28 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 18, 2012

28 Proper B

One August afternoon a year ago, I was working in my office when I received a text message from my husband. The text message said "Was that an earthquake?" I had no idea. The Christ Church offices are in Hollenbeck House, a brick house build probably in the 1860's. Our offices shake every time a fire truck rolls down High Street. But, I went online and indeed, Don had felt his office shake. An earthquake centered in Virginia had run along the east coast, was felt in Ohio, and did considerable damage to the National Cathedral in Washington, DC. Add to that earthquake, the far more severe earthquake in Haiti, the current devastation along the east coast from Hurricane Sandy, the current intensification of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, and the countless other disasters, both natural and human-caused, and no wonder there is speculation about the end of the world. Interest has surged in the Mayan calendar which seems to predict the end of the world on December 21 of this year. Just last year, radio host Harold Camping predicted the end of the world on May 21, then when that did not come to pass, adjusted the date to October 21, and yet we are still here. Human nature is to want to flee from harm, so we evacuate areas that are in the path of a deadly storm, or work to predict earthquakes and tornados so people can take shelter. Perhaps the hysteria that often surrounds concern about the end of the world is precisely because there will be no place to flee.

We hear the disciples express a similar concern in the gospel lesson this morning and in the verses that follow. Jesus tells the worried disciples that the temple will be destroyed, which has actually happened by the time Mark’s gospel was written. Of course the disciples want to know when this will happen and what the signs will be so they can prepare. The signs will be false messiahs, wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes and famines, and, we are told, this is only the beginning. If we read the verses that follow, Jesus tells the disciples that they will be handed over to councils, beaten in synagogues, families will be torn apart, all because of their faith in Jesus, and then, finally, when things could not get worse, Jesus will return.

What are we to do with this cheery news as we enter the week of Thanksgiving? Would not a gospel lesson that moves us to gratitude have been a better choice for the writers of the lectionary than one which seems to want to scare us to death?

Given that we have no choice in the matter of the lectionary, what are we, as faithful people, to do with a gospel lesson like this? One option is to write it off and cast it aside as something that comes from an antiquated world view. Certainly there is plenty of incentive to do this. After all, Christians have predicted the return of Jesus and the end of the world as we know it for some 2000 years now. Through out history, there have been plenty of wars, earthquakes, and other disasters, and we are still waiting for Jesus. For most of us, a 2000 year wait gets old and we move on to other things. Or we could take a wait and see approach- waiting to deal with the end times if and when they come.

And yet, at the core of the Biblical faith is the belief that all time moves forward to a point of ultimate fulfillment; the time when all creation will be made new again. In the Nicene Creed, which we say each week, we state the belief of the church that Jesus "will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead." Our Eucharistic Prayers proclaim the belief that Christ will return. Simply writing off the passages that describe the end time is not a faithful response to the gospel.

The one favor the lectionary does for us this morning is to pair Jesus’ words about the end of time with the story of Hannah from 1 Samuel. Hannah is in the midst of her own personal tragedy. She is childless, which, in that ancient culture, meant that she, herself, was as good as dead. Her husband, who has at least one other wife, loves her dearly despite her barrenness, and asks "Am I not worth more to you than 10 sons." Hannah pours out her heartbreak to God in the words we hear this morning. We are told that God hears her cry, and she conceives and bears a son, who she names Samuel, and Hannah dedicates her son to God.

What we do not hear this morning are the words of gratitude that Hannah sings after Samuel is born. These are familiar words because they are much like the words Mary sings after the angel tells her that she will conceive and bear a son and name him Jesus. Hannah sings, in part, "There is no Holy One like the Lord, no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God....Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil. The barren has borne seven, but she who has many is forlorn. The Lord kills and brings to life, the Lord makes poor and makes rich, for the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s and on them he has set the world."

Hannah is not waiting for some future time to see God at work. She sees God at work in the poor and the rich, the full and the hungry, the barren and the blessed, the dead and the living. She gives thanks to God for God’s work and God’s presence in all of life. The danger with passages like our gospel reading this morning is that, taken alone, the passage makes it seem that God will only act in the end time; that Jesus will only be near once Jesus arrives in all his glory and the world as we know it is brought to an end. But together, passages like our gospel reading and the witness of Hannah, remind us of God’s activity in the world now. When Jesus finishes telling the disciples all that will come to pass before he returns, he then says "But be alert. I have already told you everything." What has Jesus told them? That the Kingdom of God has drawn near. Jesus has told parables that point the disciples to the Kingdom emerging in their midst. Yes, we are called to wait for something beyond our imaginations when the Kingdom of God arrives in all its glory. But equally we are called to look and be alert and see where God is at work now. Where is God at work in the earthquake and the flood? Where is God at work in the metaphorical earthquakes and floods of our own lives? In the words of Hannah, where has God drawn near in the lives of the hungry and the full, the rich and the poor, the sick and the healthy? We learn to trust the God whose Kingdom will someday arrive in all its fullness by trusting the God whose kingdom draws near to us day in and day out, earthquake after earthquake, heart break after heart break.. The good news is that God is present, and will be present, in the midst of all of life-including whatever the future may hold. With that, we can move into Thanksgiving week singing Hannah’s song of gratitude.

Amen.

27 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 11, 2012

27 Proper B

Recently I spent two days on retreat at the Convent of the Transfiguration in Cincinnati. I had been to the Convent years ago for a meeting, but had not been there recently and had never been on retreat there. To be honest, I found the experience somewhat disconcerting. On the one hand, I was in an utterly foreign environment. The worship habits were quite different from ours here, even though most of the services were from the Book of Common Prayer. I never knew quite when to stand or sit, what page we were on, or how we were supposed to say the Psalm. I had a hard time reciting the Creed at the pace the Sisters recite the Creed and kept forgetting the words. I actually confessed my faith one morning in the communion of sins, which was rather embarrassing. And most challenging of all-breakfast and lunch each day were eaten in silence while one of the Sisters read to us. There is clearly a beautiful rhythm to life at the Convent that I could not begin to understand in two days. But on the other hand, the hospitality of the Sisters was nothing short of magnificent. When I arrived, my name was on the door to my room. There was a card welcoming me, by name, on the bed. When I arrived at dinner the first night, there was a napkin ring for me with my name on it. Clearly they were expecting me. One Sister invited me on a walk with the Convent dog in the morning and another made sure I knew how to follow the worship services before they started. The Sisters prayed for me, and for all their guests, by name, at the Eucharist each morning. Another made sure I knew the protocol for the Dining Room before I got there, which had to be done for each meal since the protocol varies from day to day and meal to meal. So hospitality took some real effort on their part. This complete and fairly clueless stranger was welcomed by the Sisters as a treasured guest.

The parallels between the Sisters of the Transfiguration and the Widow in the gospel lesson may seem obvious. These women have given up all their earthly possessions and, in some sense, a good bit of their individual identity. They dress alike, worship without respect for individual preference, eat the same meals, and tend to the chores they are assigned at the appointed time. They are dependent on the convent, and thus the church and thus God, for their existence. In giving up their individual identity, they find their identity and their trust rooted in God. In the gospel lesson, we hear Jesus warn the disciples against finding their identity and their trust in long robes, places of honor and fancy prayers. The widow has given all that she has, her very life, resting her identity and her trust solely in her relationship with God.

But there is another parallel this morning. This parallel is between the hospitality of the Sisters and the hospitality seen in the book of Ruth. Naomi is a Hebrew woman who moves, with her husband and two sons, from Bethlehem to Moab because there is a famine in Bethlehem. While in Moab, Naomi’s husband dies. Her two sons marry Moabite women, Orpah and Ruth, but then the two sons die. Since the famine was over in Bethlehem, the three widows make plans to return there. But Naomi is insistent that her daughters-in-law return to their mothers in Moab rather than make the journey to Bethlehem. In the end, Orpah does stay in Moab, but Ruth insists on staying with Naomi. Out of the exchange between Naomi and Ruth, we get one of the loveliest passages in Scripture. Ruth says to her mother-in-law "Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me."

From the beginning, the story of Ruth is a story of hospitality. When Naomi, her husband and two sons leave Bethlehem for Moab, which was actually enemy territory, these Hebrews are welcomed and live in Moab for over 10 years. The words of Ruth to Naomi are a deep expression of hospitality. We think of hospitality as the offering of food or a place to stay. But Ruth’s hospitality is the hospitality of presence. I will stay with you. In our reading this morning, we hear of Naomi’s great concern for Ruth’s security and Naomi’s plan to secure a husband for Ruth. Through what is clearly a deceptive plot, Boaz who has already offered his own hospitality to the two women, does indeed marry Ruth, another deep expression of hospitality. Their son is Obed, who would be the father of Jesse, the father of the great King David, who, other places in Scripture tell us is the ancestor of Jesus. Hospitality is what moves the story of Ruth from a young couple and their children fleeing famine to the birth of the ancestor of Jesus, who is God with us.

Hospitality is about making space in our lives for God and other people and then welcoming them into that space. Perhaps Jesus’ problem with the scribes is that is that their lives are full of long robes, self-importance, good seats, places of honor and long prayers. Perhaps they are unable to make space for other people and God in their lives and welcome them in. The widow, on the other hand, like the Sisters, is unencumbered by anything that prevents her from making space in her life for other people or God and welcoming them in. I do not think Jesus is either condemning wealth or glorifying poverty this morning. I don not think the story of the widow’s mite is primarily about money. After calling the disciples’ attention to the widow, Jesus does not say "Go and do likewise." I believe Jesus’ primary concern in this story is about making space in our lives to welcome other people and God. When our identity is rooted in that deep, radical, and sometimes inconvenient hospitality, something as wildly unexpected as Obed the ancestor of the Christ Child can be born in our midst. When our identity is rooted in divine hospitality, our relationship with earthly things will fall into place.

Amen.

All Saints Sunday

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 4, 2012

All Saints Day

Week before last, the week before Hurricane Sandy, I attended a conference outside of Baltimore. The title of the conference was "Bold and Hopeful leadership for a missionary church". I was asked to make one of the presentations, and my assignment was to talk about how we, at Christ Church, nurture bold ministry. I had to start by telling the truth: I am not, but nature, a bold person. I don’t jump out of airplanes and I don’t eat raw fish. I don’t go looking for bold things to do. I also told the group that I think there is a fine line between bold and crazy. But as a congregation we have done some bold things because God seems to intend for us to be bold whether we feel bold or not. So I told the group about the day the doorbell rang in Hollenbeck and the gentleman who owned the two houses next door was there wanting to sell the property to us at a good price. His health was such that he could no longer take care of the homes and he wanted the church to own them. And the day the phone rang and the Executive Director of the Dayton Gay Men’s Chorus wanted to know if we would host the Chorus for their Christmas concert in their first venture outside of Dayton. And the day I was having lunch at Procter Camp, minding my own business, when someone invited us to be part of the pilot project to bring Reading Camp to the Diocese. In all those cases, we-you and I- said yes, because we understood that God was calling us to those ministries, even though we did not go looking for them. God calls us to do bold things even we are not particularly bold ourselves.

Today is All Saints Sunday, one of the most loved feast days in the Church. We sing magnificent hymns, light candles and offer prayers for our loved ones, and hear what I consider to be some of the greatest passages of Scripture. Isaiah and Revelation both show us that future time when God will gather up all people at the great banquet table for a feast of rich food and we watch as God wipes away the tears from all faces. On All Saints Sunday, we are reminded that at this banquet table, we are joined with all those who have gone before us for the feast that gathers us together and makes us one.

Then we watch as Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. We understand Martha’s concern when Jesus asks that the stone be removed from the cave that contains Lazarus’ body. "Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days." But Jesus insists. The stone is removed and we hear Jesus say with a loud voice "Lazarus, come out!" And the once dead man comes out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth.

Next we hear one of my favorite lines in Scripture. "Then Jesus said to them ‘Unbind him and let him go.’" Unbind him and let him go. Jesus has just raised Lazarus from the dead. But as long as Lazarus’ hands and feet are bound, and his face is wrapped in cloth, he may be able to stumble out of the cave, but he can’t do much else. In order to be fully free, Lazarus must be unbound. Jesus’ work was the work of resurrection. Living into that resurrection is work that belongs to his followers. What I hear Jesus saying is "I have done the work of resurrection, now you do the work of living as resurrection people. So unbind him and let him go." What actually happens next in the story is that some who saw what Jesus did believed in him and others went to the Pharisees and told on Jesus. But in my imagination, what happens next is that Martha and Mary hang back at first, afraid to unbind Lazarus. For starters, they are being asked to touch this once dead man, whose body only moments ago they feared had decomposed to the point of stench. Secondly, if they unbind Lazarus, what will they be unleashing? The man had been dead. Now he is alive. What new power might he now have. Will he be the same brother he once was? But we know they swallow their fear and unbind Lazarus, because in just a few more verses, Mary and Martha will give a dinner party for Jesus and we are told that Lazarus is at the table. Unbound.

Unbind him and let him go. When we think about the great saints of the church we see people who heard Jesus say "I have done the work of resurrection, now you do the work of resurrection people" and they stepped out in faith to do things they could not have done on their own. From the words of Mary who hears the angel and says "Let it be with me according to your will," to Peter, who despite his many failings steps forward to be the rock on which Jesus built the church, to Mother Teresa and her work with the impoverished of Calcutta, they all come to believe that Jesus’ work is the work of resurrection and our work is the work of resurrection people. The Saints in our own lives are often those who have challenged us to be more than we think we can be, face what we think we cannot face, to live more fully than we think we can bear, and to give more generously than we think possible. The Saints of God, be they official saints of the Church or the saints of our own lives, show us how to do bold even if we can not be bold. Jesus has done the work of resurrection. Jesus calls us to live as resurrection people.

Amen.