One of the realities of human life is the internal push and pull between selfishness and generosity. It is the tension between looking after #1 and contributing to the larger group in order to live. Humans are social beings. We exist because of each other and we only survive as individuals if the group does. For the group to live we cultivate virtues of generosity, compassion, kindness, thinking of others first. These are, you will note, some of the key components of virtually every religion. But we also cultivate our own personal lives. This is not a bad thing until the balance between the two gets out of proportion, that is, when the individual’s wants and demands and self-centeredness becomes more important than others’ legitimate needs. It is a tired and familiar truism that American culture has an over-developed individual ethos that is costly to us all. But the struggle is universal and eternal. It is also local and current.
Here is my personal example of how this dynamic is played out in my life on an all too frequent basis. I have lived many, many places in this world and have always been around dogs, but I have never lived in a place where so many people disregard leash laws in my entire life. If you ever want to see the uncensored me complete with profanity and wrath come on a walk with me some day in the south Eugene hills. Just the other day in my own condo complex I had yet another encounter…my third actually with this same woman and her two dogs. There is a trailhead in one of our parking lots that Raleigh and I were heading towards. As we crested the hill and without any chance to prepare this woman’s dog came running straight at us, barking and attacking. I know dog language, maybe not fluently but pretty well, and this wasn’t play; this was “get off my turf”. My dog was on leash. This one was not. Raleigh reacted to protect us and the other backed off for a minute. As I was trying to refocus Raleigh on me and get us to the trailhead I yelled at the woman to get her dog under control—without swear words at this point. Of course, I heard the old song and dance of her dog being friendly and that somehow her lack of control of her beast; her violation of not only city, but condo complex leash laws; and her lack of ability to see how terrifying it is to have a strange dog run at you full-tilt were all my fault. I was the jerk, you see. To me this is a small but classic example of the pull between sense of community and selfish behavior that can’t think beyond one’s self. It’s a microcosm of the larger disease in our culture of me first others last. It’s a spiritual cancer and it is deadly.
The story today is a poignant and pointed teaching on how we are to live together as community. Community comes first as both Jesus and Elisha teach. Our religious sense does many things, but one of its fundamental tasks is recalling and constantly shaping us as communal creatures living for the good of each other. In both stories the feeding of the people comes first. And the essential pattern I see is that if we start from that place of generosity and mutual concern then even with limited resources God will help us see the way to provide enough. God’s abundance is always there, but we won’t be able to access it and receive it until we get ourselves to that place within our own hearts and minds. If we aren’t there we will be blind and deaf to what God is offering. This theme is repeated again and again in Scripture.
So let’s look at this story of the feeding of the 5000 in more detail to see if what I am suggesting maps on to it. Last week in our reading from Mark we skipped over the feeding miracle. This week we go back and hear it, though from another Gospel entirely—the Gospel of John. We meet again this compelling Jesus who sees a crowd of hungry people and responds with compassion. The whole emphasis is on what we are to do, not on what they are to do. For instance, the question Jesus poses is not where are they going to buy enough bread to feed them selves (which is probably how we would be more likely to phrase it), but where are we to buy bread for these people to eat. That is the question Jesus asks.
Next, we meet the boy with 5 loaves and two fish, which is quite a bit of food for one small lad. The sin in us would prompt us to eat our fill first and then out of the leftovers give to the hungry. This pattern is encoded in our societies. It helps, it surely does, but it also can neatly avoid the deeper questions of injustice and structural impoverishment. Once again Jesus teaches us by example. First the food is given out to all; it is shared with the community first and no one goes hungry. The first truth is that all deserve their daily bread, that God created a world that can satisfy the needs of every living creature if we but share it rightly. This is love. Not sentimental words we say, but tangible things we do. The starting point is a communal ethos not an individual one.
The risk of this story is to take the miracle and spiritualize it: Jesus gives us spiritual food that nourishes our souls and that is the point of the story. Yes, it is the point, but only a portion of the point. Jesus’ feeding of the 5000 is prefiguring Holy Communion: gathering at table, blessing food, sharing food and being filled. But Jesus did not look at a crowd with growling stomachs and offer them lovely spiritual thoughts to chew on. He gave them real bread, real fish, real food. And this real food is spiritual food and spiritual food is real food. They are not separate realities, but faces of the same reality. That is what sacrament means—that the daily is also holy. Real food that nourishes our bodies also nourishes our souls. To share bread with another is to share life, to share our common humanity, to share time. It is to cultivate a holy soul that is feeding on compassion and kindness through the very act of breaking bread made of flour and water and salt. Both our bodies and our spirits grow. The spiritual and physical realities are intertwined, inseparably so.
One of the worst religious cruelties and heresies is the presentation of Jesus offering spiritualized food. If you are starving feed on the words of Jesus and know that in heaven things will be better is often how it goes. Such religion is hollow, a parched desert. It will not do. Such arguments have been used for centuries to keep the poor in their “place” and replace the living, challenging call of Jesus with empty phrases and religiously sanctioned neglect and contempt.
To see a very immediate version of this, even though couched in secular terms, look to what is happening in Honduras. Do not be distracted by the red herring of the referendum vote. Look to the underlying role of power and money. About a dozen extremely wealthy families rule the nation along with several large international corporations with huge interests in and control of the economy. One of the key reasons most Hondurans, 70% of whom live in poverty, and many experts and observers give for the coup is President Zelaya’s decision to increase the minimum wage from $157 per month to $289 per month. And while this will be hard for smaller business, and I realize that the economic issues are complicated, it can be weathered and there are answers that work. More importantly it forces a look at the larger structures and demands that shape poverty and wealth, in Honduras and in America and all over the world. It is a challenge to start from a communal place of mutual respect and dignity. And it really is about food, providing people who work hard every day the means to purchase enough food to satisfy the hunger of their families each night. It really is about a stance that starts in how do we feed each other in real time. We do it here in many ways and from those acts come the seeds that help move us from charity to a new heaven and a new earth.
Jesus was emphatic that heaven is coming into the world now, the world we inhabit, and it looks like a place where all have food and health and shelter and water and abundant life. The task isn’t to make Jesus a temporal king, but rather to absorb his teaching so that we live this way with each other and shape our societies to do likewise even in societies that are multi-faith and secular. It is common ground.
The communion meal of Jesus is a radical expression of love in that it says there is a fundamental worth to each person that is eternal and sacred, and we see this when we create a community that feeds everyone first regardless of the ways we divide and sort ourselves out as better and worse, rich and poor and so on. It was counter-cultural then and it is counter-cultural now, for that pull of selfishness is always there. I experience it in myself every single day.
In Holy Communion during worship we are shown again most clearly that the spiritual Body and Blood of Christ is also material bread and wine. We are reminded each week that spiritual food and real food are one unity. We are reminded each week that feeding a hungry stomach and feeding a hungry soul are inseparable. If not, we would pantomime eating bread and drinking wine. Yet we don’t. We eat real food and in that eating consume both spiritual and physical nourishment. Feeding the rest of the world and creating societies where people have enough food is merely Holy Communion writ large. Imagine the whole world daily celebrating the Eucharistic feast!
Jesus today is very clearly reminding us that those of us who look to him as our savior, as that compelling figure, are called to shape and continually reshape our lens into a communal focus. We are to see ourselves as part of the “we” before we worry so much about the “me”. He is drawing us more and more into that communal and social vision of the kingdom in which we too as persons will thrive. It is a counter-cultural starting point to be sure, but we are also assured that he will be there to feed us in all ways—real food and spiritual food. Just as he feeds us every Sunday at this table. May we embrace taking that table into the world for that is precisely what he has empowered us to do.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
July 19, 2009, Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
July 19, 2009
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
Year B, Proper 11, Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
I would like us all to take a minute and think about someone who has been a compelling figure in our lives. It can be someone well known or not, a public figure or a personal friend or family member. It doesn’t matter just so long as they are a person that you found compelling, interested in emulating, listening to, being guided by. You may think of more than on person. That’s fine, too. (Pause)
Okay, do have someone in mind? Now, what was it about them that was so or is so compelling to you? Take a minute to reflect on that. (Pause)
When I read the Gospel for today I am struck by how compelling Jesus was. The word itself is an odd one. It derives from Latin and the root means “to drive”, pellere. The verbal forms of this word are rather negative in meaning: constrain, force, invoke, take by force, extort. But the adjectival form, compelling, is much more positive. It refers to something that drives strong feeling, interest or admiration.
Driving people and driving their interest is pretty typical of the Jesus we see in Scripture. Take our story today. Jesus and his disciples are worn out from all their work so they go away to take a break far from the demands of people and their task. Taking with them enough provisions to care for themselves they set off to a place with no inhabitants, no towns, no fast-food joints or truck stops along the way. Seeking isolation to rejuvenate they are thwarted. Jesus’ work has become so exciting to people that they leave everything—fields, jobs, homes—and come by foot and donkey to this place without a lot of planning and forethought. We know this because in the verses we skipped over today, Mark 6:35-52, there is the story of the feeding of the 5,000. After this, they head over across the lake and upon his arrival the people are so ecstatic they rush around the whole area and bring to him those who were sick and unwell. While people may have not been ready en masse to follow his teachings about the kingdom or to recognize him as their spiritual leader, they wanted the things he offered: nourishment and wholeness. By this they began to become part of his movement in their own way. They had recognized something holy at work and responded in quite dramatic fashion. He got their interest and admiration.
Jesus was both compelling and charismatic. Compelling people are often charismatic and vice versa. Charismatic is a word that comes down to us from the Greek word kharis meaning favor or grace. In Christian theology charisma means a divinely conferred power or talent, what we nowadays call spiritual gifts. Charisma is also understood as having that special something that inspires devotion and enthusiasm. Like most everything in life charisma can inspire devotion and enthusiasm in things that are good and things that are evil. Mother Teresa, Rigoberta Menchu, Ghandi, Florence Nightingale, leaders in our various civil rights movements are or were charismatic people. So are Hitler, Pol Pot, white supremist leaders, cult leaders and religious fanatics. The struggle and challenge is to decipher those charismatics worth following and those whose suasive powers and charms are not. Charismatic leaders can be those that shepherd the flock for good or destroy and scatter the sheep of the pasture as Jeremiah says.
As Christians we look to Jesus as our essential point of reference and model. He is the one we follow first and foremost; however, the reality of life is that we are asked to choose and need to choose others to follow in the every day details of life. Jesus’ life and teaching form the basis for how we judge what is worth following and not, no matter how attractive and compelling it sounds. We are given several starting points today. The first is Jesus’ reaction to those that practically hound him. He had compassion on them. Compassion is opening, receptive, expansive. It can take the imaginative leap into another’s reality rather than accepting how society has defined and determined that reality. It may judge, but it is not judgmental. It creates space to gather more in rather than closing the gates. It widens rather than narrows. It breaks down barriers rather than erecting them. It grounds itself in mercy, forgiveness, recognizing one’s own sin and seeking amends, hope, and respect. It is not grounded in fearmongering, hate, self-righteousness, revenge, and the domination and privation of others. Which is not to say that there are simplistic and easy answers to the difficult social and personal realities and events, but rather that those who would lead us through must start from one set of guiding principals rather than the other. Jesus clearly knows where he stands and he lives it, causing scandal and transforming life at one and the same time.
The second clue we see is what he does. He heals the sick and the possessed and those that polite society wanted nothing to do with. It is not hard to translate that into the modern day idiom is it. His message could cut across and through to something more profoundly true. He sought our deepest humanity and that even those that have it most together in society’s terms are also hurting, lost, in need of healing and divine love. It’s true for all of us. There is tremendous freedom to be ourself before Jesus because he never cast out anyone. He may have challenged; he may have called people up short, but he never rejected.
The third clue is the image for this charismatic and compelling man: a shepherd, who is looking after his sheep. Not a warrior, not a boss, not an overlord, not a superhero, but a shepherd. He watches over, guides to good pasture and water, fends off those things that would destroy—this is the role of the shepherd. Not charismatic at all; yet, this is how this compelling man saw himself. A humble role. A servant role. A guiding role so that we might be able to do and learn for ourselves what we need for a good life, that is, a life lived towards God and each other.
In Jesus we see someone who has compassion and care. We see someone who disregards conventions and propriety for something more meaningful—healing and wholeness. He has time for us in a way that no one else does, even when we are at our best. He will be with us in our greatest need and despair without flagging or saying he can’t take any more patients or as I sometimes have to say, I don’t have time today.
For those of us here in this church, we are among those who have found Jesus to be compelling. We have never met the earthly Jesus and never will, but the Jesus we have met in the stories, in worship, in this wonderful and imperfect part of the living Body of Christ on earth has inspired enough interest in us that we are ready to be guided by his life and teaching. Some of us may be firm in our understandings of him and who he is for us. Others of us are still discovering what we think of him. Some of us may come here even though we don’t believe in God or are in serious doubt. Some of us have been that sheep without a shepherd or one of the sick brought on a mat. Whatever our pathway, we are here and we keep coming back because somehow this Jesus speaks to us deeply and in truth.
So there are a couple of invitations to us in this Gospel for this week and really for all our lives. Why is Jesus compelling to me? What is it about him and his life and teachings that keep me engaged? And what does following his charisma invite me to do?
The second invitation is about our church. We come here because we discover again each week something life-giving, something holy, (I hope!) something that has limitless time and space for us. We come because here we encounter the charismatic life of Jesus still pulsing through the world and through us. Who might be the ones we want to bring to share in this gift, this grace? Not through fear of damnation, or browbeating, but through simply saying in this place I have discovered a place where I am loved and known and can muddle my way towards living a compassionate and loving life. I belong here no matter what. I am not alone. That’s pretty darn special. Maybe you’d like to come too. What are you doing next Sunday? The post-Communion latte is on me. It sounds a lot like the dreaded “e” word: evangelism. And it is. Sounds radical I know, but we would only be doing what the first disciples did when they said to their family and friends, come and see, come and see this compelling person I’ve met, simply come and see.
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
Year B, Proper 11, Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
I would like us all to take a minute and think about someone who has been a compelling figure in our lives. It can be someone well known or not, a public figure or a personal friend or family member. It doesn’t matter just so long as they are a person that you found compelling, interested in emulating, listening to, being guided by. You may think of more than on person. That’s fine, too. (Pause)
Okay, do have someone in mind? Now, what was it about them that was so or is so compelling to you? Take a minute to reflect on that. (Pause)
When I read the Gospel for today I am struck by how compelling Jesus was. The word itself is an odd one. It derives from Latin and the root means “to drive”, pellere. The verbal forms of this word are rather negative in meaning: constrain, force, invoke, take by force, extort. But the adjectival form, compelling, is much more positive. It refers to something that drives strong feeling, interest or admiration.
Driving people and driving their interest is pretty typical of the Jesus we see in Scripture. Take our story today. Jesus and his disciples are worn out from all their work so they go away to take a break far from the demands of people and their task. Taking with them enough provisions to care for themselves they set off to a place with no inhabitants, no towns, no fast-food joints or truck stops along the way. Seeking isolation to rejuvenate they are thwarted. Jesus’ work has become so exciting to people that they leave everything—fields, jobs, homes—and come by foot and donkey to this place without a lot of planning and forethought. We know this because in the verses we skipped over today, Mark 6:35-52, there is the story of the feeding of the 5,000. After this, they head over across the lake and upon his arrival the people are so ecstatic they rush around the whole area and bring to him those who were sick and unwell. While people may have not been ready en masse to follow his teachings about the kingdom or to recognize him as their spiritual leader, they wanted the things he offered: nourishment and wholeness. By this they began to become part of his movement in their own way. They had recognized something holy at work and responded in quite dramatic fashion. He got their interest and admiration.
Jesus was both compelling and charismatic. Compelling people are often charismatic and vice versa. Charismatic is a word that comes down to us from the Greek word kharis meaning favor or grace. In Christian theology charisma means a divinely conferred power or talent, what we nowadays call spiritual gifts. Charisma is also understood as having that special something that inspires devotion and enthusiasm. Like most everything in life charisma can inspire devotion and enthusiasm in things that are good and things that are evil. Mother Teresa, Rigoberta Menchu, Ghandi, Florence Nightingale, leaders in our various civil rights movements are or were charismatic people. So are Hitler, Pol Pot, white supremist leaders, cult leaders and religious fanatics. The struggle and challenge is to decipher those charismatics worth following and those whose suasive powers and charms are not. Charismatic leaders can be those that shepherd the flock for good or destroy and scatter the sheep of the pasture as Jeremiah says.
As Christians we look to Jesus as our essential point of reference and model. He is the one we follow first and foremost; however, the reality of life is that we are asked to choose and need to choose others to follow in the every day details of life. Jesus’ life and teaching form the basis for how we judge what is worth following and not, no matter how attractive and compelling it sounds. We are given several starting points today. The first is Jesus’ reaction to those that practically hound him. He had compassion on them. Compassion is opening, receptive, expansive. It can take the imaginative leap into another’s reality rather than accepting how society has defined and determined that reality. It may judge, but it is not judgmental. It creates space to gather more in rather than closing the gates. It widens rather than narrows. It breaks down barriers rather than erecting them. It grounds itself in mercy, forgiveness, recognizing one’s own sin and seeking amends, hope, and respect. It is not grounded in fearmongering, hate, self-righteousness, revenge, and the domination and privation of others. Which is not to say that there are simplistic and easy answers to the difficult social and personal realities and events, but rather that those who would lead us through must start from one set of guiding principals rather than the other. Jesus clearly knows where he stands and he lives it, causing scandal and transforming life at one and the same time.
The second clue we see is what he does. He heals the sick and the possessed and those that polite society wanted nothing to do with. It is not hard to translate that into the modern day idiom is it. His message could cut across and through to something more profoundly true. He sought our deepest humanity and that even those that have it most together in society’s terms are also hurting, lost, in need of healing and divine love. It’s true for all of us. There is tremendous freedom to be ourself before Jesus because he never cast out anyone. He may have challenged; he may have called people up short, but he never rejected.
The third clue is the image for this charismatic and compelling man: a shepherd, who is looking after his sheep. Not a warrior, not a boss, not an overlord, not a superhero, but a shepherd. He watches over, guides to good pasture and water, fends off those things that would destroy—this is the role of the shepherd. Not charismatic at all; yet, this is how this compelling man saw himself. A humble role. A servant role. A guiding role so that we might be able to do and learn for ourselves what we need for a good life, that is, a life lived towards God and each other.
In Jesus we see someone who has compassion and care. We see someone who disregards conventions and propriety for something more meaningful—healing and wholeness. He has time for us in a way that no one else does, even when we are at our best. He will be with us in our greatest need and despair without flagging or saying he can’t take any more patients or as I sometimes have to say, I don’t have time today.
For those of us here in this church, we are among those who have found Jesus to be compelling. We have never met the earthly Jesus and never will, but the Jesus we have met in the stories, in worship, in this wonderful and imperfect part of the living Body of Christ on earth has inspired enough interest in us that we are ready to be guided by his life and teaching. Some of us may be firm in our understandings of him and who he is for us. Others of us are still discovering what we think of him. Some of us may come here even though we don’t believe in God or are in serious doubt. Some of us have been that sheep without a shepherd or one of the sick brought on a mat. Whatever our pathway, we are here and we keep coming back because somehow this Jesus speaks to us deeply and in truth.
So there are a couple of invitations to us in this Gospel for this week and really for all our lives. Why is Jesus compelling to me? What is it about him and his life and teachings that keep me engaged? And what does following his charisma invite me to do?
The second invitation is about our church. We come here because we discover again each week something life-giving, something holy, (I hope!) something that has limitless time and space for us. We come because here we encounter the charismatic life of Jesus still pulsing through the world and through us. Who might be the ones we want to bring to share in this gift, this grace? Not through fear of damnation, or browbeating, but through simply saying in this place I have discovered a place where I am loved and known and can muddle my way towards living a compassionate and loving life. I belong here no matter what. I am not alone. That’s pretty darn special. Maybe you’d like to come too. What are you doing next Sunday? The post-Communion latte is on me. It sounds a lot like the dreaded “e” word: evangelism. And it is. Sounds radical I know, but we would only be doing what the first disciples did when they said to their family and friends, come and see, come and see this compelling person I’ve met, simply come and see.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009, The Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
Proper 9, Year B
Today’s readings are nothing if not an interesting mélange. What is the thread that binds them together? What is the unifying theme?
In the first reading we hear another story about prophets, unlikely prophets, and the cold response they so often receive. Amos is banished by Amaziah for his words that foretell of the destruction of Israel. His words are not comforting. They don’t confirm the king in his position of control and influence. He warns of an awful future. Truth telling can have severe consequences.
The Gospel is one of the more gruesome stories in Scripture. John the Baptizer has been imprisoned by Herod for his preaching. The kingdom of God vision and the call to repent that Jesus’ cousin was teaching was deeply subversive. If implemented it would shift wealth and question authority and generally such talk is not greeted with joy by those in charge. It is in line with that preached by Jesus. In reading this it reminded me of the doctors who were arrested outside the offices of Senators for asking that their voices be included in the health care reform discussion. John’s words are not comforting. Hence, John is taken to jail. For Herod, though, the issue is also personal. John preached a very strict version of the law that prohibited Herod marrying a divorcee whose husband was still living. Then follows the story we know of revenge, the use of seduction to wield power vicariously, and the dangerous roles of prestige, saving face, and arrogance. John is executed as the consequence of the worst behavior we humans can engage in and his important, if sometimes strident, voice is silenced. John paid for his convictions with his life. This both reminds us of the cost of following our beliefs and foreshadows what is to come for Jesus. There is some connection to Amos’s story here, but the weight is really on those around John rather than John himself. Perhaps it is a necessary cautionary tale to remind us of the evils that can overtake us and the terrible things of which we are capable.
We also hear this passage from the letter to the Ephesians. Its tone is quite different. Its message is joyful, encouraging, uplifting. It doesn’t focus on telling us where things have gone wrong or what we need to do different or better. It doesn’t challenge us with a parable or difficult teaching. It is rather a recalling and a reminding of the foundational joy at the center of our faith in God as revealed in Jesus.
In the drama of the stories of Amos and John the Baptizer this passage could easily get lost. It is nowhere near as gripping or captivating as these other passages. But it is worth looking at and taking some time to ponder. The past few weeks my sermons have been more serious; this week I’d like to look seriously at the words of Paul. The first two readings look to the future or to the way we ought to be and call us into forward movement. But we won’t get very far if we are not solidly rooted in our ground, our origins, our fundamental identity. This is the role the words from Ephesians play. Where we want to go depends on where we come from. What we hope to accomplish is determined by what shapes us, informs us and defines us. If we lose sight of whose we are then we will get lost along the way no matter how grand the vision and noble the goal.
Paul’s letters are often a mystery. Most of the time it is the scriptural version of overhearing someone’s cell phone conversation in the store or on the bus. From what they are saying, often far longer and in far more detail than one would care to be subjected to, it is possible to infer or at least imagine what the other party is saying. In most of Paul’s letters we are in a similar position. We are hearing his responses to pastoral questions, concerns over worship style, divisions over theology and community life that the various churches are experiencing. We are making informed guesses as to what the churches wrote to Paul.
But Ephesians does not fit this mold. From the content of the letter there doesn’t seem to be a burning issue needing Paul’s attention. Rather, it is a letter of celebration and encouragement to a community living their faith in a society that doesn’t always welcome it. However, this is simply the structure of daily life; there is nothing to suggest that the community is in a particular crisis. Yet even in everyday life we need to take time to stop, breath and remind ourselves of our roots and our core identity. This is what Paul is doing for the Ephesians.
It’s a wonderful passage. Just as the first story of the Bible ends with God’s initial blessing all of creation—and God saw it and it was good—and creating all things to be in loving relationship with God and each other, so Paul begins with reminding us that we are blessed in every spiritual way through our trust in Jesus Christ. To follow and know Jesus enriches us, blesses us, and restores us.
Then we hear of grace, which is God’s love for us that is utterly independent of anything we do or say but simply given to us from God. We can get hung-up on the words “destined” and “will”, but it helps if we see this from our perspective, that is, we know, understand, that we have heard and received the call to be in relationship with God through Jesus. It’s about us and not about any one else. It is a confession, not a statement of elite selection vis-à-vis others. The will is not God manipulating things on some cosmic scale of those he plays favorites with and those he rejects, but rather God’s deep hope for us to respond to God’s presence and reality. We are created free to respond to God or not, but God wills, desires, our acceptance of holy grace.
We know the way this grace is lived most fully, most completely and expressed most profoundly in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, Paul reminds us. In Christ we have been redeemed into a life, both as persons and as communities of people, that are able to be freed from the bondage of sin and brokenness. This is the journey of our lives made possible by what Jesus has accomplished for us and revealed to us. We hear that forgiveness is at the heart of our ethical understanding and what allows us to turn to each other again in a way that invites in the kingdom of God. How wonderful it is to hear that we are lavished with grace. How often do we need to be lavished with love and affection, with support and hope! It is indeed Good News to hear that at the heart of God’s reality is this superabundant grace that is pouring out freely, almost recklessly, without rationing or measuring. It is over the top as we say. And as we soak it up we are changed beings, changed into a new humanity that can make real the vision held out by the Gospel in our own small ways.
In times of turmoil and despair, when the center no longer holds, when our societies are in great strain and paroxysms of anxiety and violence, it is easy to lose hope. I know for me it has been a constant struggle my whole life, but particularly this past decade to not succumb to a sense of utter futility and despondency. I know that is not the faithful Christian response, but struggle I still do. So Paul’s words reminding me that in the fullness of time all will be gathered up into God’s loving embrace and purpose is a word I need to hear. Paul reminds me that God has the last word and that word is that I am God’s own, marked, sealed, and destined to him and for him. There is my hope. The disciple follows, the friend of Jesus stays the course, because the promise is bigger than the span of my life and abilities. It’s part of that coming fullness. And we are participants in the will of God, that graced, loving and forgiving force, being made incarnate.
Archbishop Romero of El Salvador could preach that word of grace and grounding. He also gave his life for what he believed as did John the Baptizer. His words speaking for and with the poor in his country and working for their dignity and liberation were cut short by an assassin’s bullet. But they were not killed or silenced. He knew whose he was and where he was going. He received the lavish grace and lavished it on others. He believed in the redemption possible in Jesus even as it took him into the darkest parts of our human experience. He bore a light to a deeper truth of whose we are and who we are destined to be. So I will close by sharing some of his words that remind us too of our fundamental identity, our ground, our origin and our destination. I think Paul would have liked them.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No program accomplishes our mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
That is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces effects far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
Amen.
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
Proper 9, Year B
Today’s readings are nothing if not an interesting mélange. What is the thread that binds them together? What is the unifying theme?
In the first reading we hear another story about prophets, unlikely prophets, and the cold response they so often receive. Amos is banished by Amaziah for his words that foretell of the destruction of Israel. His words are not comforting. They don’t confirm the king in his position of control and influence. He warns of an awful future. Truth telling can have severe consequences.
The Gospel is one of the more gruesome stories in Scripture. John the Baptizer has been imprisoned by Herod for his preaching. The kingdom of God vision and the call to repent that Jesus’ cousin was teaching was deeply subversive. If implemented it would shift wealth and question authority and generally such talk is not greeted with joy by those in charge. It is in line with that preached by Jesus. In reading this it reminded me of the doctors who were arrested outside the offices of Senators for asking that their voices be included in the health care reform discussion. John’s words are not comforting. Hence, John is taken to jail. For Herod, though, the issue is also personal. John preached a very strict version of the law that prohibited Herod marrying a divorcee whose husband was still living. Then follows the story we know of revenge, the use of seduction to wield power vicariously, and the dangerous roles of prestige, saving face, and arrogance. John is executed as the consequence of the worst behavior we humans can engage in and his important, if sometimes strident, voice is silenced. John paid for his convictions with his life. This both reminds us of the cost of following our beliefs and foreshadows what is to come for Jesus. There is some connection to Amos’s story here, but the weight is really on those around John rather than John himself. Perhaps it is a necessary cautionary tale to remind us of the evils that can overtake us and the terrible things of which we are capable.
We also hear this passage from the letter to the Ephesians. Its tone is quite different. Its message is joyful, encouraging, uplifting. It doesn’t focus on telling us where things have gone wrong or what we need to do different or better. It doesn’t challenge us with a parable or difficult teaching. It is rather a recalling and a reminding of the foundational joy at the center of our faith in God as revealed in Jesus.
In the drama of the stories of Amos and John the Baptizer this passage could easily get lost. It is nowhere near as gripping or captivating as these other passages. But it is worth looking at and taking some time to ponder. The past few weeks my sermons have been more serious; this week I’d like to look seriously at the words of Paul. The first two readings look to the future or to the way we ought to be and call us into forward movement. But we won’t get very far if we are not solidly rooted in our ground, our origins, our fundamental identity. This is the role the words from Ephesians play. Where we want to go depends on where we come from. What we hope to accomplish is determined by what shapes us, informs us and defines us. If we lose sight of whose we are then we will get lost along the way no matter how grand the vision and noble the goal.
Paul’s letters are often a mystery. Most of the time it is the scriptural version of overhearing someone’s cell phone conversation in the store or on the bus. From what they are saying, often far longer and in far more detail than one would care to be subjected to, it is possible to infer or at least imagine what the other party is saying. In most of Paul’s letters we are in a similar position. We are hearing his responses to pastoral questions, concerns over worship style, divisions over theology and community life that the various churches are experiencing. We are making informed guesses as to what the churches wrote to Paul.
But Ephesians does not fit this mold. From the content of the letter there doesn’t seem to be a burning issue needing Paul’s attention. Rather, it is a letter of celebration and encouragement to a community living their faith in a society that doesn’t always welcome it. However, this is simply the structure of daily life; there is nothing to suggest that the community is in a particular crisis. Yet even in everyday life we need to take time to stop, breath and remind ourselves of our roots and our core identity. This is what Paul is doing for the Ephesians.
It’s a wonderful passage. Just as the first story of the Bible ends with God’s initial blessing all of creation—and God saw it and it was good—and creating all things to be in loving relationship with God and each other, so Paul begins with reminding us that we are blessed in every spiritual way through our trust in Jesus Christ. To follow and know Jesus enriches us, blesses us, and restores us.
Then we hear of grace, which is God’s love for us that is utterly independent of anything we do or say but simply given to us from God. We can get hung-up on the words “destined” and “will”, but it helps if we see this from our perspective, that is, we know, understand, that we have heard and received the call to be in relationship with God through Jesus. It’s about us and not about any one else. It is a confession, not a statement of elite selection vis-à-vis others. The will is not God manipulating things on some cosmic scale of those he plays favorites with and those he rejects, but rather God’s deep hope for us to respond to God’s presence and reality. We are created free to respond to God or not, but God wills, desires, our acceptance of holy grace.
We know the way this grace is lived most fully, most completely and expressed most profoundly in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, Paul reminds us. In Christ we have been redeemed into a life, both as persons and as communities of people, that are able to be freed from the bondage of sin and brokenness. This is the journey of our lives made possible by what Jesus has accomplished for us and revealed to us. We hear that forgiveness is at the heart of our ethical understanding and what allows us to turn to each other again in a way that invites in the kingdom of God. How wonderful it is to hear that we are lavished with grace. How often do we need to be lavished with love and affection, with support and hope! It is indeed Good News to hear that at the heart of God’s reality is this superabundant grace that is pouring out freely, almost recklessly, without rationing or measuring. It is over the top as we say. And as we soak it up we are changed beings, changed into a new humanity that can make real the vision held out by the Gospel in our own small ways.
In times of turmoil and despair, when the center no longer holds, when our societies are in great strain and paroxysms of anxiety and violence, it is easy to lose hope. I know for me it has been a constant struggle my whole life, but particularly this past decade to not succumb to a sense of utter futility and despondency. I know that is not the faithful Christian response, but struggle I still do. So Paul’s words reminding me that in the fullness of time all will be gathered up into God’s loving embrace and purpose is a word I need to hear. Paul reminds me that God has the last word and that word is that I am God’s own, marked, sealed, and destined to him and for him. There is my hope. The disciple follows, the friend of Jesus stays the course, because the promise is bigger than the span of my life and abilities. It’s part of that coming fullness. And we are participants in the will of God, that graced, loving and forgiving force, being made incarnate.
Archbishop Romero of El Salvador could preach that word of grace and grounding. He also gave his life for what he believed as did John the Baptizer. His words speaking for and with the poor in his country and working for their dignity and liberation were cut short by an assassin’s bullet. But they were not killed or silenced. He knew whose he was and where he was going. He received the lavish grace and lavished it on others. He believed in the redemption possible in Jesus even as it took him into the darkest parts of our human experience. He bore a light to a deeper truth of whose we are and who we are destined to be. So I will close by sharing some of his words that remind us too of our fundamental identity, our ground, our origin and our destination. I think Paul would have liked them.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No program accomplishes our mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
That is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces effects far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
Amen.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Third Sunday after Pentecost, June 21, 2009
Third Sunday after Pentecost
June 21, 2009
The Rev. Tasha Brubaker Garrison
Antonio Machado once quipped: Mankind has four things that are no good at sea: rudder, anchor, oars—and the fear of going down. At first only that last one seems to make sense, but I bet if we could talk to the disciples about their experience crossing the sea they would agree completely with that description.
It makes sense to me too. I was not a natural swimmer and resisted learning for a long time. My mother had never learned to swim, but was insistent that I should. Thus, when summer came off I went to the local YMCA for swim lessons. While the other four-year olds were practicing kicking and having underwater tea parties, I simply charmed our swimming teacher into carrying me around on his hip the whole time. My mother was not exactly thrilled by this. Though charming, I had skillfully manipulated my way out of doing it. Not because I was a conniving child, but because my mother’s fear of the water had already infected me. I was truly convinced I would sink and not be able to swim no matter how much the instructor reassured me that a) I would float if I relaxed and, b) he would be right there if anything happened. In fact, I didn’t learn to swim until I was 8 and even then I never learned to breath right and never could make myself open my eyes under water. The chlorine bothered me too much. But I had the rudder (my eyes), my oars (my arms and legs) and my anchor (my rational understanding that I could float or touch bottom and be okay) and it was all rather useless to me really. To be in water knowing I was only partially equipped was fearful and being under water was akin to being in the midst of a tempest. For a long time swimming across a pool was a true act of guts. So when Jesus asks the disciples how is it that you have no faith, which is a more accurate translation of the original Greek than “have you no faith”, I find it very natural to say, extremely easy as a matter of fact!
I don’t think that is an uncommon reaction for most of us. When we are being blown about by storms, it is easy to lose courage, to lose faith, to think God is not paying attention, asleep on the job. The disciples certainly thought so. I mean, here is this man that can rebuke demons and perform miracles and play hardball with the spiritual forces and in the midst of a raging storm he’s taking a power nap. They want him to fix it and solve it. They want him take on that outer reality and redo it for them. And he does, but it comes with a piercing and searching set of questions: Why are you afraid? How is it that you have no faith?
That’s the heart of the story. Why are you afraid? The setting and the story are fearful. The sea is not only a capricious and dangerous element as we all know, but in much mythology around the world it also seen as a symbol for chaos, the swirling power of evil spirits and destructive forces that can overwhelm us and drown us. We are pretty small, little pieces of flotsam out there on a wild sea, and it is easy to perish. Jesus rebukes the wind just as he does the demons that possess people he encounters and stills the sea. The destructive, raging, churning forces are overcome. Who is this is the only question that disciples can formulate fittingly enough. And then they are filled with great awe.
But we are dancing with words here. The Greek word that is translated awe is phobeo, from which we get phobia, and it means fear. So, after this calming of the elements the disciples fear Jesus. Understandable. I would have been fearful too. It’s also, though, the kind of fear, awe, that we have when we realize we are in the presence of the holy. The word used by Jesus when he asks why are you afraid is really better translated as pitiable, cowardly. Why are you so cowardly? Why are you afraid? That’s a different kind of fear.
And I think he asks this so we get our focus right. What are we looking at? What is defining our reality and response? Where are we searching for God? As Rumi said, what you perceive as real becomes real. See, the disciples are focused on the storm and the prospect of drowning. That is all they can see and thus their whole view of the world is defined by the idea of perishing. And in their fear, in cowering before this storm, they become paralyzed and the vision myopic. They can no longer see that God is right there beside them in the midst of the tempest. They can’t see because it doesn’t look as they expect or act as they might desire. But he is there nonetheless and staying with them in the raging storm.
I think we all can see ourselves in this story. I know how often I have been in a stormy part of my life, trying to cross over to the next thing, or cross through a difficult time, and I wonder where God is. I feel left alone to be tossed and twisted by the forces swirling around me. I know how it is to feel totally overwhelmed and incapable of going on. There have been times when I have certainly felt like I was perishing in one way or another and have found it so hard to be brave, to have courage, to trust I will get to the other side.
The earliest Christians were often afraid of perishing, quite literally. From time to time persecutions broke out. Some were very severe. And people died rather than recant their faith. In the midst of this storm, their faith was strong. We don't hear of them asking for God to make the persecution stop (though I'm sure they did want that) in the chronicles that have come down. They did not ask Jesus where are you or why don’t you care. They did not ask Jesus to intervene and stop the lion’s jaws or deflect the sword, but rather believed that even through death Jesus was with them and would catch them. They were able to find courage and trust that Jesus was with them rather than to cower. He was the calm that stilled them inside so that they could safely arrive at their ultimate destination—life in God. Their role was as witness to something transformative in the world no matter how futile it may have looked. And perhaps this is why one of the earliest symbols for the Church was a simple boat. This story of Mark captured their reality and also their deepest belief in Jesus’ constant presence with them. It also was a way to let fellow Christians know of each other through a symbol—a boat, with the mast understood as the cross—in a world where often one had to be a believer in Jesus in secret.
They were on to something. How many of us in times of distress have sought the shelter of the church? We come into the sanctuary for its peace and centering, its ability to still us and find a foothold of peace in the midst of the fury. For many people who do not go to church or aren’t even religious, the church or a chapel is the place they go when bad news strikes, or life is in turmoil. Through the prayers, the telling of the story, the celebration of Communion, the coming together to seek the holy, churches are incarnated places, incarnated with the living presence of Christ, whether that is the language we use or not. They are shelters in the storm.
This experience of the church as something that keeps us afloat when the waves threaten to swamp us is so profound and deep-seated that we call the church a boat. How many of us have heard that word “nave”? And I don't mean the Shakespearean kind, knave with a “k”. Nave as n-a-v-e. We use it to mean the sanctuary, the main gathering space? Nave is the Latin word for boat. So our sanctuary is very much our boat in which Jesus is with us as we are tossed about by the storms of life.
In this nave we can be stilled and find peace. We can find faith to go through the tempests. We can be reminded of where our gaze should be and what our vision to help us to see. Jesus is there. Jesus may come to us in the quiet whisper of a prayer. Jesus may be with us in the face and acts of others. Jesus may reveal himself as finding a hitherto unknown strength, resilience, or conviction. But present he is. And Jesus doesn’t necessarily stop the storm as he did in the Gospel today, but he can help us see how to use our oars and anchors and rudders to navigate through. The ultimate story we have to cling to is that of his cross and resurrection.
Jesus will give us that calm and stillness to shift our focus from whatever it is that threatens to swamp us, or whatever it is that seems to be causing us to perish. Instead we can see the storm and also look to find Jesus beside us and discover how is God with us through the tempest. When this perspective is allowed in we can often see new ways through, ways that are hopeful and fresh. What we now perceive becomes real, becomes our reality. Instead of seeing God as the storm out there we can experience God as with us, alongside us. Just as importantly Jesus is there with us as a captain is with his ship. He will not abandon us; he will even go down with us if that is what faces us. And more importantly than that he will do what the psalmist proclaims: Then were they glad because of the calm, and he brought them to the harbor they were bound for. That harbor is God and our faith is that sturdy boat that will not capsize because we have just enough belief, maybe only a mustard-seed sized amount, that in God at the end of all ends all will be restored, renewed and made well. So, what are we afraid of? Amen.
June 21, 2009
The Rev. Tasha Brubaker Garrison
Antonio Machado once quipped: Mankind has four things that are no good at sea: rudder, anchor, oars—and the fear of going down. At first only that last one seems to make sense, but I bet if we could talk to the disciples about their experience crossing the sea they would agree completely with that description.
It makes sense to me too. I was not a natural swimmer and resisted learning for a long time. My mother had never learned to swim, but was insistent that I should. Thus, when summer came off I went to the local YMCA for swim lessons. While the other four-year olds were practicing kicking and having underwater tea parties, I simply charmed our swimming teacher into carrying me around on his hip the whole time. My mother was not exactly thrilled by this. Though charming, I had skillfully manipulated my way out of doing it. Not because I was a conniving child, but because my mother’s fear of the water had already infected me. I was truly convinced I would sink and not be able to swim no matter how much the instructor reassured me that a) I would float if I relaxed and, b) he would be right there if anything happened. In fact, I didn’t learn to swim until I was 8 and even then I never learned to breath right and never could make myself open my eyes under water. The chlorine bothered me too much. But I had the rudder (my eyes), my oars (my arms and legs) and my anchor (my rational understanding that I could float or touch bottom and be okay) and it was all rather useless to me really. To be in water knowing I was only partially equipped was fearful and being under water was akin to being in the midst of a tempest. For a long time swimming across a pool was a true act of guts. So when Jesus asks the disciples how is it that you have no faith, which is a more accurate translation of the original Greek than “have you no faith”, I find it very natural to say, extremely easy as a matter of fact!
I don’t think that is an uncommon reaction for most of us. When we are being blown about by storms, it is easy to lose courage, to lose faith, to think God is not paying attention, asleep on the job. The disciples certainly thought so. I mean, here is this man that can rebuke demons and perform miracles and play hardball with the spiritual forces and in the midst of a raging storm he’s taking a power nap. They want him to fix it and solve it. They want him take on that outer reality and redo it for them. And he does, but it comes with a piercing and searching set of questions: Why are you afraid? How is it that you have no faith?
That’s the heart of the story. Why are you afraid? The setting and the story are fearful. The sea is not only a capricious and dangerous element as we all know, but in much mythology around the world it also seen as a symbol for chaos, the swirling power of evil spirits and destructive forces that can overwhelm us and drown us. We are pretty small, little pieces of flotsam out there on a wild sea, and it is easy to perish. Jesus rebukes the wind just as he does the demons that possess people he encounters and stills the sea. The destructive, raging, churning forces are overcome. Who is this is the only question that disciples can formulate fittingly enough. And then they are filled with great awe.
But we are dancing with words here. The Greek word that is translated awe is phobeo, from which we get phobia, and it means fear. So, after this calming of the elements the disciples fear Jesus. Understandable. I would have been fearful too. It’s also, though, the kind of fear, awe, that we have when we realize we are in the presence of the holy. The word used by Jesus when he asks why are you afraid is really better translated as pitiable, cowardly. Why are you so cowardly? Why are you afraid? That’s a different kind of fear.
And I think he asks this so we get our focus right. What are we looking at? What is defining our reality and response? Where are we searching for God? As Rumi said, what you perceive as real becomes real. See, the disciples are focused on the storm and the prospect of drowning. That is all they can see and thus their whole view of the world is defined by the idea of perishing. And in their fear, in cowering before this storm, they become paralyzed and the vision myopic. They can no longer see that God is right there beside them in the midst of the tempest. They can’t see because it doesn’t look as they expect or act as they might desire. But he is there nonetheless and staying with them in the raging storm.
I think we all can see ourselves in this story. I know how often I have been in a stormy part of my life, trying to cross over to the next thing, or cross through a difficult time, and I wonder where God is. I feel left alone to be tossed and twisted by the forces swirling around me. I know how it is to feel totally overwhelmed and incapable of going on. There have been times when I have certainly felt like I was perishing in one way or another and have found it so hard to be brave, to have courage, to trust I will get to the other side.
The earliest Christians were often afraid of perishing, quite literally. From time to time persecutions broke out. Some were very severe. And people died rather than recant their faith. In the midst of this storm, their faith was strong. We don't hear of them asking for God to make the persecution stop (though I'm sure they did want that) in the chronicles that have come down. They did not ask Jesus where are you or why don’t you care. They did not ask Jesus to intervene and stop the lion’s jaws or deflect the sword, but rather believed that even through death Jesus was with them and would catch them. They were able to find courage and trust that Jesus was with them rather than to cower. He was the calm that stilled them inside so that they could safely arrive at their ultimate destination—life in God. Their role was as witness to something transformative in the world no matter how futile it may have looked. And perhaps this is why one of the earliest symbols for the Church was a simple boat. This story of Mark captured their reality and also their deepest belief in Jesus’ constant presence with them. It also was a way to let fellow Christians know of each other through a symbol—a boat, with the mast understood as the cross—in a world where often one had to be a believer in Jesus in secret.
They were on to something. How many of us in times of distress have sought the shelter of the church? We come into the sanctuary for its peace and centering, its ability to still us and find a foothold of peace in the midst of the fury. For many people who do not go to church or aren’t even religious, the church or a chapel is the place they go when bad news strikes, or life is in turmoil. Through the prayers, the telling of the story, the celebration of Communion, the coming together to seek the holy, churches are incarnated places, incarnated with the living presence of Christ, whether that is the language we use or not. They are shelters in the storm.
This experience of the church as something that keeps us afloat when the waves threaten to swamp us is so profound and deep-seated that we call the church a boat. How many of us have heard that word “nave”? And I don't mean the Shakespearean kind, knave with a “k”. Nave as n-a-v-e. We use it to mean the sanctuary, the main gathering space? Nave is the Latin word for boat. So our sanctuary is very much our boat in which Jesus is with us as we are tossed about by the storms of life.
In this nave we can be stilled and find peace. We can find faith to go through the tempests. We can be reminded of where our gaze should be and what our vision to help us to see. Jesus is there. Jesus may come to us in the quiet whisper of a prayer. Jesus may be with us in the face and acts of others. Jesus may reveal himself as finding a hitherto unknown strength, resilience, or conviction. But present he is. And Jesus doesn’t necessarily stop the storm as he did in the Gospel today, but he can help us see how to use our oars and anchors and rudders to navigate through. The ultimate story we have to cling to is that of his cross and resurrection.
Jesus will give us that calm and stillness to shift our focus from whatever it is that threatens to swamp us, or whatever it is that seems to be causing us to perish. Instead we can see the storm and also look to find Jesus beside us and discover how is God with us through the tempest. When this perspective is allowed in we can often see new ways through, ways that are hopeful and fresh. What we now perceive becomes real, becomes our reality. Instead of seeing God as the storm out there we can experience God as with us, alongside us. Just as importantly Jesus is there with us as a captain is with his ship. He will not abandon us; he will even go down with us if that is what faces us. And more importantly than that he will do what the psalmist proclaims: Then were they glad because of the calm, and he brought them to the harbor they were bound for. That harbor is God and our faith is that sturdy boat that will not capsize because we have just enough belief, maybe only a mustard-seed sized amount, that in God at the end of all ends all will be restored, renewed and made well. So, what are we afraid of? Amen.
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