Sometimes You Have Squeeze the Word 10.2.11

[1] This sermon has been significantly influenced by two contributors to the Text This Week (textweek.org) commentary website: David Lose from workingpreacher.org and “Two Bubbas and a Bible” from lectionarylab.blogspot.com Thanks to them for their always thought-provoking commentary.

+Sometimes you have to squeeze a scripture reading until the gospel leaks out . This remark, attributed to Martin Luther, certainly fits with today’s reading from Matthew. At this stage of our church year, we hear lots of parables, many difficult to read, to hear and to preach! We’re heading into the home stretch of the lectionary and in our readings the rest of the way, Jesus’ time is running short and his patience with BOTH his followers and his detractors is running thin.
The parable uses today’s Isaiah reading—known in ancient Israel as The Song of the Vineyard-- as a jumping off point. In it God is the landowner and we, God’s beloved, are the vines---God tends to us and we, in response, produce delicious, pleasing fruit. But then the parable shifts, with Jesus reporting that the vines don’t produce as God had hoped. Instead of good and pleasing fruit, the vines—we—produce wild grapes, untamed, unsuitable for making good wine. God looks the situation over and says, “Well, I did the best I could. I’ve done all I can. I can’t pour good money after bad. I’m going to abandon the whole thing and find someplace else where I can be more productive.”
God abandoning God’s people? God giving up on…..us? Where’s the Good News in that?
Like Luther said, sometimes we have to squeeze our scripture to get the gospel—the good news—out.
Remember, all scripture, while divinely inspired, was written at a specific time and focused on a specific audience. The context of our scripture readings is important.
Matthew was writing in a time of great turmoil. The Jerusalem Temple had been destroyed and the Jews needed to re-invent themselves. How could they move forward without the unifying symbol of their Temple? Of THE temple . Furthermore, he and his followers believed the Jesus sect was and should remain  a part of Judaism while many other followers of Jesus   were breaking away from Judaism altogether. Put all of this under the shadow of the looming, ever dangerous Roman Empire and you had a period of time---roughly 80 BCE-- when the world Matthew knew was disappearing before his very eyes.
It could be easy, in such a situation, to feel abandoned by God, to feel forgotten. So, it’s understandable that the Jesus Matthew portrays is angry at the Temple Leaders, frustrated with the status quo and easily ticked off with the seemingly increasing ignorance of his followers. Matthew was cranky and hence, so was the Jesus of his Gospel.
In today’s parable of the wicked tenants, Jesus begins with a version of the familiar Isaiah vineyard story but, around verse 33, he changes direction and tone. The landowner—God (remember this parable is an allegory, each and every character, landowner, tenants, servants…is representative of someone else)—has trusted the vineyard—God’s creation---to tenants— to us. When it comes time to check out the progress of the vineyard, the owner sends servants/messengers-- the prophets—to check on things. …to collect rent—to see what they –what we--have done with the vineyard—with the creation given over to their to our care.  
Of course then the tenants, --us--do an astoundingly cruel and stupid thing: they—we-- beat one of the servants and kill the other.
Yet the owner—God-- being either amazingly tolerant or intensely stupid, sends more servants who get beaten and killed. So then the owner, thinking for sure this will convince the tenants to do the right thing---sends his son….
And sure enough, the tenants beat and kill the son.
Jesus then stops telling the story, looks at his hearers and asks them to finish it.
What should the owner do with those tenants who killed his messengers, who killed his son? “Simple,” the people say,  “he’d come with an army and kill the bad tenants and give the vineyard to good tenants.”
Right you are, Jesus says. “And the Kingdom of God, the true vineyard of the Lord, will be taken away from you!” oops. I bet they didn’t see THAT coming.
Remember, parables are tricky, they say a lot and each time we hear them, we’ll hear more, or at least we’ll hear different, because who we were when we last heard this story, isn’t who we are today.
This is where we have to squeeze the words a bit, so we can release the message of Good News.
The true vineyard of God will be taken from us? We’ll be abandoned? We’ll be rejected?
Well yes. And no.
You see the true vineyard---living as the beloved children of God we are, accepting that God is always with us, always providing for us, always ready to help us---is something we abandon, something we let go of, something we reject.
When we forget that all we have is from God, when we try to finagle a way to horde it, sure that if we aren’t clever it will be taken from us; breaks us….we lose our way, we literally fall apart:
As The Rev. Dr. Delmer L. Chilton  says:
The Word of God is a powerful stone, it pounds on our hearts, shatters our ego and self-serving pride; leaving us to pick up the pieces and make something altogether new…
As Jesus says in verse 44 “The one who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces . . .”

But –and here’s the Good News— in that very brokenness is the opportunity for new life. You see, the Word of God not only breaks us, it also heals us. Once we have come face to face with the honest truth about ourselves—that we are the one’s who reject God, not the other way around—only then are we able to receive, to accept and to hold onto the good news about God and God’s undying love for us in Christ.
When we really squeeze the Word as found in scripture we discover this Gospel truth: God doesn’t reject, God doesn’t abandon, God doesn’t run away.
We do. God just waits, patiently and lovingly until we realize that the only fruit worth bearing, the only vine worth tending is the one that keeps us firmly rooted in and connected to our landowner: God.

Amen.

Joy Brightens Despair, Gratitude Defeats Resentment and Faith Elbows out Fear. 18 Sept 2011 Yr A

Jonah was a bit of a whiner, wasn’t he? He was sent to Ninevah to turn them away from their “evil” ways. Then, when the people do change their tune, leading God to “spare” them, Jonah is furious. In our section of scripture this morning it’s difficult to fully understand just what Jonah is ticked off about, but suffice it to say that Jonah begrudges God giving God’s grace to the people, without, in Jonah’s mind, giving HIM an equal measure of that grace. He’s envious. He’s ungrateful. He’s a bit of a brat.
God responds, “well Jonah, it’s my grace to give and I choose to give it extravagantly. You can be angry about Ninevah, you can be angry about the withered bush…but neither of those things are your concern….it’s my creation, my choice.”
That’s the thing about God’s Grace. It’s given according to Divine Rationale, Divine Choice, Divine Decision. And the fact that God’s Rationale, Choice and Decision doesn’t make a lot of sense to us from our limited human perspective---is why Jesus gave us the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard.
  It’s tough to be a day laborer . With no regular employment –the workers stand in the town square hoping that some landowner would hire them for the day (This still happens today with the migrant workers up in Niagara County.) Trouble is, there were more laborers than labor. So while some folks—the healthy looking and lucky-- were chosen to work all day. The unlucky or unhealthy were passed over. But in today’s Gospel, everyone’s lucky. Over the course of the day they’re all hired, some for a 12 hour shift, some for just an hour---yet EVERYONE is promised and receives a fair wage -- nothing more, nothing less -- just as they were promised. Those who worked more hours than the others were angry. It just doesn't seem fair. But as the landowner reminds them it is fair – they’re being paid just what was promised... It’s not their concern –It’s his choice to pay the later workers a full day’s wage, after all it’s his money, it’s his treasure. The landowner’s generosity isn’t based on time worked. His generosity is based on his abundance and his willingness to give extravagantly out of that abundance----sound familiar? But, still, even though it’s the Landowner’s prerogative, just like it’s God’s, the laborers who worked the longest—get cranky. It isn’t fair!!!! Perhaps the laborers have been talking with Jonah!
So why all the crankiness at the generosity of the landowner, the generosity of God? At the good fortune of others? Because deep within in our human nature lies a fear of scarcity---a fear that there won’t be enough. That if our neighbor has more, then we’re destined to have less… there isn’t enough for everyone. When we lack trust in God, when we fail to believe what Jesus has told us—time and time again!—we become insecure, a little whiny and definitely cranky-- assessing our lives not through the abundance we’ve been given by God but instead by what we feel we still lack. Cain and Abel, the freed yet still sojourning Israelites, the disciples arguing over who is the greatest--- we tend to look at life from a sense of what we could have, should have and don’t have instead of what we do have, through the grace of God. It’s joy vs. despair, faith vs. fear. Gratitude vs. resentment.
The gloom of despair overshadows the brightness of joy. Gratitude cannot co-exist with resentment. Faith has a difficult time elbowing out fear.
Gratitude begets joy and abundance, while fear begets resentment and scarcity.
Soon we’ll begin our Stewardship campaign—a time when we ask for all of us to consider what this parish means to us and how much we’re willing to give to keep our mission going.
Is our economy in tough shape? You bet. Is it easy, is it fair to ask people to increase their pledge during these tough times? Well, if we ask from a stance of fear, probably not. But, if we ask, if we answer from a stance of gratitude--when we answer out of our joy, and our faith then it is Absolutely fair. For what is fair is realizing that all that we have, no matter how sparse it may seem in comparison to others, is God’s bounty, graciously and abundantly GIVEN to us out of our Creator’s love for us. Our job, both as the people doing the asking and as the people doing the responding, is to focus on the gratitude of what is, not on the despair of what has been, what might be or what could be.
Last week the Bishop preached about new life emerging from the dust of death.  About joy coming out of sorrow, about the abundance of hope promised by God through the gift which is Jesus of Nazareth. He mentioned that the imagery of Psalm 30 was a great comfort to him during those dark days post 9/11. When I reflected on the psalm I realized how much it speaks to me when I consider the choices presented during a stewardship drive—I wonder if it spoke to Jonah as he considered the events in Ninevah or to the laborers w hen they considered the landowner’s generosity in the vineyard:
“O Lord be my helper, turn my wailing into dancing….my heart sings to you without ceasing, O Lord My God I will give you thanks forever.”

We can wail or we can dance. We can be miserable or we can be joyful.  Our choice is whether we want to fan the flames of hope or douse that fire of hope with fear. As Bishop Bill said, we can look down into the pit of despair or up into the heavens with praise.***yesterday I walked in the Bosom Buddies Fundraising Walk for Roswell Park’s Breast Cancer Resource Center. As I was given my Pink Survivor’s T-Shirt, I burst into tears: tears of gratitude, tears of faith, tears of joy. For I know that my choice, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer was to wail or to dance. Because of my faith community, because of our faith community, I was able to dance. Because of the love and support I received from the parishioners at Good Shepherd and the trust I have placed in God [I hardly ever, snatch it back. ;-)] my gaze is turned toward the heavens, shouting praise….***
Our stewardship campaigns at both Good Shepherd and Ascension will be about the hope that rises out of the dust, the faith which defeats fear and the gratitude that beats back resentment.
Our hearts can sing to God without ceasing, I think they should sing to God without ceasing, I think they will sing to God without ceasing, because God’s love showers us without ceasing.
Joy, faith and gratitude will beget more joy, more faith and more gratitude. We have made a huge leap of faith and it is paying off…our attendance is higher than it’s been in a long time, there’s a spirit of togetherness and love which is palpable to all those around us. Our Bishop has challenged us to live out our faith in new and bold ways, trusting us to joyously journey into this new covenant--  singing our hearts out and stepping ahead in faith,  trusting that God’s unequaled and divinely fair abundance leads the way. So let the journey continue- my heart is singing, my faith is dancing and my joy knows no bounds.
 Amen.

Sermon from 9.11.2011

Our lectionary, the readings assigned for each Sunday are on a three year cycle. What this means is that there’s no way the Lectionary designers chose today’s readings specifically for the 10th anniversary of 9/11. However, they are perfect for today, instructing us in the ways of tolerance, forgiveness, compassion and mercy---attributes which were and are easily lost when struck to the core as we were on Sept 11, 2001. So, instead of a sermon this morning, I give you those words from  Scripture and the words of San Diego psychotherapist A. B. Curtiss, who’s poem The Little Chapel That Stood pays homage to the Episcopal Chapel of St. Paul’s which stood in the shadow of the Twin Towers, and unscathed thanks to the towering branches of a Sycamore Tree, offered the rescue workers solace and hope during those heartbreaking days. And, hope is just what faith—be it Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu etc. promises. Thanks be to God.

The Little Chapel that Stood, by A. B. Curtiss
Around the Chapel of Old St. Paul
Blow the dancing leaves of the coming Fall.
In the morning breeze they leap and fly
Beneath the towers that scrape the sky.
George Washington’s family worshiped here;
Alexander Hamilton’s grave lies near.
Since Seventeen Hundred and Sixty Six
Has stood this house of God and bricks.
Solid and steadfast as time whirled around it,
Unchanged since horse and carriage found it.
A solace to presidents help to the poor. No one was ever turned from its door.
An immigrant’s refuge, a sojourner’s peace
Where hope is born and sorrows cease.
As the centuries passed, and the city grew dense, Its buildings grew higher and wider, immense.
And tallest and grandest, the city’s great pride. The New York Twin Towers rose up by its side.
The stress of power, the rush of people
Found comfort and rest beneath its steeple.
But doom, doom was coming all the time;
Doom, doom to a city fair and fine;
Doom doom was in the planes that climbed;
Doom doom, and then the sirens whined.
Two planes hi-jacked by a terrorist crew
Struck the twin towers: no warning no clue!
Who thought it could happen, or knew what to do?
Firemen came and New York’s Men in Blue.
Through the flying glass and smoke and din,
Thousands rushed out, as these brave men rushed in!
On the stairwell to safety there was no stranger. Each helped the other flee from the danger.
And some who climbed down remember, clear-cut, the faces of firemen climbing up!
And then, oh unthinkable thought!
They fell.
One tower, the other, they fell, fell, fell.
They fell with a rush and they fell with a roar.
The sky was blank where they’d been before.
And more was lost than who can say;
It was our hearts came down that day.
Through the clouds of black no one could see
How far [had] spread this calamity? The giants around it had come to a fall, but not the Chapel of Old St. Paul.
It was something of wonder, a symbol of grace, the steeple still there, not a brick out of place.
Some say [that] giant sycamore tree[’s] wood had saved the Little Chapel that Stood.
The old chandeliers that they’d packed away, through two world wars, they did not sway.
Then the crystals reflected a busy scene when the doors opened up to the [rescuing teams]
There were firemen’s shoes on the old iron fence, where they’d earlier hung them in haste, quick and tense
As they pulled on their boots and raced to the Towers,
Climbing melting steel [in]to flaming showers.
Oh what gallant men did we lose
Who never came back to get their shoes.
Ground Zero smoldered, dark and grim. Our hearts stood still, then we pitched in.
Helpers brought shovels, and pails and pans.
If they had nothing else they dug with their hands
To clear the mountain of crumpled steel
From a nightmare that was all too real…
Rescuers worked through the night and the day.
In the chapel they’d pause, then go on their way.
A hot cup of coffee, something to eat
Here the firemen, welders, policemen would meet.
All would come to rest from their labor
Volunteer, doctor, brother, neighbor.
We raised up the flag from the dust and the pain.
Freedom that’s lost must be won once again.
Each one of us is a link in that chain, to do something grand, or do something plain.
First we take heart, then we take aim, our littlest good deed is never in vain.
Working together is how we got through it.
Little by little we learned how to do it.
It’s nice to be big and its nice to be tall.
But sometimes being little doesn’t mean being small.
Just like the Chapel of Old St. Paul.
Hear the bells of freedom and what they say. Terror may come but it will not stay.
It will shake our world but we will not sway.
It will block the path but we’ll find our way…


Amen.

 The Little Chapel That Stood, A.B. Curtiss, Old Castle Publishing, Escondido, CA, 2003.

The Rockiness of our Faith doesn't Phase God

+The Rev’d Dr. Delmer Chilton, a Lutheran pastor and author refers to the Peter of today’s Gospel as Rocky, stating:

Why [did] Jesus decide to give Simon-Bar-Jona the nickname Rocky... that’s what the name Peter means…. It comes from “petra” Latin for rock or stone…Most of the time people who are nicknamed Rocky are stalwart, unmovable, straight-ahead, no-nonsense kind of guys, like Rocky Balboa. Somehow the name Rocky doesn’t seem to fit Simon son of Jona. For this Rocky, this Peter, was, to [be blunt], not very dependable… hot one minute, cold the next:

I’ll walk on water, Lord. Then Oops, help, I’m drowning!

I’ll never let them take you Lord, give me that Sword. Then Jesus? Never heard of him.

Lord, I’ll stand by you forever. Then Well, Jesus is dead, I’m going fishing.

Was Jesus making fun of Simon by calling him Peter?

Was Jesus joking when he said that on this rock of questioning, unstable, doubting and undependable faith I will build my church?

Why would Jesus choose someone so flawed, someone so irritable, undependable, doubting, questioning, fearful and full of angst as Simon Peter? Someone so……….

Like us? Shouldn’t the foundation of the church, the foundation of God’s reign in this world be entrusted to someone more deserving, more capable, more reliable?

Apparently not.

You see, God rarely chooses the all put together and the likely. Consider Abraham and Sarah, the parents of our faith—an aged, childless pair who doubted, scoffed and laughed at God.

Then there’s Moses….an abandoned Levite child raised in Pharaoh’s household, chosen to lead his enslaved kindred out of slavery, into a land of milk and honey. But nothing went smoothly for Moses as , over the next forty years, he stumbled and stammered his way in and out of favor with the Israelites and God.

But God hung in there and Moses is held in high esteem by Jews, Christians and Muslims alike. Abraham, Sarah, Moses, along with countless other flawed and very human humans were all prophets. Apparently, in God’s eyes, one needn’t be perfect, one needn’t even be particularly capable, to be chose. God plucks prophets, redeemers and saints --even a messiah---out of the unlikely of places, unusual of circumstances. Who can forget the details of Jesus’ birth--a peasant girl and her stalwart partner Joseph struggling to find any place to lay their heads—ending up in a barn alongside donkeys, cows, sheep, hay and that crazy star.

So why not Simon Peter, a Galilean fisherman full of bravado and self-assurance one moment, cowering behind pillars of doubt, fear and denial the next?

Just like us.

Peter wasn’t Jesus’ favorite, or even the most devoted apostle. But Peter’s the one. Obviously Jesus saw something in Peter that he thought was perfect for the establishment of the community of the faithful-- the church. And although I don’t know that Jesus envisioned denominations, dioceses, parishes ,Church conventions, reformations and schisms (well he probably figured there’d be fights) when he mentioned “Church,” I do think the choice of Peter sheds light on the Church as an institution, it’s past, it’s present and it’s future.

You see, Peter was flawed; Jesus knew that, God knew that, we know it. But God was willing to let Peter make his mistakes and Jesus was willing to let Peter grow into his role, because they knew that a big part of learning, of growing, is making mistakes. We don’t learn without making mistakes. Mistakes are instructive and useful, as long as we review it, take corrective action and try again. Going through this process teaches us---as individuals and as communities of faith.

Admitting our mistakes and then trying again. That’s what living a faithful life is all about folks. Most Sundays we have corporate confession and absolution. We confess our sins and we are absolved, forgiven. All of us.

How can God forgive what I’ve done, you may ask. Or, how can my forgiveness be wrapped up in the forgiveness of that scoundrel a few rows over?

But, you see, forgiveness, God’s forgiveness of us is abundant, constant and without caveat. Our forgiveness by God is assured as long as we admit, that we’ve made a mistake and strive, with all our might, to learn from it. That’s reconciliation and repentance: an amendment of life. We don’t promise to never make another mistake, we simply promise to learn from those we do make and when we mess up, admit it, make it as right as we can and move on. It’s what we tell our children all the time. Admit your error, fix it and try to do better next time.

This is what the church as an institution: parish, diocese, national church, the Church universal---needs to do: reconciliation, repentance, amendment of life. The Church and churches make mistakes: some small, resulting in hurt feelings, others large, resulting in atrocities, but regardless of the magnitude, the church MUST admit its, our, mistakes. And then do better. So often the Church has not done this. We preach a God whose love knows no bounds, whose care for us is never compromised, yet we hide our mistakes, too proud or too ashamed to admit the error of our ways. When we, as a church, do this, we’re insulting God, we’re denying the lessons we’ve learned from all who’ve come before us.

Why was Peter chosen to be the cornerstone of our faith, the gatekeeper of salvation and the symbol of the Church as Institution? Because. ….

While Peter said:

I’ll walk on water, Lord.

Oops, help, I’m drowning!

We’ve said (and say)

We’ll serve the poor, just after we skim some off the top

And while Peter exclaimed:

I’ll never let them take you Lord, give me that Sword.

Jesus? Never heard of him.

We’ve proclaimed:

We’ll love everyone, no exceptions. Well, except for the Jews. And the Muslims.

And the women. And the Gays and the Lesbians, and the people with disabilities……

And when Peter exhorted:

Lord, I’ll stand by you forever.

Well, Jesus is dead, I’m going fishing.

We’ve said:

Yes, the church is greater than the sum of its parts but if you make that decision, I’m leaving.

God, chose Peter in spite of, maybe even because of , his flaws. God knew who Peter was, God knows who we are. But God also knows who we, through the help of the Holy Spirit, can be. Rocks and all.+

The Crumbs of Grace Feed this Fierce Mother 8.14.2011

+When I served at the Cathedral, everyone called me Mother Cathy. This freaks some folks out, reminding them of scary Mother Superiors from old movies. For others it feels artificial and forced. At first I couldn’t stand it, preferring to just be called Cathy. But I must admit, since leaving the Cathedral and moving to Good Shepherd and now Ascension, I kind of miss it. Never having been a Mother in the usual sense (unless you count my dogs) the respect and affection attached to the title Mother was something I, deep down, longed for and came to enjoy. It’s not the formality of the title I learned to love, it was that respect and affection. Of course, not all the images conjured by the term “mother” are pleasant.

For those who didn’t enjoy the love of a mother in the traditional sense, the term can bring painful memories. For those who have recently lost their mother, it can pierce the heart. “Mother” is a powerful image. An icon of sorts.

When we are blessed to have an attentive, healthy, aware mother, we are supported through, defended by, and cared for by a force stronger than anything else in nature. To paraphrase the famous saying , “Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned.” I wish that type of mother, or mother figure in all our lives. The Canaanite Woman in today’s Gospel was such a mother. She would not be denied or pushed aside, regardless of the consequences.

Remember, she’s not a Jew—but a Gentile who approaches Jesus and his followers with determination, pride and a love beyond all measure. Her story is remarkable on a number of levels, not the least of which is the fact that she out-wits Jesus and gets him to admit he is wrong. At this stage of Jesus’ life (in Matthew’s Gospel) Jesus is still coming to grips with who he is and what his mission is to be. Jesus, and in turn his disciples, consider his mission, his ministry, to be for the Jews…and only for them… the fulfillment of the covenant established by God through Moses. He’s traveled to Syro-Phonecian territory, a predominantly non-Jewish region, to get some rest and relaxation…assuming that no one would pay him any attention, since he wasn’t “their messiah.” Suddenly, out of nowhere, comes this woman screaming for Jesus to heal her daughter. She has trouble written all over her---there’s no man: no husband, no father, no brother…an unaccompanied woman approaching a group of men is bizarre and completely inappropriate for that culture. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, not only is she a Gentile---she’s a Canaanite--her ancestors came from the land of Canaan---the residents of the land promised to Moses, the destination for the Exodus people. A land the Jews forcibly wrestled from the Canaanites.

Her ethnicity is dripping with symbolism, a symbolism further underscored by Jesus’ response when the disciples ask him to get rid of her: “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But Jesus is wrong. He’s been sent to the lost sheep of the world---he’s to heal all the broken, to lift up all the down-trodden, to heal all the sick…but he doesn’t get it. The Canaanite woman—the unaccompanied, unclean woman who should, on all accounts, despise the Jews, does get it.

This woman—a desperate and determined mother--helps Jesus see the full scope of his mission, she teaches the Teacher.

Jesus learns.

Mothers have a way of doing things like this---of knowing more than they should, of acting braver than they think they are, of enduring whatever it takes to get their children what they need.

This Canaanite mother was no different. She was a force to be reckoned with.

Of course, most people cringe when they hear Jesus’ response to her “Lord, help me” plea.

“It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

What???? Has Jesus lost his mind? Can this possibly be the same Jesus who teaches that we must love everyone, no exceptions? Yes, it can be. Yes it is.

Jesus is simply saying, in language not unusual for his culture, that he was the messiah for the Jews and that his work was for them—the lost sheep—not for anyone else.

But, not to be denied, the woman says,

“yes Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.” She hasn’t taken offense, she isn’t going to make a scene. But she also isn’t going away. She accepts where Jesus is at—that he has come for the Jewish people and no one else—and challenges him with the very fact that dogs will eat the crumbs which fall from their master’s table and that all she wants—this unclean, unaccompanied, socially unacceptable person—are the crumbs of his grace. She has such faith in who Jesus is, and such desperation to help her child, that she is willing to accept the left-overs, the trash, if it will save her daughter. Hell hath no fury and Hell hath no smarts, like that of a desperate mother!

Thank God the woman responded as she did. For if she hadn’t, her daughter would not have been healed, and Jesus wouldn’t have been taught.

Mothers, and mother figures across the ages, have tempered their fury, have bridled their rage,and at times have swallowed their pride….not because they felt unworthy, not because they felt unclean, not because they felt uneducated…but because they have put their own needs aside in order to provide for their children. For mothers---those who have earned that moniker in their life---set aside their own desires, their own pride, their own needs in order to provide for those whom they love without reason, those whom they love beyond all measure, those for whom they will lay down their very life…not because they’re super-human, not because they’re heroes, but because they are, plain and simple: mothers. Sound familiar?

Jesus came to teach us that God loves us beyond all reason, beyond all measure and without any limit. We worship the One who laid down his life for us. Not because we deserve it, not because we earned it, but because God, our eternal parent has a love for us which is fierce. Just like a mother.+

Aug 7 : It's like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree

+It’s like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree.

Quite an image isn’t it?

But the statement is a fitting saying for so many of our efforts. For me, trying to understand assembly diagrams is a lot like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree. I maneuver the paper this way and that, I think I just about have it…. and then the whole sticky mess ends up on the ground—leaving the product unassembled and me, frustrated.

Our readings today describe various efforts to identify, describe, [name] and prove God.

But our efforts to name God, our efforts to prove God’s existence, our efforts to conjure up a fitting image for God is a lot like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree. Just when we think we’ve got it, we end up with an unassembled sticky mess.

Of course, that doesn’t stop us from trying. In the First Book of Kings, Ezekiel tries to see God, to touch God, to know who God is. Ezekiel searches wind, earthquakes and fire trying to find a fitting image for God.

In Exodus, Moses tries to name God…he implores God---whom should I say you are? And God answers, simply, “I am.” God is. Period. Trying to explain it more than that usually leads us into a sticky mess. But just like Jell-O and that tree, we try. Some of us find God in an image of an old white grandpa- like figure sitting in a throne, overlooking creation. Others of us find God in nature, in a beautiful sunset or in the roar of waves crashing on the shore. Others think God is light. The images of God are as varied as the type of people in our world…people will always be searching for God, trying to find the one definitive image. But just as quickly as one person finds what they consider the image, another person comes along to dispute it.

The fact is, God has many different names, God has many different faces. God is found in all sorts of places and in all sorts of conditions. It really depends on your perspective. But, as Ezekiel discovered in the Book of Kings, he only finds God, once he and everything around him, quiets down. Only then does he discover where God always is, and always will be--right there, in the silence of the world, in the shear and utter silence of our souls.

The thing is trying to name God, as Moses did or try to image God, like Ezekiel did or to try and prove God in Jesus, as Peter did, isn’t the point. Faith is.

While God- and the faith we have in God, through Jesus Christ-may, at times, seem fleeting, evasive, hard to describe and difficult to see; God, the divinity of God’s Son, Jesus, and the faith in this which we proclaim, is never absent.

Only our ability to notice it is.

Only our ability to trust in it is.

Only our ability to accept it is.

Such was the case with Peter.

Jesus liked metaphors. Peter liked proof. Jesus used his faith in his mission to fuel his work. Peter questioned this faith and seemed always to challenge (or deny) the mission.

Peter, in his zeal to KNOW THE TRUTH, TO PROVE THE TRUTH, TO LIVE THE TRUTH, didn’t just try and nail Jell-O to a tree, he tried to jackhammer it:

“Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water. Jesus said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and began walking on the water…but when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, began to sink and cried out to Jesus, “Save me.”

Peter, who initially called out to Jesus in bravado and determination, ends up crying out to him in fear and trembling. What happened? What changed? Well, the sinking, of course…but what caused the sinking? Was it physics? Perhaps. But maybe, just maybe it was something else. Because, to me, the most important words in that whole section of scripture is “when he noticed.”

Peter was doing fine until he noticed what was happening. Once he noticed that he was walking on water, once he noticed the strong headwind, once he noticed that there was no safety rope, no life preserver; once he noticed that his walking on water was a sheer act of faith…. he began to sink.

Not because there was no life preserver, not because walking on water is physically impossible. No, he began to sink as soon as doubt took hold.

He sank because he stopped living his faith and started noticing his doubt.

He began to sink not because he lacked faith, but because he doubted he had enough. He began to sink because instead of going with it, going forward in faith, wherever it took him, he looked down, looked around and became afraid and full of doubt.

Doubt drags us down. Doubt sinks us, doubt is what defeats us.

Peter loved Jesus, but he didn’t want to walk on the water because of that love; he wanted to walk on the water to make Jesus prove himself. That’s not faith, that’s doubt.

Jesus knew that Peter doubted , that he questioned. He knows we doubt, he knows we question. But Jesus, just like with Peter, is always with us, ready to reach out an arm to save us from sinking into the despair of doubt. All we need to do is cry out, reach out and hold on. Trying to live our lives on our own, without asking for help, with out reaching out and holding on will leave us a sticky unassembled mess on the ground just like that jell-o and the tree.

Faith, isn’t something to be proven, it’s something to be witnessed.

And to be witnessed, our faith must be lived.

Living it means, walking on the water in spite of the wind. Living it means loving, forgiving and, most of all, believing. Believing in God means trusting that God is always here. Living our faith means knowing that, after all the noise of the world-- the screeching winds, the rumbling earthquakes, the rushing floodwaters and the blasts of battle stop, if we listen very carefully, if we look very closely, if we feel very honestly, we will discover that our Creator God, the God who loves and lives in, around and through us, is still here, deep within, where our souls rest in utter silence.

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The Same Old Lesson to Learn.

Read the Bishop’s pastoral letter, then:

+“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

This glorious soliloquy from Paul’s letter to the church in Rome has offered hope to the outcast for generations. As the Church, and the world, has battled to decide who is in and who is out, who is acceptable and who is not, this passage from today’s Epistle leads us to realize that, whatever the barrier, we have no right to erect it when it comes to church membership, or the offering of the sacraments. Today, as stated by Bishop Franklin, yet another human barrier has fallen. Once again, the love of God trumps bigotry, fear and hate.

Whenever a barrier is knocked down, people become anxious. Anxious because new is scary and different can be uncomfortable. For some of us, the law for marriage equality, and our Bishop’s pastoral response to it, is a source of great jubilation; for others, it’s a source of worry and concern.

But in reflecting on this development the past few weeks, and in considering how our work in this place can reach out to those so long injured by the church as institution I realized something:

“the more things change, the more the stay the same.”

I had a history professor in college, Dr. Schutte, who said, “History repeats itself because people change. We keep having the same battles over and over again because each generation needs to learn these lessons for themselves.”

And so, every couple of decades, a new barrier is identified, and change occurs. As the Bishop said, first it was race, then gender, now, sexual orientation. Presiding Bishop Edmund Browning, in 1981 (coincidentally the same year my History professor made her statement) pronounced “there shall be no outcasts in this Episcopal church.”

For 30 years we’ve been trying to live into that promise, learning the same lessons along the way. And for 2000 years we’ve been trying to live into Paul’s statement to the church in Rome, learning the same lessons, along the way. And Paul was trying, as we continue to try, to live into Jesus’ commandment that we love one another as he loves us…learning the same lessons along the way. Since the beginning of time, we’ve been trying to live into God’s deepest desire for us: that we work together, in spite of our differences, in spite of our fears regarding those differences, that we work together to love one another, just as God loves us….learning the same lessons along the way. But to learn these lessons we have to stretch, we have to get uncomfortable, we need to change.

In the church (and in the state of New York) today it’s Gay and Lesbian people, 30 years ago it was women, before that it was deaf people, before that it was people of color…. back in the days of Paul it was this new sect of Christian Jews, breaking the barriers of the Temple Jews. It’s the same lesson: God loves everyone and everyone is welcome at God’s table. We’re still stretching, we’re still learning, we’re still uncomfortable….

And at the forefront of this stretching, this learning, this increasing discomfort stand people taking the lead… Men and women who break through and, at great personal risk, pave the way for others. Our church calendar honors many of these trailblazers, Absalom Jones, the first African American Priest, Henry Winter Style, the first deaf priest, Barbara Harris the first woman bishop, Gene Robinson the first openly gay bishop.

The Bible, too, is full of such barrier breaking people. From Abraham to Noah, from Moses to Elijah, from John the Baptist to Jesus. And then there are the women: Sarah and Hagar, Miriam and Deborah, Ruth and Naomi, Mary and Martha of Bethany, Mary Magdalene, the Apostle to the Apostles and, of course, the young woman who said yes, the woman who was by Jesus side from his birth to his death, from his Resurrection to his Ascension ,Mary the Mother of Jesus, the God-bearer. These women stretched boundaries, made others uncomfortable and brought about change….they stepped out of the familiar and the expected…what they did was new and this unfamiliarity, this “out of the box” behavior, left the main stream culture feeling insecure, unsure, afraid.

And when insecure, unsure and afraid those in control, those settled into the familiar, often lash out….in anger and in fear. It happened to Hagar, it happened Ruth and Naomi, it happened to the Mary’s. It happened to Absalom Jones, to Henry Winter Style, to Barbara Harris and to Gene Robinson.

New and unfamiliar is threatening. We, as human beings, categorize things…we process things according to what we know. And when something isn’t familiar, when it (or she or they) doesn’t/don’t fit into a pre-set category, we’re thrown off balance, and being off balance is threatening, and uncomfortable and scary.

Our anxiety when it comes to change, our discomfort when it comes to different, is nothing new.

It happened with the Jews and the early Christians two millennia ago.

It happens with refugees.

It happens with different races, it happens with different cultures.

It happens with men and women, with straight and with gay.

It happens with liturgies, it happens with the time of church services, it happens with new priests, new parishioners.

And it happens with the advent of marriage equality in our state and in our church.

I share with our Bishop the hope that as we delve into this unfamiliar territory of marriage equality…and then when we delve into whatever barrier is next identified and then broken down…that we remember Paul’s loving reminder, that we learn this fundamental lesson of humanity: that nothing, no one, no thing, will ever keep us—all of us---from the love of God as given to us through Jesus Christ. Because that love the love which fits us like a glove trumps all fear, all discomfort and all anxiety. Every single time. +