WEB AND CHURCH

A Light in the Dark - A Sermon

2009-12-29T06:26:00.000-05:00

I’m still basking in the glow of Christmas Eve services, aren’t you? Or maybe it’s just the bloat of too much holiday chocolate. No, really, it’s those services – they were awe inspiringly beautiful. One of my favorite moments in both of the services is when the lights are dimmed and Silent Night was played.

I love sitting there in the semi-darkness with the glow of candles illuminating the place. There’s a warmth about it that you can’t find anywhere else. Good thing for all those candles, though – otherwise it could get very dark indeed, especially if we were to have a power outage. That wouldn’t be comfortable at all.

Actually, I like the darkness. I get up very early – around 4 AM – and like to go around the house without the lights on. It makes for a gentle start to the day. I watch the sun come up and never have to worry about alarm clocks. I can do this because I know the house so well that I could just about walk it end to end with my eyes clothes.

Besides that, I have cheats. The house is never in total darkness. The DVD player and the VCR have little blue and red lights. Just about every clock in the house has an LED light. I navigate through the house using the little dots of light as guideposts so I don’t bump into things.

It’s sort of like years ago when I took flying lessons and my instructor decided I was ready for night flying. I was not so sure. I had enough trouble navigating during the daytime. But once he got me up there at night, the twinkling lights above and the lights below made any insecurity worthwhile. What’s more, I could see the roads lit up and the bridge – and even the airport came into beautiful view with the runway all lit up and guiding me home.

Darkness is great when it’s not total, when there are guiding lights. In our modern society, you don’t get much total darkness, so it might be hard to appreciate that fact. But in John’s day when he wrote the Gospel, darkness could be nearly complete, and dangerous. People understood the power of a light in the darkness.

That may be why he sandwiched this little meditation on light in between the more well-known segments about Jesus being the Word. You know, In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Great stuff. And important.

The “Word” passages for John do the same thing that Matthew’s and Luke’s birth stories do. It tells us that Jesus was a real person, God with us. Emmanuel. The significance of this cannot be understated. God is with us, one of us. In becoming truly human, God makes OUR story into HIS story. And in making our story his, God shows with absolute clarity that we matter to him.

But John wants to go beyond that. These first few paragraphs of his Gospel serve as a prologue – a map for where he’s going with the rest of it. And he shows us up front that he wants us to see Jesus as more than merely God-become-man. John wants us to see Jesus as Guide as well. He is the light in the darkness, the one who not only lets us know that God is with us but that he will lead us home, show us the way if only we will follow.

John might see Jesus as those blinking LED lights that guide me through the dark house or as those beautiful runway lights that let the weary pilot know that this way is rest and safety.

Since we’re still in the Christmas season, I’ll tell you that one of my favorite Christmas movies is “It’s a Wonderful Life.” I love the beginning when Joseph tells Clarence the Angel (second class) all about the world, he shows him a picture of the earth. When he gets to Jesus, there is a flash of light. The only problem is, it’s a flash, it fades when Jesus leaves.

I see that and scream in my head, “Noooo!” The light still shines in the dark! The darkness is still there, but it cannot overcome the light. You might despair that the darkness still exists, but take heart – it doesn’t take a huge light to point the way. Jesus is our light, still shining steady and sure. All we need to do is keep our eyes on him, and he will guide us home.

As John knows, the miracle of Christmas is not just a birth, but also a light.

Traditional Christmas - A Sermon

2009-12-29T06:17:00.004-05:00

Merry Christmas!

Let’s have the kids up to place Christ Child on the Advent Calendar. We do this every Christmas Eve – it’s our tradition. [Christ Child is placed on Calendar] There are so many good Christmas traditions, aren’t there – greenery, gifts, greeting cards…

Not that every tradition is one you look forward to, right? I mean – Fruit cake?

And of course, there is that other St. James’ Christmas tradition – the annual tuba sermon.

Each year, I bring out the tuba and play a song or two. Maybe it’s just a winter song we associate with Christmas [Jingle Bells] or maybe it’s a song about Christmas that has nothing to do with Jesus [I’m dreaming of a White Christmas] or MAYBE it might even be about the birth of Christ [Away in the Manger].

But it’s tradition! Of course, traditions change over time. Did you know that one early American Christmas tradition used to be to throw people in jail for celebrating Christmas? That’s right – many of the early English settlers hated Christmas.

And the puritans made Christmas illegal because it was based on a pagan holiday called Saturnalia. Saturnalia had its own traditions like gift giving and parties and sending seasons greetings – no wonder the puritans hated it.

They also hated Christmas because the bible doesn’t tell you WHEN Jesus was born, so December 25 can’t really be Jesus’ birthday. Personally, if I were going to pick an arbitrary date for Christmas, I’d pick June – it sure would make it easier for people to get to church without worrying about snow!

So, what do you think? Should we toss everyone here in jail? Should we give up all of these traditions and dump Christmas?

I don’t think so!

You see, it doesn’t matter when we celebrate the birth of Christ as long as we celebrate it. And since we’ve gotten used to December 25, why not keep it?

What’s more, even though the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus are the primary points for Christians, it IS good to celebrate Christ’s birth.

Because what we’re really celebrating here isn’t a birthday. It’s not even this cute baby and the Hallmark picture of the stable that we’re celebrating. No, what we’re celebrating is the fact that God is with us. More than that, what we’re REALLY celebrating is that God loves us so much that he chose to let us know he’s with us.

Now I ask you, is there a better way to show people that you’re with them than to physically show up? That’s what we do when we want to show we care, isn’t it? One of the best things we people do – and this is a holiday tradition, too, by the way – is that we visit each other. We show up.

The more we love others, the more we make our presence known. When we celebrate, when we’re sick, when we’re lonely or scared. Being there is the best part of any relationship.

That’s why church is always better when you’re here – the singing is more joyous, the praying is deeper, the preaching is more inspired – and when you’re not here, there’s a hole. Presence matters. Coming together is our best Christian tradition.

The same is true with God. We always knew God was there somehow. Still, people have spent eons fearing God, trembling before him, making sacrifices to appease him – or “them” since so many people worshipped many gods.

It was out of love for us – compassion at seeing our misguided grasp of who God is and how God loves us – that God sent Jesus. Not to just come down and deliver the message that God loves us, but to BE one of us, to live with us, to die as one of us, to rise again in order to lead us home.

I love the trees and the carols and the cards at Christmas, but the very best tradition we Christians share is one that we can do all year long – to come together like this – together with each other and with God who is, as this wonderful feast reminds us, always with us. Amen.

Magnifcat - A Sermon

2009-12-29T06:09:00.001-05:00

By now, I’m guessing you are feeling a little stressed. I know I am. Four days, and there’s shopping and dinners and oh yeah, I don’t have the Christmas Eve services done! Is this how it’s supposed to be? Stressful?

Of course it is. It’s our tradition.

But what’s not our tradition is to really look at all these scripture readings for the Advent season and really see what they say. Because if you haven’t been paying attention, you might have missed that they are not very cute and cuddly.

Even today’s Gospel with the Blessed Virgin Mary and her cousin Elizabeth, in that heartwarming encounter where Elizabeth’s baby leaps in her womb for joy at the presence of Jesus – even that has a more radical feel to it when you actually look at what is being said.

To understand Mary’s words – you know, those beautiful words: “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant” – we have to reach back into the Old Testament. Back to the words of another woman who also had a miraculous baby boy who would change his world.

That woman was Hannah, and her son would grow to be the prophet Samuel. What SHE said when her son was born was this: “My heart exults in the Lord; my strength is exalted in my God.” Of course there was more to that in both songs, but often we tend not to see beyond the first lines, so they sound very similar.

And indeed, Luke wrote Mary’s Magnificat (the name we call that song comes from Magnify) to echo Hannah. She exults in the Lord who has done a great thing, after all.

Both songs also talk about the poor being cared for and the rich getting nothing. In short, both songs praise God for this child who will set things right.

But they are different. Hannah’s song is set in a time before Israel even has kings (though probably written much later). It is her son who will anoint the first two kings – Saul and David. She speaks of a king who exults in his power. Of a God who thunders from Heaven. Of adversaries who are shattered and derided.

When Hannah talks of salvation, it is the same sort of salvation so many of the Old Testament prophets speak of: salvation from earthly enemies. It is battle, state against state. When she talks about the poor, she means her people who have been put upon by outside forces – as was common in the day.

In that way, she is very much like Micah in our Old Testament reading today. The enemy is from without. Peace means that the bad guys have been overthrown and that everyone in Israel worships God.

Mary brings something new. She brings mercy. “His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation.”

What’s more, when Mary talks about mercy for the poor, she means the poor among them – the poor who live and eat and beg and die right there at home. This is not about battles, it is about good things for those who have not.

Yet there is nothing sweet about her song. When she talks about the rich being sent away empty, she is not talking about some outside force. It is they who will be scattered in the imaginations of their hearts – those who imagine themselves to be good yet watch the suffering of others with indifference. She calls out the faithful to live faithfully.

In short, Mary foreshadows the ministry of her son, she is expecting one who will guide the people of Israel – and all those who fear the Lord – into lives of generosity and mercy, not just from outside forces but from within. This is something we still struggle with.

Yet even with this foreshadowing of Jesus’ ministry, Mary, like John the Baptist later, can’t possibly grasp the enormity of what her son would do. Who could? Still, this young woman speaks the words of a prophet who knows that what she is preparing to bring to the world is the Kingdom of God itself.

And I was worrying about preparing for a Christmas Eve service. Amen.

The Waiting Room - A Sermon

2009-12-09T18:50:00.001-05:00

Giving birth is so different these days than it was when I was born. My father waited for all of us (but one who nearly came out in the parking lot -- he had to scrape a train barrier, then dumped Mom out at the door where they slapped her in a wheelchair and ran her inside. By the time he parked the car, my sister was born.) in the waiting room with all the other fathers. in the waiting room, they paced while the experienced dads told the new dads horror stories of sleepless nights and smelling diaper pales. Only their smiles told a story of joyful - if anxious - expectation.

They cared for each other as the new brotherhood of fatherhood. A temporary gathering in an eternal community.

We don’t do that anymore. I was present - participated in - the births of all my children. But we do sit in waiting rooms. And when we do, it’s often a time of anxiety. You’re at the doctor, dentist, therapist, mechanic. What you’re waiting for in other words is often something inevitable or necessary but perhaps frightening or unpleasant.

Still, you stay because to a degree you trust the physician or mechanic. If we didn’t trust, you’d run away.

Now, what do you do in the waiting room? Put your life on hold? Chew your fingers and worry that the doc might give you a shot or the mechanic might give you a shock (when you get the bill)?

I usually read whatever magazine is in front of me. Or watch the tube. Sometimes do a little work. Or I look at the people. Love to look at people. Get a sense of the wonderful variety, the wondrous make up of God’s creation.

But there are times when you talk - when you share your stories or offer a comforting word, maybe even form a temporary little community of those all waiting for the same thing. After all, we spend so much time cut off from each other, that the waiting room might be a perfect place to reconnect.

Advent is a waiting room, and we are in it. What we’re waiting for is the coming of Christ. We wait for the infant and we wait for the second coming -- whenever that will be and whatever it might look like. But in a sense this season of waiting merely reminds us that our entire life is a sort of waiting room, and we’ve been waiting for that coming for a very long time.

Jeremiah prophesies that the days are surely coming when the Lord will restore the fortunes of the house of David. This was in the 7th Century BC. Jesus in Luke’s Gospel tells the disciples to look for the signs of both upheaval and coming redemption. But he makes clear that the time will come unexpectedly. We don’t know when we’ll be called.

And that’s just it. We don’t know when that “end of times” will be and we don’t really know what to expect. We don’t know what will happen with 2012. More to the point, we don’t know what will happen when we die. And let’s face it, our own “end time” is much more likely to happen before the apocalypse (unless of course it’s 2012, but let’s assume it’s not) -- and it is assured.

So, we wait in trust if anxiety. But as with Dad, we don’t wait idly. We comfort, we share our stories. In a sense we form a temporary community called the church -- and there, we learn to live in God’s eternal value of love.

The waiting room is more than a place to kill time -- it is where life happens while the unknown but anticipated good looms before us. Welcome to our waiting room of Advent. It’s just like it was with Dad back then -- Just don’t hand out cigars, okay?

God, Life, and Everything - Tolerance

2009-12-09T19:01:00.003-05:00

I write a column called "God, Life, and Everything" for the Hudson Valley News. The title reflects the broad scope I want to take. Everything in life falls under the eye of God, and if we watch carefully, we can catch a glimpse of God in it all.

Ah, the holidays, that blessed time when families get together. They’re great -- as long as nobody talks about religion or politics, right?

Right. Or more precisely, hogwash.

What fun is a family that has to tiptoe around all the most interesting topics? That would pretty much limit us to talking about the weather and watching football, and who wants that?

I say, a family worth its salt can handle lively, even heated debate about those core issues. If it’s a healthy family, you can be yourself and know that you are still loved and will always have a place at the table, even if you are totally and insanely wrong.

You could call this “tolerance,” I suppose.

But I won’t. the word “tolerance” has been so misused in recent years as to have virtually no meaning at all. Accusations fly left and right about not being tolerant. Opposing sides claim they are tolerant while the other clearly is not.

I read a letter to the editor of our national church newspaper where the writer argued that the church is not tolerant because it will not refuse to ordain a certain class of people (not who you think). He went on to say that the church is disregarding the wishes of those who do not wish to see these people ordained and is therefore intolerant of them (those who don’t want the ordinations).

Say what? I had to reread the letter a few times to make sure I read right. The church is intolerant because it will not do what a certain group of people wants?

You might disagree with church decisions (there are many I do), but to call that intolerant is just plain silly. Even though I hate resorting to dictionaries for definitions, a look at Webster is called for here: Tolerance is “Recognition of and respect for the opinions, beliefs, or practices of others.”

For what it’s worth, the church recognizes all views and respects them as well as those who hold them, but it does not have to do, and indeed cannot do, what every group wants.

To expand on this definition, I would add that tolerance means to accept others wherever they are on their life journey -- to accept them complete with their thoughts, values, life choices -- all the while welcoming them in the community even if their thoughts, values and life choices are repugnant.

I come from a large family that spans the spectrum both politically and religiously. We have members who call Rush Limbaugh a pinko, and we have those who call President Obama the “Second W.” We have Baptists, Roman Catholics, Methodists, Episcopalians, a Buddhist and some atheists. We have gun toting good old boys and big city aesthetes. Straight, gay, single, married, uncommitted. We have it all in my family.

I won’t say that all our conversations are religious or political, but when we get into one of the taboo topics, it is with the understanding that we are all family. We accept each other for who we are. Period.

This holds true whether it is a nuclear family or a church or a community. Tolerance means you are a welcome part of the community regardless of who you are or what your condition is.

This is tolerance in its strictest sense.

Of course, tolerance also allows those who can’t stand it to leave. If, for example, a family member held a religious view that seemed outrageous, and another relative refused to sit at the table with them, a tolerant family would say, “That’s your choice. We’ll miss you.” It would not try to force them to the table.

What tolerance is NOT is putting up with abuse. It is not tolerance to let someone continue physically, verbally or mentally abusing you. That’s being a door mat. It is not tolerance to let a person continue to someone else, either. That’s complicity. If somebody is abusive, they forfeit the right to exercise those behaviors. If they persist, they forfeit their right to be in that community, at least for the time being.

While I disagree vehemently with some of my relatives on their politics and religion, we continue to love each other. But if one physically abused another, I am fairly certain the rest would be all over them in a New York minute. And we would support the victim.

Likewise, if a relative cheated on another repeatedly, we would most likely let them know what we thought. We would support the victim in pushing for counseling or, if they felt they needed it - leaving.

Of course, we always seek reconciliation first - it is at the core of our faith - but reconciliation is no more complicity or being a door mat than is tolerance.

So in politics or religion, whether it’s the issues of gays or abortion or women priests, we are tolerant of all others, even when they make us uncomfortable or offend us by their beliefs and practices - they have a seat at the table. Become abusive, however, and that’s something nobody should tolerate.

Atnonement - A Sermon

2009-12-13T18:31:00.003-05:00

Happy Third Sunday of Advent. Note the pink candle today. It’s supposed to lighten the mood of the reflective, even slightly penitential feel of Advent.

We all know what it really means, though. Only eleven shopping days till Christmas.

Which is just another way of saying let’s not fool ourselves. Nobody’s letting up today from the stress. In fact, people are just kicking into high gear. Frantic shopping, decorating and so on. We’re no exception at the church -- why just today we have mini-orchestra rehearsal, handbell choir rehearsal and Epiphany pageant script distribution.

The scriptures aren’t letting up, either. For a supposedly “light” day, they start off with some great lines. Like John the Baptist: “You brood of vipers, who warned you to flee from the wrath to come!” Puts you in the Christmas mood, doesn’t it?

And don’t forget the winnowing fork the Messiah is bringing so that he can cast the chaff into the eternal flames.

Almost makes you think the Old Testament prophet Zephaniah might have a better idea of what God’s coming might be like.  “The LORD has taken away the judgments against you, he has turned away your enemies.” Sounds pretty good.

Sadly, most of Zephaniah -- all three chapters -- is more like John the Baptist. He starts off telling the people of Jerusalem that they are terrible and will be punished. Then he tells the other nations the same thing. Then he describes their coming punishment complete with blood flowing in the streets. Only after God is appeased will the survivors find rest.

Here’s a feel for Zephaniah’s real message: “Seek the LORD all you humble of the the land, who do his commands, perhaps you may be hidden on the day of the LORD’S wrath.” (chapter 2)

For Zephaniah, there will be salvation -- but only after the people have paid for their sins and paid dearly. This is called atonement.

As I mentioned last week, John has one foot solidly in the Old Testament even as he looks toward a New that he can’t quite grasp. He still sees God as the just but angry God who must be satisfied with the atoning punishment we deserve.

John was faithful, but he was not where we should stop in our faith. Jesus came and showed us a new covenant, a new relationship with God. Yet somehow, many of us can’t seem to get past John.

But as we know, Jesus comes and shows us something new, something totally unexpected. He shows us an image of God who is not all that interested in sacrifice and more interested in loving us. But that leaves us some huge questions: how do we understand what Jesus did back then, how do we understand his impact on us today?

There is a theory on what Jesus did called the Atonement. It’s something John the Baptist and Zephaniah could relate to. It says we are wicked and totally separate from God. We must pay -- atone -- for our sins, but we can’t because we’re so pitiful that no sacrifice, no penance on our part can appease our angry God.

Therefore Jesus, who is perfect and loving, willingly becomes the only sacrifice that is good enough to assuage God’s anger. By doing this, he opens for us the gates to heaven.

I have heard it preached that this image, this angry God image so familiar to the prophets, ought better be called “At - One - Ment,” because it says that although we are separate from God because of our sins, Jesus makes us one again.

I think I’ve got another name for it: At - None - Ment. Because this theory believes that we are so separate from God that nothing will ever truly unite us with God, only appease him.

And it flies in the face of Jesus himself, who called God Father and taught us to do the same. Atonement -- At-none-ment -- is not the Gospel.

This week in the parables class, we were looking at parables about seeking. What we noted is that it is God who seeks us who are lost. Whether it’s a lost sheep, a lost coin or a disobedient lost son, Jesus says that it is God who seeks us even while we are still contentedly lost and looking after our own interests.

God goes after us, completely disregarding our lack of interest in going after him. God rejoices when we open our hearts to him regardless of behavior or even our newfound faith -- the prodigal son never said he was sorry, for example -- he never got a word out before his doting father embraced him and brought him in to a feast. There was no atoning going on, neither was there a winnowing fork nor an ax at the root.

Does this mean we should utterly ignore Zephaniah and John the Baptist? No. Certainly their calls to be honest and just in our daily dealings are worthy. But we do so because we have been welcomed with open arms into God’s family so completely that God’s Spirit dwells within us. We deal honestly, seek the best for others not because we are trying to avoid the coming wrath but because we are members of the Kingdom of God right now.

Christ became one of us to help us comprehend how we are God’s children by invitation. We are loved, we are already at one not because of any sacrifice -- worthy or otherwise -- but simply because God is love.

In a sense, that makes it harder to do good because there are no dire consequences if we don’t. For now, on this “quieter” day of Advent, let it suffice to say the best way to live as John and Zephaniah -- and God -- would have us is to slow down a bit, open our hearts to God’s presence.

The more we do this, more we will know we are at one with God and the rest will follow. And we'll find that our lives will be pleasing to Zephaniah, and John, and God. Amen.

A Letter From Jesus

2009-12-11T11:04:00.000-05:00

A friend gave me this one. I like it.

Dear Children,

It has come to my attention that many of you are upset that folks are taking My name out of the season. Maybe you've forgotten that I wasn't actually born during this time of the year and that it was some of your predecessors who decided to celebrate My birthday on what was actually a time of pagan festival. Although I do appreciate being remembered anytime.

How I personally feel about this celebration can probably be most easily understood by those of you who have been blessed with children of your own.. I don't care what you call the day. If you want to celebrate My birth, just GET ALONG AND LOVE ONE ANOTHER.

Now, having said that let Me go on. If it bothers you that the town in which you live doesn't allow a scene depicting My birth, then just get rid of a couple of Santas and snowmen and put in a small Nativity scene on your own front lawn. If all My followers did that there wouldn't be any need for such a scene on the town square because there would be many of them all around town.

Stop worrying about the fact that people are calling the tree a holiday tree, instead of a Christmas tree. It was I who made all trees. You can remember Me anytime you see any tree. Decorate a grape vine if you wish: I actually spoke of that one in a teaching, explaining who I am in relation to you and what each of our tasks were. If you have forgotten that one, look up John 15:1 - 8.

If you want to give Me a present in remembrance of My birth here is my wish list. Choose something from it:

1. Instead of writing protest letters objecting to the way My birthday is being celebrated, write letters of love and hope to soldiers away from home. They are terribly afraid and lonely this time of year. I know, they tell Me all the time.

2. Visit someone in a nursing home. You don't have to know them personally. They just need to know that someone cares about them.

3. Instead of writing President Obama complaining about what other people think the White House is calling their tree this year- why don't you write and tell him that you'll be praying for him and his family. Then follow up. It will be nice hearing from you again.

4. Instead of giving your children a lot of gifts you can't afford and they don't need, spend time with them. Tell them the story of My birth, and why I came to live with you down here. Hold them in your arms and remind them that I love them.

5. Pick someone that has hurt you in the past and forgive him or her .

6. Did you know that someone in your town will attempt to take their own life this season because they feel so alone and hopeless? Since you don't know who that person is, try giving everyone you meet a warm smile; it could make the difference.

7. Instead of nit picking about what the retailer in your town calls the holiday, be patient with the people who work there. Give them a warm smile and a kind word. Even if they aren't allowed to wish you a "Merry Christmas" that doesn't keep you from wishing them one. Then stop shopping there on Sunday. If the store didn't make so much money on that day they'd close and let their employees spend the day at home with their families

8. If you really want to make a difference, support a missionary-- especially one who takes My love and Good News to those who have never heard My name.

9. Here's a good one. There are individuals and whole families in your town who not only will have no "Christmas" tree, but neither will they have any presents to give or receive. If you don't know them, buy some food and a few gifts and give them to the Salvation Army or some other charity which believes in Me and they will make the delivery for you.

10. Finally, if you want to make a statement about your belief in and loyalty to Me, then behave like a Christian. Don't do things in secret that you wouldn't do in My presence. Let people know by your actions (rather than your words) that you are one of mine.

Don't forget; I am Jesus and can take care of Myself. Just love Me and do what I have told you to do. I'll take care of all the rest. Check out the list above and get to work; time is short. I'll help you, but the ball is now in your court. And do have a most blessed Christmas with all those whom you love and remember:
I LOVE YOU,
JESUS

God, Life, and Everything - Giving Thanks

2009-11-28T19:19:00.001-05:00

I had a note from a Canadian friend recently who said, “You know what I’m thankful for? I’m thankful we already had OUR Thanksgiving in October so we can work off all the food in time for Christmas.” Yes, Canadians stuff themselves silly with turkey, too.

It is sometimes easy for me to forget that Canada even has a Thanksgiving Day, let alone that they do it on the wrong day. Everyone knows the Pilgrims invented Thanksgiving in 1621 and decided it should be the fourth Thursday in November, right? Well, of course not.

Actually, there’s nothing inherently American about Thanksgiving. Countries around the world have celebrated a day to give thanks to God for the harvest for centuries. After all, the harvest is what it’s all about. In German, they call it Erntedankfest which is roughly translated to “Festival of Thanks for the Harvest.”

The reason all these peoples and places have this feast in the first place is that the harvest meant survival for them (well, for those who lived in colder climates where winter made growing difficult or impossible). It was a way of saying, “Thanks for giving us what we need to make it through the lean times.”

Some might say that we are living in lean times these days. Well, the Pilgrims or other subsistence farmers might disagree. They might point out that strictly speaking, even those of us unfortunate enough to lose our jobs will probably not starve to death. We live in a country where many other things are challenging or just plain wrong, but at that most basic level, it’s not going to be lack of food that will kill us.

It’ll probably be the deer running across the highway. (See last week).
So, the harvest does not really play as big a role in our thanksgiving as it once did. We are mostly urban folks who don’t get where food comes from. We see meat and think it grows wrapped in cellophane and styrofoam. We look at vegetables and forget that they don’t come in frozen plastic bags.

And while we might lament how far removed we are from the food chain these days, the fact that among our many worries, starving is not one of them should be reason enough to give thanks to God.

Now, I know Thanksgiving is full of traditions. Unlike the Germans who just go to church for Thanksgiving, we Americans tend to gather from all corners and have a big family gathering where we see who can eat the most before popping. Then we watch giant men carrying a little football ram into each other in an effort to make the other ones pop.

One of Hyde Park’s traditions has always been to have a Thanksgiving Eve ecumenical service, always at a different church in town. Because of a lot of little things blended with difficult scheduling, the local pastors decided we could not have the service this year. Which is too bad because this service is great reminder that Thanksgiving is more than turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie. It is about appreciating how graced we are to be allowed another year on this earth.

But you know what? You don’t have to have a special service to give thanks. You don’t even need to have a special day. God breathes life into each of anew every day, gives us what we need to do what we need that day. In short, every day is good for giving thanks.

So, whether you’re in Canada or Germany or the USA (or anywhere else on earth), Happy Thanksgiving!

Preparing is Good - A Sermon

2009-12-09T18:55:00.001-05:00

Happy St. Nick’s day. Yes, this is the real day of St. Nicholas. Feel the anticipation. In Europe, this used to be the big gift giving day, and there is still a tradition of putting out a shoe by the door so that St. Nick can fill it with goodies.

Of course, if I were European, the kids would probably wake up to a note saying, “Oops, got really busy and forgot. Left some money with Dad to buy candy. Love, St. Nick.” Needless to say, preparing for things is not my strong suit.

In fact, preparing for almost any big event is an occasion of stress and anxiety, not to mention lists of things to remember. I just want to get the events over with so real life can take over again.

But what if what you’re preparing for IS real life? Or NEW life? What if the type of preparing you need to do is not the frantic dinner making, gift buying, card sending type but the quiet, individual, internal type?

Baruch (I’m sure you’ve heard of him), wrote to the people of Israel while they were in exile in Babylon. He wasn’t exactly a prophet - he was the prophet Jeremiah’s secretary. But Jeremiah was among those sent elsewhere during the exile, so Baruch carries his spirit to the people.

And what is that spirit? Preparation. He tells them that their time of suffering is almost over and now it is time to prepare to go home. They are to take off the garment of sorrow and put on the robe of righteousness and diadem of glory.

They need to prepare because returning home is hard -- not getting the pots and pans ready -- that’s easy. Getting your soul ready -- not so much. I have never been in prison or in a war, but I have heard from those who have, and they tell me that coming home is hard. It’s a different way of life even if it’s one they look forward to. Some people find it so hard that they sign back up for another hitch -- or commit crimes so they can return to prison.

Though I did not experience those things, I was an exchange student for a couple of years, and they prepared us for our return home as well. With good reason. Many of us found it difficult returning to a culture we had spent an entire year shutting out so we could learn the new culture. It all seemed strange and somehow wrong. They call it “Reverse Culture Shock” and without preparing for it, life is very confusing and painful.

In today’s prisons and military (as well as cultural exchanges), they spend more time and resources trying to prepare those returning to civilian society because they know going back is hard.

The people of Israel must prepare to be on their own again, no longer slaves. And no longer surrounded by the gods of their captors. They also return to a remnant that did NOT go into exile. History tells us their return was not easy. But their preparation -- and the promise that they would not return alone -- saved them, God was with them.

Now, John the Baptist is ALSO speaking to Israel about preparing. Like Baruch, he brings the spirit of Jeremiah in his lines about filling valleys and making mountains low -- smoothing the way. It’s not so much a return to the old country he is preparing for, but a coming of a savior who will let Israel return to its old life.

Now, please note that this is not the baby Jesus -- this is the adult Christ John wants them to prepare for. John is really the last of the old time prophets, and what he THINKS the people are to prepare for is a warrior prince who will save Israel from their Roman oppressors so they can return to the glory days of Baruch’s return. They can be free again. He is not exactly right, but the preparation is spot on.

In his letter to the Philippians, Paul is also asking the people to prepare themselves for Christ. He gets closer to the point because he wants them to prepare for the coming of Christ, “that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless.”

Paul sees Christ coming to bring the people -- all those who believe and trust him -- to their real home -- eternal life in the Kingdom of God. That is indeed our hope too, though becoming blameless, as we know, is not within our power. All we can do is trust in God’s love, and seek to live in that same love.

But when you think about it, learning to love others is the best preparation for the Kingdom of God. Learning to put the welfare of others before your own is good training for the life Christ points us to.

It is not the external preparation of the holidays, and it’s not really the Old Testament preparation of going back home. Instead, it is the preparation of going to a home we have never been to yet -- but once we get there, we will never have to leave.

Now that we are in our second week of Advent, we are getting used to the idea of preparing. But let us remember that our best preparations are here (the heart and mind) -- and let’s refuse to fall into that trap of thinking that Christmas preparations are all about the gifts, decorations parties and cards. St. Nicholas would approve. Amen.

God, Life, and Everything - Deer Hit

2009-11-22T14:55:00.003-05:00

I write a biweekly column called "God, Life, and Everything" for the Hudson Valley News. The title reflects the broad scope I want to take. Everything in life falls under the eye of God, and if we watch carefully, we can catch a glimpse of God in it all.

November hasn’t been my month for machines. Early in the month my laptop died, leaving me to use a slow but living back up. That is annoying and inconvenient.

But Friday before last I hit a deer with my car. If you’ve ever had the experience, you know it’s a miserable business. My car (yes, my little black and yellow smart car), suffered some damage which is being taken care of as I write, The deer, I’m sad to say, did not survive.

On the other hand, I walked away without a scratch, for which I am eternally grateful. Something else I’m grateful for are the words, “Are you all right?” Within seconds of hitting the deer and pulling off to the side of the road, some bystanders stopped to ask, “Are you all right?” They then helped pull the deer off the road so it wouldn’t cause another accident.

Next, a trooper pulled up behind me, lights flashing. It’s the first time I was glad to see flashing lights behind me. And wouldn’t you know it, one of the first things he asked was, “Are you all right?” He checked out the car to see if it was safe to drive home, but more importantly checked to see if I was okay to do the driving.

Even the insurance company representative asked those four welcome words before anything else. “Are you all right?” she asked, “I am so sorry you had to go through that.” You know what? I think she meant it sincerely, and not merely her company was going to be paying out some money.

Here’s the thing I did not expect. It felt good. Each time someone asked, it felt like they cared what happened to me. It felt like people do care what happens to each other. Sometimes that’s not our experience, is it? Sometimes it feels like a cold and hard world. Maybe it’s a question we need to ask each other more often.

I have noticed that sometimes when we run into hard times - sickness, job stress, relationships in trouble - we avoid each other. It’s almost as if we are afraid someone will ask, “Are you all right?” I’ve also noticed that we are afraid to ask those four simple words, afraid to open a can of worms, afraid the person we ask might actually say, “No, I’m not all right!”

Let’s overcome those fears, because from personal experience, those words have healing power all their own. Even if I lie and say, “Oh yeah, everything’s fine,” when everything isn’t fine -- being asked helps. Whether we go to the same church, belong to the same religion or don’t believe in God at all, we are all a community, and community means looking out for each other.

So, are you all right?

Famous Last Words - A Sermon

2009-11-22T15:01:00.003-05:00

If you could choose your last words in this life what would they be? I know, it’s not even Lent, and I’m talking about mortality. But the lessons today are about last words, and you can learn a lot about a person from their last words, so let’s look at a few, and maybe you can think about what you might say in those last moments.

Jeff Foxworthy, of “You might be a redneck” fame, tells us that many a redneck have uttered the same last words: “Hey ya’ll,watch this!”

During the Civil War, General John Sedgwick’s last words were, “They couldn't hit an elephant at this dist. . . .”

Poet Dylan Thomas boasted just before he died,

“I’ve had eighteen straight whiskies... I think that’s a record!”

John Adams -- not that he was being foolish -- said as he lay dying, “Thomas Jefferson still survives.” Jefferson had died earlier in the day.

And just for fun, Oscar Wilde’s last words were said to be, “Either that wallpaper goes or I do.”

Given that today is the Last Day of Pentecost AND the Feast of Christ the King, it might do to look at one or two last words of kings. For instance, here’s the infamous Caligula of Rome after his guards stabbed him: “Ha! I am still alive!”

And King Louis XVIII of France: “A King should die standing.”

And our dear Queen Elizabeth I sadly says: “All my possessions for a moment of time.”

We could go on, but the point of this is that King David and Jesus give last words (or nearly last words) in our lessons today, and being lessons, they have something to teach us. What does David say?

“One who rules over people justly, ruling in the fear of God, is like the light of morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land. Is not my house like this with God? For he has made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and secure. Will he not cause to prosper all my help and my desire?”

Essentially, this is a psalm, which is pretty impressive for someone on his deathbed. To be fair to David, he is acknowledging God in his words. But to be honest, like many a human king, he’s even more praising his own greatness. He, David, is “like the light of the morning, like the sun rising on a cloudless morning, gleaming from the rain on the grassy land.” Everything his house does forever will prosper while his enemies go down in flames.

Aside from the fact that David didn’t always rule justly, being guilty of adultery and murder, we also know that his everlasting kingdom did not last past the next two generations.

Like so many famous last words, although they contained some truth, they were also wrong in a big way.

But there’s another king whose last words teach us. Jesus, says, ‘My kingdom is not from this world. You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.’

Now, you might say, “Hey, those aren’t Jesus’ LAST words. True. His last words, from the cross were: “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they do.” (LUKE)

But wait! You could also say that his last words -- after the resurrection were: “Go into all the world baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you all the days until the end of the world.”

THIS is the King we follow, the King we obey. A king who does not praise his own shaky righteousness but one who knows he is here to proclaim truth, that his Kingdom is not here. One who forgives, who commands us to bring Good News to the world, and promises to be with us always. In other words, OUR king is one who gives himself and calls on his people to give of themselves.

In this Stewardship season, a season all about giving of ourselves, it’s good to remember whom we follow, and that we are called to be like Jesus. This is a time when we celebrate our own giving of self but also our call not only to be GIVING but FORGIVING. It is when we remember that part of giving is SHARING our stories of faith -- bringing the Good News of Christ to others, witnessing.

The Last Words of Christ -- well, ALL of the different last words of Christ -- give us our direction for life in this world. One, remember that our kingdom is not here but with Christ, so do not cling to the things of this world. Two, Forgive those who harm you, for in doing so, you free yourself. Three, Give of yourself in every way, serving those in need and witnessing with your life the love of God.

Those Last Words of Christ say a lot about him - and us, his people. Which brings us back to that first question. Knowing who you are, knowing who your King is, if you could choose them, what would YOUR last words be? Amen.

Tables Turned - A Sermon

2009-11-22T14:51:00.000-05:00

Have you ever noticed how quickly the tables are turned on us in so many ways? One day we live with one set of rules or in one reality -- the next moment things are totally different.

Most of you know last week, I was on my way from one nursing home visit to another when I hit a deer. In one instant, the course of the day changed entirely. I was remarkably lucky - for some an accident changes the course of their lives forever. There is a man at one of the area nursing homes who has been there since his 30s - unable to feed himself and barely able to communicate - all the result of an accident.

I know another man who had a job and a family until he was arrested for robbery and sentenced. After a few years in prison, they found the real guilty person and he was absolved. But by then, his wife had divorced him and now he can’t find stable work.

This is the way of the world, isn’t it? Nothing is eternal or cast in stone. Not buildings, nor our fortunes - nor even our impressions of the world. They can all change.

Certainly, as Jesus points out in the gospel today, even the greatest and grandest can disappear in the blink of an eye. The temple? Huge beyond comprehension (at least for them), yet “not one stone will be left upon another. All will be thrown down.” He goes on to say that there will be hucksters who come after him -- claiming to be him and sounding convincing -- but their messages will be found to be empty.

Not that tables are always turned for the worse. Hannah had a loving husband, but Elkanah wasn’t really all that bright. He could not see how much she suffered from the taunts of his other wife Perinnah, about Hannah’s inability to have children. Hannah wasn’t necessarily old, but it doesn’t take that many years of harassment for life to become unbearable.

Hannah’s fortunes change over night. Once she prays, and Eli realizes she is not drunk as she appears, she gets her wish. Not only is she Elkanah’s favorite wife, but she has a son. She is, as it were, on top of her world.

And in the same way, more than once people I know have discovered that their hearts which they once thought were dead have a spark of life after all. They have found that where they thought they could never forgive, now they can forgive -- and are given back their lives in that moment.

But what do these stories really tell us? that the world is an unstable place?

It tells us that ours is a religion of tables turned where all is not as it seems, where what looks like a dead certainty turns out to be the exact opposite, where expectations are regularly dashed, where fortunes can turn on a dime. Where nothing is written in stone and an assumed course is not the guaranteed course.

Where sin is forgiven and (as the author of Hebrews reminds us) the need for sacrifice simply goes away... We are accepted -- just like that.

In short, ours is a religion based in reality. Whether you believe in god or not, you cannot declare anything a done deal. In the immortal words of Yogi Bera, it ain’t over till it’s over. Sometimes our joy is interrupted. Sometimes Grace breaks in where there was only darkness.

The lesson is that outcomes are not what we are about. It is to hold lightly to our accomplishments, to those things like the temple that impress us or that we’re proud of. But also to have a light hold on those things that OPPRESS us. They will not be there forever either.

Does that mean we lie around waiting for things to happen -- and then unhappen again, and that it doesn’t matter what we do because it’s all ever-changing? That would be like asking, “Is there a point to life since we all die anyway?”

The fact that we cannot force or even predict where things are going does not mean we aren’t to be involved. It only means that results are not our ultimate goal. More important is the living that happens, the love that is shared, the effort to reach out to others.

Giving, loving, forgiving. Tables are often turned, and we can rarely predict how things will turn out. So, hold lightly to results because they may be upended.

But hold tightly to one thing: God’s presence and love. Not only is it written in unchangeable stone. It is written in our hearts.

God, Life, and Everything - Robocall

2009-11-22T14:40:00.003-05:00

Today is Veteran’s Day, and I want to say “Thank you for your service” to every veteran. I’d also like to wish them a peace-filled day. They deserve it.

But there is another event in American civic life that affects us and came into focus last week. I am of course talking about that hallowed American right called voting. Or, to be precise, the robocalls that afflict us the night before elections. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person to receive those annoying calls with recorded voices that tell you whom to vote for.

No one really knows how long robocalls have been around, but the federal government has regulated of them since 1991. As far as I’m concerned, they haven’t regulated them enough. Regulating them out of existence might be enough. Last week I slammed down the phone after the fiftieth such call and said, “The next one who calls me, I’m voting for their opponent!”

Instead, I just hang up the moment that blasted recorded voice starts with its shtick: “Hello, I’m Joe Candidate. Are you tired of the other party ruining our country, your life, and the very essence of humanity? Then vote for me tomorrow!” They lost me at “Hello.”

My friends say the same thing. They hate the calls and hang up. Which makes me wonder, if everyone hates them, why do candidates bother?

The answer? Because some of us are lying. Some of us DO listen to them. And we believe them. In 2008 seven candidates pledged to respect the Do Not Call list (political robocalls don’t have to pay attention to the federal Do Not Call list -- they can call you on either your home or cell phone if they want. Regular annoying telemarketers cannot). Only one of them was elected. Candidates with widespread robocalls won. Robocalls work.

Hmmm.

If they work for candidates, maybe they could work for the church, too. Granted, the church would have a smaller list of people to call upon, but who could resist being greeted on their phone by angelic music and a message of hope? Just imagine: “Hello, I’m Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams. Are you tired of the [Catholics, Lutherans, Baptists, Methodists, Buddhists, Jews, Muslims, Zoroastrians -- pick your favorite religious entity] ruining our faith, your life, and the very essence of divinity? Then come to the Anglicans!”

Heck, you could localize it for special events in your church. “Hello, I’m Pastor Bob of Bob’s Church down the road. Are you tired of church craft fairs that don’t sell what you want, ruining your shopping experience and the very essence of the church fundraiser? Then come to our Fall Craft Fair tomorrow!”

I am sure these things could bring more people to church or at least our youth group car washes. Still, something about the very concept bothers me. Perhaps it’s the invasive quality, like a door-to-door salesman barging into your home. Perhaps it’s the unwanted nature of the calls. To the best of my recollection, Jesus never forced himself on anyone who did not want to talk to him -- demons excepted.

Jesus attracted people by being himself and speaking words of hope to those who longed for them and healing those who sought it.

So maybe this sort of intrusive self-promotion is best left to the self-promotion crowd -- telemarketers and politicians. In the end, the churches can do the work they are here to do without robocalls. Besides, I’d never be able to figure out the technology.

God, Life, and Everything - Quiet Day

2009-11-22T14:34:00.002-05:00

Thursday was my no good, terrible, rotten, very bad day. I woke up not feeling well, then went to my computer -- which had worked perfectly the night before -- and turned it on to find it blank and lifeless.

In the course of the day, I had run unexpected errands, dealt with some extremely unpleasant phone calls and in the middle of trying to get rest while still working on the computer, unfairly took it all out on my kid who had the misfortune of asking me an annoying question at just the wrong time. Most of that day, I curled up into a ball on my sofa and slept or tried to make the world go away.

You get days like that -- or at least I do from time to time. And while we all made up at the end of the day, the computer is still dead (I’m using a borrowed one), and I was left drained and washed out.

To my good fortune, however, the very next day help arrived in the form of a Clergy Quiet Day. Clergy Quiet Days are times set aside at the local monastery for the priests of the region to pray, study and chat together and then to have quiet time to reflect by ourselves.

They are a time for us to refocus on who we are, what our ministries are, and why we do them. More than anything else, though, they are a time to rest. As the name implies, the best thing about them is simply being quiet.

When you’ve had one of those soul-frying days, this is the balm indeed.

I arrived at the monastery and walked down its winding path to the main house, its sloping lawn leading down to the river. Across the river, I could see our side. There was the Vanderbilt Estate buried in autumn color. Distant church bells rang, and I realized it was our own church here in Hyde Park.

The brothers in their white habits chatted casually as we sipped coffee, but when time came for us to meet in our group, they slipped into the woodwork. During our first meditation break, the leader encouraged us to reflect or, if it was what we needed, to fall asleep. I did.

We broke again for worship, which in a monastery consists of chanting prayers, chanting the psalms, lots of silence and a chanted blessing. By the end of the day, I was ready to get back in the saddle. Quiet days are a Godsend in the truest sense of the word.

The secret is, they are not reserved for priests alone. In many religious traditions there are places set apart for just this sort time apart. There are monasteries and convents in rich supply on both sides of the river around here, and most of them have opportunities for pretty much anyone to make use of their hospitality.

Often they have formal quiet days or retreats, and just as often they have room for people to come as individuals who just want to get away. Is a quiet day for you? Don’t know. But if you’ve had a no good, terrible, rotten, very bad day, you might want to look into it.

“Jesus Wept” - A Sermon

2009-11-04T16:00:00.004-05:00

On November 1, we had a guest preacher at St. James'. Luanne Panarotti, an aspirant to the ministry in the Presbyterian Church, preached on the raising of Lazarus.

My name is Luanne, and I am a weeper. I come by it honestly, perhaps genetically; my mother was a weeper, too. She was, in all other ways, a pretty feisty bird; but, she had a sentimental streak that ran deep and wide, and that caused her to well up at some of the most unusual things.

I can remember an evening long ago, sitting in our living room, watching the Miss America Pageant. I was curled up in the armchair, my mother was on the couch, and Bert Parks was singing, as the winning beauty, be-sashed and tiara-ed, began her tearful teeter down the runway. I looked over at my mother and saw her – face puffy, lips quivering, eyes brimming over – trying to hide behind a throw pillow, and I thought, “What on earth is the matter with her?” Now, some forty years later, I cry over happy movies, old songs, Hallmark commercials, Project Runway dismissals, mailings from colleges, every time I watch Cedric Diggory die in Harry Potter IV, bunny rabbits, tiny shoes, certain shades of pink – well, you get the idea: it doesn't take much.

Jesus was not a weeper. He was often deeply moved. He was sometimes greatly troubled. He, on occasion, cried out. But he rarely wept. In fact, Jesus weeps on only two occasions in the gospels. In the 19th chapter of Luke, upon his triumphant arrival at Jerusalem, Jesus weeps over the city that would welcome him that day, and turn on him the next. He weeps again in today's passage from the gospel of John, the well-known story of the resurrection of Lazarus. In the King James Version and other translations, it is the shortest verse in the bible – just two words, “Jesus wept.” – and yet it is so incredibly laden with meaning.

For one thing, it makes a potent theological point. This gospel was most likely written at the end of the first century, when the whole notion of Christianity was still in a state of definition and flux. There were heresies afoot, unorthodox ways of thinking that threatened to tear apart the fledgling community of Christ; one such doctrine, was Docetism. Now, Docetists believed in Jesus' divinity, but not necessarily in his humanity. They thought that spirit was good and matter was bad, and it wasn't particularly becoming for God to get all tangled up in the messiness of the flesh. They suggested that perhaps Jesus only seemed to have a real human body, but was more of a phantom; that his suffering and his crucifixion were merely appearance. Needless to say, this way of thinking undermined the idea of Christ's physical sacrifice on our behalf, and the ability of fleshy humanity to share in his resurrection. So, this simple statement – Jesus wept – is really quite profound. Through it, the author of the gospel is saying no, Jesus was a real man; he ate and drank and shed real blood – and see, he cried real tears.

But I can't help but wonder, why cry now? Jesus certainly had ample opportunity for sadness and frustration in his lifetime. Starving in the desert. Misunderstood and rejected by his own people. Tortured. More than enough to bring any of us to our knees, let alone to tears. Why cry now, over a man he knew he was about to bring back to life?

Compassion is often given as the answer: Jesus wept at the sight of the others mourning. Of course, it's our understanding that Jesus was regularly faced with a procession of lepers, paralytics, the blind, the possessed, the sick, the dying; surely he would have been moved to tears by their plight, but the gospels never state that he lost his composure. Other Bible commentators suggest that Jesus wept from sorrow over the lack of belief of those closest to him: even his friends and followers didn't appreciate the full extent of his power, didn't believe that he could raise Lazarus from the dead. Well, if that were the case, Jesus would have been weeping all the time because he was rarely appreciated for whom he really was, by anyone – friends, family, religious leaders, the entire Hebrew people who had been waiting for him for generations. In fact, the only ones who seem to consistently recognize Jesus in the gospels were the demons he cast out of the possessed.

So it seems Jesus did not weep over his own hunger, his lack of social stature, the fact that he was so misunderstood. He did not weep at his own physical suffering, nor even at that of those around him – though in his compassion he did heal them. What is it then that moved him in this instance? What does this passage tell us about what makes Jesus tick?

I think it says something about what Jesus values – and it's not personal comfort or gain or notoriety, all the things that usually define success in our society. No, above all, Jesus values relationship. He was built for it. It was knit into his bones when he was made man, and it infused his very soul as a member of the blessed Trinity. He comes from community, he is community: relationship is what makes him complete. And he left that heavenly love-fest to invite us to join it, to seek that same completion in communion with God, and to do it in communion with one another. So when we do not, like Jerusalem turning her back on relationship with Christ, and when we cannot, because death has come between us and those we love, Jesus weeps. For our loss, and for his.

So, what can we discern from this passage, for our own lives? The first thing that comes to mind is that it tells us something about how to be in relationship with those who are mourning. Humans are so uncomfortable with death; we often don't know what to do or what to say in the face of it. Unfortunately, I think our Christianity can even get in the way of our humanity when dealing with those who are mourning. Sometimes in our effort to affirm our belief in the life to come, we can find ourselves diminishing the significance of lives lived here.

We try to comfort the bereaved by saying things like “He's in heaven now”, “She's in a better place” or my favorite, the one someone recently told friends of mine who were mourning a miscarriage, “God knew that the baby would not be viable, so it's a blessing that He took him.” Those things may all be true, and those of us who believe in the promises made to us by Christ can live in hope that our stories will end well. But, if this passage about Jesus weeping over Lazarus tells us anything, it is that we must also allow the experience of grief. It is part of our human existence, to feel pain when relationships are severed, not something to be ashamed of or gotten over because it makes those around us uncomfortable. There is blessedness and purpose in mourning.

I had the opportunity to interview for the Clinical Pastoral Education program at Vassar Brothers Medical Center, a training program for hospital chaplains. The supervisor of the program, a Buddhist, posed a scenario for discussion: you are meeting with a family that has just lost a child, and they ask you “Why would God do this to us?”. I admit, my first inclination was to rush to God's defense: “These unthinkable tragedies of life are not visited upon us by God. God is there to offer strength and solace when we are facing such unimaginable pain, he mourns with us.” And she said to me “You can't answer their question; you're not there to provide answers. You are there just to be with them for a while, and hold their screams.” When you find yourself faced with someone in mourning, resist the impulse to defend God, or to offer platitudes. You may wish to share your most heartfelt belief in Christ's promise to us in the resurrection, but in the end, just be with them, and perhaps weep with them, as Jesus did with Martha and Mary.

After Jesus wept, he brought Lazarus back to life. Perhaps, on this All Saints Day, we might also consider following Christ's example in doing some resurrecting. Now, as much as we might yearn to, we cannot bring back those who have gone on to eternity before us; if that were the case, I would have my mother back on that couch in an instant, even if I did have to watch the Miss America pageant again. No, we need to leave those saints to enjoy their heavenly feast, until we can join them there.

But perhaps there are relationships that were once a part of our lives, that have died an untimely death. Marriages that have wasted away due to neglect or malnourishment. Family bonds broken by the sickness of addiction. Friendships that were dealt a death blow by deceit or greed or jealousy. Maybe it has been so long that you can't even remember the cause of death, yet you still are mourning the loss. Is it possible for you to try and push away that stone? Can you stand before that tomb and call out to that once-beloved one and try to bring them into relationship with you once again? Do you have the courage to unwrap the cloths of denial and anger and mistrust that have hidden the face of that one from your clear view? I'm not saying it is an easy thing to do, or even always possible; if that relationship has been mouldering for a while, there may be quite a stench to get past.

But we have been called by Christ to imitate and participate in the loving community of heaven, and for now, this is the stage upon which we do it.

On All Saints Day, we remember and celebrate those who have gone before us, and look forward to the time when, as the author of Revelation writes, “God will be with us, and he will wipe every tear from our eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more.” Until then, let us seek relationship with one another, and with Christ. Anything less would be a crying shame.

God, Life and Everything - Walkway Illuminated

2009-10-19T08:56:00.005-04:00

Woo hoo! The Walkway Over The Hudson opened this weekend!

I had been waiting for this moment for a long time, one of those nutty folks who thought the idea of an elevated pedestrian park was brilliant and could not wait to get out onto it.

My chance came Friday night when my family got to be lantern carriers in what they called the “Illumination.” This required a certain amount of planning for us because lantern carriers were supposed to gather at 5:30 pm, but I had a 4:00 pm wedding. Thankfully, with the aid of a wonderfully understanding and cooperative bridal couple, we got to the meeting area with seconds to spare.

There we took a bus to another gathering area -- the walkway’s new parking lot -- and received our Japanese lanterns to assemble. They said there were a thousand people gathering on our side of the bridge, and I believe it. People everywhere, young, old, physically able and in wheelchairs, all smiling and chatting. The picture taking was incredible -- we all took pictures for each other so we could show our loved ones that we were there.

Then we walk out onto the bridge. It seemed as if almost everybody stopped at the actual entrance and had another picture taken. This was a big moment.

And then we were there, first looking down at houses and cars, not all that far below. As we walked, they got smaller and the mood became more festive. The giddiness was palpable, and it grew with laughter and giggles and more camera flashes. At first, the lanterns we held were merely pretty; as it became dark, as we stepped out over the water, they became magical.

They also blew around a lot because on an October evening with projections of rain, it was windy! But who cared? Parents pushing strollers bundled more blankets around the kids, and the rest of us put hats on and kept walking. Someone shouted, “There’s the Clearwater!” and hundreds of cameras clicked again.

My favorite part of the evening came when the “lantern masters” did their work. All across the bridge, teams set up giant paper balloons -- three or four feet tall -- and ignited a little furnace dangling at the bottom. When they got hot enough, the heat lifted the balloons off the bridge and into the air where the strong wind swept them away. Hundreds of these lanterns flew of the bridge, some diving nearly into the river before beginning a slow climb, others rocketing into the dark sky like reverse shooting stars.

My camera clicked over and over trying to capture those yellow stars as they swept into the night. I doubt anyone looking at the pictures will be able to grasp the feeling.

For much of our two-and-a-half hours on the Walkway Over The Hudson, we simply looked out over the river, first in the evening light, then into the darkness that is never dark. Lights around us outlined streets, houses, even another bridge to the south with and endless stream of cars illuminating each lane.

There were fireworks to end the evening, and they were wonderful. Wonderfully loud, wonderfully bright and wonderfully close. Maybe it was the wind, but if you weren’t careful, you could even feel some of the residue hit your face. My family smelled like sulpher at the end. We’ve been to countless fireworks displays before, so as beautiful as it was, for me it did not quite match the quiet magic of the balloons. Which did not stop us from taking innumerable photographs of them.

You may ask why anyone should get so worked up about an old bridge being turned into a park -- a park, by the way, that many people are afraid to go on because it’s so high up. Well, I’ve asked myself that question, too.

First, I love the idea of something old and forgotten being given new life. The old being made new, the cast down being raised up again -- for a pastor, this all resonates with my sense of what life is all about.

Second, get out there on the walkway and look over the river. There’s such beauty. It was what I thought it would be, and it inspires. We were just at the Grand Canyon taking in its grandure this summer. I am thrilled to have our own wonder right here.

Third, though I don’t have a fear of heights, at least one person I know who does still went out there Friday evening. He said it did not bother him in the least. No promises, but that’s the testimony.

Sadly, I had to miss Saturday’s festivities because I had to be out of town for a meeting, but Friday night will live on in my memory. It was, well, illuminating.

You can learn more about the Walkway Over The Hudson at www.walkway.org

God, Life and Everything - Scooterized

2009-10-23T16:28:00.000-04:00

I write a biweekly column called "God, Life, and Everything" for theHudson Valley News. The title reflects the broad scope I want to take. Everything in life falls under the eye of God, and if we watch carefully, we can catch a glimpse of God in it all.

With the first flakes of snow this Fall -- yes, I saw flakes of snow! -- it’s time for me to put the scooter up for the season.

Now, when I say scooter I mean a motorscooter, like a motorcycle with a misplaced engine, undersized wheels and a shield up front to keep the feet clean.

I used to ride a motorcycle, ’78 Honda Hawk, but after a few years of not being able to get it started and letting it rot in the shed, I sold it to a guy who had it working in a week. That’s okay, somehow a priest riding a motorcycle always seemed like a strange image.

Still, I enjoy riding.

Then one day the idea hit me: get a scooter. Not for riding the highways, mind you, not for cruising but for inexpensive, efficient, practical transportation. I did not want someone pointing at me saying, “Well, that guy’s going through a midlife crisis.”

So I did my research, fully expecting to be putting around on a classic Vespa, little realizing the vast array of scooter companies out there. Soon the scope of my search widened to include Piagio, Eton, Genuine Scooter, Aprilia, Lambretta, Kymco, and of course Honda and Yamaha. Who knew?

I settled on Kymco 150 cc Super 8. It’s a cute red bike that looks like it really wants to be a motorcycle. Not just a motorcycle but hotshot bikes. Until you look at it sideways. Then you know it’s a pretender. But I love it. Powerful enough to take me on my local pastoral visits, it never tempts me to see what it can do. Just getting down from the church to the library takes a full open throttle.

One of the surprises I encountered with my scooter is the motorcycle wave. You might not know it, but motorcyclists wave to each other when they pass. Not an up-in-the-air “how ya doing?” kind of wave, but a finger pointed to the ground, very cool wave that let’s the other know they are part of a fellowship.

The surprise is that they wave at me and my scooter. You would never think of someone on a Harley or a Triumph or BMW deigning to acknowledge a scooter. Perhaps it’s merely because from the front, my Kymco does look a lot like a real motorcycle. I imagine some guy on a bit Suzuki waving to me, then giving himself a dope slap as passed and realized that, “Doh, I just waved to a scooter!”

But perhaps it’s because the two-wheeled fellowship has room for all shapes and sizes, and the fact that we’re out there is enough. It feels good to be waved at, to be acknowledged, to be accorded the respect of someone with a much bigger, much more impressive machine.

And maybe that’s the point of my scooter. It’s little, weak and insignificant -- like so many of us -- yet it does its job and brings a little joy to life, again like so many of us.

Isn’t it good to know that we who are small and of no real account matter enough to get acknowledged, too? By our families (we hope), by loved ones and friends, and most of all by God. We may not be splashy or famous or even all that well-known locally. But to receive a kind nod, or smile, or handshake -- it all matters.

It matters that we acknowledge each other in a cold and hard world. So give a wave, let someone know they’re part of an exclusive fellowship called humanity. And do so even if they are small, insignificant and just possibly a pretender. It’ll do us all some good.

Vain Expectations - A Sermon

2009-10-19T09:02:00.001-04:00

I may have made a mistake naming this sermon. When I phoned the title into our secretary, she asked me, “Is that Vane Expectations, Vein Expectations or Vain Expectations?” All sorts of images popped into my head. For V-A-N-E, I envisioned a weatherman staring at a barn’s weather vane saying, “Move! Move! I gotta report something!” For V-E-I-N, I saw a vampire in his coffin dreaming dreams of fat, luscious arteries. Unfortunately, for V-A-I-N -- a word that means to have an excessively high opinion of oneself but als means and to have little meaning or likelihood of fulfillment, the picture in my mind was my ordination.

I was ordained with, I think, 10 other priests down at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, there was a moment during the rite when, according to my parents, all of us ordinands just disappeared. My mom and dad looked at each other and said, “Where did they go?”

Where we went was down on the floor lying on our stomachs, spread eagle. This was supposed to be a sign of our humility as well as our obedience.

As a class, we had had the option of kneeling instead of prostrating ourselves, and I had voted for kneeling. I figured it was so showy that this supposed act of humility was in fact designed to draw attention to us and our holiness. I lost the vote, so there I was looking at the cathedral’s floor from a new perspective thinking, “First they don’t let us get ordained individually in our own churches, as is tradition, and now we have to embarrass ourselves in front of all these people. This is not what I expected for my ordination!”

Then I remembered something Dear Abby had written to a young bride upset about her mom messing up what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Abby said, “My dear, I hope it’s NOT the happiest day of your life because then, what would the future hold for your marriage? Remember, the marriage is important, not the ceremony.” And I remembered that the ministry was important, not the ceremony.

Keep that in mind. We have all sorts of expectations, like James and John who want to sit at Jesus’ right and left. They feel they deserve this honor because they are the sons of thunder, loud brash, undoubtedly brave. They’re the enforcers of the disciples, and if Jesus has something tough to do, as he’s been hinting, they’re his guys. They expect Jesus to look at them and say, “Well, of course, you’re the best. Come on up!”

Of course, it looks like what they really want isn’t the work of ministry at all but an impressive position. They want people to admire them. They like the idea of being up on the podium with Jesus looking impressive -- but they haven’t grasped that it’s the ministry that’s important to Jesus, not the ceremony. That to be with Jesus means to suffer -- to empty oneself.

The writer of Hebrews gets it. Even speaking to a Jewish audience, even using the example of a Jewish High Priest, the writer understands that the job of the priest is to be gentle and humble, to know his own faults and lift them up to God for mercy as well as those of the people. The irony of this touching picture is that a lot of high priests saw their office as a gravy train. Great income, flashy clothes, respect from the little people -- and little responsibility or care for anyone else.

James and John apparently have that ironic image in their minds when they approach Jesus. Jesus reminds them of the truer high priestly ministry.

I don’t want to be too hard on James and John, however. They’re a lot like us. We look to God or the church or life in general and we have our expectations, too. How do I know? Because I hear people all the time saying “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.” Or “I did all the right things and look where it got me.” Or “If God really loved us, he wouldn’t let all these bad things happen.” And so on.

Because we think like James and John -- and Job. Job thinks that if you do only good things like him -- even praying for his children in case their prayers aren’t up to snuff -- then things will go right because God will make them right. And right, he just knows, means that you’re wealthy and healthy.

When God fails to meet his expectations, Job takes God to court. That’s what we see in our passage today. God is now answering Job’s charges. Job has essentially said, “You aren’t keeping your part of the bargain. I behaved, and you didn’t deliver.”

God’s response? “Did you make the world? Do you understand everything? Are you God? Who said you got what you wanted because you did good? Who said that was even the point?” Not the response Job is looking for -- he’s so sure of his case because it’s what everyone believed back then. Good things happen to good people. God said “NO.”

So, if James and John are wrong to expect a strong response from Jesus based on their own strong personalities, and Job is wrong to expect sympathy from God based on his exemplary behavior, what CAN we expect from God?

Not justice in this world. Not fairness. Not proper liturgy or a position based on what we deserve. Not even a meal. Not even life itself. No, what we can fairly expect from God is only one thing.

God loves us.

All else is vanity.

But that love is enough. It is enough to make sense of this strange life. It is enough to give us hope for life eternal with God. It is enough to infect our small lives so that it flows through us. It is enough to drive you and me and all of St. James’ and the whole church to seek out Christ in others. Serving, rejoicing with, caring for, breaking down barriers.

God’s love, ever flowing, never ceasing is the only thing we can expect, but that expectation is not vanity. It is everything we can ever hope for. Amen.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do - A Sermon

2009-10-19T08:52:00.001-04:00

I would like you to take a pen, take out your bulletin, and draw a line through the sermon title. But remember it - that’s next week’s sermon. We do clergy bible study a week in advance, on Thursday, which is usually when I give Dyan the sermon title. Well, I came out of bible study thinking about next week’s sermon - and gave her that title. If you want to have a title for this week’s sermon, let’s call it: “Breaking Up Is Hard to Do”

In Mosaic law, the woman had little power. All you had to do was write a certificate of divorce. In some mideastern cultures, the man still only has to say, “I divorce you” three times to the woman and send her away. (There is the story going around about the man who tried to divorce his wife by sending her an e-mail with the message, “I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you.” She contested it, and the judge upheld her complaint, insisting that one must tell the woman face to face. I believe the man gave up on the divorce because he was afraid to face her.

Well, to be honest, I can understand that. If you’ve ever been divorced -- and most of you know that I was divorced in my 20s -- you know it is painful and messy and affects you for the rest of your life. Many peole prefer to simply run away - or have affairs - than deal with the firestorm of ending a relationship.

Of course, if you were a woman in Jesus’ or Moses’ day, it was easier -- you were property and could not send a man away. Property has no rights -- and property has no relationships.

Here is the spirit of what Jesus was getting at. The divorce law perverted the idea of relationship. God created us male and female -- God created us to be in relationship -- and when we turn that relationship into a commodity, we destroy its purpose. We also make it disoposable.

Rather than invest ourselves fully into the relationship -- which makes getting out very hard -- we keep it on the surface level. “She’s property to get rid of when she becomes inconvenient or irritable. I can get a replacement.” That’s hardness of heart.

But if you invest yourself into a relationship -- put your whole self into it -- you know that it’s ending is painful, hard, too much to bear alone. That is as it should be in marriage and in life.

You can skim along with superficial relationships, saying hello and goodbye with relative ease -- with the simplicity in fact of writing a certificate of dismissal. But they will remain forever superficial, disposable acquaintances who cannot help you grow in your heart. You remain cold and sterile.

When you commit to another person, something new appears. Jesus calls it two becoming one. Whatever you want to call it, the bond is strong and does not break easily because to break the bond is to break a part of yourself.

This is how our relationship with God, can be too. Remember old Job? God lets Satan torment him, kill his children, destroy his business and ravage his body with sores. Lot’s wife says, “Why don’t you just curse God and die?” Not that she really wanted to get rid of him -- I think -- but she figured he was done for. She believed God had abandoned Job, so Job should do the same.

Only Job could not. He did not understand the abuse God was putting him through, but he knew that they had been together a very long time. He knew that his relationship with God had been real and committed. He could not and would not let go so easily. Not until he heard directly from God that it was over. For him, the greatest tragedy would have been to be without God even in the midst of the pain and suffering.

Now, I should point out that the message of Job’s story is not that God likes to play with us like a cat with a mouse. The main point of the story was meant to be that bad things happen to ALL people, not just those who deserve them, which was a prevailing thought at the time. You know, “if you’re sick or poor or blind, you deserve it, so we don’t have to help you.” The story was told to remind us that your circumstances are not a reflection of your goodness, so don’t judge the poor.

But it is the depth of relationship that comes through. It is more important to Job than riches or health or even posterity. And that is what we seek in our relationship with God -- and if we’re smart -- with each other.

Remember the words from the marriage ceremony? For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till we are parted by death. This is not only good for marriage, but for all of us. For it is in Christ that we are not many but one, and what God has joined, let no one separate. Amen.

God, Life and Everything - “Virtual Church of the Blind Chihuahua”

2009-09-27T06:09:00.002-04:00

I write a biweekly column called "God, Life, and Everything" for theHudson Valley News. The title reflects the broad scope I want to take. Everything in life falls under the eye of God, and if we watch carefully, we can catch a glimpse of God in it all.

How can you go wrong with a name like “The Virtual Church of the Blind Chihuahua?” When I first read about this website, I rolled my eyes. You could tell from the start that it was supposed to be a cutting edge, ironic and sassy site for the ultra-hip. Something like “The Onion” or “Ship of Fools.”

I could also tell it was put together by people significantly younger than I am because who else would come up with something so random as a blind chihuahua for a church figure?

But, because I found it on the stuffy Church of England’s website, I thought I would at least take a peek. There it was at www.dogchurch.org, a chihuahua with dark shades panting at the viewer. Trendy, but was there anything to this Taco Bell wannabe?

First, the name of this decidedly religious website: It is called virtual because it is an entirely online community. The blind chihuahua (I’m trying to see how many times I can write that word - it’s a fun word to type) part came from a real chihuahua that had cataracts and tended to bark at people sideways because it couldn’t quite tell where its target stood.

The nameless (as far as I could tell) moderator concluded: “We humans relate to God in the same way, making a more or less joyful noise in God's general direction, and expecting a reward for doing so.”

So from the beginning, this website is dedicated to those who are not so sure they have got God right. It is intended to be for people of all or no faiths, for those who may be firm in their beliefs but also want a respectful and probing conversation with others who do not necessarily believe the same things.

That’s why I bookmarked it.

As a minister of the Gospel, I have a fairly firm grasp of what I believe and who God is. But only fairly firm. As a Baptist minister once pointed out, all that can be known is so much more vast than any one human can ever know, that none of us should be fool enough to claim we understand it all, let alone that we understand God.

I liked the tone of this website even if the chihuahua initially put me off. It’s of discovery and sharing. It’s of respect and acceptance of others for who they are. It’s a tone that says, “even if we do not see God the same, I will not try to convince you that you’re wrong but will see God at work in you in the way you love.”

One of the interesting prayers on this site takes portions (or the entirety) of prayers from the three Abrahamic traditions and melds them into one prayer. The Jewish lines sound very much like the Christian lines which sound very much like the Muslim lines. The point, of course, is that at our heart, we all seek to love God. At our cores, we are all God’s children.

It’s a serious religious community. In fact, I’d almost say too serious. It’s still a good website to visit, but I think they need to lighten up a bit. On the other hand, maybe the site’s moderators believe that, if you’re going to have a chihuahua for your mascot, you’d better have more bite than your bark might hint.

Turf Wars - A Sermon

2009-09-27T05:50:00.005-04:00

I have to tell you something rather distressing. I spent an unfruitful hour recently searching for Altar Guild Humor. The internet, with all its vast resources, found nothing humorous about the Altar Guild. Instead, I found this:

I’m afraid she looks like she’s saying, “Touch my vestments, and you will pay! And don’t even think of moving that chalice!” You and I know that this is unfair to OUR altar guild - people who are humble and kind and who DO share a sense of humor. But perhaps it speaks to the subtile temptation and danger of all positions of authority in church. TURF.

We take on a postion, and pretty soon, WE are in charge, and you had better not get in my way. In fact, now that I’m in charge, it’s my way or the high way. We start to guard our turf at church so much that sometimes we make a mess. I remember the senior warden of St. Peter’s, Peekskill - Ron Ashton. A great guy who loved being involved in everything. But two weeks before my boss was to go on a 6-month sabbatical in South Africa, Ron died. Well, we had a junior warden, so my boss went. On Sunday morning a month later, in January’s subzero temperatures, the boiler blew.

As it turned out, Ron had been taking care of the boiler, bleeding it with a method he did not even let the new sexton know about. He had guarded his turf so jealously that he took his knowledge to the grave, and it cost the church dearly.

Guarding our turf seems to be a time-honored tradition in the church. Even before it was the church, we people seemed to think that “Once I get a position, it is MINE. And woe betide anyone who sets foot in my domain.”

In today’s old Testament reading in Numbers, Eldad and Medad did what was not their turf. They had not been set aside as one of the 70, yet they prophesied. Joshua was outraged. But Moses knew they had the spirit and did the work God wanted. Which doesn’t necessarily mean that they had authority - only that Moses saw what others couldn’t. He saw that there is something more than just authorized leadership. Perhaps that ALL can take their share of leadership - and that all have a role in the community.

We see the same thing in today’s Gospel. The disciples were outraged that a guy was casting demons out in Jesus’ name -- even though he was not part of the official entourage. He was stepping all over their turf! But Jesus said, “Do not stop him; for no one who does a deed of power in my name will be able soon afterward to speak evil of me. Whoever is not against us is for us.”

Now, I don’t want anyone to get the idea that we shouldn’t have some order in the church. It’s good to know who to go to when we need to set up for a baptism or when we need to have a potluck or teach a class. But perhaps it means that more of us can take a leadership role than we dare think possible.

Did you note that part in the Gospel about causing anyone to stumble, about parts of your body causing you to sin? Too often, perhaps, the church has done that -- causing people to stumble, by making the Body of Christ impotent - by teaching that only the special folks can preach, teach, evangelize. That is not “official” teaching - officially, as we talked about last week at baptism - we are all ministers. The priesthood of all believers. Perhaps we don’t stress that because we like our special status - our turf.

Of course, there is danger is marking out your turf. Aside from practicalities, like passing on knowledge when it’s time to move on or in case of emergency, (Ron and the boiler), there is the spiritual danger of arrogance.

When I was in seminary, one of our professors beat into our heads that it is a sin not to take a day off or not to take a vacation. First, because we need it, but just as importantly, he said, because priests tend to think the church will fall apart without them. The church needs ME. The world needs me.

No, the world needs God, but God has placed all of us here. Both clergy and the church need reminders of that. We need to remember that it's time for all of us to pick up our mantles and prophesy or heal or evangelize.

Yes, there are specialized ministries - but they are subsets of the main ministry, and they are not unique. There are lots of priests and deacons, lots of organists, lots of people capable of being altar guild and Sunday school and acolytes and lay readers and lectors. None of us owns the position. The church will not cease without us.

And yet, the church IS us. And it does need all of us in order to fulfill its mission. We are -- ALL OF US -- here to work together to make the Kingdom of God reality. We are here -- all of us -- to make Christ known. As a community, we can do this by serving on the Altar Guild (and I bet our leaders would LOVE to have you join), the choir, the Vestry, the Youth Group -- you name it. And we can do it by sharing God’s love at all times everywhere.

The point is, if you are part of the church, YOU are one of the ministers. Don’t let anyone make you think you don’t have a piece of the ministry of Christ. The world is your turf - let’s get out there and share it. Amen.

Welcome to Your Smallness - A Sermon

2009-09-26T09:56:00.001-04:00

Are you ready for some football? Woo hoo! It’s time for the Bears! All right, uh huh, they’re number one!

What? You’re not Bears fans? How can that be? The Bears are like the greatest football team ever! They won eight NFL championships, plus Superbowl XX in 1985! The Bears are Number 1! If only I had a foam finger…

Okay, so maybe the Bears aren’t the greatest. Maybe this looks a little silly. When you think about it, all that screaming and shouting about number one IS silly. And it’s not very helpful to us, either.

One reason is because that whole “We’re number 1” way of thinking carries over into regular life. You know, “Our school is best.” “Our company is preeminent in blah blah,” Or, “Our country is the greatest country on earth.” Baloney! None of these things is “the greatest” -- and we really don’t want them to be either.

Because, no matter what you’re talking about, being the greatest really means making yourself small. True greatness means giving up all the outward trappings of power and pride and making yourself weak and vulnerable -- precisely because you know there’s something stronger inside you, and because you know there’s something bigger than you that needs to be done. Like Jesus.

Jesus had to deal with this in his disciples. Here he is, telling them what he must do -- make himself small, be betrayed and killed. He tells them that only then can he perform the greatest work for all humanity by rising again.

They, in their innate smallness, do not understand and, again as evidence of their small thinking, argue about who’s the best -- like kids yelling “We’re number 1.”

Now, Jesus had an opportunity to put these guys in their place. He had a chance -- and you know he would have had every right to do it -- to puff himself up and start screaming, “You fools. Who do you thing I am? I’m the greatest! You want to do what I’m about to do? Go ahead!”

To give you a little perspective, you should know that this even takes place just a little bit after the transfiguration -- you know when Jesus is shown all bright and shiny standing there with Moses and Elijah, and God speaks from heaven about him -- so you’d think they would have a clue about Jesus’ greatness. And it’s immediately after they had been unable to heal somebody and had to run to Jesus for help, so you’d think they’d have a clue about their own “greatness.”

But Jesus doesn’t do that. He knows his place. He knows who he is and has no need to flaunt it. He can be gentle with them.

So, instead, he brings a child and says “Whoever welcomes the little guy -- even a kid -- welcomes me.”

Now, you know what position a kid had back then, don’t you? Not very big. They were things to avoid stepping on. Maybe not even seen -- especially little ones. It was the woman’s job to keep them out of the men’s way.

So Jesus is saying to them, “Welcome the lowest just as you would me. Because here is where you will find me.”

Welcome to your smallness.

If you want to follow Jesus, make yourself small because the job of following Jesus is not to be Number 1. All you need for that is a foam finger. The job of following Jesus is to see Jesus in others -- and because you see Jesus in others, to love them.

Maybe he brings a child before them because children are thought of as worthless but maybe also because they are ready to love without asking, “What have you done for me lately.” They love because that’s what we’re made to do -- only we forget because we’re told we’re supposed to be the greatest (and we believe it).

This is all very good timing because today you are going to have a child -- two children in fact -- join our community of believers. Today, Breaden and Riley are going to become members of the church in baptism. And although they may not understand all the ins and outs of what Jesus means, they understand love.

In baptism, we remind ourselves -- at least those of us who are baptized -- that we have died to that life of chasing greatness. It just doesn’t matter. And in dying to that old life, we have been born anew into a life where something bigger, more powerful, more important reside inside us.

God’s love -- which is a constant urge inside us, always struggling to come to the surface even when we don’t like it -- to seek the best for everyone around us near and far. It’s not easy, it’s not something we can do on our own even when we think we’re tough enough. God constantly reminds us, we can’t do it by ourselves -- we’re not number 1, and we don’t need to be.

All we need is to that light that is Christ, and we’ll be led right. It will lead us to needing others, to kneeling and seeking forgiveness, to reaching up to God and saying, “In you I have found my meaning.” Being baptized means never having to say, “I’m the greatest.”

It might not even mean saying anything at all because you don’t need words to share God’s love. As St. Francis said, “Preach the Gospel at all times, use words if necessary.”

So, Breaden and Riley, Welcome to YOUR smallness. Amen.

What Does it Mean to Know Christ? - A Sermon Outline

2009-09-26T09:53:00.001-04:00

Sorry, I didn't write this one out. You can read the outline and get the gist of the sermon, I think. Hope it's helpful.

1. We say our goal is to know and to make Christ known

2. Peter recognized Jesus as Messiah/Christ but did not understand what it meant

3. Proverbs complains even before this of us not knowing - and hating knowing. Are we like that?

4. Maybe because James says- it’s dangerous to go around proclaiming when we often spread falsehood. Or evil in the name of Christ.

5. So who is Christ and what does it mean to know him?

6. Note that Peter, who got it so wrong, knew Jesus personally. Sat, ate with him. Listened to his words. Now, how do we know him? Scripture? Partly because it gives us an idea but also not perfect.

7. We’re left with two dilemas. One, how do we know him when he’s not here like he was with Peter? Two, what does it mean for our lives to know him?

8. How: Through Scripture, Prayer, each other. Simple but powerful. That’s why the church gives canon (law) that says it’s each Christian’s responsibility to be here - unless there’s good and extreme cause. We need each other to know Christ.

9. What does it mean is much more treacherous. Because as James says, if we go off half-cocked, we make things worse. As Peter demonstrated, Christ is not here to make us more comfortable or safe. Seeking safety is NOT knowing Christ. Messiah came to give himself even to death.

10. Perhaps the only way to really know Christ is to follow, and for that we have his example, as extreme as it may be. To immitate him, to as WWJD and then do it. But without prayer and study followed by action, we can’t hope to know him, let alone know what it means to know him.

11. Question is, do we really want to know him in the first place? If it means to give up what we own, to give up ourselves, our lives, our comfort? I don’t know. But until each of us gets about the task of finding out, we’ll know the answer is NO.

Is Healing Necessary? - A Sermon

2009-09-26T09:51:00.001-04:00

One of the most annoying things about Jesus is that he’s always healing people. One touch, and poof, the illness is gone. One touch, and poof, a dear man can hear.

Doesn’t even require a touch for some. Like the woman in today’s gospel - Jesus just says, “Go home, your daughter is healed.”

What’s annoying about this is that, of course, things don’t happen like that for most of us. It gets worse when you read Matthew’s version of this story. After the woman replies that even dogs get to eat what’s under the table, Jesus says, "O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.”

You see, there it’s all about her faith. Like the mustard seed. You know, when the disciples came back from their mission trip and some hadn’t been able to cure a boy of a deamon, so Jesus had to do it. The disciples asked, “Why could we not cast it out?” ²⁰He said to them, “Because of your little faith. For truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.”

So, is it faith that heals our bodies? Is the point of the gospel stories simply that if only we had enough faith we could heal better and be healed?

No. Physical healing is never the point. As I’ve said many times before, Jesus did not heal everyone who had faith - and everyone he did heal eventually died. If healing was the sum total of Jesus’ ministry, we would not bother being here.

Healing is just a teaching device. He used it as well as feeding and story telling to help us understand a bit about God. Usually no more than we could digest.

And what is that lesson? Well, look at today’s gospel. First thing to notice is that Jesus is in Tyre. If you look at a map, you’ll see that he’s not really in Israel at all. He’s way up north on the Mediterranean Coast -- pretty much in what would be modern Lebanon. The next thing to notice is that the woman he encounters is Syrophoenician, that is of that region and NOT Jewish.

And yet, Jesus’ reputation for healing precedes him even in these foreign parts. The woman, who is not Jewish, comes to him for help. Contrast that with the Pharisees from just a bit earlier in the chapter who had no interest in the healing Jesus did but were most interested in whether or not he and his disciples washed their hands.

The lesson is not that Jesus heals but that it is a foreigner he heals. When she comes begging for help, he produces those rude words: “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” He’s expressing the exact sentiment of most Jews -- most certainly the sentiment of his disciples. Take care of home first. Charity begins at home. Or better yet, don’t bother with outsiders at all. They’re not one of us.

So it is with great intention that Mark includes this story and that famous reply: “Yes, but even the dogs eat the crumbs under the table.” There is no such thing as someone being left out of God’s grace and mercy.

Let’s be clear on this: the woman was of the wrong faith. She did not become Jewish. She remained a foreigner. Yet she looked to Jesus perhaps as Son of God, perhaps only as divinely connected healer -- and she knew he would help her because she saw mercy as well as power. She saw love and could trust it.

Our lesson then is that healing may or may not come to those who pray. In the end, it doesn’t matter because we will all go the same way. As much as I would love for each of us to be able to heal the sick just by having more faith, in the end, no amount of faith will stop us from returning to the earth.

What our faith can do is increase our appreciation for the breadth of God’s love and mercy. It can help us broaden OUR capacity for love and mercy as well.

By the way, James reminds us that this broader capacity for love is not just to “those out there.” He warns about ignoring those closer to home -- not with charity but with how we treat those who are poor. Because sometimes we treat them as beneath us, and James says that is every bit as sinful as treating the foreigner or the person of a different faith badly.

The end message? Healing is not most importantly of the body. Rather it is if our own prejudice against those different from us. It is healing of our notion that God somehow loves US more. As if God could love one of his children more.

Inside Out - A Sermon

2009-09-26T09:47:00.001-04:00

First of all, it’s good to be home. Three weeks is a long time. But while we were away, we had virtually no internet access and watched almost no TV. Okay, we watched George Lopez and iCarly at the hotel, but that’s it. And the Weather Channel, but that’s it, really.

The point is, speaking for myself, I felt separated from all the cares and concerns that I normally get caught up in on a day to day basis. It felt good. Of course, then we got back and checked in with the newspapers and -- voila -- the Health Care debate. Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that.

If you listen to people in this debate, it’s clear that it’s a big deal. I do not want to minimize its importance because health care certainly is a vital issue. But thinking about our physical health brought me to another reflection. Despite the quality of health care we eventually end up with, we’re all still going to die.

It’s just like that food the Pharisees were all upset about (and my grandma might have been a Pharisee because she was constantly yelling at us to wash our hands before we ate). They talked about cleanliness and ritual purity. Today we talk about health. But just as surely as you can be clean on the outside yet dirty on the inside, so you can be physically healthy while still being spiritually dying.

That may have been Jesus’ point. We can follow all those traditions, but in the end, it’s not about which rules we followed to the letter. All of the religious rituals upheld by the Pharisees and scribes may have a place or a purpose, but they are not what matters in the end. All the medicine that keeps us going longer has its place, but it too only affects our outsides, our physical self. Rather, it’s about what comes out of us that matters.

Notice what Jesus lists as those things coming out of us. Theft, murder, adultery, avarice, envy, slander, pride, and deceit to name a few. In short, they are all issues of how we treat each other. THAT is what matters -- to the Law, to Jesus, to God. It’s when we treat others as less than ourselves that we become dirty, that we start to die inside.

And the way to healing is to treat others near and far with love. As James says, we are “to care for orphans and widows in their distress,” for starters. That’s nothing new for us, is it?

But it’s important to remind ourselves from time to time that there are more important things for us Episcopalians than getting the liturgy right. More important things than whether we’re using Rite I or Rite II, whether the music is upbeat or modern enough (or “traditional” enough -- and don’t get Jesus started on that word “tradition).

What’s important is what’s coming from our hearts.

I would venture to say that sometimes, when we just do good deeds out of a sense of duty or “tradition,” they might be empty gestures as well. Jesus really indicates here that our actions need to come from within - they reflect our spiritual health as it were. And while it’s not always easy to feel great even when you’re serving others, we can always ask ourselves why we’re doing it.

By this I’m thinking of those who do good deeds so they can look good. I suspect this might fall in the category of self-serving. It’s not enough merely to be a philanthropist but to do so from a position of love for others. On the other hand, St. James believed that by doing good -- not merely giving money but actually engaging with those in need -- our hearts could be transformed.

So, in a sense, while what comes out of us can defile, it can also nurture love and joy in others and consequently in ourselves. In other words, what comes out of us can heal us and purify us.

Which, I have to believe, is what would please God most. After all, look at that passage from the Song of Solomon. It’s about unbridled love, passion, joy. That, I believe, is how God wants us to approach him, and the best way to get there is to approach each other that way, too.

Amen.