses and all the prophets, Jesus interpreted for them the things about himself in all of scripture.”   From there the focus skipped forward to the two disciples saying to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he… was opening the scriptures to us?”  For us, the bible was the primary sacrament of the church.  Knowing it was central to knowing God.  The headwork of knowing the bible led to a heart on fire for God.

When I entered college in the fall of 1978 I did so with the intention of majoring in religion and philosophy.  Philosophy morphed into economics, but I stayed with religion.  I had classes in Old and New Testament survey, which were largely content driven and easy for me.  I also took a class in New Testament Greek, which was a significant challenge.  Over the next few semesters I had classes on the life of Paul, Old Testament theology, the Minor Prophets, the Book of Revelation, and on and on.  There was a lot of bible and even in massive doses it fueled my spiritual life.

During this time I drifted away from the mainline Presbyterian Church and tried out a couple of different bible churches before settling in to a small Orthodox Presbyterian Church in my college town.  They hired a new pastor from New Zealand who decided early on to start a preaching series beginning at Genesis 1:1 and making his way from there through the entire bible.  That is an ambitious undertaking both for the preacher and for the congregation.  Worship at the O.P. Church was something straight out Puritan England – an opening hymn, a long pastoral prayer (and let me emphasize the long part), a responsive reading from the psalter, an offering, and a 45-minute sermon.  Now, when I say ‘sermon’, please don’t mistake this experience with the wonderment I weave here Sunday in and Sunday out.  These sermons were straight bible commentary – comparing and contrasting the position of several renowned scholars arguing over the intricacies of some nuanced point. 

By the middle of my senior year, what with classes in the bible six days a week (yes, my college had Saturday classes) and what felt like another whole class on Sunday morning, the warm, burning I had come to associate with reading the bible cooled off dramatically.  Over the previous two years that pastor had preached is all the way to the 9^th chapter of the book of Genesis and I found myself longing not for words about God but for an experience of God.  I returned to the mainline Presbyterian Church in my college town and there became reacquainted with worship as opposed to study.

I returned home to Ohio after graduating in 1982 and that summer was introduced to the Episcopal Church through, of all things, a bible study.  But this is not what grabbed me.  What grabbed me was the worship.  I was moved by the music (the church had an incredible Men & Boys Choir associated with the Royal School of Church Music), the liturgy (which I found made my heart burn within me), and the preaching (which, rather than engaging the bible as an academic exercised, focused more on applying it to daily life and experience). 

I vividly recall the first Morning Prayer service I attended on the 4^th of July weekend.  I remember being dumbstruck as the Officiant offered a Collect for our Armed Forces and a Collect for Peace.  What impressed me so deeply was that he made no attempt to reconcile the two, no effort to articulate to God exactly how opposites should be balanced and tensions resolved.  We simply, humbly, and gracefully offered our prayers to God and then trusted in God to hear them and to guide us.  How refreshing it was not to be exposed to a lengthy survey on scholarly opinions and what a relief it was not to be subjected to the particular point of view of the person praying!  We all came before God, said our prayers, and put ourselves in a position of trust.  I was hooked for life.

The next Sunday was the first time I participated in the Eucharist at an Episcopal Church.  At every other church I had attended, we sat in the pew while communion was passed out to us.  Every other church I had attended, there was no clear reason even to have communion except a couple of times a year (and even then, many resented that the service took longer than usual because of it).  In my mind’s eye, I can still envision walking up the long center aisle of the church, into the chancel, past the singing choir, and kneeling for the first time at an altar rail.  I can still taste the bread and see the large chalice (filled with wine, not juice).  The basic act of coming forward and kneeling, as everyone else in the church did, started a burning in me that I had never felt before.  It began in me what has been a complex and amazing journey of finding Jesus made known in the breaking of the bread.

Initially I experienced the Eucharist as a deeply penitential moment.  In it I recounted all my sins from the previous week, promised to do better in the week to come, and then hit the reset button on the following Sunday feeling all the while like a miserable sinner because I had failed at my reforms.  Over time, my experience of the Eucharist began to change, not because I was any less a sinner, but because I began to find in it God’s deep acceptance of me for who I am.  This phase of the journey began innocently enough when I received communion from a priest who looked me in eye as he gave me the bread, smiled, and said, “Keith, the body of Christ which is given for you.”  In that moment I felt loved by God for who I am, not condemned by God for who I am not.

I do not regret a thing about my upbringing with its emphasis on knowing the bible.  Frankly, I continue to be surprised at how life-long Episcopalians can sit through services week in and week out and still lack a coherent understanding of the bible.  Beginning this summer with our Wednesday evening pot-luck dinners, I am going to start walking us through the bible and its stories beginning (where else) at Genesis 1:1.  My hope is to expose us to the basic content of the bible and to gain a better sense of its historic flow.

My personal testimony is this: word without sacrament lacks something of the mystery of God.  It is too small.  Too confined.  When God wanted humanity to know God, God became a person, not a book.  That person went through life without writing a thing.  And when he wanted to institute a ritual to remember him and his words, he did so at a meal rather than a bible study.  But sacrament without word is not sufficient either.  The basic stories of our tradition along with its teachings and wisdom begin a holy conversation even in our day.  Without the conversation, the experience of God may happen while the voice of God goes unheard.  At its best, our Episcopal tradition gives us both.  I invite you to commit to a regular practice of reading the bible and conversing about it while at the same time engaging in the worship and sacramental life of the church.