All Saints: The Rough Draft

Courtesy of wordle.net, here's the rough draft of Sunday's sermon

Sermon, 25th Sunday of Ordinary Time

“And throwing away his cloak, he jumped up and came to Jesus” (Mark 10:50)

“What do you want me to do for you?”  Twice now we have heard Jesus ask that question.  Last week, he asked James and John, “What do you want me to do for you,” and they answered, basically: when you inherit the kingdom we know that’s coming to you, we want to be the closest to your awesome power and abundant privileges.  We want the biggest share of your awesome power and abundant privileges.  And of course, just a little earlier, Jesus had to tell them to receive him like a child when they all got to arguing over which one of them was the greatest. 

Today, Jesus asks that question again, “What do you want me to do for you?”  This time, he asks the blind beggar, Bartimaeus, who verbally answers, “let me recover my sight.”  But truthfully, he answered Jesus when he threw off his cloak, his only means of shelter and support, and entrusted his entire life to Jesus the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of David.  And so Jesus asks each one of us today, “What do you want me to do for you?”  Will our answer be worthy of the question?

Our story begins as Jesus is leaving Jericho.  He is only 15 miles away from his ultimate destination, Jerusalem, where he has told his disciples three times that he will be killed and that he will rise.  And yet, he is still surrounded by many disciples and a great crowd.  Notice that Mark separates the two.  There are those who have followed Jesus from up north in Galilee for three years, waiting for him to come to God’s holy city and inaugurate the kingdom that will throw off the chains of Roman oppression, a kingdom in which his disciples expect to share in the power and privilege that comes with worldly empire.  Then there is the crowd; curious, hopeful, skeptical, just looking for a great show; I’m sure that all those emotions were running through this great crowd.

Then Jesus passes by this blind beggar without a word.  The disciples and the great crowd follow behind.  And amid all their murmuring, Bartimaeus can make out the words, “Jesus,” and “Nazarene.”  And he knows who Jesus is.  He has heard people speaking of this Galilean prophet as they passed by him on the way to Jerusalem for the past three years.  He knows what Jesus could do for him.  Then he realizes that the first pair of footsteps he heard, before the clomping of the crowd, was Jesus himself!  And so he shouts at the top of his voice, "Jesus Son of David, have mercy!"  Bartimaeus knows the kind of power that Jesus has, for he calls him by the Messianic title of King David's son.
 
But does Bartimaeus understand Jesus's power any better than his disciples?  For those three years and who knows how many years before that, he has sat on the road between Jericho and Jerusalem, day after day, with his cloak spread out before him, so that passers-by with some pity could drop coins, which he would then bundle together in that cloak of his and stumble his way to the market for food.  He has probably learned how many steps he has to take before he turns right or left to get to the market.  He probably knows how many steps it is to his favorite hole in the ground where he can wrap his cloak around him for warmth and get some rest.  And he probably knows how many steps and how many turns to get back to his spot on the road between Jericho and Jerusalem, where he spreads out his cloak for another day of begging and alms.  It’s a living.  There’s security in knowing that as long as he stays there, he has as much assurance of food and shelter as anyone else has in this world.  So does Bartimaeus have the faith to let go of his security?  Does he really trust Jesus enough to let go of his cloak of alms?  Does he have the faith to leave behind the home he knows, step by step?  I think that's why Jesus passed him by.  Does Bartimaeus really want the kind of healing that Jesus brings?  Does he, or for that matter do we, really want to see our Lord going to die?

The answer is most emphatically: Yes!  He doesn’t throw off his cloak.  He throws it away, with his coins from a day’s begging flying in the air.  And he stumbles toward Jesus.  That throwing away of his cloak is really the answer that Jesus is looking for.  Yes, Bartimaeus wants his sight back.  But Bartimaeus knows Jesus can do much more.  Bartimaeus knows that God made him for more than begging.  He may not know what exactly it is that God made him for, but he trusts that with opened eyes, he will see the destiny that God has in store for him.  That is the faith, the trust, that Jesus sees in Bartimaeus when he throws away his security blanket, which leads him to proclaim, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.”  And leaving behind his cloak, his alms, his security, Bartimaeus does what no one else whom Jesus has healed has done; he follows Jesus into Jerusalem.

And so today, the Gospel asks us two questions.  What is our cloak?  And what do we want Jesus to do for us?  Maybe you’ve excelled at a certain role in life: strong provider, successful entrepreneur.  Maybe you’ve excelled at those roles so much that you’re confusing the role that you perform with who you are, the person that God made and loves regardless of what you do.  Maybe you’ve accepted a relationship that is unhealthy, and yet you persist in it because it is at least familiar.  Any habit, strength, role, or prejudice that keeps your head down, and your eyes focused on the day to day struggle to preserve that security blanket, that is your cloak.  What do you want Jesus to do for you?  Do you just want Jesus to preserve that cloak?  Or are you ready for Jesus to tip your head up, so that your eyes can begin glimpse a new possibility, a future you cannot imagine but that God already sees?
 
If you want to follow Jesus, don't look down for him in your old cloak.  He is ahead of you, and waiting for you as well.  And so is Bartimaeus. 

Sermon Preview, Proper 25

A little late, but here 'tis, courtesy of wordle.net

The Cursillo Code

If you haven’t already heard, I’m headed for Camp McDowell this afternoon, along with Russ and Lili Henderson, for Cursillo 170 in the Episcopal Diocese of Alabama.  On Thursday, Odes and Kathy Wilemon will arrive as two of 40 people who will get a “short course” (in Spanish, cursillo) on the life of a committed Christian.  The movement is called Cursillo because it started with Roman Catholic Christians in Spain in the 1950s.  Those men spent a lot of time in small groups helping each other learn how to spread the Good News within their particular cultural environment. 

Eventually, they conceived the idea of weekends to teach laypeople how to be apostles, that is, those who are “sent” by Christ into the world to help others on their spiritual journeys.  Eventually the movement made its way to the U.S.  Episcopalians who participated in some of the early Cursillo weekends with Roman Catholics then took the movement into our denomination.

The weekends can certainly be a great time of spiritual renewal.  Mine in the Diocese of Virginia was.  Back in 2001, I was not ordained.  But I heard then, as my fellow cursillistas also did, the call to be an apostle, to always be open to hear where people were in their spiritual journeys, to be their friend first, and then bring them to Christ.  It is this sense of apostleship that is at the heart of the Cursillo movement.  As profoundly joyful as the weekends can be, Cursillo is not for a weekend, and it is not principally about one’s personal renewal.  It is about a life of commitment to be one of Christ’s apostles wherever you are sent.

So, please pray for me.  I along with two other clergy will be a spiritual advisor this weekend.  Please pray for Russ and Lili who will be serving the pilgrims, among them Odes and Kathy, who should also be in your prayers.  If any of this sounds intriguing, ask me or “Ultreyamaster” David Wise.  Ultreya, by the way, is simply Spanish for “Onward!”

Sermon, 23rd Sunday of Ordinary Time

“Truly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time…and in the age to come eternal life.” (Mark 10:29-30)

Security comes from two Latin words which, when you put them together, mean “free from care.”  We all want to be free from care.  We don’t want to have to care about where our next meal is coming from, or where we will sleep with our family tomorrow night.  Because we are a church, we frequently get people coming off the street asking for money, to get their lights and heat turned back on, to avoid eviction from their home, to feed their children this week.  I have noticed that often they don’t look as “well-kept,” as we do.  But of course, if you have to spend your days thinking and caring about the basics of life – food, shelter – you probably won’t have as much time or energy to care about your appearance.

The two main characters facing Jesus today are both full of care and feel insecure.  Representing the disciples, Peter knows what they all have given up.  He has given up a moderately successful fishing business.  He has given up his wife’s company, all to follow a man who said that foxes have holes and birds have nests but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head, much less his followers.  His insecurity is obvious.
 
But the rich young man?  He was quite secure in his home, surrounded by his possessions, lacking none of the comforts of his life.  Except that runs up to Jesus, kneels before him and begs, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”  What a shock that must have seemed to the people around him and Jesus, who had always assumed a direct connection between God’s love and prosperity.  But this man, far richer than most if not all of Jesus’s disciples, is learning what they can’t: that all the riches of the world don’t answer the most important question, what will my earthly life have meant when I am dead?  Jesus knows this too, which is why he “loved” this man enough to tell him the truth, however much it actually adds to his insecurity.

Many scholars have noted that Jesus's testing of the rich man involves the 2nd half of the Decalogue, that which guides our relationships with our fellow human beings.  Murder, adultery, stealing, perjury, all are covered in The Ten Commandments.  Fraud is the act which results from coveting that which belongs to your neighbor.  Honoring your parents is also an action.  Many scholars have wondered about Jesus's silence on the first commandments, the ones of the heart, the ones about our relationship with God.

But Jesus's follow-up with the rich man can only be fully understood in the light of the first two commandments.  Sell everything you have, and give the money to the poor, Jesus says to him.  What he is telling him is this:  Let go of your idols, those “things” on which you have bet your security, those “things” you have used to reassure yourself that God is beside you.  All your money and all your possessions can't make you feel secure or reassure you of God’s presence.  If they could, would you be here now asking how to inherit eternal life?

The 2nd commandment:  You shall not make an image of God and worship it as though it was God.  Any of the concrete things of this world on which we bet our security other than the God we can't see is an idol.  Jesus isn't adding to this man's to-do list.  He isn't giving him an outreach program to execute.  He's trying to get him to see where he has fallen short of the 2nd commandment.  Then come, Jesus concludes, and follow me.  Yes, only God is good.  But as God made visible, I am your way to him, and I am the fulfillment of the 1st commandment to worship only the one God.

To be fair, all we know is that the rich man went away grieving.  Perhaps he was resolved to do what Jesus said.  Giving up that much of our earthly security would be a grievous process for any of us.  More to the point is the reaction of his disciples, who prove that they're no better off than the rich man.  They haven't placed their bets on prosperity.  As Peter rightly says, they have left their occupations and their families -- as much business partners as companions -- to follow Jesus.  So what's in it for them?

As we have seen and will see next week, they have bet their security on power, more specifically Jesus’s power and their access to that power.  And power has become their idol.  So at the end of today's Gospel, Jesus spells it out for them.  Are you concerned that you have lost the extra hands to help feed you and clothe you and shelter you?  You're going to have thousands of extra hands: mothers and children, brothers and sisters.  But no fathers, because you have the only Father you'll ever need, in your living and your dying.  And that Father guarantees your security, not to be free from earthly cares, but to never drown in those cares if you let go of your idols and walk in the way of Jesus.  Your security is now and always will be in your relationships, those that are given you and those you build.

What must I do to inherit eternal life, was the question with which we began, even though the rich man treated salvation as something to be earned and then stored securely away more than given as an inheritance.  Yours and my security is not something that any of us can earn and insure against loss.  What must you and I do to inherit eternal life, and to be secure in that life?  Open our doors to those mothers, those sons and daughters, those brothers and sisters whom we could never imagine: and open our hearts to the Father of us all.

Sermon Preview, Proper 23

Hot off the presses and courtesy of wordle.net, here's the "rough draft" of my sermon

Praying the Psalms

I'm linking to this very helpful article on praying the Psalms, which are an essential part of prayer in the Anglican tradition, and often the most challenging part as well.  The Psalms reflect the reality of human relationship with God, not the idealized, which makes them uncomfortable sometime for us.  But God meets us in the reality of where we are in our lives, not where we wish to be.  That is the message of the Psalms.

Homily, Blessing of the Pets in Honor of St. Francis

Which Francis do we remember today?  With all these beautiful animals around us, and the statues of Francis holding the birds in his hands: we certainly can recall the man who took unlimited joy in God's creation.  We recall the monk who achieved such harmony with creation that he preached to the birds of God's care for them, and they responded by chirping joyfully and flapping their wings.

But do we remember today the rich clothier's son who married "Lady Poverty"?  Do we remember the man who heard the call of God, "Rebuild my church," and took it literally by selling his father's silk to pay for the renovation of the church where he had heard that call?  Finally, do we remember the man who literally stripped himself naked of everything his father had given him rather than abandon that call?  How many statues of that Francis have you seen?

On the one hand, no man or woman before or after Francis was able to find such joy and harmony in the good earth that God created.  On the other hand, no man or woman before or after Francis was as able to renounce the gifts of creation so completely.  Ah the gifts of creation.  Perhaps what Francis understood was that the only giver of anything good is God, so he didn’t confuse the creation with the creator.  And perhaps Francis understood that the whole creation was God’s gift.

For all of us in varying degrees, this earth is something we fight in order to scratch out a living.  Or this good earth is something that we bring under our control, and squeeze out all of the wealth we can until this patch dries out, and we move on to the next green part, while all around us the desert grows.
Can we let go of the fear that pushes us to seize what God has already given us?  Can we learn to separate what we need from what we want?  Can we let go of the illusion of security with which we surround ourselves?  By God's grace, Francis was able to do all that.

Karl Marx once said that if there had been 12 Francises at the same time, then there would have been no need for a revolution.  Now I am not demanding that you all become like Francis.  But as you bring forward these creatures -- these creations of God -- whom you love: let that offering be your first baby step toward trusting God to give you whatever you need.  Let this offering be the first step toward your total trust in the God who gave us all life, and through Jesus Christ gives us the only life that matters.

In the spirit of St. Francis, let us renounce whatever we want, so that God can fill the empty space within us with whatever we need.  And so filled, let us renew this good earth by God's extravagant grace.

Liturgical October

Happy October!  Now get to work.

Yep, it’s going to be a busy October.  This Saturday is our parish clean-up day.  Ernie Moore has already cleaned the breezeway from Founder’s Hall to the Church.  On Sunday, we gather outside in the courtyard for the pet blessing as we remember perhaps the greatest saint since the New Testament, St. Francis of Assisi.  We’ll be even busier from Oct. 14-18. That Wednesday, The Hendersons and I will be at Camp McDowell preparing for a Cursillo weekend of Christian instruction and Christian joy.  On Thursday, the Episcopal Church Men will be at the church all night cooking Boston Butts and sharing in the spirits – I mean spirit.  On Saturday, the 17th, we will have a yard sale.  On Sunday, Arnold Bush will be the guest priest, while I will be finishing up at Camp McDowell.

And them, we will end October with a blast – our afternoon Halloween Festival, which will conclude with an All Hallows Eve service geared toward families and children to get their trick-or-treating started with liturgy.  Ah, there’s that word, liturgy.  You see it every Sunday on the front of your bulletin.  We are a liturgical people.  But what does that mean?  “Liturgy” comes from two Greek words put together to say, “work of the people.” 

You could say that “liturgy” is a public work, except that then it sounds like a taxpayer-funded government project.  In ancient times, most “public works” were gatherings of the people for religious observances.  Services at the Temple in Jerusalem were referred to as a “liturgy.”  In Greco-Roman culture, most public gatherings at the coliseum or arena included prayers, whatever the particular occasion.  So, any public gathering was, by definition, a religious observance.  In this way, public gatherings of the Christian faithful became known as “liturgy.”

In this way is the common made holy, and the holy made common.  When ECM gathers together this month, they will be doing a lot of work, while hopefully will make a lot of money.  But they will also be enjoying each others’ fellowship in Christ.  So that public gathering will be a liturgy.  When we come together on Saturday to make our church look even more beautiful than it already is, while enjoying each other’s company, that will be a liturgy.  In this way are the common activities of cleaning and cooking made holy, with the spirit of Christ moving through each of us.  When we give thanks for God’s creation and bless those his creatures whom we have adopted, we are honoring all that is common in the world as touched by the hand of God, and thus holy.  And if God’s hand is on everything that we see, then we can also see that God’s holiness is not confined to just one special place called a church.

And when we treat even “Sister Death” (as St. Francis called it) in a playful and liturgical manner on All Hallows Eve, we affirm that nothing in life or death is untouched by the hand of God.  We Episcopalians are a liturgical people.  We believe that there is no part of this life that cannot be made holy when faithful Christians come together and offer that occasion to God.  So, I wish you all a blessed and liturgical October.