Easter 2013: Never an Idle Tale

+An idle tale. This is what the apostles thought when they first heard the women announce the empty tomb.
It seemed outrageous, absurd, ridiculous and unbelievable. Angels saying that the Lord was raised—that he was alive? No way.
The apostles saw the crucifixion, they witnessed the hasty burial. They knew dead when they saw it and Jesus was definitely dead.
Can’t you hear the guys? “Poor women, they are so overcome with grief their minds are playing tricks on them.”
Who can blame them?
Let’s face it; this whole Resurrection thing is pretty difficult to imagine, to understand. To accept.
How many of us here this morning, deep down (or maybe not so deep down) wonder if this, the miracle of Jesus’ Resurrection, isn’t after all, simply an idle tale?
I mean, really? Resurrection? He was dead and now he’s not? Let’s be clear, this isn’t a case of dying and being resuscitated through some type of Divine CPR, no this was a return to life after complete and utter death, up to and  including burial and the sealing of a tomb.
Go ahead, try and explain this to someone who has no understanding of the Christian faith---at best you’ll sound confused, at worst, you’ll sound NUTS.
But the truth is, the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, his defeat of death, ISN’T an idle tale, it isn’t a story; it’s the definitive narrative of our faith.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to understand or to explain.
Now I know this is Easter Sunday and that there are quite a few of you sitting here this morning who aren’t here…well…voluntarily.
You’re not here to praise the Resurrection or to re-connect with your faith, no you’re here this morning to please your parents, your grandparents, your spouse, your sibling or your friend. Coming to church is just part of the whole package---church, Easter baskets and brunch.
For you this story we just heard may indeed sound trite, for you it may be just an idle tale. But it isn’t.
The Resurrection is completely true--
AND it’s impossible to explain.
 It’s impossible to explain because we aren’t supposed to explain it--it isn’t some concept to master, it isn’t some theorem to prove.
The Resurrection of Jesus Christ: a man arrested, tortured, killed and buried may be impossible to explain…
…But it’s not impossible to believe. And believing, rather than proving, is what faith is all about. This is where people get hung up. They want to figure it all out before saying that they believe, they want all the answers before they commit.
But that’s not how faith works.
Faith doesn’t ask for proof and faith doesn’t expect lock step adherence.
Faith can’t be explained, faith can’t be proven, faith can’t be diagramed.
Faith can only be lived.
Faith is a journey, a journey filled with steps….some small, some giant, some forward and some back.
Everyone’s faith journey is chock full of fits and starts, ups and downs, good times and bad.
It’s normal to doubt, to question, to wonder.
Just ask Jesus’ closest friends. The apostles believed in Jesus and then, they didn’t. Peter proclaimed Jesus as Lord and Savior and then denied him three times. Thomas followed Jesus faithfully for three years but missed Jesus’ initial resurrection appearances so he---a man who had seen the miracles of Jesus up close and personal-- refused to believe the resurrection until he placed his own fingers into the wounds of his teacher, his friend, his rabbi. Everyone has doubts now and again.
I think it’s difficult for people with a lot of questions to feel comfortable in a church because they mistakenly assume that we have all the answers, that our way is steady and sure. It isn’t! We doubt, we wonder, we worry. We wrestle with our faith each and every week. But we don’t give up, we persevere, we slog ahead and bit by bit, step by step, we start to get it.
Peter and John ran to the tomb when they heard the women tell of it being empty…and when they saw it empty, they started to get it. And then, when they saw Jesus, wounds and all, they understood some more. The more they encountered Jesus, the more their faith was strengthened.
For some it was touching his wounds, for others it was hearing Jesus’ voice, for still others it was sharing a meal with him. Belief in the resurrection came to Jesus’ most ardent and loyal followers step by step.
Belief in Jesus isn’t a one-time event and faith in his teachings doesn’t come to us in one neat little package.
Belief and Faith don’t have on/off buttons.
Faith operates more like a dimmer switch.
There are days when the light of faith burns brightly and fully in our hearts and minds and souls. There are other days, other moments in time, when the light of faith is dimmer, when it burns a little less brightly…there are times when our faith is reduced to the embers of a long ago burning fire.
Faith isn’t linear, it isn’t straightforward---our faith is a moveable, ever changing, always evolving thing.
Martin Luther King Jr said:
“You don’t have to see the whole staircase to take the first step.” You take a step and then you take another.
The point isn’t to get to the top of the staircase faster than anyone else.
The point is to start the climb, one step at a time.
So whether you’re here today to please someone else, or whether you’re here today because you’re always here, or whether you’re here today because you are searching, searching for something, anything to make you feel whole again, I have an invitation for you….
Step up and step out in faith because the miracle of Christ, crucified and risen is yours for the taking. So, grab hold and start on your way, the climb may be long and it may be difficult. But the climb, your journey of faith will never ever be an idle tale.
Alleluia, Christ is Risen!
The Lord is Risen, Indeed. +
* the Idle Tale Focus is taken from Rick Morley: A Garden Path @ rickmorley.com

Tell, Hear, Remember Maundy Thursday 2013

This sermon was first  given at St Paul’s Cathedral on April 9, 2009

+20 years ago as my father lay dying my extended family and I gathered round his hospital bed telling stories of the past-- funny stories about George: our dad, grandfather, husband and friend. Although his dying was breaking our hearts, the memories, the stories were very funny and we spent his final moments on this earth, laughing.
His final journey had been arduous and for the last three weeks of his life he was in the hospital, slowly descending into the grips of death. It was during those weeks and most especially those final days and hours that we had the opportunity to bear witness to Dad’s journey.  During those final days we waited and watched with him. Many times there were no words, it was simply our presence that gave him the strength he needed to die.   The memory of that waiting and watching with Dad will always be with me and sharing those memories as a family strengthens us, those memories make us who we are. Remembering that time is important because  remembering the past helps us navigate the present. Walking with Dad and remembering that walk, is a big part of who I am today. Remembering forms us into who we are now.
Jesus took these two points—the “walking with” now and the “remembering” later and made them the focus of that Thursday evening supper during the first Holy Week. “wait with me. Be with me as I move toward the inevitable. And then, when it is over, remember it all, remember me.” Jesus needed his friends to wait with him, to watch with him, to walk this final walk toward death with him.
The week had such a promising start--the triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, but then over the next few days the triumph changed to despair as one by one the supporters fell away, denying him, deserting him, turning on him.
Tonight [today] we meet Jesus halfway through this week, when all the questioning, the fear, the denial and the betrayal has been put in motion. ..the disciples are arguing, debating and gossiping…no one seems to be paying attention. It’s a Seder, the ancient Jewish meal remembering Jewish people’s liberation from slavery, a story each of the disciples knew, a story integral to their Jewish identity. It’s possible this telling of the Passover story had become rote for them, they were just going through the ritual motions. But Jesus needed them to pay attention because on this night, as he had done so many times in the past, Jesus would take something utterly familiar, and make it altogether different.
Jesus knew that remembering was a key component of community building and he knew that the community of the burgeoning primitive church was going to need strength, a strength built on the telling of stories, built on the remembering of what came before.
Every one of us has stories that have been handed down to us by parents and grandparents. Whatever the specifics we tell and re-tell these tales because they contribute to our identity, they make us who we are.
Jesus, on this night so long ago, didn’t want his friends to forget his story. Not because he was some kind of egomaniac but because he knew the value of telling a story. Just as the story telling at my father’s bedside forged our family and friends into a stronger bond, Jesus wanted his friends to wait with him, to watch with him and then when he was gone, to tell the story, to remember and to be strengthened by the story enough to keep it going. He wants the same for us--for the work Jesus started is not yet finished and we as inheritors of the faith must carry it on. We must ingest these stories of Jesus. And to carry on the work we must claim the stories as our own, not only by telling them but by living them.
That’s why we have the Eucharist every week, because not only do we need to say it and hear it, we need to be it. So we take, we eat and we remember.
In a few minutes after sharing in the Eucharist one last time, we’ll strip the altar, while lamenting the betrayal, loss and despair of these three days. We’ll strip ourselves bare to feel the pain and loss of Jesus’ death. We do this not because we need to be punished, not because we need to hurt. We do this so we can remember. So we’ll remember not just with words, not just with thoughts, but with actions. For when we strip our sacred space of all that is familiar, when we enter into the darkness of this long night, waiting watching and weeping with Christ, we remember. And through our remembering we are strengthened. Each time we take and eat we are remembering the story and with each remembrance we gain strength. The strength needed to continue to do the work God has given us to do.        Amen.

Deacon Pete's Palm Sunday Sermon

We began today’s service with the Blessing of the Palms.  We heard the story of Jesus sending his disciples into the village to find a donkey and telling him to say to the owners “the Lord needs it”.  Jesus knows that he is heading toward his death; he knows the crowd will cheer for him, proclaim him King and generally make a ruckus so loud that the authorities cannot and will not ignore His presence.   He also knows that in the next few days he will disappoint, anger and arouse not only the” powers-that-be’ but his own followers.  Jesus knows that his disciples do not understand who he really is and why he has really come, although as Luke says  “they praise God in loud voices for the miracles they had seen”, they have no idea that Jesus came to invite us to work and suffer and struggle along with God until God’s kingdom comes here on earth; no idea that the reign of God will be subversive, will turn everything and everyone upside down, no idea that instead of power seeking and power wielding God’s kingdom functions on the fuel of self-giving, inclusion and justice-making.   Judas will become so disillusioned that he decides betraying Jesus is his only option and Peter will become so frightened that he will deny his Lord.
The Passion readings take us through the events we now call Holy Week.  We hear of Jesus’ Last Supper, of his time of agony in the garden, his arrest, trial (and crucifixion).  Isn’t it curious that we get all of these really hard readings right after the story of the Palm Sunday celebration?  Why can’t we have today to just acknowledge the joy and energy of that raucous parade?  Why do we have to encumber today with the dark and dismal reminders of how God’s Son was rejected, betrayed, despised and killed?   Can’t all that wait until later in the week, until Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday?  Why today in the midst of a parade do  we have to think of what it means to have Jesus gone from this world?
You know that I work in a school.  And because of that, even though I don't teach, I sometimes have to sit in on teacher training in-services.  Many years ago I learned the term "front-loading".  It means that in order to teach a really important lesson, to help students grasp a really difficult concept, it helps to give them the end point first.  When students know where they're going to end up, when they have some frame of reference, some context, to put new learning into, they are more likely to be successful learners.  And I think that's part of the reason we get the passion readings today, in advance of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday.  What happens on Easter is so incredible, so unbelievable, so miraculous that  we need to hear the Holy Week readings twice to prepare us for the  new thing God that does next, the resurrection of Christ..
We are experiencing two huge celebrations, Palm Sunday and Easter, and they do not stand alone.  They are book ends to a week of misery, loneliness, loss, emptiness and existential sadness.  Each day of this week is reflected in our readings today.  We move from the triumph of Palm Sunday, to a day honoring service, Maundy Thursday, then Good Friday, a day of suffering and sacrifice, onto a day of waiting, Holy Saturday.  I invite you to join in, to participate in these services, to experience the pain so that you can experience the complete joy of Easter Sunday, to truly receive, deep in your bones, deep in your heart the triumph of the resurrection.
On the face of it, Palm Sunday is a bust.  When the shouting stops, when the palms lie dusty and dirty and trampled into the ground, nothing much has changed.  Jesus refuses to be the kind of king or messiah that Jerusalem wanted.  Even his closest followers are disappointed.  Rome is still in charge, Jerusalem is still an occupied land, those who collaborate with the power that is Rome are still favored.
Those are the facts.  And yet, there is far more to this raucous rally of the parade of palms than meets the eye.  It is more complex and darker than we could have thought.  Is Jesus the man we have hoped for?  He has performed so many outrageous and unbelievable miracles, yet today he appears riding into town on a small, unbroken donkey.  Not exactly the picture of a messiah or king that we expect.  Is it time to back down, to retreat from following this itinerant preacher?  Will we continue to associate with this paradoxical  man?  Should we make up with the ruling powers, apologize to the Romans and temple authorities for disturbing the status quo?  Can Jesus solve all of our problems, can He save our world?  Can he save us?  We have a decision to make.  Can we, will we follow this man?  Will we be with him on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday?  Will we experience with him the pain, the loneliness, the betrayal and the agony?  That is what Holy Week is all about.  It's a time for us to examine Jesus in the scriptures, in the events of the last week of his life, to decide for ourselves who this Jesus really is.  Is he a messiah, a savior, a Christ?  When Easter comes will we be ready?  Will we be in a place emotionally and spiritually to truly celebrate Easter?  Will we be able to embrace the incredible, the unbelievable, miraculous new thing that God does on Calvary?  Will we do the work,  the prayer and reflection, that is necessary for  Easter to be transformative?  Pray that God will give us the strength, the determination and the grace to do so.  Amen.

Hew our hearts, sow with tears and make room for Easter Lent V Yr C

For me today’s Gospel is intensely vibrant. I imagine the colors of the robes, the dark pigment of the fruits and nuts and the deep hue of the wine. I can almost SMELL the scent of the nard and I can even feel Mary’s hair as it wipes the feet of Jesus. How did that NOT tickle?
The sights and sounds and smells of this story resonate deeply…
I can’t hear it without being transported back to my time in Jerusalem, I can see the rolling hills outside of town just over which is Bethany that place of respite for Jesus, his home away from home, and I can imagine how often Jesus trekked from Mary, Martha and Lazurus’ home down into Jerusalem.
My hope is that it can become an equally colorful, fragrant and alive Gospel for you, too, because this Gospel sets the scene for Holy Week and if we allow ourselves to truly enter it, we’ll be ready for the journey of next week, a journey of contrasts, a journey of boundary breaking, a journey away from the old  and into the altogether new life of resurrection.
This story is familiar, some version of Jesus being anointed by a woman appears in each of the four Gospels so it’s with great confidence we say this event, in one form or another, happened and it was as striking then as it is now. Each Gospel puts it’s own spin on it but the version we heard today—from John’s Gospel, gives us the most details. Instead of being anointed by some unnamed woman (who in Luke’s version is a renowned woman of sin, a prostitute) he’s anointed by Mary of Bethany. Because the perfume is so expensive, there’s been some thought that the Mary in this story may be Mary Magdalene since she was wealthy (that’s her connection with the story—her wealth, not the prostitute part. There is no evidence that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute). Could Mary Magdalene have provided the perfume, could Mary of Bethany and Mary of Magdala be one in the same? Probably not, most likely this is a conflation of two stories but regardless, a woman named Mary anointed Jesus because she knew that Jesus’ life was in danger and that death was imminent.
The scene is a study in contrasts:
The party was to celebrate the raising of Lazarus. Mary and Martha wanted to show their gratitude to Jesus and so the party was on. But what Mary and Jesus both knew, deep in their bones, was that the miracle performed on Lazarus was a turning point.
If you remember, Jesus was out in the hill country teaching and preaching when word arrived that Lazarus was ill. Jesus seemed to take his time returning and of course by the time he got there, Lazarus was dead and Jesus performed his most personal miracle. And in doing so, Jesus sets Holy Week into action. You see, the Temple authorities were watching him; they were hoping to catch Jesus in some egregious act, so illegal that they could arrest him and put an end to his ministry. Knowing they were after him Jesus took his teaching out into the country where he wouldn’t be harassed. He knew that returning to the vicinity of Jerusalem (and remember Bethany is just on the other side of the hills surrounding Jerusalem, about a 2 mile walk) would give his enemies just what they needed.
In other words, by bringing Lazarus back to life, Jesus has assured his own death.
As my old friends “Two Bubbas and a Bible” put it:
Mary [and Jesus both know], even if the others don't, that by coming here to this place, at this time, and working this miracle, he has sealed his fate, he has signed his own execution order. In giving Lazarus life he has assured his own death.  Mary pours out both her gratitude and her grief when she pours the perfume on Jesus' feet.”
In the anointing Mary pours out more than ridiculously expensive perfume, she pours out gratitude at what happened and her grief at what will happen.
This is the juxtaposition of Holy Week my friends, heart-singing joy leading to heart-wrenching grief leading us back to joy.
In Holy Week we go from the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem to the weeping on Calvary’s hill, to the awesomeness of the empty tomb.
But to be able to receive the new life Easter brings, we must take this walk. And to take this walk? We need to be ready.
Today we, along with Mary and Jesus need to prepare ourselves for the inevitability of Holy Week. Today we buckle up and set our sites firmly on Jerusalem, the Mount of Olives the Garden at Gethsemane, Calvary’s hill and a fresh-hewn tomb.
This week before the holiest of all weeks, we begin to prepare for the absence of Jesus, for it is only in that absence that the presence of our resurrected Lord can take hold. The absence of the old leads us to the presence of the new.
In the words of the psalmist: we sow in tears, so we can reap in joy.
The sowing that leads to the reaping is tough. Boundaries get broken all over the place.
Mary broke the boundary of financial responsibility by spending a YEAR’s WAGES on this perfume, she broke the boundary of propriety by touching a man to whom she was not related, and Jesus broke it right back by accepting her touch.
Judas breaks the boundary of trust, Peter breaks the boundary of loyalty, the Jews in colluding with the Romans break the boundaries of political alliances, Pilate wrestles with breaking the boundary of duty and finally, after all this breaking, after all this sowing with sadness, anger and dismay, Jesus breaks the ultimate boundary, the last boundary: Jesus defeats death.
As we delve into the second to last week of Lent we must prepare for our own boundary breaking.
We must break the boundary between our rational mind and our spiritual journey…for to truly walk the walk of Christ, we must walk the walk of Holy week, allowing our hearts to break and our tears to fall. For it is in the absence of Jesus that a new life in Christ emerges. It is in the rupture of that break that the sprout of new life grows.
So get ready, party your hearts out, anoint your loved ones and prepare for the ride of your life.

The Prodigal Family in Us All. Lent 4C

The Prodigal Son, The Forgiving Father, The Indignant Son who stayed. This oh so familiar reading from today’s Gospel is all about reconciliation and restoration. It’s about the dance every family does to make room for all her members. It’s about the dance God does to make room for all of us, God’s children.
Reconciliation: it’s what we do to make things right, to be restored to peace of mind and solace of spirit. But the journey to reconciliation and restoration is not quick, it’s not easy and it’s not without pain--reconciliation isn’t always what we want to do, but it’s always what we need to do. For we need to be in harmony with one another, because to be blunt, we are all in this together. Think about it, how often can you say that a decision you make affects you and only you? Rarely, if ever. Most everything we do impacts another, so everything we do is subject to the opinions of others.
The Pharisees had a lot of opinions about the conduct of others. It was their disgust and dismay at Jesus’ choice of community that led to Jesus’ sharing of several parables—the Parable of the Lost Coin, the Parable of the Lost Sheep and finally, the Parable of the Prodigal—or lost—Son.
Now I don’t know about you, but whenever I hear this I cast it with actors from my own life…assigning people the roles I feel they have earned through their behavior. In other words, just like the Pharisees, I judge people I love, put them in the role I have assigned them and then proceed to feel all righteous and holy. But the thing is parables are a lot like dreams. We are every character within them. At one time or another we’ve been the dad, the older son and the younger. The older son gets our sympathy because he’s the one who did what was culturally appropriate and acceptable, staying home to work the family homestead. [Remember this was an agrarian society, families worked together to keep the farm running. Farm work wasn’t easy and you needed all hands on deck to make it work.] In Jesus’ day, sons helped their father and then when Dad died the sons were given equal shares of the property. Ideally they would keep the shares intact and work the land together, passing it on to their children. An agrarian culture is one of the most interdependent cultures known to humankind. I need you and you need me, we are all in this together. So when the son forever known as the prodigal gets a bit of wanderlust and asks for his share of the land now—well it was akin to saying, “Dad I can’t wait for you to die, gimme what I have coming.” Cashing in on the family homestead, dividing the land your family has farmed for GENERATIONS? It was disgraceful, it was wrong and it was hurtful. Just about the time in the story when we’re ready to stone the younger son all his grand plans fall apart. He realizes that he needs help, that he needs his family. The youngest son sitting amidst the pig slop of his life has an “aha” moment.
The prodigal, this son of so much ambition, this son who didn’t need anybody, is broken. The hubris is gone, all that’s left is humility. All that’s left is honesty, all that’s left is the promise, the hope, the longing that his father, among all the anger and bitterness the son assumes is waiting for him, will see fit to hire him as a common laborer. As he turns toward home he expects jeers, insults, taunts and anger. But instead he’s greeted with hugs, tears and shouts of thanksgiving. He’s seated at the head of the table and toasted as an honored guest.  The father is grateful beyond all measure. But the older son, the good and loyal one so many of us relate to? He’s not so excited, he’s not so forgiving, he’s not so grateful. Who can blame him? After all he stayed and did the right thing, but now this nare-do well, this pain in the butt younger brother gets a feast, a ring and his father’s undying love? Yes. Is it fair? No. Is it comfortable? No. Does it make sense? Well, viewed through the lens of our outrageously gracious God, I think so.
You see reconciliation is the backbone of love. We must be able and willing to reconcile our differences, to forgive our hurts and to move on if we are to truly live a life of love. Love doesn’t mean never hurting each other, love means hurting one another and then making it right. God does this all the time. God forgives us again and again and again because we hurt God again and again and again. But God chooses to define our relationship with God not thorugh the mistakes we’ve made and the hurts we’ve caused but through the lessons we’ve learned and the corrections we’ve made.
The trick is being humble enough, honest enough and brave enough to admit our mistakes, learn from them and move on. It’s the stuff of Lent my friends---taking an inventory and making adjustments.
The three major players in today’s Gospel, the hurt but always ready to forgive parent, the stalwart, angry older brother and the lost younger son represent each and every one of us at various times in our lives:  sometimes we’re the one whose been hurt, other times we’re the one who is angry and still other times we are the one who is lost. Regardless of which role we’re playing today, regardless of whose journey resonates with us the most, we will, at one time or another find ourselves, hurt, angry or lost and in need of reconciliation. But the good news is that each and every time we admit our mistakes, each and every time we learn from them and move on, each and every time we make things right our loving and gracious God, just like the loving and gracious parent in today’s parable, looks around and says to all in ear shot, “look she once was lost and now she’s found.” And for that we can all say,
Amen!

A Failed Saint, A Sarcastic Seeker Whose Thirst Has Been Quenched. Lent 3 Yr C 2013

O God, you are my God, my soul thirsts for you…(Psalm 63)
+My name is Cathy and I am a failed saint and a sarcastic but always honest seeker of God’s grace.
In other words, I am just like everyone else.
Several of us are participating in the One Diocese, One Book program promoted by our Bishop. During Lent Bishop Bill suggested that we read and discuss, as a group, Jana Riess’ book Flunking Sainthood. The book has sparked spirited discussion and this past Thursday Dr. Riess spent the day with the clergy of the diocese leading us in several meditations which led to fruitful periods of prayer, reflection and debate. On Thursday evening she offered the diocese as a whole a program about Flunking Sainthood and her efforts at maintaining a Holy Sabbath.
The premise of Flunking Sainthood is pretty simple, God’s grace and our receiving of it, comes in many different forms and our job, as people who long for that grace, is to find the method of reception that best works for us. Not what works best for your neighbor, not what works best for your priest or your Bishop, or your spouse, or your parents…what works best for YOU.
Because while we are all very similar, we are also quite different.
We’re similar in that, since the beginning of time humans have been seeking, searching, longing to engage with, be touched by The Divine. We search for meaning; we long for protection, we hope for the Grace of a supreme being to pour over us and all those whom we love.
But we’re also different, so vastly and wonderfully different in how we search, in how we long and in how we hope. The Divine—God—is experienced in a vast array of ways because God—The Divine—will do anything ANYTHING to reach us in a most personal and intimate way.
Where humanity runs into trouble is forgetting that God reaches out to us in these different and specific ways--that what you find sacred I may find silly and what I find sacred you may find absurd. We really want our way to be THE way and we spend a lot of energy trying to PROVE that “their” way is the wrong way. Because if their way is the wrong way then we have a better chance of “proving” that our way is the right way. It’s all very competitive. And exhausting. And frustrating.
 And for God? Well for God it must be quite exasperating.
Speaking of exasperating—listen to the folks in today’s Gospel. “Jesus, did you hear what Pilate did? Jeeeeeeesus did you hear…what did those Galileans do to bring on that horror? How bad was their sin, how much did they mess up? C’mon Jesus, SPILL---how BAD WERE THEY?” They want Jesus to tell them that they’re better, that what they’re doing is right, that they’re not flunking sainthood, that they’re, instead excelling at sainthood.
Of course, Jesus doesn’t do that at all. In fact Jesus gets pretty blunt with them. He puts them in their place…and in turn, of course, he puts us in our place too.
Jesus tells us ---it isn’t the sinning that gets you into trouble, it’s what you do about the sinning that gets you into trouble. Sinning—making a mistake, moving us farther away from God—is unfortunate. None of us really want to do it but we all do…not because we are bad, but because mistakes are simply a part of the human condition…. we all sin. This is what Jesus is saying----you who are without sin, cast the first stone---he’s saying: ”listen folks, YOU ALL ARE SINNERS. Get over yourselves. Instead of being so concerned with your neighbor’s mistakes, why don’t you spend some time with your own mistakes—come to terms with them, accept that they’ve been made and set out to learn from them, straighten up and fly right…Repent, and move on.
 In other words, Jesus is telling us to engage in some reflection and some amendment of life. To take stock of all that we have done and left undone and make a decision to learn from our mistakes, get up and try again. To, like that fig tree, loosen up our soil and try this fruit bearing thing one more time.
By reading today’s Gospel at face value only, one might presume that God is in the judging and punishing business. But I think, as we delve a little deeper it becomes clear that God is, instead, in the witnessing and urging business.
God is always present, God sees what we do, God knows our intent, God witnesses the result. When we miss the mark, when we move away from instead of toward God, God has one hope—that we realize our misstep and, in the words of the church, Repent.
Repenting is simply realizing a mistake. Repenting is admitting that mistake. Repenting is learning from that mistake and moving on. Our mistakes will define us only when we wallow in them, when we are paralyzed by them.
 Our mistakes won’t define us as long as we learn from them and move on.
So back to this idea of Flunking Sainthood again, in the book the author, in her effort to find the perfect spiritual practice to bring her closer to God, the perfect practice to make her an excellent Christian,
makes a ton of mistakes. And for a good portion of the book she allows those mistakes to define her…but in the end…she realizes that the mistakes aren’t the end of the journey, they are simply part of the journey.
The journey is what matters. All of us are on a journey that begins and ends in God.
Each of our readings this morning reflects this journey we’re on. This journey of longing, deep in our souls, for God. A yearning expressed by both the psalmist and the prophet Isaiah as a “thirst for God.” A thirst for God that at times causes us to feel so parched we fear never having that thirst quenched. But, as even Paul reminds us in his somewhat harsh letter to the church in Corinth, God is faithful. God will never let us die of that thirst, for God is always with us on this journey, offering the refreshing, life-giving cup of eternal salvation. All we need to do is take it, in whatever way works for us. And drink.
Amen.