Jamie Parsley's Blog, page 31

17 Pentecost

 

September 27, 2020

 

Ezekiel 18.1-4;25-32; Matthew 21.23-32

 

+ Occasionally, in our scriptures readings on Sunday morning, we hear not the words of comfort that we would like to hear, especially in a time of pandemic.

 

Instead, we sometimes hear words that disturb us or shake us up.

 

Well, this morning is no exception.

 

In our Gospel reading for today, we hear some very uncomfortable words from Jesus:

 

He tells us, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the Kingdom of God ahead of you.”

 

What?!? That’s not what we want to hear!

 

Last week in my sermon I quoted the great Reginald Fuller, who said:

 

“[This] is what God is doing in Jesus’ ministry—giving the tax collectors and prostitutes an equal share with the righteous in the kingdom.”

 

That—and those words of Jesus we heard in this morning’s Gospel reading—are shocking statements for most of us.

 

And they should be.

 

It should shock us and shake us to our core.

 

It’s a huge statement for Jesus to make.

 

Partly it does because, things haven’t changed all that much.

 

OK. Yes, maybe we don’t view tax collectors and prostitutes in the same way people in Jesus’ day did.

 

Jesus uses these two examples as prime examples of the “unclean” in our midst—those who are ritually unclean according the Judaic law.

 

We, of course, have our own versions of “unclean” in our own society.

 

They are the ones in our society that we tend to forget about and purposely ignore.

 

But we really should give them concern.

 

And I don’t meant from a judgmental point of view.

 

I mean, we should actually look and see all those marginalized people we ourselves may consider “unclean” by our own standards our compassion.

 

We should be praying for them often.

 

Because to be viewed as “unclean” in any society—even now— is a death knell.

 

It is a life of isolation and rebuke.

 

It is a life of being ostracized.

 

The unclean are the ones who have lived on the fringes of society.

 

They are the ones who have lived in the shadows of our respectable societies.

 

The “unclean” of our own society often live desperate, secret lives.

 

And much of what they’ve have to go through in their lives is known only to God.

 

And they need us and our prayers.

 

They need our compassion.

 

They definitely don’t need our judgment.

 

As uncomfortable as it is for us to confront them and think about them—or to BE them—that is exactly what Jesus is telling us we must do.

 

Because by going there in our thoughts, in our prayers, in our ministries, we are going where Jesus went.

 

We are coming alongside people who need our presence, our prayers, our ministries.

 

 And rather than shunning them, we need to see them as God sees them.

 

We see them as children of God, as fellow humans on this haphazard, uncertain journey we are all on together.

 

And, more importantly, we see in them ourselves.

 

Because some of them ARE us.

 

Some of us here have been shunned and excluded and turned away.

 

By us. By our Church. By our government. By our society.

 

The point of this morning’s Gospel is this: the Kingdom of God is not what we think it is.

 

It is not made up of just people like us.

 

It is not some exclusive country club in the sky.

 

(Give thanks to God that it is NOT some exclusive country club in the sky!)

 

And it is certainly not made up of a bunch of  Christians who have done all the right things and condemned all the “correct” sins and sinners.

 

It is, in fact, going to be made up people who maybe never go to church.

 

It will be made up of those people we might not even notice.

 

It will be made up of those people who are invisible to us.

 

It will be made up of the people we don’t give a second thought to.

 

As I said, in our society today we have our own tax collectors, our own “unclean.”.

 

They are the welfare cases.

 

They are the homeless.

 

They are alcoholics and the drug or opioid addicts and the drug dealers.

 

They are the lost among us, they are the ones who are trapped in their own sadness and their own loneliness.

 

They are the ones we, good Christians that we are, have worked all our lives not to be.

 

This is what the Kingdom of heaven is going to be like.

 

It will filled with the people who look up at us from their marginalized place in this society.

 

It is the ones who today are peeking out at us from the curtains of their isolation and their loneliness.

 

They are the ones who, in their quiet agony, watch as we drive out of sight from them.

 

They are the ones who are on the outside looking in.

 

And it is they who are the inheritors of the kingdom of God and if we think they are not, then we are not listening to what Jesus is saying to us.

 

Jesus is wherever the inheritors of his kingdom are.

 

Of course, we too are the inheritors of the Kingdom, especially when we love fully and completely.

 

We too are the inheritors when we follow those words of Jesus and strive to live out and do what he commands.

 

We too are the inheritors when we open our eyes and our minds and our hearts to those around us, whom no one else sees or loves.

 

So, let us truly be inheritors of the Kingdom of God.

 

Let us love fully and completely as Jesus commands.

 

Let us love our God.

 

Let us love all those people who come into our lives.

 

Let us look around at those people who share this world with us.

 

And let us never cast a blind eye on anyone.

 

Let us do as God speaks to us this morning through the prophet Ezekiel: Let us “turn, then, and live.”

 

Let us pray.

 

Holy God, help us to not with the eyes of the world, but with the eyes of those who are destined for your Kingdom. In looking, may we truly see those whom you love and cherish. And let us reach out and save them as your Son, Jesus, has commanded us to do; it is in his Name that we pray. Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

16 Pentecost

 

September 20, 2020

Matthew 20. 1-16

 

+ Unless you have been living under a rock—which may be a very real possibility in this time of pandemic—it is   *sigh*  an election year.

 

And an election year like no other than I can remember, anyway.

 

No matter where you may stand on the issues, no matter who you may be voting for, it has been a contentious, bitter and very, very divisive election already.

 

Friends refuse to talk to friends.

 

Family members are being broken up by it.

 

And so much blatantly false information is floating around.

 

And we still have a way to go before November.

 

People on both sides of the issues are feeling real anxiety right now, real frustration and very real fear.

 

And as the debates begin between candidates we will be hearing a lot of crazy, insane things, no doubt.

 

But the one thing that I guarantee we will hear, in one form or another, either from the candidates or from the candidates’ supporters will be this.

 

“This is all so unfair!”

 

Whoever doesn’t win will definitely be saying this year,

 

“This is unfair!”

 

Now, I know: that’s not a very adult thing to say.

 

Any of us who have made it to adulthood have learned, by now, that none of it is fair.

 

One of the biggest things we learn as adults is that life is not fair.

 

And no one promised us that it would be.

 

Still, we do still cling to that belief.

 

Things should be fair.

 

A perfect world would be a fair world.

 

And when it comes to our relationship with God, fairness takes on even more of a meaning.

 

God should be fair, we think.

 

And it seems that when God is not fair, what do we do?

 

We rage.

 

We get angry.

 

God should be on our side on this one.

 

Right?

 

But, it seems, not always is God on our side on some things.

 

The scale of fairness is not always tipped on our side.

 

To put it in the context of our Gospel reading today, I often feel like one of the workers who has been working from the beginning of the work day.

 

The parable Jesus tells us this morning is, of course, not just a story about vineyard workers.

 

The story really, for us anyway, is all about that sense of unfairness.

 

 If you’re anything like me, when you hear today’s Gospel—and you’re honest with yourself—you probably think: “I agree with the workers who have been working all day: It just isn’t fair that these workers hired later should get the same wages.”

 

It’s not fair that the worker who only works a few hours makes the same wages as one who has worked all day.

 

Few of us, in our own jobs, would stand for it.

 

We too would whine and complain.

 

We would strike out. 

 

But the fact is, as we all know by this time, life is not fair.

 

Each of here this morning has been dealt raw deals in our lives at one point or another.

 

We have all known what it’s like to not get the fair deal.

 

We all have felt a sense of unfairness over the raw deals of this life.

 

But, as much as we complain about it, as much as make a big deal of it, we are going to find unfairness in this life.

 

Of course, our personal lives are one thing.

 

The Church—that’s a different thing.

 

What we find in today’s parable is exactly what many of us have had to deal with in the Church.

 

The story of the parable is that everyone—no matter how long they’ve been laboring—gets an equal share.

 

And in Jesus’ ministry, that’s exactly what happens as well.

 

As one of my personal theological heroes, the great Reginald Fuller, once said of this parable: “[This] is what God is doing in Jesus’ ministry—giving the tax collectors and prostitutes an equal share with the righteous in the kingdom.”

 

The marginalized, the maligned, the social outcast—the least of these—all of them are granted an equal share.

 

To me, that sounds like the ministry we are all called to do as followers of Jesus.

 

To be a follower of Jesus is to strive to make sure that everyone gets a fair deal, even when we ourselves might not be getting the fair deal.

 

And there’s the rub.

 

There’s the key.

 

Being a follower of Jesus means striving to make sure that all of us on this side of the “veil” get an equal share of the Kingdom of God, even if we ourselves might not sometimes.

 

That is what we do as followers of Jesus and that is what we need to strive to continue to do.

 

But…it’s more than just striving for an equal share for others.

 

It also means not doing some things as well.

 

What do we feel when we are treated unfairly?

 

Jealousy?

 

Bitterness?

 

Anger?

 

It means not letting jealousy and bitterness win out.

 

Because let me tell you: there is a LOT of anger and bitterness right now.

 

And that’s probably what we’re going to feel when others get a good deal and we don’t.

 

Jealousy and envy are horribly corrosive emotions.

 

They eat and eat away at us until they makes us bitter and angry.

 

And jealousy is simply not something followers of Jesus should be harboring in their hearts.

 

Because jealousy can also lead us into a place in which we are not striving for the Kingdom.

 

Those of us who are followers of Jesus are striving, always, again and again, to do the “right thing.”

 

But when we do, and when we realize that others are not and yet they are still reaping the rewards, we no doubt are going to feel a bit jealous.

 

We, although few of us would admit it, are often, let’s face it, the “righteous” ones.

 

We the ones following the rules, we are the ones striving to live our lives as “good” Christians.

 

We fast, we say our prayers faithfully, we tithe, we follow the rules, we do what we are supposed to do as good Christians.

 

Striving for the equal share for people, means not allowing ourselves to get frustrated over the fact that those people who do not do those things—especially those people whom we think don’t follow the rules at all, those people who aren’t “righteous” by our standards—also receive an equal share.

 

It means not obsessing over the fact that, “It’s not fair.”

 

Even when it is unfair.

 

Because when we do those things, we must ask ourselves a very important question (a question I ask a lot):

 

Why do we do what we do as Christians?

 

Do we do what we do so we can call ourselves “righteous?”

 

So we can feel morally superior to others?

 

Do we do what we do as Christians because we believe we’re going to get some reward in the next life?

 

Do we do what do because we think God is in heaven keeping track of all our good deeds like some celestial Santa Claus?

 

Do we do what do simply because we think we will get something in return?

 

Do we do what we do so we can feel good about ourselves at the end of the day?

 

Or do we do what we do because doing so makes this world a better place?

 

This is the real key to Jesus’ message to us.

 

Constantly, Jesus is pushing us and challenging us to be a conduit.

 

He is trying to convince us that being a Christian means being a conduit for the Kingdom of God and all the very good things that Kingdom represents.

 

In us, the Kingdom breaks through.

 

Without us, it simply will not.

 

We do what we do as Christians because whatever we do is a way in which the barriers that separate us here from God and God’s world is lifted for a brief moment when we do what Jesus tells us to do.

 

When we live out the Law of loving God and loving our neighbor as ourselves, the “veil” is lifted and when it is lifted, the Kingdom comes flooding into our lives.

 

It does not matter in the least how long we labor in allowing this divine flood to happen.

 

The amount of time we put into it doesn’t matter in the least to God, because God’s time is not our time.

 

Rather, we simply must do what we are called to do when we are called to do it.

 

Jesus came to bring an equal share to a world that is often a horribly unfair place.

 

And his command to us is that we also must strive to bring an equal share to this unequal world.

 

And that is what we’re doing as followers of Jesus.

 

As we follow Jesus, we do so knowing that we are striving to bring about an equal share in a world that is often unfair.

 

We do so, knowing that we are sometimes swimming against the tide.

 

We do so, feeling at times, as though we’re set up to fail.

 

We do so feeling, at times, overwhelmed with the unfairness of it all.

 

And just when we think the unfairness of this world has won out—in that moment—that holy moment—the Kingdom of God always breaks through to us.

 

And in that moment, we are the ones who are able to be the conduit through which the God comes.

 

So, let us continue to do what we are doing as followers of Jesus.

 

Let us strive to do even better.

 

In everything we do, let us attempt to lift that veil in our lives and by doing so, let us be the conduit through which the Kingdom of God will flood into this unfair world.

 

And let us do together what Jesus is calling us to do in this world

 

Let us love—fully and completely.

 

Let us love our God, let us love our selves and let us neighbors as ourselves.

 

As we all know, it’s important to “come” here—personally or virtually—and share the Word and the Eucharist on Sundays.

 

But we also know that what we share here motivates us to go out into the world and actually “do” our faith.

 

As followers of Jesus, we are full of hope—a hope given to us by a God who knows our future and who wants only good for us—God who really is a fair God!

 

Let us go forth with that hope and with a true sense of joy that we are doing what we can to make that future glorious.

 

Let us pray.

 

Holy God, you call us in our following of your son to do the right thing and strive for fairness and equality in this world; help us to do just that, so that by doing so, we may be the conduits through which your love comes forth into this world; we ask this in Jesus’ Name. Amen.

 

 

 

 

Dedication Sunday

 

September 13, 2020

 

Genesis 28.10-17; 1 Peter 2.1-5,9-11

 

+ Well, what can I say about Dedication Sunday this year?

 

What can I say about the uniqueness of this past year and where we are right now?

 

Usually, my Dedication Sunday sermon is a sort of “State of the Union” address.

 

We usually discuss where we are and what we have done.

 

But this year…well, there’s never been a year like this in the history of St. Stephen’s.

 

But, this is what I am going to say on this Dedication Sunday, during this pandemic, during this time of strangeness.

 

If you ever doubted that St. Stephen’s and the larger Church are resilient, those doubts should be gone now.

 

When we look back to where we were in March, when it all began, we went from one Sunday at which we had almost 45 people in church, to the next Sandy when we had 5.

 

But before you despair over that, just remember this: while other churches closed, while other churches stopped worshipping together, we did not.

 

We did not miss a beat during this time.

 

Those five people—James, John, our Wardens Jean and Jessica and myself—we kept it going.

 

And you kept it going as well by joining us through that new=fangled social medium—livestreaming.

 

It was strange.

 

It was new.

 

And for me, it was (and still is) frustrating.

 

But it kept us going.

 

And…amazingly…it opened us up to a whole new opportunity as the church.

 

In no time at all, we had as many as 70 to 75 people worshipping with us on a Sunday.

 

And not just St. Stephen’s people.

 

We had people joining us from around the country and around the world.

 

Even as far away as Kenya.

 

As Holy Week approached, we still worshipped, doing all  of our most important liturgies.

 

We still did Stations of the Cross on Fridays during Lent (which, let me tell you, is not easy to do with only a priest and a camera).

 

And let me tell you, there is nothing more desolate and despairing than preaching my Easter sermon to a church in which there were no people in the pews.

 

But it was amazing the preach to 150+ people by social media.

 

But still, despite that, we—all of us—celebrated Christ’s resurrection this year with as much joy as we could muster.

 

This time of pandemic reminds me, in many ways, of another bleak time for me personally.

 

10 years yesterday, we also celebrated Dedication Sunday.

 

2010 was one of the first years in which we had seen some real growth, some real long-lasting changes here at St. Stephen’s.

 

It had been an amazing year

 

Then, on Tuesday, September 14, the Feast of the Holy Cross, my father died very suddenly and without warning.

 

Many of you remember that day and many of you walked with me through the very dark time.

 

I was in shock.

 

I suddenly became the head of my family in a way in which I was not prepared.

 

My mother was devastated and lost, and I now had to take care of her, a job I actually ended up cherishing, but at the time I felt ill-equipped to do.

 

And, here at St. Stephen’s, I was in the midst of a cycle of funerals.

 

On Sept. 12, Florence Anderson died.

 

I officiated at her funeral two days after my father died.

 

I still remember breaking down in my sermon and wasn’t sure if I’d recover enough to finish the Mass (I did).

 

Then, on Sept 16, Hale Laybourn.

 

The next day, on the 17th, Ruth Stickney died.

 

On Sept. 20, Marlys Lundberg’s son, Tracy Ford, died suddenly.

 

I also officiated at two weddings that month and two the following month.

 

Plus, I was also working at the Diocesan Office part-time.

 

I remember feeling at moments as though I was drowning

 

It was an overwhelming time.

 

And there were moments I wasn’t sure how I was going to keep going.

 

In some ways, that is exactly what this pandemic has been like.

 

It’s been overwhelming and frightening.

 

Senior Warden Jean Sando made a very astute observation the other day when she said that we now essentially have two congregations.

 

We have the congregation that meets here in this building.

 

And we have the virtual congregation.

 

If you don’t believe me, just look at this morning.

 

We have new member joining St. Stephen’s this morning who don’t live anywhere near here.

 

But they worship here—virtually—every Sunday.

 

I know it’s hard for us to fathom these things.

 

It’s hard to accept and understand what all this means.

 

But we need to be open minded enough to realize these are the changes that are happening.

 

Because if we don’t do that, the Church will die.

 

This is not the time for us to be set in our ways.

 

This is not the time for us to think “I personally have it all figured out and I don’t like this new way of doing Church—and being the Church.”

 

That’s death talk.

 

That’s toxic thinking.

 

That will bring about the end of the Church and St Stephen’s.

 

It’s a whole new way of doing Church.

 

But, I do want to remind you of all those sermons I preached over the years about this.

 

I warned that the Church was changing and that we had to be prepared.

 

I preached it again and again.

 

Remember all those times people may have frowned at me or shook their heads at me when I did things like officiating at Baptisms outside the Sunday morning Mass.

 

Let me tell you: I received flak for that for years.

 

Well, doing that prepared us for where we are now.

 

We have done almost as many baptisms this year already during the pandemic as we do in a normal year.

 

Well, here we are.

 

And thankfully, we as a congregation, were essentially prepared.

 

To be fair, I didn’t quite imagine it this way.

 

But this is what it is.

 

And we were able to step up and the be the Church during an insanely difficult time.

 

One would think a pandemic would mean that the church would go into hibernation.

 

Not so here.

 

I personally have never been busier.

 

And it didn’t slow down once during the pandemic.

 

It was exhausting.

 

And exhilarating.

 

And it shows another thing we have heard from this pulpit for years:

 

The Church is not what it contained within these walls.

 

The Church is all of us together, being the Church wherever we are.

 

This is where we are on this Dedication Sunday of 2020.

 

It’s different than we were last year.

 

And who knows where we will be next year.

 

And you know what?

 

Despite the pandemic, despite the division we are experiencing in this country right now, we are able to say: it’s not so bad.

 

We have done better than we even  imagined during this time.

 

In fact, we are still flourishing.

 

We are still growing.

 

We are still being who we are.

 

And if you doubt that, look no further than our new refurbished labyrinth.

 

In so many ways, that labyrinth is a symbol for us of who we are here.

 

A Labyrinth is a prayer walk with God symbolic of our life.

 

Parishioners here like our beloved Jim Coffey and others saw that vision 20 years ago.

 

They saw what that labyrinth represented.

 

The labyrinth shows the twists and turns of our lives.

 

It shows us that God truly does laugh at the plans we make.

 

But it also shows us that the path we walk is already marked out by God.

 

As we look back at our 64 years here, that describes us perfectly.

 

And as we look at our  own life journey, that describes it perfectly as well.

 

This labyrinth, that has become a spiritual magnet to so many people, is very much symbolic of who we are as St. Stephen’s.

 

We too are spiritual magnet.

 

We can say, in all honest, that God is here at St. Stephen’s.

 

We see it in all that God has done.

 

I very proudly boast of all that God has done here.

 

I have no qualms about boasting about what all of us are doing here at St. Stephen’s.

 

In our wonderful reading this morning from St. Peter, we find him saying,

 

“Once you were not a people,

but now you are God’s people;

once you had not received mercy,

but now you have received mercy.”

 

When we look around us this morning, as we celebrate 64 years of this unique, spiritual powerhouse of a congregation, we realize that truly we are on the receiving end of a good amount of mercy.

 

We realize that mercy from God has descended upon us in this moment.

 

And it is a truly glorious thing.

 

So, what do we do in the face of glorious things?

 

We rejoice!

 

We give thanks to our God!

 

And, as unbelievable as it might seem at times, we cannot take it any of it for granted.

 

We must use this opportunity we have been given.

 

We realize that it is not enough to receive mercy.

 

We must, in turn, give mercy.

 

We, this morning, are being called to echo what St. Peter said to us in our reading this morning.

 

We, God’s own people, are being called to “proclaim

the mighty acts of [God] who called [us] out of

darkness into [that] marvelous light.”

 

We proclaim these mighty acts by our own acts.

 

We proclaim God’s acts through mercy, through ministry, through service to others, through the worship we give here and virtually and in the outreach we do from here.

 

I love being the cheerleader for St. Stephen’s.

 

Because it’s so easy to do.

 

God is doing wonderful things here through each of us, even now.

 

Even in a pandemic.  

 

Each of us is the conduit through which God’s mercy and love is being manifested.

 

In our collect for this morning, we prayed to God that “all who seek you here [may] find you, and be filled with your joy and peace…”

 

That prayer is being answered in our very midst today.

 

That joy is being proclaimed in what we do today.

 

And although it may seem unbelievable at times, this is truly how God works in our midst.

 

God works in our midst by allowing us to be that place in which God is found, a place in which joy and peace and mercy dwell.

 

So, let us continue to receive God’s mercy and, in turn, give God’s mercy to others.

 

Let us be a place in which mercy dwells.

 

Because when we do we will find ourselves, along with those who come to us, echoing the words of Jacob from our reading in the Hebrew Scriptures this morning,

 

“How awesome is this place! This is none

other than the house of God, and this is the gate of

heaven.”

 

 

Let us pray.

Holy and loving God, we are thankful to you this morning for guiding us through the twists and turns of this life. We are thankful for the sixty-four years of ministry that have been performed for you here. And we are thankful for your protection and blessing during this time of pandemic. Continue to be with us. Continue to guide us and continue to be the source of our strength so that we may continue to dwell in this your house and be the gate of heaven. We ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.  

 

 

14 Pentecost

 

September 6, 2020

 

Romans 13.8-14; Matthew 18. 15-20

 

A few Sundays ago I preached about the conversation between Jesus and Peter in that morning’s Gospel reading.

 

In Matthew 16: 16, Peter professed his belief that Jesus was the “Messiah, the Son of the Living God.

 

In my sermon, I mentioned that there were several different interpretations of what all this meant.

 

One of the more popular beliefs was the Roman Catholic belief that Jesus was, in fact, founding the Church on Peter whom they claim to be the first Pope and giving to him and his successors the power to bind and loose.

 

And for people who hold that view, the Roman Church and the Pope have full authority to bind and loose.

 

Now, it is at this point that I want to stress one important thing, as Anglo-Catholic as I am, I am very ANGLO-Catholic, meaning, I am very much a solid and through-and-through Anglican.

 

I am not a Roman Catholic.

 

Although I have respect for the Roman Catholic Church, there is much I disagree with as well.

 

When one peels away the layers of the onion that is Fr. Jamie, one finds, in my core, a very solid Anglican.

 

I do not believe in any way that what Jesus is establishing that Gospel reading was a Pope.

 

But with all of what have heard and learned from our pondering of Matthew 16.16, we now need to tackle our Gospel reading for today.

 

In today’s Gospel, we find that the power to bind and loose was not given just to Peter, but to all Jesus’s followers.

 

After talking about his followers  who have disagreements with each other and how they should resolve their differences, he goes on to say:

 

“Truly I tell you [and he is speaking to all his followers at this time] whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”

 

He goes on to say: “Again, truly I tell you, if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”

 

This is very important to us.

 

Because when Jesus gave that power to bind and loose to all his followers, he didn’t just give it those followers who were with him that day.

 

He gave that power to all Christians, throughout all time.

 

He gave that power to us, as well, here and now.

 

And because there are, in fact, more than two or three gathered here this morning, even virtually, Jesus truly is in the midst of us—his Church.

 

We, being the Church, have that power to bind and loose and it is quite the power.

 

Take a moment and just think about what it is Jesus is giving us authority to do.

 

What we bind on earth, will be bound in heaven.

 

And what we loose on earth, will be loosed in heaven.

 

This is some incredible power.

 

We as followers of Jesus have the power, in a very real sense, to control not only what is here on earth, but that control carries over into heaven.

 

Still, it’s confusing, this concept of binding and loosing.

 

What is it Jesus is talking about when means binding and loosing?

 

Probably the best way to try to understand it is to put it in the context of Jesus’s own time.

 

For Jewish rabbis in Jesus’s time, "binding" the Law meant they were able to apply it to a particular situation.

 

They “loosed” the Law when it was not able to be applied to situation.

 

There were some situations that the Law was clear about, and  they could not be loosened.

 

But there were also grey areas in life where the Law wasn’t so clear and, as a result, the rabbis had to figure out if the Law could be applied to it.

 

They made the decision about whether it was binding and loosening.

 

For us, this passage isn’t quite so clear.

 

For us, “binding” and “loosening” don’t mean the same things as they did to Jesus’s followers.

 

Still, we are able to grasp, in some way, what Jesus is getting at.

 

The simple fact is this: what we do here on earth, really does make a difference with God.

 

And that, as Christians, as followers of Jesus, what we do has great power.

 

Because when we gather together, Jesus is in our midst and what we do together becomes an act of Christ.

 

We have been given the power the bind and loose—however we might understand those terms.

 

And we can use (or mis-use) a power like this.

 

But, there is one motivating factor behind all binding and loosing.

 

And we find this motivating factor spoken to us in our reading from Paul’s Letter to the Romans today.

 

There we find the summary of this same Law that binds or loosens.

 

The summary of this Law is that we should love our neighbor as ourselves.

 

And here we find the truly binding experience of Christianity.

 

Our job as Christians is not to nit-pick about what should be bound and what should be loosened.

 

Our job as Christians is to make sure that we love each other as we love ourselves.

 

Love, after all, is the ultimate experience of binding.

 

And Christian love, because Jesus has given us this power to loosen and bind, has a power that few other loves have.

 

The love we have as Christians is more than just a love for each other here on earth.

 

This love that we have is a love that binds itself even in heaven.

 

And this is why we can’t allow anything else other than love in ourselves.

 

That’s why we cannot allow feelings like hatred into our lives.

 

Just as love is the ultimate binding experience, hatred is the ultimate loosening experience.

 

And hatred for others, or for ourselves, loosens us and that loosening experience is also loosened in heaven.

 

God does pay attention to what we feel and what we do.

 

God does notice when we do not love—when we do not love others, or ourselves.

God is aware in this age of racism and division what is in our hearts.

 

And God is not happy with it, as we all know.

 

Racism is a sin, plain and simple.

 

It has its core in hatred.

 

Hatred for another race.

 

Hatred for a race other than ours.

 

And that is not God’s intent for us.

 

God does not want us to feel anything other than love for others, and for ourselves.

 

Because in loving each other, in loving ourselves, we are loving God, who is present in our midst—who is present with us and within us.

 

And that perfect balance is what gives us a glimpse of the Kingdom of God in our midst.

 

The Kingdom of God, as elusive and vague as it might seem at times, is a place of balance.

 

This much we do know.

 

The Kingdom of God in our midst involves catching a glimpse of the balance that comes when we love each other and ourselves.

 

Our job as Christians is always, always, always to love.

 

Love should always win out over hatred and racism.

 

If we love fully, as we are commanded to do by Jesus, we have no place for hatred and racism.

 

So, because we, as Episcopalians, believe that Jesus founded the Church not just on the Rock of Peter, but on Peter’s confession of faith in Jesus as the Messiah, the Son of the Living God,  and because we believe that the power to bind and loose was not only given to the Pope, but to all of us who are Christians, we need to take stock of the words that come out of our mouths and the emotions we feel in our hearts

 

We need to let love always win out.

 

We need to know that if we bind we must bind in love and if we loosen we must loosen also in love.

 

And by doing so, what we do in love on earth, will be done in heaven in love.

 

So let us love fully.

 

Let us love others and love ourselves as Jesus commands us to love.

 

And if we do, we will find the words Jesus said to Peter in that Gospel reading a few weeks ago coming true in us as well.

 

The gates of Hades will not prevail against us as followers of Jesus.

 

The gates of every ugly, evil thing in this world will have no power over us.

 

Rather, with a love like that in us and emanating from us, the powers of darkness and evil will fall flat before us.

 

So, let us love fully.

 

And let that love that is bound in us be bound in heaven.

 

And by doing so, we will be bringing the Kingdom of God into our midst.

 

Let us pray.

Holy God, you have given us such amazing power in our following of Jesus, your Son. Let us use these powers as you intend us to use them let us use them in love, so that our love, bound here on earth, will truly be bound within you in heaven. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

13 Pentecost

 

August 30, 2020

  Matthew 1 6.21-28

 

+ Last week, I preached about my strange relationship with the Church—capital C,

 

As I thought about it, it seems that one of the reasons people lose heart in  the Church is that they have a preconceived notion of what the Church is.

 

I think there are a lot of people who think the Church is this sweet, nice place where everyone gets along.

 

As I said last week in my sermon, the Church is not always that place at all.

 

In fact, the Church, as I have always said, is a human-run organization run by fallible human beings.

 

I don’t just mean Bishops and Priests.

 

I know it’s fun for some laity to be anti-clerical.

 

We can blame the clergy for this and that.

 

But it’s false.

 

Lay leaders have also done much to undermine and hurt the Church as well.

 

If you don’t believe me, read a very interesting book called When Sheep Attack.

 

I think people also think that being a Christian means being happy, and joyful all the time with nothing bad happening in our lives.

 

There are people who cannot understand why bad things happen to Christians.

 

Shouldn’t God be protecting us in some special way?

 

In fact, I had an argument with a friend of mine not all that long ago about this very same subject.

 

This friend—a committed Christian— told me that they believed that it was God’s will that we be happy.

 

“It is?” I said. “Really? Find me anywhere in scripture where that is the case!”

 

Of course, he couldn’t.

 

Because it’s nto true.

 

That is simply not the case.

 

It is not God’s will that we be happy in this life.

 

Yes, we should strive for happiness and contentment in our lives.

 

Yes, we should do our best to live fulfilling and meaningful lives.

 

But we are not promised rose gardens in this life (as the old Country song goes).

 

If you want proof that life as a Christian often means living with hardship and pain and suffering, then you need look no farther than the martyrs of the church.

 

At our Wednesday night Mass, we invariably encounter a martyr or two.

 

And their stories are often horrendous and frightening.

 

But martyrs are an essential part of the Church, of our faith.

 

After all, in the early Church, the martyrs were the rock stars of their age.

 

They were loved.

 

They were emulated.

 

They were, in some cases, often disturbingly, imitated.

 

To be murdered for Jesus at that time was a great honor at that time.

 

Even now martyrs are considered great heroes.

We, of course, honor and emulate such martyred leaders of the Church as Martin Luther King or the great Lutheran theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer or the Anglican Archbishop of Uganda, Janani Luwum

 

But this discussion of martyrs does cause us to ask some questions of our selves.

 

The big question is: if worse came to worst, would we be willing to die for Jesus?

 

Would we be able to take to heart the words of today’s Gospel, when Jesus says,

 

“those who lose their life for my sake will gain it.”

 

Now, for those of us who were raised in the Roman Catholic faith, some of us heard about the differences between “blood martyrdom” and something called “dry martyrdom.”

 

A “wet” or “blood” martyr is someone like Martin Luther King—someone who died violently.

 

A dry martyr is one has suffered indignity and cruelty for Jesus but has not died violently in the process.

 

For example, Sister Constance and her companions were a group of Episcopal nuns who died while caring for the sick during a Yellow Fever outbreak in Memphis Tennessee in 1878.

 

They are known as the “Martyrs of Memphis,” even though they were not murdered for the faith.

 

Suffering for Christ then doesn’t just mean dying for Christ either.

 

There are many people who are living with persecution and other forms of abuse for their faith.

 

Or people who suffer for simply standing up and speaking out for what is right, even if it means they will be persecuted for such a view.

 

And it is a perfectly valid form of martyrdom (martyr of course means “witness”)

 

The point of all this martyr talk is that we need to be reminded that as wonderful as it is being Christian, as spiritually fulfilling as it is to follow Jesus and to have a deeply amazing personal relationship with the God of Jesus, nowhere in scripture or anywhere else are we promised that everything is going to be without struggle.

 

We all must bear crosses in our lives, as Jesus says in today’s Gospel.

 

“If any want to become my followers, let them take up their cross and follow me.”

 

We all still have our own burdens to bear as followers of Jesus

 

And those burdens are, of course, our crosses.

 

While we might understand losing our lives for Jesus’ sake might be easier for us to grasp, picking up our cross might seem like a vague idea for us.

 

Bearing our crosses for Jesus means essentially that, as wonderful as it is being a Christian, life for us isn’t always a rose garden.

 

Being a Christian means, bearing our cross and following Jesus, means facing bravely the ugly things that life sometimes throws at us.

 

Facing bravely!

 

I don’t think I have to tell anyone here what those ugly things in life are.

 

Each of us has had to deal with our own personal forms of the world’s ugliness.

 

As we ponder those who are “with” us this morning—both virtually or in the Church—most of us here this morning have carried our share of crosses in this life.

 

Most of us have shouldered the difficult and ugly things of this life—whether it be illness, death, loss, despair, disappointment, frustration—you name it.

 

The fact is: these things are going to happen to us whether we are Christians or not.

 

It’s simply our lot as human beings that life is going to be difficult at times.

 

It is a simple fact of life that we are going to have feasts in this life, as well as famines.

 

There will be gloriously wonderful days and horribly, nightmarish days.

We are going to have to endure pandemics, social isolation and fear

 

We are going to have to endure political upheaval.

 

We, as human beings, cannot escape this fact.

 

 But, we, as Christians, are being told this morning by Jesus that we cannot deal with those things like everyone else does.

 

When the bad things of this life happen, our first reaction is often to run away from them.

 

(I don’t know how to run away from a global pandemic).

 

Our instinct is fight or flight—and more likely it’s usually flight.

 

Our first reaction is to numb our emotions, to curl up into a defensive ball and protect ourselves and our emotions.

 

But Jesus is telling us that, as Christians, what we must do in those moments is to embrace those things—to embrace the crosses of this life—to shoulder them and to continue on in our following of Jesus.

 

By facing our crosses, by bearing them, by taking them and following Jesus, we was able to realize that what wins out in the end is God and God’s love, not the cross we are bearing.

 

What triumphs in the end is not any of the other ugly things this life throws at us.

 

Rather, what triumphs is the integrity and the strength we gain from being a Christian.

 

What triumphs is Jesus’ promise that a life unending awaits us.

 

What triumphs is Jesus’ triumph over death and the ugly things of this life.

 

What we judge to be the way we think it should be is sometimes judged differently by God.

 

We don’t see this world from the same perspective God does.

 

And as a result, we are often disappointed.

 

Yes, our burdens are just another form of martyrdom—another albeit a bloodless form of witnessing to Christ.

 

And, like a martyr, in the midst of our toil, in the midst of shouldering our burden and plodding along toward Jesus, we are able to say, “Blessed be the name of God!”

 

That is what it means to be a martyr.

 

That is what it means to deny one’s self, to take up one’s cross and to follow Jesus.

 

 That is what it means to find one’s life, even when everyone else in the world thinks you’ve lost your life.

 

It means in the midst of sadness, suffering and pain, to be able to say, “Blessed be the Name of God!”

 

So, let us take up whatever cross we’re bearing and carry it with strength and purpose.

 

 Let us take our cross up and follow Jesus.

 

Let us say, as we do so, “Blessed be the Name of God!”

 

And, in doing so, we will gain for ourselves the glory of God that Jesus promises to those who do so.

 

Let us pray.

 

Holy God, blessed is your name! we thank you for giving us the strength and purpose to take up our cross and follow your Son, Jesus, along a path that, although uncertain and frightening at times, leads always to you. In Jesus’s Name we pray. Amen.

 

 

 

12 Pentecost

 

August 23, 2020

 

Matthew 16.13-20

 

 

+ This past week I had a very good and long overdue conversation with a priest colleague of mine.

 

She has been a longtime friend of mine and one that I like to hear from because hr perspective is always so fresh, if, at times, very different than my own.

 

In addition to be a good friend and listener to me, she is also one of the most liberal clergy people I know.

 

If you think I am liberal, you would be shocked by how liberal this friend of mine is.

 

Which actually came up in our conversation.

 

At some point in our conversation, she said to me: “I always admired your ability to startle the liberal and conservative aspects of the church.”

 

I was shocked by that!

 

I don’t think anyone has ever said that about me.

 

And I never saw that I have ever done that in my career as a priest.

 

But she went on to explain that while, yes, I am a very liberal priest on many issues, such as LGBTQ inclusion in the Church and full inclusion of women in ministry, I am also a very devout and very unapologetic Anglo-Catholic.

 

Spiritually I tend to be very conservative and maybe even, as my friend point out, “pious.”

I bristle a bit at that word, but I guess there is some truth in it.

 

I am very progressive on the social aspects of the Church, but I am also very traditional  (I prefer that word over the word “conservative” since, like liberal, it now carries a lot of political baggage)  when it comes liturgy, certain teachings like the Incarnation and the Real Presence of Jesus in the Body and Blood of the Eucharist, and the role of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the saints  in the Church.

 

I am very traditional on these issues.

 

Let’s face it, when the day is done, I am a solidly traditional celibate Anglo-Catholic priest who believes in the full inclusion and acceptance of all people in the Church.

 

You all know that about me.

 

And that, I guess, just makes me the walking, talking conundrum that is your priest.

 

My friend likes to joke with me about the celibate aspect of my life.

 

She says, tongue-in-cheek,  “It must be so hard being married not only to Jesus, but to His Church as well.

 

Well, the Jesus aspect of that isn’t all that hard.

 

But, the Church aspect of that is oftentimes VERY hard.

 

At times, I realize, that being a priest often feels like I’m married to the Church—capital C.

 

And like any marriage, there are good days, and there are not such good days.

 

Well, that’s definitely the way it is with the Church—capital C.

 

Now, I know this is a shock to all of you, but I do not like authority.

 

I do not like being told what to do.

 

As many parishioners and a few bishops over the years have tried (and failed) to do over the years.

 

I do not respond to nagging or unconstructive criticism or complaining.

 

I never have.

 

And I probably never will.

 

I will respect authority.

 

I will follow the rules (within reason)

 

But, let me tell you, I don’t always like it.

 

There are days when I don’t like the Church—capital C, or the authority of the Church or the hypocrisy of the Church.

 

There are days when I really don’t like some bishops, or some fellow clergy, especially when Bishops act pompous and full of themselves and when clergy act like weasels.

 

There are days when I don’t like Church leaders—not just ordained ones but lay leaders too—who try to coerce and manipulate the Church and its ministers.

 

We are seeing it in spades right now in this country.

 

Probably most of us here would say we have felt the somewhat same way about the Church at times.

 

In fact, I know you have.

 

Because that is why you are here at St. Stephen’s.

 

There are days when we all groan when we see or hear other Christians get up and speak on behalf of the rest of us.

 

There are days when we are embarrassed by what some Christians say or do on behalf of Jesus and his Church.

 

There are days when we get frustrated when we hear clergy or other authorities pronounce decrees that, in no way, reflect our own particular views or beliefs.

 

And there are times when we get downright mad at the hypocrisy, the homophobia, the misogyny, the ambivalence, the silence in the face of oppression and evil and war, the downright meanness we sometimes experience from the Church.

 

Most of us—idealistically, naively maybe—wonder:  wait a minute.

 

The Church isn’t supposed to be like this.

 

The Church is supposed to be a place of Love and Compassion and Acceptance and inclusion. 

 

It is supposed to be a place where everyone is welcomed and loved.

 

Knowing that and comparing the ideal view of the Church with its shortcomings only make us feel more helpless, listless, angry, and disgruntled.

 

And that’s all right.

 

I personally think that’s a somewhat healthy way of looking at the Church.

 

Because we have to remind ourselves of one thing: What we find ourselves turning away from and what we are often tempted to run away from is not God.

 

What we are running away from is a human-run, human-led organization.

 

We are running away from a celestially planned treasure that has been run (and very often mis-run) throughout two thousand years of history by fallible human beings.

 

In today’s Gospel, we find this wonderful interchange between Jesus and Peter.

 

Peter, when asked who he thinks Jesus is, replies, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God!”

 

Yes! That’s definitely the right answer!

 

But, Jesus responds to this confession of faith with surprise.

 

He responds by saying, “I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.”

 

Of course, as you might know, Jesus is playing a little word game here with the words “Peter” and “rock.”

 

The Aramaic word for “rock” is “kepha.”

 

In Jesus’ own language of Aramaic he would have said, “You are Kepha (Peter is also called Cephas at times in the Gospels) and on this kepha (or rock) I will build my church.”

 

Now, depending on who you are, depending on your own personal spiritual leanings, this reading could take on many meanings.

 

If you’re more Catholic minded—and especially if you’re more Roman Catholic minded—it certainly does seem that Jesus is establishing the Church on the Rock of Peter—and of course in that tradition Peter at this moment becomes essentially the first Bishop of the Church and in R.C. tradition, the first Pope.  

 

As Anglo-Catholic as I am, I actually don’t hold to that view, personally.

 

On this one, I’m a very traditionally Anglican.

 

For people like me, it could be said that the Church is being established not on Peter himself, but on the rock of Peter’s confession of faith.

 

Either way, Jesus is commending the Church to Peter and to his other followers.

 

And this is important, especially when we examine who Peter is.

 

Jesus commends his Church to one of the most impetuous, impulsive, stubborn, cowardly human beings he could find.

 

Peter, as we all know, is not, on first glance, a wonderful example for us of what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

 

He is the one who walks on water and then loses heart, grows frightened and ends up sinking into that water.

 

He’s the one who, when Jesus needs him the most, runs off and denies him not just once, not twice, but three times, and even then cannot bring himself to come near Jesus as he hangs dying on the cross.

 

But…you know, Peter is maybe a better example of what followers of Jesus truly are than we maybe care to admit.

 

Yes, he is a weak, impetuous, cowardly, impulsive human.

 

But who among us isn’t?

 

Who among us isn’t finding someone very much like Peter staring back at us from our own mirrors?

 

And the thing we always have to remember is that, for all the bad things the Church has been blamed for—and there are a lot of them—there are also so many wonderful and beautiful things about the Church that always, always, alwaysoutweigh the bad.

 

Obviously most everyone here this morning must feel that same way as well to some extent.

 

If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here this morning.

 

Most of us are able to recognize that the Church is not perfect.

 

And I think that, when Jesus commended his Church to people like Peter, he knew that, as long as we are here, struggling on this “side of the veil,” so to speak, it would never be perfect.

 

But that, even despite its imperfection, we still all struggle on.

 

Together.

 

I love the Church and I love the people who are in the Church with me, sometimes even the ones who drive me crazy.

 

And I sometimes even love the ones with whom I do not agree or who lash out at me for their own personal issues.

 

Why? Because that’s what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

 

That is what it means to be the Church.

 

I am here in the Church because I really want to be in the Church.

 

I am here because the Church is my home.

 

It is my family.

 

It is made up of my friends and Jesus’ friends.

 

I am here because I—imperfect, impetuous human being that I am because I love my fellow Christians, and I don’t just mean that I love Desmond Tutu and all those Christians who are easy to love.

 

I love those who are hard to love too.

 

I love them because, let’s face it, sometimes we are those same people too.

 

Sometimes we are the ones who drive people from the Church as well.

 

And sometimes we ourselves drive our own selves away from the Church.

 

But as long as we’re here, as long as we believe in the renewal that comes again and again in recognizing and confessing our shortcomings and in professing and believing in what it means to be a baptized Christian, then we know it’s not all a loss.

 

As long as I struggle to not be the person who drives people from the Church, but works again and again in my life to be the person who welcomes everyone—no matter who they are and where they stand on the issues—into this Church, then I’m doing all right.

 

Because the Church Jesus founded was a Church founded solidly on the rock of love.

 

The Church’s foundation is the fact that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God and the message to us as followers of this Son of the Living God, the Messiah—the bringer of freedom and peace—is that we must love God and love each other as we love ourselves.

 

If we are the Church truly built on a love like that then, without doubt, the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.

 

And as long as I’m here, and you’re here—“here” in a virtual sense—we are going to make the Church a better place.

 

We need to be the Church from which no one wants to leave.

 

So, let us be the Church we want the Church to be—because that is the Church that Jesus founded.

 

Let us be the Church that Jesus commended to that imperfect human being, Peter.

 

In those moments when we find ourselves hating the Church, let’s not let hatred win out.

 

Let love—that perfect, flawless love that Jesus preached and practiced—eventually win out.

 

We are the Church.

 

We are the Church to those people in our lives.

 

We are the Church to everyone we encounter.

 

We are the reflection of the Church to the people we serve alongside.

 

So let us be the Church, and if we are, we will find ourselves in the midst of that wonderful vision Jesus imagined for his Church.

 

And it will truly be an incredible place.

 

It will truly be the Kingdom of God in our midst.

 

Let us pray.

 

Living God, we believe that Jesus is your Son, the Messiah, who has come to us in our time of need; help us to follow him, to be a Church of love and acceptance and inclusion, and in doing so, a place wherein your living Presence dwells. We ask this in his most holy Name. Amen.

 

 

 

11 Pentecost

 

August 16, 2020

 

Matthew 15.10-28

 

 

+ If I were going to ask you what is the main source of most of the problems of your life, what would you say?

 

If I were ask you to think about why there are broken relationships in your life, why are there people who have turned away from you, why are there are people who don’t like you (and this is the case for all of us, no matter who we are), what you claim as this source?

 

The fact is most of us (including myself) would say that it is our mouths.

 

Our words, the things that come out of our mouths, have done quite a bit of damage in our lives.

 

We sometimes say things we maybe shouldn’t say.

 

We sometimes give our opinions when they are not asked for.

 

We sometimes have not put the filter on the words coming out of our mouths, and as a result, things have been said that we cannot take back.

 

And what happens? People are angered.

 

Now much of this unfiltered talk comes from our egos.

 

We, of course, think that our opinion matters.

 

We think what we believe is the right way and it boggles out minds that others don’t see the correctness of what we ourselves think or see or believe.

 

I hate to be the one to break the news to you this morning, though.

 

More often than not, there are probably few people who agree with all of our opinions on any one given subject.

 

And more often than not, we are not always right.

 

And even more often than that, people are not going to listen or to heed what we have to say.

 

And probably even more often than THAT, we’re going to offend or anger someone by our words, our opinions.

 

Now, certainly, we should speak out.

 

We should call out injustice when we see it.

 

We should speak loudly when we see things are wrong.

 

Even if it may get us in trouble with others.

 

We, here at St. Stephen’s,  are definitely a congregation of people who speak out, who use words well to convey convictions and beliefs.

 

Which is why many of you are here at St. Stephen’s.

 

We are definitely NOT a cookie cutter congregation.

 

We need to realize very clearly that the words we speak really do have ripple effects.

 

If we think, when we say something either on the offense or defense, that those words will not have consequences in the long-run, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.

 

Jesus tells his followers—and us—in this morning in our Gospel reading—

 

“it is not what goes into the mouth that defiles; it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles. ”

 

As a vegan, I may have to disagree with that a bit.

 

But yes, these are words that hit home for me, and no doubt, for many of us.

 

We were all raised reciting that little verse:

 

Sticks and stone may break my bones

But words will never hurt me.

 

Guess what?

 

Words actually DO hurt.

 

In fact words do more than hurt.

 

They do more than just create a ripple effect.

 

Words can destroy.

 

Words can tear down.

 

And sometimes the words don’t even have to be directed at someone or something.

 

Words spoken behind people’s backs, that we think won’t hurt them if they never hear them, hurt and destroy too.

 

Words are oftentimes much more painful and hurtful than sticks and stones.

 

And when it comes to our relationship with God, the words we say carry much weight.

 

In today’s Gospel we find Jesus making very clear statements:

 

“…what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart and this is what defiles. For out of the mouth comes” all kind of evil intentions.

 

“These are what defile a person…” he says.

 

Jesus is clear here about what makes one unclean.

 

The words that come out of our mouth are really only the end result of what’s in our hearts.

 

The words that come out of our mouths are really only little mirrors of what is dwelling within us.

 

When we say dumb things, we are harboring dumb things in our hearts.

 

When we say hurtful, mean things, we are carrying hurt and meanness in our hearts.

 

And what’s in our hearts truly does make all the difference.

 

If our hearts are dark—if our hearts are over-run with negative things—then our words are going to reflect that.

 

When we talk about something like “sin,” we find ourselves thinking instantly of the things we do.

 

We think immediately of all those uncharitable, unsavory things we’ve donein our lives.

 

And when we realize that sin, essentially, is anything we chose to do that separates us from God and from each other, it is always easy to instantly take stock of all the bad things we’ve done.

 

But it’s not always what we “do.”

 

Sometimes, we can truly “sin” by what we say as well.

 

The words that come out of our mouths can separate us from God and from each other because they are really coming from our hearts—from that place in which there should really only be love for God and for each other.

 

We have all known Christians who are quick to profess their faith with their mouths, but who certainly do not believe that faith in their hearts.

 

And, I think, we have also known people who have kept quiet about their faith, who have not professed much with their mouths, but who have quietly been consistent in their faith.

 

If we profess our faith with our mouths, but not in our hearts, we really are guilty to some extent.

 

Probably few things drive us away faster from church than those self-righteous people who shake their fingers at us and spout their faith at us, but who, in turn, don’t show love, compassion and acceptance to others.

 

The name we encounter in the Gospels for those people who do not practice what they preach is “hypocrite.”

 

And throughout the Gospels, we find that Jesus isn’t ever condemning the ones we think he should condemn.

 

He doesn’t condemn the prostitute, the tax collector, any of those people who have been ostracized and condemned by society and the religious organizations of their times.

 

The ones Jesus, over and over again, condemns, are the hypocrites—those supposedly “religious” people who are quick to speak their faith with words, who are quick to strut around and act religiously, but who do not hold any real faith in their hearts.

 

The Pharisees that Jesus is having trouble with in today’s Gospel, are not at all concerned about what is in their hearts.

 

Their faith has nothing to do with their hearts.

 

They are more concerned about purification rites.

 

They are more concerned about making sure that the food one eats is clean and pure—that it hasn’t been touched by those who are unclean.

 

They are concerned that they are the clean ones and they are concerned that there is a separation from those that are unclean.

 

They are more concerned with the words of the Law, rather than the heart of the Law.

 

They are more concerned with the letter of the Law, rather than the spirit of the Law.

 

We, as followers of Jesus, must avoid being those hypocrites.

 

With everything in us, we must avoid being those people.

 

Yes, I know: it’s just easier to stick the letter of the Law.

 

It’s easy to follow the religious rules without bothering to think about whywe are following them.

 

It’s just so much easier to go through the motions without having to feel anything.

 

Because to feel means to actually make one’s self vulnerable.

 

To feel means one has to love—and, as we know—as we see in the world right now—love is dangerous.

 

Love makes us step out into uncomfortable areas and do uncomfortable things.

 

Like defending the Postal Service! Who would’ve ever thought we would have to defend the U.S. Postal Service?

 

But the message of Jesus is all about the fact that to be a follower of Jesus means not being a hypocrite.

 

That is ESSENTIAL.

 

The message of Jesus is that to be a follower of Jesus means believing fully with one’s heart.

 

We at St. Stephen’s are saying, again and again, not just by our words, but by our actions, that we are a people of a God who is love—we are a people here at St. Stephen’s who believe all people are loved and accepted, fully and completely by that God.

 

And how do we do that? How do we show that and preach that?

 

We do that by loving and accepting all people.

 

Even when that is hard!

 

We do that by knowing in our hearts that God loves and accepts us all, no matter who or what we are.

 

To proclaim the Good News, we need to do so by both word and example.

 

It is to truly practice what we preach.

 

It is to go out into the world at least virtually even in a time of pandemic and say, “this is a place—and we are a people—wherein love dwells.

 

We are a people who strive to embody that radical, all-encompassing love of a God of love.

 

So, let us take to heart what Jesus is saying to us in today’s Gospel.

 

Let us take his words and plant them deeply in our hearts.

 

Let the words of his mouth be the words of our mouth.

 

Let the Word—capital W—by our word.

 

And let that Word find its home, its source, its basis in our hearts.

 

When it does, our words will truly speak the Word that is in our hearts.

 

Let us allow no darkness, no negativity to exist within our hearts.

 

Let us not be hypocritical Pharisees to those around us.

 

But let us be true followers of Jesus, true lovers of God,  with love burning within and overflowing us.

 

As followers of Jesus, let love be the word that speaks to others.

 

Let our hearts be so filled with love that nothing else can exist in it but love.

 

Let us strive to live out our Baptismal Promises with God by proclaiming “by word and example the Good News of God in Christ.”

 

And if we do—if we do just that—we will find that Good News pouring forth from our mouth and bringing joy and gladness and love and full acceptance to others—and even to ourselves.

 

Let us pray.

 

Holy God, you have given us mouths to speak; instill within us your Word, so that we can use our voices for good in this world. Let us speak out against injustice and tyranny. But let us also speak out in love and compassion. Most of us let us speak the words you put in our mouths so that we may proclaim your truth and your love. We ask this in Jesus’ Name. Amen.

 

 

9 Pentecost

August 2, 2020

 

Matthew 14.13-21

 

 

+ One of the things I have been missing greatly during coronavirus has been the suppers after our Wednesday night Mass.

 

Those meals meant so much to me and to so many people here at St. Stephen’s.

 

And I miss them.

 

I miss the camaraderie and the discussions we had over those meals.

 

I miss that feeling of laughing and eating and enjoying each other on Wednesday nights.

 

Those meals were truly extensions of our Wednesday night Eucharist.

 

They were much a part of our liturgy as anything else.

 

So much bonding and ministry and companionship occurred during those meals.

 

And, as I said, I miss them greatly.

 

Those Wednesday night meals remind me so much of the meal we find our Gospel reading for today.

 

In our Gospel reading for today, we also find  an incredible meal—a meaningful meal.  

 

We have a miracle involving food.

 

But we realize that like any truly magical culinary experience that there is more involved here than just the sharing of food.

 

There is something deeper, something more meaningful.

 

What we find happening today is something very familiar to us who follow Jesus.

This so-called feeding of the multitudes appears frequently in the Gospel readings.

 

Six times, actually.

 

You know, then, that it is an important event in the lives of those early followers of Jesus if they are going to write about it six times.

 

For us, this feeding of the multitude also has much meaning.

 

Yes, it is a great miracle in the life of Jesus.

 

But it also has meaning in our lives as well.

 

If you listen closely to what is happening in the reading you’ll notice that, in many ways, we reenact what happens in today’s Gospel in our own lives as Christians.

 

If you look closely, Jesus doesn’t just perform some outstanding miracle just to “wow” the crowds.

 

He also performs a very practical act.

 

And, as often happens in the life of Jesus, the practical and the spiritual get bound up with each other.

 

In our reading we find Jesus saying of the bits of bread and fish, “Bring them here to me.”

 

Then he proceeds to do four things.

 

 He takes the bread and fish, he blesses it, he breaks the bread and he gives it to them. He takes, blesses, breaks and gives.

 

That’s important to remember.

 

When else do we hear and do these things?

 

Well, at every Eucharist we celebrate together.

 

Every time we gather at this altar, we take, we bless, we break and we give.

 

Of course, we commemorate the Last Supper when we do these things, but certainly, in the early Church, those early followers of Jesus remembered all those moments when Jesus shared food with them as kinds of Eucharistic events, since essentially the same actions took place at each.

 

They also saw these meals—these moments when Jesus fed people—as glimpses to what awaited us.

 

And we do too.

 

You have heard me say many, many times that when I talk of the Kingdom of God, I imagine a meal.

 

The Kingdom of God is truly a meal—a wonderful meal with friends.

 

It is a meal in which the finest foods are served, the best wines are uncorked and everyone—everyone, no matter who they are—is treated as an honored guest.

 

And everyone IS invited.

 

Of course, some don’t have to come, but everyone is invited to this meal.

 

In a sense, that is the very reason I hold the Eucharist to be so important to my own personal and spiritual life.

 

What we celebrate at this altar is a glimpse of what awaits us all.

 

What we do here is a moment in which we get to see what the Kingdom of God is really like.

 

But what all of this—the feeding of the multitude, the Eucharist, the Kingdom as a meal—shows us as well is the way forward to doing ministry.

 

How do we bring the Kingdom of God into our midst, as we are told to do as followers of Jesus?

 

We do it by taking, blessing, breaking and giving.

 

In our case, we do this with the ministry we have been given to do.

 

We take what is given us to share.

 

We bless it, by asking God’s blessing on it.

 

We break it, because only by breaking it can we share it.

 

And we give it.

 

This is what each of us is called to do in our ministries, in our service to those around us.

 

The Eucharist is the basis—the ground work or the blueprints—on what we should be doing as followers of Jesus.

 

Our ministries call us to feed those who are hungry.

 

Yes, to feed the physically hungry, but also to feed the spiritually hungry, the emotionally hungry, the socially hungry, as well.

 

We are called to take of our very selves, to bless ourselves, to break ourselves to share and to give of ourselves.

 

Just as Jesus did.

 

It’s not easy.

 

It’s not fun.

 

There is nothing fun in being broken.

 

I can tell you that in all honesty from my own experience.

 

In fact, oftentimes, it’s painful and tiring and exhausting to take, break and share.

 

We, as a country, we as a church, know what it is to be broken right now.

 

This pandemic has broken us.

 

We are not the same as we were before.

 

But the pandemic has not defeated us.

 

I remind us all that, even during the pandemic, two masses a week continued to be celebrated in this church.

 

We did baptisms and funerals and even a wedding during this time.

 

We still met, even if it was through a camera and virtual social media.

 

In fact the number of people who join us through social media is amazing.

 

See, even in the midst of brokenness, we find wholeness.

 

That is the weird paradox of our faith sometimes.

 

That is the amazing aspect of what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

 

God ALWAYS provides for us.

 

This is how the Kingdom is proclaimed sometimes.

 

And even in a pandemic, we are still able to let people know this one simple fact—there is a meal awaiting us and everyone.

 

EVERYONE, is invited.

 

We are to be the invitation to the meal.

 

And we do this best by showing people what the meal will be like.

 

We take, we bless, we break and we give of ourselves, freely and without limit, without qualm, without complaint.

 

We give freely without prejudice or distinction.

 

Yes, I know—it is a radical thought to think of such things.

 

But, so is feeding a multitude of people in abundance from just a bit of bread and two fish.

 

So, let us do as Jesus does.

 

Let us embody that meal to which we are all invited.

 

Let us take with us what we gain from the meal we share here at this altar.

 

And let us, in turn, bless, break and give to all those around us in need.

 

There is an incredible meal awaiting us.

 

We are catching a glimpse of it here this morning.

 

We who feed here this morning on what may appear to some to be little, will be filled. And those whom we feed in turn will also be filled.

 

"Give them something to eat,” Jesus is saying to us.

 

How can we not do just that?

 

Let us pray.

Holy and life-giving God, even in lean times you provide much for your children who trust in you. As we follow your son Jesus, help us to do what he does. Bless us as we take, break, bless and give of all you give us. And let us all be filled we ask this in the holy Name of Jesus. Amen.

 

 

8 Pentecost

July 26, 2020
1 Kings 3.5-12; Romans 8.26-39; Matthew 13.31-33, 44-52
+ If you are on any kind of social media, you have no doubt seen videos of the so-called “Karen” syndrome.
These “Karens” are a real phenomenon in our country right now.
Maybe you’ve encountered them in your own life.
Or maybe you’ve been on the receiving end of a Karen.
Wikipedia defines a “Karen” as “pejorative term used…for a woman perceived as entitled or demanding beyond the scope of what is appropriate or necessary. A common stereotype is that of a white woman who uses her privilege to demand her own way at the expense of others. Depictions also include demanding to "speak to the manager", anti-vaccination beliefs (sometimes in favor of the unproven medical use of essential oils), being racist... As of 2020, the term was increasingly being used as a general-purpose term of disapproval for middle-aged white women.
Wikipedia goes on to say this about Karens:
“During the COVID-19 pandemic, the term was used to describe women abusing Asian-American health workers due to the virus's origins in China, those hoarding essential supplies such as toilet paper, and both those who policed others' behavior to enforce quarantine and those who protested the continuance of the restrictions because they prevented them visiting hair salons, prompting one critic to ask whether the term had devolved into an all-purpose term for middle-aged white women. Use of the term increased from 100,000 mentions on social media in January 2020 to 2.7 million in May 2020.”
I want to stress that this is not only an issue about women.
There is also a male counterpart for Karen.
The videos of Karens and their male counter[arts which are called “Kevins” are often people who are suspicious of people of different colors, or younger people, or people who make life miserable for everyone else because they reffuse to follow the rules.
They are complainers, the ones who feel they have a right to say or do anything they please without worrying about the consequences of those words or actions.
They are the ones who believe that what their opinions or what they believe is more important than anyone’s else opinions or beliefs.
I had an interesting discussion just yesterday with a good friend of mine about why these Karens and Kens are so prominent now.
This is what I think:
“Karens and Kevins, deep down, know that their way of life is dying rapidly. It is not white, straight, evangelical Christian America anymore (not that it ever really was) and that scares them. And they are desperate. They are really scared. They are acting out in droves right because of these underlying issues.
“Fear is eating away at the Karens and Kevins of our society. And we are seeing how that fear can be destructive.”

It’s about control—and the fact that there are losing their perceived control in this world.
And they are afraid.
And because they are, the rest of us have to pay.
But, let’s face it, Karens and Kevins don’t have the market cornered on fear.
No matter where you are politically or religiously or personally, there’s a lot fear at work in our lives right now. .
Real fear.
You can cut it with a knife, it’s that REAL.
But what is most shocking to me is how so much fear, so much anxiety, so much darkness, can come forth from some seemingly small, other-wise  insignificant actions.
It doesn’t take much to fan the flames of fear anymore.
It doesn’t take much stoke the fire of our personal and collective anxiety.
A car parked too closely to another in a parking lot.
A simple phone call.
A tweet. 
Which is a reminder to all of us: it is not the big things we sometimes need to fear.
It not always the Pandemic and the secret mercenaries that really get our fear factors going—though that’s pretty frightening.
Sometimes—more often than not—it is the small things that affect us most.
In our Gospel for this morning, we heard the Kingdom of God being compared to several small things: mustard, yeast, treasure, pearls and fish.
The gist of these parables is that something small can make a difference.
Something small can actually be worth much.
As I pondered this these last few days, I realized that Jesus really is, as always, VERY right on with this.
When we do a bit of good—like planting a little bitty mustard seed—a lot of good can come forth.
But, as I said, we also realize that a little bit of bad can also do much bad.
A little bit of fear can grow into something out of control.
And I’m not just talking about the news and the government. Or the President
We all live with various forms of fear.
Fear of the future.
Fear of change.
Fear of things that are different, or strange, or that don’t fit into our confining understanding of things.
Our fear of these kind of things can be crippling.
We sow the small seeds of fear that grow into larger ugly plants of fear when we when wallow in that fear, when we let fear grow and flourish into a huge, overwhelming weed.
When we let fear reign, when we let it run roughshod through our lives, we seebitterness and anger following.
We become the “Karens” and the “Kevins” of our world.
We become bitter, complaining, nitpicky people who by doing so, expose our own fear and privilege.
Our reading from the Hebrew scriptures is a great example of how we should respond to issues of fear.
In our reading from the 1 Kings, we find God telling King Solomon that anything he asks will be granted.
This would be something most of us really would want God to say to us as well.
If God spoke to you and told you that anything you prayed for would be granted, what would you ask for?
I know a few things I would ask for.
And most of those things we ask would be normal.
But Solomon doesn’t ask for the normal things, if you notice.
Solomon asks God for the gift of understanding.
And that is the gift God grants Solomon.
And us too!
When we ask for the gift of understanding, God usually seems to grant it.
As long as we are open to the gift.
The fact is, most of us aren’t open to understanding.
We are too set in our ways, into believing we know what is right or what is wrong.
But when we ask, when we open ourselves to this gift, God gives us the Holy Spirit. 
And how do we know when the Holy Spirit is given to us?
We know the work of the Holy Spirit, by the Spirit’s fruits.
Those fruits blossom into real, tangible signs.
But when we resist the Spirit, when we resist the movement of God, we find ourselves trapped—in fear, in bitterness, in anger.
But it is not an option for us as Christians to be stuck and trapped in fear. 
How can we fear when we hear Paul say to us in his letter to the Romans:
“if God is for us, who is against us.”
We cannot let fear rule our lives.
After all, “Who will separate us from the love of Christ?”
Will any of the hardships of life be able to defeat us or separate us from the love of God?
Will pandemics r secret mercenary police or the Kevins and Karens of this world separate us from God’s love?  
“No, in all these things we are conquerors through him who loved us.”
Nothing—not “death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, not things to come, not powers, not height, not depth, not anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
(By the way, I am convinced that this might be the most powerful scripture we have as Christians!)
After all, when we get stuck in fear, when we let ourselves be separated from the love of God in our lives, that is when we hinder the Kingdom.
It prevents the harvest from happening.
It prevents growth from happening.
It makes the Church—and us—not a vital, living place proclaiming God’s loving and living and accepting Presence.
It makes us into the Karens and Kevins of this world.
Our job is to banish fear so the Kingdom can flourish.
The flourishing of the kingdom can be frightening.
Like the mustard seed, it can be overwhelming.
Because when the Kingdom of God flourishes, it flourishes beyond our control.
We can’t control that flourishing.
All we can do is plant the seeds and tend the growth as best we can.
Rooting our endeavors in God’s love is a sure guarantee that what is planted will flourish.
Because rooting our endeavors in God’s love means we are rooting our endeavors in a living, vital Presence.
We are rooting them in a wild God who knows no bounds, who knows no limits and who cannot be controlled by us.
Rooting our endeavors in God’s love means that our job is simply to go with God and the growth that God brings about wherever and however that growth may happen.
When we do, God banishes our fears.
So, let us help God’s Kingdom flourish!
To be righteous does not mean being good and sweet and nice and right all the time.
To be righteous one simply needs to further the harvest of the Kingdom by doing what those of us who follow Jesus do.
It means seeking understanding from God.
It means to plant the good small seeds.
And in those instances when we fail, we must allow the mustard seed of the Kingdom to flourish.
And when we do strive to do good and to further the kingdom of God, then will we being doing what Jesus commands us to do.
The Kingdom will flourish and we can take some joy in knowing that we helped, working with God, to make it flourish.
And, in that wonderful, holy moment, we will know the fruits of our efforts.
And we—like the kingdom of which we are citizens—we will also truly flourish!
Let us pray.Holy and loving God, plant in us the seeds of your love so that your love will flourish within us and in all whom we encounter in this world; we ask this in the holy name of Jesus. Amen.

7 Pentecost

July 19, 2020
Matthew 13.24-30;36-43
+ Annette Morrow is attending Mass this morning.
And I know she wouldn’t mind me telling people that she, on a very regular basis, utilizes the Sacrament of Confession  with me, usually at our regular confessional, HoDo downtown.

She will also tell you that I’m bound by this wonderful thing called the “seal of confession.”
It’s good thing.
It means that anything anyone confesses to me stays “under the stole.”
It stays with me.
I can’t tell anyone what has been confessed to me.
But, someone—a parishioner—recently confessed something to me recently that truly shocked me.
And I am going to share it with you.
Don’t worry. I’m not a horrible priest standing before you.
I asked this parishioner if I could share this shocking confession with all of you.
This parishioner, for some bizarre reason I will never understand, confessed me to me that she---sigh—did not “get” my poetry.
Did not “get” my poetry!
She actually said, “It’s so Zen!”
What does that mean?!?
Is Zen a bad thing?
Ok, yes, it might be a bit esoteric, shall we say?
But, if this parishioner thought I was being esoteric, I wonder what she thought of Jesus’s parables.
Let’s talk about esoteric.
That word esoteric mean belonging to an inner circle
In other words, it means that only a  small number of people get it.
Because, in our Gospel readings at this time of the year, we’re getting a good many parables.
Oh no, you’re probably thinking to yourself.
More  parables from Jesus!
Some of us really enjoy the parables.
I enjoy the parables!
But, let’s face it, most people feel a certain level of frustration when they come across them.
After all, we, as a society, aren’t comfortable with such things.
Yes, we love our “typical” stories.
We love to hear a good story that really captures our imagination—a story we can retell to others.
But, for the most part, we like them for purely entertainment reasons.
We like stories that are straightforward.
A story with a beginning, a middle and an end.
We don’t want to think too deeply about these stories.
We want something simple and clear.
“Why couldn’t Jesus just tell us what he was thinking?” we might say to ourselves. “Why did he have to tell us these difficult riddles that don’t have anything to do with us?”
Of course, even by saying that we  miss the point completely.
The fact is, when we start talking about God and God’s work among us, we are dealing with issues that are never simple or clear.
 To put it bluntly, there is no simple and clear way to convey the truth of the Gospel.
That is why Jesus spoke in Parables.
The word parable comes from the word “parabola,” which can be defined as “comparison” or “reflection.”
“Relationship” is probably the better definition of the word.
When we look at Jesus’ parables with that definition—reflection, comparison, relationship—they start to make even more sense to us.
These stories Jesus told then—and which we hear now—are all about comparison.
For example, the Kingdom of God.
This Kingdom is difficult for us to wrap our minds around—are we talking about heaven, some otherworldly place? or are we talking about the kingdom of God in our midst?
(Jesus talks about both actually)
The parables help explain all of that in a way those first hearers could understand.
Jesus spoke in parables simply because the people he was speaking to would not have understood any type deep theological explanations.
Jesus used the images they would have known.
He met the people where they were, and accepted them for who they were.
He didn’t try to change them.
He didn’t force them to adopt something they couldn’t comprehend.
He just met them where they were and spoke to them in ways they would understand.
When he talked that day of a mustard seed, for example, and what it grows into, when he talks of yeast being mixed into dough, when he speaks of a treasure hidden in a field or of a merchant looking for fine pearls, those people understood these images.
They could actually wrap their minds around the fact that something as massive as a bush of mustard can come from such a small seed.
They understood that something as simple as a small amount of yeast worked into dough will make something large and substantial.
Yes, they could say, even with the smallest amount of faith in our lives, glorious thing can happen.
That is the message they were able to take away from Jesus that day.
So, these parables worked for those people who were listening to Jesus, but—we need to ask ourselves—does it work for us, here and now?
Does this comparison of the kingdom of heaven being like someone sowing good seed in a field  seed make sense to us?
Do we fully appreciate these images?
First of all, we need to establish what is the kingdom of God?
Is it that place that is awaiting us in the next world?
Is it heaven?
Is it the place we will go to when we die?
Or is it something right here, right now.
Certainly, Jesus believed it was all of those things and certainly believed it was something we could actually experience here and now.
Or, at least, we experience a glimpse of it here and now.
Over and over again, Jesus tells us that the kingdom of God can be found within each of us.
We carry inside us the capability to bring God’s kingdom into being.
We do it through what we do and what we say.
We do it planting good seed, as we hear in today’s Gospel.
We can bring the kingdom about when we strive to do good, to act justly, to bring God into the world in some small way.
The kingdom of God is here—alive and present among us—when we love God and love our neighbor as ourselves.
Yes, the good seed represents our faith, but it also represents in some way, those small actions we make to further the Kingdom.
Those little things we do in our lives will make all the difference.
 Even the smallest action on our part can bring forth the kingdom of God in our lives and in the lives of those we know.
But those small actions—those little seeds that we sow in our lives—can also bring about not only God’s kingdom but the exact opposite of God’s Kingdom.
Our smallest bad actions, can destroy the kingdom in our midst and drive us further away from God and each other.
See, bad seeds.
I think we all have experienced what bad seeds do to people and to the Church and to our world.  
When we act arrogantly or presumptuously, when we act in a conceited manner, or even when we intend to be helpful and end up riding roughshod over others also trying to do good, we show bad seeds.
When we are racist or when we promote fear or division we are bad seeds.
What grows from a small seed like this is a flowering tree of hurt and despair and anger and bitterness and division.
So, it is true.
Those seeds we sow do make a huge difference in the world.
We get to make the choice.
We can sow seeds of goodness and graciousness—seeds of the Gospel.
We can sow the seeds of God’s kingdom.
Or we can sow the seeds of discontent.
We can, through our actions, sow the weeds and thistles that will kill off the harvest.
We forget about how important the small things in life are—or more importantly we forget how important the small things in life are to God.
God does take notice of the small things.
We have often heard the term “the devil is in the details.”
But I can’t help but believe that it is truly God who is in the details.
God works just as mightily through the small things of life as through the large.
And in that way WE become the good seeds, that Jesus is talking about in today’s Gospel.
We may not seem like much.
But when we do good, we do much good, and when we do bad, we do much bad.
This is what Jesus is telling us in the parable of the good and bad seeds.
So let us take notice of the small things.
It is there we will find our faith—it is there we will find God.
And when we do, we will truly shine like the sun in the kingdom of our God. 
It is in those small places that God’s kingdom flourishes in our lives.
So, let us be mindful of those smallest seeds we sow in our lives.
Let us remind ourselves that sometimes what we produce can either be a wonderful and glorious tree or a painful, hurtful weed.
Let us sow God’s love from the smallest ounce of faith.
Let us further the kingdom of God’s love in whatever seemingly small way we can.
And then let it flower and flourish and become a great treasure in our life before God.
Let us pray.Holy and loving God, you are the giver of life and you sustain us throughout all our days; we ask you to let us sow the seeds of goodness and righteous—the seeds of your holy kingdom—in this world, through all we do and say, and as we do, let us find you, the living God; we ask this in the name of Jesus our Lord. Amen.