Jamie Parsley's Blog, page 15

4 Pentecost

June 25, 2023

 

Matthew10.24-39

+ Probably the biggest pastoral duty I do is simplylistening.

 

Listening to people who come to me, or call me or textor Facebook message me.

 

And I would say that the majority of people who arereaching are dealing with issues of deep and abiding fear.

 

Let’s face it, fear is a reality in our lives.

 

We just went through a major pandemic a few yearsago.

 

There is a war in the Ukraine.

 

There was a very quick coup-attempt yesterday inRussia.

 

We ar enow entering into a very divisive politicalelection season that, at moments, seems so absurd it could be from some parody.

 

But it most definitely is not.

 

It is a truly strange and uncertain time we areliving in.

 

 

All of this reminds me very much of some of thepetitions we find in a service in our Prayer Book we use only two time a year.

 

In our Prayer Book, beginning on page 148, we havesomething called “The Great Litany.”

 

I love the Great Litany!

 

I know some people do not like it.

 

It doesn’t quite encompass their own personalspirituality or theology.

But it does very much encompasses the Church’stheology, and gives voice to what generation after generation of Christianshave actually prayed in their own lives.

 

The Great Litany, and especially the Supplication,which can be found on page 152 is a special prayer service which is often used“in times of war, or of national anxiety, or of disaster.”

 

It’s not a liturgy we, thankfully, use very often.

 

We use it on the first Sunday of Advent and theFirst Sunday of Lent here at St. Stephen’s.

 

And although some people find it ponderous or eventheologically uncomfortable, it is meaningful, and let me tell you, it speaksvolumes to us during difficult times.  

 

In times of anxiety, I have occasionally prayed theGreat Litany privately here in church on an occasion or two in the past.

 

I prayed it following a very frightening election.

 

I actually prayed it a couple of times here inchurch during the pandemic.

 

And, going back, I prayed it following the 9/11attacks in 2001.

 

Fear like that can be very crippling.

 

And, as you’ve heard me say many times, fear inthis sense is not from God.

 

Fear is a reality and there’s no way around at ittimes, but it is not something we should allow to dominate our lives.

 

In a sense, that fear is possibly what Jesus ishinting at in our Gospel reading.

 

Well, there’s actually a lot going on in our Gospelreading for today.

 

There are layers and layers in our Gospel reading.

 

And some really fairly unpleasant things.

 

But essentially it is about our fear of doing thework of God—doing the ministry of Christ—and…about taking up our cross.

 

Certainly it seems all this is bound together.

 

Essentially, probably our greatest cross to bear isour fear.

 

A fear like I referred to at the beginning of mysermon.

 

A strange, overpowering fear that is hard topinpoint.

 

A fear of the unknown.

 

A fear of the future.

 

A fear of all those things we can’t control in ourlives.

 

Let’s take a moment this morning to actually thinkabout the symbol of our fears—this thing to which Jesus refers today—the Cross.

 

And I say that because the Cross is a symbol offear.

 

It certainly was to people of Jesus’ day.

 

It was an instrument of torture and pain and death.

 

It was the equivalent of a noose or a guillotine

 

There was nothing hopeful or life-affirming in itto them.

 

And yet, look at how deceptively simple it is.

 

It’s simply two pieces, bound together.

 

Or, as the our crucifix in the corner shows, it isa cross on which a  man actually died.

 

I love the symbol of the crucifix, especially.

 

I love it because, a bare cross can besugar-coated.

 

We cover our crosses in gold and silver.

 

It become a quaint symbol that can be whitewashedand quickly become devoid of meaning.

 

And, in many cases now in our society, the cross isa symbol of small-mindedness, discrimination and oppression.

 

But the crucifix, as much as we cover it in gold orsilver, it still is what it is.

 

It is a clear symbol that on that simple cross,some One died.

 

And died violently, painfully.

 

Someone suffered a pain none of us had everexperienced.

 

In it, gazing on the figure of Jesus who hangsthere, we cannot deny what the cross is or what it represents to us.

 

For someone who knows nothing about Christianity,for someone who knows nothing about the story, it’s a symbol they might notthink much about.

 

And yet, for us, on this side of Jesus’crucifixion, the Cross is more than just another symbol in our lives.

 

It is a perfect example of how something that is atrue symbol of death, destruction and fear can be transformed.

 

The story of the Cross is amazing in the sense thatis as symbol of absolute terror and darkness can be transformed into a symbolof unending life, of victory over fear and death and despair. 

 

Jesus knew full well what the cross was all about,even before he was even nailed to it.

 

In our Gospel reading, he says,  “anyone who does not take up his cross andfollow me is not worthy of me.”

 

He knew it was a terrible dark thing.

 

He knew what is represented.

 

And by saying those words, he knew the people ofhis day did not want to hear those words either.

 

Taking up a cross? Are you serious? Why wouldanyone do that?

 

Taking up the Cross is frightening after all.

 

To take up a cross means to take up a burden—thatthing we maybe fear the most in our lives.

 

To take it up—to face our greatest fear—isabsolutely torturous.

 

It hurts.

 

When we think of that last journey Jesus took tothe place of his crucifixion, carrying that heavy tree on which he is going tobe murdered, it must’ve been more horrible than we can even begin to imagine.

 

 But the factis, what Jesus is saying to us is: carry your cross now.

 

Carry it with dignity and inner strength.

 

But carry it without fear.

 

And this is the most important aspect of today’sGospel reading.

 

Jesus commands us not once, but twice,

 

 “Do not beafraid.”

 

“Do not be afraid.”

 

He isn’t saying that in some nonchalant way.

 

He isn’t just saying it flippantly.

 

He is being blunt.

 

Do not be afraid.

 

Do not be afraid of what the world can throw atyou.

 

Do not be afraid of what can be done to the bodyand the flesh.

 

Do not be afraid of pandemics or racism or violenceor crooked, criminal, treasonous grifters who pose as politicians.

 

Taking our cross and bearing it bravely is a sureand certain way of not fearing.

 

It is a defiant act.

 

If we take the crosses we’ve been given to bear andembrace them, rather than running away from them, we find that fear has nocontrol over us.

 

The Cross destroys fear.

 

The Cross shatters fear into a million pieces.

 

And when we do fear, because we will experiencefear in our lives, we know we have a place to go to for shelter in moments ofreal fear.

 

When fear encroaches on our lives—when fear comesriding roughshod through our lives—all we have to do is face it head-on. 

 

And there, we will find our fears destroyed.

 

Because of the Cross, we are taken care of.

 

There is no reason to fear.

 

I know that sounds complacent.

 

But there is no reason to fear.

 

Yes, there will be moments of collective, spiritualfear we will go through.

 

Yes, there will be a palpable fear we can almosttouch.

 

Yes, we will be confronted at times with real andhorrible fear.

 

But, there is no reason to despair over it  because—guess what?—we are not in control.

 

God is in control.

 

“Even the hairs of your head are counted” by theGod who loves us and cares for us.

 

This God knows us intimately.

 

So intimately than this God even knows how manyhairs are on our head.

 

Why should we be afraid then?

 

Because each of us is so valuable to God.

 

We are valuable to God, who loves us.

 

When we stop fearing whatever crosses we must bearin our lives, the cross will stop being something terrible.

 

Like that cross on which Jesus died, it will be anugly thing of death and pain and fear turned into a symbol of strength and joy and unending eternal life.

 

Through it, we know, we must pass to find true andunending life.

 

Through the Cross, we must pass to find ourselves,once and for all time, face-to-face with our God.

 

So, I invite you: take notice of the crosses aroundyou.

 

As you drive along, notice the crosses on thechurches you pass.

 

Notice the crosses that surround you.

 

Do not sugarcoat your crosses.

 

See them for what they are.

 

When you see the Cross, remember what it means toyou.

 

Look to it for what it is: a triumph over everysingle fear in our lives.

 

When we see the crosses in our lives, we can lookat them and realize they are destroying fear in our own lives.

 

Let us truly look at those crucifixes and see theOne who hangs nailed to the cross.

 

Let us bear those crosses of our lives patientlyand, most importantly, without fear.

 

We are loved by our God.

 

Each of us is precious to our God.

 

Knowing that, rejoicing in that, how can we everfear again?

 

Let us pray.

Holy God, we do live in fear. We do avoid taking upthe cross Jesus tells us we must bear in our following of him. Dispel from ourlives these crippling fears, these fears that prevents us from living into ourown full potential, from the fears that separate us from you, and help us tolive fully into this world without fear. We ask this in Jesus’ holy Name. Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

3 Pentecost

June 18, 2023

Matthew9.35-38

 

+Last week I talked about my ordination and how the Gospel we heard today wasthe Gospel usedfor my ordination.

 

Inthat Gospel reading, we hear Jesus say, “Iam sending you as sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise as serpents andinnocent as doves.”

 

Ilove that scripture and have strived to live into it all of my life.

 

Butour reading from Matthew today, in addition to that phrase,  is full of some other important references.

 

Init we also heard,

 

“The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore askthe Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”

 

Itsounds kind of like eating out at restaurants right now.

 

Ortrying to use the check out at the grocery store.

 

There’slots of demand, but not a whole lot of workers.

 

Theproblem here is that the Church should not be like a restaurant or a grocerystore concerning who is able to do the ministry of the Church.

 

Thefact is, we are all called to ministry.

 

Weall should be doing ministry, right here, right now. 

 

Andeach of us have our own ministries we’re called to.

 

Certainly,in my case, I have been called to the ordained ministry—to the Priesthood.

 

AsI said last week on the 19th anniversary of my ordination to thePriesthood, I love being a priest.

 

Ireally do.

 

Butmaybe it doesn’t hurt sometimes to ask why.

 

Whyam I called to be a priest?

 

Whyis Deacon John or Deacon Suzanne called to be deacons?

 

Whyare each of us called to do the particular ministries we do here at church?

 

Forme, and the answer to my own question, I think is answered in today’s Gospel.As well.

 

Wefind Jesus feeling “compassion” for the people “because they were harassed andhelpless like sheep without a shepherd.”

 

Ibecame a priest for people who are “harassed”  and “helpless, who need a shepherd.

 

Thereason I became a priest was so I could serve.

 

Iwanted to bless and consecrate.

 

Iwanted to celebrate Holy Eucharist and I wanted to baptize and bury and marry.

 

Iwanted to be a priest who truly loved and cared for the people I was called to serve.

 

Iwanted to be a priest a priest who practiced radical inclusion.

 

AndI also am somewhat skilled in administration.

 

Whichis why I am your Rector in addition to your priest.

 

Iknow how Church—captial C—runs.

 

Andlet me tell you, I also know how I sometimes doesn’t run as well.

 

AndI’m brutally honest about it all.

 

Sometimeseven when you don’t want to hear it.

 

Iknow how to do a lot of those little jobs that no one else wants to do in theday-to-day functions of a parish.

 

Andthere are lots of them!

 

Theseare the things a priest—a Rector—does.

 

Andthese are the things I think I was called to do.

 

AmI successful at them?

 

Attimes, yes.

 

Atothers, I’m not so certain.

 

Thereare people, after all,  who slip throughthe cracks.

 

Thereare missed opportunities at helping and serving.

 

And,more importantly, despite whatever compassion I might have for people, thereare times when, yes, I have to admit I don’t always like some people.

 

Butthe fact remains, I have been called to serve and that is exactly what I willdo.

 

Oneof the major things I learned after I was ordained was how people viewed me.

 

Nolonger did people treat me the same way they did before.

 

Peopleput me up to a different standard than before I was ordained.

 

Iremember one time when someone took offense to the fact that I used a choice“four letter word.”

 

Nowit wasn’t the four letter word you might think it was—it was much more innocentthan that.

 

Butpeople took exception not because Jamieused the word, but because FatherJamie used the word.

 

Ihave learned very quickly that every word I say and every criticism I make isweighed very heavily by others.

 

Thatalso is a pitfall of ministry.

 

Thisis why you hear me say this again and again: when it comes to people whovolunteer and do ministry here at St. Stephen, please use a velvet glove withthem.

 

Itis not the place for any one of us here to critique and criticize how others doministry here.

 

Andnone of our standards here are so high that we feel everyone else must do themto the same exact standard by THEIR standards

 

Ican tell you with all honesty: the main reason people stop doing ministry isthe criticisms and the critiques they receive from other people trying to tellthem how to do ministry.

 

Ithas happened here at St. Stephen’s.

 

Andit has happened in other parishes I’ve served as well.

 

Isaw a great meme this week that said

 

“STOPEXPECTING YOU FROM OTHER PEOPLE.”

 

Trustme, not holding everyone else to your standards will make you so much happier,because no one will live up to our standard for ourselves.

 

Noteven ourselves.

 

Velvetgloves are essential.

 

Because,as we all know, the harvest is plentiful but the laborers are few.

 

Ithink one of the best ways we see this illustrated here at St. Stephen’s iswith our livestreaming.

 

Peoplewant livestreaming.

 

Iget those emails and Facebook message requests from people, asking us about ourlivestreamed service.

 

Peoplejoin us by livestream.

 

Butthere’s not many of us here who are called to actually do livestreaming.

 

Icertainly am not called to do it.

 

Butsomehow it needs to be done.

 

Theharvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.

 

Wemust remind ourselves again and again that we need to commend those laboringand not send them away, hurt by our scolding.

 

Becausewhen we do, I assure you:  they ain’tcomin’ back again. . .

 

Ilearned that ministry is not some ego trip.

 

Infact, it can be very humbling.

 

And,sometimes, it can be a burden.

 

Partlyit can be burden because, I’m not perfect.

 

Noris anyone.

 

CertainlyJesus in our Gospel reading for this morning is not expecting perfection.

 

Hesays,

 

“…do not worryabout how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say willbe given to you at that time; for it is not you who speak, but the Spirit ofyour Father speaking through you.” 

 

Wedon’t have to be perfect.

 

Allwe have to do is open our selves to God’s Spirit and let that Spirit speakthrough us.

 

Butthe message I think we all—ordained or not—can take away from this is that Goduses our imperfections.

 

Goduses us as we are.

 

 God loves us for who are.

 

Wedon’t have to be perfect and we don’t all have to be priests and deacons.

 

Weare all ministers.

 

Godcalls each of us in our own ways—in our own fracturedways—to serve as we need to serve—to do as much good as we can here and now.

 

So,let us not try to hide our imperfections.

 

Instead,let us live out our ministry as we are.

 

Letus strive to have compassion on the harassed and the helpless, on those who aresick and those who might not even know they’re sick, on the marginalized and onthose who have little or no voice.

 

Evenif we fail, making the effort helps us to live out our ministry.

 

Ifnothing else, it just makes the world a little better place than it was before.

 

 

Letus pray.

 

Lordof the Harvest, send us out. Help as we bring your Kingdom nearer. Let usstrive, in our love of you and of one another, to do the work you have calledus to do. There is much work to do. Let us do what we must do. We ask this inthe holy Name of Jesus. Amen.

 

2 Pentecost

 June 11, 2023

 Matthew 9.9-13,18-16

+Today is an important day for me.

 

19years ago today—actually this evening—I was ordained to the Priesthood.

 

Iam very grateful for these 19 years.

 

Andas most of you know, I truly love being a Priest.

 

Itis one of the most fulfilling aspects of my life.

 

Sometimes,you just know you were meant to do a certain thing in life.

 

Andfor me, this is it.

 

Still,19 years seems to me now like a long time.

 

Itis a long time.

 

Andnext month, I will celebrate the 20th anniversary of my ordination as a deacon.

 

Alot happens in almost two decades.

 

Alot of joys.

 

Awhole lot of sadness.

 

Somemajor disappointments.

 

Andsome amazing accomplishments.

 

TheGospel reading for my ordination was the reading for the feast day which fallson June 11th, the feast of St. Barnabas.

 

Thosewords were words that have been very prophetic in my own life as an ordainedminister.

 

Inthat Gospel reading, we hear Jesus say, “I am sending you as sheep into themidst of wolves; so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.”

 

Ishould have those words inscribed on my gravestone!!

 

Becausethat is exactly what it’s like to be a Priest or a deacon or a minister, as youall are.

 

Actually,that’s what it’s like just to be a Christian at times.

 

Atleast, I hope we are all striving to be this kind of Christian in our lives.

 

Mostof us, in whatever ministries we might be doing in our lives, know this to bevery true.

 

We’vebeen there, in the midst of those wolves.

 

Wehave known those wolves very well.

 

Andyes, some of them really are wolves in sheep’s clothing, let me tell you!

 

Icould name a few…

 

Iwon’t.

 

ButI could.

 

Andif I have had any gift granted to me by God to survive all these years ofordained ministry, I can say that, for me anyway, it has definitely been to be aswise as a serpent and innocent as a dove.

 

Well,I don’t know how “innocent” I’ve been.

 

Or,for that matter, “wise” either.

 

Well,I’m kind of wise.

 

Rememberall those times over the last seven years or so when situations in our countryseemed particularly dark.

 

Rememberwhat I said again and again?

 

Thechickens always come home to roost.

 

Well.. .

 

Welcomehome, chickens. . .

 

ButI’ve tried really hard to be both wise and innocent, as a priest, as a deacon,as a follower of Jesus, a lover of God and a lover of others.

 

OurGospel reading for today is very appropriate to this discussion.

 

Init, we find Jesus calling the apostle Matthew, saying to him, “Follow me.”

 

Thatis a message to all of us, too.

 

Allof us who are called to ministry.

 

Allof us who serve.

 

Allof us who strive to follow Jesus and love God and one another.

 

Doingany one of these things—following Jesus, loving God, loving others—is not easy.

 

Becausedoing these things isn’t some insular thing we do.

 

Itisn’t just about “me and Jesus,” so to speak.

 

It’sabout all of us.

 

Together.

 

Anddoing all of this means that, occasionally, we must stand up and speak out.

 

Andthat’s definitely not easy.

 

It’snot easy taking a step out there and standing up for what we know is right.

 

Itis not easy to stand up and speak out.

 

Itis not easy to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.

 

Ministryis hard.

 

FollowingJesus is hard.

 

LovingGod is hard.

 

Lovingone another—let me tell you, that’s very hard sometimes.

 

Allof us who do it—and that is everyone here today—know that we all have to bewise as serpents and innocent as doves at times in our lives and in the work wedo.

 

Eachof us has been called, by our very baptism, to follow Jesus.  

 

Wewere called to serve.

 

Wehave been called to shed our egos to a large extent.

 

Andthat might be the hardest thing of all.

 

Iknow that it is for me.

 

Ministryis certainly not some ego trip.

 

Ifone goes into ordained ministry for an ego trip, let me tell you, there will bea rude awakening.

 

Because,ministry, any kind of ministry, is not about any one of us as an individual.

 

Itis not about the cult of personality.

 

Whenwe make it such, it is doomed to fail

 

Trustme.

 

Ihave seen it.

 

Ministryis, in fact, humbling.

 

Or,sometimes, downright humiliating.

 

And,sometimes, it can be a burden.

 

Partlyit can be a burden because, none of us, not one of us, is perfect.

 

Andrealizing our limitations can be sobering.

 

Itcan be frightening.

 

Andit can be humbling.

 

Ofcourse, we must remember that no one is expecting any of us to be perfect.

 

Butthe message I think we all—ordained or not—can take away from this is that Goduses our imperfections.

 

Goduses us as we are.

 

Godloves us for who are.

 

Andthis is our model in turn.

 

Wemust love each other, as we are, for who we are.

 

Andwhen we realize that we don’t have to be perfect, that we don’t all have to ordainedpriests or deacons to do what God calls us to do, it can be a relief.

 

Godcalls each of us in our own ways—in our own fracturedways—to serve as we need to serve—to do as much good as we can here and now.

 

Thatis all we can do sometimes.

 

Wemust strive hard just to do good, even in some small way, every day, inwhatever way we can.

 

But,once we start doing so, once we stop relying only ourselves and our egos, oncewe stop trying to be perfect all the time, and just trust God, and love others,and just follow Jesus where he is going, we do find our way.

 

So,let us not try to hide our imperfections.

 

Instead,let us live out our ministry, striving to have compassion on the harassed andthe helpless, on those who are sick and those who might not even know they’resick, on the marginalized and on those who have little or no voice.

 

Evenif we fail, making the effort helps us to live out our ministry and, if nothingelse, it just makes the world a little better place than it was before.

 

Letus truly be disciples of Jesus, like Matthew, like Barnabas, loving God, lovingeach other.

 

Andin all that may come upon—good or bad—let us be wise as serpents and innocentas doves.

 

Bydoing so, we live in integrity.

 

Bydoing so, we will make a difference in this world, even in some small way.

 

Bydoing so, we will be bringing the Kingdom of God even closer.

 

Itis near because we are working and striving to make it near.

 

Weare making it present when we do what we do in love.

 

 

 

Holy Trinity

 

June 4, 2023

 

Matthew 28.16-20

 

+ Well, this is the first TrinitySunday sermon I’ve preached in at least three years.

 

Since Deacon John was ordained, Iusually let him take this Sunday to preach.

 

I do that because I’ll be honest…I’mnot very good at preaching about the Trinity.

 

And Deacon John always does a good job talkingabout it.

 

I know that sounds awful.

 

After all, I taught Systematic Theologyfor 10 years.

 

You would think I could preach somethingworthwhile about the Trinity.

 

I’m going to be blunt with you.

 

After ten years of systematic theology,after 20 years of ordained ministry, after forty years of searching after God,I don’t understand it.

 

I don’t understand it all.

 

I will never understand it.

 

And that’s just fine.

 

And I’m not alone.

 

There are, no doubt, a few anxious preachersout there in the world.

 

There is probably more than one who isgoing into the pulpits of churches quaking a bit over the sermon they have topreach today.

 

 

I think it’s all for naught, personally.

 

Forme, as for everyone here this morning, it is all a mystery.

 

And there is nothing wrong withpreaching on the mystery of God.

 

And letting it all remain a mystery.

 

We are not some ecclesiastical HardyBoys or Nancy Drews.

 

It is not our job to solve themysteries of God.

 

I like just letting it be a mystery.

 

That doesn’t mean I am not confused by thismystery some times.

 

And it doesn’t mean that I don’toccasionally doubt it all sometimes.

 

In our Gospel reading for today, wefind that some worshipped Jesus when they saw him resurrected.

 

And we find that “some doubted.”

 

I think that was a normal reaction forthose people, who were still struggling to understand who Jesus was, especiallythis resurrected Jesus.

 

And the fact that we too doubt thingslike the Trinity is normal as well.

 

It IS difficult to wrap our mindsaround such a thing.

 

It’s complicated and it’s complex.

 

And, speaking for myself, sometimes themore I think about it, the more complicated it seems to get.

 

Especially when we try to think in theso-called correct (or orthodox) way about it all.

 

But the doubts, the complications andintricacies of God are all part of belief.

 

Belief is not meant to be easy.

 

It is meant to be something we strugglewith and carry around with us.

 

And doubt isn’t always a bad thing.

 

We all doubt at times.

 

Without doubt we would be nothing butmindless robots of God.

 

There are moments when the mystery ofwho God is does confuse me and I am filled with doubts.

 

Sometimes my most common prayer is,“Seriously, Lord? Really?”

 

I am one of those people whooccasionally just wants something simple in my faith life.

 

I just want to believe in God—themystery of God, the fact that God is God and any complexity about God is morethan I can fathom.

 

I sometimes don’t want to solve themystery of God.

 

In fact is the very mystery of God thatI love the most about God.

 

One of my major influences as a poet,R.S. Thomas, the great Welsh poet who was also an Anglican priest, once said,

 

 

“If there is God, if there is deity, then He, even as the old hymn says, He moves ina mysterious way and I'm fascinated by that mystery and I've tried towrite out of that experience of God…”

 

I love the mystery of God.

 

I don’t want God defined for me.

 

I sometimes don’t want theology.

 

I sometimes just want spirituality.

 

I sometimes just want God.

 

But, as a Christian, I can’t get aroundthe fact that as much as God is here with us, God is also so far beyond us aswell.

 

And so I struggle on, just like everyoneelse.

 

Yes, I have my doubts.

 

Yes, my rational, intellectual mindprevents me from fully understanding what this Trinity could possibly be and,as a result, doubts creep in.

 

However, every year, on Holy TrinitySunday, I place the Andrei Rubelev’s famous icon of the Trinity in the Narthex.

I will post this icon on Facebook andon my blog.

 

Be sure to takea  look at it and see how truly beautifulit is.

 

In it you’ll findthree angels seated at a table.

 

According to sometheological interpretations, these three Angels represent God in multiple forms.

 

In a sense, this iconis able to show in a very clear and straightforward way what all our weighty,intellectual theologies do not.

 

What I especiallylove about the image is that, in showing the three angels seated around thetable, you’ll notice that there is one space at the table left open.

 

That is the space foryou.

 

In a sense, we are,in this icon, being invited to the table to join with God.

 

We are being invitedto join into the work of God.  

 

This icon is sayingto us: no matter who you are,  no matter whatyour divisions are, come, sit here with the Divine Presence.

 

Sit here in thepresence of the One in whom there are no divisions.

 

Sit here in thepresence of the One in whom those dark and terrible things that divide us haveno place.

 

Sit here at thistable and become one with the One who invites us there.

 

And I think that iswhy this icon is so important to me.

 

It simply allows me to come to thetable and BE with God.

 

It allows me to sit there with God andbe one with God.

 

No need to wrestle with God, or debate God,or doubt God.

 

And we realize, certainly in our ownlife here at St. Stephen’s, that God is still calling to us to be at the tablewith God.

 

Here, at this altar, we find God insome form, God our Parent, God in the flesh or God in the Spirit inviting usforward.

 

And from this table, at which we feastwith God, we go out to do the ministries we are all called to do.

 

We go out to do the work of God.

 

We don’t need to rationalize everythingabout our faith in God.

 

We don’t need to sit around and despairover it.

 

We don’t need to risk our sanity.

 

Or our salvation.  

 

God goes on, in that eternal, wonderfulrelationship with us.

 

 And no matter how much we might doubt in ourrational minds, we are still being called to the table to sit and to serve withGod.

 

So, let us do just that.

 

Let us sit down at that table.

 

Let us bring our doubts anduncertainties with us.

 

And let us leave them there at thetable.

 

Let us let God be God.

 

And let us go out from this table to dothe work each of us has been called by God to do.

 

Jesus today, in our Gospel reading,commands us to go and make disciples of all the nations.

 

By doing so, we are joining in that communionof God.

 

And by doing so, we know, despite ourdoubts, despite our uncertainties, that God will be with us always.

 

Always.

 

Even to the end of the age.

 

 

Let us pray.

 

Holy God, you are a mystery even tothose of us who long to know you; help us to live within the bonds of themysteries of our faith that in seeking you, we may truly find you; we ask thisin Jesus’ holy Name. amen.

Pentecost

May28, 2023

 

Acts 2.1-21

 

+ This  Wednesday, on May 31stthe Feast of the Visitation, I will celebrate a big event in my life.

 

It will be the 40th anniversary of my calling to thePriesthood.   

 

For me, that day was sort of my own personal Pentecost.

 

On that day, I felt the Holy Spirit move in me.

 

I knew that presence was holy and good and true and right.  

 

It was on that day that I clearly heard to Spirit say to me thatGod wanted me to be a priest.

 

Of course, I was a 13 year old Lutheran kid.

 

What did I know of priests?

 

But it was a very clear calling.

 

It was clear to me on that day that God wanted me to be a priest,for whatever reason.

 

And with that realization, my  life changed, and I was led to places by thatsame Spirit which called me that I would never have thought formyself.   

 

We are of course celebrating our own calling by the Spirit toserve God and each other today.

 

Pentecost is an important feast in the Church.

 

In fact, it’s one of the most very important feasts in the church,right up there with Easter and Christmas.

 

In fact, like Easter and Christmas, it even has a vigil servicethe evening before.

 

With the ending of this day of Pentecost, the Easter seasonofficially ends.

 

This evening, I will move the Paschal Candle back out to theBaptismal font in the Narthex.

 

We will say Alleluia a bit less than we have during the season ofEaster.

 

But, we will continue to live into the resurrection and into theHoly Spirit’s indwelling presence among us.

 

Pentecost is the feast in which we celebrate the Holy Spirit—ormore specifically the Holy Spirit’s descent upon those first followers ofJesus.

 

It also gives us an opportunity to think about a very importantthing that we often just don’t think about but which works in our lives on adaily basis:

 

The Holy Spirit.

 

The Holy Spirit, after all, is God in our midst.

 

God’s very Presence here on earth with us and in us.

 

The Holy Spirit is that gift that Jesus told us would be the giftwe receive now that we no longer have Jesus physically with us in the flesh ashe was before his Ascension.

 

 

It’s a very important day in the life of the Church.

 

Today is essentially the “birthday” of the Church.

 

But, in Judaism, the feast of Shavuot was celebrated this weekend.

 

It actually ended last evening.

 

Shavuot is a wonderful and important Jewish feast.

 

It is now 50 days since Passover.

 

The word Shavuot is Hebrew for “weeks.”

 

The belief is that, after fifty days of traveling after leavingEgypt, the nation of Israel now has finally arrived at Mount Sinai.

 

And on Shavuot, the Torah, the “Law,” the 10 Commandments weredelivered to them by Moses.

 

So, in a very real sense, this is an important day not just forJudaism, but for us as well.

The Torah, the 10 Commandments, are important to us too.

 

Our feast of Pentecost is very similar in many ways. 

 

It now 50 days after Easter.

 

The word “Pentecost” is the Greek word for 50.

 

And it’s connection with Shavuot is pretty clear.

 

Shavuot is this  feast onwhich the early Jews offered to God the first fruits of their harvests.

 

Now that is particularly meaningful to us Christians and what wecelebrate on this day of Pentecost.

 

It is meaningful that the Holy Spirit came among us on this feastin which the first fruits were offered to God.

 

After all, those first Christiana who gathered in that upper roomin our reading this morning from Acts, were truly the first fruits of theChurch.

 

And let’s not forget that those first Christians were also Jews,gathering to celebrate the festival of Shavuot.

 

God chose to send the Spirit on those first followers of Jesus onjust the right day.

 

Still, like nuclear power or electricity, God’s Spirit issometimes a hard thing for us to grasp and understand. 

 

The Spirit can be elusive and strange and sometimes we might havea hard time wrapping our minds around the Spirit.

 

But it is clear from the words of Jesus before he ascends backinto heaven what the role of the Spirit is for us:

 

 "It is not foryou to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority.But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you willbe my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of theearth."

 

Although Jesus’s prophecy from God might no longer be among  us as it was when Jesus himself was with usphysically, the prophecy does remains with us in the sending of God’s spirit.

 

Jesus will leave—we will not be able to touch him and feel him andlisten to his human voice again, on this side of the veil.

 

But God is leaving something amazing in Jesus’ place.

 

Jesus is gone from us physically, but God is still with us.

 

In a sense what happens with the Descent of God’s Spirit upon usis the fact that we now have the potential to be prophets ourselves.

 

The same Spirit which spoke to Ezekiel, which spoke to Isaiah,which spoke to Jeremiah, which spoke to Moses, which spoke through Jesus, alsocan now speak to us and be revealed to us just as it spoke and was revealed tothose prophets from the Hebrew Bible and through Jesus.

 

That is who the Spirit is in our midst.

 

The Spirit we celebrate today—and hopefully every day—is truly thespirit of the God that came to us and continues to be with us.

 

It is through this Spirit that we come to know God in ways wemight never have before.

 

God’s Spirit comes to us wherever we may be in our lives—in anysituation or frustration.

 

God’s Spirit is with us, as Jesus promised, always.

 

Always.

 

For those of us who want to grasp these experiences—who want tohave proof of them—the Spirit doesn’t fit well into the plan.

 

We can’t grasp the Spirit.

 

We can’t make the Spirit do what we want it to do.

 

In that way, the Spirit truly is like the Wind that came rushingupon those first disciples.

 

So, how do we know how the Spirit is working in our lives?

 

Well, as Jesus said, we know the tree by its fruit.

 

In our case, we know the Spirit best through the fruits God’sSpirit gives us.

 

Remember what the feast of Pentecost originally was?

 

It was the Jewish feast on which the first fruits were offered toGod.

 

In a sense, what happens on our Pentecost, is God returning thosefruits back to us.

 

On the feast of Pentecost, we celebrate the fruits the Spirit ofGod gives to us and we can be thankful for them, and, most importantly, sharethem in turn with those around us.

 

The Spirit comes to us and manifests itself to us in the fruitsgiven to us by the Spirit.

 

For me, the Spirit of God came to me not in a noisy, raucous way,but rather in a quiet, though just as intense, way.

 

The Sprit of God as I have experienced it has never been a“raining down” so to speak, but rather a “welling up from within.”

 

The fruits of the Spirit for me have been things such as anoverwhelming joy in my life.

 

When the Spirit is near, I feel clear-headed and, to put itsimply, content.

 

Or, in the midst of what seems like an unbreakable dark grief,there is suddenly a real and potent sense of hope and light.

 

When the future seems bleak and ugly, the Spirit can come in andmake everything worth living again.

 

We experience God’s Spirit whenever we feel joy or hope.

 

As Jesus says in today’s Gospel, the Spirit of God is a Spirit ofTruth.

 

We experience God’s Spirit when we strive for truth in this world,when truth comes to us.

 

In turn, we are far from God’s Spirit when we let bitterness andanger and frustration lead the way.

 

We frustrate God’s Spirit when we grumble and mumble about eachother and hinder the ministries of others in our church, when we let our ownagendas win out over those who are trying also to do something to increaseGod’s Kingdom in our midst.

 

We deny the Spirit when we deceive ourselves and the truth is notin us.

 

No doubt everyone here this morning has felt God’s Spirit in someway, although we might not have readily recognized that experience as God’sSpirit.

 

But our job, as Christians, is to allow those fruits of the Spiritto flourish and grow.

 

For us, we let the Spirit of God flourish when we continue tostrive for truth and justice, when we stand up against the dark forces of thisworld.

 

The Spirit of God compels again and again to stand up and to bedefiant against the dark forces of this world!

 

That dynamic and life-giving presence of the Spirit of God speaksloudly to us.

 

Certainly we have seen God’s Spirit at work here in ourcongregation as we celebrate a bountiful harvest—the growth and vitality here.

 

We see the Holy Spirit at work in the ministries we do, in thelove we share with others, with the truth we proclaim as Christians, even inthe face of opposition.

 

We experience this Spirit of truth when we stand up againstinjustice, wherever it may be.

 

This is how God’s Spirit comes to us.

 

The Spirit does not always tear open the ceiling and force its wayinto our lives.

 

The Spirit rather comes to us just when we need the Spirit to cometo us.

 

Though, often the Spirit comes to us as fire—an all-consuming firethat burns way all anger and hatred and fear and pettiness and nagging and allthe other negative, dead chaff we carry within us.

 

So, this week, in the glow of the Pentecost light, in the Shavuotglow with the Law written deep in our hearts, let us look for the gifts of theSpirit in our lives and in those around us.

 

Let us open ourselves to God’s Spirit and let it flow through uslike a caressing wind and burn through us like a purifying fire.

 

And let us remember the true message of the Spirit to all of us.

 

Whenever it seems like God is distant or nonexistent, that is whenGod might possibly be closest of all, dwelling within us, being breathed untous as with those first disciples.

 

On these feasts of Shavuot and Pentecost—these feasts of thefruits of God—these feasts of the fire of God—let us give thanks for this Godwho never leaves us, who never stops loving us, but who comes to us again andagain in mercy and in truth.

 

 

 

7 Easter/The Sunday after the Ascension

 

May21, 2023

 

Acts 1.6-14; John 17.1-17

 

 

+ As many of you know, these last fiveyears have been hard years for this old priest.

 

It has been a long, hard journey forme.

 

My mother’s death in January 2018upended my life in ways I could never have foreseen.

 

And I found myself in those days andweeks and months…and yes, years…afterward struggling.

 

My writing career essentially ended.

 

For twenty-five years before that, Iwas a disciplined writer.

 

I was up early every morning, and everymorning without fail, I would write at my desk.

 

I would proclaim to my students, “Thereis no such thing as writer’s block!”

 

I would say, “If you can’t write, sityourself down at that desk and write anyway. And it will come!”

 

But when my mother died, sitting downat the desk itself became something impossible.

 

I couldn’t do it.

 

I was up early every morning.

 

But it was not to write.

 

I did eventually manage to get back tosome semblance of writing.

 

But it wasn’t like it was before.

 

And then, when I finally finished thebook about my experience with my mother’s death, I received only silence fromevery publisher I sent it.

 

Not rejection.

 

The book never got rejected.

 

Just silence.

 

Which was new for me.

 

A colleague told me that showed how farI had come in my career.

 

“They’re afraid to reject your work.”

 

But I’d take a rejection any day over ghosting.

 

It was so bad that last February when Iwas in Florida, I made the resolution that I was simply going to throw in the towelregarding my writing.

 

I was done with writing, I told myself.

 

Besides, I had written enough.

 

And then…when I got back, anothercolleague I shared my resolution with, told me to contact a poet friend of his.

 

She in turn told me to submit my manuscriptto a press she suggested.

 

And within a week, the book wasaccepted!

 

And the floodgates suddenly opened.

 

The end of that dark five yearwandering in the desert finally came to an end.

 

Just like that.

 

And here I am, up every morning,writing every morning.

 

I have not one but two books coming outthis fall, plus a show with local painter Marjorie Schlossman in September.

 

And I’m working on a full-length playfor Theatre B.

 

Sometimes, this is what life is like.

 

Sometimes, life is a matter of the deathof the cross.

 

Sometimes, it is an unending waiting inthe tomb.

 

And sometimes, it is resurrection.

 

And sometimes it is not even justresurrection.

 

Sometimes, it is ascension.

 

This past week, at our Wednesday nightMass, we celebrated the eve or Vigil of the Feast of the Ascension here at St.Stephen’s on Wednesday night, as we always do.

 

(Thursday was the Feast of theAscension)

 

And as I said then, I repeat thismorning:

 

I really love the Feast of theAscension.

 

I love all that it represents.

 

I love that sense of going up.

 

Of rising.

 

Of moving upward.

 

Of this ultimate triumph over death anddarkness and defeat and rejection and wondering about in the desert.

 

Ascension is, of course, all aboutrising.

 

This week, we move slowly away from theEaster season toward Pentecost.

 

You can almost feel the shift.

 

For the last several weeks, we havebeen basking in the afterglow of the resurrected Jesus.

 

In our Gospel readings, thisresurrected Jesus has walked with us, has talked with us, has eaten with us andhas led the way for us.

 

Now, as we hear in our reading fromActs this morning, he has been taken up.

 

We find a transformation of sortshappening through these scripture readings.

 

Yes, there is this absence as Jesusascends.

 

We feel an absence in our relationshipwith the God of Jesus, whom we have come to know intimately through Jesus.

 

But, we realize, we will be givensomething that will not leave us.

 

We will be given God’s Spirit, righthere with us.

 

We find that truly this Spirit of Godis, in our midst.

 

Us, right here. Right now.

 

At Pentecost next week, we will acutelysee the fact that God has truly come among us.

 

God is here, right now, with us.

 

No, God is not speaking to us not froma pillar of cloud or fire, nor on some shroud-covered mountain, nor in visions.

 

Now God is here, with us, speaking tous as we speak to each other.

 

At the Ascension, the puzzle piecesreally start falling into place.

 

What seemed so confusing and unrealbefore is starting to come together.

 

God is with us and truly loves us.

 

God dwells in us and through us. 

 

And next week, one more puzzle piecefalls into place.

 

Next week, we will celebrate God’sSpirit descending upon and staying with us.

 

For the moment, though, we are caughtin between those two events, trying to make sense of what has happened andtrying to prepare ourselves for what is about to happen.

 

We are caught between Jesus’ ascentinto heaven and the Spirit’s descent to us.

 

 It is a time for us to pause, to ponder who weare and where are in this place—in this time in which everything seems sospiritually topsy-turvy.

 

I’m not certain there is a way we canmake sense of the Ascension, but what we are faced with is the fact that the Godof Jesus still acts in our lives.

 

God acts in us and through us.

 

I can’t repeat that enough.

 

The commission that the ascended Jesusgave to the apostles, is still very much our commission as well.

 

We must love—fully and completely.

 

Because in loving, we are living.

 

In loving, we are living fully andcompletely.

 

In loving, we are bringing the God ofthe ascended Christ to others.

 

And we must go out and live out thiscommission in the world.

 

For those first followers of Jesus, itseems like they didn’t have much of a chance to ponder their life-alteringexperiences.

 

As soon as one life-altering experiencehappened, another one came along.

 

Just when they had experiences Jesus’death, resurrection and ascension, they encountered this outpouring of God’Spirit in their lives.

 

The waters, it seemed, were keptperpetually stirred.

 

Nothing was allowed to settle.

 

That is what life is often like.

 

We have ebbs and we have flows.

 

There will be times of dryness andthere will be times of flourishing.

 

And the great thing about our faith is itshows that oftentimes, when things seem like they are dead and gone, we findlife renewed.

 

And not just renewed, by life resurrectedand ascended.

 

Our job, in this time between Jesus’departure from us and the Spirit’s return to us, is to simply let God do what Godneeds to do in this interim.

 

We need to let God work in us andthrough us.

 

We need to let the God of this ascendedJesus be the end result of our work.

 

Oftentimes we are so downcast by thethings life throws at us that we forget to look up.

 

Because if we do look up, what will wesee?

 

We will see that the Ascension ishappening.

 

Above us, Jesus has risen.

 

And we are rising with him, even whenit seems like we are bogged down in this very earth.

 

Above us, Jesus has been seated at theright hand of God.

 

All we have to do sometimes is look up.

 

All we have to do is stop gazing at ourdirty, callused, over-worked hands—all we have to do is turn from ourself-centeredness—and look up.

 

All we have to do in our exhaustion aswe wander about in what seems like a landscape of death and rejection is simplyto look up.

 

 

 

And there we will see the triumph.

 

Jesus’ ascension is our ascension aswell.

 

We too have ascended to our God.

 

The joy we feel today comes when we realizethat fact and truly act as resurrected and ascended people.

 

Yes, we are, as Jesus says in today’sGospel, “in the world.”

 

And because we are, we must do the workwe are called to do in this world.

 

But we are also of the world to come,as well.

 

So, let us stop wringing our hands andlamenting our losses.

 

Let us stop wandering about aimlesslyin our grief and sorrow.

 

There is work to do.

 

Right here.

 

Right now.

 

Let us turn toward those around us inneed.

 

And let us be the ascended Christ tothose who need Christ.

 

And there are people who need usto be Christ for them.

 

There are people who need us to be kindand compassionate and full of love.

 

There are people who need ouracceptance and hospitality.

 

When we love others, when we bring aGod of love and acceptance to others, we allow others to rise and ascend aswell.

 

We embody and allow the Ascension tocontinue in this world.

 

So, let the joy of the ascension livein us and through us and be reflected to others by us.

 

We will be sanctified in the truth ofknowing and living out our lives in the light of the Ascension.

 

We will rise.

 

This morning, we have looked up and wehave seen it.

 

We have seen that rising—his rising andour rising—happening above us in beauty and light and joy .

 

Let us pray.

Holy God, as we proceed through these last days of the Easterseason toward the Feast of Pentecost, prepare us for the Holy Spirit. Open ourhearts and our minds to an outpouring of your living and life-giving Spirit. Weask this in the holy Name of Jesus. Amen.

 

 

6 Easter

 

RogationSunday

May14, 2023

 

John 14.15-21

 

 

+ A few weeks ago, our very own AmyPhillips did something innovative.

 

Amy, who is part of the Diocesan CreationCare Committee, formed a new group here at St. Stephen’s called “The GreenTeam.”

 

The Green Team is made up of a severalSt. Stephenites who are striving to make St. Stephen’s a more ecologicallysound place.

 

When Amy first brought this all up tome, my first reaction was, “Wow! This is great!”

 

I have long been committed to beingecologically conscious of how we use this earth we have been given.

 

I have been working in my own life to “livegreen.”

 

It’s not an easy thing to do.

 

But any little bit really does help.

 

And one of the reasons I went vegan 10years ago was because I was made aware of the massive damage factory farmingdoes on our environment.

 

The Green Team is going to making suggestionsto the Vestry about ways we can make St. Stephen’s more ecologically sound.

 

One of the suggestions I made came as aresult of a visit I made recently to All Saints Episcopal Church in Northfield,Minnesota.

 

There, next to their church where theRectory obviously once stood, they have allowed a portion of their property torevert back to natural prairie.

 

In the near future, the Green Team willbe making other suggestions for our parish, such as a possible use of solarpanels.

 

Today, Rogation Sunday, is a perfecttime for us to celebrate our Green Team and make a real commitment toward beinga more ecologically-sound parish.

 

When Amy brought all of this up to me,I told her in no uncertain terms that I really want to see St. Stephen’s be onthe forefront of this cause in the Diocese.

 

After all, why shouldn’t we?

 

We are the leading Progressive parishin the Diocese, and this all falls squarely under our progressive ideals.

 

Issues of Eco-Justice, Life-GivingConservation and Creation Care as a whole are vital to the ideals we stand forhere at St. Stephen’s.  

 

The Episcopal Church’s Creation Care Covenantstates,

 

In Jesus, God so loved the whole world. We followJesus, so we love the world God loves. Concerned for the global climateemergency, drawing on diverse approaches for our diverse contexts, we commit toform and restore loving, liberating, life-giving relationships with all ofCreation. 

 

And so, with that commitment in mind today,we will commission our Green Team.

 

And today, Rogation Sunday, the Sundayon which we give thanks to God for this earth God has given us, we findourselves making a true commitment to Creation Care here at St. Stephen’s.

 

Of course, this is not really all thatnew for us here.

 

We have been incrementally trying tomake changes here at St. Stephen’s over the years.

 

In fact, nine years ago, in 2014 we didsome inadvertent creation care are at our Rogation Blessing.

 

On that Sunday nine years ago, wededicated our Memorial Garden.

 

Now, I remember when I first introducedthis idea at St. Stephen’s about a memorial garden about a year before that.

 

There was frowning.

 

There was a sense of, “Lord, what is hethinking of doing now?”

 

There was a groan of “Really? Acemetery? Seriously?”

 

But, when I said what I was planningwas not a cemetery, but a place where essentially we were doing “Green Burial”of cremated remains, people really came on board.

 

When I said what I was proposing was a placewhere cremated remains would be buried directly into the ground, without anurn, or in a biodegradable urn, people really were happy with it.

 

And  look what a blessing that memorial garden hashad in our life here at St. Stephen’s.

 

Thanks to Sandy Holbrook and thegardening committee and all the people who have worked for that garden and allthat beautiful landscaping that was done there, it has become a place ofbeauty.

 

And in these nine years, our memorialgarden has become a place of rest for twenty-one or so people.

 

Now I don’t think I’m overestimating itwhen I say it has also become a place of mercy.

 

We of course have laid people to restthere who had no other place to rest, who were rejected or forgotten.

 

Why? Why do we do that?

 

Because that is what we do asChristians.

 

In our Christian tradition, mercy playsheavily into what we do.

 

And as a result, there have been given,since the early Church, a series of what have been called corporal acts ofmercy.

 

I’ve talked about this many timesbefore.

 

These corporal acts of mercy are:

 

To feed the hungry;

To give drink to the thirsty;

To clothe the naked;

To harbor the harborless;

To visit the sick;

To ransom the captive;

To bury the dead.

Iwould add to that, “toc are for the earth.”

 

We at St. Stephen’s, inthe ministry we do as followers of Jesus, have done most of those well.

 

Including that one about “burying thedead.” 

 

Burying the dead is a corporate act ofmercy.

 

And it is something we have do with ourservices of burial and in our memorial garden. 

 

And it definitely sounds like somethingwe do with Creation Care.

 

And, it’s appropriate we are doing to onthis Sunday, Rogation Sunday, the Sunday before the Ascension of Jesus.

 

In our Gospel reading for today we findJesus explaining that although he is about to depart from his followers—thiscoming Thursday we celebrate the feast of Jesus’ Ascension to heaven—he willnot leave them alone.

 

They will be left with the Advocate—theSpirit of Truth.

 

The Holy Spirit.

 

He prefaces all of this with thosewords that quickly get swallowed up by the comments on the Spirit, “If you loveme, you will keep my commandments.”

 

And just to remind everyone, thatcommand is, of course, “to love.”

 

To love God.

 

And to love our neighbors as ourselves.

 

This is what it means to be the Church.

 

To love.

 

To serve.

To be merciful.

To be Christ to those who need Christ.

 

To be a Christ of love and compassionand acceptance.

 

Without boundaries.

 

Without discrimination.

 

Because that is who Christ is to us.

 

When we forget to be Christ to others,when we fail to do this, when we fail to honor the earth and our place on it, wefail to do mercy.

 

We are doing mercy this morning.

 

We are living into our ministry ofmercy to others.

 

Today is, as I’ve said, RogationSunday.

 

Rogation comes from the Latin word“Rogare” which means “to ask.”

 

Traditionally, on this Sunday, we heardthe Gospel in which Jesus said,

 

"Whatever you ask the Father in myname, he will give to you".

 

Today, with our current lectionary ofscripture readings, we actually find him saying, “I will ask the Father, and hewill give you another Advocate…”

 

From a very simple perspective, thething we are asking today, on this Rogation Sunday, is to be faithful followersof Jesus, thorough our works and acts of mercy.

We are asking to be filled with theSpirit of Truth.

 

Now for some of us, this whole idea ofRogation Sunday and the procession that we will soon be making outside at theconclusion of our Eucharist might seem a bit too much.

 

Maybe even Creation Care seems like abit too much for people.

 

But I believe all of this is very mucha part of our Anglican Tradition.

 

In the 1630s one of heroes (you hear mequote him and reference him often), Anglican priest and poet, George Herbert, commendedthese rogation processions.

 

He said that processions should beencouraged for four reasons:

 

1. A Blessing of God for the fruits ofthe field.

 

2. Justice in the preservation ofboundaries of those fields and properties (which we can interpret as as theEarth itself)

 

3. Charity in loving, walking andneighborly accompanying one another with reconciling of differences at the timeif there be any.

 

And 4 (hold on to your seats). Mercie(yes, mercy) , in relieving the poor by a liberal distribution of theresources, which at the time is or ought to be used.

 

In so many ways, that is what we dohere and what we continue to do here.

 

Our memorial garden—this visible signof the corporal act of mercy of burying the dead—is a part of this Rogationcelebration.

 

This is where we do our blessing.

 

We process there and bless the earthand the land there.

 

We ask God’s blessings on the growthnot only of crops and fields.

 

And we do something also very importantthere: We thank God today for this earth we have been given and told to takecare of.

 

We also thank God for the growth of ourcongregation.

 

We are thanking God for the acts ofmercy done to each of us.

 

And we are asking God to continue tomake us Christ to those who need Christ.

 

As you can see, the rallying themes ofthis Rogation time are hope and justice and mercy.

 

As George Herbert reminds us there is always room for charity.

 

As we process out at the end of theEucharist today, I ask you to look around the memorial garden.

 

I ask you to look at the names there.

 

We know some of them.

 

Others of them we will never know onthis side of veil.

 

I ask you as you walk about to thankGod for them.

 

I ask you today to thank God for thegrowth God has granted us at St. Stephen’s.

 

I also ask you to look about at theearth and the sky and the trees and the plants.

 

I ask you to truly give thanks for thisbeautiful earth God has given to us to care for and preserve.

 

And I ask that you remember Jesus’ callto us, to keep his commandment of love and mercy.

 

It is more than just sweet, religioustalk.

 

It is a challenge and a true calling tolive out this love in radical ways.

 

It is a challenge to be merciful.

 

As we process, as we walk together, letus pay attention to this world around us.

 

Let us ponder the causes and theeffects of what it means to be inter-related—to be dependent upon on each tosome extent, as we are on this earth.

 

We do need each other.

 

And we do need each other’s love.

 

And mercy.

 

We do need that radical love that Jesuscommands us to have.

 

With that love, we will truly love ourneighbors as ourselves.

 

We will show mercy to them.

 

Our neighbors, of course, are more thanjust those people who live next door to us.

 

Our neighbors are all of us, those wedo in fact love and those we have difficulty loving.

 

And our neighbors also include thisearth and all the inhabitants of it.

 

That command of Jesus is to love—torespect—those with whom we live and share this place.

 

Let this procession today truly be a"living walking" as George Herbert put it.

 

But let our whole lives as Christiansbe also a “living walk,” a mindful walk, a walk in which we see the worldaround with eyes of love and respect and justice and care.

 

And, most importantly, with eyes ofmercy.

 

Amen.

 

 

 

5 Easter

 

May 7,2023

 

Acts7.55-60; John 14.1-14

 

+ One of my favorite words is "weird."

 

I like itbecause, well…I am.

 

I am weird.

 

Now, I seeseveral of you nodding your heads in affirmation over that.

 

And so, mid-nod,I am going to caution you all on something.

 

Before you do so,comfortable in your own sense of normalcy, I will say this to you.

 

I hate to burstyour bubble

(Actually, youknow I LOVE bursting your bubble):

 

Normalcy is amyth.

 

It doesn’texist.

 

There’s no suchthing.

 

It’s just a fakesocial construct that people have built around themselves to make themselvesfeel…well… normal.

 

And safe.

 

But it’s allsmoke and mirrors ultimately.

 

And trust me,normalcy will not comfort you much on cold nights when you’re all alone.

 

So, yes, I amweird.

But guess what? 

 

 

So are all ofyou.

 

So, embrace it!

 

And I like beingweird.

 

I like being whoand what I am.

 

I long agoembraced that word because I realize that "weird" in our societysimply means "outside the norm."

 

And that's me toa T.

 

And it’s alsoyou to a T.

 

And it’s alsous, here at St. Stephen’s to a T.

 

For some, whatwe do here is "too much."

 

For others,"it's not enough."

 

To a few, it'sjust "weird."

 

But for us, Ithink, "weird" works for us.

 

And embracing itfor all it's worth is a very liberating experience.

 

I am gratefulfor St. Stephen's for letting this weird priest do weird things that seem tobring new people in the door almost every Sunday.

 

Now, itshouldn't work.

 

This weird,progressive, liberal, Anglo-Catholic very Episcopal way of worship and ministry.

 

But you know? Itdoes.

 

Why?  

 

Because that'show the Holy Spirit works.

 

The Holy Spiritworks in oftentimes weird ways that just shouldn’t work. But somehow does.

 

There was a great opinion piecepublished in the New York Times a few years that was entitled.

Christianity Gets Weird

Modernlife is ugly, brutal and barren. Maybe you should try a Latin Mass.

(I’m not suggesting the Latin Mass)

 

But, it’s one of the best pieces ofwriting about the contemporary Church I’ve read recently.

 

Actually, to be honest, there were afew things in the article I didn’t agree with.

 

But, for the most part, the article written by TaraIsabella Burton, the author of the piece, who is a member of the EpiscopalChurch of St. Ignatius of Antioch in Manhattan, (one of my dream churches), really nailed it on the head much of what we’ve been doing herefor the last 15 years or so.

 

Here’s a bit from the article (mind youthis was written during the pandemic, as a response to what churches weretrying to do during the pandemic):

 

“More and more youngChristians, disillusioned by the political binaries, economic uncertainties andspiritual emptiness that have come to define modern America, are finding solacein a decidedly anti-modern vision of faith. As the coronavirus and thesubsequent lockdowns throw the failures of the current social order into starkrelief, old forms of religiosity offer a glimpse of the transcendent beyond thepresent.

 

“Many of us callourselves ‘Weird Christians,’ albeit partly in jest. What we have in common isthat we see a return to old-school forms of worship as a way of escaping fromthe crisis of modernity…”

 

Now, for us, thatdoesn’t seem weird at all.

 

But to others, this doesseems weird.

 

High Church liturgy?

 

Mass twice a week?Incense? Bells? Vestments? Weird hats?

 

Standing, sitting andkneeling?

 

Simple elements likebread and wine conveying an actual visceral Presence of Christ to people?

 

It sure seems weird,doesn’t it?

 

But, as we havediscovered, weirdness is not something to fight.

 

Normalcy is a myth.

 

Weirdness is notsomething to avoid. It is something to embrace.

 

It something that canhelp not only define our faith, but deepen it as well.

 

After all, there is something weirdly liberating in beingcountercultural—even among other Christians.

 

And as someone who is inadvertentlycountercultural, I can tell you, being “weird” is not always easy.

 

It’s not easy being a weird +progressive + Anglo-Catholic, + asexual/celibate + vegan +  teetotaling + priest AND poet in our society.

 

Let me tell you!!

 

None of those things fit well in oursociety very well.

 

Everything in that statement whichdescribes me runs counter to literally everything our society is and standsfor.

 

I’m the poster child for Christianweirdness! And proudly so!

 

Put me on a poster! But first, let meget my biretta! (my hat!)

 

As I said, there is also something veryliberating in being “weird.”

 

The expectations that so many peopleare slaves to are just not issues with us who are “weird.”

This weirdness affects every aspect ofour faith, of our relationships, of our very lives.

 

And it affects how we look at otherpeople of faith.

 

As you know, I consider myself to besomewhat an ecumenist.

 

An ecumenist is someone who tries to beecumenical.

 

I have a deep respect for otherreligions.

 

Not just for the Episcopal Church orfor Christianity.

 

I have a deep respect for Judaism andIslam and Buddhism and Hinduism and what have you.

 

Especially when it comes to Judaism(which holds a special place in my heart) and Islam, you have heard me proclaimfrom this pulpit many times that we are very much children  of the same God.

 

We all three believe in the same God,we are all three children of Abraham.

 

Now, you’d be amazed—or maybe not—abouthow controversial saying that can be in this world, especially when it comes toIslam.

 

We live in a society in whichIslamophobia is at its height.

 

You don’t believe me?

 

Go to Walmart.

 

Watch how customers treat the Muslimwomen who work there.

 

I have.

 

And it’s disgusting.

 

It’s appalling.

 

Islamophobia is very real.

 

And any time we see it, we need tospeak out against it.

 

So, where I ma going with all of this,you might ask.

 

Well, I am going here:

 

Our Gospel reading for today.

 

In it, we hear Jesus say something thatis very difficult for us ecumenists.

 

We hear Jesus say this to Thomas,

 

“I am the way,and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

 

Wait!

 

What?

 

Well, how can I still be an ecumenistwith Jesus saying that?

 

I mean, that seems clear, doesn’t it?

 

No comes to God except through Jesus.

 

Yeah, that’s pretty clear.

 

Or... is it?

 

Well, for centuries of Christians,those words of Jesus have been the basis for their view that only CHRISTIANSget to go to heaven.

 

And to take it one step further, wehear specifical denominations Christians say only members of their denominationget to go to heaven.

 

Many of us who come from a RomanCatholic upbringing remember hearing how “there is no salvation outside of the[Roman Catholic] Church.”

 

Jehovah’s Witnesses make clear thatonly Witnesses will inherit God’s Kingdom here on earth, and only a very selectfew will actually gain heaven.

 

But most Christians have been taught tosome degree that only through Jesus do we get to go to heaven.

 

And everyone else.

 

Well, they’re lost.

 

Unbaptized babies, non-Christians, atheists,the non-religious.

 

Good luck!

 

You’re out.

 

Now, I am a Christian, who loves Jesus.

 

And for us as Christians, we DO seeJesus legitimately as the way to God.

 

For us he is the Way, the Truth and theLife.

 

But does that mean that Jews andMuslims and Hindus and agnostics and others are left out?

 

Well, let me answer it as simply as Ican.

 

No.

 

That is not what it means.

 

Because here is a perfect example ofthe words of Jesus taken out of context.

 

We first must ask ourselves what thatmeans to us when Jesus says he is the way the truth and the life.

 

What is the “Way” that Jesus is talkingabout?

 

What is this “truth” he claims he is?

 

And how is it life?  

 

And, I will add, to understand whatJesus is saying here, we need to think about EVERYTHING Jesus has said up tothis point.

 

And if we were going to summarize whatthe message of Jesus is, what would it be?

 

What JESUS say it would be?

 

Two things.

 

Love God.

 

Love your neighbor as yourself.

 

That is the heart of the message ofJesus.

 

That is the heart of the Gospel.

 

So, for Jesus, he truly embodied thosecommandments of God.

 

He became a living Torah, so to speak.

 

He embodied those commandments.

 

And for him, what was the way?

 

It was loving God and loving others.

 

What is the way to God?

 

To love God and to love others.

 

What is the truth?

 

It is loving God and loving others.

 

And if we follow those commandments, ifwe truly strive to live out those commandments in our lives, what do we get.

 

We get life.

 

This is what Jesus is getting at whenhe tells Thomas he is the way, the truth and the life.

 

And if we may doubt that, let just hearwhat he says in the next sentence.

 

“You know me,you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”

 

Because Jesus embodies this Torah, thistruth, these commandments, we find God uniquely present in only not what Jesussays, but in Jesus himself—Jesus, this Son of God, Jesus this Messiah.

 

The fact of that matter is that anyonewho strives to the walk in the way of loving God and loving others,  will have true life.

 

No one can truly come to know Godwithout doing so.

 

No one can truly know God if they donot love God.

 

And no one can truly love God withoutloving others.

 

That is what is so radical about Jesus’message.

 

He lays it out.

 

It’s that simple. And also thatcomplex.

 

All that of speaks loudly to us righthere, right now.

 

Jesus makes clear that what he says istruth.

 

For us, truth is essential.

 

For us as Christians, truth isequivalent with life, is equivalent with moving forward along the way that isJesus’s way.

 

And for us, lies and deceit andhalf-truths or “alternate truths” are not options for us.

 

For those of us who follow Jesus, whobelieve that what he said and did was truth, there are no alternate truths.

 

Yes, we’re all guilty of lies onoccasion, or half-truths, or white lies.

 

But living without truth, living inlies, living in a reality we have created for ourselves—that is not an optionfor us as Christians.

 

And heeding others who lie or deceiveor bear false witness is not an option for us either.

 

It’s simple sometimes.

 

There is truth, and anything that isn’ttruth, isn’t true.

 

To gain Life—to gain that life that Godwants from us—we must follow the Way, in Truth.

 

And it is essential to our relationshipwith God.

 

I know that is hard to grasp.

 

But it really is important for us tothink about this, to struggle with this and to open our hearts and our mindsregarding this.

 

So, let us truly hear what Jesus issaying to us.

 

Let us truly embrace his way as the wayof truth and life.

 

And let us embrace ourselves in thatjourney—our weird selves struggling under the myth of normalcy.

 

This is what it means to live in truth.

 

This what it means to follow the way ofJesus.

 

And, in the end, if is truly life that weultimately gain.

 

Amen.

3 Easter

 April 23, 2023

 

Luke 24.13-35

 

+ I’m going to draw your attention toour stained glass window this morning.

 

Well, to one in particular.

 

Let’s look at the window in the back, thewindow dedicated to Sts. Benedict and Scholastica.

 

And more importantly, what that windowwill represent.

 

That window represents something wehave worked hard to do here at St. Stephen’s.

 

That window represents that veryimportant—the incredibly VITAL—ministry of hospitality.

 

RADICAL Hospitality.

 

And if you want to know what realministry is about, then this is IT.

 

Real ministry, as we have alldiscovered, is not about the almighty ME—the individual.

 

It is about US—all of us, the childrenof God.

 

Radical Hospitality is not easy.

 

Ministry is not easy.

 

Sharing our time, our energy, our physicalbuilding, is not easy.

 

Because being radically welcoming meanswelcoming people we, personally, might not want to welcome.

 

People who irritate us, or rub counterto our own views of what church should be.

 

This isn’t a judgment, mind you.

 

I am preaching to myself here.

 

There have been moments in my time hereat St. Stephen’s when I have had to deal with people whom we’ve welcomed herewho have taken advantage of our hospitality.

 

People who have used us for their ownneeds and then discarded us.

 

And that’s one of the pitfalls of beingradically welcoming.

 

Being radically welcoming does not meanbeing a radical doormat.

 

It’s also good to have good boundariesin being radically welcoming.

 

But, through trial and error, throughgood experiences and bad, radical hospitality is what we do—and do well—here atSt. Stephen’s.

 

And we should be glad that we are thatkind of congregation.

That is what that window represents.

 

But we’ll talk about all of that in amoment.

 

In today’s Gospel, we find hospitalityand spiritual clarity as well.

 

We find this beautiful story of Cleopasand the other unnamed disciple encountering Jesus on the road to Emmaus.

 

Cleopas and the other disciple are,essentially, already in a strange time in their life in following Jesus.

 

The long week of Jesus’ betrayal, tortureand murder are behind them.

 

 The resurrection has happened, although, it’sclear from their words, they don’t quite comprehend what’s happened.

Of course, who could?

 

We still, two thousand years later, aregrappling with the events of Jesus’ resurrection.

 

But as these two walk from Jerusalem toEmmaus, they are kept from recognizing their friend, the person they saw as theMessiah, until finally he breaks the bread with them.

 

Only then—only when he breaks thatbread open to share with them—do they recognize him.

 

It is an amazing moment of spiritualclarity.

 

It’s a wonderful story and one that hasmany, many layers of meaning for each of us individually, no doubt.

 

But for us Episcopalians, for us whogather together every Sunday and every Wednesday to break bread together, thisstory takes on special meaning.

 

In a sense. we are the disciples inthis reading.

 

We are Cleopas and the unnameddisciple, walking on the road—walking, as they are, in that place on the otherside of the cross.

 

They are walking away from Jerusalem,where all these events happened—the betrayal, the torture,  the murder and the resurrection of Jesus fromthe tomb—back to Emmaus, to their homes.

 

Like them, we go around in our lives onthe other side of the cross, trying to understand what it means to be followersof Jesus on this side of the cross.

 

What this story teaches us is that,even when we don’t recognize Jesus in our midst, we should always be cautious.

 

He might not make himself known to usas he did to Cleopas and the other disciple.

 

Rather, he might remain cloaked in thatstranger who comes to us.

 

And as a result, it’s just so muchbetter to realize that everyone we encounter, everyone we greet, everyone wewelcome, everyone we make room for,  truly is Jesus disguised.

 

Which brings us back to our St Benedict window.

 

As many of you know, there are someBenedictine Oblates at St Stephen’s—James, and your truly—and there are manyothers of us who are truly Benedictine in spirit.

 

I had the good fortune of celebratingmy 30th anniversary last year of being an Oblate.

 

Benedictine Oblates and other Benedictine-mindedpeople strive in our lives to follow the Rule of St. Benedict, an ancient,though very amazing document.

 

In that Rule, there is one particularamazing reference:

 

In the 53rd Chapter of theRule, St. Benedict writes:

 

All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ,for he himself will say, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.

 

That is very, very powerful.

 

But what does that mean?

 

Well, it means that we welcome everyonewho comes through our door as someone divine anointed by God, as someonespecial to God, as one of God’s unique children.

 

It means welcoming everyone who comesthrough our door as another Christ, present in in our midst, someone who, likeChrist, is sent to us from God, whom God has sent to us to speak to us, to be apresence of God’s love to us.  

 

Even when it doesn’t seem like that.

 

Imagine for a moment what an incredibleworld this would be if everyone could do this—if everyone could practiceradical hospitality like St. Benedict.

 

What an amazing Christian Church wewould have if we could do the same, if we could welcome every stranger—andevery regular parishioner as well—as Christ.

 

Imagine if we welcomed even our veryenemies as Christ, that somehow even that enemy was seen as someone special toGod and anointed by God.

 

I think many Christians forget this.

 

We are called to welcome all people asChrist, because we do not know when we will encounter him, in whatever guise hemight choose to come to us.

 

Now, of course, that’s not easy.

 

In fact, sometimes it’s downrightimpossible.

 

Without God’s help, we can’t do it.

 

Without God’s help—without the HolySpirit—we first of all can’t even begin to recognize Christ in our midst.

 

And without God’s help, we can’t seekand serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves, as weprofess inour Baptismal Covenant.

 

And, let’s face, it’s just easier tochoose not to.

 

It’s much easier to grumble and mumbleand complain.

 

It’s much easier to backbite.

 

It’s easy not to see those people whodrive us crazy, who irritate us, who say things to us we don’t want to hear asChrist, as beloved children of God.  

 

It’s just so much easier for us to seethe devil in people, rather than seeing them as children of God.

 

But for us who gather together everySunday at this table—at this altar—we can’t use that excuse of being unable torecognize Christ in our midst.

 

God in various ways IS in our midst.

 

God is constantly breaking through tous in various ways.

 

When we break this bread at the altar,we find whatever spiritual blindness we come here with is lifted at that time.

 

We see Christ truly present with us—inthe bread and the wine,  and in one another.

 

And what does our Eucharist compel usto do?

 

It compels us to embody Christ, tobecome Christ, to those who need Christ in this world.

 

Radical hospitality DOES make adifference.

 

Greeting people as though they arebeloved children of God has incredible results—not in only in our collectivelife here at St. Stephen’s, but in the lives of each of those people comingamong us.

 

We are showing them that, despite theoccasionally somewhat ugly reputation the Church has at times—and sometimesdeservedly so—we, as God’s children in this world, can do much good as well.

 

We can truly love.

 

We can truly be accepting—of allpeople, no matter who or what they are.

 

So, today, let us hear—truly hear—thewords in the scriptures we have just shared and in the scriptures we will readthis week.

 

Let us allow God to speak to us withwords that are familiar, with a voice that is familiar.

 

Let us allow God’s Spirit to take awaywhatever spiritual blindness we might have so that we can truly and completelysee those people who share our life with us as beloved children of God.

 

Let us allow that Spirit to take awaythat spiritual blindness that causes so much harm in the world so that we canfully experience God and show love and respect to everyone we come in contactwith.

 

And recognizing each other as God’sloved children, may we also go out into the world, to proclaim that message ofGod’s love to all.

 

We are living, in this moment, on theother side of the cross.

 

We are living here, with God in ourvery midst.

 

It is truly a glorious place to be.

 

Let us pray.

Loving God, open our eyes, as youopened the eyes of Cleopas and the other disciple; open our eyes to see thisworld as you intend this world to be, a place of love, as place in which wehonor each other as your loved children. And when we do, let us see your Christpresent in our midst, and in ourselves; in whose name we pray. Amen.

 

2 Easter

 

April 16, 2023

 

John 20.19-31

 

+ It’s hard to believe that Easter wasone week ago.

 

This Second Sunday of Easter is alsocalled “Low Sunday.”

 

Well, it’s called Quasimodo Sunday,from the old Latin Mass in which the newly baptized were welcomed “as newborninfants.”

 

It’s a time for us to truly sit backand enjoy Easter without all pomp of last Sunday.

 

Because, as we know, Easter lasts 40days.

 

And we will be celebrating this Easterseason until the Feast of the Ascension.

 

For these next few weeks, in ourscripture readings on Sunday morning, we will be encountering the newlyresurrected Christ.

 

As we do in our Gospel reading fortoday.

 

But today’s Gospel deals with so muchmore than that.

 

It deals with that good old friend ofours, doubt.

 

While some clergy people I know, try toavoid discussing issues like doubt or atheism, I actually gladly welcome thechallenge, as you very well know.

 

You know how I feel about atheism andagnosticism.

 

I truly believe they are very validreligious expressions.

 

And important ones.

 

And I respect and admire the manyatheist people I know in my own life and in society.

 

I have also been very honest with all ofyou about my own doubts at times.

 

I was an agnostic at one point in mylife.

 

And…well…to be blunt…I still am. Kind of.

 

In fact, we all are to some extent.

 

Agnosticism, after all, is simply saying“we don’t know” for certain.

 

And I don’t.

 

That’s why I have faith.

 

I don’t know for certain about manythings, but I still go forward in faith.

 

And there is nothing wrong with any ofthat.

 

Let’s face it, doubt is an importantand essential part of our faith life.

 

We essentially can’t have real faithwithout real doubt.

 

We need that tension in our faith livesto make our faith valid to a large extent.

 

And to deny doubt in our lives is todeceive ourselves.

 

We dodoubt.

 

I sometimes do wish at times that myfaith was not pocked and spotted with doubt.

 

But, to be brutally honest,  it is sometimes.

 

And I am wary to some extent of thosewho have no doubt.

 

Yes, we struggle with these issues ofbelief in our lives.

 

Let’s face it, we don’t get theopportunities that Thomas had in this morning’s Gospel.

 

Thomas refused to believe that Jesuswas resurrected until he had put his fingers in the wounds of Jesus.

 

You know what.

I’d be the same way.

 

Well, maybe I wouldn’t insist onputting my fingers in a wound.

 

That’s a bit extreme.

 

But, certainly, if someone I knew andcared for died and suddenly everyone is telling me that person is now actuallyalive, I would definitely doubt that.

 

And if I knew that person had died andwas now standing in front of me, I would still be skeptical.

 

Skeptical of my sanity, if nothingelse.

 

Or my eyesight.  

 

So, for Thomas, it wasn’t enough thatJesus actually appeared to him in the flesh—Jesus, was no ghost after all.

 

He stood there in the flesh—wounds andall.

 

Only when Thomas  had placed his finger in the wounds, would hebelieve.

 

Only then did he experience thisamazing moment of spiritual clarity and was able to say,

 

“My Lord and my God!”

 

That’s great for Thomas.

 

But, the fact is, for the rest of us,we don’t get it so easy.

 

We will struggle.

 

It’s easy to doubt.

 

But faith, that’s hard.

 

It’s not easy to have faith.

 

I don’t have to tell anyone here thismorning about faith.

 

We all know how hard it really is.

 

It takes work and discipline.

 

We made the choice to come to church.

 

We made a choice to come here thismorning, and worship a God we cannot see, not touch.

 

Well, except in the Eucharist

 

We have come together to gather at thisaltar, to break bread and to share the Body and Blood of Jesus.

 

We made a choice to come here andcelebrate an event that our rational minds tell us could never have happened.

 

And not just celebrate.

 

But to stand up and profess belief init, even if we might have struggles with it.

 

But even if we struggle with it—it’sall right.

 

It’s all right to struggle and doubtand wrestle with it.

 

It’s all right to be, dare I say? a Christianagnostic.

 

A strong relationship to God takeswork—just as any other relationship in our life takes work.

 

It takes discipline.

 

It takes concentrated effort.

 

It means living out our faith even whenwe also live with doubts.

 

It means loving God and loving oneanother.

 

Of course, that isn’t that easy either. 

 

But, for Thomas, he saw.

 

He touched.

 

It was all clear to him.

 

We don’t get that chance.

 

“Blessed are those who believe butdon’t see,” Jesus says this morning.

 

We are those blessed ones.

All of us.

 

Our belief—our faith—doesn’t have to beperfect.

 

We will still always doubt.

 

Will still always question.

 

And that’s a good thing!

 

We are still the ones Jesus is speakingof in this morning’s Gospel.

 

Blessed are you all.

 

You believe—or strive to believe—butdon’t see.

 

Seen or unseen, we know God is there—insome way.

 

And God breaks through to us, even in themidst of our doubts at times.

 

How many times have I shared with youthose sacred moments I’ve experienced at this altar during the Eucharist, whenI break the Bread or stare down into the chalice and I just know, in my heartof hearts, that Christ is present. And real.

 

How many of those sacred times have I,like Thomas, found myself exclaiming,

 

“My Lord and my God!”

 

There are moments when we really dosense deeply that there is just something there—some Presence bigger than us,some reality more amazing that us, some divine Other that is all good andall-loving, Some God who truly does know us and love us.

 

Most of you know of my affection forthe Lutheran Pastor and theologian Nadia Bolz-Weber.

 

One of my favorite things that she everwrote was a re-wording of the beatitudes directed toward agnostics.

 

It goes like this:

Blessed arethe agnostics.

Blessed arethey who doubt. Those who aren’t sure, who can still be surprised.

Blessed arethey who are spiritually impoverished and therefore not so certain abouteverything that they no longer take in new information.

Blessed arethey for whom death is not an abstraction.

Blessed arethey who have buried their loved ones, for whom tears could fill an ocean.Blessed are they who have loved enough to know what loss feels like.

Blessed arethe mothers of the miscarried.

Blessed arethey who don’t have the luxury of taking things for granted anymore.

Blessed arethey who can’t fall apart because they have to keep it together for everyoneelse.

Blessed arethose who “still aren’t over it yet.”

Blessed arethose who mourn. You are of heaven and Jesus blesses you.

Blessed arethose who no one else notices. The kids who sit alone at middle-school lunchtables. The laundry guys at the hospital. The sex workers and the night-shiftstreet sweepers.

Blessed arethe forgotten. Blessed are the closeted.

Blessed arethe unemployed, the unimpressive, the underrepresented.

Blessed arethe wrongly accused, the ones who never catch a break, the ones for whom lifeis hard, for Jesus chose to surround himself with people like them.

Blessed arethose without documentation. Blessed are the ones without lobbyists.

Blessed arefoster kids and special-ed kids and every other kid who just wants to feel safeand loved.

Blessed arethose who make terrible business decisions for the sake of people.

Blessed arethe kids who step between the bullies and the weak. Blessed are they who hearthat they are forgiven.

Blessed iseveryone who has ever forgiven me when I didn’t deserve it.

Blessed arethe merciful, for they totally get it.

 

Nadia Bolz-Weber really does get it.

 

Because somewhere in those beatitudes,we find ourselves.

 

Blessed are all of us—the agnostics,struggling to believe.

 

Blessed are all of us—who struggle attimes, and doubt at times, and stumble and fall at times.

 

Blessed are all of us—who need to touchthe wounds and hear the voice.

 

Blessed are us who truly long for thosemoments when we too can exclaim, “My Lord and my God!”

 

Blessed are us here at St. Stephen’s,who stand up and speak out and who don’t let the bureaucrats and the sycophantsand the Bishop wanna-be’s get the upper hand.

 

Blessed are us here at St. Stephen’s whospeak out again and again, even despite the opposition from our state governmentand even from our very own Church, for reconciliation for our gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people in this state andin this diocese who have been mis-treated and disrespected and excluded andtreated as less-than for decades by the government and church leaders.  

 

Blessed are we who really do believebut don’t see now.

 

Because we will see.

 

We will know.

 

We will see God, whom we will seeface-to-face.

 

Blessed are us.

 

The Kingdom of Heaven is truly ours.