Jamie Parsley's Blog, page 9

6 Pentecost

 

Baptism of James WilliamStalboerger

June 30, 2024

Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15; 2:23-24; Mark 5.21-43

+ I once had a Homileticsclass in which the students were told not to make the pulpit into aconfessional.

Meaning, don’tget up and tell people all your faults and failings.

I have failedmiserably at that over the years.

I often bring upmy vices, because it’s important for all of us to know that we’re in this thingcalled life together.

None of us areperfect, not even those of who are called and ordained.

Even we ordained peoplehave vices.

Well, exceptmaybe for Deacon Suzanne.

One of my biggestvices is. . . .wait for it.  . . . impatience.

I know. You’reall surprised by that one aren’t you?

Well, I admit it.

There are timeswhen I want certain things—and I want them NOW.

Not tomorrow.

Not in some vaguefuture.

NOW!

But for me I havenever liked waiting.

Waiting is one ofthe worst things I can imagine.

For me, if therewas a hell and I was sent there, it would be a place in which I would donothing else but wait. Forever.  For alleternity.

Hell for me woulda waiting room in which one waits and waits and waits.

And while I wait,my anxiety grows. And my anger grows. Andthere’s nothing I can do about nay ofit. See…..hell.

Still, impatientas I am, ultimately I know that waiting and being patient is a good thing sometimes.

The fact is, wecan’t rush these things.

Things happen intheir due course.

Not OUR course.

Not MY course!

But the propercourse.

God works inGod’s own time.

And this isprobably the most difficult thing for us. 

It certainly isfor me.

Impatience is actuallypresent in our Gospel reading for today, but in a more subtle way.

Our reading fromthe Gospel today also teaches us an important reflection on our own impatienceand waiting.

We have twothings going on.

We have Jairus,the leader of the synagogue, who has lost his daughter, even though he doesn’tknow it yet.

While Jairus ispleading with Jesus to heal his daughter, we encounter this unnamed woman whohas been suffering with a hemorrhage for twelve years—twelve years!—isdesperate.

She wantshealing.

I can tell you inall honesty that as I read and reflected and lived with this Gospel readingthis past week,  I could relate.  

I can relate toJairus, who is being touched with the darkness of death in his life.

And when I readof the woman with a hemorrhage grasping at the hem of Jesus’ garment, I couldcertainly empathize with her impatience and her grasping.

Many of us haveknown the anguish of Jairus.

We have known theanguish and pain of watching someone we love fade away and die.

And many of usknow the pain of that woman.

We often findourselves bleeding deeply inside with no possible hope for relief.

And can youimagine how long she must’ve lived with this?

For us, as werelate, that “bleeding” might not be an actual bleeding, but a bleeding of ourspirit, of our hopes and dreams, of a deep emotional or spiritual wound thatjust won’t heal, or just our grief and sadness, which, let me tell you, canalso “bleed” away at us.  

And when we’vebeen desperate, when we find ourselves so impatient, so in need of a change, wefind ourselves clutching at anything—at any little thing.

We clutch evenfor a fringe of the prayer shawl of the One whom God sends to us in those darkmoments.

When we do, wefind, strangely, God’s healing.

And in this storyof Jarius’ daughter, I too felt that moment in which I felt separated from theloved ones in my life—by death, yes, of course.

But also when Ifelt that a distance was caused by estrangement or anger.

And when I havebegged for healing for them and for myself, it has often come.

But it has comein God’s own time.

Not in mine.

It is a matter ofsimply,  sometimes waiting.

For Jairus, hedidn’t have to wait long.

For the woman, ittook twelve years.

But in bothcases, it did come.

Still, I admit, Icontinue to be impatient.

But, resurrectioncomes in many forms in our lives and if we wait them out these moments willhappen.

And not allimpatience is bad.

It is all rightto be impatient—righteously impatient—for justice, for the right thing to bedone.

It is all rightto be impatient for injustice and lying and deceit to be brought to light andbe revealed.

And dealt with.

It is all rightto be impatient for the right thing to be done in this world.

But we cannot letour impatience get in the way of seeing that miracles continue to happen in our lives and in the lives of thosearound us.

I know, because Ihave seen it again and again and, not only in my own life, but in the lives ofothers.

We know that inGod, we find our greatest consolation.

Our God ofjustice and compassion and love will provide and will win out ultimately overthe forces of darkness that seem, at times, to prevail in our lives.  

Knowing that,reminding ourselves of all that we are able to be strengthened and sustainedand rejuvenated.

We are able toface whatever life may throw at us with hope and, sometimes, even joy.

We are not in thatweird, made-up hell I have imagined for myself.

At some point,the doors of what seems like that eternal waiting room will be opened.

And we will becalled forward.

And all will bewell.

That is whatscripture and our faith in God tell us again and again.

That is how Godworks in this world and in our lives.

In our impatience,we sometimes see glimpses of God’s goodness and love.

We certainly seeit today in sweet James as he is washed in the waters of baptism.

We see it in the amazinglife he is about to enter into.

We see it in thejoy we feel as we celebrate his new birth.

So, let us clingto this hope and find true strength in it.

True strength toget us through those impatient moments in our lives when we want darkness anddeath and injustice and pain behind us.  

Let us be trulypatient for our God.  

Because, if wedo, those words of Jesus to the woman today will be words directed to us aswell:

“your faith has made you well;

go in peace;

be healed.”

 

5 Pentecost

 

June 23, 2024

 

Job 38.1-11;Mark 4.35-41

 

 

+I have always been fascinated by weather.

 

Especiallystorms.

 

Blizzards.

 

Tornados.

 

Ieven wrote a book about a tornado.

 

Asmany of you know, I wrote a book, which published back in 2010, about thetornado that struck Fargo on June 20, 1957.

 

Thebook is entitled Fargo, 1957.

 

Istruggled for along time as I was writing that book and afterward to make senseof this event.

 

Asa Christian, as a priest, I had to ask myself: why?

 

Whydid this happen?

 

Whydid this happen to these people?

 

Thesepeople were people just like you and me.

 

Theywoke up that morning—to a hot, June morning in Fargo, North Dakota—just likeany other day.

 

Andthen, a storm came and uprooted their entire lives in a matter of moments.

 

Severalyears ago, I read a book called TheNew Christians by Tony Jones. 

 

Inthis book, Jones has probably one of the best contemporary definitions oftheology.

 

Hewrites:

 

“Theology…speaksdirectly of God. And anytime human beings talk of God, they’re necessarily alsogoing to talk about their own experience of God.”

 

Jonesthen goes on to define theology more succinctly.

 

Hewrites, “theology is talk about the nexus of divine and human action.”

 

Ilike that definition very much.

 

(andI love that word “nexus”).

 

“Buttheology isn’t just talk,” Jones adds. “When we paint scenes from the Bible orwhen we write songs about Jesus or when we compose poems about God or when wewrite novels about the human struggle with meaning, we are ‘doing theology.’”

 

So,essentially, our entire lives are all about “doing theology.”

 

Allwe do as followers of Jesus is essentially “doing theology.”

 

AsI pondered our reading today from the Gospel of Mark and that reading from Job inwhich God speaks from the whirlwind, , I found myself “doing theology” by re-examiningthe storms of my own life in the light of that scripture.

 

Weall have them.

 

Weall have our own storms in this life.

 

Weall have our own chaos.

 

Andthey are disruptive.

 

Andthey can be destructive.

 

So,the question to ask of ourselves this morning is: What is God saying to us whenthe storms invade our lives?

 

Whatdo we do in the windstorms of our lives, when we feel battered and beaten andbashed?

 

Well,as I have been “doing theology” on that Gospel reading and on that book I wroteall that times ago, one glaring, honest reality of my life came forth:

 

Sometimes—notalways—but sometimes, when the storms of my own life came, I was the oneresponsible for many of those storms.

 

I’mnot talking about tornados, or natural events that just happen.

 

I’mtalking about the storms that come into my life and just disrupt everything.

 

Sometimes,there was no one to blame for some of these storms but myself.

 

Andmore often than not, the storms of my own life were caused by own violentbehavior.

 

Now,yes, I know.

 

Ipreach often about my non-violence.

 

AndI have worked hard, I have strived hard for non-violence in the world.

 

ButI have realized over the last several years that working for non-violence meansridding violence in all forms from one’s own life.

 

Onemust have a firm foundation of non-violence in one’s own life before seeking itfrom the larger world (this is a major tenet of Gandhi’s non-violence).

 

Iwas reminded of the violence in my own life by a book I read by the Buddhistteacher Noah Levine, called RefugeRecovery.

 

Levinewrites,

 

“Harshspeech, dirty looks, obscene gestures and [angry and] offensive texts ande-mails are…subtle forms of violence. Our communications have power, theability to cause harm or harmony.”

 Hegoes on,

 

“wemust strive to abstain from creating more negativity in this world” because bydoing so we contribute to the negativity in this world.

 

“Violentactions have violent…consequences., and that…could manifest as…guilt, [anger,]shame and self-hatred…”

 

Thatpassage from the book shook me to my core.

 

Idid not want to admit to violence in my life much less to the fact that Isometimes contributed to the violence of this world by my own negativity sometimes.

 

Andlet me tell you I have definitely contributed to it from those seemingly small,knee-jerk reactions.

 

Thesnide comments.

 

Theangry text or email or Facebook response.

 

Amean-spirited eye-roll.

 

Thegesture in traffic.  

 

Butthe ripple effects of these seemingly innocent gestures in my life werecertainly chaotic not only in my life, but possible in the lives of others.

 

Theseacts of small or simple violence more often than not were enough to add to thebrewing storms of my own life—and possibly to other’s lives as well..

 

Ihave, in fact, created storms in my life, then found myself blaming others forthose storms.

 

So,when we hear scriptures like this today, as we experience our own storms in ourlives, what do we do?

 

Howdo we respond?

 

Dowe let the winds blow, let the chaos rage?

 

Ordo we, in those moments, calm ourselves and listen?

 

Dowe strain against the wind of the storm and listen to hear the Voice of God?

 

Thefact is, if we do so, trust me: we will hear God’s voice.

 

Ifwe turn our spiritual ears toward God, we will hear God, even in thoseself-made storms in our lives.

 

Whenbad things happen in our lives, we ask, Why do bad things happen to those of uswho are faithful to God?

 

Whydo our lives get turned upside down?

 

Wewant answers when we shout our angry questions of unfairness into the storm,our first raised.

 

Sometimes,when we do, the Voice in the wind only throws it all back at us with morequestions, just as God did in our reading today from Job.

 

 Just when we want answers, we find morequestions and we ourselves are forced to find the answers withinourselves. 

 

But,sometimes the Voice answering back from the wind with questions, is a voicemore succinct.

 

Sometimesit is a more potent question, a pointblank question to us.

 

Sometimesthe voice from the wind—as we shake with fear or anger (or both) and hold onfor dear life during those frightening storms—asks us bluntly:

 

“Whyare you afraid? Have you still no faith?”

 

Whyfear the whirlwinds and all that they unleash upon us?

 

Whyeven create them in the first place?

 

Havewe no faith?

 

Againand again through the scriptures God commands us, in various voices, “do not beafraid.”

 

“Donot be afraid.”

 

Andstill we fear.

 

Andour fear causes anger.

 

Andour anger causes storms.

 

Butthe message is that although the storms of our lives will rage around us, whenwe stop fearing, those storms are quieted.

 

Becausesometimes the voice that comes out of the storms of our lives is not asking aquestion of us.

 

Sometimesthe voice that comes out of the storms of our lives commands,

 

“Peace!Be Still!”

 

“Peace!”

 

Thatwonderful, soothing word that truly does settle and soothe.

 

“Bestill!”

 

Inthat calm stillness, we feel God’s Presence most fully and completely.

 

Asdisoriented as we might be from being buffeted by the storm, that stillness canalmost be as disorienting as the storms themselves.

 

Still,in it, we find Jesus, calm and collected, awaiting us to have faith, to shedour fears and to allow him to still the storms of our lives.

 

So,in those moments when we stir up the forces of our anger, when the whirlwindsrage, when the storms come up, when the skies turn dark and ominous, when fearbegins lurking at our doors and anger jostles us around, let us strain towardthat Voice that asks us,

 

“Whyare you afraid? Have you still no faith?”

 

Donot fear.

 

Havefaith.

 

Godloves us.

 

Godwill not leave alone even in the storms of our lives.

 

Inmidst of even the worst whirlwinds of our lives, there is a stillness dwellingin its core.

 

Andwhile the storms rage, as violence goes on unleashed in the form of anger andfear, in the form of awful stories in the news and social media and people onthe street or in our own lives, we can choose non-violence as our option.

 

Wecan choose not to contribute to the storms.

 

Andwe can live!

 

Andnot just live.

 

Butflourish!

 

4 Pentecost

 

June 16, 2024

Ezekiel17.22-24; 2 Corinthians 5.6-17; Mark 4.26-34

 

+ I tryhard not to do this to you.

 

Ihate to start your Sunday out with, of all things, a poem.

 

Actually,it’s only a fragment of a poem.

 

Butstill….it’s a poem.

 

Andnot just any poem either.

 

No,this poem is a poem from, of all people, a Chilean Communist.

 

Butit is one of my favorite poems.

 

Itis called “Oda al átamo” or “Ode to the Atom.”

 

Infinitesimal

star,

youseemed

forever

buried

inmetal, hidden,

yourdiabolic

fire.

Oneday

someoneknocked

atyour tiny

door:

itwas man .

Withone

explosion

heunchained you,

yousaw the world,

youcame out

intothe daylight,

youtraveled through

cities,

yourgreat brilliance

illuminatinglives,

youwere a

terriblefruit

ofelectric beauty…

[Then]came

thewarrior

andseduced you:

sleep,

hetold you,

curlup,

atom,you resemble

aGreek god…

inspringtime,

liedown here

onmy fingernail,

climbinto this little box,

andthen the warrior

putyou in his jacket

asif you were nothing but

aNorth American

pill,

andtraveled through the world

anddropped you

onHiroshima.

 

Thispoem was written by one of my all-time favorite poets—a poet no doubt you’veheard me quote before and, trust me, you will hear me quote again and again—PabloNeruda.

 

Andthis fragment of the poem just touches a bit on what something as small as anatom can do.

 

Anatom—that smallest of all things—can, when it is unleashed, do such horrendousdamage.

 

Ittruly can be, as Neruda said, 

 

a

terriblefruit

ofelectric beauty…

 

Ifthe people of Jesus’ day knew what atoms where, he would no doubt would’ve usedthe atom instead as a symbol of the Kingdom of God,

 

Butrather, what we find today in our Gospel reading is Jesus comparing the Kingdomof God to the smallest thing they could’ve understood.

 

Amustard seed.

 

Asmall, simple mustard seed.

 

Somethingthey no doubt knew.

 

And something they no doubt gave little thought to. But it was with thissimple image—this simple symbol—that Jesus makes clear to those listening thatlittle things do matter.

 

And we, as followers of Jesus, need to take heed of that.

 

Little things DO matter.

 

Because little things can unleash BIG things.

 

Even the smallest action on our part can bring forth the kingdom of Godin our lives and in the lives of those we serve.

 

But those small actions—those little seeds that we sow in our lives—canalso bring about not only God’s kingdom but the exact opposite.

 

Our smallest bad actions, can, destroy.

 

Our actions can destroy the kingdom in our midst and drive us furtheraway from God.

 

Any of us who do ministry on a regular basis know this keenly.

 

You will hear me say this again and again to anyone who wants to doministry: be careful about those small actions.

 

You’ve heard me say: when it comes to dealing with people in the church,use VELVET GLOVES.

 

Be sensitive to others.

 

Those small words or actions.

 

Those little criticisms of people who are volunteering.

 

Those little snips and moments of impatience.

 

That impatient tone in a voice.

 

Those moments of frustration at someone who doesn’t quite “get it” orwho simply can’t do it.

 

“Use velvet gloves all the time,” I say, and I mean it.

 

None of us can afford to lose anyone from the church, no matter how bigthe church might be.

 

Even one lost person is a huge loss to all of us.

 

I cannot tell you how many times I hear stories about clergy or lay leaderswho said or did one thing wrong and it literally destroyed a person’s faith.

 

I’m sure almost everyone here this morning has either experienced asituation like this first hand with a priest or pastor or a fellow parishioner.

 

Or if not you, you have known someone close who has.

 

A good friend of mine who doesn’t attend church anymore shared thisstory with me once.

 

This person was very active in her parish (NOT St. Stephen’s!),especially when her kids were young.

 

She was active on the altar guild, in Sunday School, helped organize theannual parish rummage sale, but especially liked to help out in the kitchen.

 

She and another parishioner decided one day to volunteer to thoroughlyclean the church kitchen, from top to bottom.

 

After a whole day of hard work, they stood back to survey the work theydid and admire the “spic and span” kitchen.

 

It was at that moment that one of the matriarchs of the parish happenedto enter the kitchen.

 

She proceeded to carefully examine the newly cleaned kitchen.

 

Finally, she humphed and, as she exited the kitchen, she loudlyproclaimed, “Well, your ‘spic and span’ kitchen isn’t very ‘spic and span!’”

 

That was all it took.

 

Within a year of that comment neither of those women, both of whom wereinvaluable workers in that parish, were attending church anymore.

 

And not just them.

 

But their children too.

 L

uckily, I still have contact with them both.

 

In fact, I’m still very close with them and their families.

 

I have performed weddings and baptisms for those now-grown kids.

 

I have done funerals for their parents.

 

But those families are not attending church anywhere this morning.

 

And probably never will again.

 

Now, sometimes remarks by priests or parishioenrs are innocent comments.

 

There may have been no bad intention involved.

 

But one wrong comment—one wrong action—a cold shoulder or an exhaustedroll of the eyes or a scolding or the tone of a voice—the fact that a priestdid not visit us when were in the hospital or a parishioner said something thatwe took the wrong way—is all it takes when a person is in need to turn thatperson once and for all away from the church and, possibly, from God.

 

That mustard seed all of a sudden takes on a whole other meaning in acase like this.

 

What grows from a small seed like this is a flowering tree of hurt anddespair and anger and bitterness.

 

So, it is true.

 

Those seeds we sow do make a huge difference in the world.

 

Please, please, please, strive hard in your lives not to be thematriarch in that story.

 

Strive hard not be that kind of Church to people.

 

Strive hard to guard your actions and comments, to guard your tone andthe way your respond to others.

 

Because, I’ll be honest: I have done it as well.

 

I have made some stupid comments in a joking manner that was taken outof context.

 

You know me.

 

I have a big mouth and a biting wit.

 

And sometimes things I have said have been taken out of context and usedagainst me.

 

See, those mustard seeds in our lives are important.

 

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 killoff the harvest.

 

These past several years you have heard me preach ad nauseum aboutchange in the church.

 

Well, I am clear when I say that the most substantial changes we canmake in the church are not always the BIG ones.

 

Oftentimes, the most radical changes we can make are in the littlethings we do—the things we think are not important.

 

We forget about how important the small things in life are—and moreimportantly 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 throughthe large.

 

This is what Jesus is telling us this morning in this parable.

 

So, let us take notice of those small things.

 

It is there we will find our faith—our God.

 

It from that small place—those tentative attempts at growth—that God’skingdom flourishes in our lives.

 

So, let us be mindful of those smallest seeds we sow in our lives asfollowers of Jesus.

 

Let us remind ourselves that sometimes what they produce can either be awonderful and glorious tree or a painful, hurtful weed.

 

Let us sow God’s love from the smallest ounce of faith.

 

Let us truly further the kingdom of God’s love in whatever seeminglysmall ways we can.

 

 Amen.   

 

 

3 Pentecost/the 20th Anniversary of my Ordination to the Priesthood.

 June 9, 2024

 

Mark 3.20-35

 

+ There is a great scene that I often quote from a little knownfilm called Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle.

 

The movie is about the poet and humorist Dorothy Parker and herwitty intellectual friends that formed the Algonquin Round Table in 1920s.

 

Parker was known for little humorous quips like,

 

“Men seldom makes passes at girls who wear glasses.”

 

“Women and elephants never forget.”

 

Or

 

“I requite only three things of a man. He must be handsome,ruthless and stupid.”

 

At the end of the film, Parker, played by Jennifer Jason Leigh isbeing given an award.

 

After she is introduced, Parker, now aged and alcoholic, slowlymakes her way to the podium.

 

Everyone of course is expecting a witty, joke-filled speech. 

 

But as she reached the podium, she leans into the mike and says,

 

“I never thought I’d make it.”

 

She then turns and stumbles off the podium.

 

Well, today, as I celebrate the 20th anniversary of myordination to the Priesthood, I echo Dorothy Parker.

 

“I never thought I’d make it. “

 

Amen.

 

That’s my sermon for today.

 

Thank you all for coming.

 

Ok, just kidding.

 

No, there were many times when I wasn’t certain I would, in fact,“make it.”

 

Ordained ministry is—I hate to break this news to all of you—hard.

 

Really hard.

 

Sometimes excruciatingly hard.

 

And as I look back at the many people who have walked this pathwith me so far, as I look at other ordained people who have done so, there aremany who did not in fact “make it.”

 

The statistics are bleak for ordained people.

 

90% of clergy work 55 to 75 hours a week.

 

84% felt that they are on-call 24/7

 

80% believe ministry has negatively affected their families.  Pastor’s kids very rarely if ever attendchurch once they have reached adulthood.

 

65% feel they live constantly in a so-called “glass house.”

 

78% feel that their vacation and personal time is interrupted withduties and expectations.

 

90% believe that parishioners think the pastor should be able toread their minds. (I can’t read your minds, btw)

 

Only 1 out of every 10 clergy will retire as a pastor.

 

 

But, guess what?

 

I knew that going into it.

 

The Gospel reading onthe night I was ordained was Mark 10.7-16 

 

In that reading, we hearJesus say, “I am sending you as sheep into the midst of wolves; so be wise asserpents and innocent as doves.”

 

I’ve said itbefore—I’ll sat it again—that could be my motto in life.

 

I can say thatscripture has definitely been a prophecy fulfilled in my ministry.

 

When I heard thosewords twenty years ago, I had an idea of what Jesus meant.

 

Even ten years ago Iwould’ve said, I definitely knew what that meant.

 

Twenty years later, Ican say I have lived that scripture thoroughly.

 

I’ve been there, inthe midst of those wolves.

 

I have known thosewolves well

 

Some of them evenclaimed to be friends.

 

And if I have had anygift granted to me by God, it has definitely been to be wise as a serpent andinnocent as a dove.

 

Well, I don’t knowhow “wise” or “innocent” I’ve been.

 

But I’ve tried reallyhard to be wise and innocent.

 

Twenty years ago, I rememberwaiting in the vesting room of Gethsemane Cathedral in Fargo.

 

That hot night (andit WAS hot that night) I was impatient. I was biting at the bit. I wasstraining forward.

 

That ordinationcouldn’t happen fast enough.

 

And when it did, letme tell you: it was something!

 

It was incredible.

 

When the Bishop laidhands on my head, I FELT the Holy Spirit!

 

At moments, it seemslike it was just yesterday.

 

And at other moments,it seems like it was 100 years ago.

 

Twenty years ofpriestly ministry.

 

If we were going tobreak the numbers down, they would fall into place like this:

 

2,026 Masses thatI’ve celebrated.

 

That’s 2,500 sermonsI have preached.

 

That’s over a hundred baptisms

 

That’s over a hundredweddings ( just did two this past weekend).

 

And more than 250 funerals,including the burial services for my mother, two of my brothers, and many of myaunts, uncles and cousins.

 

You wonder why I maybe tired.

 

You have heard me sayit before. I will say it again a hundred times I’m sure.

 

I love being apriest.

 

I can say in allhonesty that I was meant to be a priest.

 

As sure as a wolf ismeant to hunt, or a fish to swim, I was meant to be a priest.

 

It was almost like itwas programed into me.

 

From that first day,when I heard my calling to be a priest at age 13, I knew this was what I wasmeant to do.

 

Now saying that, I’mnot saying I have been a perfect priest.

 

I was never called tobe a perfect priest.

 

I have tripped.

 

I have stumbled.

 

I have made a mistakeor two. Or 800.

 

But even then, even despitethat, somehow it’s been so good.

 

No, it hasn’t beeneasy.

 

I’ve wrestled with Bishops,fellow clergy, a stalker or two and a few people who definitely did notappreciated my particular style of ministry.

 

I have been called(by the wife of a fellow clergy person), a “devil in priest’s garb.” (Consideringthat Jesus was called “Beelzebub” in today’s Gospel, I consider myself in goodcompany with that insult).

 

I’ve been called “irreverent.”

 

I’ve been called a “heretic.”

 

I have been accusedof hubris, of not knowing my place, or simply just being a jerk.

 

And those are justsome of the nicer things.

 

But despite all ofthat, I have never once been called a bad priest.

 

Because I’m not.

 

The late great Kathy Hawkensaid to me again and again, “you’re one of the good ones.”

 

Coming from her,those words held truth and power.

 

And I have held themclose to me over the years.

 

Still, I am not apriest who suffers fools lightly.

 

And, I hate to breakthe news to you, there are a fair number of fools in the Church.

 

Some priests havebeen able to fly under the radar.

 

Not me.

 

Which is not always agood thing.

 

Being a priest likeme means being a target.

 

For better or forworse.

 

Twenty years ago, I thoughtI was prepared for the bad stuff.

 

I knew those thingsalways existed in the church.

 

After all, I did notgo into this as some doe-eyed, naïve PollyAnna.

 

I was prepared forall this vocation would give me—both good and bad.

 

When it was bad, itwas really BAD!

 

But when it was good.. . it was SOOO good!

 

It has also been atruly glorious 20 years.

 

In these twenty yearsI’ve known the beauty of grace and friendship.

 

I’ve known what itwas to be the priest in a parish of strong and caring people who truly care fortheir priest.

 

I’ve known the joysof being part of the celebrations of baptisms and weddings and the celebrationsof the good things of life.

 

I’ve enjoyed thesuppers and the parties and the births of new babies and all the othercelebrations that go along with being a priest.

 

And in each of thosemoments, I was able to witness God breaking through in wonderful and incredibleways.

 

You—all of you—have becomefamily to me.

 

I stand before youtoday, a scarred veteran priest.

 

But I stand beforeyou as priest who can still hold my head up and say, without one qualm, withoutone doubt, without hesitation:

 

I am so happy to be apriest.

 

I am so happy to beyour priest.

 

Of course, you all make it easier for me.

 

I am in a parish I love.

 

I am in a parish that I feel loves me.

 

Having said all of this, I just want to be clear: being ordaineddoesn’t make someone “special.”

 

Yes, there are perks.

 

But the fact is, we—all of us who are Christian, who are called tofollow Jesus---are ministers.

 

We are ALL called to ministry, to do the work of furthering the Kingdomof God here and now.

 

We are striving together to do the will of God.  

 

In today’s Gospel, we hear Jesus saying,

 

“Whoever doesthe will of God is my brother and my sister and my mother.”

 

What does it mean to do the will of God?

 

We know what doing the will of God is.

 

Doing the will of God is living out Jesus’ commandment to love Godand love one another.

 

Doing the will of God is loving—radically and fully andcompletely.

 

Doing the will of God is accepting all people radically andcompletely.

 

Doing the will of God is doing things that others say shouldn’t(or can’t) be done.

 

Essentially, it is being a family—the sisters and brothers ofJesus—to those who need families.

 

That is what the Church does best.

 

That is what we are all called to do in our own ministries.

 

Certainly, when we look around us here at St. Stephen’s, we dounderstand what a family is, and what Jesus is talking about in our Gospelreading for today.

 

Yes, we are an eclectic, eccentric bunch of people.

 

But, when we look around, we also realize we’re very much afamily.

 

Now, by that I don’t mean we’re all happy and nice with each otherall the times.

 

When we get this kind of variety together in one place, there aregoing to be differences.

 

There are going to be people (or priests, or deacons) who drive uscrazy.

 

But, in the end, we always come together and do what we are calledto do as followers of Jesus.

 

We are the ones who, on good days and bad, who in the face oflife’s storms or in the sunshine of our youth, we are the ones who even at thegrave, are able to rejoice and sing and say, with true conviction, “Hallelujah!Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”

 

This is what itmeans to do the will of God.

 

And by doing this, we are the brothers and sisters of Jesus.

 

And sisters and brothers to each other as well.

 

“Who are my mother and my brothers and my sisters?” we are beingasked today.

 

We are!

 

We are being Jesus’ sisters and brothers in this world by doingwhat we are called to do as followers of Jesus. 

 

So, let us be thesiblings of Jesus in this world.

 

And thank you especially for being my family—my siblings—in my lifeand ministry with you.

 

I do not know what the next or twenty years hold for me as a priest.

 

But I do hope and pray that God will always grant me people wholove me and support and endure me as you all have over these years.

 

Thank you!

Goodbye, Zandbroz

 It was a bittersweet morning as Istopped off at Zandbroz in Fargo for the last time before it closes for goodtomorrow. As I wandered through the nearly empty store, Ashley Thornberg fromPrarie Public Radio was interviewing owner Greg Danz. When she was done shealso asked me for a few words. I am not certain how eloquent I was. Butwhatever I said was certainly heartfelt. I then continued wandering, picking upa book or two here and there and snatching this Circus poster.

 

I first stepped foot in Zandbroz a dayor two after it opened in 1992. Zandbroz was like some amazing, mystical placefor a young person and poet like myaelf. It became much more than that. Itbecame a safe place, a place where I was celebrated and encouraged as a poet.My first book of poems had just been published in 1992 and Zandbroz hosted oneof my very first readings. Greg and Renee Danz and later their daughter Josiebecame more than advocates of me as a poet; they also became dear friends whoalways warmly welcomed me as a fellow friend every time I came in the store

 

Not long after I first visitedZandbroz in 1992, I encouraged my parents to come with me to this amazing newplace. I wasn’t certain they’d find it as amazing as I did, but the first timethey visited, my father stood in front of the giant Masonic statue, mesmerizedby it. That memory stayed with me. Much later, in those difficult severalmonths after he died, I would stop in at Zandbroz often just to stand in frontof that statue and remember that day my father stood there.

 

As I wandered about this morning,especially in the back room where the readings took place, I was caughtglimpses of the ghosts of long-gone poet/writers friends who I heard readthere, such as Bill Holm, Mary Gardner, Jay Meek, Scott King, Larry Woiwode,Timothy Murphy, as well as the memories of countless others who are still withus.

 

Zandbroz was more than a bookstore. Itwas a vital, safe community for me and other poets, writers, artists andreaders. I will mourn Zandbroz, but I will always be grateful for what it wasto me and to others like me over these 30+ years. Thank you, Greg, Renee andJosie.

2 Pentecost

 

June 2, 2024

Deuteronomy5:12-15; Mark 2:23-3:6

 

+ We all do it.

 

I do it.

 

You do it.

 

A lot of people in this country are doing it right now.

 

We have, at times, become zealots.

 

We have at times---all of us—become so passionate, so intent, so focusedon doing what we consider is “right,” that we sometimes lose ourselves and ourintentions in the process.

 

And rather than winning people over to our cause, we end up alienatingpeople and driving people away.

 

As I said, I have done it.

 

I have sometimes been so blinded by my mission to do what I thinkis right, that I sometimes forget even what it is I’m doing.

 

I get bedazzled by my own motivation, my own interpretation of howthings should be done.

 

We sometimes get so caught up in following the letter of what isright that we forget the heart and spirit behind what is actually right.

 

We certainly see it today in our Gospel reading.

 

Here we find Jesus and his disciples walking in the grain fieldson the Sabbath.

 

And they’re hungry.

 

So they eat.

 

However by picking the grain, they violate the Judaic Law, whichsays no work can be done on the Sabbath

 

This might seem extreme to us.

 

But we have to understand that in Orthodox Judaism, a very literalinterpretation of that commandment to “honor the sabbath” is followed.

 

Even today, Orthodox Jews cannot cook or drive on the Sabbath.They also cannot answer the phone, or even tear toilet paper (they havepre-torn toilet paper they use)

 

And to be clear, for them the Sabbath is not Sunday.

 

For Jesus and all Jews to this day, the Sabbath began at sundownon Friday and lasted until sundown on Saturday.

 

They took, and continue to take, a very literal interpretation of theLaw as found in Deuteronomy, which we heard read in our reading from the Hebrewscriptures today:

 

“ O bserve the sabbath day and keep it holy, as the Lord your God commanded you. Six days you shalllabor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work….”

 

 

Now this might sound strange to us, but to understand it from aJewish perspective is important.

 

For them, the goal on Shabbat (or on the sabbath day) is bring God’spresence into this world. To do so they avoid any sort “creating” to remind themselvesthat we do not have mastery over our lives. God is the only creator, and God isin charge.

 

So, yes, according to the Law, picking grain to eat would be aviolation of this command to rest on the Sabbath,

 

Jesus certainly knew this, but he did not reprimand his followersfrom doing so.

 

And here’s one other aspect to this Gospel reading that may put itall into perspective.

 

Just the other day I read an article about the fact that most ofthose first followers of Jesus were probably teenagers.

 

Certainly they were young.

 

That also could explain why they were just doing what they werewithout whole lot of through of consequences.

 

Also, another interesting aspect of this reading is that, if younotice, Jesus does not actually break the Law.

 

He does not pluck the grain.

 

His disciples do.  

 

So, the Pharisees, always looking to trap Jesus, confront him abouthis disciples.

 

Now, to be clear, the Pharisees, although following the Law to theletter, are not following the spirit of the Law.

 

They are not really resting.

 

They are so caught up in catching Jesus that they are agitated andangry.

 

So, what does Jesus say to them?

 

He says,

 

“The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for thesabbath” 

 

Those would’ve been radical words to the Pharisees of his time.

 

And they would’ve been rebellious words.

 

But. . . you know, I hate to admit this, but I sometimes actually “get”where the Pharisees are coming from.

 

As I said, I’ve been guilty of it myself.

 

It’s sometimes just so much easier to follow the letter of the lawthan to concern one’s self with the spirit or heart of the Law, in this casethe “Law” being scripture.

 

It’s just so much easier to concentrate on the Law and the letter ofthe Law, to think about how scripture should be interpreted and lived out, thanto actually think about what God intends in this Law.

 

We sometimes are so caught up in the black-and-white of the wordson the page of scripture that we forget what we are even reading sometimes.

 

And there is something kind of comforting in being safe, andright, and proper.

 

And it’s kind of secretly fun to smirk at those who we feel are notsafe, and right and proper.

 

It is also important for us to just examine what a sabbath is for us.

 

It is important to rest.

 

It is important to slow down.

 

It is important for us to just pause and remember that all thiswork we do is ultimately for naught if we forget that the One who created usalso rested from creating.

 

The sabbath gives us an time to honor and give thanks to the Onewho created us.

 

And we do so best by not “creating,” by not working.

 

But on an even more practical level, rest is just good.

 

Our work suffers when we don’t rest.

 

We suffer when we don’t rest.

 

But are we really resting when we worry about the minute detailsof resting, worrying about whether what we do is actually breaking God’s Law?

 

It’s in our nature sometimes to get caught up in the letter of theLaw without actually living the spirit of the Law.

 

We can so easily get caught up in the minute details of things.

 

Because let’s face it, doing so is just safe.

 

Being right and proper and faithful to the letter of the Law or scripturehelps us sleep well at night knowing we’re good, proper believers.

 

And I want to be clear, I am not encouraging anyone to actually goout and break any law, whether scripturally or liturgically or especially civilly

 

Please don’t do that.

 

Because we know what happens when we do break the law.

 

We know what happens when we…I don’t know…pay out hush money whenwe’re running for public office.

 

What happens when do so????

 

Chicken. Home. Roost.

 

Don’t break the Law.

 

I love scripture and the Law contained within the Bible.

 

But sometimes we need to be clear about why we have these laws, ratherthan just blindly following them.

 

The real heart of the Law is the ultimate goal of the Law.

 

Remember what Jesus asked the Pharisees when he was about to healthe man’s withered hand on the Sabbath?

 

 “Is it lawful to do good orto do harm on the sabbath…?”

 

We know the answer.

 

Our job, as followers of Jesus, is always, always, always to do good.

 

It is to live with the spirit of the law in our hearts, but not tobe so caught up in the law that we lose sight of what it even means.

 

The message of Jesus is that to be a follower of Jesus means doinggood again and again.

 

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

 

By giving God true and heart-felt worship, and not just paylip-service to God or worrying about all the little details.

 

It is not throwing out the baby with the bathwater when it comesto our following the truth contained in scripture, but living out the spirit ofthat truth in our hearts and actions.

 

It is to truly practice what we preach.

 

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

 

Let us carry within our hearts the spirit of the Law.

 

Let us do good, even when it violates what others see as wrong.

 

Let us not be hypocritical Pharisees to those around us.

 

But let us be true followers of Jesus, with love burning within usand 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 existin it but love.

 

And if we do—if we do just that—we will find that love pouringforth from our mouth and bringing joy and gladness and love and full acceptanceto others.

 

Even to ourselves.

 

Amen.

 

 

 

 

Trinity

 

May 26, 2024

 

John 3.1-17

 

+ I usually ask Deacon John to preach on Trinity Sunday every year.

 

And he does a good job with it.

 

Better than I do.

 

But today he is living it up in International Falls.

 

And Deacons Suzanne doesn’t like preaching.

 

So, here goes.

 

When all is said and done, at the end of the day, I can say thisabout myself:

 

I have been called a heretic a lot in my life as a priest.

 

And sometimes, I gotta say, that term cuts me to the core.

 

I don’t think of myself as a heretic.

 

In fact, I think I’m actually (probably) kinda orthodox on somevery important things.

 

I don’t say that pridefully.

 

I’m not bragging.

 

I’m just saying…

 

Yes, I know.

 

I’m pretty liberal.

 

At least socially.

 

But theologically, I’m kinda cut and dry.

 

Let’s face it: for better or for worse, I am very solidly Anglo-Catholicnot only in HOW I worship liturgically, but also in my views about WHO Iworship.

 

But then, I go and say something or preach something that reallyjust rankles people.

 

For example, that whole universalist thing.

 

I’m not apologizing, by the way.

 

I really do believe that, eventually, we will all—ALL of us—be togetherwith Christ in heaven.

 

I really do believe that.

 

I do not believe in an eternal hell.

 

And I honestly do not believe that Christ is ultimately victoriousif anyone is left in hell.

 

When I talk on Holy Saturday about the Harrowing of Hell, I reallydo believe in it.

 

I really do believe that if anyone is in some metaphysical hell,totally separated from God, that even there, Christ will come, will take that personby the hand and lead them out.

 

NOTHING separates us from the love of God in Christ---not evenhell.

 

That’s not heresy, in my book.

 

That, I think, can actually be supported by Scripture and Churchdoctrine.

 

But then, there’s the Trinity.

 

Sigh.

 

The Trinity.

 

Every time I try to explain it, I find myself nudging over intosome kind of heresy.

 

Oh, the three-leafed clover is Partialism?

 

Oh, what you’re preaching now is Modalism?

 

Now you’re guilty of Sabellianism?

 

Perichorsis? Where is that in scripture and 2,000 years of Churchtradition.  

 

Despite the jokes, I actually don’t want to be a heretic.

 

So, I’m not even going to attempt it today.

 

After all, I’m just a priest. I’m just a poet.

 

I’m not a theologian, nor have I ever claimed to be one.

 

Most of us, let’s face it, don’t give the doctrine of the Trinitya lot of thought.

 

Like you, I really don’t lose a lot of sleep over it.

 

I approach this Sunday and this doctrine of the Trinity as Iapproach any similar situation, like Christmas or Easter or, as we celebratedlast Sunday, the Holy Spirit and Pentecost.

 

It’s a mystery.

 

And I love the mystery of our faith.

 

And let me tell  you, thereis nothing more mysterious than the Trinity.

 

God as Three-in-One—God as Father or Parent or Creator, God as Sonor Redeemer and God as Spirit or Sanctifier.

 

I know, I know.

 

It’s difficult to wrap our minds around this concept of God.

 

The questions we priests regularly get is: how can God be threeand yet one?

 

How can we, in all honesty, say that we believe in one God when weworship God as three?

 

Certainly our Jewish and  Muslim brothers and sisters ask that veryimportant question of us: Aren’t you simply talking about three gods?

 

(We’re not, by the way—just to be clear about that)

 

My answer is: I just don’t know.

 

My mind just doesn’t seem to work that way.

 

Whole Church councils have debated the issue of the Trinitythroughout history.

 

The Church actually has split at times over its interpretation ofwhat exactly this Trinity is.

 

We can debate it all we want this morning.

 

We can talk about what is orthodox or right-thinking about theTrinity all we want.

 

But, just so you don’t think I’m a complete theological wimp, orthat I’ve lost my edge, I am going to say this with some sort of conviction.

 

I do have a pretty solid belief in what the Trinity is NOT.

 

And I saw my belief in what the Trinity is NOT simplified recentlyin a meme.

 

I know this:

 

The Trinity is NOT two men and a bird.

 

The Trinity is not two white men seated in heaven with a dovefloating around them.

 

If that is what the Trinity is, then call me a heretic.

 

And burn me at the stake.

 

Because, I cannot believe in that.

 

The Trinity is not two men and a bird.

 

God is so much more than that.

 

We can go on and on about theology and philosophy and all mannerof thoughts about God, but ultimately what matters is how we interact with ourGod.

 

How is our relationship with God and with each other deepened andmade more real by this one God?

 

That’s what Jesus tells us again and again.

 

Just love God.

 

In scripture we don’t find people worrying too much about whetherthey are committing a heresy or not in trying to describe God.

 

What do we find in scripture?

 

We find a constant striving toward a more personal and closerrelationship with God.

 

This is our primary responsibility: our relationship with God.

 

How can all this talk about God—how can this thinking aboutGod—then deepen our relationship with God?

 

Our goal is not to understand God: we will never understand God.

 

God is not some Rubik’s Cube or a puzzle that has to be solved.

 

Our goal is simply to know God. In our hearts. Passionately.    

 

Our goal is to love God.

 

Our goal is to try to experience God as God wishes to be experienced byus.

 

Because God does know us.

 

God does love us.

 

And, more likely than not, we have actually experienced our God inmore than one way more than once in our lives.

 

I personally have experienced God in a—shall we say?—tri-personalkind of way (I don’t know what heresy that might be, but I really don’t care)

 

I personally have experienced God as a loving and caring parent,especially when I think about those times when I have felt marginalized bypeople or the Church or society or by friends and colleagues.

 

Or when I simply realize that I am a 54 year old orphan.

 

I have also known Jesus as my redeemer—as One who has come to mewhere I am, as Jesus who suffered in a body and who, in turn, knows mysuffering because this One also has suffered as well.

 

And this One has promised that I too can be, like Jesus, a childof this God who is my—and our—Parent.  

 

I have been able to take comfort in the fact that God is not somedistant deity who could not comprehend what I have gone through in my life andin this limited, mortal body.

 

In Jesus, God knows.

 

In Jesus, God knows what it was to be limited by our bodies.

 

There is something wonderful and holy in that realization.

 

And I have known the healing and renewal of the Spirit of God ofmy life.

 

Many, many times.

 

I don’t know what the Trinity is.

 

But if this tri-personal God is what it is, than that works forme.

 

If all we do is ponder and argue and debate God and God’s nature,we’ve already thrown in the towel.

 

And we are defeating the work of God.

 

But if we simply love God and strive to experience God throughprayer  and worship and contemplation andloving others, that is our best bet.

 

No matter what the theologians argue about, no matter what thosesupposedly learned teachers say, no matter what the heresy Nazis bray about,  ultimately, our understanding of God needs tobe based on our own experience to some extent.

 

Yes, God is beyond our understanding.

 

Yes, God is mysterious and amazing and incredible.

 

But God does not have to be a frustrating aspect of our church andour faith.

 

Our experience of God should rather widen and expand our faithlife and our understanding and experience of God and, in turn, of each other.

 

So, today, as we ponder God—as we consider how God has worked inour lives in many ways— and who God is in our lives, let us remember howamazing God is in the ways God is revealed to us.

 

God cannot be limited or quantified or reduced.

 

God can only be experienced.

 

And adored.

 

And pondered.

 

And loved.

 

God can only be shared with others as we share love with eachother.

 

When we do that—when we live out and share our loving God withothers—then we are joining with the amazing and mysterious work of God who ishere with us, loving us with a love deeper than any love we have ever knownbefore.

 

 

 

 

Pentecost/Founders Day

 

May 19, 2024

Ezekiel 37:1-14; Acts 2.1-21

+ Let’s go back, on this Founders Day.

That’s what Founder’s Day is all about, after all. Right?

 

Let’s go back.

 

Back to 1956.

 

For most of us here, 1956 seems like some very different, almostalien world.

 

If you were living in Fargo, North Dakota in 1956, you would beliving in a very different city, state and country than the one we all know.

 

In 1956, Dwight Eisenhower was president.

 

But 1956, like 2024, was also an election year.

 

Eisenhower would be going up against the Democrat, AdlaiStevenson. Eisenhower would win a second term.

 

Eisenhower that year would sign into effect the National Interstateand Defense Highways Act, which caused interstates to be built across thecountry.

 

(Just imagine—there were no Interstates in 1956)

 

If you werewatching this new thing called television in 1956, you would be watching showslike, Queen for a Day, My Friend Flicka or Guy Lombardo's DiamondJubilee

 

If you were listening to music on Your Hit Parade, amid all thesongs by Perry Como, Gogi Grant and Les Baxter, you would also be hearing thisnew thing called Rock and Rock, especially from a shaggy-haired young man fromMississippi by the name of Elvis Presley.

 

And at the movies, you would be watching, “The Bad Seed,” “ForbiddenPlanet, “The Girl Can’t Help it” and the very controversial film (by those standards),“Baby Doll.”

 

If you were going to attend an Episcopal church in 1956, you wouldno doubt not get what you’re getting this morning, except maybe at someAnglo-Catholic parish, the nearest one of those being in St. Paul, Minnesota.

 

A typical Episcopal church service in 1956 would consists ofMorning Prayer from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, with a sermon and hymnsfrom the Hymnal 1940, with a priest (a male priest) in cassock, surplice andmaybe stole or tippet.  You would getHoly Communion once a month.

 

Women would’ve always worn skirts and would never have imaginedgoing to church without a hat.

 

Men would always wear suits and ties.

 

And here, where we are right now, well. . . you would be sittingin an empty field.

 

The VA Hospital would be there, but it was considered out of town.

 

And that year, a group of brave Episcopalians decided to build achurch in what was considered a growing edge of Fargo.

 

Bishop Richard Emery agreed and so he split the city in half.

 

Everyone south of Main Avenue (which was called Front Street in1956) went to Gethsemane.

 

Everyone north of Main were to attend St. Stephen’s.

 

Talk about instant church membership!

 

As we look at this photo of those who broke ground for this churchin 1956, we

need to take into account their idealism.

 

The hopes contained in those faces.

 

They imagined so much for this church.

 

This building we are in now was meant to be only temporary.

 

A large church, big enough to seat 300 people, was planned justnorth of the church and with its completion, this building would become thehall.

 

Those hopeful people imagined much for the future.

 

And they imagined us.

 

Well, maybe not us in particular.

 

Let me tell you, those poor people in 1956 could never haveenvisioned a Jamie Parsley in the future!

 

Those people might not be too happy where we stood with women inleadership roles or full inclusion of LGBTQ people.

 

But, sadly, none of those people from 1956 are with us now.

 

When we look at the photo of the dedication, all of those peoplehave passed on to the nearer Presence of God.

 

Rob Butler, who was a baby in 1956, was our longest member from thattime.

 

But, as you know, he died in January.

 

But we do celebrate those today who came in the years that followed.

 

Carol Spurbeck, Greta Taylor her daughters Bobbi and Debby and JoyCoffey and her children Laura and Sandy, Craig Frear and Susan Frear all movedhere and became members in those first ten years this church existed.  

 

As time went, as north Fargo was built up, the church grew.

 

It was the mid 20th Century when churches everywhere flourished.

 

This little building was packed to gills.

 

As some of those early members remember, it was pure chaos here onSunday mornings.

 

And St. Stephen’s, unlike Gethsemane Cathedral, did things a bitdifferently.

 

Things were a bit more laid back.

 

As Clotine Frear, who was member in those early days remembers,the acolytes would chew gum and blow bubbles during the service. (some thingsdon’t change)

 

They wore sneakers when polished black shoes were expected.

 

But St. Stephen’s also showed that it was a little different.

 

As the larger Church was changing, as women were allowed to be inleadership roles, we in North Dakota were not quick to embrace those changes.

 

But we at St. Stephen’s were.

 

We were the first parish in the Diocese to have a woman lay reader(who essentially could lead services if the priest was unavailable), the firstwoman senior warden, the first female acolyte, SusanFreare.

 

These seem kind of innocent now.

 

But in the early 1970s these were controversial things to do.

 

In 1972, St. Stephen’s endured a horrendous vandalism, in which agroup of teenagers broke in and trashed the church.

 

By the 1980s things were definitely changing.

 

The ideals those first founders envisioned gave way to a starker reality.

 

North Fargo did not develop the way people originally thought itwould.

 

Over the years, parishioners drifted back to Gethsemane Cathedral.

 

And then, in 1981, came a catastrophic event, something called “theexodus.”

 

For various reasons, a large group of St. Stephen’s members justleft.

 

Many of them transferred their membership to Gethsemane.

 

Several just went no where.

 

The reasons were multiple.

 

As I read through the church record book of that time, it ishorrendous seeing the number of people who just left.

 

Those who were leaving said that St. Stephen’s members should justgive up, close its doors and join Gethsemane Cathedral.

 

But the ones who were remained were—in typical St. Stephen’sfashion—  defiant.

 

As the great Jim Coffey proclaimed loudly, “I will never joinGethsemane Cathedral!”

 

For those who remained, brave as they were, those were bleakyears.

 

It was heartbreaking to see fellow parishioners leave in droves,never to return.

 

(actually some of them did in fact return—and some later requestedto be buried from St. Stephen’s).

 

But the reason we celebrate our members today who have been herefor 45 years or more is because they were the ones who stayed.

 

They were the ones who endured.

 

They were the ones who picked up the pieces and went on to do theministry they felt they were called to do.

 

Who kept church going every Sunday, who kept the doors open, who didthe ministries that needed to be done.

 

And they were the ones who hoped for better times to return.

 

And to be clear, it was not all bleak in those years following.

 

In 1985, St. Stephen’s was the first parish in this diocese tocall a female priest to be Rector.

 

St. Stephen’s became a beacon of progressive issues, standing upand speaking out on such issues as women’s rights within the church and thefull inclusion of gay and lesbian people in the Church, issues that were widelyunpopular in this Diocese for many years.  

 

St. Stephen’s became (and remains) a defiant voice.

 

Rather than giving up, St. Stephen’s stepped up, and our parishbecame a leading parish in participation in the Diocese.

 

Our members have always been and continue to be leaders in the Diocese.

 

During those years, we also celebrated a new addition being built.

 

The labyrinth ministry was formed.

 

St. Stephen’s was also from its beginning a somewhat Low Churchparish.

 

I share this story quite often but Steve Bolduc once overheard aclergyperson in this diocese lament about St. Stephen’s: “awwww, St. Stephen’s,it’s so Low Church it should be called MISTER Stephen’s!”

 

Well, somehow, this Low Church parish took a chance and called anupstart, Anglo-Catholic priest and poet to serve as Priest-in-Charge, latertheir Rector.

 

As time went on, better days did indeed come.

 

Much better days.

 

Membership grew---and continues to grow.

 

In 2015, we had the largest confirmation class here since 1961.

 

During the pandemic we never missed a Sunday Mass, quickly switchingover to livestreaming.

 

People as far away as Paris and Kenya watched our services onLivestream.

 

St. Stephen’s eventually found itself and embraced its weird, uniqueblend of what it means to be a parish in this rapidly changing world.  

 

We know who we are—we have our particular ministry in this cityand diocese.

 

And we are known by others as that place, St. Stephen’s.

 

I was at on art gallery this week and when I was talking to someof the people who were working there, I mentioned that I’m the rector of St.Stephen’s.

 

“Oh, St. Stephen’s!” they said, “We LOVE St. Stephen’s! You guysare so COOL!””

 

Of course, our identity is not neat and tidy.

 

Progressive, liberal, and yet Anglo-Catholic and traditional???

 

Our plain little church which was never meant to be an actualchurch has become a beautiful artistic showcase, even being featured recentlyin the Fargo Forum for its use of artistic elements.

 

For us—somehow—it all works, in a way that wouldn’t work manyother places.

 

And this weird blending draws people to us.

 

But, for all of that, we wouldn’t be who we are and what we arewithout these people we honor today.

 

These were the ones who  endured and kept things together.

 

They didn’t give up. And because they didn’t, we are here today.

  

This is what we are celebrating on this Founders Day, on this PentecostSunday.

 

It is on this day, that we who came later, who continue the fightto be just a bit different, just a little “off” from the rest of the Church, givethanks for all of you who were here before.

 

Thank you, founders.

 

Thank you for your vision.

 

Thank you for your endurance.

 

Thank you for your fortitude.

 

Thank you for not giving up and giving in.

 

Thank you for not closing the doors and going to GethsemaneCathedral or to the Lutherans.

 

Thank you for remaining true to what St. Stephen’s has always beenand will hopefully continue to be.

 

In what you did, whether you were aware of it or not, we today, onthis Pentecost Sunday, this Sunday which is essentially the birthday of theChurch, the day on which we celebrate the Holy Spirit’s descent to us, in whatyou did we can see the Holy Spirit at work.

 

So, how do we know 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.

 

When the future seems bleak and ugly, when all seems lost, the HolySpirit comes in and, in the Holy Spirit’s own time, make everything worthliving again.

 

That scriptures from Ezekiel today is truly a scripture for us onthis day.

 

It is an amazing scripture and an amazing vision.

 

In it, God’s Spirit revives the dried, dead bones in the valley.

 

What appears to be dead and lifeless is given new life by God’slife-giving Spirit. 

 

That dynamic and life-giving presence of the Spirit of God speaksloudly to us through you, our Founders, today.

 

We see the Holy Spirit at work in the ministries we do, in thelove we give to God and the love we share with others, with the truth weproclaim as Christians, even in the face of opposition.

 

We experience this Spirit of truth when we stand up and speak outagainst injustice, wherever it may be.

 

This is how God’s Spirit comes to us.

 

So, founders, thank you again, all of you who listened to the HolySpirit.

 

Thank you to those of you who stayed.

 

We honor your commitment today.

 

We give thanks to God for you today.

 

We thank you today.

 

You have blessed us, and today we are truly blessed.

 

Letus pray.

 

Amen

 

 

7 Easter

 The Sunday after the Ascension

 

May 12, 2024

 

John 17.6-19

 

 

+ I am very excited about a new film coming out.

 

The film is called Wildcat , and directed by actor Ethan Hawke and starring his daughter, MayaHawke

 

The film is about the life and stories ofFlannery O’Connor, someone I mention

regularly in my sermons and in regularconversation.

 

O’Connor was a writer from Georgia, a devourRoman Catholic, who wrote about religious fanatics in a particularly grotesquestyle.

 

All the buzz about Wildcat made me revisitanother film based on O’Connor’s writing, a film called Wiseblood .

 

This novel and film were typical O’Connor,though I don’t think it was her best writing (her short stories were her particularforte).

 

Wiseblood is about Hazel Motes, a World WarII vet who comes home to his small Tennessee  town as an atheist. He then proceeds to foundhis own anti-religious Church, the Church without Christ, in which he preachesthat Jesus was a liar, that that all men are“clean,” and there is no such thing as sin or redemption

 

The film was directed by the great John Huston.

 

Huston, in case you didn’t know, was ahard-living guy.

 

He was an alcoholic, a womanizer and….anatheist.

 

And he took on this film because he wanted toexpose religious fanaticism and the futility of religion.

 

However, what he failed to realize, was thatthose goals were not what O’Connor intended when she wrote her novel.

 

In her novel she showed that despite Motes andhis Church without Christ, religious truth actually does triumph.

 

Huston struggled while he directed this filmbecause he realized it was not going the way he wanted it to.

 

Finally, in the end, at a meeting he had withthe crew, he, in frustration had to admit failure.

 

“Jesus wins,” Huston said.

 

Well, I felt kind of like Hazel Motes this week.

 

This past week I had a parishioner—I won’t saywho (it was Stephanie Garcia)—tell me a story about how they were talking to afriend of there’s about her amazing priest (me).

 

Well, she my not have used the word, “amazing.”

 

(I fill in the blanks)

 

But I came up in a conversation.

 

In that conversation she happened to mentionthat her “amazing” priest does not believe in hell, and preaches about that on aregular basis.

 

Her friend, a former Roman Catholic, responded bysaying, “well, he’s not a real priest then. . . “

 

I had to laugh.

 

And, as hard as it for most of you believe, it’snot the first time someone has said that about me.

 

In fact, I’ve been called much, much worse.

 

But sometimes—sometimes—while doing this weirdthing called following Jesus and trying to live out the Gospel in the world, werun the risk of coming across as heretical to people who were raised in circumstancesin which priests often felt they could not preach what they believed or whogenuinely believed things without question.

 

I’m not judging them, mind you.

 

I even kind of understand that thinking.  

 

But, I am not that kind of a priest.

 

I have never been that priest.

 

And I don’t think that’s the kind of followerJesus was honestly seeking.    

In our gospel reading for today, we find the first followers of Jesus were in a strange place just after Jesusascended to heaven.

 

They too were being seen as heretical and disingenuous.

 

They were telling people that Jesus, whoeveryone knew had been crucified, was now alive and appearing to them.

 

And not just appearing to them, but earing withthem.

 

And not only that, but he had ascended to heavenright before their eyes.

 

That was not a popular message to be spreading.

 

And so, they were in fear.

 

But while they huddled there in fear, something amazingwas happening to them.

 

They are being prepared for the movement of theSpirit of God in their lives.

 

This week, in our scripture readings, we move slowly away from theEaster season toward Pentecost.

 

For the last several weeks, we have been basking in the afterglowof the resurrected Jesus.

 

In our Gospel readings, this resurrected Jesus has walked with us,has talked with us, has eaten with us and has led the way for us.

 

Now, he has been taken up.

 

We find a transformation of sorts happening.

 

With his ascension, our perception of Jesus has changed.

 

No longer is he the wise sage, the misunderstood rebel, thereligious renegade that he seemed to be when he walked around, performingmiracles and upsetting the religious and political powers that be.

 

He is now something so much more.

 

He is more than just a regular prophet.

 

He is the fulfillment of all prophecies.

 

He is more than just a king—a despotic monarch of some sort likeCaesar or Herod.

 

He is truly the Messiah.

 

He is the divine Son of God.

 

At his ascension, we find that he is, in a sense, anointed,crowned and ordained.

 

He does not just ascend back to heaven and then is kind ofdissolved into the great unknown.

 

He ascends, then assumes a place at God’s right hand.

 

At his ascension, we find that what we are gazing at is somethingwe could not comprehend before.

 

He has helped us to see that God has truly come among us.

 

He has reminded us that God has taken a step toward us.

 

He has showed us that God loves us and cares for us.

 

He has shown us that the hold death held on us is now broken.

 

He has reminded us that God speaks to us not from a pillar ofcloud or fire, not on some cloud-covered mountain, not in visions.

 

But God is with us and speaks in us. We are God’s prophetsnow. 

 

The puzzle pieces are falling into place.

 

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

 

God truly does love us and know us.

 

And next week, one more puzzle piece falls into place.

 

Next week, we will celebrate God’s Spirit descending upon us andstaying with us, on the Feast of Pentecost.

 

For the moment, we are in this plateau, caught in between thosetwo events—the Ascension and Pentecost—trying to make sense of what hashappened and trying to prepare ourselves for what is about to happen.

 

But things are about to really change.

 

Man, are things about to change!

 

We seem to be in a plateau of sorts.

 

A plateau offers us a time to pause, to ponder who we are andwhere are in this place—in this time in which everything seems so spirituallytopsy-turvy, in this time before the Spirit moves and stirs up somethingincredible.

 

In this time when our proclamation of Christ’s Good News may seemalmost heretical.

 

This week, smack dab in the middle of the twelve days between theAscension and Pentecost, we find ourselves examining the impact of this eventof God in our lives.

 

The commission that the ascended Jesus gave to the apostles, isstill very much our commission as well.

 

We must love—fully and completely.

 

Because in loving, we are living.

 

In loving, we are living fully and completely.

 

In loving, we are bringing the resurrected and  ascended Christ to others.

 

And we must go out and live out this commission in the world.

 

When we do, the resurrected and ascended Christ is very muchacting in the world.

 

These are things those first followers of Jesus no doubt struggledwith.

 

Yet we, like them, are sustained.

 

We, like them, are upheld.

 

We, like them, are supported by the God who welcomed the ascendedJesus, whose work we are doing in this world.

 

In those moments when our works seems useless, when it seems likewe have done no good work, Jesus still triumphs.

 

We all remember that song by the Beatles, “Eleanor Rigby.”

 

I remember how sad I used to feel when I heard them sing aboutFather Mackenzie, how he

 

“…wipes the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave.

No one was saved.”

 

You know what?

 

It feels like that sometimes.

 

But those moments are moments of self-centeredness.

 

Those moments are moments when we think it all depends on us.

 

On ME.

 

Our job, in this time between Jesus’ departure from us and thereturn of the Holy Spirit to us, is to simply let God do what God needs to doin this interim.

 

We need to let the Holy Spirit work in us and through us.

 

We need to let our proclamation of the resurrected and ascendedChrist be the end result of our work.

 

When we wipe our hands as we walk from the grave, lamenting thefact that it seems no one was saved, we need to realize that, of course, itseems that way as we gaze downward at our dirty hands.

 

But above us—above us!—the Ascension is happening.

 

Above us, Jesus is triumphant—as Prophet of prophets, of King ofKings, as the High Priest of all priests.

 

Above us, in that place of glory, Jesus triumphs—and we with him.

 

Above us, Jesus wins.

 

(And as he all know, even poor John Huston, Jesus always wins inthe end)

 

Above us, God’s Spirit is about to rain down upon us as flames offire.

 

All we have to do is look up.

 

All we have to do is stop gazing at our dirty, callused,over-worked hands—all we have to do is turn from our self-centeredness—and lookup.

 

And there we will see the triumph.

 

And as we do, we will realize that more were saved than weinitially thought.

 

Someone was saved. We were saved.

 

Jesus has ascended.

 

And we have—or will—ascend with him as well.

 

He prays in today’s Gospel that we “may have [his] joy madecomplete in [ourselves].”

 

That joy comes when we let the Holy Spirit be reflected in what wedo in this world.

 

So, let this Spirit of joy be made complete in you.

 

Let the Spirit of joy live in you and through you and be reflectedto others by you.

 

When we do, we will be, as Jesus promises us, “sanctified intruth.”

 

We will be sanctified in the truth of knowing and living out ourlives in the light of the ascension of Jesus.

 

We will be sanctified by the fact that we have looked up and seenthe truth happened above us in beauty and light and joy.  Amen.

 

 

 

6 Easter

Rogation Sunday

May 5, 2024

 

1 John 5.1-6; John 15.6-17

 

+ As most of you who have hearing my sermons for a long time now knowI am a pretty basic preacher.

 

I have about two subjects I pretty consistently and passionatelypreach about.

 

And those two preaching subjects are?

 

That’s right.

 

Love and baptism.

 

And in our scripture readings for today—guess what?--we get both.

 

(I’ll spare you baptism today in this sermon. I went on last weekabout my issues with Baptism being a pre-requisite for Holy Communion)

 

But, yes, we will talk about love today.

 

For all my preaching about love, you’d think I was some kind ofhippie or something.

 

There’s really nothing hippie-like about me.

 

Well, I am vegan.

 

And I am a pacifist.

 

And I protest a lot about things (I’m not alone on that lately).

 

Geeesh…maybe I am a hippie after all.

 

Yes, I love to preach about love.

 

Today, we get a double dose of love in our scriptures.

 

Jesus, in our Gospel reading, is telling us yet again to love.

 

He tells us:

 

“Abide in my love.”

 

A beautiful phrase!

 

“Live in my love.”

 

“Dwell in my love.”

 

And St. John, in his epistle, reminds us of that commandment tolove God and to love each other.

 

Now, as you hear me preach again and again, this love is whatbeing a Christian is all about.

 

Can I stress that enough?

 

Every Sunday, without fail, I preach that from this pulpit.

 

It is not about commandments and following the letter of the law.

 

It is not about being nice and sweet all the time.

 

It is not about being “right” all the time.

 

It is certainly not about being morally superior!

 

It is about following Jesus—and following Jesus means loving fullyand completely.

 

It means loving like Jesus loved.

 

And following Jesus means obeying him and doing what he did.

 

And what did he do, what did he preach? 

 

He preached:

 

Love God.

 

Love each other.

 

Yes, I know.

 

It actually does sound kind of…hippie-like.

 

It sounds fluffy.

 

But the love Jesus is speaking of is not a sappy, fluffy love.

 

Love, for Jesus—and for us who follow Jesus—is a very radicalthing.

 

To love radically means to love everyone—even those people who aredifficult to love.

 

To love those people we don’t want to love—to love the people whohave hurt us or abused us or wronged us in any way—is the most difficult thingwe can do.

 

If we can do it all.

 

And sometimes—you know what?--we just can’t.

 

But we can’t get around the fact that this is the commandment fromJesus.

 

We must love.

 

Or, at the very least, strive to love.

 

For me—maybe I’m just simple.

 

Maybe I’m just a weird, simple, Anglo-Catholic priest, up here inNorth Dakota, serving a parish that a Deacon of this diocese with whom I hadlunch this past week said was an example of what parish can do to revive andreinvent itself in a wonderful way.

 

I am at this incredible parish that, on first appearances, mightseem like some quirky gathering of eccentric Christians.

 

But underneath it all, it is this strange, powerful spiritualpowerhouse of a parish.

 

It is a parish that embodies solidly this command of Jesus to

 

“Abide in my love.”

 

Maybe not perfectly.

 

Maybe not in a classic sense.

 

But certainly in its attempt to do what we are called to do.

 

Call me simple but abiding in Jesus’ love leaves no room forhomophobia or transphobia racism or sexism or antisemitism or Islamophobia or anyother kind of discrimination.

 

You can’t abide in love and live with hatred and anger.

 

It just can’t be done.

 

When Jesus says “Abide in my love” it really a challenge to us asthe Church.

 

And, as you hear me say, again and again, the Church IS changing.

 

And it should!

 

I had a call on Friday with my long-time, very good friend PastorRay Baker, the pastor of Faith United Methodist Church just down the street.

 

As you may know, the United Methodist Church has a momentous NationalConference Meeting this past week in which the United Methodist Church voted tofully include LGBTQ people in their denomination, which means including in marriagerites and ordination.

 

Ray said to me, “The Church is changing. Thank God!”

 

Pastor Ray is right.

 

The Church IS changing.

 

And our response should be, “Thank God!”

 

The Church of the future, whether we like it or not, has to shedthose old ways of abiding in anger and fear and hatred.

 

The Church of the future needs to constantly strive to abide inJesus’ love.

 

If it does not, it’s gonna die!

 

It will become an outmoded, hate-filled cesspool that willeventually destroy itself.

If it becomes a place led by an insular, self-selected, privilegedfew, then it will die on the vine.

 

And if it does, then so be it!

 

Now, for me, I won’t stop following Jesus.

 

I won’t stop loving God and others. Or trying to anyway. Andprobably failing miserably.

 

Because if that’s the place the Church becomes, I know it is notthe place Jesus is leading me to.

 

And hopefully none of the rest of us either.

 

And if that’s what the Church becomes, it will, in fact, stopbeing the Church.

 

If the Church becomes a place of hatred or anger, I doubt many ofus would remain members of that church.

 

This is why the Church must change.

 

This is why the Church must be a place of love and compassion andradical acceptance.

 

Because the alternative is just too frightening for me.

 

And we see it all the time around us us—this alternate Church,this Anti-Church.

 

This “Christ-haunted” Church, to use a phrase from FlanneryO’Connor.

 

A Church in which hatred and racism and sexism and homophobia ispreached from its pulpits.

 

A place in which there are debates about denying people the Bodyand Blood of Christ of Holy Communion because people don’t participate in aparticular ritual or believe exactly what a particular Church believes.

 

This coming Thursday, we celebrate the Ascension of Jesus.

 

On that day, he was physically taken up from us.

 

But what he has left us with is this reality of us—hisfollowers—being the physical Body of Jesus in this world.

 

We can only be that physical Body of Jesus when we abide in hislove.

 

When we love fully and radically.

 

There’s no getting around that.

 

There’s no rationalizing that away.

 

We can argue about this.

 

We can quote scriptures and biblical and ecclesiastical precedenceall we want.

 

We can throw around canons and rubrics and diocesan provisions allwe want.

 

None of that furthers the Kingdom of God.

 

None of that is abiding in Jesus’ love.

 

Abiding in love is abiding in love.

 

And abiding in love means loving—fully and completely and withoutjudgment.

 

To be Jesus’ presence in the world means loving fully andcompletely and radically.

 

Call that hippie-like.

 

Call that heresy or a simplistic understanding of what Jesus issaying or part of the so-called “radical liberal agenda.”

 

I call it abiding it in Jesus’ love, which knows no bounds, whichknows no limits.

 

So, today, and this week, abide in Jesus’ love.

 

Let us celebrate God by living out God’s command to love.

 

As we remember and rejoice in the Ascension of Jesus, let ourhearts, full of love, ascend with Jesus.

 

Let them soar upward in joy at the fact that God’s Holy Spirit isstill with us.

 

And when we love—when we love each other and God—God’s spirit willremain with us and be embodied in us.

 

 Amen.