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By Mary Davis, Seminarian Intern
Good morning. Let me take a minute of your time, and for those of you whom I have not met yet, my name is Mary Davis, and I am a second year theological intern at Drew University in Madison, and on the path toward ordination here in this Diocese. I am spending this year with you here at St. George's as part of my "Field Work" experience, and part of this experience is, of course, preaching.
Today's parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector is a story told only in the Gospel of Luke. This story, along with many of the other stories or parables we've heard from Luke this fall, highlights a theme of "divine reversal" which, if we are not careful to look closely and intentionally at it, it is capable of seeming unreasonable to us.
For the Pharisees were the holy men of their age, and this particular Pharisee presented today in Jesus' parable, was one who had gone beyond the expectation of the law, was adhering to the code of purity, and then some. He was not only fasting once a week as the law required, but twice. And even better, (and I'm not just making a plug here because it's Stewardship season) he tithed on "all" of his income, going yet again, beyond what the law required.
Then, on the other hand, as you well know, Jesus compares this 'holy' Pharisee to the tax collector. His hated status in Jewish society is well known, since here was a Jew, who was a traitor, at best, by working for the Roman government, and at worst, more like a human parasite, feeding off of his fellow Jews.
Clearly, this is one of those stories, and Luke is famous for this, which presents for us a "radical reversal." Our sensibilities and sense of justice are challenged by the notion that the supposed 'holy man' here, the Pharisee, is not rewarded, while the sinful and parasitic tax collector is in fact exalted. "For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted," says Jesus.
I chewed on this lesson for quite some time, repelled by the Pharisee's self-righteous prayer, yet caught myself, thankful, that I was not like the Pharisee! Interesting, hum? Yet this was not the first time I've caught myself thinking like that. Because, for those of you who don't know me yet, I have three children, three boys in fact, and these boys manage to continually humble me and my assumptions and highlight my own inner "Pharisee."
My oldest child, Ryan, who is now 15, suffers from the developmental disability called Asperger's Syndrome. It's on the Autistic Spectrum, and severely limits his ability to negotiate this social world in which we live. So it's easy for me, and certainly for others in our world, to judge his inadequacies, his shortcomings, and his single minded focus at times. And yet, if this wasn't bad enough (and I'm being slightly facetious here), perhaps the worst thing about his disorder is that he is totally enamored by Japanese Cartoons. You know the type - Yugioh, Pokemon, Digimon, Dragonball Z. If you haven't seen or heard of these cartoons, they are our imported animated figures from Japan, whose eyes are drawn much larger than our American-made cartoon figures, and when their mouths move, it is not in sync with our English words, because originally, Japanese words were scripted. These cartoons are the bane of my existence. Partially, because they are an almost constant source of background drama and noise in our house, but also because I have visions of my son as a 30-year-old, lying on my couch incessantly watching them. But just as I laid out my judgments, looking down upon my son's recreation of choice, one day, he sat up from his cartoon stupor and told me, "You know mom, this cartoon "Twitches" (which is a Japanese cartoon found on the Disney Channel about twin witches separated at birth) is a lot like Jesus and God." Intrigued, the Pharisee, I mean, the dutiful theological student and mother lifted her head from the dishes in the sink . . . "how so," I asked? He said to me, "Yeah, they are the forces that fight the darkness and evil that have filled the world and they want, more than anything else, to bring light to the world."
Now that's humility – there I was with my grand theological thoughts, my judgments, my self-righteous efforts, and all of them were rightfully squashed by my developmentally disabled teenager's insights in to darkness and light. His humble revelation about Jesus' mission to bring Light to the World was not an assessment of me, but rather, a simple statement that pulled me out of my rut of judgment, and allowed me to find the spark of God's grace within Ryan, and at the end of this day, Ryan's Japanese cartoons brought the light of Christ to me.
Henri Nouwen, a Catholic priest and author, whose work has spoken to me in many ways, wrote about this divine reversal. He called it the "reverse mission." And this is exactly what this parable in Luke shows us. Nouwen writes, "I have become aware that wherever God's Spirit is present, there is a reverse mission. . . [and] this reversal is a sign of God's spirit. The poor have a mission to the rich, the handicapped have a mission to the able-bodied, the dying have a mission to the living. Jesus shows us that the victims become our evangelists, calling us to conversion." And in that conversion, we humbly become aware that all of our efforts at learning - about ourselves, about others and about God - all of our efforts to do the right thing, and all of our attempts to fix our world, all of them mean nothing without God, without the humble admission that God's life and breath dwell in everyone.
There is another layer of "divine reversal" in this parable which causes me to sit up and take notice, especially during this Stewardship season, and again, it's the Pharisee. Because the title "Pharisee" is derived from the Hebrew verb, "to separate," which is exactly what the Pharisee had done. His prayers and actions, though beyond the code of purity and certainly beyond expectation, were done alone. The gospel reads, "The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus . . . ." And I think that the other piece to this divine reversal draws us to one another, instead of away from each other. We all matter. All of our stories and practices of faith, God's working in our lives, are all part of telling a story of something that can't really be told because it's something that defies explanation, something that exceeds our comprehension. And yet, telling and sharing the story of our lives in Christ, here in this church, in this year, and as this congregation, is exactly what we are called to do.
Some of you might have heard this story before, but it comes to me from a book by Charles Foster, and he took it from one of Elie Wiesel's writings. But it's a story of a Great Rabbi, who whenever he saw misfortune approaching his community, followed the custom of going deep into the heart of the forest, and there he would ask God to save his people. He would go to a sacred place, and he would light a sacred fire, and he would say a special sacred prayer. And sure enough the disaster would be averted.
Well, this great rabbi died at an old age, and he was succeeded by his disciple, who was also a good and holy rabbi, but he did not learn all there was to know from his teacher, and when disaster would approach he would go to the same place in the forest, for he knew the place, and he would light the same sacred fire, for his knew how to make the fire, but he had forgotten the prayer. And so he would just remember that there was a prayer, and that would be enough. Disaster would be averted.
When he died and was succeeded by his disciple, again, the same pattern would play out. Only now, when disaster would approach the village, the disciple would go to the sacred spot in the forest, for he knew where that place was, but he hadn't learned how to light the sacred fire, and he didn't know the sacred prayer. And so he went to the place, and said, "Oh God, I'm here in this place, and I do not know how to light the fire, and I do not know the sacred prayer, but that must be enough." And it was.
And he lived to an old age and was succeeded by his disciple, yet another generation. By this time, the sacred place in the forest was lost. So when disaster approached the village, this rabbi knelt in his home, and said, "Oh Lord, God, I do not know the place in the forest, I do not know how to light the sacred fire, and I do not know the sacred prayer, but I know the story and that must be enough." And it was.
These Rabbis didn't pray for their communities and leave. And they didn't just talk about the "good old days" and revel in the past. Instead, they prayed, lighting the sacred fire and finding a sacred place, and then returned to community to embrace the future and teach the next generation. It's so important for all us to remember the story of a living God acting in our midst, but even more important, to live that story now, in community, and incorporate the generations to come into our story with God. Again, we all matter.
Our stories do not live and move in separateness, like the Pharisee. Our connectedness to generations before us – generations of 'tax collectors' and generations of 'pharisees' – allows us all, by the Grace of God, to embrace one another as community. By turning over and over and over and over again, returning time and time again to God, our story becomes one of humility, one which recognizes and values the breath of God that was given to all of us. That holy breath created a story of community, a place where our traditions, both old and new, are shared together - with each other, with God, and with the saints that traveled here before us.
This is true stewardship: offering ourselves and our treasures up to God, by humbly stepping out of the way of our own righteousness, so that all of our stories of faith may be used for God's work in this church, this community, and in the world today.
© 2007 Mary Davis
By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector
In the Gospel we just read, Jesus told the leper who returned, "Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well."
There are a lot of healing stories in the whole Bible and they number extremely high in the Gospels. The dimensions of healing are deep and wide and stories like this provide us with a backdrop to study and learn some of those dimensions. This particular story is one I like very much and quote from often in my conversations on healing.
As often happens, Luke introduces a story by saying that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem. For the writer of Luke this is constantly important, it is the prism through which he sees Jesus ministry. Going to Jerusalem and all the events we now reenact liturgically through our Holy Week services. The healing and miracles Jesus performs on his way to Jerusalem are a preview and a foretaste of the ultimate healing and miracle yet to happen through the crucifixion and resurrection. By telling us again that Jesus was on his way, Luke ties this story into the larger story that is unfolding. The participants are of course unaware of what's coming, but for the writer and the generations of readers who know the outcome, the prism through which Luke sees Jesus' life, becomes the prism through which we see also. The injuries to body and spirit endured on Calvary are healed through God's ultimate healing grace and even death is not possible to God as seen in the resurrection. As readers who know this, we come to the story of the ten lepers a little more informed of the larger picture.
These ten people suffering from leprosy were careful to keep their distance as a sign of respect but also not to offend. There was the possibility of contagion and even beyond that the knowledge that as a Jew Jesus would have been obliged to avoid them as unclean. So they voiced their desperate pleas from a distance. Observing the law that only a Jewish priest could certify them as clean and able to be restored to the community, Jesus instructed them to go find the priest. The healing occurred along the way. Miraculous. Nine of them continued on, presumably to find the priest, be certified as healed and clean and find new lives as healthy people healed in body and healed in relationship by being welcomed back from the exile of their disease and banishment.
Yet for one of them there was unfinished business. Once he realized that he had been cured he returned to Jesus to thank him. Quite simply that. For the miracle of cleansing, the miracle of healing, the doors this opened up as far as being reestablished in the community -- there was an overwhelming sense of gratitude, and for this the man returned to Jesus to say thank you. Again, details are important in Luke's story. Jesus noted that of the ten healed, the only one returning to thank him was the Samaritan. We've run into Samaritans before -- the story of the good Samaritan who helped the injured man on the road, the woman at the well Jesus broke the rules to speak to was also a Samaritan, and many other general references to the people of Samaria. They were, as a people, considered foreign and not pure blooded Israelites. They were looked down upon and discriminated against. That Jesus healed the Samaritan leper again showed that he followed the law of compassion rather than the law of prejudice. By referring to this Luke also opens the door to us as readers to expand our vision of those considered worthy of God's love.
Another important part of this story is that they asked. Someone once told me "You don't ask, you don't get." There's a lot of truth in that. We might complain about nothing coming our way, and yet haven't taken the time to ask in any significant way. We may feel we don't deserve something, or that things are simply impossible, and we defeat ourselves by not even asking for that which is life giving and important to us and can be healing. Time and again the miracles come when people ask and God's abundance gives them so much and often more than what was asked for. That's not to say it comes wrapped in paper and recognizable. Sometimes it's subtle and hidden and needs to be revealed. Prayers are answered, but we need to ask.
Then for me the most important part of this passage -- Jesus tells the man that his faith has made him "well." He had already been cured of his leprosy, but the gratitude he showed healed him on an even deeper level. By being called "well," there is implied a spiritual healing of great importance. The Samaritan man didn't take his healing for granted. He acknowledged the source of his healing and deepened his relationship to the great healer with a simple act of gratitude. He did not allow his excitement of being cured allow him to forget this basic lesson of thanksgiving.
Gratitude is easily overlooked. And yet it is so important. Who among us doesn't like to be thanked for something we've done? It's nice to be recognized, gives us a little boost. It means work that we've done has been noticed and appreciated. We have a little glow of satisfaction and there's also some inspiration to do even more. But the gratitude we experience deepens the quality of the relationship we have with the person who thanks us. Part of their spirit reaches out to part of our spirit in a moment of communion. Whether an individual or a group, the act of thanking improves a spiritual bond. A few weeks ago at our celebration of the renovated Parish Hall we thanked many people who worked so hard to make that project happen. It was absolutely important to do that in a significant way that demonstrated the depth of gratitude on behalf of the full community of this church. And it was fun. People who get thanked get all embarrassed and have an "aw shucks" posture, but it still feels good. It draws us closer together as friends and community members.
How much more important it is for us to thank God for the miracles and healing we receive through God's grace and love. Sometimes we get so excited by the positive changes in our lives that we forget to take the time to recognize that God's love makes all things possible and that thanks are deserved. I don't think God's feelings are hurt if we forget to show gratitude, but it's important for us to show it. Taking the time to recognize what we have been given, where we have come along our way, how we've been healed in the many ways from body and spirit gives us an opportunity to be made not only healed, but "well." Recognizing the gift and thanking the giver deepens the relationship between us and God.
Gratitude takes practice. It seems odd to say, but I think it's true. We take so much for granted that we often forget to pause and realize the many blessings we've been given. Even things which appear negative, often turn out to be blessings in disguise. All the more reason to take time to examine our lives and review the many gifts we've been given. When and where appropriate, we should thank the people by whom blessings come. And above all, pause though the days ahead and observe the blessings of God through grace and thank God for them. Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem. He told the Samaritan man to "go on your way" wherever that way might go. We each have our own way to travel come what may. It is God that watches over us and heals us in the many ways we need healing, and it is our faith and gratitude that makes us well. Amen.
© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ
By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector
In the Gospel passage we just read, the Apostles said to Jesus, "Increase our faith." This passage comes in the midst of a series of seemingly unrelated sayings, which happens from time to time in the Gospels. Jesus' response was that if they had faith the size of a mustard seed they could uproot a tree and replant it in the sea. That would be quite a trick! It's an interesting choice of seeds, however. In another parable, Jesus told them that the mustard seed is the smallest of seeds which grows into the largest of bushes or trees, depending on which Gospel lesson you read.
While the botanical accuracy of the parables is debatable, the point is entering into it as it was intended. If we had faith the size of a mustard seed, the smallest of the small -- we could accomplish the greatest of the greatest deeds. Faith is a truly amazing gift in each of us. How much do we have? How do we acquire more? Where will it take us and what will we do along the way? The Apostles had these questions answered in their lives in very powerful ways. We too, have these questions and to the degree we wrestle with them, we will find the answers for ourselves.
This lesson caps a series of difficult lessons. Again I find myself wanting to skip over the tough ones, but they stick out like sore thumbs and need attention. The lesson from Lamentations is heartbreaking. Often attributed to the prophet Jeremiah, this book of sadness chronicles the fall of the kingdom of Israel in narrative and poetic styles. Once a prospering and bustling kingdom, it boasted of thriving cities and grand buildings not the least of which was the temple in Jerusalem. They had a long heritage and legacy of great Kings like David and Solomon. But when they were conquered by the Babylonians all that was lost. Everything great about them was destroyed, their buildings, cities, their beloved temple, their way of life and even their people dragged away from their homeland and resettled hundreds of miles away in a foreign country where it was expected they would assimilate and over the generations forget there was even a country called Israel.
Jeremiah's laments were written and have lasted through the ages and express the grief of people in the midst of their suffering. The psalm complements this reading beautifully. It was believed to be written by someone who had been taken from Israel and resettled so far away. It begins with a melancholic tone and rises in anger to a pitch of rage that calls for the destruction of the babies of their enemies. It's a rage we are unaccustomed to and yet when we open our eyes and ears to comments today we can hear echoes of this shocking request. We hear it from the anguished lips of mothers and fathers who bury their children fallen in war on either side of any conflict. The rage captures not only the grief but confusion of the cruelty of others, the futility of war and the impotence of their own rage in the face of forces greater than they are. One of the more chilling moments in the new movie "The Kingdom" comes when people on both sides of the conflict in a terrorist attack in Saudi Arabia console the American and Saudi families of fallen soldiers by pledging to "kill them all." Our connection to this psalm is as deep as it is disturbing.
I've always been grateful that the Bible includes such raw emotion, even when it's negative. Simply because it's real and we can't gloss over it. We need to recognize it and confront it and with God's help overcome it. Like the Apostles who asked Jesus to increase their faith, ours too must increase to where we can take these foolish notions of war and greed and uproot them and throw them away.
In Paul's second letter to Timothy, he continues his mentoring of the young man and encourages his steadfast faith. He appeals to Timothy's spirit and reminds him of the spirit that Paul himself had bestowed upon him by the laying on of his hands -- an image from which we get our own ordination practices today. This spirit is not one of cowardice, but power, love and self discipline. These tools will see Timothy through his difficulties and these come through grace and grace is a gift of God. "Increase our faith." the apostles said. And God does, for them and us.
Today we celebrate the life of a beloved saint in the church's history -- St. Francis. We remember his kindness and poetry. His abiding faith and love of animals. We honor his sacrifices and devotion to the poor. He inspires us in our care for them, for the environment and for all of creation.
I became excited by the connection I saw in these readings today and the life of St. Francis. Believe me, it's not really a big stretch! In his early life, he was the son of a wealthy merchant and enjoyed the games and sport of spoiled rich young men of his time with out much concern for the future. When a local war broke out among neighboring kingdoms he thought it would be fun to go and do some fighting. His soft life did not prepare him for the brutality of the war he experienced. He sustained wounds that almost killed him and he was brought back to his parents' home where he recuperated.
Like the book of Lamentations, he saw his old life shattered by the realities of what he experienced. The false importance he placed on his earlier play cut him as deeply as his battle wounds and as he recovered he found a new purpose in living to help others and in that way find a richness in his life he had never known.
He was encouraged in his ministry, as Paul had encouraged Timothy and he found the power, love and self discipline to continue his work. And as his faith increased, he accomplished great deeds lasting into the present.
It is here that I want to find the good news today. There's not a person here, I suspect, who hasn't know some lament or rage for something in the past. There's not a person who hasn't felt somehow wronged by another and felt those horrible, deep feelings of sadness that come to victims and rage at the consequences they've had to pay for someone else's aggression, greed or thoughtlessness. It's how we're wired, it's natural and all too common.
What is not as easy, and yet ever so much more needed is the encouragement to move from being a victim to a victor. We can use the very hurts in our lives to make us stronger in our own spirits and more empathetic to others in their times of need. Like Paul to Timothy I have received encouragement in my own challenges, and I encourage you in yours to find the spirit of power, love and self discipline that God's grace provides us with. If we don't we stay in a hopeless spiral of rage and revenge. But we can move beyond that place to a stronger place where the increase of faith can bring out of us incredible accomplishments -- the most important perhaps will be to break the cycle of rage that plagues humanity. I've watched landscapers and observed that while it's sometimes difficult, replanting trees is fairly commonplace. What is truly a miracle to me is teaching a child how to get beyond anger to find healing and constructive response. It's a miracle and lesson we can only teach if we have found the way ourselves. And we can.
We live side by side with people from all over the world who live out their love or their rage in the actions of their lives. And the potential for this same love or rage lives side by side in each of us. We can choose how those raw emotions get acted out. We can make pledges to those around us to let the negative in our lives produce positive growth. And we can only succeed by grace and God's love.
Let us pray, Lord increase in us the faith to find the power, love and self discipline to conquer the anger and rage that is formed in us. Find in us the seeds of faith, whether small or large and bring them growth to accomplish in us that which we could never imagine. Inspire us with prophets and saints, encourage us with teachers and friends, be our guide and source of faith and allow us to be channels of your peace. Through Jesus Christ we pray. Amen.
© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ
By Chris West, Stewardship Co-Chair
The Stewardship of Time and Talent. That is the theme of today's Ministry Fair. Time and Talent. Seems pretty simple. Not always easy - but simple. A bit of time given here and there. A sharing of talent - of personal gifts - well - maybe that seems a bit more complicated.
Still - it is a new year - not liturgical, not by the calendar. This month we return to Sunday School and regular worship hours and the choir singing and Dinners For Eight and a host of other activities that mark this time.
And we return to Stewardship - that calling out to consider both the new and the renewal of our commitment to share with St. George's (and therefore with each other and the greater church and the larger community) our treasure, our time and our talent.
I'm not going to talk about the treasure part this morning. The Stewardship Committee wanted very much to give full voice and visibility to the other aspects of Stewardship. So today - our Time and Talent Fair.
I want to shift a bit now - to today's Gospel lesson. The one where the writer of Luke almost seems to be telling a story where Jesus is telling his disciples - be smart: be shrewd like the "children of this age" not the "children of light".
A story where a manager is doing a poor job for his boss - and when he gets found out - he decides to add cheating to wastefulness. In his fear as well as his disdain for working or begging - he comes up with the idea that he'll just help everyone that owes his boss money and thereby ingratiate himself with them. And the boss - he seems to think this is fine - because the manager "had acted shrewdly".
At the end of the telling of this story - Jesus says "make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes."
The whole thing makes no sense. A boss who's angry with an incompetent employee and then thinks he's great because he cheats him. And - even more confusing - Jesus talking about being shrewd and being dishonest, like that's a good thing.
But the final sentences - the summing up of the story if you will - are very clear.
Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful in much - and whoever is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much. No one can serve two masters - we will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. We cannot serve God and wealth.
Our faithfulness - our keeping our part of the covenant - in little things and big things - is required. And we cannot give short shrift to the small stuff - because when we do - we give the big stuff short shrift as well.
This is what happens when we are not whole and complete. Or maybe it causes that fragmentation. I'm never sure which comes first.
But the splitting of our selves and the battle that can rage between our yearning towards the God of our understanding and the world's demands - can be overwhelming sometimes. A lot of times.
A favorite of my remembered biblical stories is only one of my favorites because as a child I completely misunderstood it.
It is the parable of the talents. And it goes (the quick version) like this: A man going on a long journey leaves his goods with his servants. Now in the bible - the goods are talents - an amount of money, which somewhere or other I read, is the equal of about a thousand dollars today.
Two of the servants invest the talents and double them. When the man returns, he's happy. But the third servant - afraid to lose the talents - has buried them for safekeeping and the man - pretty upset at not having the talents increase - is very angry. This is one of those stories that end in weeping and teeth gnashing.
The thing is - I didn't know the talents were money when I first heard this story. I just thought they were talents - like singing or dancing or playing the harmonica. So I thought the point was - don't bury your talents. I may have also confused this with not hiding your light under a bushel.
Anyway - you get my point, I hope. More about this later.
Christian and I were on vacation recently in Maine - we did a bit of research before leaving about what there was to do and where we wanted to go. But when we arrived we found the most amazing Tourist Information Center. It was amazing because it was filled with everything you would need to know about Maine ... and it was organized in a way that satisfied even my obsessive-compulsive tendencies.
We went there three separate times - to browse, to get ideas, to be sure we hadn't missed anything - and to revel in the numbers of activities, places, events, restaurants, galleries, nature walks, scenic drives open to us. And everyone else there was doing the same thing. Wandering through this large room - ducking in and out between aisles of shelves. We were part of this small community of sojourners. It was great.
As the weeks leading to today's Fair galloped along, I kept thinking about the Center. And in this last week - when even more parishioners suddenly seemed to jump on the idea of hosting a table - I thought about it some more.
Because when you go down stairs after the service and wander around our very beautiful Parish Hall - you'll have this whole host of opportunities in front of you.
Please don't think of them as duties to be fulfilled - or obligations to be met. Pretend you are going into the Center in Maine the way Chris and I did. And see the smorgasbord of all these things to do and let your appetite be whet. We are entering this hall together - surveying this smorgasbord as yet another community of sojourners.
There are opportunities for fellowship, chances to un-bury talents and let them increase, occasions for grace when our commitment to our life of faith overcomes the calls of a world in which faith, grace and fellowship seem unsupported.
And today you get a One-Day Dispensation from the sin of Pride - (see your bulletin). Good today and today only! Because we want you to be bold, to brag, to pop your jerseys, to let both your big talents and your small skills get put to good use.
Now why do I say 'put to good use'? That's a bit presumptuous I guess.
So let me tell you how it is I really came to be standing here this morning - speaking to you. I have been a member of St. George's for about 12 years I think. I've done a few things here in that time - but the one that has brought me the most joy is teaching Sunday School - 4th, 5th or 6th graders depending on the year. I've done that most of the years I've been here.
I don't think I'm that good at it. But I love it. And I love the children who have been in my class.
I watch with anticipation all the even younger ones - and I start thinking about how eventually I'll get them in my class. So each year when I consider how maybe I'll ask Jane Cates for a year off, I think of someone I've been waiting to see in my class and I postpone for another year that brief sabbatical.
Let me reassure you - this ministry is not without its frustrations. Aside from my own insecurity, there is of course the occasional Sunday morning when I'm certain no one is listening - no one cares - the whole group is out of control and I'm just about to bust.
Following one such Sunday - as I was shepherding the little lambs to the church (there's an irony to our joining you all at the Peace) a few of the children made a stop at the water cooler.
This is pretty routine with them. I slipped into my normal pose and tone of voice when this happens and shushed them along - reminding them "Come on - we're going to church now."
And then something happened. I felt this great sense of calm - of certainty - and I had a waking up moment. I thought - this is their church. They know this place. They know every nook and cranny - from the stage to the altar to the cloister garden to the playground to the kitchen. They've crawled and run and walked over every surface. They feel comfortable here - this is a place they know. The faces are familiar - some grownups even know their names (though I wish there were more of them).
And someday - 20 or 30 years from now, they may be sitting in a newcomers' meeting at a rectory telling people about the church they went to as children. And that will be this place. This church. St. George's will be the church of their memory. It will be the place they remember and even if they don't know that now, it is true.
We create - in our covenant with God and with each other - this memory. It is the work we do here, the worship we pray and sing here, the ministries we embrace and engage in and are engaged by, the place from which we reach out and the place in which we may turn inward, the place we meet the comfort we find in each other with the strength we find in ourselves, the place we try to name the un-nameable.
It is the place of our memory - which we carry with us all through the week if only we will stop to hear, and look, and remember it.
There is ample opportunity today for us to continue - or to embark upon - this memory-creation.
When you walk downstairs look for Joy. Be bold. Take chances. Over-reach. Build a memory - for yourself, for our children, for each other.
Let us pray -
Lord, guide us to be faithful in a little so that we may be faithful in much, show us the way to wholeness and completeness, remind us of our many talents, relieve us of our fears of the finiteness of time, and guide us to continue to create and re-create this church in which we give you thanks and praise. Amen.
© 2007 Chris West
By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector
Today is our Homecoming Sunday. It's a time for us as a church community to renew our focus on our spiritual lives in this place. Most of our programs and classes are suspended for the summer and it's good to have a break. It's good to refresh and re-create ourselves. It's also good to come back.
St. George's is a spiritual home to many. Generations have come and gone, and we who have benefited from their work, have added our own to building and renovating this wonderful place so that our prayer, fellowship, study and outreach may be enriched, that we may make it appealing and available to others, and raise our children in a faith that they will need to face the challenges of their day.
It's fitting that we celebrate a baptism today. As we welcome Paolo, Julia, Margot and Elizabeth into Christ's church and fellowship, we'll renew our own baptismal vows and strengthen our own commitments to God and ourselves and the faith we proclaim.
Our scripture lessons are rich this morning. In Exodus, children of Israel have been wandering in the desert a long time and Moses, their leader has been missing for quite some time. They fear the worst and feeling abandoned, feeling cut off from God for whom Moses is the spokesperson, they panic. They revert to old ways and create their own gods they can speak to themselves, that are in their camp where they can be watched and carried when they travel. God observes all this, gets jealous and angry and threatens to kill them all and promises Moses that he'll start a new nation beginning at scratch with Moses' children. Moses intercedes again, saves the day and restores the peace and relationship between God and the people.
There's a touch of the story teller in this scripture reading which captures some wonderful myth and imagery while reaching for some deep truths. The most compelling truth in this scripture lesson is that we need to feel in relationship with God. We need that divine grace and love to embrace us in a way we can feel and even if we don't understand it fully, we can breathe it in like the air we depend on so much. Like the children of Israel, when we don't feel connected to God, we devise our own lesser gods in a desperate attempt to fill that gap. For the children of Israel, their substitute gods took the form of golden calves. Each person contributed something gold, like jewelry or decorative items. How important it was that they all contributed to this project, melted these items down and molded them into calves they then called their gods. They empowered these inanimate objects with vast spiritual significance because they had felt cut off from the God Moses introduced them to. For them it was golden calves, for us, when we feel cut off from God we devise gods of other types. Anything from addictions, to material fads, to pop gurus, you name it.
One of the problems confronted by Moses in this episode was how to teach the people of Israel to have their own knowledge of God, their own contact and their own relationship. If they felt disconnected because he wasn't there, then he needed to teach them how to get connected by themselves.
That remains one of the biggest problems of faith communities: how to instruct each person to connect with God themselves. I'm about to ask rhetorical questions, so don't feel put on the spot or like you have to raise your hands. Here goes: Do you take time to pray? Do you take time to meditate? Do you read scriptures or spiritual literature? Do you feel God's presence in your day to day life? If so, do you look for ways to deepen it? If not, what do you get close to, connect with or attach spiritual significance?
I've been in this "business" if you will a long time and have come to believe that God is big enough to be seen in many ways. But each of those ways requires diligence and intention to be fruitful. If no effort is made, we depend on those who we identify as having found a connection to God. We follow them and bask in the warmth of their fire. The problem is, that if they leave, we are again cold and spiritually alone.
Being here this day, in this church, during this baptism, we are proclaiming a way to God that works. There are many, but this is the one we've chosen. It is impossible to devote ourselves to all the possible ways. We must choose.
Our recent college graduates feel frustrated because they have so many interests and at this point in their young lives can see themselves going in many different directions successfully and have a hard time deciding. And decide they must. One of my nieces declared at a young age that she wanted to be either a teacher or a rock star. Both are admirable pursuits, but a choice needed to be made, you can't be both. In time she discovered this and took yet another option for her career.
Just so, in matters of faith. In a world of competing teachings and spiritual paths. Many offer valid approaches, and many can be explored but only one can be explored to any depth.
And that's what brings us here. We are a progressive Christian community. We maintain traditional liturgy formed in the earliest recorded ways. We embrace the Anglican spiritual approach of studying scripture, observing tradition and using reason. We pray with our hearts, work with hands and think with our brains. We follow the teaching of Jesus in loving God and neighbor. We take scripture seriously as a source of spiritual truth. We may debate, argue or do lunch, but in this place we take responsibility for our own relationship with God in the company of others as fellow seekers.
The worldwide Anglican Communion teeters toward a division created by forgetting its own history and tradition of tolerance and debate. Other gods are created as demonstrated by the loss of love between brothers and sisters, children of the God who is love.
Baptism is a bringing into fellowship people desiring a way to God. It signifies intention and commitment. It echoes the promise of Jesus that God is available to all people without discrimination and that life in God's love is eternal. The children for whom these vows are made today and the adults who renew their own vows re-establish this relationship.
There are many individuals that seek God. Many churches created to form a fellowship where that seeking may occur. This is our way, our understanding, our home. Stay as long as you are spiritually fed and join us in our prayer, work, fellowship and study. Welcome to all in the name of Jesus. Amen.
© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ
By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector
From the Gospel we just heard, "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple..."
This little nugget is tucked into a series of teachings about discipleship. At first glance it's problematic, to say the least. The modern ear hears this and deep concerns arise about families being dysfunctional enough without our Savior adding fuel to the fire. When I came back from my vacation feeling rested, I opened the lectionary and saw this portion of text and wondered how I'm going to handle this one in the family service. I'll have you know that I did what any sane preacher would do -- I changed the lesson. Can you imagine the Back to School sermon beginning with telling the kids that unless they hate their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, and themselves, they can't be Jesus' disciples! That didn't strike me as being the most productive approach to congregational development. So I left it out.
No such luck for you, though. We're going to dive into the deep end of the pool. What on earth can Jesus be talking about? What ever happened to the fifth commandment, "Thou shalt honor thy mother and father"? Well, to begin with, we need to remember that this text was not meant for children, nor was it meant for the modern ear. The construct of the biblical language from which this comes doesn't have shading of degree. You either love something or hate it. Something is either good or evil. The language is very black and white and that's the way it is.
That explanation may take a little of the sting out of this passage, but it's still disturbing. And I think that's the point. It's disturbing. It gets our attention and makes us listen very carefully and puts in bold relief what Jesus is calling for.
Being on a spiritual path is not easy. The level of discipleship that Jesus outlines for his followers is very strong indeed and calls for strong talk. What does it mean to be a disciple of Jesus? It means a commitment to a prayerful relationship with God, a life devoted to truth, one centered on justice and respect. It calls for a life of spiritual health and following teachings that bring out of us better people than we could ever imagine. It puts us in a loving relationship with our neighbor and leads up to support them in their spiritual path. It is a life style and not a hobby. It is a commitment to Jesus as the Son of God, through whom God's love and grace is known.
For many of us as we grew up, relationship to God was put in the context of a burden with threats of punishment for failure. That approach is misguided and destructive. The reward of a spiritual life is one of peace and an abundance of love and spiritual health. Jesus is giving his disciples an invitation, not a threat. But we come back to the strong words of that invitation and it seems to be a contradiction.
One area of our lives which gets lost in modern society is passion. We hear the phrase "following one's bliss" for example as though to do so is irresponsible and leading to disaster. The alternative is to follow one's despair. I like to use subway riders as an illustration. Somewhere along the line it's become the norm to scowl on the train. To smile is a negative. Imagine yourself on a subway thinking of a pleasant event over the weekend and having a broad grin and perhaps a hearty laugh. How many of us would then be immediately embarrassed for that lapse and go back in the stern character? Taken a bit further, our passions in life usually get the shortest amount of time and attention, if at all. It's sad to see people whose spirits seem to have died within them, people for whom joy is a luxury they cannot afford to indulge or perhaps have forgotten how. Now imagine that joy and passion as being available and close at hand. What would you give for it? What would you sacrifice for it? Would you let anyone deter you from it or get in your way? What if the person that stood between you and your greatest joy was you mother or father? Your sister or brother? Or even yourself, as expressed in doubts or lack of confidence? If our greatest joy was right in front of us, ready for the taking we would stand at a crossroad of choice. We could let others, and even our own limitations, prevent us – or putting aside those cares reach out for the opportunity that promises us the life we are called to live. These are not choices that would be made out of hate, though to some it might seem that way. But they would be difficult none the less. This, I believe is the kind of situation Jesus describes to his disciples.
People don't always approve our choices for how we live our lives: the people we marry, the jobs we take, the values we espouse, the spiritual paths we follow. People we care for, if they are not supportive can range from mildly disapproving to abusively confrontational. And again we have the choice to follow our own passion, our own joy, our own spiritual path or not.
Jesus' path took him to the cross and beyond the cross to resurrection. His disciples went their own paths during their lives and risked much and I believe found much in the process. When we follow convention or loving advice at the expense of our heart's desire, we pay a terrible price in the spirit. But, when we follow our hearts and spirits we risk the misunderstanding and judgment of those around us who we really care about. I don't think it necessarily needs to be hate, but there comes a time when our choices place us in difficult situations where the fears and limitations of those around us and even ourselves, no matter what kind of love or fear they may be cloaked in, need to be set aside. We can still honor those around us without allowing their influences to affect us negatively.
One of my favorite poems is one I had to memorize in the sixth grade and it's stayed with me all these years. It's called Barter by Sara Teasdale. In the first two stanzas she describes many wonderful and lovely things in life. She concludes with this stanza: "Spend all that you have for loveliness. Buy it and never count the cost. For one white singing hour of peace count many a year of strife well lost, and for a breath of ecstasy give all that you have been or could be."
God calls each of us on a spiritual path, full of joy, purpose and much mystery. Jesus also described it as sometimes taking up your cross and following him. Strong words for strong choices, but he better than anyone knows that beyond the cross is the resurrection to new life. The psalmist said, "Lord, you have searched me out and known me, you know my sitting down and my rising up; you discern my thoughts from afar..." God knows us so intimately and calls us into living as fully and wonderfully as we have been made. Amen.
© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ
By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector
From the book of Ecclesiastes, the writer laments "Vanity, vanity, all is vanity... I saw all the deeds under the sun and behold, all is vanity and a chasing after wind." And I thought I had a mid life crisis!
I hasten to remind the listener that this is the first chapter in a 12 chapter book and things do not always appear as dire as the opening verses. It does, however, set up a conversation about the goals and rewards of life.
Tradition has attributed this book to King Solomon, especially because of the opening verse in which he refers to himself as having been King over Israel in Jerusalem. A careful reading of the same verse implies that the writer was once a king but at the time of the writing of this book was no longer King. Solomon died while still being King. It was also customary for writers to enhance the stature of their own work by attributing it to a mentor or hero. That doesn't seem quite right to us these days with patents and royalties, etc. but there were no such restraints in ancient time and it is often suspected that our scriptures in the Old and New Testament are not the actual work of the people whose names they are attributed to.
These are small points in the case of wisdom. In the end it doesn't matter who wrote it, if it resonates with reality as we understand it.
The Teacher, an anonymous yet authoritative title, could be any person, man or woman, looking over their life and assessing it critically. Part of the wisdom that comes with age uses a significant amount of personal life data. Data that includes stories of love, ambition, tragedy, hope, anger, joy, success, failure -- you name it, you live long enough you feel it all and have abundant stories to illustrate each. One thing all of us can hope for, however, is the ability to make sense of what we have experienced and allow it to guide our remaining time and leave a legacy of learning to those following who, on the off chance, may let advice steer them.
Whoever the writer is, he or she looks over a lifetime of work and seems to resent the fact that all their hard work will be inherited by someone else. For example, you spend your whole life building your dream home and as soon as it's finished you die and someone else lives in it. This, he says, is vanity and evil. Further, he has no assurance that they will care for it in the way he would. Even more vanity and evil.
This example is typical of the resentments the writer has, making the observation that all they have built in terms of material or fame is of their own doing and will be received by another.
This observation, by the way is another reason why it's doubtful that the writer is Solomon. Because if it was Solomon, he would need to be reminded quickly and forcefully that he did not get to be King himself. His father David, the young shepherd boy worked very hard and long to get to the throne and establish this kingdom. Solomon had that handed to him. It is often the case that those who resent the next generation forget that we stand on the work of the previous generation.
We refer to "self-made" people as role models and rags to riches heroes. In some way this might give hope to those who have little in this world that they can rise above all obstacles to achieve their wildest dreams of accumulating financial gain or power. The truth is, there is no one who is totally self made. All of us come from somewhere and stand on the accomplishments of those who have gone before. What we add to our own lives and society as a whole is something that will indeed be left to others. If we have done our work well, it will be something they'll want and be able to use effectively. The question is for each generation to ask themselves, is what will they use it for?
The Gospel lesson echoes the book of Ecclesiastes with a story about a man who is successful in farming and makes big plans to tear down one barn and build another that is bigger. He wants to store his goods and live off them for the rest of his life. What he doesn't know is that the rest of his life isn't going to be that long.
These stories are cautionary tales. They are designed to shake us up a little and make us look at our priorities. Our lives are about so much more than what we can accumulate. Our lives are not lived in a vacuum, but are impacted by many and in turn impact many more. In further chapters the writer of Ecclesiastes concludes that life is best lived in relationship to God since the things we work so hard for are mere shadows that pass away.
In my work I am privileged to be with people at the major milestones of their lives, births and baptisms, major birthdays and graduations, marriages, more births, illnesses and at the times of death. The milestones of our lives are sacred moments in time and often places to rest and review one's life. I've been to many death beds and not once in all those sacred times have I heard of anyone wish they had made one more conference call, or had attended one more meeting or closed one more deal. The passage of death brings us face to face with the relationships of our lives. Those whom we love and those who love us. If there are any regrets they have to do with breeches in those relationships, misunderstandings, or pain caused or sustained in them. The joys people express at the end of their lives have to do with lives well loved -- wonderful partners or spouses, children, dear friends. I'll hear stories of dinner parties, birthdays, idiosyncrasies, and small joys that build up into wonderful relationships.
These scripture lessons remind us to place our priorities in our relationships with God and each other. The quality of these need to be maintained rather than the barns we build or the kingdoms we create. It is true that we do need barns and kingdoms of a sort, but we also need the balance that tends to what is most important.
Some years ago there was a movie called "Schindler's List" based on the real life story of Oskar Schindler who saved many Jews from the Holocaust. After he was successful saving many people by bribing guards to turn the other way as the Jews on his list escaped, he had a personal melt down crying and looking at his watch and everything of value that he had thinking that he could have saved one more person with his watch or one of his other possessions. Friends gathered round him to comfort him by the knowledge of how much he was able to do successfully, that he did so much more than other thought possible. Being of service in loving relationship to God's people is the meaning the Teacher of Ecclesiastes finds in life. It's the meaning Jesus instills in his disciples even through his own crucifixion and resurrection.
The latest issue of Episcopal Life (the newspaper publication of the national Episcopal church) has an extended discussion of the Millennium Development goals adopted by the UN in 2000 with 8 goals to address issues of health, poverty and justice. It raises hope of significant work done in places around the world and talks of the many challenges yet to come.
The meaning of our lives is not how much we can do for ourselves, but how much we can do as part of the larger family of God. We have been given much in our lives and are capable of giving much more as part of building God's kingdom on earth. We build on what has been given us so that others can build on what we have given them. This work is neither vanity, nor smoke passing away. Amen.
© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ
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