A Homily at the Burial Office of Shirley Waller

 



“Do not let your hearts be troubled.  Believe in God, believe also in me.”

“What!”  It was the only word I said.  It is only word I could say when I received a call alerting me Shirley Waller had died.  My cell phone records indicate it came precisely at 1:00 on Tuesday afternoon and lasted exactly one minute.  I was in Newport News and all I wanted to do was get back to Suffolk and get to the Waller’s home.  Questions raced through my mind: How is Roy?  What can I do to help?  How can this be happening?  I suspect most of us had a similar reaction.

That initial shock has made room for a myriad of thoughts, feelings, and emotions.  I am so grateful that many of us were able to be here with Shirley on Sunday as we celebrated the baptism of Charlotte, her newest great-grandchild.  It could have been anybody’s baby and Shirley would have radiated with enough love and joy to fill this worship space, but a child from her own family made it even more special for her.  And then, like every Sunday, she had family and friends over to her home for lunch.  Last Sunday, with the baptism, it was a full house!  It gives me a deep sense of peace knowing Shirley was a part of that day.

I am also deeply grateful she passed peacefully, even though it did not make time for goodbyes, final words, and the opportunity to make amends.  But Shirley lived her life in a way that none of these things were necessary.  Was there ever a time she didn’t tell a family member she loved them?  Is there any word of wisdom she needed to pass on she did not convey every day through her actions?  Could there possibly be a person who had an issue with Shirley that needed to be resolved?  I would prefer to have Shirley with us for another twenty years or more, but am grateful for the way she lived her life ready to meet her Maker with no regrets or unfinished business.

How did people regard Shirley?  Let me read for you some of the things people posted on Facebook upon learning of her passing:

She was such a wonderful person and a big part of my church life while growing up.

Such a wonderful, loving woman!  My life was blessed and enriched for having known her.

What a true blessing to have known Shirley.

Shirley epitomized a true Christian in every way.

Shirley made everyone (including me) feel welcomed and loved at St Paul’s.

The last time I went to church… just before my last surgery as we went to the communion rail [Shirley] squeezed my hand and said are you ok... precious moments.

Always, always a wonderful smile and warm hug.

I will always remember sitting near to her in choir, and for her warm smiles, and heartfelt laughs.

She personified love and kindness.  She and Roy welcomed me into the St. Paul’s family, and have meant so much to… our whole family.  Heaven has gained a beautiful angel.

A beautiful lady and my dear friend.  I will miss you so much.

Someone once asked me if I knew a real Christian...  someone that… actually lived the way a Christian should.  Knowing they weren’t talking about me my thoughts went straight to Shirley… Anyone who could handle Mr. Waller for all these years definitely earned her hallo.

If these are not enough of a tribute, the Country Book Store has tweeted that they have lost a valued customer and in honor of Shirley will be running a half-off sale this weekend.  Not familiar with the Country Book Store?  It is located on Rt. 460 in Waverly right next to the 7-Eleven.  Shirley found it a couple of years ago while travelling with Roy and good friends Jesse and Kathy Pruden.  They were headed to the Boys Home in Covington and decided to make a stop for coffee.  Roy and Jesse went into the convenience store while Shirley and Kathy decided to check out what was next door.  They burst through the front door giggling with the delight of school girls at the prospect of investigating a never-before visited store.  If you know nothing of the Country Book Store, this is to your credit.  Far from what its name implies, it is an adult book store that specializes in, well, pornographic material.  I believe it was Shirley who, upon taking a survey of environment, first perceived something was amiss.  Kathy, seeing only video tapes, asked with confidence and curiosity, “Where is the book section?”  I like to imagine the looks on the faces of these two fine southern, Christian ladies as they realized the nature of the establishment in which they were standing.  Can’t you just picture the mortified look on Shirley’s face as she grabbed Kathy by the arm and said, “Ohhhhh, I think we had better get out of here.”  Shirley loved to tell that story and I love that she loved to laugh at herself.

It is a quality that pairs nicely with the deeply emotional and spiritual way she held those she loved.  Your joys and accomplishments caused her to soar.  Your burdens and challenges were something she carried in her heart.  Most Sundays and not a few weekdays I heard about both from her.  She carried the wealth and the weight of your worlds on her shoulders and brought it to this place where she shared it with God whom she knew as ever and always compassionate.

I want to say something to Shirley’s grandchildren.  I want you to know how much I envy each of you.  Two of my grandparents died before I was born.  The other two were gone before they made much of a formative impact on my life.  You have had not just a grandmother for three decades, you have been blessed to have an exceptional grandmother.  Because I didn’t have your experience I can’t imagine the pain and loss you feel this day.  We will all miss Shirley, but one of the first things Roy said to me on Tuesday was this would be especially hard for each of you.

Years ago I came across a book titled Mary’s Way by Peggy Tabor Millin and something she wrote always seems to come back to me at times like this.   She described a common, everyday experience that led her to see a deeper truth about life and relationships:

I was on a train on a rainy day.  The train was slowing down to pull into a station.  For some reason I became intent on watching the raindrops on the window.  Two separate drops, pushed by the wind, merged into one for a moment and then divided again – each carrying with it a part of the other.  Simply by that momentary touching, neither was what it had been before.  As each one went on to touch other raindrops, it shared not only itself, but what it had gleaned from the other. 

Millin then reflected on what she witnessed and wrote, “I realize that we never touch people so lightly that we do not leave a trace.” 

Her insight seems especially true today, doesn’t it!  For Shirley’s children, grandchildren, adopted children, co-opted children, embraced as children, “I don’t care who you are, you are a part of our family” children, for all of us – our task is not to be like Shirley.  It is to take what Shirley has given to us and make it our own.  I doubt there are many of us here whose life Shirley touched only ‘lightly’.  Her touch on each of our lives has been incredibly significant.  We are better people for it and we cannot help but enrich the lives of others because of it.

This morning we hear the words of Jesus: “Do not let your hearts be troubled.  Believe in God, believe also in me.”  While “what?” may have been the first thing we said on Tuesday, emerging slowly – for some of us now just as a glimmer and for others only yet as a hope – is a sense of peaceful acceptance, joy, and gratitude.  Shirley had a wonderful way of holding loss and grief and allowing it to transform into trouble-free faith.  I pray that each of us who has been touched by her may find this to be a gift she has given to us.

 

Pots and Pans, and Dirty Hands, Oh My!

A boy is selling fish on a corner and to get his customers’ attention, he is yelling, “Dam fish for sale!  Get your dam fish here!”  A pastor approaches and asks, “Why are you calling them ‘dam fish?’”  The boy responds, “Because I caught them at the local dam.”  The pastor buys a couple fish, takes them home to his wife, and asks her to cook the dam fish.  The wife is surprised, “I’ve never heard you talk like before.”  So he tells her about the story about the boy.  At the dinner table, the pastor asks his wife to pass the dam fish and takes a bite.  The wife asks, “How are your dam fish?” “Why this is the best dam fish I’ve ever tasted,” he replies.  Their teenage son, observing all of this is quite perplexed and says, “I don’t know what has gotten into the two of you, but will someone please pass me damned potatoes!”

There is a growing sentiment that religion is ruining our world.  All the ammunition you need to make such an argument is right there on the evening news.  Rabbi Harold Kushner, one of the best known Jewish authors of our time, says this:  “The problem today is not religion.  Life is the problem.  Religion is the answer.”  Religion, he says, can teach us how to find the hidden rewards of holiness in the world, and how to cope with life’s uncertainties and disappointments.  He contends that true religion shows us the most direct path to being authentically human.

This, I think, is what Moses was getting at in today’s first reading.  He says that if God’s people follow God’s commands then others will look upon their example of living and see that it is rooted in wisdom and understanding.  The commandments that Moses delivered are called the ‘Torah,’ a word which is often mistranslated as ‘law’, but a more accurate rendering is ‘teaching’ because it is God’s gift to all people so that we will know how to live.   Maybe it would be better to call them the Teaching Commandments because they show us how to love God, nurture our spiritual nature, revere life and all created things, treat others with dignity, value fidelity in primary relationships, tell the truth, and respect the rights and properties of others.  God intends for these teachings to open up life in all its fullness.

Kushner writes of his own faith tradition that it is meant “to convey a sense of exuberance to life, a readiness to enjoy the pleasures of the world.  It removes from wine [for example] the taint of sin and self-indulgence and invites us to look at all God has created and find it good.” 

There is an old sage that suggests some day every one of us will have to give an account for all the good things God created which we refused to enjoy.   This is what religion is meant to be like – a wise and understanding teaching that points the way to genuine living – but it can easily disintegrate into a collection of irrelevant customs and unconnected prohibitions stemming from ancient times. 

This is exactly what Jesus encountered in today’s reading from the Gospel.  Religious leaders confront him because they have grown accustomed to wringing the life out of life.  They complain that his followers fail to observe suffocating rituals.  You can almost picture them walking arm-in-arm with worried looks on their faces as they say over and over again, “Pots and pans and dirty hands, oh my!”  Can you imagine how frustrated Jesus must have been with them?  Is it any wonder that a central feature of his proclamation is “I have come that you might have life and have it abundantly.”  We thirst, we pant, we long for religion that points the way to life. 

But this was the farthest thing from the minds of Jesus’ critics.  They had lost their bearings and transformed religion from being the answer to life to being at odds with life.  Have you ever known someone who does this?  Have you ever been in a church like this?  Probably not for long!  If we are honest with ourselves we will admit there are times when we ourselves have been a wet blanket on the flame of life.  It is so easy to fall into this trap. 

I remember reading Garrison Keiler’s book Lake Wobegon Days where he traces the history of all the Baptists churches in his mythical town.  Second Baptist split off from First Baptist over whether believers would be raptured into heaven before or after the great tribulation.  Third Baptist split off of Second Baptist over ladies wearing pants suits to church instead of dresses.  The True Baptist Church had its origins in a dispute that erupted at a Third Baptist pot-luck supper.  It seems that two families brought he exact same dish, prompting cries of recipe stealing and other ugly accusations.  There were several other Baptist splits in town, but you get the idea.  It is hard to find much wisdom and understanding in such disputes.  So often these differences are little more than pots and pans and dirty hands, oh my!

There is a saying in the Episcopal Church that we seek to major in the majors and minor in the minors.  This is to say we seek to make important the things that are important while not getting sidetracked by those things that are unimportant.  A 17^th century English theologian by the name of Richard Hooker labeled what was unimportant as being ‘things indifferent.’  If it makes no difference whether you do something one way or the other, then by all means don’t treat it as if it is a matter of ultimate concern.  His famous phrase that guides the churches of the Anglican Communion is “unity in the essentials, latitude in the non-essentials, and charity in all things.”   

Jesus proclaims that religion is about finding answers to the problems of life and He makes the bold claim that he himself is the answer.  His critics complain about pots and pans and dirty hands.  Each of us must decide for ourselves what religion is meant to be.  Kushner says, “Religion should open the doors to passion, to holiness, to deepening of life’s joys, and to a fearless confrontation with life’s sorrows.”  Jesus, like Kushner, was a Jew and doesn’t this sound a lot like the religion he offers to us in himself?  Doesn’t this sound like a wise and understanding way to live life?

A Celebration of the Life & Witness of Jonathan Daniels

Icon of Jonathan Daniels at the Episcopal Divinity School in Boston

I know how much you enjoy my jokes.  Let’s dial back the clock to the 1960’s for a joke that isn’t nearly as funny as it is sobering.  A nervous northerner headed into the deep south to participate in the Civil Rights Movement prays earnestly to God for safety.  After a long pause, a deep but shaky voice from heaven replies, “I will go with you to protect you, but only as far south as Memphis.” 

Former U.S. Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice was born in Birmingham, Alabama in 1954.  The city then was a stronghold of the Ku Klux Klan and a community where racism was deeply imbedded in every aspect of life.  In her book, Extraordinary, Ordinary People: A Memoir of Family, Rice recalled it was “a very scary place,” and she described how her father had to sit on the front porch of their home at night with a loaded gun in his lap to keep his family safe.  “What I can remember most from this time,” Rice said, “is the sound of bombs going off in neighborhoods, including our own.”

In 1965, The Rev. Martin Luther King urged clergy and concerned citizens from all over our country to join him for a voting rights march from Selma to Montgomery.  The Rt. Rev. C.C.J. Carpenter, the Episcopal Bishop of the Diocese of Alabama at the time, explicitly told the clergy of our church to stay away, not because it was too dangerous, but because he felt their presence would stir up trouble.  “This ‘march,’” he said, “is a foolish business and sad waste of time [reflecting] a childish instinct to parade at great cost to our state.”  Carpenter’s directive was no small matter because visiting clergy could not visit a diocese without the bishop’s permission. 
 

On the eve of his installation as Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church in January, 1965, The Rt. Rev. John Hines stated emphatically that the church “must create an atmosphere in which personal freedom can prevail.”  It is the church’s responsibility, he said, to make a “forthright stand” against the injustices of social discrimination.  He advocated that the church should “endorse civil disobedience in situations in which a man’s conscience tells him that the right thing to do is to disobey civil laws.”  Bishop Hines’ leadership empowered many to “ignore the Carpenter of Alabama in order to obey the carpenter of Nazareth.”  He was one of some 500 Episcopalians to go to Selma March of 1965.

One of the 500 was Jonathan Myrick Daniels, a seminarian at the Episcopal Theological Seminary in Cambridge, Massachusetts.  Just four years earlier, the Keene, New Hampshire native was the valedictorian of his graduating class at the Virginia Military Institute. 

He wrote about his experience travelling to Alabama, citing the hatred he felt directed toward him once people saw the northern license plates on his car.  Even though Daniels was wearing a seminarian’s collar, one man turned to another and shouted, “Know what he is?”  “No” the friend shouted back.  “Why he’s a white niggah.”  Sitting at a counter at an all-night truck stop, Daniels could feel icy stares coming from all directions.  At that time, establishments such as this one had been ordered by federal law to serve all people, regardless of race.  Daniels noticed a sign behind the counter: “ALL CASH RECEIVED FROM SALES TO NIGGERS WILL BE SENT DIRECTLY TO THE UNITED KLANS OF AMERICA.”  Moments later the server spilled Daniels’ coffee as it was being poured.

As you know, the manner in which the authorities responded to the march in Selma was brutal and violent.  News broadcasts of vicious police dogs, fire hoses, and tear gas rocked our nation.  I don’t know what Jonathan experienced at that time, but unlike many clergy, he decided to return to Alabama that summer to assist in a voter-registration project in Lowndes County.  Daniels explained his decision:

“Something had happened to me in Selma, which meant I had to come back.  I could not stand by in benevolent dispassion any longer without compromising everything I know and love and value.  The imperative was too clear, the stakes too high, my own identity was called too nakedly into question...  I had been blinded by what I saw here (and elsewhere), and the road to Damascus led, for me, back here.”

For Daniels, it was something much deeper and more spiritual than a basic moral obligation.  He wrote:

“I began to know in my bones and sinews that I had been truly baptized into the Lord’s death and resurrection... with them, the black men and white men, with all life, in him whose Name is above all names that the races and nations shout... we are indelibly and unspeakably one.”

Jonathan Daniels - Summer of 1965

 

Listen to a story Daniels told about an experience he had that summer living with an African-American family:

Bunnie sat astride on my knee.  She is four, the youngest of eleven… children.  She smiled, yet there was a hesitancy in her eyes.  Her daddy smiled down at her and asked, “Do you love Jon?”  Quietly but firmly, Bunnie said, “No.”  We had lived with Bunnie’s family only a few days, and I was sure I knew what she meant.  A part of me seemed to die inside, and I fought back tears.  But there was nothing I could say, nothing I could do.  Wisely, her daddy, who was already a dear friend, did not pursue the matter… When, a few days later, Bunnie pulled me down to her, cupped my face with her tiny hands, and kissed me, I knew something important (and incredibly beautiful) had happened.

Not everyone warmed up to Daniels being in Alabama, including the parishioners of the local Episcopal Church.  He describes being interviewed by a local judge in his finally appointed office.  Daniels knew that man well because he also served as the head usher at the church and had refused to allow him to take communion.  He told Jonathan that he and a fellow seminarian were welcome at the church, “but the nigger trash you bring with you will never be accepted in [the parish].”  Daniels bristled at the thought of these wonderful people, and especially their children, being referred to as “trash”.  “Our Episcopal Church is a white church,” the judge continued.  He asserted that Daniels should not be living with an African-American family “since God made white men and black men separate and if He’d wanted them comingled He’d have made them all alike.”  At the conclusion of the conversation the judge declared, “I am not guilty of anything.  Only guilty men have trouble sleeping at night.  I don’t have any trouble sleeping.”

On August 14, 1965 Daniels was part of a demonstration and was arrested along with other protesters.  They were taken in a garbage truck to small, poorly equipped jail in Hayneville, Alabama where they endured six days in a cramped jail that lacked air conditioning and adequate sanitary facilities.   Daniels led the group in hymn singing and prayers to keep up spirits.

They were released on August 20 in what appears now to be a set up.  While a member of the group used a phone booth just outside the jail to make calls to arrange for transportation, Jonathan, a Roman Catholic priest, and two African-American civil rights workers approached a nearby grocery store to purchase some cold drinks.   A volunteer deputy sheriff holding a shotgun stood at the door and refused to allow entry.  He pointed the gun at Ruby Sales, a seventeen-year-old African-American, and began to fire.  Daniels pushed her out of the way and was killed instantly.  Subsequent blasts wounded the priest.  The deputy went on to brag to his friends “I just shot two preachers”.  Later that fall he was acquitted of charges by an all-white jury.

While Daniels’ murder was not widely reported at the time, the matter came before President Lyndon Johnston when an aide sought to help the Daniels family get their son’s body back to New Hampshire in time for the funeral.  Even after death, civil rights workers were despised by the communities in which their were slain.  Martin Luther King often said “one of the most heroic Christian deeds of which I have heard in my entire ministry was performed by Jonathan Daniels.”

The Rev. Jim Newsom, also a VMI graduate, served as St. Paul’s rector during those tumultuous years.  Throughout his ministry here he was a strong advocate for civil rights and labored in our community to build bridges across the racial divide.  A Virginian Pilot newspaper article dated February 9, 1967 carried the headline “White Church Invites Negroes.”  St. Paul’s was hosting a community service for the World Day of Prayer and Jim is quoted as saying, “In accordance with the purpose of the World Day of Prayer, there will be no barriers of race, denomination or culture, when church people around the world come together for prayer.”  This was no small step in our community.  The article mentions by name several prominent white downtown churches that planned their own alternative service rather than pray with people of color.

In the November, 1967 Vestry minutes, it is recorded that Rev. Newsom announced a community Thanksgiving Service was going to be held at East End Baptist Church.  The minutes report “A general discussion followed”, but provides no details of the substance.  Sarah Newsom remembers St. Paul’s hosted a Thanksgiving Service here where so many people attended “they were packed to the rafters.”  Knowing that the memory of an old rector’s wife can be faulty, I searched through the ancient parish registries to see what I could find.  I learned that in attendance at a service on Thanksgiving in 1968 were the following ministers:

Donald Dunlap – West End Baptist

A. Elliott – St. Mark’s Episcopal       

D.W. Lamb – Metropolitan Baptist

C.L. Landrum – Suffolk Presbyterian

Jim Newsom – St. Paul’s Episcopal

C.J. Word (who was the preacher for the service) – East End Baptist

And what about the attendance?  According to the registry, 380 people were in the congregation – score one for the “faulty memory” of the rector’s wife. 

Rev. Newsom, Rev. Dunlap, and Rev. Word

 

These are just a few of the examples of Jim’s leadership around civil rights issues in our community.  It is hard to gauge the lasting impact of his work, but when I returned from twelve days at General Convention earlier this summer, I had waiting for me a flurry of e-mails from a bi-racial committee planning a community prayer service after the Charleston church shooting.  This group thought it to be important that the “minister of St. Paul’s participate and have a place on the program.”  I attribute this to a deep and abiding memory of our parish’s stance under Jim’s leadership.

The 1991 General Convention of the Episcopal Church recognized Jonathan Daniels to be a saint and martyr of our church, setting aside August 14^th of each year to commemorate his acts and witness.  Along with Martin Luther King, he is the only other American enshrined at Canterbury Cathedral’s chapel of contemporary martyrs.  VMI has established a Jonathan Daniels Humanitarian Award to honor his memory.  Recipients include former president Jimmy Carter and Representative John Lewis, who was on the Selma Bridge in 1965. 

VMI organizes regular pilgrimages to Hayneville and 300 people participated in 2013.  Upon reading about today’s service in the Suffolk News-Herald, Robert Stephens posted this comment:

THANK YOU for sharing this announcement with the local Suffolk community.  My son (Fletcher--VMI Cadet) and I will be traveling to Montgomery, AL this weekend to participate in the Jonathan Daniels’ Pilgrimage, where the VMIAA is also hosting a reception in his honor.  This unsung Hero deserves much recognition for being a catalyst and change agent who died for Blacks’ basic and fundamental right to vote... hence, the Voting Rights Act of 1965!

Ruby Sales was so traumatized by the experience that she could not speak for seven months after the murder.  Eventually she graduated from the same seminary Daniels attended.  She dedicated her life to be a human rights advocate and founded The SpiritHouse Project, a non-profit organization and inner-city mission dedicated to person who saved her life on a blazing hot August day in Alabama.

So here we are, fifty years after Daniels’ courageous act.  It is an appropriate time to reflect on what has changed over the years and what still remains to be done.  I charge each of you with the task of doing this work in the coming weeks and months.  Let me say concisely that the challenge back then was to recognize, affirm, and value the basic humanity of every person.  Today’s challenge, it seems to me, is to recognize, affirm, and value the experience of every person.  It is hard to hear about racial discrimination in our day because the inescapable message from it is that we still have a long, long way to go if we are going to be the country which our founders envisioned – a people equal under the law endowed with rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  My sense is that Suffolk’s clergy and faith communities are hungry to build more bridges across the racial divide and to strengthen our bonds of affection for one another.   The time is right for us to act.

I think what I will take away most from this commemoration is something Jonathan said in his valedictorian address to the VMI graduating class of 1961.  There are four arches that lead to the barracks on VMI’s campus.  One of the four honors Daniels.  Inscribed on the arch are these words from his address:

 “I wish you the decency and nobility of which you are capable.”

This is an incredible charge for the outstanding young men and women who train at the fine facility!  And it is a great challenge and vision for each one of us as we seek to be faithful disciples of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who loved all without partiality or preference.

“I wish you the decency and nobility of which you are capable.”

I knew of Jonathan’s heroism, but I come away from this day impressed by his decency and nobility.  He sought first, foremost, and always to meet hatred, brokenness, and injustice with Christ-like love and compassion.  That his first instinct in the face of mortal danger was to protect another by placing himself at risk was laudable, but probably something many other VMI grads – along with some of the rest of us – might have done.  It was his commitment to return to the south and the manner in which he carried himself while there that accounts for why we remember him today.

May the life and witness of Jonathan Daniels continue to speak to us and to inspire generations to come until our society perfectly reflects the values of the Kingdom of God.

"Faithing" the Faith

Jesus said, “Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life.”

Well, by now you have to know what is coming next.  How about a couple of jokes about eternal life:

When I die, I want to go peacefully like my Grandpa did, in his sleep -- not screaming, like the passengers in his car.

I just read a list of “The 100 Things To Do Before You Die” and was very surprised that “Yell for help” wasn’t one of them.

And the Lord said unto John, “Come forth and receive eternal life,” but John came fifth and all he got was a toaster.

Two men waiting at the pearly gates struck up a conversation.  “How did you die?” the first man asked the second.  “I froze to death,” the second replied.  “Did it hurt?” asked the first man.  “It was uncomfortable at first, but eventually you get numb and drift off into a peaceful sleep.”  “And how did you die?” the second man asked.  “Well,” said the first, “I suspected my wife was cheating on me so one day I came home when she didn’t expect.  She acted like nothing was going on so I ran all around the house like a crazy man looking for her lover.  As I sprinted up the attic stairs I had a massive heart attack and died.”  “That is so ironic”, said the second man.  “Why do you say that?” asked the first.  “Well,” he replied, “If only you had stopped to look in the freezer we would both still be alive!”

Jesus said, “Whoever believes has eternal life.”

I wonder how many people associate believing first with an intellectual acceptance of certain ideas about God, Jesus, and the bible and second with the veracity and passion with which you proclaim those ideas through your words and deeds.  It is as if we think believing is a checklist of statements to be marked off as “Yes”, “No”, or “Undecided”:

ü Do you believe God exists?

ü Do you believe God created everything?

ü Do you believe that the Earth belongs to God?

ü Do you believe Jesus is the Son of God?

ü Do you believe in the Virgin Birth?

ü Do you believe Jesus walked on water?

ü Do you believe in the Resurrection?

ü Do you believe Jesus is the way, the life, and the truth?

It is as if the more statements you can mark as “Yes” the higher you score on ‘believing’.  And, based on today’s reading from John, it appears there is a threshold of believing that merits eternal life.  Believe enough and you are in.  Fall short and…well who knows, but most likely it won’t be pretty or pleasant. 

Is this a fair way to understand what Jesus is saying?

Let’s consider the context of his bold proclamation.  He has just performed one of the seven signs John records to reveal who Jesus is.  This sign involves feeding the multitude and the discourse that follows.  Today’s reading is punctuated by dissent.  The people who participated in the feeding are not arguing it did not occur.  They dispute Jesus’ interpretation of what it means.  They have known him since he was a child and while they must wonder how he is able to do the miraculous things he is doing, they cannot accept that Jesus is God’s Bread come down from heaven. 

Notice how Jesus responds.  He does not say, “Whoever has belief has eternal life.”  If he had said this, it would have made believing to be a noun, an objective, concrete checklist to which either you subscribe or you reject.  Rather than this, Jesus says, “Whoever believes has eternal life.”  Here, believe is used as a verb.  It may seem to be little more than semantics, but the difference is huge.

On the blog Progressive Involvement, John Petty suggests this translation for today’s verse:

“Truly, truly, I say to you, the one faithing has life eternal.”

He adds,

[The Greek word used here] means “to faith.”  It is a verb… and “faith” used as a verb sounds odd in English.  Nevertheless the phrase should be translated as “the one faithing.”  Here, faith is understood to mean a radical trust, an orientation of one’s entire self, not merely a head-trip of “believing” the right things.

For Jesus, radical trust and orienting of faithing are centered around participating in the Eucharist.  It becomes the means by which we participate in the Heavenly Banquet, not only for eternity, but also here and now.  The Eucharistic meal shared in the midst of a Eucharistic community is both a foretaste of a life to come as well as a means of receiving the life Christ for this present moment.

Think of a couple is preparing for their wedding.  They meet with the caterer and with the person who will bake their cake.  It is common practice today for these people to prepare a sample of the food or the cake the couple wants served at the reception.  “It is delicious,” the couple says.  “We can’t wait until our family and friends get to try it.  They are going to love it.”  This foretaste of the wedding banquet helps build excitement for the actual event.   It energizes the couple to endure the grueling details to which they must tend.

This, in some respects, is what we do as we gather here today.  We are deepening our relationship with God and with one another as we share in foretaste of a meal yet to come.  We are not here to rehearse and support ideas and concepts about the faith.  We are here to act out the faith.  The goal is not that we think of ourselves as Christians in the sense of a noun, but Christians in the sense of a verb.  We become people who are “Christ-liking” in the world.  And the food we eat helps us to live this way.

If every person who ever told me they didn’t have to be in church to worship God – they can do it in the woods, at the beach, on the golf course, fill in the blank – showed up here this morning, well, suffice it to say chances are slim you would get to sit in your favorite pew.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I think it is important to be spiritually open and alive wherever you are.  And for many, it is probably true that the lion’s share of their spiritual fulfillment comes from places other than church.  Heck, for some who are deeply involved in the life of the church, attending a Sunday service can be more draining than filling (feel free to seek out the Junior Warden if you need confirmation about this and make sure to tell him about a light bulb that needs replaced).

But for Jesus there is something essential about participating in a Eucharistic community.  It is part-and-parcel of faithing.  Yes, you can be faithing while fishing from a boat all by yourself, but apparently it is Jesus’ vision that we gather together regularly, support one another no matter what, challenge one another when necessary, engage the hard work of reconciliation when broken, and give thanks as a body always.  And all of this occurs within the context of Jesus being present in Bread and Wine.

Some of you folks new to St. Paul’s never had the opportunity to know Art Bunton – a grizzly old curmudgeon of a faithful servant to God if ever there was one.  More than once after a sparsely attended service, Art corralled me in the Parish Hall and said, “Where is everyone?  You need to preach to these people that they ought to be in church every Sunday” to which I would respond, “And what good would that do because these are the people who are already here?”  I can’t help shake the feeling that today’s sermon “preaches the choir” – that it is a message you already are heeding. 

If this is the case, then I encourage you to take with you these thoughts on which to meditate:

Do you think of belief as being a noun or as a verb?  What do you think it means to be “faithing” the faith?  Do you berate yourself for having honest intellectual doubts?  If so, how does this affect your ability to be “faithing” the faith?  How are you like “one who is faithing”?

 

"Did You 'Get' Communion?"

Jesus said, “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures to eternal life.”

Well, lets get this sermon off to a good start with a couple of jokes about communion:

Did you hear about the business that is marketing new low-fat communion bread?  They call it, “I Can’t Believe Its Not Jesus!”

The new rector of a lethargic congregation announced he intended to replace communion wine with prune juice.  When a warden asked why the change, the priest replied, “If the Holy Spirit won’t move this parish… the prune juice will!”

A seminarian was giving a children’s sermon and wanted focus on the meaning of the Eucharist.  “The Bible,” she said, “talks about Holy Communion as being a ‘joyful feast’.  ‘Joyful’ means happy”, she said.  “And a ‘feast’ is a meal.   So when we celebrate the Eucharist we are having a happy meal.  Now, who can tell me what goes into a happy meal?”  A little boy’s hand shot up, “A cheeseburger, fries, soft drink, and toy surprise.”

Today’s gospel reading picks up just after last Sunday’s reading where Jesus feed 5,000 people with five leaves of bread and two fish.  Jesus and his disciples leave that place and travel by boat to another spot along the Sea of Galilee.  In the morning, the people realize Jesus is gone and set off to find him.  Today’s reading is the beginning of the conversation Jesus has with them once they locate where he is.

One thing is clear from the outset.  While Jesus and the crowd are talking about the same thing – bread – they are talking about it in two completely different ways.  The people are interested in bread as food whereas Jesus is focused on bread as spiritual nourishment. 

If you recall last week’s reading, Jesus leaves the multitude when he perceives they want to make him king for feeding them.  King is a very different role from messiah, isn’t it!  At a surface level, the sign of the feeding is just that – a meal – but there is so much more depth to it than just that.  Jesus wants to help the multitude explore the depths, but how?  How can he do it?  He challenges them to think about food that perishes and about food that does not.  He points to the bread he gave them to eat and then proclaims that he is the Bread of Life. 

This tension between the surface aspects of the faith and the depths is ever present.  I encountered it yet again at the closing Eucharist of General Convention in Salt Lake City.  Several thousand people attended the service.  Ninety loaves of bread and a case and a half of wine were consecrated.  When it came time to receive communion over a hundred Eucharistic ministers fanned out around the cavernous space.  Each section of people was directed to one station or another. 

On this particular day I was sitting at the end of a row of chairs, about three rows from the end of a section.  People in the fifteen rows or so ahead of me went forward to receive communion – one row after another – and then returned to their seats.  When it was my turn I went forward – along with the other people in my row – and received first the bread and then the wine.  I returned to my place, allowed the others to file in, and then took my end seat.

I had a lot on my mind as I sat there.  I was thinking about my travel arrangements and hoping I would not encounter any delays with my flight.  I was thinking about the work that awaited me back in Suffolk – e-mails pile up and my yard turned into a jungle.  At a deeper level, I was thinking about people I had hurt and people who had hurt me.  I fretted if I would ever know what peace and reconciliation look like.  All told, I was in a dreary mood as I offered up a prayer of ‘gratitude’ for the communion I had just received.

Just then a hand from behind me touched my shoulder and a volunteer in a red smock leaned over to say something in my ear.  I only caught the briefest of glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye.  She was about seventy and her voice had a beautiful, soothing, melodic quality to it.  She said only four words to me: “Did you get communion?”  And I responded with two words: “I did.”  With that, the encounter was over.  It didn’t last but a second or two.  I never even turned to see her face.

After no more than another second passed I began to wonder why she asked me that question.  The process of receiving communion was not complicated – one row follows another.  She didn’t check with the person sitting behind me or behind that person, nor did she approach anyone sitting in front of me.  Only me. 

Did I get communion?  I took the word “get” to mean “receive”, as in did I go forward to a communion station and receive the bread and the wine?  I had.  But, as I sat there in my fretful state it occurred to me there was a deeper level to “getting” communion.  Did I get that Jesus’ very Self had entered my life in a nourishing and life giving way?  Did I get that I am deeply loved by the One who created me, died for me, and redeemed me?  Did I get the peace that passes all understanding?  Did I understand that communion is a sign of all of this and more made real by receiving the bread and the wine?  Well, as I sat there in my brooding mood, I realized my unequivocal answer should have been, “No, I did not get (as in understand) communion.”

This whole process unfolded in no more than five seconds.  I wondered again who this woman was and why she singled out me.  Her voice had been so beautiful and pure.  I turned around and looked for her, and even though there were several volunteers wearing red smocks, none appeared to be right for the woman I saw only out of the corner of my eye.  Where did she come from?  Where did she go?  I don’t know, but even as I stand here in this pulpit, I can hear her voice as clear as I heard it in that moment: “Did you get communion?”

A month has passed since that service.  I can’t begin to tell you the hours I have spent thinking about, meditating on, and praying over that question. 

I have been pondering the nature of faith.  Some people have faith in every word the bible says.  They believe in a literal six days of creation, ark and flood, parting of the Red Sea, reluctant prophet being swallowed by a whale, and so on.  Their mantra is “The bible says it, I believe it, and that settles it.”  That is one kind of faith.

Then there are those who have faith God is watching over them.  Wasn’t it Stonewall Jackson who sat on his mount in the face of withering fire because there was nothing he could do to avoid the bullet ordained to strike him and no bullet not ordained by God would come near him?  Now that is a different kind of faith from believing every word of the bible.  It is a faith that trusts God no matter what.    

There is still another kind of faith.  It is the faith that believes what God says: before you were born I knew you, you are special, you are forgiven, you are loved.  It is the faith that responds the way Zacchaeus did when he scrambled down from the tree and hosted a meal for Jesus.  It is the faith exhibited by the woman caught in adultery who, once her accusers slinked away, put her hand in Jesus’, stood up, and walked in newness of life.  It is the faith of Paul who was struck blind in his self-righteousness so that he might see the world through the eyes of grace.  It is the faith that dispels brooding, dreary fretfulness.

I suspect that this is the deepest, most foundational, and most important level of bread that Jesus wants to give to us.  And I can say, based on my own experience and on the things that many, many good and godly people have shared with me, it is the level of faith where most of us struggle most of the time.  It is the bread we need, the bread we crave, and the bread that endures.  But most of the time it is a hunger so deep – and often so painful – that it becomes easier to work only for the bread that perishes – the toys and tastes and other temptations that provide a temporary way to ease the aching.  At least perishable bread soothes the craving for the time being.  But the hunger still remains until we “get” that Jesus is the Bread of Life.

At what level do you “get” communion?  Does it have more depth for you beyond coming to the rail and receiving bread and wine?  Beyond being a process, beyond being an obligation, even beyond being an act of devotion, do you “get” communion? 

 

A Season of Bread

At the end of July in Year B of the Lectionary Cycle of assigned readings we read the story of Jesus feeding the multitude.  And then, for the next four weeks we have gospel lessons on the meaning of the story, each with a more nuanced version of the “Bread of Life” than the week before.  So what better way to enter this season of bread then by telling you the six worst jokes about baked dough you will ever hear in your life!

Q:   Why doesn’t bread like hot weather?

A:   Because things get Toasty!

Q:   Why are bread jokes always funny?

A:   Because they never get mold!

Q:   What does bread do after it is done baking?

A:   It loafs around.

Q: What is bread’s favorite ride at the amusement park?

A: The roller toaster.

Q: Why did the loaf live at the zoo?

A: Because it was bread in captivity.

A passenger tries to sneak an elephant through airport security by sticking a slice of bread in each of its ears.  The security officer looks at him and says, “Good morning sir, anything to declare?”   The man answers, “No, nothing.”  “Well, what about that?” the office says, pointing to the elephant.  The passenger responds, “Look mister, what I put on my sandwich is not your concern!” 

We read just two verses from the Old Testament’s 2^nd Book of Kings in this morning’s first lesson.  They tell the story of one of the prophet Elisha’ early miracles after taking up the role of his mentor Elijah.  It comes at a time of widespread drought, famine, and scarcity.  People are hungry – really hungry – and there is little or nothing for them to eat.  Many blame the drought on Elisha, but the author of 2^nd Kings makes it clear the fault lies with the king and his idolatrous practices.

The account begins with an unnamed person coming from a place identified as Baal-shalishah to present Elisha with the offering of his first fruits.  Notice a couple of things about this introduction.  First, the person making the offering is not named.  He, like the overwhelming majority of faithful people down through the ages – including us – does what he does out of simple devotion to God.  He is not in it for the credit or for publicity. 

He is making what is known as a ‘first fruits’ offering.  This takes place at the beginning of the harvest and, as the name implies, involves produce and product from the initial crop.  Think about this for a second.  It has been a long time since the last harvest.  Whatever came from it either is running out or has long been gone.  The laws around the first fruits offering, found in Leviticus 23, make clear it is both a statement of faith and a test of faith.  It makes the statement that the earth and all that comes from it belong to God.  It tests if a person believes God will supply what you need.  It is the opposite of how many of us approach stewardship: I’ll take care of my needs first, then my wants, and then if I have anything left I might give some of it to God.

And more than being a challenge for today’s lay reader, the place where this person is from offers another important insight into this story.  Baal- shalishah.  The word Baal refers to the Canaanite god who is the focus of the king’s idolatrous worship.  Baal means “owner” or “master”.  This pagan worship is a direct challenge to the Hebrew belief that God alone is Sovereign.  To worship Baal as owner and master not only breaks the First Commandment, it is an act akin to returning to the slavery and bondage of Egypt, from which God delivered the people a few centuries earlier.  The word shalishah means “multiplicity”.  The name of the place where this man is from literally means “The master of multiplying”, referring both to food and to fertility.  It is quite a tribute to a pagan god.

Now scholars believe that before it was renamed for the pagan deity this town was called Beth-lehem – the birthplace of David.  The name Beth-lehem means “house of bread”.  Centuries later it will be the birthplace of the One who is the Bread of Life, but in Elisha’s day it is just one of many epicenters of political and theological upheaval.  By bringing his offering of first fruits to Elisha rather than to the corrupted priests at Gilgal, this person is registering his protect against the king and the bankrupt values of his day.

So he presents to Elisha, whom the text describes as “the man of God”, his first fruits offering of twenty loaves of bread and a sack of fresh grain.  Given that this represents 10% of all his harvest will produce, these meager amounts suggest the man is not well off.  But for Elisha, living in a time of drought and famine, twenty loaves and a sack of grain are a godsend that can provide for his needs for months and months. 

But notice what Elisha does.  Rather than keeping the offering for himself – something the Levitical code supports – he orders the food to be shared with everyone who is with him – a hundred people.  Now, what the man brought to Elisha could be divided among that number of folks, but it would not be much – perhaps just a bite or two per person.  In spite of protest, Elisha remains steadfast, insisting that God will ensure everyone gets enough and there will be some left over.  And this is just what happens.

Commenting on this story, Elna Solvang, an Associate Professor of Religion at Concordia College in Minnesota, writes:

A miracle occurs in this story: a sack of grain and twenty barley loaves feed one hundred people, with food remaining.  It is a miracle:

·   made possible by God’s abundant providing.

·   initiated by the generosity of an anonymous giver.

·   shared with others because of the recipient’s generosity.

·   in which all are included because of an administrator’s concern for equity.

·   through which the community shares in what is holy.

As I said earlier, over the next few weeks our readings will help us to explore the deeper spiritual meaning behind Jesus’ feeding miracle.  Paired with today’s Old Testament reading, we are invited to consider the human element of the story:

·   to ponder the role of Philip who cannot figure out how to muster the financial resources to buy food for so many people.

·   to ponder to role of Andrew who rounded up the boy with the fish and bread and brought him to Jesus, but had no clue how Jesus could do so much with so little.

·   and to ponder to role of the boy who gave the food he had so others might eat and then most likely went home to his family empty-handed.

What does it look like in your life to trust in God’s abundant providing?

What generous acts do you undertake, especially those acts that fall beyond the vision of others?

When you are blessed, how do you share that blessing with others?

What does it look like to ensure everyone receives God’s blessing in a way that is fair and equitable?

Can you think of a time or of times when you were a part of something like this and you recognized you were in a holy moment and place?

Did you happen to see yesterday’s Virginian-Pilot story about the Hampton Roads Food Bank, from which our Food Pantry purchases supplies?  It chronicled how the shelves go bare at this time of year because so many people are out of town during the summer and local food drives grind to a halt.  It had a picture of a woman pushing her cart past one empty bin after another.

During this Season of Bread I propose we initiate a food drive not for our Food Pantry, but for the Food Bank whose work and ministry benefits our pantry and so many others on a regular basis.  Each Sunday in August I invite you to bring half a dozen to a dozen non-perishable food items to church with you.  I will set out a table right here in front of the pulpit for them and we will ask God’s blessing on what we give at the Offertory.  You don’t have to spend much to make this happen.  A dollar per item will be more than enough.  Shop for bargains and think in terms of bulk quantities. 

Like our two bible readings this morning, our meager offering will seem to be little in the face of such insurmountable need.  And yet, offered humbly to God and through God’s blessing, we trust it will be more than sufficient.  And we also hope we will sense and share in something holy.  May God bless us spiritually and may God tend to the needs of the hungry during this Season of Bread.