Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
April 28, 2013
5 Easter C
Last spring, in preparation for Reading Camp, a number of us read the book "Understanding Poverty" by Ruby Payne. I read the first edition of the book a number of years ago and found the book incredibly helpful, transforming my understanding of poverty. The book is full of valuable information-things that I, as a middle class individual from a middle class family, living in a middle class neighborhood, had never thought about. The most important thing I learned, however, is that the most valuable asset of people living in poverty is their story. And I thought of all the times the doorbell in Hollenbeck House had rung, and someone was there with a long story, so complicated that I could not imagine the story to be true, sometimes about distant relatives in far away places that could not possibly have anything to do with what the person standing before me needed. The book, by the way, gave example after example of true stories that sounded a lot like the stories that seemed to me to be pretty good fiction. And I thought about all the times I asked, long before the person had finished telling the story "But what do you need? What can I do for you?" I did not need to hear the whole long story in order to give the person a gas card. What I failed to realize is that a) the person in front of me needed to share the story and was offering me something of her most valuable asset, and b) I really did need to hear the story, both to receive that gift, and to get over my impatience.
So, now I try harder to listen to the story. And what I have found is that those stories bind us together as humans. We all are concerned about our kids, need to overcome obstacles that are placed in our way, want to know that someone cares enough to lend a hand, and that our life stories are worthy of honor. Some of the stories I hear make me grateful for the life I have, the security I know, and the systems of support I have in my life. Other stories I hear cause me to marvel at the amazing depths of people’s faith in the midst of adversity and show me the strength of human spirit. By hearing the stories of strangers, my own life and faith have been enriched.
Our reading from Acts this morning also points to the transformative power of a person’s story. We hear in the reading from Acts that the apostles and believers in Judea were having a bit of a problem with Peter’s choice of dinner companions. I find this a little odd, since Jesus spent so much time eating with questionable dinner companions, but I believe the apostles’ criticism comes from knowing the power of a shared meal. Not only does a shared story bind us togther, a shared meal does much the same. So, to be bound together through a shared meal with someone considered unclean would spread the uncleanliness. Or so the apostles thought, despite their time with Jesus.
Peter could have pointed to the example of Jesus, or Peter could have laid out a beautifully articulated theological argument to convince the apostles and other believers of the error of their ways. But instead, he shares the story of how he, Peter, came to believe that God intends no distinction between those who keep the Jewish dietary laws and those who do not. Peter told the apostles how he witnessed the Holy Spirit falling upon a Gentile just the way the Holy Spirit had come upon them. Then Peter asks "If God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I to hinder God?" At that, the apostles were silenced, then began to praise God saying "Then God has given even the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life."
Scripture is full of stories-stories about people encountering God, or having their hearts and minds changed through divine or human encounters, stories about people who are concerned about their children, or their health, or what to eat or how to survive. Jesus told stories, some of which have obvious meanings and some of which we have to work at to understand. Through those stories, we can make connections between our lives and our faith, and the faith of Moses, or Ruth, or Abraham, or Esther. This morning, we hear a piece of the story of Jesus’ last supper with his disciples, and we hear Jesus command the disciples, and us, to love one another. Jesus could have just commanded the disciples to love one another as he loves him, and be done. But the way the story is told, Judas has just left the dinner table to betray Jesus. Jesus knows exactly where Judas is going and what he is up to. So, when Jesus tells the disciples to love one another, and he does not say "except for the rat who just left to betray me," we understand from the story that Jesus is talking about sacrificial love. The kind of love Jesus is talking about involves some work, and includes not only people we disagree with, or have nothing in common with, but goes so far to include those who betray us. Through the story, we understand more fully the depth of the love Jesus is talking about.
Stories are the way our faith is conveyed. Whether the story of Scripture or the stories of the great heros and heroines of the faith, or our own stories, that is the way our faith is shared. For stories to work, however, we have to live with the love Jesus commands us to live-love that allows us to be vulnerable enough to share our own story and to be willing to listen deeply and to the stories of others. When we are willing to love in such a way that we are willing to be transformed by the stories of other people, our relationships with God and each other are transformed and the world will know that we are Jesus’ disciples.
Amen.
Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
April 21, 2013
4 Easter C
As I stood in my kitchen Friday morning, watching the coverage of the manhunt in Boston, reading about the explosion of the fertilizer plant outside Waco, Texas, and thinking about this morning’s lessons, I admit to conflicting feelings about preaching today. On the one hand, I don’t know when I have gone three Sundays without preaching and I am grateful to be back. I am also particularly grateful for the love and concern of this faith community over the last few weeks. On the other hand, standing in front of the TV on Friday morning, I wondered where on earth today’s gospel lesson about Jesus the Good Shepherd intersects with the tragic events of last week. The fourth Sunday of Easter is Good Shepherd Sunday and each year we hear a portion of John’s gospel where Jesus tells us that he is the Good Shepherd. Downstairs in our Good Shepherd atrium, our youngest children hear Jesus say "I am the Good Shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep....I am the Good Shepherd. I know my own and my own know me." The children have a small wooden sheepfold with little wooden sheep, and a wooden figurine of Jesus. They work with these pieces to wonder about being one of Jesus sheep. This morning, we hear Jesus tell those who oppose him that his sheep hear his voice and they follow him. Jesus gives them eternal life and they will never perish. What do we tell our children when Jesus’ own beloved sheep do perish, sometime in tragic ways, despite Jesus’ love and care for them?
Given the events of this week, I can relate to the demand of those who oppose Jesus when they say "If you are the Messiah, tell us so plainly." Those who oppose Jesus are labeled as "the Jews" and John’s gospel reflects the tensions between Jews and Christians in the last first or early second century. There is no reason for us to reflect those tensions, however, and the question the opponents ask is a real one. Is Jesus the Messiah of God or not? And I have to say, after weeks like this one, sometimes I want to know the same thing, because Jesus does not seem to be the Messiah I am looking for, either. Jesus, if you are the Messiah, the Good Shepherd, please tell us plainly. Why do such pain, terror, and devastation strike your sheep? Please tell us in what way you are the Good Shepherd, when so many of your sheep have met such a violent end.
Jesus’ response in the gospel reading is to point to the works Jesus has done. Jesus has healed the blind, fed the 5000, healed a lame man, and turned water into wine. To those who oppose him, Jesus wonders aloud how much more they need to see if those actions are not convincing. To me, and to others with the same question this week, Jesus says "I have run toward tragedy, not away from it. I have put my own life at risk to help others. I have comforted the scared and taken complete strangers into my home. What more do you need to see?" Just a few verses before our gospel lesson this morning, still in the Good Shepherd section of John’s gospel, Jesus also says, quite clearly, "I have other sheep who do not belong to this fold." Not all the sheep look, act, or believe just like us. But some way, some how, all human beings can demonstrate the compassion and care of Jesus whether they belong to this fold or another, and in that goodness and mercy, the Good Shepherd is hard at work.
For the sheep who hear Jesus’ voice and have chosen to follow Jesus, Jesus always refers to sheep in the plural. Jesus says "I know them...I give them eternal life...no one will snatch them out of my hand." Sheep are meant to be in community, in relationship, with each other. No one sheep is meant to navigate life alone. We navigate life together, and by doing so, we know the power of something more than ourselves in our midst. We know the Good Shepherd. A seminary classmate of mine is the priest at the Church of the Good Shepherd in Watertown, Massachusetts, where the manhunt was focused all day on Friday. Don’s brother lives in Waco, Texas, not far from the town of West, Texas where the fertilizer plant exploded. In both cases, prayers and offers of support from around the country and around the world have reminded them that they are not alone; that they are part of a much larger community. In the very existence of that community and through that support, the Good Shepherd is known, the Good Shepherd’s voice is heard, and goodness and mercy are felt.
In the well known words of 23rd psalm, we hear the Psalmist say "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For you are with me." Knowing Jesus as the Good Shepherd is not a guarantee that no harm will come to us or those we love. Knowing Jesus as the Good Shepherd means that, even in the valley of the shadow of death, we are not alone. Jesus the Good Shepherd calls us to both to make him known through acts of goodness and mercy and to recognize that where ever goodness and mercy happen, even in the valley of the shadow of death, the Good Shepherd is present.
Amen.
Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
March 24, 2013
Palm Sunday C
Luke’s story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is my favorite Palm Sunday story. The plot line in Matthew, Mark, and Luke’s gospels is basically the same. Jesus sends two disciples into the village to find a colt that has never been ridden. If anyone asks why the disciples are taking the colt, they are to say "The Lord needs it." All goes according to plan and Jesus enters Jerusalem on the back of the colt, with people singing. There are, by the way, no palms or leafy branches in Luke’s version of the story. Matthew gives us leafy branches. Mark and John give us palms. Luke simply gives us a picture of people spreading cloaks along the path. But that is not why Luke’s story is my favorite. Luke’s story is my favorite because, at the end, when the whole multitude of disciples are singing their praises, and the Pharisees tell Jesus to order his disciples to stop, Jesus says "I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would shout out."
What on earth could Jesus mean by "the very stones would shout out?" On the one hand, Jesus is giving the Pharisees a simple but clear reprimand. On such a momentous and joyful occasion as Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, even the stones take notice. Anyone who cannot see the call for joyful song is less human than the stones.
But I believe there is more to the story than Jesus simply reprimanding the Pharisees for their hardness of heart. Those hearing Jesus’ words to the Pharisees would have been filled with images of stones from the Hebrew Scriptures. First, stone are a sign of an experience of God. In the book of Genesis (28), Jacob takes a stone for a pillow and dreams about angels ascending and descending on a ladder. In that dream, God says to Jacob "I am the Lord, the God of Abraham and Isaac; the land on which you lie I will give to you and your offspring; and your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth, and you shall spread abroad to the east and to the west, to the north and to the south." Then God says "Know that I am with you and will keep you where ever you go, and will bring you back to this land; for I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised." Jacob recognized that God was in that place, and set up the stone as a pillar, and poured oil over the stone to be a house for God, and Jacob promises to return to God one tenth of all he was given. In a perhaps more familiar story, there is the stone that the young and small David used to kill the giant, Goliath, which was also a sign of God’s presence with David.
Stones are also signs of the covenant relationship with God. At the end of the book of Joshua (24:27), after the Hebrew people have entered the Promised Land, a large stone is the sign of the people’s promise to serve God and God alone. Stones in the Hebrew Scriptures can also reflect the emotion of God. The prophet Habakkuk (2:11) tells the people that if they go astray from God, "the very stones of the temple will cry out from the wall and the plaster will cry out from the woodwork."
So, in the Hebrew Scriptures, stones are a symbol of blessing and the presence of God. On the other hand, stoning was also a form of capital punishment in the Old Testament. According to the laws of the Old Testament, offenses such as adultery, breaking Sabbath, or even rebelling against one’s parents are crimes punishable by stoning. The reality is that stoning according to the law, as opposed to mob violence, is quite rare in the Old Testament. The Law might allow for stoning, but the practice of stoning rarely happened and was highly regulated. But, at least in theory if not often in practice, stoning was considered to reflect the judgement of God.
So, with all of these images swirling around in their heads, what would the people have thought when Jesus said "I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would shout out?"
Perhaps the people would have heard God’s promise to Jacob that God would be with Jacob and his descendants where ever they go. Perhaps they would have been reminded of the holiness of their covenant with God and the consequences of breaking that covenant. For them, stones were not mere inanimate objects holding the path together. The stones were signs of the presence of God in their midst, that would keep the covenant with God even if the people did not.
And so, on Palm Sunday as we sing the hosannas and process the palms with great and genuine joy, then move abruptly from that joy to the depths of the Passion gospel, we, too, are called to remember God’s promise to be with us always. We are called to remember that promise as we begin our journey with Jesus to the events of his last supper with the disciples, his arrest and trial, and his crucifixion. We are called to watch for God’s presence among us as the dead body of Jesus is placed in a tomb which is sealed with nothing other than a stone. And we are called to prepare for the Risen Christ when the women arrive at the tomb on Easter morning, and the stone that separates us from God has been rolled away.
Amen.
