Joseph was a Good Man Advent 4 Yr A

+Mary, Joseph and Jesus may, quite possibly, be the first example of what we now call “A Blended Family.” You’ll notice that in the Prayers of the People for December we refer to “The Blessed Virgin Mary and Blessed Joseph, parents of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” Some of you may have wondered----doesn’t our priest know that Jesus’ Father is God? That Mary conceived through an act of the Holy Spirit, not the normal birds and the bees way?

Of course, I do, but I also resist referring to Joseph as Jesus’ Step Dad. As a matter of fact, I resist referring to any person who has assumed the responsibility of raising a child as a step-Dad or Step-Mom. These men and women have, through their love for their spouse, also assumed a love and commitment to children; children they may not have biologically created, but parent nonetheless. If there’s one thing our modern world has taught us, it’s that parenting has a whole lot more to do with what happens after conception than conception itself. For God to come among us, to experience the human existence as fully as possible, in the person of Jesus, God needed to use two humans as instruments, vessels for this task.

Enter Mary. Enter Joseph.

Mary is famous. She’s known the world over. Worshipped as a prophet and saint by Christians and Muslims (she’s one of four women prophets in the Quran, the holy book of Islam).

Mary is known, adored and worshiped. While Joseph may be as famous, I don’t think he gets his due—his adoration and worship--- as thoroughly as Mary.

There are a number of reasons for this, most notably the fact that the most familiar Christmas story---there are two nativity accounts in the Gospels---is from Luke, where Joseph has, at best, a “bit part.” [We’ll hear the Luke accounts of Jesus’ birth on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and we do every year.] The lesser-known birth account comes from Matthew’s Gospel, which we heard this morning, and will pick up again later in the Christmas season.

But today we hear Matthew’s account of Joseph’s annunciation—how he was told that what Mary, his betrothed, had told him was true---she was having a child via the Holy Spirit and he should follow through on plans to marry her…even though he would be subject to ridicule, ostracizing and shame.

In spite of all he would face, and in spite of the fact that no one would believe that he and Mary were telling the truth and in spite of the fact that he wouldn’t live to see it all come to fruition, Joseph said yes. He said yes.

It’s easy for us to say God gave Joseph an incredible gift—to raise a child of God, to be one of two human beings in all of creation God chose to raise Jesus. But think about what it meant for Joseph’s daily life.

Remember he was older--- significantly older than the teenaged Mary-- a man who should, by all accounts, have been slowing down and starting to reflect on his life, became, instead, saddled with what looked like a fiancé who had cheated on him, who then gave birth to a head-strong impetuous boy---remember when the 12 yr old Jesus gets left behind at the temple and ridicules his parents for being worried---yet with dignity and respect, this man says, “OK God, not my will, but yours.”

Joseph was quite a guy.

He doesn’t get as much press because he disappears from view fairly quickly, after the 12 yr old Jesus is left in the temple, we don’t hear from Joseph again. He may have died a natural death or he may have been killed in one of the Jewish uprisings against the stranglehold of the terrifying Roman occupiers, but he didn’t live to see Jesus begin his active ministry. It’s as if his job was to get Jesus to young adulthood—to teach this boy how to be a man---he helped Jesus develop a skill set---he taught him a trade—carpentry---but more importantly he taught him how to be a man. A dignified, respectful—especially of all the down trodden and outcast, man. A man who was able to carry the mantle of messiah not just in his divine self, but in his human self as well. Joseph helped Jesus become the man we lovingly call Emmanuel, Lord, Savior, Prince of Peace. Joseph, a regular guy from Bethlehem, an honorable man who was given a challenging task and without knowing how or why, with knowing only that an angel of the Lord assured him it was ok, said yes to being a father. A father to the Savior of the World. David taught the Son of Humanity to also be the Son of Joseph.

Joseph was a good man.

Several commentators suggest that Mary, who would be by Jesus’ side until his death and resurrection, guided the Divine part of him, encouraging him to use his divine gifts when needed as opposed when he wanted to---think the Wedding at Cana---but Joseph, Joseph was responsible for guiding the human part of him.

Like so many fathers and father figures in the world, Joseph took responsibility for the raising of a child…. regardless of the child’s biological heritage, Joseph and so many who have come since then said YES when asked to take a child and teach the child how to become a responsible honorable and dignified man or woman, to become an adult who through the values learned at the knee of a loving and responsible elder, strive to make this world---the world created by God and entrusted to our care ----a place where the Peace and Love of God can grow, flourish and rule in the hearts of all.

So, for Joseph the Carpenter and Father of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and for all the men and women of the world who say yes when entrusted with the raising of children, our most precious commodity, I say Thank You. And Amen. +

Advent 3 Yr A

John the Baptist was antsy. Sitting in prison and waiting, waiting for the messiah whose coming he had prophesied, waiting for his cousin Jesus to get on with the fire and brimstone of judgment, to get on with separating the chaff and the wheat, waiting for Jesus to clear the threshing room floor, waiting, no doubt, for Jesus to get him out of jail!! John asks, if you’re the one, then where’s the action? Where’s the wrath?

In response, Jesus lists his acts of love—no recompense here, just healing.

Jesus wasn’t the messiah a first century Jew expected. From John the Baptist of Jesus’ early ministry, to the apostles of his life and the early Christians of Paul and James, Jesus’ followers assumed that the second coming was going to happen soon--so they waited, getting everyone riled up to “be ready.”

Of course we’re still waiting…but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t get ready.

But, just what constitutes “getting ready?” Repenting of our sins, turning our lives around? Absolutely, these are important steps, but they’re reactive—reactions to choices we now regret. Besides being reactive, we must also be pro-active. We have a part in this second coming, but we need to pay attention, because God? God tends to show up where we least expect it…in the downtrodden, the lost and the unnoticed.

If the first Advent was ushered in via a scared young woman and her poor yet faithful fiancé, why should we expect the Second Advent to be some type of surround sound High definition blockbuster event?

My guess is that God will come in the most astonishing and unimaginable way possible, simply and quietly, because that’s what God does….God hides in plain sight.

No one expected anything good to come out of Nazareth and certainly no one gave that poor couple searching for lodging in Bethlehem a second thought. Just like so many in our world don’t give a second thought to the homeless, the hungry, the captive or the destitute among us. But we must because that’s how God comes to us. In the unnoticed, unrecognized “other.”

When God came the first time, in the person of Jesus, the Romans weren’t toppled, the Pharisees weren’t thrown out of the temple. The lame walked, the blind saw and the deaf heard.

The Kingdom of Heaven on earth isn’t going to be an event, God’s reign on earth is a process. A process which began to unfold through the First Advent, and which will culminate in the Second Advent. The first Advent and the second are all God’s doing, but the in between time? That’s ours. The in between time is the time for us to bring the love of God into action.

Jesus’ first coming did cast the mighty from their thrones—but not because of military action or legislation, but because he put compassion into action and that is what will bring Christ again. Compassion in action—the Second Advent will begin when we ----God’s beloved-----put the compassion of Christ into action.

And we can do it---we can bring compassionate justice into our world because we have God on our side [it’s right there in this morning’s collect]. God’s bountiful grace and mercy helps and delivers us--- from hardness of heart and wanderings of mind, from looking out for ourselves on the backs of our neighbors, from walking past the homeless and the outcast, the downtrodden and the lost. God’s bountiful grace and mercy is given to us as fuel…fuel to do all the work we’ve been given to do, work in redeeming this world from the power of selfishness and hatred, from war and violence, from cheating and deceit.

The second coming, the Second Advent, the coming of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth is guaranteed—it’s guaranteed because God is patient---God will wait until we get it right, God will wait until we realize that our part in the second Advent is neither passive nor impossible.

Our part in the Second Advent is active and possible, it is energetic and do-able, and it is necessary and needed. And it is up to you and to me.

John the Baptist wanted to know if Jesus was the one because Jesus wasn’t acting like he expected the Messiah to act. Today, the leaders of faith who get the most attention beg a similar question---they don’t act like people of faith—they seem to ignore the teachings of Judaism, Islam and Christianity, begging the question, “where is the loving God of faith? Where is the tolerance of the Almighty, of Yahweh, of Allah? Where is the peace of Abraham, of Isaac of Ishmael, of Jesus? How can you, [how can we], preach a message of redemption, of repentance, of renewal when what comes out of your mouths is hate and intolerance?”

The questions of John the Baptist, “are you the one?” came because the peace of a humble carpenter’s kid from the backwater area of Nazareth was not how he envisioned God in the Flesh. The questions were legitimate and Jesus answered them---not by proclamation, but by action.

The public view of religion today has been usurped by fanatics who have high-jacked the message of God, as expressed in the three great Abrahamic faiths, to suit their own needs of power and elitism. No wonder people today ask us, how can your faith be the answer…look at what’s being done in the name of God!

John the Baptist was antsy, antsy for some action from the Messiah. And now the Messiah is antsy, anxious for some action from us.

Our Advent task, our Christmas task, our Epiphany, Lent, Easter and Pentecost task is to reclaim the message of the incarnation—the message of peace on earth—and make sure that in all our doings we live into the message of hope which is Christ, that the lame and the blind and the deaf of our lives—those people who are deaf to the pleas of the homeless, the people who are lame to the plight of the destitute, the people who are blind to the needs of the outcast—are healed.

Advent 2 YrA

John the Baptist: wild haired, camel skin wearing, locust eating mad-man standing in the middle of the murky Jordan River, preaching a message of repentance---accusing the world of sin and challenging everyone, especially the Jewish elite of his day---to make their way straight and get ready. For the Kingdom of Heaven was coming and there was no time for arrogant self-serving piety.

No doubt the Pharisees and Sadducees wished he would just go away. Or at least be quiet.

But it was too late. Word had gotten out about this prophet—was it Elijah?—who was baptizing people with those muddy waters, promising them a new kind of baptism—with fire and the Holy Spirit no less---to be rendered by a messiah—the messiah. His shtick, if he was to be believed, was just the opening act, the main event was about to burst on the scene. And John, John was trying very hard to get everyone ready.

Of course getting ready is what Advent is all about and it’s why the Baptist takes up two of our four Advent Sunday Gospels---because we are to be aware, to get ready and to repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is about to arrive. God is coming to be with us, we best be ready. We best repent.

Repentance. To turn from sin and dedicate oneself to amendment of life.

To turn from sin. Sin is such a tough word for our 21 st century ears---well at least for my 21 st century ears—its been tossed around by so many tele-evangelists, folks who profess to be holier than thou but who, in the stark light of day, turn out to be a lot more human than holy.

We sin when our actions take us away from God. The German Jesuit Theologian Karl Rahner puts it best when he says that all human behavior moves along a continuum—a continuum that is either moving toward God or moving away from God. Are our actions moving us closer to God or farther away from God? If we’re moving farther away from God we’re sinning. All sins are not the mortal sins we here our Roman Catholic sisters and brothers talk about. To sin is to miss the mark. To sin is to do something, which furthers our own self-interest instead of moving along with the divine plan. You know the divine plan I’m talking about—loving our neighbor as yourself, loving God with all our heart and soul and mind. Sinning isn’t always headline news. Sin, more often is simply missing the mark. Sinning moves us away from God.

The goal of our life, according to Rahner, should be to move toward God—because God is always—always—reaching out to us.

Of course, during Advent this is particularly poignant for us because in the Christmas event—in the birth of Jesus, God not only reaches for us, God becomes us.

With God coming to dwell among us, the time seems ripe for us —to repent, amend our lives and head toward the outstretch arms of our loving God.

So we visit the stories of John the Baptist, this wild man on the banks of the river, screaming at us to straighten up and fly right.

He saves his most venomous wrath for the religious elite of his day—the Pharisees and Sadducees—they figure by virtue of their heritage—being children of Abraham---they’re set. They assume the Baptist has come on the scene to help the gentiles, the pagans, the fallen away Jews---but not them.

The arrogance of piety—the thought that his message of repentance was for other people---people who don’t follow the law, people who don’t tithe, people who don’t offer the appropriate sacrifices at the temple—it was this arrogance which fueled John’s You Brood of Vipers rage.

Because John knew that such arrogance was just one of the many things which draw us away from God…and that all of us==Pharisees and Sadducees, Gentiles and Pagans, you and me…that we all need to day in and day out turn around---repent----change direction and start heading toward God.

Changing direction. That’s what repentance is. It ‘s a turning around. And that, according to Episcopal priest Sam Portaro, is exactly what John the Baptist is asking us to do. It’s what he was telling those who trudged to the banks of the Jordan to do, and its what we are to do. How can we increase our holiness, our piety, our faithfulness? How can we be better Christians? How can we best prepare ourselves for the coming events of incarnation, how can we ready ourselves to receive God among us? Pray more? Tithe more? Go to church more? Now all these are good things and many of us find them very helpful but they’re instruments of our faith---they are not our faith. Faith isn’t lived out in these pews. Faith is lived out in the world…in the offices, the homes, the grocery stores, the banks, the regularness of our lives. Faith---true faith---life changing faith, faith that will bring the reign of God fully into this world---is exercised out in the world.

So as we settle into our second week of anticipation, our second week of preparing for God among us, we are to go out into the world, loving and serving one another as Christ loves and serves us. We are to walk the streets of our lives with the truth of our faith---that God so loved us God came to be among us ----straightening our paths and turning us around, because when we do that—when we live our lives as Christ directs us, we will be a beacon—attracting others to us bringing people toward the light of Christ, a light which, when we live toward God instead of away from God---shines on the darkness of this world, a world which desperately longs to be wrapped in the loving embrace of God.

Advent 1 Yr A

Advent always seems to sneak up on me. I guess it’s my determination to give Thanksgiving its due; I resist the onslaught of Christmas decorations that appear the day after Halloween. In my focus on fall and harvest themes, pumpkins and squash, pots of soup on the stove and a slow extraction of sweaters and coats from storage, the transformation from the settling in of a WNY fall, the winding down of the long season following Pentecost into the expectation—the getting ready-- of Advent catches me by surprise, each and every time.

Advent has long been misunderstood. Advent isn’t a mini- Lent but it’s also not a 4-week wind up to Christmas.

Advent is, by design, a penitential season of sorts—it is a season when we focus on becoming reconciled with God. But it’s not like Lent when we lay ourselves bare before God, stripping ourselves, confessing our sins and awaiting God’s redeeming act of resurrection. No Advent is when God lays God’s self-bare before us[1]---when God comes to dwell among us in the stark vulnerability of a newborn baby.

Advent is when we ready ourselves for the ultimate reconciliation of humanity and God---reconciliation in the person of Jesus Christ.

It’s actually overwhelming, when you think about it, God is coming to us—how can we ever be ready for that?

But here we are, Advent One, the first Sunday of Advent, getting ready for the birth of Jesus, the nativity, the wonder of the incarnation.

And to help us get ready, our lectionary, our readings for this Sunday—and the next two—focus on “end times” imagery. Apocalyptic themes about readiness for judgment, the demand for justice and the hope for Christ’s second coming.

‘Tis the season for avoiding darkness, debauchery, licentiousness and the thief who steals away in the night…

ho ho ho.

This is a season to expect the unexpected to prepare for something we can’t even fathom, Emmanuel: God with us. God as us. God in the flesh.

Advent is about waiting. Advent is about getting ready. Advent is about remembering that we don’t know the day, the hour, or the moment of Christ’s return.

We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. We can plan all we want, making lists and checking them twice, but life marches on, seemingly oblivious to our desires. Life is fragile, unpredictable and wonderfully spontaneous, despite our best-laid plans!

What we do know is that, as we ready ourselves for the commemoration of the first Advent---the arrival of Jesus, we’re preparing for the second Advent, the coming of Christ again.

Our lessons today have a theme---judgment and justice. Darkness and light. We are to resist the dark, and seek the light. We do this by seeking and serving Christ in all those we meet and by respecting the dignity of every human being. We are to beat our swords into plowshares, our spears into pruning hooks. We aren’t to rest until justice reigns on the earth. That’s our task, that’s what is to occupy us from now until the end of time. Serious stuff. Which is why

I think all this Christmas frivolity, the shopping of Black Friday, the parties, the mailing of packages to loved one’s far away, the writing of Christmas cards is….. absolutely fine. Good even. Really good.

The challenge of this season is to look past the presents and the parties to remember what they represent—a way to let others know that they matter to us. That they are important. As long as we spend this season of preparation for Christ’s birth as a time to tell others how much we love them, and to work at making sure the dignity of all human beings is honored and respected then, party away. Shop til you drop---just never forget that with every Christmas card you sign, every stocking you fill and every glass of egg nog you sip is a way to cherish one another.

And cherishing one another is what God wants us to do, because that’s what God does.

On the last day, we’ll be judged for how we’ve lived our lives and the litmus test---the standard by which we’ll be measured-- is very simple: justice. Have we lived justly?

Have we moved out of darkness and into light?

(This is what Advent asks us to do---it’s right there in today’s collect—“cast away the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” )

The darkness of our lives is injustice. And while we cannot overcome all the injustice in the world, we can refuse to accept a world where injustice is ok. We can be a thorn in the side of our elected leaders, of the power brokers of this world. We can make sure that the oppressed are never forgotten.

These readings aren’t designed to threaten us; they’re designed to encourage us. They aren’t telling us that the holiday season is wrong, they’re telling us that all the parties and gift giving isn’t something we HAVE to do, it’s something we WANT to do, because we want those we love to know we love them; and we want those who may not know the love of another to know our love, our concern, our wish for them is that they are able to live with dignity and respect, because that’s the birthright of every human being.

Just as our children and grandchildren, our nieces and nephews, our young friends and family make their Christmas lists and check them twice, I encourage you to count your blessings—check them twice-- let them lighten your world, freeing you from the darkness of worry and want. Let those blessings encourage you to live justly and honorably, respecting one another, as the baby born in that barn in Bethlehem wants us too.

So I wish you all a very happy and blessed Advent. A season of getting ready to receive the glorious love of God, as given to us all in Jesus Christ. Amen.

---

[1] David Lupo, The Text this Week Facebook page 11.26.10

A Thanksgiving Homily

Two weeks ago this very evening I awoke in the recovery room of Roswell Park Cancer Institute so overwhelmed with gratitude all I could do, for several minutes, was cry.

So overcome all I could utter, through the tears, was “thank you.” Never have two words meant so much.

Thank you. Thank you God.

Thank you God for the presence of a world class cancer institute in our backyard, with a newly arrived surgeon who, full of smarts and compassion, full of determination and grace had removed the cancer from me and had painstakingly poked and prodded until she was sure---absolutely positively sure—that all of the cancer was gone. That anything which looked or felt suspicious was removed, checked, double checked and triple checked.

Thank you God for a community of family and friends huddled in that waiting room, and across town and across the country by phone and computer, waiting for the news…committed to walk with me wherever this journey takes us. Members, each and everyone, of Team Cathy—people who aren’t just helping me, but are fully in this with me. Ready to help me laugh and cry.

Sometimes all in the same moment.

Thank you God for the community of faith which is this diocese and this parish Church of the Good Shepherd—people who prayed me through that day, the days leading up to it and all the days yet to come. A community of love who will walk with me in good times and in bad, who will rejoice with every victory and will lament with every set back. A community, which encompasses a faith in the bread of life, Christ Jesus who’ll never leave us hungry, never leave us thirsty. A faith in the peace of God, which truly surpasses all understanding.

Thank you God for faith. For the indescribable, ever present belief that, as Paul states in tonight’s Epistle: whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure comes from the love of God, poured out for us through Jesus Christ.

And, thank you God for cancer.

Yes, thank you for cancer.

Because of cancer I am learning lessons I never even knew I needed to learn. Because of cancer I am discovering a depth of love and faith and gratitude I never knew existed. Because of cancer, I have learned that Thanksgiving is not just a day for turkey, football and pie.

Because of cancer, dear God, I have found gratitude.

True gratitude, Gratitude from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. Gratitude deep within my heart and soul.

Almighty and gracious God, for all of this and all that is yet to come, I simply say,

Thank You.

Amen.

All Saints' Sunday 2010

I sing a song of the saints of God

Patient and brave and true,

Who toiled and fought and lived and died

For the Lord they loved and knew.

And one was a doctor, and one was a queen,

And one was a shepherdess on the green:

They were all of them saints of God --- and I mean

God helping, to be one too.

They loved their Lord so dear, so dear,

And his love made them strong;

And they followed the right for Jesus' sake,

The whole of their good lives long.

And one was a soldier, and one was a priest,

And one was slain by a fierce wild beast;

And there's not any reason --- no not the least

Why I shouldn't be one too.

They lived not only in ages past,

There are hundreds of thousands still,

The world is bright with the joyous saints

Who love to do Jesus' will.

You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea,

In church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea,

For the saints of God are just folk like me,

And I mean to be one too.

Dust is dust and faith is faith. Pentecost 22 Yr C 10. 25.10

In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus tells us that when we fast we’re to wash our face and comb our hair, to not draw any attention to ourselves because we’re fasting. The lesson, I think, is that:

Faith isn’t something to display, it’s something for others to notice about us.

I learned this lesson many years ago, at the end of an Ash Wednesday Liturgy back home in suburban Chicago. I was probably 10 or 11 and our parish priest, Fr Muth, suggested, as we were leaving church, that we wipe our foreheads free of the ashes he had just imposed. His rationale was, that as we returned to the secular world, we weren’t to wear our piety, our faith on our sleeves—or in this case, foreheads. That true piety, true faith is in the action, not the appearances. So, to this day, I wipe the ashes from my forehead as I leave church—not because I don’t want people to see that I am a faithful Christian, but because I want them to know—to experience—that I am a faithful Christian.

I don’t wipe away the knowledge that I am but dust and to dust I shall return—I wipe away any sense of entitlement, honor or praise which may be given to me because I went to church on Ash Wednesday. I don’t wipe away my faith, I wipe away my arrogance.

I ‘m not saying everyone should wipe their foreheads off on Ash Wednesday, it’s just something that works for me---it’s humbling, reminding me that all that I am and all that I have is because of God…that without God I would be but dust.

This knowledge—that all that I am and all that have is because of God, is humbling. And humility…humility is a big part of who Jesus wants us to be.

Humility is a good thing. But it’s often misunderstood. Humility is not humiliation. Humility is not about being a worthless wretch. Humility is realizing that although we can never earn the blessings God bestows upon us, we can never earn the love God has for us we can be grateful for that love and gracious in our accepting of it. We can ask for it, receive it and, out of gratitude, strive to do everything in our lives for the glory of God.

Not us, not me, but God.

That’s humility.

To not notice and remember God in all we do? That’s arrogant.

Humility and arrogance lie at the crux of both last week and this week’s Gospel.

Sometimes we’re arrogant, sometimes we’re humble. Sometimes we’re the Pharisee or the unjust judge, other times we’re the tax collector or the persistent widow.

But all the time—all the time—we’re nothing without God.

The Pharisee wasn’t humble. Neither was the unjust judge. Both of them were full of themselves. So focused on hoarding what they had—money, power, prestige and their own sense of righteousness, that they failed to notice the widow, to notice the tax collector.

To notice God.

In many ways the Pharisee looked like a righteous person---he donates 10 % of his worth to the temple, he worships, he doesn’t lie or cheat or steal. Not a bad guy….but he fails to give credit where credit is due. He forgets that without God he is but dust. He is a self made man who takes all the credit for his success.

He’s not grateful, he’s not humble. He’s not gracious.

As Lutheran Theologian David Lose states, the Pharisee’s prayer of gratitude may be outwardly spoken to God, but inwardly the praise he offers is for himself. He proclaims his own righteousness when he states: “God I thank you that I am not like other people [I am good and righteous].”

It sounds like he’s thanking God for making such a swell guy such as himself. This isn’t humility, it’s arrogance. It’s not prayer, it’s self promotion. What looks like righteousness is actually self-righteousness.

At first glance, the tax collector doesn’t appear righteous at all. He makes his living off the backs of the poor and disenfranchised. He’s done much to offend the law, the Temple and God. But he has enough humility, he has enough self-knowledge, to realize this….he’s not praying to God out of thanksgiving or out of gratitude. He doesn’t pray to God out of self-love, like the Pharisee. He prays out of self-loathing. Out of disgust. He prays to God out of desperate need. Out of longing. Out of hope against hope.

The tax collector prays to God on the off chance—the off chance that this God truly is an all forgiving all loving God who responds to all who call out. He prays to God counting on the sheer unconditional abundant love of a God who promises to grant mercy on all who come to God with hearty repentance and a desire to amend their life. He prayed to the God spoken of by the prophet Joel in today’s first lesson, that “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

The tax collector doesn’t approach God out of duty, but out of desire. He doesn’t pray to God out of habit, but out of faith.

The Pharisee approached God out of duty, out of show. He prayed to God because that’s what righteous people do. His faith isn’t bred out of longing and desire, his faith is bred out of duty and expectation.

The tax collector doesn’t want to be noticed by anyone, he just wants to be heard by God.

The Pharisee wants to be noticed by everyone while he fails to hear God.

The Pharisee isn’t a bad guy….but he is arrogant. The tax collector isn’t a saint, but he is humble. The Pharisee appeared to have faith while the tax collector had faith. The Pharisee looked righteous while the tax collector, in his humble and desperate appeal to God, was righteous.

So today I thank Fr Muth for teaching me that faith isn’t something to flaunt like the Pharisee, but it’s something to seek, like the tax collector.

Yes Fr. Muth, I understand it now, faith isn’t what you show, it’s what you live.

Amen.

God is dancing on our hearts-- Proper 24 Yr C

In JD Salinger’s book, Franny and Zooey, Franny, a college student, has decided to take St Paul’s instruction to “pray without Ceasing” (1Thessalonians 5:17) to heart. This, in her opinion, is the only way she can fully bring God into her life. Her efforts cause her to have a mental breakdown and she has returned to her family home to recuperate. In an effort to get her out of her almost catatonic state, Franny’s brother Zooey berates her for thinking that she needed to somehow entice God into her life, telling her that we’re all carrying God deep with in us where we are often to stubborn, to distracted, to look. Zooey’s characterization of carrying God deep within us is the best definition I’ve heard yet of our “incarnational faith.”

I talk about this all the time because I think it’s what makes our brand of Christianity so special. The idea that we embody our faith-- that God is in us and we are in God---makes sense to me and comforts me. So I talk about it. A lot.

We’re to ingest our faith—as so beautifully played out in the Holy Eucharist--to have it become completely in us and of us. It’s a give and take proposition, God’s in us and we’re in God. But, because we are who we are, we spend a whole lot of time looking for God, seeking God out here when, as Zooey tells Franny, God is already here. Totally and completely. Always.

God promised this from the beginning of time. We hear of it in today’s reading from Jeremiah---“I will be their God and they will be my people. I will write the law on their hearts.” Can’t get much clearer than that. God wants us so much that God is written on our hearts---suggesting that, if we really listen to our heart’s desire, if we settle ourselves to notice what is already deep within us, we’ll find God. Because God is in us and we are to be in God.

Just like Zooey says.

Franny’s efforts to get closer to God aren’t wrong---praying without ceasing is bound to increase our awareness of God---but it doesn’t bring God any closer, because God is already close. It’s funny, we spend a lot of time and effort trying to get closer to God, assuming that God is some elusive force outside of us when God is already within us, just waiting for us to notice. But,

Connecting with God is a two way street, a type of dance. We long for God and God longs for us…we just need to meet in the middle.

In the parable of the persistent widow, a widow ---remember in Jesus’ time there was no lower socio economic status than that of a widow-----is seeking justice against an unnamed adversary. Justice, in this case, can only be granted by the local judge---an, by all accounts, unpleasant man who had no fear or love of God and no respect or love of people. A scoundrel of a sort, but the local magistrate nonetheless. The widow had no choice but to pursue justice through him. The point Jesus makes is: if such a jerk like the judge would listen to the persistent pleadings of such a meaningless member of society—the widow-- then imagine how , if we are as persistent in our own pleadings as the widow, a just and loving God will respond to us. But, are we always the widow in this story? Is God always the judge? I don’t think so.

Sometimes we’re the widow: fervently, and persistently seeking God. But then there are other times—probably more than we care to admit, when we’re the unjust judge, and God is the widow. Times when we ignore the tenacious pleadings of a loving God, who longs to reach us, who longs for us to listen. A God who just wants to be noticed. A God who wants to be found. A God who wants to be heard.

Jesus sums it up at the end of Gospel when he asks---“when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?”---will he find us engaged in a dance with God?

Will he find us seeking God as God seeks us?

That is the question.

God is waiting for us to seek God out as fervently as God seeks us.

This is what Franny was trying to do with her attempts at unceasing prayer. She thinks if she continually prays, God will magically appear.

But what Franny forgot, what we all forget , is that God doesn’t need to be coaxed out of hiding—God is hiding in plain sight, waiting for us. Longing for us to seek out the divine as earnestly and as urgently as the widow seeks out the judge because then—when we have sought God so fervently, so tenaciously so deliberately and persistently---we will discover the secret Zooey knows, that God was and is deep with in us, residing on our very hearts where we were a little too stubborn, a little too timid, a little too dense to look.

This is the dance of our faith---God longs for us to notice God and we cry out to God, longing for God to notice us.

God loves the persistent widow part of us-- the Franny part of us that seeks to connect with God without ceasing.

God also loves the unjust judge part of us—the part which tries to deny the persistent, tenacious voice of God until finally we succumb, finally we give in and finally we discover that God has always and will always be, dancing on our hearts and filling our very souls.

As I begin this wholly unexpected journey of cancer my prayer is that I’ll remember to be tenacious in my seeking of the God I long to know and radically receptive in my welcoming of the God who longs to know me. My prayer for all of you is that you’ll join me in this journey, you’ll join me in this dance we’re all invited to, a dance between us and the Divine, a dance of love, a dance of hope and a dance of health.

Amen.

Lamenting is Good News 10.3.10

Today’s readings from Lamentations are Good News. Really.

You may ask: Where’s the good news in laments such as: How lonely sits the city that once was full of people? Or the thought of my affliction and my homelessness is wormwood and gall?

You see, the Good News of our faith isn’t always bright and cheery. A whole lot of scripture involves mourning, lamenting and grief.

And that’s ok, because Holy Scripture provides a road map back in time, showing us that the human condition has been the same for generations. Human beings, whether in exile after the fall of Jerusalem in 586 BCE, which is the setting for the Book of Lamentations, or whether a 21^st century people in a rust belt city trying to maneuver their way through this modern world; worry bemoan grieve and cry.

We, because of our hard-wired need for companionship, for community, because of our ability to love, experience loss. Relationships end, people leave us---they die, they divorce they move out they move on. We lose things too---jobs, homes, security, hopes and dreams. And when we lose these people and these things, we often become sad. Or mad. Or both. And when mad, when sad, we complain, we yell, we cry, we lament.

So, where’s the Good News in that?

The Good News is that God loves us in all sorts and conditions---God wants to be with us in all the things, at all times. Even the times when we are really really ticked off at God. Even when the pain we feel seems so unbearable we can’t stand it.

As you know, last weekend we hosted a group of jr high students from across the diocese. We got into a discussion of how they explain their faith to their friends.

One young woman, I’ll call her Emma, mentioned that you can’t really explain God, that you must experience God.

When Emma was 8 years old, her mother died of cancer. It was a quick death—some 8 weeks between diagnosis and death. Emma said, that when people would try and comfort her by saying, “now dear don’t cry, your mom is with God now,” she would feel worse. How dare God taker her mommy from her!

Finally a wise adult urged Emma to express how mad she was at God.

By having these self -described temper tantrums at God, Emma began to experience God, she got to know God.

By experiencing God, instead of trying to understand God, Emma came to a place in her grief which, although still incredibly painful and sad, became bearable. Manageable. God bless the adult who sat down with Emma and let her lament, let her rail against God and let her express her pain. For in doing that Emma showed an incredible faith. She let God have it without fear that God would abandon her. By letting God have it, Emma was able to welcome God back into her life. Because she was honest, because she showed God exactly who she was, she became more sure in her faith. At 8 years of age.

When my father died, my nephew John was not quite 14. Now many of you met John when he visited for my installation. Now 31 years old, John has severe cerebral palsy and as a result, cannot speak. In the middle of the memorial Eucharist for my father, John began to cry…not just the quite flow of tears so many of us were crying that day, but he let out a wail which ripped my heart out. It was an honest and real lament of a young boy who had lost his grandpa, his father figure, his confidante and his pal. To this day people remember John’s wail as emblematic of the pain we all felt. On that day, John let God and everyone else within earshot, know of his sorrow.

Lamenting is good for us. By expressing our sorrow, our worries, our anger, our grief and our sadness. By letting God have it, as it were, we’re doing exactly what Christ has asked us to do…. we’re giving ourselves---all of who we are---to God.

And that’s what God wants. God wants us just as we are, even if just as we are in any moment in time is angry, hopeless and despairing. That’s having faith. Faith that God accepts us in all the varied conditions we find ourselves in.

Suffering is a huge, unavoidable element in the human condition. To be human is to, at one time or another, suffer. No one gets an exemption from this suffering. the Book of Lamentations gives dignity to this suffering by insisting that God enters our suffering and is our companion in it.[1]

God is a companion in our suffering, God is a partner in our lament---now that’s good news.

Faith isn’t just what we have when things are going well. Faith isn’t just what we have when things are not going well and we reach out to God in calm and measured tones. Faith is also what we show when we love God enough—and trust God enough—to moan, bewail, cry and lament at God.

Faith is how we tap into the immense power of God in our lives. Faith is the invitation we give God, at any particular moment in time, to lead us. Faith is when we stop trying to be in charge and let God be in charge.

Lamenting is an act of faith---by railing at God, by screaming out to God, by quietly weeping in a sorrow so intense and so deep we cannot see anything else around us, we are laying ourselves bare before God.

And that’s just what God wants us to do.

For when we allow ourselves to be completely honest---and a lament is nothing if not honest----we’ve opened our hearts and our minds and our souls to God.

So don’t worry if your faith some days is the size of a mustard seed, don’t worry if some days you have only sadness and anger to give to God. For in sadness and anger, in loss and despair, in lamentations and exhortations we are presenting ourselves to God just as we are, just as God created us to be.

And that is, indeed, Good News.

Amen.

---

[1] Eugene Peterson, Introduction to Lamentations, The Message).

18 Pentecost, September 26, 2010

+From Wednesday’s Buffalo News: A lawyer who admitted Tuesday to stealing 2.7 million dollars from his clients in a complicated web of schemes, pleaded guilty to 33 felony counts as he admitted to fleecing 23 clients and loan agencies.

The reason? To finance an opulent mansion he was building in Orchard Park.

What would cause someone to commit such fraud? Well, perhaps DA Frank Sedita summed it up best when he said the lawyer’s motive was, “good old fashioned greed.”

Greed: an excessive desire for more.

This man’s greed caused him to a) break the law; b) take advantage of clients who, according to court records, “struggled financially as they waited for verdicts or settlements in their cases.”

Even though already wealthy, this man’s excessive desire for more caused him to lose sight of right and wrong, to disrespect his clients and to violate the trust they placed in him.

His being wealthy wasn’t what caused his problems, it was his crazy desire for more which became the problem. Because, that desire, when left unchecked, can become an obsession and obsessions distract and derail us. The distraction away from the good is what tripped him up.

And it’s this—this distraction away from the good-- which really gets Jesus’ blood boiling.

Jesus doesn’t care if we’re rich or poor, God isn’t interested in our debt to income ratio. God wants us—Jesus tells us---to take care of one another—to respect one another.

The Rich man, as we heard in Luke this morning didn’t do this. He didn’t treat Lazarus with love. He didn’t treat Lazarus with respect. I’m not even sure, in life, if the rich man ever even noticed Lazarus.

But after death? Well then the rich man noticed Lazarus—noticed him in paradise while the rich man? The rich man sat in exile, in torment, far from paradise.

Seems pretty cut and dry doesn’t it…..suffer in this life , get rewarded in the afterlife. Be rewarded in this life, suffer in the afterlife.

Seems like the rich are doomed and the poor will be exalted. But to think that is to only consider this story at face value, to assume that the primary issue is wealth, that somehow God doesn’t want us to be wealthy.

But wealth isn’t what this parable is about. This parable is about worth and how, when we find worth in things and in stuff, in power and prestige instead of finding worth and dignity in all whom we encounter-we lose our way.

The lawyer I mentioned at the beginning of this sermon appears to have lost his way. So did the rich man.

You see, somehow, when we get distracted by money, we get lost, and before we know it, we’ve cut ourselves off from God, stuck on the wrong side of the chasm, the wrong side of the divide.

How do we get so lost? Most of us here today don’t have to worry about being distracted by riches, but we have plenty of things to distract us---wanting what we want and wanting it now. Worrying about what we don’t have. We get lost when those things—the worries and the wants-- take priority in our lives.

So I don’t think this Gospel is about wealth at all. I think it’s about being aware. About seeing what’s going on around us and responding to it. When Jesus is railing against wealth he isn’t saying, being rich is bad. He’s saying, being blind to need is bad. Being deaf to need is bad.

Being unaware is what’s bad.

The Rich Man didn’t notice Lazarus until he needed something. Lazarus wasn’t another human being to the Rich Man, he was a means to an end. He was a servant. He was a slave. The Rich Man, if he ever looked at Lazarus at all, certainly didn’t see Christ in him. The Rich Man respected a lot of things—money, power and prestige but he forgot to respect the one thing we are commanded to respect: each other.

The Rich Man couldn’t , for all his riches, see what was right under his nose.

And there’s the problem.

If we don’t see what’s around us, then how will we ever find our way to God? If we’re so caught up in worries about money—---too much, not enough, whatever--if we let our concern about money or power or prestige take our focus away from seeking God in all we do, then we’re on the Rich Man side of the chasm, aren’t we? If we stay focused on the stuff of this world then we remain on the other side of the great divide, far apart, making it seem as if God is unreachable.

But God is never unreachable. God doesn’t hide from us, we hide from God. When we fail to see Christ in those around us, when we fail to offer assistance, regardless of how meager it may seem to us, we hide from God.

Now, this may not sound like a stewardship sermon, but it is. Because when we really notice one another, when we see Christ in all whom we encounter, when we, out of the love we garner from this community become strong enough to respect the dignity of every human being, no matter how challenging that may seem, we’ve hit the jackpot. Then we’re rich. And our job, once we receive such riches, is to give back.

Not because we have to, but because we want to.

So, listen carefully to our stewardship speakers, reflect on what this place has meant to you and then help us to continue this work, help us to be who you want us to be. Offer as much of yourself as you can. For in giving---of time, talent and treasure-- we bridge the gap between us and God. We bridge all divides.

In giving we arrive in the land God promised, a land flowing with hope and promise, a land where love of God and love of neighbor are embraced and lived. +

Pentecost 17, Proper 20 Yr C

+At the end of the announcements each week I say an offertory sentence, words taken directly from scripture to ready us for making and receiving offerings at the altar. We bring forward the collection plates, the bread and the wine and then we receive the gift of grace through the body and blood of Christ at the altar. I usually say “Walk in Love as Christ Loved us and gave himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.” There are several others, including: “If you are offering your gift at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, then come offer your gift.”

The point of this sentence is that if we’re holding a grudge, if we have unfinished business, if we haven’t forgiven a misunderstanding, a debt, or a disagreement, then we aren’t ready to make an offering to God or to receive the abundant grace of God offered to us through the Eucharist.

God wants us free and clear when we come to this altar. That’s why we do a confession of sin just before we come with the gifts. It prepares us, it wipes the slate clean---it frees us.

Today’s Gospel-- the Parable of the Dishonest Manager-- is a story about the forgiving of debts. Not just monetary debts, but all debts---all the scores we keep—who has slighted whom, who owes whom an apology…we have a laundry list of things done to us, and things we’ve done to others ---which must be cleared from our hearts and souls before we can fully receive God’s love as offered to us through the sacrament of Holy Communion.

Today’s parable has a lot of conniving, debting and dishonesty in it. And it’s easy to get lost, trying to figure out who’s the villain, and who’s the hero.

To review-- there is an absentee landlord, landowner who has a resident manager to handle the day to day affairs of his business---which includes taking advantage of the farm workers---paying them an unlivable wage, charging them huge rents and then gouging them at the company owned store….

….In summary: the landowner was cheating the peasants, the manager was cheating the landowner and the peasants by taking a little off the top for himself. When the manager is caught by the landowner the manager turns to the peasants and by cheating the landowner even more, makes the peasants happy. There’s a lot of cheating and conniving going on here.

Luke wraps up this parable talking about faithfulness, dishonest wealth and true riches.

So, once again, it sounds like Jesus is condemning wealth.

But to just assume that and move on is to miss what Luke has been saying to us all summer----that all the riches of this world will never ever take the place of the riches God bestows upon us….for the grace of God is what makes all things possible –even our wealth. And to be able to fully receive God into our hearts we must be free of resentment, free of regret, free of burden.

For Luke, forgiveness is the name of the game. Luke tells us again and again that God is always ready to forgive. Abundantly, extravagantly outlandishly. That God, regardless of what we’ve done, is completely willing---anxious, actually---to forgive us.

Now, as we heard last week, while forgiveness is always available we must ask for it, we must long for it, we must seek it…forgiveness is not some free giveaway, it’s an abundant gift given to those who are ready to receive it, who have repented, have amended their lives and want to be washed in the forgiveness of God to start their life anew. A process we go through, week in and week out as we come to this altar to be forgiven, healed, renewed…fed in the glory of God, nourished to go out and do the work we have been given to do.

But, and here is where this week’s parable becomes clearer, forgiveness is not just something we receive …it’s also something we give….Jesus makes it very very clear in the Lord’s Prayer---forgive us our trespasses, our sins, our debts as we forgive those who have trespassed—sinned—debted against us.

Jesus is telling us, with this convoluted story of landowners managers and peasants, that we must forgive others—their mistakes, their faults, their debts---in order to be forgiven ourselves.

Our forgiveness of others is to have the same character as God’s forgiveness of us---as God’s love for us: it is to be abundant, extravagant and outlandish. It must be overflowing, it must be constant. With this parable we are told that we must forgive… that only in forgiving others can we truly accept the forgiveness God has for us. The forgiveness of God is so intense, so absolute, that we have to make room for it.

To do that, we must empty ourselves---of our resentments, our anger, our bitterness, our disdain and our petty scorekeeping. We are to-- simply and completely--- forgive people. Everyone. Not just those who have, in our eyes, earned it…..but everyone.

None of us can earn forgiveness, we can only desire it…and we only desire it, we only want it, when we realize, when we admit that we’ve made a mistake.

The manager had no right to forgive half the debts of those debtors.

But neither did the landowner have the right to pay those debtors an unlivable wage.

There is no villain in this story and there’s no hero …and that’s the point.

In this parable, everyone was making mistakes….everyone needed forgiveness….

Just like real life. We all make mistakes, we all need forgiveness.

Jesus is saying, don’t wait for someone to ask for forgiveness, just grant it…For it isn’t our job to keep score, it isn’t our job to decide who gets forgiven what when and how, Our job is to free ourselves enough to receive the fullness of God’s love.

By granting forgiveness, we lighten our own load of bitterness and resentment, we free up space deep within us, space which will be filled at the altar as we present ourselves, forgiven, healed and ready to be fed by the grace and truth of God, who forgives all our debts.

Always.

+

Sept. 12, 2010

How would you feel if, because of the actions of a few, you, because you identify yourself as a Christian, were discriminated against, hated reviled and wished harm?

It would feel lousy, right?

Perhaps you would say, “hey don’t blame me for the actions of a few crazy radicals. I am a ‘real Christian’ and I follow the teachings of Jesus to the best of my ability. I believe that God is Love and that we are called to love our neighbor, regardless of who they are or what they do.”

If there is one thing the actions of Terry Jones-- that pastor in Gainesville Florida who was spearheading the Int’l Burn the Qu’ran Day—did, was offer a tangible reminder of how the millions of peace loving, devout and honorable Muslims must feel in this day and age of misunderstanding the Islamic faith. It served as a reminder of how the actions of a very few can skew the perception of a great many. You and I are no more hate-filled Qu’ran burners, than the Muslims who worship at the mosque on Amherst Street are terrorists who wish us dead.

Fear is powerful. Fear can paralyze. Fear can antagonize. Fear can intimidate, fear can incite. Fear is a complex human trait…causing both flight---getting ourselves out of harm’s way---and fight---causing us to dive right in, fighting our way free of fear, free of danger.

Think about September 11, 2001. As terror took hold in NYC, Washington DC and that field in western PA did you react in measured tones, realizing that whoever was behind the attacks needed our prayers and forgiveness?

Probably not.

Because when we are terrified, when something happens which puts everything we believe, everything we trust in, everything we hope for in peril, we lose our measured selves, we lose perspective. We quickly lose our bearings, our way and can react in a manner we would never expect….we can become reactionary and intolerant.

Hate is kept alive when we let fear rule us instead of faith. Hate is kept alive when we claim that if we don’t attack first, then we’ll be attacked. Hate is kept alive when we believe that there are unredeemable people in the world. Hate is kept alive when we think that there are sheep or coins—to use the two examples in today’s Gospel—, which aren’t worth searching for, finding and bringing into the fold.

Of course we were terrified on 9/11/2001. We should have been! That is the absolute goal of terror----to keep us so scared, so frightened, that we stay stuck in reaction, we stay mired in misperception, we stay trapped in intolerance----

But what a good portion of this nation did, what a great many of you, I’m sure, did, was stand up and shout to the world…no, we won’t be reactionary, we won’t be fear mongers, we won’t HATE. We will LOVE. We will pray. We will try very hard to love our neighbor, even the neighbor who doesn’t look and act like us. We will FORGIVE. We will believe, in our heart of hearts that the Good Shepherd searches out each of us no matter how far we have strayed, no matter how lost we have become, no matter how heinous our crimes. Because the angels in heaven rejoice each and every time the lost is found, the sinner repents and the hater becomes the lover.

Love doesn’t overtake hate through further acts of hate---like racial profiling, burning Qurans or blocking the construction of a house of worship----love overtakes hate when we repent of our own misdeeds…for in repenting for our own mistakes builds tolerance for the errors of others.

Love overtakes hate when we pray our way though our terror instead of yelling our way through it.

Love overtakes hate when we remember that everyone, no matter how lost they are, is sought after by God--even misguided Pastors in Gainesville Florida and extremists who have done us great harm. Because we are all beloved daughters and sons of God and when any one of us repents and returns to the fold, there is great rejoicing in heaven.

So, as we remember the lives lost on 9/11 and the thousands of lives lost in the ensuing conflicts, when we hear about Qu’ran burning and protests against the construction of a mosque for the faithful Muslims of lower Manhattan, when fear grips our own hearts and hate seems so much easier than love, we must open ourselves to the power of grace, a grace which is freely bestowed upon all who seek it…not because we are better than anyone else, but because we all, at one time or another, will find ourselves lost and we all--- daughters and sons of the Torah, the Bible and the Qu’ran—are worthy of being found.

Amen.

Sept. 5 2010: Labor on, For the Glory of God Pentecost 15 Yr C

+I love Labor Day weekend. Not because it’s a weekend of cookouts and relaxing. Not because it’s the last hurrah before the routine of the September through June world takes root. No I love Labor Day because we sing one of my favorite hymns: “Come Labor On,” #541 in our hymnal. I love that the words of this hymn reflect God’s sanctifying of our daily work, our labor.

Our work, what we do to earn a living, to put food on the table, occupies a huge portion of our life, yet many of us don’t connect what we do 9-5, M-F with what we do here on Sunday morning from 8 until 9 [10:30-11:30].

This hymn states that God has given us the ability and the expectation that we will work, that we will labor. This hymn tells us that there is work to do and that, when we work hard with dignity and integrity, God is pleased.

Pleased with our efforts, please with our work. All our work. Not just work we do specifically “for the church.” God sanctifies all human labor. This hymn acknowledges that work is part of the human condition and that God notices.

Of course, we all want to be acknowledged for the work we do, to be told that what we’ve labored at all day, all week, all career, is worthwhile and appreciated. But it usually isn’t God we turn toward for that praise.

You see, when we’re focused on being acknowledged by our bosses, by the folks who sign our checks, by our friends and family; we forget that the acknowledgement that really matters, the honor that really counts, is that which we get from God.

And, remembering God in all we do is the message in today’s Gospel.

When Jesus tells us to hate mother, father, sister, brother he means, don’t lose our primary focus— remember God in all we do, not just in times of trouble, not just in times of joy-- but always and everywhere.

He knows how easy it is to get caught up in the here and now, to pay attention to the loudest voices around us, the voices of judgment and expectation put forth by our co workers, our bosses, our friends and our family.

Jesus is reminding us that what we do---that everything we do—is because of and for God.

As stated in the Book of Jeremiah, God, the great potter, has molded us from non-distinct balls of clay into the wonderful vessels we are today, complete with the unique attributes which make you, you and me, me. Each of us fulfills a different purpose within creation. This brings to mind another old hymn—I Sing a Song of the Saints of God. A hymn which details how all of us are saints in the eyes of God, no matter what we do. We can be teachers or doctors, shepherds or queens, soldiers or priests, or even slain by a fierce wild beast…..but the point is we all have specific gifts bestowed upon us by our creator and our job is to go out into the world utilizing these gifts, as best we can, in whatever circumstance we find ourselves in.

Every job, even the wonderful job of being your rector, of being a priest, has drudgery attached to it, There are things I need to do on a daily basis which don’t feel, at first blush, to be furthering God’s kingdom. I bet your jobs feel the same way. But, and here is the point, when we are working at our daily tasks, no matter how mundane, we are living into the life God created for us.

We are God’s creation and all we do is of God.

When we get so caught up in just “getting through the day,” when our daily tasks become a burden, when we work simply to get to the end of the day, when we forget to see God at work even in the most tedious of tasks, we are turning our back on God.

Jesus is saying, “don’t let anything stand in the way of your love of God. ….it doesn’t matter if you can’t see the glory in what you do every day. . .because God sees it, and God has sanctified it.”

The regular-ness of our daily lives, our jobs as clerks, managers, accountants, teachers, construction workers, bankers, homemakers and volunteers… is where we live out the fullness of our faith.

The regular-ness of our daily lives—our Monday through Saturday lives, is more sacred than our Sunday morning lives. For it is in our daily lives that others are able to see God’s grace –a grace we gather each week here to celebrate and honor---at work in our lives.

What we have to do, what our task is as put forth by Jesus, is to do our very best to seek and serve Christ in all people—even when our bosses, our co-workers, our classmates, all our companions along the way ----drive us nuts, make us mad, hurt our feelings and exasperate us.

That’s when we’re carrying the cross of Christ. Carrying our cross and following Jesus is not proselytizing it’s not preaching…it’s living our regular, ordinary day in and day out lives.

If we live our lives doing the best we can, seeking and serving Christ in all people---even in those people who drive us nuts---then we’re carrying the cross of Christ, we’re ---evangelizing. Because, by being who God molded us to be, we show others that God loves us all and sanctifies all that we do.

So go out from here today, resuming the routine of a September to June world, knowing that God is with you in all you do, loving you for who you are and what you do, so that no matter what heartache befalls us, no matter what frustrations we feel at home, at work or at school, we are the beloved masterpiece of our potter God, a God who formed us to be exactly who we are.

So go, Labor on. Your work is beautiful in God’s sight. +