5 Lent C

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
March 17, 2013

5 Lent C

Some years ago, when I was serving the Episcopal Church in Piqua, a very generous woman named Bernice Cain died and left the church her farm. A farm is a lovely gift, but what on earth were we to do with it? Vestry meetings were very interesting as we considered the possibilities. We could keep the farm and continue to lease the land to the person currently farming there, but that would still make the church a farm owner and we were not at all sure that we wanted to be farm owners. We could turn the farm into a retreat center and host a variety of groups there, but staffing the retreat center would be a challenge. We could sell the property, but there were some restrictions on the use of the land that might make that difficult. What were we to do with this most generous, even extravagant gift that would honor Bernice’s gift and not create a burden for the church for generations to come?

In the end, the farmer leasing the land wanted to purchase the land and continue to farm on the property where he had already invested so much time and energy. This was a win-win, for sure. The land would continue to be farmed and the church would not own it. But now we had a new challenge-what to do with the significant amount of money from the sale of the land. More interesting vestry meetings followed as some people thought the money should be saved, some thought it should be given away, some thought the money should be spent on much needed repairs to the building, and other vestry members had other ideas. When the church had just enough money to pay the bills, there was no reason to talk about what needs we might meet with a windfall of cash. Now that there was some money, more needs emerged than there was money to fix.

On the one hand, this gift of a farm was a bit like the gift of costly perfume that Mary used to anoint Jesus’ feet this morning. What was the appropriate use of a such an extravagant gift that, in Mary’s case was worth about a year’s wages for a laborer? Should the money have been given to the poor, even if Judas’ motive was not so pure? Or was Mary’s use of the costly perfume to anoint Jesus’ feet a way of honoring Jesus, who had brought her brother back from the dead after all. Or does this anointing point to a new future as we know, even if the disciples did not, that Jesus will not be available for anointing after burial. Should the value of the perfume be used to reduce scarcity or to create abundance? That is the same question that the church in Piqua wrestled with as they worked to discern the most faithful use of the money they had inherited.

However, in the beginning of the conversations about what to do with the money, I think people in Piqua secretly, or in some cases not so secretly, hoped that the money would allow the church to go back to the glory days of large families, full pews, and a budget that would more than meet basic expenses. The temptation was, and often is, to look to the past to define what we should be doing in the present or what our goal should be for the future. If we just had enough money, people, resources, time, energy, or whatever, to be like we used to be, then all would be well. Our reading from Isaiah nips that attitude right in the bud. This morning we hear God say "Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing. Do you not perceive it?" Now, this is the same God who continually self-identifies as "the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob" and "the God who brought you out of bondage in Egypt and into the Land of Promise." The very passage we heard this morning begins by recalling the way God brought the Israelites out of Egypt by making a path in the mighty waters. So, why does God say "Do not remember the former things or consider the things of old" when God has just reminded them of exactly those things?

I don’t think God really wants any of us to forget what God has done in the past, either in Scripture, or in the history of the church, or in our own lives. But God clearly does not want us to cling to the past as if God only acted in the past. God does not want the Israelites to look back at their Exodus from Egypt and think "Wasn’t that a great thing God did!" God wants the Israelites to look back at the Exodus and think "I wonder what God will do next." God says "I am about to do a new thing. Do you not perceive it?" If we let God’s past actions keep us from seeing what God is doing now, we are worshiping the past, not God.

As we move toward Holy Week, we are tempted to think that our observances of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, his last supper with his disciples, his arrest, trial, and crucifixion, and even his resurrection are simply reminders of what God has done in the past. And we do remember, year after year, what God has done for us in the events of Holy Week and Easter. But just when we get too caught up in celebrating what God has done for us in the past, we hear God say "I am about to do a new thing. Do you not perceive it?" As we move into Holy Week, we are called to wonder "What will God do next? Will our hearts and eyes be open to see what God is about to do?"

In the end, the church in Piqua decided to bank half the money for whatever God might be calling them to do in the future, and use the other half of the money for some renovations and repairs to the building that would make the parish hall accessible to all people and create more fellowship opportunities, expand the food pantry to serve more people, and paint the inside of the church so that the building would look less shabby and more welcoming. Those were good decisions that really did bring some growth and energy to the church as new things began to happen in the renovated space and new ideas for ministry began to emerge. God calls us to remember what God has done, not so that we can repeat the past, but so that we can live in wonder and readiness for what God will do next.

Amen.

4 Lent C

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
March 10, 2013

4 Lent C

When Don and I were young, newly married, and both in school, grocery money was tight. One of our staple foods during that time was something we called "tube soup." I am quite sure the soup had another name on the package, but I have no idea what that name was. In a tube shaped package about a foot long, there were all kinds of dried beans and a flavoring packet. Add one quart of water, simmer for several hours, and presto, we had a nice pot of bean soup, for the total cost of about a dollar. We ate a lot of tube soup, and at the time, we thought the soup was quite good. The meal was required little effort, was nutritious, and cheap. What more could we have wanted during those years when we were young, busy, and broke?

Once we moved into the Promised Land of new beginnings called employment, we moved beyond tube soup. Money was still tight, but not that tight, and we could add some variety to our diet. But we always look back with nostalgia on our tube soup days. Once, long after we had left school, I actually found tube soup in the grocery store and bought some. We made the soup once again, nostalgic for the good old days, and after eating the soup, decided that tube soup should remain a relic of our past.

This morning, we watch as the Israelites celebrate their first Passover in the Promised Land. God has sustained them in the wilderness with manna, bread from heaven, which the Israelites had alternated between appreciating and detesting. But the manna had sustained them for 40 years as they journeyed with Moses to the Promised Land. Now, Moses has died, and Joshua is their leader as they enter the Promised Land After 40 years in the wilderness, quite likely there is no one still alive who actually left Egypt. The Israelites enter the Promised Land, the land of milk and honey, and to mark this new beginning in their lives, their menu changes. No longer does God need to provide them with manna. Now, they will feast on the crops of the Land of Canaan.

We might easily think that from the entry into Canaan, their first Passover in the Promised Land, and their new diet of fresh crops, life for the Israelites would be easy. Nothing could be further from the truth. Canaan was occupied with people who had never heard of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and had no intention of turning their land over to these foreign people. The story of the conquest of Canaan is a story in which God’s people are sometimes faithful, sometimes do what is evil in the sight of God, sometimes they think they are being faithful when they are actually doing evil, and sometimes life is just plain hard. The change in their meal from manna to fresh crops does not mean that life will be easy, but the change does signify a new beginning for the Israelites as they move from being desert wanderers to being the people of a land. What does not change is that the Israelites always belong to God.

In the gospel lesson, we hear another story about a meal that marks a new beginning for someone. As an eldest child myself, and as the mother of two sons, I have a lot of questions about the story of the Prodigal Son. Are my younger brother and sister being encouraged to squander their inheritance in dissolute living, before they are actually due to receive a dime? Am I, as the eldest, to welcome them home with open arms when they return poor, dirty and hungry? The father throws a huge party for the younger son when he returns. Are we really called to be like the younger child rather than the dutiful, obedient, hard working, faithful older child? Jesus has got to be kidding.

As the mother of two sons, I wonder where the mom is in this parable. What is she thinking as her second born leaves the nest for what will no doubt be a disaster? What is she feeling for her first born when her younger child returns?  Does the mother even exist? There is no answer to these questions, but they are fun to play with.

So, who are we to imitate in this parable? Are we called to be the dutiful elder brother or are we given permission to be the irresponsible younger brother who gets the party? The parable ends before we find out whether the younger son actually changed his ways and got his act together, or whether the elder son ever saw the wisdom and grace in his father’s forgiveness, and I, for one, would like to know how the story turned out. But Jesus’ point is not what either child did or did not do. Nor is the point which child is the winner and which is the loser. The point is what the father did. The parable is about God and God’s outrageous forgiveness. The father demonstrates God’s forgiveness that is there before we even ask, the forgiveness that we received at our baptism, the forgiveness that surrounds us, that knocks on the door to our hearts, the forgiveness that begs to be received and lived. The father demonstrates the undeserved, unearned forgiveness that is available to everyone, both younger sons and daughters who have made an utter mess out of their lives, and righteous older brothers and sisters, no questions asked.

But the father demonstrates even more than God’s outrageous forgiveness. The father could have simply said "I forgive you. Come in, sit down, have a cup of tea, then get to work." But instead the father throws a huge party, a celebration, to welcome home his errant son. Outrageous forgiveness is communicated through equally outrageous hospitality. In the reading from 2 Corinthians, Paul calls us to be ambassadors for Christ, agents of reconciliation. Our Book of Common Prayer tells us that the mission of the church is to restore all people to unity with Christ. As the church, the body of Christ, we are called to imitate neither the elder son, nor the younger son in the parable, but the father. We are called to communicate God’s outrageous forgiveness by being a community of outrageous hospitality, hospitality that treats everyone who walks through the door of this church, whether the visitor, each other, or ourselves, with the same hospitality and joy that the Father showed his younger son upon his return. We are called to proclaim that this table, God’s table, is the very banquet of reconciliation that the Father in the parable threw for his wayward son. This meal will not make us perfect anymore than the meal of crops from the ground of Canaan made the Hebrew people perfect, or than, in my imagination, the great banquet made the younger son perfect. But this meal does mean that we belong to God, that God has claimed us as the Father claimed the errant son, and that we are forgiven and given the gift of a new beginning over and over again. The hospitality experienced in this place and at this table is not our hospitality, but God’s radical hospitality of new beginnings.

Amen.

3 Lent C

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
March 3, 2013

3 Lent C

Last July, 12 people were killed and 58 others were injured in a shooting at an Aurora, Colorado theater as they watched the midnight screening of "The Dark Knight rises." Do you think that because these people suffered in this way, they were worse sinners than other people? Late last October, Superstorm Sandy did unprecedented damage along the east coast of this country, Jamaica, Cuba, the Bahamas, and Haiti, causing billions of dollars in damage and significant loss of life. Do you think that because these people suffered in this way, they were worse sinners than other people? And in December, 20 children and 6 adults were killed in the Sandy Hook shooting. Who on earth could even begin to think that because these people suffered in this way, they were worse sinners than other people?

Jesus is asked these very questions this morning when he is approached by some people who tell him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate mingled with their sacrifices. Jesus himself raises the issue of the 18 people who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them. While there is no historical evidence that either of these events actually occurred, nonetheless they raise the issue of why bad things happen to good people. In fact, Jesus assumes that is the people’s question. "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than everyone else?" Jesus’ answer to his own question is a bit unsettling. "No, I tell you, but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did."

If Jesus has just stopped with "No, I tell you," that would have been an incomplete, but satisfactory answer. While the answer would not tell us why bad things happen to innocent people, at least we would know that the sin of the victims was not responsible for the disaster. But Jesus does not stop there. He goes on to say "but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did." How does that answer the question of who is to blame for such disasters?

To further complicate matters, Jesus then tells the people a parable about a fig tree that does not produce fruit. The absentee owner of the fig tree wants to cut it down. Land is precious, and should not be wasted on trees that do not produce. But the gardener wants to fertilize the tree and give it one more chance to grow and produce fruit. What does the fig tree have to do with the people’s perceived question about whether the Galileans suffered because they were worse sinners than anyone else?

When Jesus’ listeners heard the parable of the fig tree, they would have remembered another story about a fig tree. In the third chapter of Genesis, after Adam and Eve have been created, they are set in the garden and told that they can eat anything in the garden that looks good, with one exception. They are not to eat from the tree in the center, which happens to be the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. When Adam and Eve disobey God, and see that they are naked, they are ashamed. So, they sewed fig leaves together to make clothes for themselves and cover up their sin. When God confronts Adam and Eve about their disobedience, Adam blames Eve for giving him the fruit. Eve blames the serpent for tricking her. No one is willing to take responsibility for their actions. Neither Adam nor Eve is willing to repent.

In telling the parable of the fig tree, with the reference back to the story of Adam and Eve in Genesis, Jesus is calling on the carpet those who try to cover their own sin by pointing to the sins of others. There is, perhaps, no answer to the question of why bad things happen to good people. But there is an answer to the question "How are we called to live the lives we have been given while we have them?" Jesus calls the people to focus on their own repentance and get to work bearing the fruit they are called to bear. As those who witnessed the disaster at Siloam or heard about the slaughter of innocent Gentiles know, and as all of us know, life is fragile. On Ash Wednesday, as we entered Lent, we heard the words "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return" as we were invited to repent and make a new beginning. None of us are here forever. Jesus reminds all of his listeners, past and present, that now is the time to bear fruit, to repent and live life fully. The contemporary poet Mary Oliver writes in her poem The Summer Day "Doesn’t everything die at last and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

In the reading from Exodus, God hears the cries of God’s people who were in slavery in Egypt. God calls Moses and sends him to free the people from Egypt and lead them into the land of milk and honey. This is not a God who causes towers to fall on people, or hurricanes to destroy their lives, or murderers to kill children, and Jesus’ answer to the question of whether the victims of such tragedies are worse sinners that others with the single word "no." Our God is a god of grace and mercy whose desire for us is a land of milk and honey. But our God is also a God who says to each of us "Doesn’t everything die at last and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

Amen.